"No problem!"

"I’m relying on you, Mensen!" his boss warned.

"No problem!"

He was handed a sack of potatoes and was soon journeying to the potato washer. Yes, Mensen enjoyed his job. Some don’t regard working at a potato factory as exciting, or dare I say romantic, but those people are idiots!

‘I’m relying on you, Mensen!’ echoed through his mind. In the past, he had made a few mistakes. For instance, a few days ago, he was being briefed on the tasks he was set to perform over the next week. The boss had told him that he had to transport a sack of potatoes to a chain of supermarkets, however, before the sentence could be finished, Mensen was hanging for dear life out of the factory window. The boss simply shook his head at him and asked "Oh, Mensen. When will you learn?"

And it must be asked, when would he learn? His new task was relatively simple; he merely had to wash a few potatoes.

"Oh, man!" he groaned to himself. "This potato bag is heavy!"

It was at this point that he discovered that his salvation lay a few yards ahead. A tricycle!

"Wow! Look at that tricycle!" he applauded.

After admiring the wheels for a few minutes he finally, and awkwardly, perched himself on the tiny seat and threw the sack of potatoes over his back.

"This way, I’m sure to reach the potato washing machine much faster!"

Too fast, it seemed. Those tricycles can move, and soon Mensen was rocketing down the factory like there was no tomorrow.

"Whoa!" he laughed, as potatoes spilt out of the sack.

Simon, a former Jack Russel, watched in amusement.

"Whoa-ho-ho-ho! Look out everyone!" Mensen laughed as he skidded over a stray potato, went flying off his tricycle and landed on someone’s head. "Whoa!"

"Mensen? What do you think you’re doing?" Simon asked.

"Just a bit of a slip up, you know…" Mensen giggled. "Quiet, fool!"

The boss arrived to see what the problem was. "Mensen, what have you done this time?

"I’ll tell you exactly what Mensen did!" accused Simon. "This mule here smashed through my window last night, in a drunken rage!"

"Is this true, Mensen?" asked his boss.

"I wasn’t even there!" Mensen protested. "How could I be there if I wasn’t even there?"

"But you wouldn’t have known if you were there or not, you were drunk!"

"But I didn’t touch any alcohol last night!"

"Maybe you did, but you were too drunk to remember!"

Mensen had to admit, they did have a point.

"So explain exactly what happened," the boss told Simon.

"Okay, I was in bed, and it was about 9 o’clock. Suddenly I heard, from out of my window, a voice that penetrated through my eardrums! It went…hullo!"

"That sounds like you, Mensen!" the boss exclaimed.

"Then," Simon continued, "before I could even realise who it was, the window came crushing down on me!"

"You’re a fraud!" Mensen denounced. "Go away, fraud!"

"I am not a fraud," Simon argued. "This monster here, in a drunken rage, burst through my window with a whisky bottle in hand, and then looked at my terrified face with a grin! And do you know what he did, sir?"

"What did he do?" asked the boss.

"He lifted the whisky bottle in the air, and upon shouting ‘hullo, boy!’, he hammered it over my head!"

"That’s impossible!" Mensen argued. "How can I leave my body?"

"You say sorry to Simon, right now!" commanded the boss.

"No, fool!" Mensen told him.

"What did you just call me?" the boss asked angrily.

"Nothing, I say nothing, boy!" Mensen laughed.

"That’s it, Mensen! You’d better come up with a good explanation for your actions, or else, you’re out of here!"

"Did I say you could talk?" Mensen chuckled. "No, fool!"

He would have to come up with a good explanation and fast.

Percy had only begun to leave the campus when he was kicked to the ground from the high-flying hyena herself, Yasmine!

"Percy, I think it’s time you and I joined a band!" she told him after swinging off the tree.

"You kicked me in the head!" Percy groaned. "Oh, wait a minute, I know you!"

"Of course you know me silly!" she laughed. "I’ve had enough of ‘The Lion King Theatre restaurant!’ Let’s join a band."

Percy was handed a rubber duckie.

"What am I supposed to do with this?"

"That’s going to be our lead singer!" Yasmine announced.

"What are you talking about," Percy wanted to know. "What are we going to be called, The Ducks?"
"No, we’re called Yasmine and the Ducks."

"Look, I really have to go. I’ve been given a place at Bovine University!" Percy said to her hastily.

Yasmine threw back her head and laughed.

"Percy, you don’t understand. I have it all sorted out! You and I will perform at all of the local churches, parishes and synagogues! Yasmine and the Ducks will become an international success! I’ll finally have enough money to sail away, and you’ll have enough money for a robot! And then, your robot will turn on you, and will start arresting people at suitcase stores! And nothing can stand in my way!" Yasmine turned to Percy and paused. "Unless…oh, no!"

"What’s wrong?" Percy asked.

"There’s something weird about this sock," she complained, pointing at the top of her foot. She hopped away, fiddling with her weird sock until she had eventually hopped out of sight.

"Wait, you forgot your rubber duckie!" Percy called out.

But it was no use. The only person to respond was a fat man with a brown eyebrow.

"I’ll pay ten thousand dollars for that rubber duckie!" the fat man told Percy, stretching his gut.

What a jolly good piece of luck! Ten thousand dollars would be quite handy!

"Why, yes, if what you’re saying is true, the rubber duckie is yours!"

"Meet me at this address," the fat man said, passing Percy a card.

"Would you like to take a seat?" the receptionist asked Percy.

His appointment must have been booked. Soon he was called into a room with the another fat man, this one with a grey eyebrow.

"Please, take a seat," he told Percy. Percy sat on one of the two chairs in front of the fat man’s desk.

"Duckie, would you like a seat too?" the fat man asked.

Percy said nothing.

"Put the duckie there!" the fat man shouted.

Percy placed the yellow rubber duckie on the chair.

"Now, what makes you want to work at a potato factory?" he asked the yellow bath toy.

The rubber duckie said nothing. Percy looked around him in confusion. Was this duckie for sale or not?

"Speak, duckie!" the fat man shouted. "Speak!"

But the duck remained silent.

"Sir…"

"There’s no need to say it boy, it’s quite obvious that this duck is not up for the position."

"But what..."

"There are many reasons why it would not be economically feasible to employ a rubber duckie at a potato factory," the fat man sighed. "Firstly, one must remember that a rubber duckie is an inanimate object."

"That’s true," Percy agreed.

"Therefore the ducks abilities are limited to a major extent. Then, we must recognise the amount of confusion a rubber duckie may cause as a result."

"Because," Percy added, "it’s not everyday you come across a rubber duckie in a potato factory."

"Enough! You are needed there, right away!" the fat man shouted and coughed out a hairball. "Oh, yeah! I needed that!"

"Down, boy!" commanded Mensen to his boss.

"I’m warning you, Mensen!" his boss cautioned him. "I may tolerate your tomfoolery, but most bosses wouldn’t!"

In response, Mensen took his boss in a headlock.

"Hullo, fool!" he growled with a smile on his face. Suddenly a small boy with firm earlobes entered the potato factory.

"Who are you?" asked the boss when he was released from Mensen’s arms.

"Why, I am Percy!"

Mensen pointed at the new arrival with a wicked smirk. "That’s your boy, boy!"

"What do you mean?" asked Simon. "Are you trying to tell me that it was he who broke through my window in drunken rage, delivering a blow to my head with a whisky bottle?"

"Yes, fool!" Mensen accused. "Take him away, boy!" he commanded his boss.

Without attempting a struggle, Percy was handcuffed and had almost been thrown out of the potato factory window when he said the magic words.

"Great. On my birthday, too!"

The boss set Percy free at that grievance and put his arm around him.

"It’s your birthday! Happy birthday, uh…"

"Percy…"

"Quiet, fool!" Mensen laughed.

"That’s no way to talk to a birthday boy!" the boss told him sternly. "How old are you now, Percy?"
"I’m fifteen today!" Percy announced.

The other potato factory workers gasped, except for Mensen who was gurgling.

"You’re fifteen?" Simon asked him quietly.

"Yes, is that a problem?" Percy asked.

"Don’t you know what happens these days when you turn fifteen?" asked the boss. "You get conscripted!"

"Conscripted? Into the army?" Percy asked. "I didn’t know there was a war on!"

"There’s always a war on at this time of year," the boss warned, shaking his head. "Every weekend…"

"The AFL!" Simon cried. "The government’s going to conscript you into the AFL!"

"Oh no! Not the AFL!" Percy gasped.

"Boy!" Mensen yelled.

"Australian Rules Football has some of the most brutal battles you’re ever likely to see…blood, guts, carnage… the referees are known to chew on the bones afterwards!" the boss murmured. "Percy, men that fight for the AFL do not come back the same. Now you can either join the AFL, or you can…flee!"

"Flee? I don’t know…I don’t think anyone’ll be able to find me in a potato factory. I didn’t even know that these places existed until the last few minutes."

"Hullo, boy!" Mensen cackled, delivering a blow to Percy’s neck. "You’re coming with me, fool!"

Oh, no! It turned out that Mensen was one of them! Mensen, in his spare time, was a judge at the Australian Football League’s tribunal!

"Please, don’t hit me…please, sir, don’t!" Percy whimpered, but with a happy-go-lucky smile, Mensen strategically elbowed Percy in the cheek.

"Take that, fool!"

Luckily, Simon hurled a potato at Mensen’s foot. While Mensen took the trouble to re-lick his dented shoe, Percy escaped, and parachuted out of the factory window. By the way, there is a perfectly reasonable explanation for Percy’s acquisition of the parachute; he found it inside a coke machine when he arrived at the potato factory.

Mensen waved his fist out of the window as Percy floated to safety.

"Did I say you could talk, boy? No, fool!"

The escape wasn’t necessarily a successful one. After his parachute landed in Sherbrooke Forest, Percy realised that he was in luck, with the intention of living in the forest until the AFL was overturned. What he didn’t realise was that every night saw the arrival of a group of middle aged, bald and naked men who would dance around campfires under the moon while worshipping the devil. Percy didn’t like this and neither did the police. The police arrived but, after weighing up the situation, decided that it would be easier to arrest Percy than to arrest a group of nude activists. So, it was off to the AFL with Percy!

Oh, me oh, my! Percy had been put into the Grand Final and he was going to die! It was Essendon versus Geelong, and needless to say, there promised to be bounteous bloodshed. Percy didn’t have a clue what team he had been put on. All he knew was that he wanted to get out.

"Is this the end, Percy?" he asked himself with a gulp.

The final quarter was drawing to a close. By now only two players had fully functional collarbones. Unfortunately Percy wasn’t one of these lucky men.

From the moment the first siren had sounded, Percy was attacked on all sides by viscous, testosterone-filled men that would not rest until he was twisted out of shape. He tried to keep away from that damn football, but it just kept following him! There was one occasion when he dared pick the ball up, however after seeing a particularly brutish man stampeding in his direction, Percy kicked the football as far away from him as he could.

But it didn’t matter. The assailant didn’t care if Percy had the ball or not, he was out to kill him! The man did irreparable damaged to Percy’s kneecaps, rearranged his rib cage and eye-gauged him a treat! Oh, the humanity!

All jokes aside, Percy was beaten quite badly and needed professional help. "I don’t wanna be a soldier, mamma, I don’t wanna die!" echoed through his bleeding mind. Yes, that was bleeding just like everything else. As the final siren went and the final undertaker had arrived, Percy had collapsed on the oval amidst the turmoil mixed with blood that stained the grass.

"Did I say you could talk? No, fool!" Mensen pointed with a happy face.

"Your honour," the lawyer argued, "my client received three mutated genes on that footy field, and he wants compensation."

"Hullo, boy!" Mensen greeted as Percy was brought in on a stretcher. "Thought you could get away!"

"Please, deal with my case!" interrupted the genetically modified mutant’s lawyer.

"Fool!" he yelled and ordered him out. "You will continue to play football until the battle is won, boy!"

"What battle?" asked the lawyer. Many people also joined in the protest. "All we’re saying is give peace a chance!"

"No, fool!" Mensen gurgled, and licked his show. "You’re frauds! Go away, boy! Get out of my sight, boy!"

The trials were over. Everyone was taken away, and no one was compensated, all because of Mensen!

Something had to be done about this troublemaker, and fast.

The next day Mensen’s reign of terror had already begun. The little gherkin had somehow found his way onto a new game show called ‘Flowers’. In this game show, contestants were required to pluck off the petals of the supplied flowers, which in turn revealed a question.

"Mensen, I believe that you work at a potato factory! How is that for you?" asked the host, Swampy Bombfire.

"Hullo!" Mensen replied.

"That’s great. Would you like to pluck the first petal?"

Mensen smiled. "No, fool!"

The host laughed. "That’s quite a personality you have there, Mensen!"

"Quiet, fool!" Mensen yelled. It was here that he crossed the line. He left his flowerbed and, after approaching Swampy with a gleeful smile, took the host’s wrist and twisted it. "Take that, boy!" he cackled.

"Ow! Stop it, it hurts!" Swampy Bombfire cried.

"Quiet, you!" Mensen told him sternly. Then, after another chuckle, said "Did I say that you could talk? No! Quiet, boy!"

Mensen was now straining his host’s wrist to dangerous extremes.

"Please, let me go! Let me go! For the love of god, let me go!" Swampy bellowed.

But Mensen just smiled and elbowed him in the head.

"Hullo, boy!" he chortled and pulled him over a nearby open window.

"Please, if you let go of me, I’ll let you win the car! The expensive car! Wouldn’t you like that, Mensen?" asked Swampy as he was held out of the window.

But "quiet, fool!" were the last words Swampy heard from him as he was released from Mensen’s grip.

Mensen hurried back to the centre stage, tripping on the step as he did. After getting up on his feet again, he spoke to the contestants.

"You’re mine now, fools!"

"We’re what?" they asked in confusion.

"Did I say you could talk? No, fools!" he yelled out, and as ever, a happy smile spread across his face. Enormous pleasure was being accumulated by this debauchery. Just when would Mensen’s reign of terror end?

Percy had been called to a meeting, consisting of the potato factory workers themselves, Simon and the boss.

"Percy and Simon. I have summoned you to this place to alert you of MENSEN! Just look at what I taped the other day!"

The boss switched on his new Video Recorder and showed exactly what was being aired on television the night before.

‘Keep going, boy!’ was heard on the television, as Percy and Simon watched Mensen, the self appointed host of Flowers, command his contestant to lick his shoes. They were almost licked to a perfect shine!

Percy watched, and like the other two, he realised that Mensen would not stop there.

"Therefore," the boss told them, "I have organised to meet Mensen at…"the boss started. Then, seeing it was raining outside, ran out of the door.

"What’s he doing?" Percy asked.

"I don’t know," Simon replied.

The boss came inside with a handful of saturated muffins.

"That’s the last time I stick muffins in the ground, using straws, and hoping that they will grow!"

"That explains everything," Simon smiled.

"Off to the playground!" the boss cheered.

"That boy had better be here," Mensen snorted. "I want quality sea-saw riding, that fool had better…oh! Hullo, fools!" he yelled as he saw Percy, Simon and the boss approaching.

"Thanks for coming!" the boss grinned. "All ready for the seesaw?"

"Just one thing, sir," Simon interrupted.

"What is it?" the boss asked abruptly. "I’ve almost got him!"

"Mensen, all I want is an apology."

"What for, boy?" Mensen wanted to know.

"Why did you smash my window in drunken rage and smash a whisky bottle over my head?"

"Quiet, fool!" Mensen yelled. "You’re slightly off your rocket, boy!"

"I am not, Mensen. I am not slightly off my rocket at all. I even have a hole in my window with your exact outline!"

"That’s impossible," Mensen argued. "How can one soul become another?"

"You know exactly how it can," Simon argued.

"Well, your argument loses merit, boy, when you say your window was smashed."

"Listen, Mensen. How do explain what the assailant said when he hit me over the head?"

"What did he say, boy?"

"Exactly! He said that very word. He said…BOY!"

"Quiet, fool!"

"Mensen!" the boss yelled. "Simon would not make up such a story. He wouldn’t, he just wouldn’t!"

"Do not underestimate the mind of this boy!" Mensen warned.

"You said it again!" Simon yelled, pointing at him.

"But it was Percy!" Mensen quickly rebutted.

Both Simon and the boss looked at the puzzled Percy.

"I didn’t," Percy told them. "What else can I say?"

"Quiet, fool," Mensen told Percy. "Did I say you could talk? No, I didn’t. Boy!"

"Percy, Mensen’s making some valid point here. Can you name more than one reason why we shouldn’t accuse you?"

"Because I wasn’t there," Percy told them.

"Okay, another reason?" asked Sam.

"Um, well,"

"No, he can’t!" Mensen yelled, taking Percy in a headlock. "Hullo, boy!" he yelled.

Just as he was doing this, Simon burst out into tears.

"Oh, Mensen, I’m sorry," he whimpered. "We were setting a trap for you…we were going to launch you into orbit using that see-saw. Now I realise that you have done nothing wrong. It was Percy!"

"It’s okay, fools!" Mensen laughed. "As long as I didn’t fall for the trap, it’s okay. Now, you must punish the real culprit. Boy!"

Percy was taken away his arms held by Simon and his legs by the boss.

"Let me go!" Percy whined. "Why does this always happen to me?"

But that was nothing. It turned out that Mensen had forgotten to take the brick off the other end of the see-saw, and Simon and the boss could only drop Percy to hold their hands over their eyes as they blocked out the sunlight.

"Bye, fools!"

Mensen had launched himself into orbit and was heard no more.

Percy hid behind a bus stop. He was also intending on catching the bus when it came, as Simon and the boss would surely want his blood once their sorrow had turned to anger. He would be blamed for Mensen’s idiocy, as if it was his fault that Mensen had catapulted himself into the sky.

Meanwhile there was a pair of earrings on the seat next to him.

"Hmm, I wonder what they are doing here," Percy asked himself and reached over to the moving earrings. They were attached to a fishing line, and guess who was at the other line? It was her!

But this time, Percy was not impressed. So she took out a tennis ball and began juggling them in front of him. Percy simply gave a yawn.

"I’ll show you," she said, and began to untie her shoelace. Percy simply crossed his arms and waited. She flung her loose shoe off her foot with a quick kick into the air, and caught it in her mouth! "Tada!"

But Percy had already stepped onto the bus in disinterest. She dropped her head in shame.

Percy took out his yearly Metcard ticket and inserted it into the Metcard machine. Percy and the driver both watched it, wondering why it was taking so long to be processed. After all, an average ticket was processed within two seconds, sometimes less!

"Ha, ha, ha!" the girl laughed. "Suck, Percy! Suck!" And that was the last time Percy saw her. ‘Twas a shame, but that’s just the way things go.

And anyway, Percy was getting worried about his ticket. It had been almost a minute now, and it was making some bizarre noises. No longer were beeps being emitted, but a strange grating sound.

"You’ve lost it there, buddy!" the Irish bus driver sighed. "Don’t think you’re getting it out now. Once it goes in…that’s it!"

"Really?" Percy asked.

"Oh yes. The machine’s already swallowed the ticket, now it’s digesting it."

"Really?"

"Ah, yes! Never seen anything like this before, kid. A monthly, was it?"

"No, a yearly."

"Oh, shit!" he laughed. The machine finally started to shut down, with a long, decreasing-in-volume beep.

"Oh, now you’ve done it!" the bus driver suddenly yelled, as the lights in the bus began flickering. "Your blasted ticket is shutting the entire bus down, you fool!"

"Really?" asked Percy. Before the driver could say "yes, really", the dashboard began filling up with chickens.

"Oh, bugger!" the bus driver swore. Chickens flooded through the floor, and eventually began to fill the entire bus.

"Back to my nuts," the old man sitting at the front of the bus continued. "They began as a packet I’d bought but are now something more..."

"Not now, old man!" the Irish bus driver said, just as a chicken went splat! right into his face. He turned to Percy. "That is IT!" he yelled. "Fine, you do it! You run the bus, and see how you like it!" Just at that, the bus driver threw the keys to Percy as he left the bus and ran away.

Percy was shocked. The chickens too began to flutter out of the door, yet the passengers were still reading newspapers and listening to walkmans.

"Yes, my nuts continue to impress, let me tell you!" the old man at the front of the bus told Percy. Seeing that he had become the driver, Percy disconnected the Metcard machine and began driving the bus.

"My computer isn’t anywhere as impressive as my nuts," the old man continued. "That piece of junk was trouble the moment I bought it."

"This is easy," Percy thought. The bus was relatively easy to drive, and the rules were simple. When you see someone at a bus stop, you stop and let him or her on. When you hear the buzzer sound, it means that someone has pressed the button and wants to get off the bus.

"My computer…ha! The screen doesn’t even qualify as a screen. It’s more like chocolate mousse if…" the old man paused, then pressed the buzzer before completed his sentence by saying "anything."

Percy stopped the bus.

"Are you going to get off the bus?" asked Percy.

"Back to my nuts. They are what I call the exact opposite of my computer. Reliable, packaged and sort of, well, not exactly chocolate mousse anyway."

Percy decided that the old man didn’t want to get off the bus so he began to drive the bus again.

The truth was, the old man simply loved pressing that button so much that after all these years of bus travel, he continuously would do it just to hear the sound. And what’s more, he always pressed the button just before completing a statement.

"My computer was bought off a man who told me that he was going to dump it. I told him no, I’ll buy it for three hundred and twenty-seven dollars. By Federico, that must have been the worst three hundred and twenty-seven dollars that I’ve ever…" he pressed the button and concluded with the word "spent!"

Percy once again stopped the bus. "Who pressed the buzzer. Was it you?" he asked the old man.

"My nuts are entering a nut festival!"

Percy just shut the door and continued driving.

"My computer will have to go," the old man complained. "Sure, they can be handy, they can process information like nobody’s business. But in mousse form, it’s just…", he paused, pressed the buzzer, and continued: "useless."

Percy could see the emerging pattern and skipped past the next bus stop. It was obvious that the old man was not going to get off the bus.

"Hey!" yelled a huge man at the back of the bus. "That was my stop, arsehole!"

Percy, realising his error, slammed on the brakes. The old man approached Percy, thumped him one and jumped off the bus. Then, sliding a pen from behind his ear, clicked it into the tyre. He stuck his rude finger up at Percy as the air hissed out from the wheel and he walked away.

"Great," Percy thought.

"My nuts are simply smashing!" the old man commented.

An agitated old lady put down her newspaper and gave a yelp. "Oh, no! The tyre’s not popped is it?"

"Well, I think it is," Percy said as he turned to her.

She ran of the bus and immediately tried to give the leaky wheel mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Of course, this did little good and she screamed again. "We’re done for! It’s no use! Run for it!" she cried and ran away.

"Weird," Percy told the old man.

"Who would have thought chocolate mousse," the old man replied.

Percy, realising that little could be done, started the bus again and continued driving. The old man’s tales of computers and nuts entertained him and, although at the sound of the continuous buzzer he had to stop the bus, he was quite used to the pattern. Maybe the bus driving life was for him after all!

Suddenly, as he thought that, a lorry sped in front of the leaky-tyred bus and then slammed on its brakes.

Percy gulped as the driver stepped out of his car with a CD player in his arms.

"You stuck your rude finger up at me, didn’t you, faggot!"

"I didn’t!"

"That’s it!" he screamed, and threw the CD player through the front window. Glass flew everywhere, Percy ducked and the passengers continued to read their newspapers.

Percy waited until the lorry had drove into the distance before starting the bus again. He was beginning to rethink the idea of a bus driving life.

"My nuts are waiting in that little bag at home, and just you wait, my boy, they’ll go down like a…" he paused, pressing the button, "storm!"

"Yes, I hope they do well," Percy told him. On this occasion, the fact that the buzzer had been pressed didn’t matter. He had to stop anyway because someone awaited him.

The passenger hopped on the bus and said:

"Could I please have a ticket thanks?"

"It’s okay," Percy said. "Just get on."

"What, I haven’t got any money!" the passenger argued.

"It’s okay, just get on. I don’t want your money, I’m just filling in for another driver."

"Well, no, I want a ticket!"

"Okay, here’s one!" Percy yelled hastily and gave him a two-hour ticket.

"No, I want a yearly ticket, buddy!"

"Well, we don’t have any!"

"Oh, really?" the passenger smiled, and took out a banana. "This is a hold up!"

Percy laughed. "Sure, mate."

"My computer is useless, completely and utterly useless!" the old man yelled.

"It will kill you, boy!"

"No it won’t!" Percy giggled. "It’s only a banana!"

The passenger laughed. "I guess you’re right. I suppose if I really wanted to hold up a bus, I should have brought a real gun, right?"

"Yeah, I think so!"

The passenger threw the banana out the window, but to Percy’s horror, it blew up a parked car!

"Whoops!" the passenger laughed.

Percy stopped the bus. Things were really getting out of control.

Then it all happened. The bus-boss owned that car, and he was furious.

"You will regret that!" he yelled as he ran to the bus.

"I’m really sorry, it wasn’t me, it was…"

"What’s your name? I don’t know that face!"

"Why, I am little Percy!"

"Well, you’re new," the bus-boss told him, "so I’ll let you off the hook this time. But one more slip up…and you’re out of here!’

The passengers continued reading and the old man continued bragging about his nuts, when the bus exploded again. Chickens were everywhere.

"That does it!" the bus-boss screamed. "Percy, yooooouuuuu’re fiiirrred!"

He sure was.

"Thanks for joining us," a fat, old, grey-haired man said to Percy. And he was right. Percy had accidentally joined a youth group.

"Oh, no problem," Percy told them. "Just glad to be on the team." The youth group had roughly ten other kids in it, all slightly younger than Percy. He looked at them!

"Now, I know that we’re usually…and I’ll admit this, we’re usually the kind of group that likes to have fun," the leader told his subjects. "We have sleep overs, we spill cordial, we kick basketballs into lights and we make disgusting rolls, sometimes with three layers. But today, it’s a bit more serious."

The group listened attentively.

"Last night, someone broke into our hall and stole all of our uniforms!"

"Yikesy!" someone yelled out.

"And so, we must track the thief down! I have been in touch with Mr Bobby Don’t, and together we realised where he is hiding! Outside the library! Come on troops, let’s get ‘em!"

And so Percy and the rest of the group followed the leader down to the local library. A man with a large, black coat on could be seen. He was inside his car licking an ice cream!

"Shh! He’s over there, troops!" the leader alerted them quietly. "New kid, sneak up on him!"

"Then what?" Percy asked.

"It doesn’t matter! Just bloody do it!"

So Percy snuck behind him. "Hey!" he said.

Just as he said that, the ice cream man grabbed hold of him, threw him into the car and drove off!

"No!" Percy yelled. The rest of the group pointed and laughed.

"I’ve got you now, sneaky!" the criminal laughed as he drove his new sedan.

"Let me go!"

"Okay."

Percy opened up the car door and stood outside. "Thanks, I’ll be okay from here."

"No worries," the criminal smiled. "Make sure you get home before dark!" he said, and drove away.

"Home," Percy thought. "What a concept." Percy was on cloud nine, metaphorically, and needed a job. Not for money…just for something to do. And in a typical coincidence, he had been left outside somewhere where he could do just this: there was a community radio station right where he had been dropped off. It had a sign on the front door which read- "Volunteers wanted: No pay!"

"No pay!" Percy thought. "Great!" You see, whenever he had got himself a job in the past, the boss never had really liked him because of the financial aspect. The boss has to pay it’s employees money every now and again, and therefore HATED Percy. In this case, however, this problem was all but eliminated. Or was it?

Percy decided to check it out, and stepped into the building.

"Welcome to 49T, Community Radio with a difference," the receptionist said to Percy.

"Yeah, uh, hi. Could I um, volunteer for a job or something?" Percy asked.

"We’ll see," the receptionist said and pointed to a nearby gnome. "What’s that?"

"A Gnome?"

"Correct, boy. What’s your name?"

"Why, I am little Percy," he told her.

"Well, Mr Thompson is in his office. Just tell him about the gnome, and he’ll tell you what to do."

"Thank you, very much!" Percy smiled. He got the job! He knocked and entered, saying the word ‘gnome’ as he entered.

"Ah! Boy, I’m glad you’ve chosen to work at this here, this 49T Community Radio station, the community radio station with a difference!"

"What’s the difference?" Percy asked.

"Don’t ask questions, boy!" he yelled. "Here!" He threw Percy a chainsaw. "In the garage, boy!"

"You haven’t met Mensen, have you?" Percy asked.

"Great guy…" Mr Thompson said, dreamily. "Now, into the garage!"

Percy looked at his chainsaw. "What am I supposed to do with this?"

"Can you just shut up do what I say, for once in your life?" Mr Thompson yelled angrily. He shoved Percy into the garage and locked him in there.

"Oh, no!" Percy thought. This wasn’t a radio station, it was an abattoir! There were dozens of cows in this garage with him, and he was expected to kill them with this chainsaw!

This was time for Percy to make a very important decision. To kill them and to be a good volunteer, or not to, and to be a bad volunteer!

Percy began to hear voices in his head.

"Do it, Percy! Mr Thompson will like you, and then you will be his favourite…person!" was heard on one side of the brain, and:

"No, Percy! Don’t do it! How would you like it if you were a cow? And you’ll get blood and milk all over you!"

Wow. Percy sure was in the middle of a dilemma, wasn’t he! When he looked next to him and could see an angel, saying "Don’t do it!"

He looked on the other side, but a bald man had quickly hurried out of the garage window. That meant that there was only one voice to obey. The angel’s.

Percy put down the chainsaw. The cows still looked at him with wide-open eyes

"You’ve done the right thing, boy," the angel said.

"I sure hope so," Percy laughed. The angel then took him by the throat. "What are you doing?" he asked.

The angel took the sheet off its head and revealed its true identity! It was his boss!

"Oh no!"

"I should have known you were too stupid to do this all by yourself!" the boss shouted angrily. "Why don’t you just leave, greenie! Go and preach at, oh, a high school, loser! Go! Here’s the card!" he yelled, and passed it to Percy.

"This is my old school," Percy pointed out.

"Out, greenie!" the boss yelled, and jumped on top of a cow, chasing him out of the building. "Out, boy!"

Percy ran and he ran, until soon he was at the gates of his old school.

Things had been different since he had left. Two principals had departed; Principal Rocky had left to pursue his creativity, and Principal Sparky was probably with the Trobbes. So would it be third-time lucky principal-wise?

With Principal Presty in charge, Percy thought so. He was a good man. He gladly accepted Percy into his school, allowing him to act as a substitute teacher without questioning his age. He was a fifteen year old teaching a class of fifteen-to-sixteen year olds. Strange circumstance, but of course, with Principal Presty, there was no worries in this regard.

Percy was ready to teach. He entered the class and as you would, he began to read out the role.

"It’s funny, all of these names are familiar!" he laughed. Someone threw a shoe at him.

"Percy, what are you doing here? We thought that you were dead!" a fellow student, Donaldo, asked.

"Yeah, I’m just working as a teacher," he said. "So, if you wouldn’t mind calling me Mr Percy, that would be great."

"Oh, you’re not serious!" Stav yelled. Stav Don Buolmwipe was not just a student; he was a bully, and had made sure Percy was lowered in the class-system as much as he could.

"Oh, I am serious!" Percy told them, sternly. "No one messes with this teacher, but no-one!"

Never seeing Percy be this assertive, the class was silent. They didn’t want to spark off this maniac, did they? But soon, the supposed fear wore off and they decided that Percy was an idiot.

"Now, your real teacher, Mr Sherbet is not here do to unforeseen circumstances. He just gave me a letter, telling me to teach you…maths, pages 80 to 31 in your maths books."

"This is science you moron!" Stav exploded. "What the hell do you think that you’re doing here? You’re our age for god’s sake! Get out! Get out!"

Percy had been given some training and was prepared for such an outburst. Singling out the offending student was the first step according to section three in the teacher’s manual- ‘Teaching for Dummies’.

"Stav Don Buolmwipe, get up and stand next to me!"

Bad move, Percy.

"Yes, sir," Stav obliged and did what he was told.

Percy was now standing next to the troublemaker. "Now, do you know why I have made you stand in front of the grade?" he asked.

"Yes, I do."

"Would you care to tell the class why?"

"Because you need a haircut?" Stav smiled.

"No, because…"

"Yeah! That’s why!" Stav roared in laughter, and the clock struck three. At that same moment, basically the whole class stampeded towards him with scissors, each student cutting of a considerable amount of hair off his head.

"No!" Percy yelled for an extended note. "Noooooooooooo!" ‘Teaching for Dummies’ didn’t cater for this problem and Percy was now truly on his own. Eventually each student returned to his seat and class continued as normal.

When Percy had recovered, he shook the access hair off his head. "I’d like to have less of that in the future, thankyou very much."

"Yes, Mr Percy!" the class all giggled.

"Now I’d like you to continue with your…maths, please."

"Yes, Mr Percy!"

"If you’ve got any questions, I’m reading my book at the front of the room."

And Percy pulled out ‘Teaching for Dummies’ and began chapter five: Dealing with a dork.

Meanwhile, the students began to devise a brilliant trap. Stav, the ringleader as always, took a carrot out of his lunchbox. Peeling it carefully, the carrot was soon bald.

"Fred, ask Percy a question for maths!" Stav insisted.

Fred was almost a friend to Percy, they had once seen each other at a shopping centre. And therefore the two of them held each other in a good regard.

"But I don’t need help," Fred replied.

"Just ask him anything, Fred! Do it you little fart, do it!"

"Okay, Stav. I don’t know why, but, okay." He put up his hand. "Mr Percy? Can you help me with this question please?"

"Sure, Fred," Percy said, putting down his book and approaching his friend. "What do you need help with?"
"Well, I want to know how to add 2x + 2x."

"Fred? You know how to do that!"

"Oh, yeah, I do!" Fred remembered. "Sorry, I forgot!"

"That’s alright," Percy told him, just as Stav had pulled his hand back after slipping the carrot into Percy’s pocket.

As Percy stood up to leave, there was a scream from Stav.

"You dirty bastard!" he yelled, pointing to Percy’s pocket.

"What is it now?" Percy wanted to know. "Stav, this better be good!"

"That’s it!" Stav warned. "I’m telling the computer technician about you!" And as soon as he said that, burst out of the door.

"Come back inside, Stav," Percy shouted, but Stav had already gone. "Alright class, back to work."

But before Percy could sit down, Stav had returned, and he had brought the computer technician with him.

"There he is!" Stav pointed, and the computer technician looked at Percy with hate-filled eyes. "He’s been sexually harassing us!"

Percy realised then that Stav was right. Percy had an erection!

"Your kind disgust me!" the computer technician grunted, and punched Percy in the face. "You dirty bastard, why I ought to…"

"Leave him be, Mr Gantt," came a voice at the front door. It was the coordinator, Mr Winterbottom. "The class has played a prank on our substitute teacher here."

The computer technician, now revealed as Mr Gantt, walked out of the room quickly without looking at anyone.

"Percy, can I have a word with you outside?" Mr Winterbottom asked. Percy left the room with him.

"Yes, sir?"

"Check your pocket."

Percy pulled a carrot out of his pocket. "What’s this?"

"That’s your erection" Mr Winterbottom sighed. "Who did this?"

"I don’t know."

"Who told Mr Gantt?"

"Stav Don Buolmwipe…"

"He did it," Mr Winterbottom snarled. "Percy, if you had read section 5 of ‘Teaching for Dummies,’ you would have been able to handle this correctly. But don’t you worry, I’ll make sure those kids leave you alone!"

"Oh, thankyou sir!"

"No, Percy, no need. You see it’s all in a day’s work for Mr Winterbottom.

The two of them re entered the classroom.

"Okay, you little shits!" Mr Winterbottom sneered. "This is my friend Percy, so you can all show a little respect, thank you very much!"

Percy looked at him in awe. How did he manage to keep the class so…so in line? Each student looked at the teacher attentively.

"I hear from Percy that one of you gave him an erection…is this true, Stav?"

Stav peeped up from behind the desk. "Yes, Mr Winterbottom."

"With a carrot?"

"Yes, Mr Winterbottom.

"Come up to the front, Stav," Mr Winterbottom smiled. Stav did what he was told, and Percy watched eagerly.

This was how to control a class.

"I’m sorry for misbehaving, sir," Stav apologised.

"Sorry? How dare you, shithead! You! You! You!!! You think you’re all that, don’t you, you punk-stirrer! I could kick your arse you piece of shit!"

"I’m sorry…"

"Pass me the hatchet from behind my desk, thanks, Percy!" Mr Winterbottom sung out.

Stav knew this teacher and therefore knew that nothing dangerous was going to happen. Or was it?

"You’ll pay for your insolence, Stav," Mr Winterbottom bellowed. He hacked the floor boards open until there was enough room to store one Stav Don Buolmwipe.

"Get in!" Mr Winterbottom yelled.

Stav didn’t argue and crawled into the floor. The rest of the students looked but said nothing.

"Put your hand there!"

Stav placed his hand right where Mr Winterbottom tapped his foot. Then, he placed the floorboard, not only on top of Stav, but on his hand! Mr Winterbottom had wedged Stav’s hand in between the floorboard!

"Ow! This really hurts!" Stav screamed.

"Should have thought of that before picking on my buddy, Percy, here!"

Percy shrugged. This wasn’t strictly necessary, really.

"Ow! Ow! Ow!"

"Shut up!" Mr Winterbottom yelled. "Percy! Stand on top of that floorboard!"

Percy reluctantly agreed. This guy was protecting him, after all.

"Now! What other students have been misbehaving?"

The other students crossed their fingers, hoping that they wouldn’t be picked.

"You! Fred!" Mr Winterbottom accused, pointing at the small, round, red headed friend of Percy’s.

"Yes, Mr Winterbottom?"

"You’re a friend of Percy’s, yet you never stood up for him in this classroom, did you?"

"Um," Fred whimpered, but it was no good. Mr Winterbottom picked him up by his shirt and took him outside.

There was now a silence. Percy was still standing on the floorboard and Stav was still screaming.

"Lay off him, Percy!" some students urged.

"Um, no, I have to respect…Mr Winterbottom’s wishes, thankyou."

"Ow! Ow!" Stav cried. "I’m sorry, Percy, I‘m sorry!"

Percy shrugged and continued to stand on top of the floorboard.

"Sorry, that’s it, we’re out of here!" the students all said, and opening the window, they one-by-one all escaped Percy’s classroom.

"Come back!" Percy yelled out, and stood off the floorboard to chase after them. He stopped, and realised that the screaming had stopped- Stav had climbed out of the floor.

"For God’s sake, Percy! We were just being students!" he scolded. "Remember, you were one only a few days ago!"

"Please, Mr Winterbottom told me to stand on that floorboard, so do it…uh…NOW!" he commanded, trying to be firm.

"Get stuffed you weak little loser, Percy. Look what you did to my hand, you arsehole!"

It was poring with blood. Percy tried to pass out but the feeling of guilt overwhelmed him.

"See you later, hope Mr Winterbottom isn’t too upset."

"Wait…" Percy told him abruptly. "I’m really sorry about your hand Stav…and Mr Winterbottom probably won’t be happy, when he sees you gone, so, I think I’d better leave with you."

"Sure, just get a move on!"

Then Percy remembered about his little friend, Fred. "Actually, you go ahead Stav. I’d better see if Fred’s okay, you know what I mean…"

"Whatever," Stav shrugged and climbed out of the window.

Percy undid his tie and loosened his collar, puffed out his chest and marched outside.

He looked around for his buddy, Fred. If Mr Winterbottom was hurting him, Percy was simply going to have to tell him to stop.

Due simply to the fact that Fred was being hung by the pants on the school’s flagpole, it seemed that yes, Mr Winterbottom was hurting him.

"Help me, Percy!" Fred cried.

"Percy! Get back on that floorboard you little turd!" Mr Winterbottom directed, angrily. "I’m doing this for you, you little fag!"

"Oh, I’m sorry…the students escaped…"

"Escaped! You…you shit!" he yelled, and let go of the rope. Fred fell violently to the courtyard ground.

"It’s just…I thought that I ought to tell you that…" Percy stuttered.

"Yes?"

"You should, that is I want you to…stop."

"I’ll kill you, Percy!" the tyrannous teacher roared, and fly-kicked Percy in the head. Percy was knocked unconscious.

"I should have known you were too weak to carry out simple instructions," Mr Winterbottom sneered, inside his office. "I knew that you were weak, but not that weak."

"Look, I appreciate you sticking up for me, I didn’t like the way the students treated me either," Percy assured him as he was turned over the fire. Fred was on a separate fire, with an apple in his mouth.

"Percy, you have no sense of appreciation, you’re just a loser, going nowhere, dying nowhere."

"Uh, this is really hot…"Percy told him.

"What was that? Assert yourself, arse brain!"

"Um, I meant, it, um hurts…"

"What? You #@%$*^& anal blanket, why can’t you just tell me to let you go?"

"Let me go!" Percy told him, a bit more firmly.

Mr Winterbottom laughed and untied Percy. No longer was he acting the part of a rotisserie chicken.

"Thankyou, sir," Percy said quietly. Fred was still being roasted.

"Now, I’ll show you how to be a real teacher," Mr Winterbottom said, and picking up the burning stick that Percy had been previously tied to, started to give quick, sharp pokes into Fred’s body.

"Now you have a try!" he laughed, and threw the stick to Percy.

Percy poked the stick into his friend’s body, softly. He heard Fred mumble "ooh!" under the apple in his mouth.

"Harder, Percy! Harder!"

Gradually Percy gave Fred quicker, harder stabs, each time, with Fred’s grunts becoming more painful to hear.

"You see, Percy! That’s your meter! The louder the grunt, the harder you stab!"

Percy continued to stab his buddy, and each time he rotated, Percy could see the sorrowful, hound-like eyes staring into his.

"Don’t let him stare at you like that, Percy, you piece of penis-cake! Stab him! Stab him! Stab him!!!"

Percy couldn’t handle the hound-like eyes and dropped the stick.

"You bastard," Mr Winterbottom quipped, glaring into Percy’s eyes in absolute hate. "You are shit. You know it and I know it."

Percy dropped his head in shame.

"Look, you’re dropping your head in shame now! What kind of a poof does that? Only you, faggot!"

Percy looked up at him.

"Don’t look at me you psycho!" Mr Winterbottom pointed. "I don’t want to be looked at by an infected imbecile, who had the homosexual tendencies of a convict, you frail, unremembered, busybody, Icelandic idiot!"

Percy stood up to him. "What about you, then?"

Mr Winterbottom stood on his toes and consequently towered over him. "What…" he growled.

"What about you, Mr Winterbottom? You go around the school, thinking that because you have been put in a position of power, that you have the right to kick everyone around."

Mr Winterbottom laughed. "Surely, you can do better than that, Percy!"

"I can picture it now. Poor little guy who got shit marks at school cause he can only play sport, but somehow ended up being a teacher because you used to go to this school!"

"Ouch, Percy," Mr Winterbottom laughed.

"Why the hell are you doing this you dickhead? Did I &^%$&(@# ask for you to do this? You think that you’re sticking up for me? Well, I don’t want you to do anything, okay! I didn’t want to cause my fellow students pain. They were right not to like me, I shouldn’t be teaching here, anyway, it’s just morons like you, who when they get upset, decide to expel me. I never did anything to provoke them, they just expelled me because they could!"

"Come on, now, Percy. You and I both know that is not true."

"You picked on Fred, why? Because you say he didn’t stick up for me. Well I don’t need you to @#$%^&* stick up for me, okay! So why don’t you stop manipulating everyone and start trying to actually teach some kids, or something! Just, @#$%^&* leave me alone!"

Mr Winterbottom wasn’t amused now. "I don’t manipulate ANYONE, Percy! It’s you who manipulate everyone!"

He grabbed Percy and forced him into a headlock. "Now, I like your style, Percy. That last outburst proves that you’re ready to be a teacher. But first things first…you’re going to march into Principal Presty’s office right now, and you are going to tell him that there is a school photo shoot that he is required to be in. Then you lead him into the this room, where I will shoot the gun as soon as he says cheese, get it?"

"You won’t get away with this, Mr Winterbottom!" Percy grumbled.

"Yes I WILL!" he snapped, and slapped Percy in the face. "Snap out of it, boy!"

Percy did snap out of it, and was ready at the teacher’s command. "Yes, Mr Winterbottom."

"Go!!!"

And so, Percy left Mr Winterbottom and his roasting friend, and proceeded to the principal’s office.

"Hello! Percy, how are you! Enjoying your new job, my boy?"

"Oh, yeah, it’s great, Principal Presty. Um, would you mind coming with me?"

"Sure," Principal Presty smiled and left the office with him. "What for?"

"Photos," Percy said both blankly and bluntly. "In Mr Winterbottom’s office."

"How lovely," Principal Presty smiled.

Mr Winterbottom had Percy wrapped around his fingers and Principal Presty didn’t even know it.

"So glad you could make it, Principal Presty!" Mr Winterbottom sneered as they entered the room. "Look at this scenario! Percy, you, me, Fred over there…" he said, pointing to the rotisserie offering.

"Yes, it’s a nice picture," Principal Presty agreed. "Percy here tells me you want to take a photograph!"

"Yes! Percy said that? Great! He’s right!" Mr Winterbottom laughed, and gave Percy a quick wink, who lowered his head in shame.

"Well, let’s do it!" Principal Presty smiled.

"Yes!" Mr Winterbottom giggled hysterically. "Yes, yes, yes!" He ran to the cupboard and took out a gun. Principal Presty waited in anticipation as he set up the tripod, attached the gun to it and loaded the bullets.

"You’re going to die, Principal Presty, and I will be principal! Then I will be unstoppable!" Mr Winterbottom laughed.

Principal Presty didn’t seem to hear that and, posing in front of the rotating Fred with an arm on Percy’s shoulder, gave a grin.

"Remember, big smile!" he said. Percy however was abashed, and dropped his head in shame. He knew exactly what he was doing…but how do you argue with a teacher?"

"And cheese!" Mr Winterbottom cackled, and FLASH! went the gun. A polaroid picture slid out from the top of the rifle.

"What!" Mr Winterbottom yelled. "What on earth happened to my gun?"

"What’s the matter," Principal Presty grinned. "Did you forget to adjust the lens?"

Of course, Percy now realised that Principal Presty was a principal, and therefore his power far outweighed Mr Winterbottom’s. Percy also realised that he had been an accessory in the attempted murder of his beloved principal and boss.

"You made me…you made me try to kill…I hate you, Mr Winterbottom!" Percy cried, and lunged at the teacher.

"Down boy!" Mr Winterbottom laughed, as Percy belted into his legs.

"I hate you! Anyone like you! You get some stupid idea in your head and somehow manipulate every one to follow it! Why doesn’t anyone realise that you’re insane, that you’re an idiot? Why didn’t I? I’ll kill you Adolf Hitler! You NAZI! @#$%^&* NAZI!"

"Oh, I’m Hitler am I? Resurrected? Well, what a news story this will be!" he laughed. "Little boy finds that Hitler wasn’t dead after all…he was just his teacher! Oh, what a lark! What a gag, what jape, what fun! That is rich. Well come on!" Mr Winterbottom yelled hysterically, picking up the gun. "Here’s a picture for the front page of the newspaper tomorrow!"

Percy watched silently as the teacher place his fingers across his upper-lip and took a photo. BANG! He fell to the ground.

Percy watched in astonishment. "Oh, no, I killed him!" he cried.

"No, you didn’t do anything," Principal Presty smiled as he put out the fire and untied Fred. "I guess the camera was more powerful than he thought!"

Percy shrugged and Principal Presty gave a wink.

"So where to now, Percy?" Principal Presty asked.

"I’ve got myself a job at the cheese factory, sir," Percy told him.

"Not teaching?"

"No," Percy sighed. "This was my first day. It’s quite obvious that I would be a hopeless teacher."

"Quite right!" Principal Presty laughed, and shook Percy’s hand. "Have a fun, Percy! Have a fun!"

"I will, Principal Presty," Percy grinned, and with that he picked up his carrot. "I’ll put this in the bin."

"Have a fun!" Principal Presty repeated.

Percy, not knowing how to respond this time, simply saluted his boss and left the school building.

"There’s something about that boy," Principal Presty pondered in admiration. "And it’s nothing to do with porridge."