A New Beginning
One day in early June, when the morning was grey and the clouds were blue and women were real women, and men were real men, there was a man. He was a real man, as was the trend at the time. (The time of course, was seven minutes to four in the afternoon. The Perfect Time to Write A Novel.) The man’s name was Jack O’Stralia and he had sandy blonde hair that stuck out at strange angles naturally, without the use of those stupid hair styling products that they have nowadays. He also had a long bushy beard which was sandy blonde also and stuck out like a tangle of sandy brown thorns. He also had a brain and it was a grey-ey pinky colour and was squishy.
On this particular morning, by which I mean the next morning, as it was no longer seven minutes to four in the afternoon, Jack woke up, washed his hair, had a shower in his outhouse and brushed his beard. He had to have a shower in his outhouse because they were living in the middle of Central Australia in 1807 and internal plumbing hadn’t been invented yet. His house was made completely out of corrugated iron, even his bedclothes. He then decided to have breakfast. His cutlery and plates were also made of corrugated iron. He decided to have a boiled egg, but to do this, he must first get an egg from his henhouse. His chickens were vicious, and would peck at his genitals if left unprotected. (His genitals, not the chickens.) So, to protect himself, he put on a piece of metal armour, made from corrugated iron, and a large square helmet (not unlike Ned Kelly’s) made from an upturned garbage bin. The garbage bin, of course, was corrugated iron. Everything was made of corrugated iron because everything in old Australia was corrugated iron. (The Aboriginals discovered corrugated iron when trying to invent fireworks.)
After he put his armour on, he wandered out into the wilderness of his backyard. The only thing in sight (apart from his house) was trees and rocks. Not even a kangaroo bounded across the outback. The trees and rocks were not made from corrugated iron. That would be stupid. They were made from wood, as trees are (usually).
He stomped across his lawn.
Stomp stomp stomp stomp stomp.
He lifted up the chicken gate, and was hit by a mad rush of feathered fiends. They attacked him in the head, and so he shot them with his gun. This made him feel better. He collected the now cracked eggs and stomped back indoors.
Stomp stomp stomp stomp stomp.
Jack cracked the eggs into a pan, even more so than they already were, and than added some bacon and tumbleweed he had been cultivating. He cooked it up with some cooking oil and chicken stock, but this was just the blood of the recently shot chickens.
“Pooh!” said Jack, speaking for the first time in this chapter as he spat out a bullet. “Damn lead! Oh, no, sorry, that bullet’s made from corrugated iron.”
The day passed without much event, until the evening when Jack thought that he might like to have chicken for supper. He called this recipe Chicken a la Bullethole.
The next day, at roughly 9:26 the next day, he got on his penny-farthing bike and cycled into the nearest town.
The following week, he reached it. He had gone there to play poker against his friends, and perhaps have a go on the Space Invader machines. The machines, of course, were made from corrugated iron. His poker nickname was Honest Jack, though he was a notorious cheater and compulsive liar. The origin of this nickname is unknown, but many guesses include his penny-farthing, a purple duck and his lifetime ban from the First Bank of Australia. He tethered his penny-farthing, and entered the bar. It was long, bar-like and had a bartender behind it. He was tending to the bar. His name was Bruce. If fact, everyone in the town (apart from Jack) was called Bruce. Jack ordered a beer and drained it with one gulp. He ordered a Great Australian Beer and sat down with his friends, Bruce, Bruce and Bruce.
“Hey Bruce,” he said, “deal us the cards, mate!” Bruce looked at him, and did so. Jack looked at his hand. It was a junk.
“Hmmm…” he mused, “Mhhh…” he pondered, and “Gnnhhuurr…” he considered.
End of Chapter One.