He stood up, stretched his blubber and slammed his fist on the desk. "I’ll think of it in thirteen minutes! Or else…it’s the end of the line!"

"Say!" said Principal Rocky to his pet dog, Sparky the spaniel. He and his dog spotted the advertisement on the third level of a super-shopping-complex, and immediately Principal Rocky thought to himself, "I’m talented, sure I am!"

Unfortunately, his dog had run off while he was looking at poster, causing much anguish. "Damn, Sparky!" Principal Rocky muttered to himself. Where had he gone? His dog had always been a mischievous one; always getting himself into little scraps and such.

This time, however, his dog had crossed over the line. This shopping complex had a display taking place where middle aged men had the chance to show off their Monopoly prowess, and revive the mistakes of their past. One man who was trying to exact revenge over a certain Park Lane-and-Mayfair-hotel-owning-know-it-all was so close! His little boot figurine had scored a seven on the dice, and he had landed on Mayfair! He knew very well that he had bought nothing in this six-hour game, and had over five thousand dollars...enough to buy a few hotels!

But that Principal Rocky’s dog carefully chose this opportunity to scamper towards the man and eat all of his money!

"Oh, you blasted dog!" he yelled, as Sparky swallowed the cash. "Is this your dog, sir?" he called out to Principal Rocky. Principal Rocky was no fool; you don’t want to get involved with these sorts of people.

"What? That dog? Ha! I’ve never seen that dog in my life!" And with that, he ran off.

Thirteen minutes later, Fat Alex had indeed thought of it. "A nostril carpet! Brilliant! I’ll disguise it as a PC chair, too!"

"You’re lucky that those men threw you down the escalator so I could get you without them noticing," Principal Rocky told his dog in the office the next day as he jumped into his favourite chair. He was the king of the school and he loved it. But something else was on his mind, and not just the invention he was trying to come up with. Principal Rocky shut his eyes and reminisced about his past…

When he was a boy, he used to love visiting his auntie. She had a cottage in the hills, and when Principal Rocky visited her, she’d feed him bread with margarine spread across it. But he was no fool; he’d used that energy to go frolicking! Skipping, prancing in the hills, picking wild flowers; what could be nicer? For Principal Rocky, using the bark off trees as skis. The blonde-haired boy would tear off the bark in strips, and then he’d turn on the hose so it would soak the left-hand side of the hill. Then, he’d strap the bark to his feet with elastic bands, and when his auntie went away for an hour to file for divorce against her husband, Principal Rocky would ski down the hills in glee!

Thirty-seven years later, Principal Rocky opened his eyes. That’s it! Skis! Everyone enjoys skis! As he’d said to Andrew Shamboo in one class, "Read out the second paragraph on page thirty two right now, or you’ve got detention!"

"The wheel is an extremely old invention. For millions of years, the human civilisation has used the wheel for many purposes, with pleasing results. But little do people realise, that skis are, in fact, an older method of transportation."

"Really?" Principal Rocky asked Andrew.

"I don’t know sir, I’m just reading…"

"Do you have any evidence to this claim?"

"The book says so…"

"You can’t just rely on books, Andrew. You’re fibbing! You’ve got detention!"

A few minutes after Andrews’s ankle twisting detention, Principal Rocky had read a few books that indeed confirmed that, yes, skis had been around for much, much longer than wheels. And so, Principal Rocky was convinced that skis were the way to go. However, he couldn’t re-invent them, they’d been around for donkey’s years. No, he’d have to somehow splice them with something or someone else. But who or what?

In came Principal Rocky’s man, Fat Alex: school captain and fat person. He’d brought in his invention; the nostril hair carpet fitted over his PC chair.

"How’d you fit it in your school bag?" asked Principal Rocky.

"You have to zip up both ends equally," he told him.

"Well, let me tell you, Alex. You and I are heading off!"

"Sorry, sir, but I’ve invented this and I’m going to give it to Travis Miller, so he can sell it!"

Principal Rocky shook his head. "Not with a shit-house invention like that one. I believe that some skis are missing."

"Huh?"

"Skis."

"Skis?"

"Skis."

"Skis are missing?"

"Yeah."

"Skis?"

"Yeah."

Just as they were about to repeat themselves, Percy strolled through the door.

"Look, Principal Rocky, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. I was a fool-jerk, and I’m sorry."

"A fool-jerk?" asked Fat Alex.

"You’re supposed to be in the school dungeon!" Principal Rocky fumed.

"I just want to say sorry," Percy told him.

"Come on," Fat Alex urged Principal Rocky. "We’ve got an invention to give Travis Miller!"

"Very well," Principal Rocky sighed. He stuck his head out of the window. "Hey! Sam! Put Percy back in the dungeon, and tie him up so he can never escape ever!" He turned to his dog. "Sparky, you’re in charge. You’re the principal. Principal Sparky."

And the two inventors left the office, then the school, in search of Travis Miller. He would be thrilled to see their invention! Actually, he wouldn’t, but that’s another story.

Sam, the school cook who had been asked by Principal Rocky to put Percy in the school dungeon was a funny man. When he was asked to do this, he actually misheard him, and thought that he had to put Percy back in the kitchen, and cook him eggs.

"No problem, Percy," Sam laughed. "You’ll get your eggs!"

Percy shrugged and followed him into the school kitchen. As Sam cracked a few eggs and began frying them, Percy realised that he wasn’t trying to symbolise tying him up in the dungeon, he really was cooking him eggs.

"Percy, since you go many things happen! You hear about horticulture room?"

"The what?" Percy asked inquisitively.

"The horticulture room! The hot-house!"

"No," Percy said. "I haven’t heard. What happened?"

"You no hear? Everybody hear about the horticulture…"

"Well, I haven’t," Percy insisted. "So what happened?"

"Oh, I mail you the comic. Good-bye!" And with that, he waddled out of the kitchen, leaving Percy to finish his eggs all by himself! "Miss Vanderbilt, there is very special man waiting for you in kitchen!" he told the career counsellor as he passed her in the corridor. She blushed and walked through the door.

"Oh, it’s you, Percy," she sighed, and sat down at the table with him.

"Hi, Miss Vanderbilt."

"I thought you were in the dungeon…"

"I escaped," Percy explained.

"Well, don’t we all," she laughed. "Percy, you’re a nice kid. Why don’t you drop by my office sometime, for some serious career counselling. Here’s my card," she said, and gave it to the egg-eating young man.

"I’ll drop by after school," Percy told her. She screwed up his hair and then left. "How do you like that, eggs?" he told them maniacally. "Percy’s going to get counselled in matters of careers!"

They said nothing so Percy ate them.

"That horticulture incident, Clifford, I never thought it would happen at this school."

"Things could have been worse, Glen."

The pair of schoolteachers were patrolling the yard like good dutymen, and although Glen didn’t realise it, Clifford’s tie was inside out.

"Well, I don’t know how it could possibly could have been worse," Glen scoffed, "but I’ve found out some even more interesting news regarding the incident!"

"Really?" asked Clifford. "What?"

"Well, it’s like this. I have to go to the back of the oval right now! Pass me my binoculars!"

"That’s pretty interesting news there, Glen!" Clifford exclaimed.

"Quiet, fool!" Glen commanded. "I mean it! I’ll tell you the interesting news on the way."

And as the two of them journeyed to the back of the school oval, Glen realised that Clifford hadn’t given him any binoculars. "Give them to me now!" And just like that, Clifford whipped them out of his pocket. "Where…what were they doing in your pocket?" he asked him peculiarly.

"I was stealing them from you, Glen," he explained. "When you first brought them into our office, I was jealous. Jealous with rage. When you turned your back to pick up the strawberry you dropped on the ground, I nicked them!"

"Then why did you give them to me just then? Why didn’t you pretend that your father’s monkey mistress rubbed them so far into the shore of Brighton beach that they were as far irretrievable?"

"Because that would still mean to say that I had stolen them," Clifford laughed.

Glen laughed too. "Right you are, Clifford! Right you are!"

And by the time they had arrived at the back of the oval, Glen had told Clifford all about how Nostradamus actually predicted the horticulture incident from back in the sixteenth century. It wasn’t as amazing as Clifford thought. But anyhow, he was more interested in knowing why Glen had brought him all the way over to the back of the oval. And indeed, why Glen was climbing up a tree.

"Pass me the binoculars, god damn it!" he yelled to Clifford. Glen caught them and peeped through. "There! It’s a bird! In that tree! What do you reckon, Clifford?" he asked throwing the binoculars down to him.

Clifford looked through. "That’s no bird, Glen. That there’s Mrs Kiebe! What’s she doing in a tree looking at us?"

"She’s probably asking herself a similar question," Glen replied.

"Look, what is going on?" the bewildered Clifford asked, shaking his head.

"Well, don’t you know, Clifford? All us teachers have been forced by the principal to investigate whether or not birds exist!"

"Oh. That’s weird, Glen, I’m sure I saw a whole flock of seagulls in the sky as we walked down here!"

Glen laughed. "Oh, come on, Clifford! Seagulls aren’t birds!"

"They are too birds, Glen! Why do you think they have wings and beaks?"

Glen thought for a moment. "And you said nothing on the way up?"

"I didn’t know that you were looking for birds!"

"That blasted dog!" Glen sighed. "Ever since he was made principal an hour ago, he’s been causing havoc."

"And, as my good friend Glen explained to me less than five hours ago," Clifford alerted the rest of the teaching staff that afternoon, "the principal needlessly had us teachers investigating whether or not birds exist, when he knew very well that seagulls are birds!"

"Here, here," the teachers said amongst themselves.

"Did you know," Glen interrupted, "that our new principal, Sparky the Spaniel, has already paid for the implementation of nineteen safe injecting rooms in the school’s canteen alone? To add to that, he’s apparently donating seventy percent of the schools funds to Franklin and Franklins, the second wealthiest law firm in the Southern Hemisphere, next to Monster and Monsters, which isn’t really a law firm, but a pizza parlour! I tell you, folks, the school will be ruined at this rate!"

In came a lawyer from Franklin and Franklins. He had been hiding there for a while but chose this opportunity to comment. "Actually, the school is already bankrupt. Sparky the dog has already terminated your employment. And that goes for everyone!"

There was much unrest amongst the teachers. "Does this mean we’re all out on our arses?" asked more than three of them.

"Well, to be exactly precise, teachers, the principal pedigree has evicted you all from your homes. Trust me; I’m a lawyer, and I know that school principals have ze power!"

"What?" Sam yelled as he strolled through the door. "I don’t cook no more?"

"I’m afraid not, Sam, old buddy, old pal," sighed Clifford.

"That blasted dog ruins everything!" Mr Benjamin Hennald, a teacher mind you, roared as he slammed his fist on the table. "I say we burn the boy!"

Every teacher, and I mean every teacher agreed that they must punish the principal. Sparky the spaniel was in for a shock!

"We’ll lure the dog into a false sense of security," Glen smiled. "Then he’ll see what it’s like to be put in prison for speeding!"

The teachers all knew about Glen’s shady past so they cleverly said nothing.

Percy had visited his career counsellor, Miss Vanderbilt, later that afternoon; after inserting his details into a machine, she gave him an egg.

"Percy! I have your details here, and I can safely say, without fear of contradiction, that the ideal career for you is…a secret agent!" she informed him, and put down the print-out.

"A secret agent?" asked Percy in confusion. "What brings you to that conclusion?"

"Hurry up, Percy. There is a mission already laid out for you," she explained to him, and through the door came Senior Idiato.

"Percy!" Senior Idiato urged. "The evil Lord of the Peanuts is organising a huge, huge problem, at this very school! We need you, Percy, to put an end to this debauchery."

"But how?" Percy asked him. "I am only small."

"I’ll tell you what you can do. Here," he said, passing him a banana peel. "Percy; all you need to do is drop the banana peel on the ground. But there’s a catch!"

"Oh, dear!" gasped Miss Vanderbilt.

"Percy," Senior Idiato grinned, "This banana peel must be planted near the school’s cricket nets, where it is written on the ground; Please back in trucks."

"Sure thing," Percy smiled. "I know where that is."

"Well what are you waiting for?" Senior Idiato asked impatiently. "Go!"

Percy ran out of the office, banana in hand.

"I know he means well," Miss Vanderbilt told Senior Idiato, "but he still gives the impression that…"

"He won’t fail," Senior Idiato grinned.

The teachers were ready to roll…over the dog in a laundry mobile that is! Ha, ha, ha, ha ha, ha, ha! That was the plan anyway. Sparky the Spaniel wouldn’t be able to resist the health insurance package that they left on the cricket pitch, and then, voom! Splattered over the pitch like a well placed pooch.

"This will teach that…that principal!" Glen sneered.

"Yes, probably," Clifford agreed. "I once made my dog go to a series of twelve dog training lessons, and afterwards, all I got was him crapping on the stove so it’d be absorbed into the atmosphere."

Glen didn’t reply, but he did look at Clifford as if he was a complete idiot.

Well, they weren’t wasting any time, and neither was Sparky. The happy little dog wagged his tail and approached the health insurance package, licking his licks. Yum!

Only thing was, Percy had already placed the banana peel on the Please back in trucks sign. So when the teachers, in particular Mrs Querty who was driving the laundry mobile, saw a banana on the ground, they were mortified!

"What do these people take this school for? A…banana peel farm?" the furious Sam shouted. He picked up the peel. By this time, Sparky the spaniel had already digested the whole health insurance package and trotted away.

"No!" Glen shouted. "NO!"

"None of us really cared about the principal, did we?" Clifford asked them. They all shook their heads.

"What…" Glen cried. "No, I cannot accept that! I will not accept that! Who’s responsible for that banana peel?"

Nobody knew, and Percy was now back in the career room.

"Percy…did you put an end to The Lord of the Peanuts?" they asked.

"Yes, I think so!"

"Well, I think not," Senior Idiato sighed. "Percy, it’s common knowledge that you just stopped a seriously good educator movement. Idiot! Keep the dog if you want him so much," he snorted, and shoved the school principal in his face.

"Hello, boy!" Percy giggled. "Who’s a good boy, then?" The dog licked him.

"Now, get out!" Senior Idiato yelled. Percy had finally been expelled! He was freed! Or…was he?

"Wow! We sure are on the open road, Sparky," Percy said to his new best friend, his new dog. They had trekked all the way from his ex-school, across the highway, and now, were playing with a tennis ball that was found under a pile of sticks in the centre of a footprint.

"Bark!" barked Sparky, as he dropped the ball at Percy’s feet. The ball was picked up and thrown as far as little Percy could throw it.

"Go, boy!" Percy shouted. He loved his new dog. "Fetch!" And of course, the dog did so, and dropped the ball once again at his master’s feet.

"Good boy!" Percy smiled.

Some people are stupid. Silly even. Percy is one of those people. People that just do things without even thinking. Just because it seems like a good idea at the time. How often have you heard that excuse? Heaps! Why did you burgle that convenience store? It seemed like a good idea at the time. Why did you decide that Kmart was the perfect place to bury an expensive tie? Because it seemed like a good idea at the time. Why did you spend years and years, perfecting a robot that can understand five word commands and go fishing for you, only to throw a brick at it, making it explode? Because it seemed like a good idea at the time. Well, I never!

But Percy, he thought that it would be a good idea to pick up the tennis ball, and although the simple act of throwing it was going so well, with splendid results, he decided to destroy the harmonious flow of things, by actually kicking the tennis ball! Needless to say, it ended in disaster.

"Fetch, Sparky, fetch!" Percy yelled out. But, the tennis ball landed inside the boot of a car, a boot that was open because there was an armchair in it. Oh no, Percy thought. "Don’t fetch, boy! Don’t fetch!"

But it was too late. Sparky was already in the boot of the car, wagging his tail in the distance. Percy was distraught.

His way of bettering the situation was to simply chase the car. Because, as before, it seemed like a good idea at the time.

"Mother Trobbe," Father Trobbe asked his wife in the car, "there is a boy in the very distant distance chasing this car!"

"Oh, Father Trobbe," she sighed. "That’s just your beard talking."

"I have no beard!" he roared. "It’s just…pubic hair, on my chin."

"It’s a beard, Father Trobbe, and you know it!" she snapped.

Father Trobbe cried. "Okay, I admit it! I have a beard! Do you think I’m happy about it?" He slammed on the brakes of the car. "That boy is getting in this car, right now!"

"Who?" Mother Trobbe asked.

Matty Trobbe, in the backseat, called out to his mum. "Mother Trobbe? There’s a dog in the boot! In the chair!"

"I know, Matty Trobbe, I know," Mother Trobbe reassured him. "It’s coming with us to the hotel."

The Trobbe family was going on a holiday to Melbourne. They lived in Melbourne anyway, but staying in a hotel is so much fun!

Percy hurried over to the stationary station wagon. "I’m sorry, but my dog is in your car!" he told them urgently.

"We know!" Mother Trobbe told him.

"Hop in," Father Trobbe winked, and Matty Trobbe opened up the back door.

Percy climbed in. "So, um, hi!" Percy smiled as they started driving up the highway. "I’m Percy. Will my dog be safe in your boot?"

"Safer than safe!" Father Trobbe insisted.

"That’s it!" Mother Trobbe shouted. "You’re going to go to the doctors! As soon as we leave our things at the hotel, I’m having your beard examined!"

"Oh, phooey!" Father Trobbe huffed.

Matty Trobbe had his arms crossed casually. He was obviously ignoring Percy. "Hi," Percy said to him. "What’s your name?"

Matty Trobbe slowly looked at Percy. "What?" he asked angrily.

"Uh, what’s your name?"
Matty Trobbe’s face lit up with a smile. "I’m Matty Trobbe! Are you Percy? I heard that it was. Want to be my friend?"

"Sure," Percy told him, and so it was. "How old are you?"
"I’m fourteen!" he said enthusiastically.

"So am…"

"And I like cars, aliens, rap music, strategy games, parties, basketball, horror movies, hot chips, guns, and Turkish delights!"

"Really?" Percy asked him. "Really?"

"Yes, and my favourite cars are…well, I’ll start from the seat covers and work my way up. Seat covers. Hmm. Well, it depends how you like them. Don’t take any notice of the seats in this car, Percy. If you really want some nice seat covers, you should definitely get some plastic ones. Now, people say I’m wrong about this, but just think! Plastic is a highly flexible substance when wet! So if your plastic seat covers are wet, the better they are! I wouldn’t go for the rubber ones personally, though throughout history, they have proved to be a favourite amongst the elderly community! I don’t know exactly why, maybe it’s because…" etc, went Matty Trobbe. Etcetera. You see, it was extremely boring what he was saying to Percy, and thankfully, it was taken with good humour. Percy liked having someone talk to him, it wasn’t a usual occurrence.

Finally, the Trobbe family and Percy stepped out of the car. After Percy got Sparky out of the boot, it became apparent that he was also being paid for to stay with them at the hotel. Fine, Percy thought, better than the streets.

After settling into the hotel room, Father and Mother Trobbe went to the room’s door. "I’m taking Farther Trobbe to the doctors. We’ll see why there is a beard on his chin," Mother Trobbe told Percy and Matty Trobbe.

"Am I going to die?" Father Trobbe cried.

"We…we’ll see what the doctor says," Mother Trobbe told him.

"Oh!" he groaned, and she dragged him out of the room.

"Hey, Percy!" Matty Trobbe called out. Percy looked all around, but he was nowhere to be seen. Until he poked his head out from behind the couch. "Have you ever thought about aliens?"

"Well, not really," replied Percy. He put Sparky the spaniel down and he ran off. He wouldn’t leave, he was a good boy.

"Are you insane?" Matty Trobbe yelled with a glare of insanity. "Aliens exist, and they’re right here on planet earth! Trust me, I’d know!"

Percy wanted to change the topic, and tell him all the adventures that he had just had. "Hey, Matty! Do you want to know what happened at my school? They put my information into a computer, and apparently I’m a secret agent!"

"Oh, really? It’s funny, something happened to me like that the other day, aliens exist!"

"What?"
"Oh, aliens. The other day, and this is no bullshit, there was this alien…I saw him a few nights ago at our house! It was bright green, ten million feet tall and said ‘BLAKKA BLAKKA" to me!"

"Really?" Percy replied. Wow, ten million feet tall! "Look, do you mind if I have a shower? I haven’t had a good rest in ages, either."

"Oh, no problem, friend," Matty Trobbe replied. Percy went searching and within a matter of seconds had found the shower. Although he didn’t have a change of clothes, he was more than happy to wear the same ones again. He went inside the shower room and shut the door. And locked it, he was very particular about his privacy. No one was going to see him naked.

He hopped in the shower and turned on the taps. Suddenly he heard the doorknob twisting. "Hey, Percy," he heard from outside. Oh, no! What did Matty Trobbe want?

"I’m having a shower, Matty!" Percy called out.

"Hey, Percy!" he called out, banging on the door.

"I’M HAVING A SHOWER!" Percy yelled out, in case Matty Trobbe couldn’t hear him.

But the thuds on the door just got louder, and louder. "HEY PERCY!" yelled Matty. "HEY PERCY!"

Percy was really worrying about this situation now. Just what could Matty Trobbe want that was so important? He turned off the shower. "Okay, Matty," he said irritably. "I’m coming."

But the thuds became louder and louder…in longer bursts, as if Matty Trobbe was charging at the door as hard as he could. "HEY, PERCY!" he kept yelling.

Percy stood out of the shower, and at that instant the door came bursting down. "What the hell?" Percy screamed. Matty was standing right there, and Percy was naked. As Percy grabbed the towel quickly and held it across his waste, Matty Trobbe yelled out again.

"Hey, Percy! Do you like rap music?"

Percy was horrified at this. "Is that why you broke down the door?"

"I love rap music, don’t you?" Matty Trobbe enthusiastically beamed. "Like, they say stuff like, hey mudda fudder, hey mudda fudder!"

"Look, I have to go now," Percy said dryly, grabbing his clothes while holding up the towel.

"Wait, there’s more to rap than you think!" Matty Trobbe called, and chased Percy out of the hotel. No, I’m serious, right down the escalator, out of the reception.

"What on earth does this guy want?" Percy asked himself. "I don’t like rap music!" It was cold outside, especially since he was only wearing a towel around his waste. Needless to say, cars tooted their horns as they drove past. Percy didn’t look back yet, he just ran as fast as he could, away from the hotel. Finally, as he was out of breath, he stopped and turned around.

"Hey, Percy!" shouted Matty Trobbe from only a few metres behind him.

"Agh!" Percy shouted in alarm, and sprinted away. Around the corner, into another street, and eventually into Melbourne’s Art gallery. His half-nakedness fitted in well to the general artistic atmosphere and no one said anything. Percy posed as a statue, next to a few other, uh, naked ones.

The doors of the art gallery burst open, and there stood Matty Trobbe! "Hey, Percy!" he yelled out. The gallery visitors were not impressed.

But Percy continued to pose as a statue. That, by the way, had meant him dropping his towel and throwing it out of the window first.

"Hey, Percy!" Matty Trobbe yelled and ran towards him.

"Oh, no!" Percy thought to himself. "Maybe if I stay posing like this, he’ll realise I’m a statue."

But Matty Trobbe was looking straight at his face and was half a metre away. "Hey, Percy! So, what do you think of hot chips? I love them. Some people don’t like them being really hot, but I do!"

Percy remained naked and still.

"Don’t you prefer chips so hot that they burn your tongue? I do, I like them really, really, really hot!"

Percy decided that remaining still was his best option. It’s like playing dead, and hoping the assailant goes away.

"Hot chips, hot chips! Oh, how I love hot chips, Percy! Percy?" he asked, looking at him. "Why are you standing still like that? Hello? Percy, wakey, wakey!" he said, and started tickling his stomach.

"Oh, just go away you sick weirdo!" Percy said, and ran behind a nearby statue. "What do you want?"

"Hey, Percy, do you like hot chips?" Matty Trobbe asked the naked and hiding Percy.

"If I tell you, will you go away?" Percy asked angrily.

"Oh, yeah, okay," Matty Trobbe replied.

"No, I don’t!" Percy screamed.

"What?" Matty Trobbe cried, and ran towards Percy. "Why not?"

Percy was terrified and ran away from him.

"Hey, Percy…" Matt Trobbe said as he hurried after him. Percy had climbed the gallery stairs, and was hiding at the end. A dead-end, oh no!

"Please, just leave me alone!" Percy cried.

"Why don’t you like hot chips," Matty Trobbe asked quietly, slowly stepping towards him.

"I, just don’t like them burning my tongue…" Percy shivered. He backed towards the window.

"Why not?" Matty Trobbe asked, cornering him. "Hey, Percy, why don’t you like chips burning your tongue?"

Percy, with Matty within inches of his naked body, realised that resistance was futile. "I just don’t, that’s why!" Percy yelled as he opened out the window and jumped out.

"Weirdo," Matty Trobbe huffed and walked down the stairs, out of the art gallery. Percy meanwhile had really hurt himself. He had fallen a considerable height, onto the concrete. I would say that he had broken his leg. And, on the way down, luckily, he had fainted so the leg didn’t hurt as much.

When he came to, it was very dark. Probably some time in the middle of the night. He was still naked, and his leg really hurt. But, realising the urgency of the situation, he dragged himself over to the towel that he had dropped out of another window. It was here were he saw a lonesome lunchbox, right there. And what’s more, there were three gangster-looking people.

"It’s the end of the line, lunchbox," one of them said. Percy dragged his broken leg and himself behind a bin and hid.

"Not so fast," came a beautiful voice from above. Percy recognised the voice, very much so. Her.

What dress fashion, Percy thought. She was wearing a cat-woman outfit, or sort of. It wasn’t black though, it was light blue with green stockings.

"You’re not touching that lunchbox!" she yelled at them. They looked at her, laughed, and stood on it.

"You bastards!" she screamed, and leapt up. She kicked each of the three gangsters in the head with one swipe of the foot.

"You’ll pay for that, missy," one of them sneered, head-locking her from behind. She struggled but just couldn’t get out of their grasp.

"What…"Percy thought to himself, "are they…hurting that lady?"

Percy tried to stand up, but his leg bent in the wrong direction. He collapsed. One of the gangsters punched her in the stomach. This was where Percy actually knew that failure was no longer fun. He took hold of the bin he was hiding behind, and off the ground he grabbed the lid of a drain.

Then, he came from behind the three gangster/arseholes, and hammered one of them with the corner of the drain lid, right in the ear. The ear of the guy who punched the beautiful lady.

Blood gushed out of his ear and he fell to the ground, unconscious.

"What the hell?" asked another one, as he held the lady down as the other one attempted to do something extremely unorthodox.

Percy saw this and despite his broken leg, he ran over to a street lamp, heaved it down, dragged the pole over and dropped it on the face of the gangster who was holding her down. More blood.

But just as he did that, he heard the lady scream. He didn’t know why she did, but anyway, he picked up a nearby brick, and slammed it over the man’s head. He dropped to the ground, more blood.

Percy now looked at what he had done. It seemed that these men were, in fact…dead.

"That was pretty harsh," the lady said to him. Percy blushed as she turned to him. "Oh, it’s…you! Why…are you naked?"

Percy backed into the corner, took the towel, and put it over his face. "Don’t look at me!" he yelled. "Don’t look at me!"

She came forward and took hold of his leg. "Oh, no!" she gasped. "What happened to your leg? It’s broken!"
Percy was so scared, he was silent.

"Here, let me take you to my place," she said, and lifted him up. Percy fainted in fear.

When he woke up, he had been clothed, and that lady was at the foot of the bed he was sleeping in.
"Are you feeling better?" she asked, and touched his forehead. Percy passed out again. "Why do you keep doing that?" she sighed, and walked out of the room.

When Percy awoke, there was nobody in the room with him. Phew! He climbed out, and struggled down the stairs of this unknown place. There she was! Percy’s heart leapt. He couldn’t stay here, he knew that for sure. The beautiful lady was in the kitchen, eating noodles and listening to Abba songs on the radio.

Percy liked Abba but still, he crept out of the house without here knowing, even moving out of the door without being heard.

Thank god, Percy thought. There were several grown men racing wheelchairs down the suburban street.

"Come on, Barry, come on!" yelled one guy.

As each man crossed the finish line, they all slammed on the brakes and skidded in different directions. One towards the now clothed Percy.

"Hey, kid, need a wheelchair?" he asked Percy.

"I sure do!" Percy smiled. It was gladly given to him, and once Percy had learned how to control it, he wheeled himself away as fast as he could, into the distance.

"Here boy!" Percy called out, but alas, the dog was in the custody of the Trobbe family. After wheeling his chair into the sunset, it was now pretty dark. Up ahead was a castle, and Percy really needed to go to the toilet.

He wheeled himself to the said castle and knocked. "Hello? Is anyone there?"

The door opened and the Lord of the Peanuts opened it. "I’ve been expecting you, Leroy," he smirked.

"I’m afraid that you are mistaken," Percy responded. "Why, I am little Percy."

"Boy! Where did you come from?"

"College," Percy told him. "In Melbourne."

"All the way in Melbourne? For heaven’s sake!"

"Tell me about it. By the time I got here it was dark."

"You are tired, boy, therefore you must sleep!" The Lord of the Peanuts commanded, and pointed inside.

Percy wheeled himself into the castle and The Lord of the Peanuts pointed to another, vacant, wheelchair.

"Come on," the Lord of the Peanuts commanded. "Sleep on that wheelchair!"

"Oh, you!" Percy laughed.

"No, I mean it!" the Lord of the Peanuts commanded. "Up! You’re tired, boy! You must sleep!"

"Can’t I just go to your toilet?" Percy asked.

"Not until you have slept!"

"Can’t I just sleep in my own wheelchair?"

"Fine, go to the toilet, boy. It’s eighth door on the left."

Percy slowly stood up out of his wheelchair. The Lord of the Peanuts then realised that Percy’s leg was broken! "Why, you are injured!" he gasped as his worm-like moustache twisted slightly. "You must be attended to!" He picked Percy up in his arms and ran him to the courtroom where a hospital bed lay awaiting.

"Listen, boy, this is going to hurt you! You as a person, you as a thing, but more important, you as a five-fingered member of god’s family!"

"Aw, shucks," Percy blushed.

The Lord of the Peanuts examined Percy’s leg with his very own vision causers. "Off with your leg!" he laughed, and somehow unthreaded it without Percy feeling a great deal of pain.

And so, the transformation took place. Percy had a peg-leg put in his leg’s place, and a hook put on his hand for good measure.

"Do you like paper aeroplanes?" the Lord of the Peanuts asked him.

"Well, sure, like every other red blooded Australian teenager," Percy told him.

"Well, take a good look at this one!" he laughed and carefully thrust it into airborne territory. Percy took such a good look that it hit him, right in his eye.

"Ouchy wouchies!" Percy cried.

"And finally, the eye patch! Percy, you have two options. To either become a nude model for a private school, or to become a pirate! Can you say hi ho silver boy? Can you?"

"I’ll give it a shot," the ever-curious Percy told him. "But I really have to go to the toilet." Leaning on his peg-leg, Percy started dancing on the spot.

The Lord of the Peanuts was amazed. "Where on earth did this cheeriness come from? It’s great!"

"Well," Percy said under his breath as he jigged. "To be quite honest, count-looking guy, I really need to go to the toilet. Dancing helps but it won’t last forever. I’m afraid I must leave to the toilet."

"And you’ll keep dancing if you don’t?" the Lord of the Peanuts pondered.

"Yes," Percy jigged.

"This is an interesting development," the Lord of the Peanuts laughed, as the lighting struck outside. "Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! Do you get it, boy?"

"Yes I do," Percy replied. "Yes I do."

"Come one, come all! See the magnificent dancing pirate!" the Lord of the Peanuts shouted outside the castle to passers-by.

Percy’s make-up artist was putting lipstick on him, and then he was pushed onto stage. He was really busting, and as a result, his dancing was top-notch. Through his uncut left eye he could see that there was quite an audience, and also that the Lord of the Peanuts had a pretty large theatre too.

And he danced, oh how he danced. And the audience cheered! And while this was all well and good, Percy was still busting to go.

The music was aptly chosen by the Lord of the Peanuts, such titles as "Singing in the rain," "Rain drops keep falling on my head" and Paul McCartney’s "Waterfalls".

But then, the Lord of the Peanuts himself ran onto the stage and urinated all over it! Percy just let it all go, flooding the stage. As he did so, his dancing slowly came to a halt.

"Idiot boy!" the Lord of the Peanuts cried. "This audience came to see three hours of dancing, and by golly, they’re going to see some!"

"But I can’t," Percy told him, waving his hook at him.

"Then it’s the pirate life for you, boy!" the curtain shut as fast as it opened. Percy was given a crew and the next morning set sail into the deep blue sea.

Percy’s tale at sea went like this: he may have looked like a pirate, but the other four on the ship regarded him as a cabin boy. "You have to work your way up the ranks," they would say. They would also say, "get me some eggs from the cook." By an extraordinary coincidence, the cook was the newly fired Sam and he was glad that he could finally give Percy the comic strip based on the much fabled horticulture incident. After giving the other four ‘pirates’ their eggs, he read the comic. It went a little something like this…

But the three men, whose names were Kishan-an Indian pirate, Daffy- a good natured, unemployed Australian pirate, and Henry Frankston, an ex-cop pirate, grew extremely suspicious as they saw him reading the comic, mistaking it for a map, that they thought he wouldn’t read unless he was…a spy!

Percy was almost about to hop off the end of the wooden plank, when the ship came to a halt. Sam the cook was fishing, and he had either caught a snag, or a really large fish. It turned out that he had caught the real spy in question, who was scuba-diving at this location. The three men apologised from the bottom of their hearts and did this by building a relic on the nearest island they could find.

When they found an island, however, they found it hard to notice that there were but four extremely cosy-looking maple trees on the beach. Knowing that there were five people but only four trees, Sam, Kishan, Henry and Daffy abandoned Percy on ship…well, Percy got the message and sailed away by himself. He sailed away until night fell, and the ship eventually bumped into an island. Percy, feeling seasick, found an apple tree, snuggled up to it and fell asleep.

The next morning he awoke, and feeling hungry devoured a number of apples; all of them were red. No granny smiths, no sir, this was Tasmanian country and Percy was now, uh, there.

So you can imagine is horror when he looked behind the apple tree to find an evil, savage, aborigine! You know the kind: wearing hats with bells on them, stupid red and yellow outfits and pixie-shoes.

"Keep away from me!" Percy shouted. He never did like the Aboriginal people. They are bad: everyone knew that.

"Ho, ho, ho!" danced the balmy aborigine, waving his hands in the air. "Little one, the queen summons you! Thou art saucy, dear Percy, and thy carrot is in order!"

"Carrot?" Percy scorned.

"A reward! Legs thou shalt be refunded!" he laughed, pulling out a pipe and playing a jolly little jingle as he skipped along. Percy followed, although he didn’t trust aborigines.

Once at the Tasmanian, aboriginal castle, he noticed an army of them wearing knight’s gear. They all were clad in metal armour as their horses showed sudden interest in each other’s teeth.

"Thou shalt invade Torres Straight Island!" one of the knights yelled out. He may have been aboriginal, but he could still grow a Hitler-moustache when he wanted to.

"Sir gallant knight, how thou shalt thy?" asked one knight.

"Pardon?" he replied, this time in a French accent. "Thou art saucy, egg!"

Percy had had enough, why did he even bother following that bloody aborigine? They should stick to opening drawbridges as far as he was concerned.

That was too much for Percy. He had to ask that man: who, or what, was he? What did he want?
"Oi!" Percy yelled out. "What on earth did you say that for, you bloody Aboriginal person!

The man stopped singing and dancing, and as the bells stopped ringing he delivered his perfectly reasonable explanation.

Percy set sail on the vessel that afternoon. After a lot of talk, it turned out that none of those knights, nor the madman jester, were aborigines. Percy had become confused between them and ye olde Saxons, who he had never really liked. No, the truth as it turned out was that Aborigines were those brilliant people he used to see on the television.

With his heart finally at rest, and his leg mended by a wizard, he was ready to rock! But as his next destination was a supermarket, we could only pray for Percy. We could only pray.

His pen had for quite some time now been still. Ever since Roy Blanderman had used it a week ago to order a few crates of apples for his fruit shop, it’s use had become redundant. Now, I know what you’re thinking: how would a pen know or care, it’s not alive. Well, this is the reason-Roy Blanderman had bought this pen from a masked stranger off the street who was assured by him that the pen would enjoy a good home. But it obviously hadn’t!

Nonetheless, the apples and Percy made their way back to Victorian shores that morning. Roy waited eagerly for his apples, but was soon mortified.

"One hundred dollars? Are you crazy?" he shouted to the man who likes selling things at the docks.

"Don’t ask me, this is just my job, you know?" the man who likes selling things at the docks replied.

"But Safeway never has to pay that much for apples, why should I?" Roy Blanderman protested.

"Because these aren’t just any apples," the man who likes selling things at docks told him. "These are Tasmanian apples!"

"That does not justify the price," Roy huffed. "Really! I’m considering closing down my fruit shop, buddy!"

The man who likes selling things at the docks sighed. "Look, buddy, I’ll throw in this little boy with ‘em. How’s that?"

Roy shrugged. "I guess that’s worth it," and with that Percy was brought out of the vessel, in a separate crate.

"Well, boy?" Roy asked as he released him from inside the crate. "Will you work for me?"

"Yes I will," Percy said to him. "Yes, I will."

Percy wasn’t sure he liked this job description. According to Roy Blanderman, he was required to don a Safeway outfit and would be met, then, by someone who would tell him his mission. Not the usual job for someone working at a fruit shop, but then again, Percy’s career counsellor did advise for him to become a secret agent.

"Percy, just before you go," Roy asked him, "can you lend me your left shoe?"

"Sure, but why?" Percy asked him inquisitively.

"I don’t pay you to ask questions, small child! Give me your shoe!"

Percy did what he was commanded to and slipped off his left, black, shiny shoe. Roy snatched it from him, then held it casually in his right hand.

Percy watched him carefully, and yes, he did continue to hold that shoe for two, no, three minutes! But he didn’t seem to do anything with it. He hadn’t even looked at it! Percy reached out his hands to take it back but Roy responded by slapping them away. "No!" he yelled out.

"Roy, sir, I need that shoe to go to Safeway for your mission. You’re the one losing out, not me!"

"What?" Roy yelled.

"You want me to go to Safeway and complete some mission for you."

"What?" he yelled again.

"Aren’t I supposed to go to Safeway, meet up with someone and complete that mission?"

"What?" asked Roy angrily. "What?"

Percy gave up. "Should I go without my left shoe, then?" Percy asked impatiently. "I shouldn’t be so conspicuous, sir, if you don’t mind me saying so."

"What?" Roy yelled, repeatedly. "What, what, what?"

"What if someone comes up to me!"
"Go!" Roy suddenly snapped, throwing the shoe at Percy’s head.

"Ow!"

"Run boy!" Roy clapped. Percy slipped his shoe back on and ran outside. "This is an interesting development!" he sneered to himself. "If Percy can complete this mission, Safeway will be eating right out of my hands!" He peeled himself a potato and took a bite.

"First Safeway, then Neptune, then the world!" he chirped, just like a bird.

Safeway was thriving. Everyday, thousands of customers would pile up the groceries onto the checkout counters, and in exchange for them would leave a substantial amount of money. As Percy walked in through the back entrance and out of the staff door into the supermarket, no one asked any questions. He may have been young, they may never have seen him before, but he was wearing a Safeway uniform and that was good enough for them.

All little Percy knew was that there would be someone waiting for him, eager to divulge top secret information. And that someone would be waiting for him in the deli.

"What would you like, then, boy?" asked the man behind the deli counter.

"Some sliced ham, please," Percy told him. That was the password, and the man knew immediately, leaving all customers and taking Percy into the tinned lettuce section that no one ever contemplated visiting.

"Are you Percy?"
"Yes."

"I’m Bobby, but you can call me Bobbie. Percy, I’ll make this short but sweet. I am involved in an underground conspiracy to destroy Safeway. When I heard that your boss also hated Safeway, I had to help! Although, I must admit, my reasons for hating Safeway far outweigh his reason. Apple prices, really!" he scoffed.

"What’s your reason?" Percy asked.

"Safeway’s cat-litter poisoned my cat!" he emphatically accused. "Now I have to work here until I have enough money to sue them. Three years, buddy!"

"With all due respect, Bobbie," Percy said arrogantly, "You said that you’d keep this short and sweet, yet I see that you’re babbling on and on. Secondly, the password of sliced ham is a little too common…what if some unknowing person asked for some sliced ham?"

Bobbie was shocked. "You’re right! What on earth did I use that password for? Oh, stuff this, I don’t want to live any more!"

"No, it was healthy criticism," Percy quickly cut in. "Don’t think like that!"

"Okay, I won’t, Percy," Bobby laughed. "Now, here is your mission…"

Percy’s mission was to change the price tags. That’s right, Percy went along to every shelf, and I mean every one of them, and changed the prices. A can of Homebrand cola was priced at ten dollars, while a two-litre carton of milk was priced at a hefty sixty-eight dollars! Towards the end of the pricing scandal, Percy even went as far as changing the price of the almighty apples to six hundred and seventy-six dollars a kilogram!

"That’s that taken care of, then," the haggard little boy puffed.

Bobbie screwed his hair in fondness. "Well, I’m glad someone finally did that. You do realise, don’t you, that when customers see those prices, they won’t touch anything!"

"Yes, I am aware of that," Percy groaned.

Bobbie grabbed Percy by his wrist and twisted it. "I don’t much like the tone of your voice, Percy! You’re coming with me!" He took him over to his deli. "Percy, when you look at my deli, what do you see?"

"I see ham, bacon, breads, salami…"

"Well, I’ll tell you what I see," Bobbie said loudly. "I see cheese, Percy, and lots of it."

And he was right. There was quite a lot of cheese there.

"So what?" Percy wanted to know. "So what if there’s a lot of cheese there? How does it concern me?"

But suddenly there was an announcement over the entire supermarket. "Price check on this milk carton, aisle eight!"

Followed by "Price check on these chips, aisle two!"

Followed by "Price check on these onions, aisle four!"

Havoc would follow, thought Percy. He and Bobbie snooped around to the checkouts.

"Are you sure this milk is sixty-eight dollars?" the checkout girl asked an angry customer.

"I am sure!" the man yelled. "And I’m paying full price!"

"But, I’m telling you, it should only be two dollars eighty…"

But the man took sixty-eight dollars out of his wallet, jumped over the counter, opened up the cash register and shoved the cash inside. "Now leave us alone!"

The rest of the customers were similarly distressed, and payed the price they had originally seen.

"No, wait!" the checkout girl called out, but a hand went over her mouth.

"Quite, fool!" the manger of Safeway, Little Richard hushed. "Let them pay the marked price. The customer, after all, is always right!"

Percy and Bobbie were quite amazed.

"How…" Bobbie whispered. "That’s stupid! Safeway is still making profit…"

"It’s funny, isn’t it!" Percy smiled.

"I’m leaving! I hate Safeway and all of it’s customers!" Bobbie cried, and left the supermarket.

Percy was soon overcome by a large shadow. "You! You did this, didn’t you!" Little Richard glared at him.

"Well, I…" Percy started, but was lifted up in the air.

"You little nipper!" Little Richard laughed. "I don’t know where you came from…but thank you, from the bottom of my heart. If there’s anything in the world you want, anything at all…you just name it."

"Well, there is one thing…" Percy replied thoughtfully. "I’ve always…no, forget it," Percy teased, hoping for an even better present as a result of the psychology.

"Forget it?" Little Richard asked. "You got it!"

And from the next morning onwards, Percy was put behind aisle number three, where he would charge much, much more than full price for anything passed through. One question remained, however: what would Roy Blanderman do if he found out that Percy had not only failed his mission, but was on the opposing team?

One thing was for certain, though. Roy was going to be out of business one of these days, and he would want revenge.

"Say, how badly do you desire this apricot?" Frank Harm asked a nearby, elderly man. He was one of the few customers that still visited Roy Blanderman since Safeway had become such an international giant.

"I would like that apricot very much," the elderly man said with a wicked grin.

"Consider it yours!" Frank Harm smiled, and paid for it at the register. Roy Blanderman collected the money with high spirits.

"Thank you, kind sir," the old man said gratefully and gestured for the apricot. But too his horror, Frank Harm held it away!

"You want it, old timer?" he snarled. "You’ll have to catch me first!" And with that, he ran away.

"That man stole my apricot!" the seasoned man of a ripe old age cried to Roy.

"Well how do you think I feel?" scorned Roy. "I send my worker to an underground mission, and all I find is that their stock-prices skyrocketed!"

"I want my apricot!" the old man cried.

"You’re right," Roy frowned. "Revenge is the only way."

"Ten dollars, please," Percy asked behind the checkout.

"Oh, come on. Make it twelve dollars," the lady fussed.

"Alright," Percy sighed, taking her money and handing the packet of chewing gum to her. "Next, please," he called out.

"Just these apples, boy," said a man in a long trench coat, one that covered his face making it a generally uncomfortable outfit.

Percy put them on the scales, the apples weighed two and a half kilograms. "Eighty-seven dollars, please," Percy asked.

"Well, I hear that Blanderman’s fruit shop sells them for three dollars a kilo!" came a now familiar voice.

"Oh, no! It’s you!" Percy gasped.

Blanderman took off his trench coat. "You failed me, boy! I trusted you, you and I were so close…"

Percy took off his bow tie Safeway had supplied him with. "I’ve been a bad secret agent, I’m sorry!"

"Well sorry isn’t good enough!" Roy yelled.

Percy grinned-he was about to make a clever comment. "Well, good enough isn’t good enough!" he laughed.

Roy slapped him in the face. "That’s enough out of you, boy! Quiet, fool!" He then proceeded to tickle Percy’s stomach.

"Oh boy, that tickles!" Percy laughed.

"What on Earth?" the deranged Roy Blanderman asked him, and dragged Percy out from behind the check out. Out the store, and then next door to the paper shop.

"Eat it, boy!" Roy laughed, and hit him in the back.

"Shan’t!" Percy refused.

"Eat the paper, boy!" asked Roy once more.

"Shan’t!" Percy refused again.

"Damn, you never give up, do you?" Roy smiled. "You are to be commended, Percy me boy. I’m enrolling you at Bovine University. From then on, the decision is all yours."