The Royble: The Greatest Story Ever Told Badly

  The next day they spent the day skiing or, in Alex’s case, watching MTV. After a tiring first day the lads went out for a pizza, and then retired back to the chalet early except for Matt who stayed out eating and drinking. Tim was irritable and when Matt came back waking him up at 3AM, he let him have it.

  “What the hell are you doing? It’s 3 in the morning.”

  “It’s like the hair bear bunch in here,” said Matt, oddly.

  This non-sequitur annoyed Tim even more.

  “For Roy’s sake!” And then Tim hit Matt, and a few punches were thrown back and forth.

  “That was like the Kentucky races,” said Matt.

  ***

  The lads spent the rest of the trip getting on each other's nerves, spending too much money, and, in Alex's case watching MTV.

  The only positive of the trip were 2 recruits for Roy’s army: Milko and Hendrich - two of Livigno’s top DJs. Both pledged their record playing abilities in the crusade against Rastas’s evil. At least that is what Tim, Matt and Alex decided they had said, when they had talked to them when drunk.

  ***

  After the disastrous skiing trip, the lads decided that the best way to strengthen their togetherness, was to have another holiday. Despite the fact that Livigno had resulted in a number of fights, they immediately organised another trip. This time they decided to stay closer to home, believing Roy’s powers to be stronger in the UK.

  Fortunately Roy had smiled on the lads, for Roy had sent Adrian into their midst. Adrian worked for the same company as Matt did, and Matt had made friends with him, although he was not sure why he had done so, since he did not really like him. He felt deep down that perhaps his friendship with Adrian was Roy’s bidding. Soon after befriending him Adrian mentioned the fact that his parents were both executives at Wright Brothers Funcamps, a company that ran several low-class holiday camps, and that they had worked for the organisation for over 20 years. Matt suggested that a holiday for him and his friends (including Adrian) would be a good idea. Adrian agreed, and his parents booked him 2 chalets at a discount rate. He was somewhat apprehensive about the trip, since any bad behaviour would reflect badly on his parents, but Matt convinced him that a group of young men at Wright Brothers were unlikely to behave as anything other than proper gentlemen.

  A few days before the trip Tim was watching Fish out of Marillion on television, when Roy spoke to him.

  “TIMOTHY!” Tim switched off the programme. He had seen it before anyway: it was a documentary that showed Fish going shopping in some supermarkets.

  “Yes Roy?”

  “DID YOU ENJOY YOUR HOLIDAY?”

  “Yeah it was great!”

  “DID EVERY ONE GET ON OK?”

  “Yes.”

  “OH TIMOTHY I KNOW WHEN YOU ARE LYING. I HEARD IT WAS A RUBBISH HOLIDAY.”

  “Well…”

  “DID YOU GO SKIING?”

  “Yes it was a skiing holiday.”

  “CAN I GO NEXT TIME?”

  Tim was shocked. Roy, the energy cloud, bag packer and supreme being was asking him, humble Tim, if he could go on holiday with him. He was overjoyed.

  “Well…y..yes. We’re going to Wright Brothers soon. Do you want to come?”

  “HOW MUCH WILL IT COST?”

  “Only about £50. One driving test for you!”

  “WELL, I’M A BIT SKINT…”

  “It will be brilliant. They have all sorts of entertainment, and cheap drinks.”

  “WELL, I WILL THINK ABOUT IT.”

  And Roy disappeared, and did not mention the trip again. As a result that night Tim felt a bit awkward when praying to Roy to help strengthen their movement, after the damage it suffered in Livigno.

  Despite the awkwardness, Tim still prayed. “Oh Roy with your beautiful face, please make Wright Brothers a good holiday, and thank you for the large amount of food I eat, especially for packing it into bags.” And Roy answered Tim's prayers and the Wright Brothers trip went ahead, even though Roy didn't go.

  So Tim, Alex, Matt, Adrian, Graham, Todd, Mungo, etc headed to Wright Brothers in a convoy of 3 Vauxhall Vivas. On arrival they went straight to their chalets and unpacked. Alex had packed one T shirt and a crate of beer. He liked to pack light, but usually forgot most things necessary for a trip. He borrowed what he could from Tim, who overpacked, bringing everything imaginable including 18 vests for one weekend.

  It was regarded as the done thing to get as drunk as possible, as soon as possible. So 2 hours after unpacking everyone was wasted, and Alex was probably the most far gone.

  “Well done for bringing the beer, Alex,” said Matt.

  “Yes, and a T shirt” added Tim.

  ***

  By 8PM they were all very very drunk, and so headed off to the Wright Brothers entertainment complex. On stage was a stand up comedian, Tim Bentley, and his backing band. Bentley did a comedy/singing routine that was very popular. In tonight's audience were a number of Wright Brothers regulars who had seen him several times, and considered his show the highlight of their stays. After a few jokes his act was flowing and the crowd were enjoying the show, with the exception of the lads’ table. The lads were singing and not paying attention to Bentley. So Bentley decided to make them part of his act.

  “Oi you lot where you from?”

  “Aylesbury,” said Matt.

  “I thought you were posh. Probably have your tea bags ironed eh?”

  “Can I play in your band?” replied Matt.

  “Yeah you’d like to play with my band wouldn’t you?” Bentley replied.

  “Yes, I’ve got all the tricks.”

  “Are you wearing a wig?” asked Tim.

  “You lot probably put wigs on your tea bags.”

  “Are you funn-y?” asked Ray-mond, Tim’s brother.

  “And what do you for a living?” Bentley asked Ray-mond.

  “I'm a seis-mologist. And what are you?”

  “I'm a comedian.”

  “But are you funn-y?” asked Ray-mond sarcastically.

  The exchange between Bentley and Ray-mond continued for some time. After the show Matt said “I think I got the better of old Wes Bentley.”

  “But did you?” asked Ray-mond sarcastically.

  “Yes I think so. And I'm a better guitarist than the one in his band.”

  “But are you?” said Ray-mond sarcastically.

  “Well I've got the experience.”

  “But have you?” replied Ray-mond sarcastically.

  “I can play better than you,” said Matt getting annoyed.

  “But can you?” demanded Ray-mond sarcastically.

  Tim had been watching Ray-mond all evening. He was wondering whether his own brother could be a disciple? It seemed too good to be true: that someone from his own family could be one of Roy's chosen ones. He called Roy, “Roy?”

  “YES?”

  “I think I may have found another.”

  “ANOTHER WHAT?”

  “Disciple!”

  “WHAT?” There was a pause, “OH YEAH. THAT'S NICE. ANYTHING ELSE?”

  “Well he's my brother.”

  “IS HE HEAVY?”

  “Yes he’s very heavy. He's a seismologist.”

  “I SEE.”

  “Well?”

  “WHAT?”

  “Is he a disciple?”

  “ONLY YOU CAN DECIDE. I'M ON THE TOILET” and with that Roy disappeared from the phone.

  Book of Fastest Guitarists, Chapter 9 Verse 3

  And Matt did say unto Roy, “Oh great and powerful Roy. Am I the best guitarist?”

  And Roy did laugh mightily for he knew that Steve Vai was the fastest guitarist in the world. Apart from Tim's mate Simon.

  “Am I better than the Wright Brothers band anyway?” asked Matt.

  But Roy spake not unto Matt, for he did not judge his creation’s guitar abilities, nor their disciple abilities, nor their true greatness, nor their anti-Royness. These things were for humans to decide, for Roy did
give mankind the blessing of free will, because he in his mightiness couldn’t be bothered.

  After the gig they walked back to their chalet. On the way they all bought a hot dog from a Wright Brothers’ hot dog vendor. While he was handing out the hot dogs Alex stole some squeezy ketchup and mustard bottles from the cart.

  When they got back to their chalet Alex proceeded to write Mungo in ten11 foot high letters on the outside of the chalet.

  Adrian was already back inside the chalet when he heard the others laughing outside; he went out to see what was so funny. When he saw the ketchup he was furious: his parents' good name was being damaged by this disgusting behaviour. He went straight to the Wright Brothers’ security police block.

  The security police were renowned worldwide for their fearsome reputation. They had been involved in a number of high profile incidents including the Iranian embassy siege, World War 2, and a big fight at a school. The reputation of the police was largely down to its leader, the dreaded Mr Lairing.

  The next morning there was a knock at the chalet door. Matt opened it.

  “Is there a Mr Henley here?” It was a Wright Brothers’ soldier.

  “Alex! They want you.” Alex came out, hung over and slumping.

  “Morning,” grinned Alex.

  “Mr Henley are you responsible for the writing on the chalet?”

  “What writing?”

  “Someone has written Mango. In ketchup”

  “It wasn’t me. I wasn’t even aware there was a language called ketchup.”

  “No: they have used ketchup to write the word “Mango”.

  “You mean ‘Mungo.’”

  “So it was you.”

  “Er…” Alex thought quickly. If he said yes he would have to leave Wright Brothers a day early. If he said no he would be able to stay.

  “Yes.” As he said it the Wright Brothers’ soldier, who was actually a Captain in the Wright Brothers’ Royal Guard, pulled a walkie-talkie from his pocket. He spoke into it, “Restraint squad, enter now.” On his signal in rushed 6 Wright Brothers’ soldiers who hog-tied Alex, and carried him out of the chalet towards the rear of the camp. They carried him into a foreboding building that was hidden from the main part of the camp, a building that “no one had ever left alive”, according to Tim: the head quarters of the Wright Brothers’ Defence Department.

  They carried him down a corridor, and stopped outside a door, on which was a plaque with the words “Room 102: Mr Lairing’s Office and Cleaning Supplies.” The soldiers untied him, “Go in, but knock first” said one of the soldiers.

  Gingerly Alex raised his hand to knock at the door.

  “Come in,” boomed the sort of voice that a county standard squash player might have.

  Alex entered, and before him, behind a desk, sat a man in his 60s. His piercing eyes focused on Alex, and he kept them on Alex all the time he was in the room, never blinking.

  “Listen…” Alex began.

  “Sit down” Mr Lairing boomed. Alex sat down and Mr Lairing threw a folder on the desk in front of him. It was over an inch thick, and hit the desk heavily.

  “Wh…what’s that?”

  “That, Mr Henley, is the report on what we are calling ‘the ketchup incident’.”

  Alex opened the folder. He flicked through it quickly. It was 308 pages long. Alex just read the contents page. There was a whole chapter on DNA evidence.

  “What do you make of it Mr Henley?”

  “It…it wasn’t me.”

  “Silence! I didn’t get to be a county standard squash player, and head of Wright Brothers’ Security, by believing rubbish like that.”

  Mr Lairing’s gaze bored into Alex, who shifted uneasily in his seat. Mr Lairing did not speak, he just sat and stared, “Can I go now?”

  “Silence! You won’t be going anywhere soon,” barked Mr Lairing, “Now, tell me what your role was in this incident.”

  “Do you want me to talk, or be silent?”

  “Oh you’ll talk sonny. No one leaves here without talking. I…play…squash…for…the…county.”

  “Really?” Alex liked squash.

  “Well I used to. Like tea, Mr Henley?”

  “Pardon?”

  “Do you like tea? I bet you’d quite like a cup now eh?”

  “No not really…”

  “Silence!” Lairing pulled a kettle from beneath his desk, then a teapot, into which he put two tea bags. He plugged the kettle in, “Well I’m making tea, but you won’t be having any.” For seven minutes the two men sat in silence while the kettle boiled, well the water in it anyway. Then Lairing poured the freshly boiled water into the tea pot, which was short and stout. He tipped it up and poured it out. Then he added milk, no sugar please, and he drank the tea slowly, all the time staring at Alex.

  “Can I go now?” he asked again.

  “Like tea do you?”

  “No not really.”

  “What about coffee?”

  “Yeah, but I had a cup just before…”

  “Silence!” this time Lairing pulled another kettle from beneath his desk, “Oh don’t need that. Sorry.” Then he pulled out a coffee machine, some ground coffee, milk, cup, saucer, spoon, one of those biscuits they put on the side, serviette, slice of carrot cake and a piano, sorry another spoon. With this equipment Lairing made a coffee and added some milk, and again he slowly drank the drink while Alex watched.

  “Can I go now?” he asked for the third time.

  “You won't be leaving here any time soon.” he reached under his desk, and pulled out a fork, which he threw at Alex, but missed.

  “Right I'm going,” said Alex, who stood up, walked out and went home.

  ***

  Adrian was summoned to Mr Lairing’s office. Timidly he knocked on the door, “Come in” bellowed the voice of a county standard squash player. Adrian entered, and Mr Lairing stared at him from behind his large leather topped desk, “Mr Henley will be leaving us” he said to Adrian: nothing more or less. Adrian said, “thank you,” as he quickly left the room. He returned to the chalet to break the news to the rest of the holiday makers.

  “Alright lads he’s gone”, said Adrian as he gave the thumbs up sign, “And not a moment too soon I’d say.”

  “He can’t help it Adrian he has a switch in his head that goes from good to evil” said Matt, “You just don’t know what will trigger it. One minute he helps old ladies across the street, the next he goes on a murder spree.”

  “Alright Matt, I wish he had not come along in the first place.”

  “Well don't worry” soothed Matt, “They'll probably take him back to Stoke Mandeville for a while.”

  “Why does he go there?”

  “He's in the mental ward. Because he's mental, but only half the time.”

  “You don't think he'll come after me do you?”

  “Nah. Not unless he escapes. You looking forward to the show tonight?”

  “I forgot about that. Right I need to get some cash for tonight. Alright lads I’m just going to the bank,” said Adrian nervously as he gave the thumbs up sign again.

  Matt and Tim knew they had found number seven.

  ***

  Rastas’s army had become very large, and as with any large organisation, the size of the army had created a number of problems. Not the least of these was the discontent felt by fighting men and robots sitting idly by. Frustrations manifested themselves in the form of fist fights, and kelad rubber prong fights.

  Similarly to the lads, Rastas decided that the only thing that could mend the disharmony in his army was a holiday, for which Rastas rented 45 caravans, loaded up his troops, and drove them around a field for 2 hours. Many of the troops rated the holiday as ‘poor’, but one found it ‘thoroughly enjoyable.’

  After recharging their batteries Rastas decided he should drum some discipline into his army, so at 5 AM one morning he assembled them and took them by train to the Rastas Cave. The Rastas Cave combined Rastas’s lair, and call
centre for his plastic bag corporation, and was housed in a large industrial estate in the North West of England. Any injured soldiers/robots/aliens, or those being punished were sent to the call center, and required to do mundane office tasks. Those that did not have the evilness to belong in Rastas’s army were also sent there. Their punishment was the worst of all: forced to answer the phones from 9 to 6:00, with only 30 minutes for lunch, and no sick pay for their first year’s employment. Many died from this hellish punishment, but Rastas did not care: his only desire was for his plastic bag empire to grow and fund his plans. He saw the losses as necessary in his fight against Roy.

  How ironic he thought that the world’s best bag packer, Roy, would be defeated by an empire built on plastic bags.

  As Rastas arrived the centre was alive with boredom; thousands of men wearing headsets, sat staring at computer screens. Each would type on their keyboards, wait for an answer, and then deliver the same pitch, “Good afternoon. I’m calling from Rastas’s plastic bags. Do you need any plastic bags?”

  The call centre workers eyed the soldiers nervously as Rastas raised his hand and all the skinheads, roboman, kelads etc stopped before one miserable looking call centre kelad, “Yes it is £5.99 a month for your plastic bags Sir.”

  Rastas spoke to his troops, “This is Jeremy. Before he came here he was one of you, but he did not try hard enough on the stairmaster in our gym. Now he will be here...forever!”

  “I’m off at 6” said Jeremy.

  “Yes… but you will do the job forever. Pay heed men and robots. Train and fight well for me, or this will be your fate. Right now we will get some weapons from the Scientific Weaponry division.”He glanced at his watch, “Damn our train goes in 30 minutes.”

  ***

  Tim arrived back from Wright Brothers the day after Alex. He popped over to Alex’s house to see him.

  “Hi Tim.”

  “Hiya. Is the switch in your head set to good or evil?”

  “Huh?”

  “We told Adrian that you had a switch in your head, and that you could flip at any time. I think he took it literally.”

  “Aha! Another disciple!”

  “That is what I thought. Number Seven.”

  “No Eight.”