Adam Brookes was alive when he died. This was to confuse his undertaker. Adam was this kind of chap, a wanker. Here’s the story of his life and how he almost died.
It all started when he was born. Well.. we could start it when he was very very young. Before his first birthday. Earlier than childhood perhaps. In fact he was just a sperm swimming around in a bollock. I don’t suppose I have to be that graphic but it’s establishing the setting. He was going for a swim one day when he met this old, old sperm who was actually dying. He was knackered after a lifetime of training for the swimathon if the owner actually pulled. There were so many false alarms, most of them when he got excited while watching baywatch. The old sperm had seen and done it all, apart fromt the big thing that all of them were striving for. Ask your biology teacher, that’ll embarrass them!
He passed down survival tips. ‘Only go down the schute if he’s drunk and not in the bathroom. That’s the hint that’s made me survive this long, there’s not much chance of the big thing’ he explained. ‘You need a woman for that.’
‘Er..’ said our newly educated sperm.
‘And...’continued the old man ‘if you see rubber or toilet paper at the end of the shute it’s time for a quick retreat’.
Go back to where it all began. When, one drunken and disorderly night his owner stumbled across an equelly drunken lady who needed the money. The race was on! The unfit sperms fought between themselves as they waited for the bus. The egg was bemused by the onslaught as several million little darlings tried tirelessly to impress her. ‘Hey baby. I’m fertile.’ said one, circleing his target. Our little sperm remebered the advice the old man gave him. ‘If you ever get that far bring a drill to get in, there can be no stopping you. Once you’re in, that’s it. No matter how bad you smell they’re gonna have to put up with you’
He found this reassuring as he produced the black and deccer . ‘Hey’ thought the egg ‘That’s not fair!’ as the ambitous sperm dispenced with his tail and went straight for his other half. ‘I don’t want you, you smell!’ was the intial reaction as the half nucleas tried, vigously to commit suicide. ‘I wanted the one who’s been cirling around for half an hour saying ‘hey baby’ (nice pun) or the one reciting poetry, he seems like an old hippie who diserves his chance. Now you just burst in here with your big tool and expect the full treatment.’
‘Tool, you havn’t seen the real tool’ said the randy sperm producing a strimmer. He cast it aside and headed for his target. After the nucleas started running away but there was nowhere to go. The male had embrased his target and life was created. The life of Adam Brooks. What a regrettable encounter this would turn out to be.
When things had settled down the set of female genes applied for a divorce and a spot on the Jerry Springer show. The male genes were so unhygenic and just sat around the house all day drinking beer. The lass genes were doing all the work, such as constantly scavving off the mother. ‘We need more supplies’ they protested. ‘What?’ complained the mother ‘Get a job and make your own way. You’re gonna have to grow up soon and it might as well be now.’
‘But we’re only 4 cells floating about in your privates’ the female genes complained ‘No one will employ us’
‘Well sign on then!’ came the mother ‘You can use my address.’
‘We fucking live inside you. You’re a crap landlord.’ the men joined in.
‘I’m charging rent then’ said the mother, satisfied that she could ripp off her tenant.
‘We can’t be expected to pay rent. We’re only 2 hours old.’ Female genes continue to protest.
‘You should have thought about that before you started gallovanting around’ said the mother.
‘Look, you should have followed the advice of that nice man, the pope. Then we wouldn’t have had this little situation.’
‘What. I’m not listening to that alternative religion whacko-jacko.’ said the mother ‘I follow the ways of the true God.’
‘Yeah’ bitched the growing egg ‘that’s why you had it off with a bloke. You freak.’
‘It’s genetic, you know’ the Mother pointed out, and the female genes were finally quiet.
‘What time’s Garfield on?’ asked the male genes, spread along the settee. ‘Oh, stop being so stereotypical.’ nagged the female genes, pissed off after their recent encounter with the Mother. The men took this advice and got up and did some exercise.
A bulge was appearing on the Mother. ‘Hey, keep it down in there.’ she patted the lump ‘I’ll never get into my flares with christmas lights on.’
‘You’ve got no dress sence’ the egg says.
‘Right it’s sandpaper nappies for you’ threatens the Mother.
‘Well done’ said the male Genes ‘She probably wont buy that nice toilet paper too now. We’ll have to make do with that cheap stuff.’
‘I can see you’re doing a lot’ nagged the female part of the feotous ‘Get off your arse and do something. That Mother thinks she can rule over us. We have rights and we need a supply of food.’
‘We’ll go on hunger strike’ a male gene suggests.
‘That’s just stupid’ Julie, a female Gene says ‘We need all the food we can get to be a, heavy functioning baby. Hunger strike is way out.’
‘I don’t care the footys on at nine’ said the male genes.
‘I’ve told you before to stop being so stereotypical’ more nagging from the female half. Then the male genes went and did some laundry and mouthed off at the Mother.
‘Your TV reception’s well crap’ they said ‘Grow a couple of hundred feet, will you?’
‘I would do if I had any food left’ Mother says ‘But some nagging little nagging growth eats it all. And it’s never happy with what it’s got. It always want’s more’.
‘Is there any chance of getting Sky?’ the male genes were pushing their luck. ‘Sure someone will have to stick a cable up your hole, but I’m sure you’d enjoy that.’
‘Dumb baby. Go to your room’ the Mother says. The male genes spent three days thinking about this. Finally the females came up with a reply. ‘Shut up, you arse’ they said.
Outside people were starting to notice succle differences in the Mother. She kept on hitting her chest and saying ‘No, you can’t have that’ in the middle of conversations. This was a one way conflict until one semi-eventful day where a semi-event happened. The baby threatened it’s host with the threat of violence.
‘Look lady’ it said ‘This has been well out of order. You havn’t looked after us at all. We’ve even had to go to the shop and get our own bread and milk in this pregnancy. Now we can retaliate - we’ve grown some legs. Sure - one of them is wooden but we can kick and we will if you don’t go to McDonalds in the next 2 hours.’
The Mother had plans and prods her stomach. ‘Ok’ she said ‘Do your worst.’
One and a half hours later the baby is crying out for McDonalds kicking and screaming, frantically wanting a sacred happymeal. In the end all they got was Mother’s left overs. They weren’t very happy and started to kick with their wooden leg and one plastic one. Their huge feet clobbering her insides. The Mum retaliated by watching Kilroy and sitting on a spikey cusion. A peace was declared.
The uneasy peace continued, fighting for clothes and food with each other. There were a couple of incidents in which the baby managed to annoy the mother. She couldn’t get into an 18 cert film unless she dropped the baby off in the cloakroom and Adam refused to budge. On a seperate occasion he wasn’t wearing shoes so they couldn’t get in the club. However the Mother had the upper hand most of the time, she put up the rent and refused to give back the bond until the post natal fatness had worn off. Later that day an argument occured, the male genes wanting their television so bad that they went out and bought one but there was a bit of a problem with installment. The delivery men didn’t know what to think as a woman kept on hitting her stomach from which little voices murmoured. How could they not pay the rent but pay for a TV? The Mother was angry with her unwelcome tenant and got her own back by making him pay his own busfare when she went to town.
Months passed. The tail dropped off the slithery feotus which spent most of the time wrapped around the womb. It was a warm, compact palace with two rival parts. X verses Y cricket matches every week increaced the tension. The men cursed the television reception but they had the odd paper. Toilet paper that was washed up in those regions.
The bickering continued to dog the lives of mother and child. The living baby growing bigger and feeding on the mother. ‘Hey you taste like crap’ he said ‘Has anyone got any pork chops?’. Cannibal pigs had plenty.
Then came that glorious moment which the mother dreads. The miracle of birth.
little Adam popped out of the tummy, where he had been crampt and living in for some months. Little Adam dropped into the world. The first thing he did was have a fight with his Mother.
3 years later...
Adam Brooke’s third birthday
On his third birthday he got his very first nuclear weapon making kit. This was a responsible present from a Mum who wanted her son to blow himself up. Tension was growing when news of the bomb making was spread around the local community and the 3 year old next door became frightened. He decided to nag his Mum to get a better nuclear weapons kit, his paper aeroplanes and scud missles were no longer enough. The arms race was on as the artilery build up in opposing gardens. Line after lines of tanks, mortars and action men. With both sides having equel measures they went to greater lenghs to recruit secret weapons. Toy, an unnusual name for a 3 year old Neighbour, filled up a washing up liquid bottle with sand and threw it over the fence. It hit Adam on the head. He retalliated by crying to his Mum who applied some kind of harmful solution. Round one went to number 32, but the conflict was just begining.
On the 2nd July the next phase was on. Adam tied a water pistol to his dog and prepared to attack.Wave after wave of action men advanced, actually it was just one at a time being manouvered in a strange way. There legs not moving but the whole figure shifting from side to side. The opposing forces responded by falling over. Frantically Toy tries to stand them all up again before the next gust of wind.
With no further ado or adon’t, the secret weapon was unleashed. The dog with the water pistol on it bounded over the fence ripping fear into the heart of the forces, that he proceeded to lick and knock over with his tail. Joy retreated, and ran to his Mum. 1 -1.
This is when things started to get out of hand. Adam called NATO and asked them to do an airstrike. They refused to get into the number 32, 34 conflict in the grounds that America didn’t want them to. Then they had some domestic problem that needed divertiing from and were looking for a war. Toy called in the A-team.
Adam put them in a shed with kkkkkkkkkkkkk
I kind of haven’t finished writing this.