| �Twas the 23rd of December, and Brian stood outside Big Ainsley�s Serious Supermarket lighting a festively plump cigarette. He was an imposing figure, with his sharp suit, stylish scarf, noble features, and giant, four-foot tall luminous sponge. The sponge turned to face Brian. It observed him for a moment, before violently knocking the cigarette from Brian�s hand. �Damn it, Brian!� screamed the sponge, �That�s a filthy habit�and what�s more � the smoke gets into my super-absorbent ultra-pores.� �I�m sorry, sponge.� said Brian, �It�s just the stress of all this Christmas shopping. It�s really getting to me.� �Oh yeah?� screamed the sponge, �Oh yeah??? You fucking dick! How do you think I feel? How could you be so fucking insensitive?� And so saying, the sponge began to press itself into Brian�s face � smothering him. �How does this feel, Brian?� the sponge yelled, �How does it feel when you can�t breathe? Answer me! That�s how it is, Brian. This is what happens when you smoke cigarettes!� The sponge released its grip on Brian�s face and Brian sank to the ground, coughing and gasping. �Good point, sponge.� he stammered, �I�ll try not to do it again.� A security guard who had observed the fracas walked towards them, cutting a swathe in his chic new uniform, which had been designed and handcrafted by some of the greatest names in the fashion trade. Only really trendy security guards could get a job at Big Ainsley�s. Of course, because of this, all the security guards were somewhat anorexic and thus not terribly effective as crime-fighters. Most shoplifters got away from Big Ainsley�s without too much bother, but Ainsley � when questioned about the system � stated that it was worth it just to be so Goddamn cool. �Hey guys.� The guard said, smiling politely, �Couldn�t help but notice you were fighting there. Everything okay?� Finishing his sentence, the guard died of exposure and slumped to the ground, splashing Brian and the sponge with slush. �Serves him right, the trendy bastard.� chuckled the sponge merrily, �Come on Brian � Let�s go home and have a bath.� Brian was shocked. �No!� he cried. �Sponge � this is our fault. We must go and tell his family ourselves.� �You soft bastard.� sneered the sponge � but eventually he agreed and helped Brian drag the security guard into an alleyway so they could check out his wallet. �I�ve found his ID card!� cried Brian eventually. �His name is Luther Lichenstein and he lives�Damn! Right on the other side of town.� �So now will you listen to me and go home?� sighed the sponge exasperatedly. �No, sponge!� cried Brian, �This is my holy quest. I believe that God has killed this trendy anorexic security guard to test us! We must deliver the body to his family so that they can be together one last Christmas!� �You know, Brian?� said the sponge, smiling genuinely for what felt like the first time in years, �I think you�re right.� �Yee-uh!� yelled Brian, �Let�s do it, sponge!� Brian and his sponge carried the guard out of the alley and towards a car-rental agency that was fortuitously just across the street. �You see, sponge! God is with us!� called Brian as the first of the policemen descended. Brian awoke in a damp little cell, the sponge curled up beside him like a vast luminescent cat. Damn. The police had interfered. Didn�t they know modern day saints when they saw them? Brian crept towards the door of the cell. Through a tiny barred window that was set into the door he observed two senior-looking officers talking (and holding hands, Brian noticed but decided it was irrelevant). �Can you believe how blas� they were, carrying the body right across the high street like that. Drawing attention to themselves like nobody�s business they were. Especially the spongy luminous one.� Said the fatter of the two policemen. �Oh I agree, Nigel.� Said the other, �But there�s no telling what goes on inside the criminal mind. Especially not with those damn hetero types. What say we go and convert them now with a jolly good festive seeing to?� �Nice idea, Dave� said the fat one, �Just wait till they see my turkey. That�ll turn their heads! Just let me go and get my special truncheon.� �Great!� came the reply, �But don�t be long, sweet-buns.� �I won�t� In the cell, Brian listened in horror. He hurried over to the sponge, which was still asleep. �Sponge� he hissed as quietly as he could into the sponge, �Sponge � wake up. They�re going to fuck us.� �Jesus� said the sponge, �You sure?� �Yeah � we�ve got to get out of here, man.� Later, as the policemen entered the cell in their bondage gear, they were bemused to find Brian sitting alone. �Where�s the sponge?� they yelled at Brian. Brian turned to them tearfully. �He left. He was supposed to squeeze through the bars and go and get help�but he never came back. I didn�t really think he would. He has self-centred and fascistic tendencies.� The policemen laughed at Brian. They taunted him. They told him how pathetic he was to be living with a giant sponge in the first place. They ridiculed Brian for trusting the sponge and they began to beat him with truncheons. Then they were crushed to death. A truck had driven through the wall and right over them�and in the cabin of the truck was Brian�s sponge. �Get in!� cried the sponge, �There�s no time to lose � Luther�s body�s being driven away to the mortuary!� �Then let�s go, sponge!� shouted Brian, jumping into the passenger seat. The sponge whooped madly and drove the truck out the other side of the cell. Brian turned to the sponge. �Sponge� he said, a tear welling up in his eye, �You came back for me.� The sponge cleared its throat and looked away. Brian looked at it with affection. It may be fascist and it may be cruel, thought Brian. But when it comes down to it it�s a great sponge and a damn fine friend. The truck drew onto the motorway and up ahead they could see the mortuary van. The sponge floored the accelerator and they began to rapidly close the distance between the two vehicles. Very soon, they were side by side. �Ram them, sponge!� cried Brian, �Ram them!� Brian�s sponge swung the wheel and drove the truck straight into the side of the mortuary van, which flew straight off the road with Brian and the sponge in hot pursuit. Both vehicles came to rest in an empty, overgrown field. Doubtless the farmer had shot himself and no-one knew yet. Brian could just see the giant pile of junk mail and newspapers over the tops of some nearby trees. Must have been a while ago, he reckoned. |
| BRIAN'S SPONGE |