I can tell what people are writing just
by listening to the faint sound the pen makes when it scratches
against the paper. It's the same with the sound of chalk squeaking
off blackboards and so on. It's a talent but I'm not sure it's all
that useful. It did get me on telly when I was a little boy though. I
was all the rage for a while. I was in advertisements for stationary
products and everything. You might remember me.
Things went really well until everyone
got a bit fed up seeing me do my thing over and over. The bookings
stopped coming in so my agent decided we should add a new element to
my routine. That's when my agent announced to the press that I could
tell what was written on a piece of paper just from listening to it
go through a photocopier. That wasn't true but he announced it and I
had to learn how to do it. I tried. I really did. But I couldn't. I
cried a lot though. 'Those tears won't earn us a bloody penny',
yelled my agent, 'now try again you pathetic little pansy'. My agent
was the pushy sort. Very pushy in fact. So pushy that he had pushed
to gain custody of me from my parents. And so pushy that he had
succeeded. I was at the pushy bastard's mercy. I wasn't a happy
child, despite the public adulation.
Anyway, I was booked to appear on some
primetime show that everyone used watch but no longer remembers. I
was stood there in front of a studio audience as a photocopier was
wheeled out. Then the host of the show wrote something on a piece of
paper and ran it through the copier. The copier started making noises
and I listened. I listened in the vain hope that I would somehow be
able to perform the trick. My agent was peering at me, mean eyed,
from the wings. The pressure was immense. I
was silently praying for divine intervention and some came but not in
the way I'd expected. You see, as I was stood there hoping for a
miracle, I realised that I'd heard the host's pen scratching against
the sheet of paper as he wrote on it before placing it in the copier.
I had heard what he had written! 'My wife doesn't understand me', I
shouted out as the photocopy appeared out the other side of the
machine. That was indeed what he had written and I was patted on the
back and got a big round of applause. The show then closed with the host inviting
his wife on stage to join us and serving her with divorce papers.
I was booked on many more shows after
that and could be found endorsing photocopiers and
divorce lawyers in magazines and all that. My agent was delighted
but, needles to say, this second wind of fame also abated. That's
when my agent started making a second round of untrue claims about my
abilities. My agent released a press statement that said I'd
developed the ability to tell what words were being projected by an
overhead projector just by listening to the transparency being placed
on the glass. This was utter bullshit. I hadn't a hope. My agent
didn't care though. He had me practising
every day. He roared and roared and roared at me and when I wept he
roared some more. 'Them sissy tears won't land us any juicy new
contracts you weak little fuck', he encouraged.
So, as I'm sure you've guessed, I ended
up blindfolded with my back to an overhead projector that was pointed
at a screen on some bloody show everyone loved watching but no longer
recalls. The host of the show placed a transparency on the overhead
projector's glass and a drum rolled. After a moment, the host asked
me what words were being projected behind me. I had no idea. No
fucking idea at all. But, I did have another idea. I had a really
good idea about what I could do and what I did was this: I screwed up
my face and began to sob. I began to sob and bawl and make bitter
tears roll down my little face. 'What's the matter kid?', asked the
concerned host and I answered him. I pointed to my agent who was
stood in the wings and I shouted out the words 'that man touched my
willy'.
Turned out that my tears earned me more
than a penny that day, the result being that I was awarded the entire
earnings made over the course of my career. I was also returned to
the care of my parents. As for my agent, he became penniless drunk.
He ended up on the streets and was eventually beaten to death by
vigilantes for being a nonce.
And so we have a happy ending to this
strange little tale that I invented and wrote in just over an hour
(excluding checking for typos) as a challenge to myself. Amn't I great?
There's more to me than just being able to tell what people are
writing from the sound of their pens. Oh, and there's one more thing
that I think I should add. You're probably wondering what words were
written on the transparency the telly host placed in the overhead
projector. Well, I'll tell you, ...and this is the best part. The
words on the transparency read: 'that man touched my willy'.
Seriously. What are the fuckin chances of that eh? Coincidence city!
