Better Good Than Money

The rich are not necessarily bad nor are the poor necessarily good; these are preconceptions that have been taught to us through folklore and fairy tales. Money does not define a person, but their heart and thoughts.

Bob Wurm was an extremely bitter man. He had spent thirty-nine years of his life working in a variety of demanding manual labour jobs, mainly kitchen, warehouse and janitor work. Now and then, he would take time off work, if not for getting laid off for incompetence, and live for months at a time on unemployment benefit. He lived in one of the poorer neighbourhoods in his city; a working class area which was populated by society's rejects: prostitutes, drug dealers, the insane, crack junkies and those who lived below the poverty line.

He lived in a small cramped single room in a shared house with eleven other occupants. Each room was as basic as it could get, unfurnished with only a mattress as a bare minimum and a hotplate for cooking on. The toilet and shower was located in a wooden hut in the back garden.

Bob did fairly well for himself considering his low wages which most would go towards paying taxes and the remainder towards food and luxuries such as cigarettes and beer. He would buy the cheapest beer and the most foul tasting tobacco. He furnished his own room with found items, mostly discarded furniture from the neighbourhood; he loved to collect and reuse, so his room was packed with secondhand items. Whenever he went out, whether on the way to work or just meandering along the streets, he'd keep his eyes open for free things.

There were so many things that Bob wanted. He wanted a cooker, for he was fed up of cooking on a hotplate. He wanted a microwave oven. He wanted a widescreen television. He wanted a surround sound speaker system. Of course, he would never find these items to take for free, yet he would never want to spend or save any money to buy these. It was for this reason that Bob envied and despised the rich, he would often call the rich, 'spoilt fools' and spit everytime he used the word 'rich'. 'It's better to be poor!' he would often tell his friends, 'I am happy being poor, because poor people look out for each other unlike the rich.'

One Sunday morning, which Bob had free; he was eating a tin of cheap baked beens while sitting on a found chair in the front garden of the house; he didn't know how to cook so he would usually just eat beans. He spied a large limousine parked along the street and began swearing, 'YOU FUCKING RICH CUNT! HOW DARE YOU PARK THAT FUCKING CAR IN THIS NEIGHBOURHOOD AND FLAUNT YOUR MONEY!' He stood up and waved his can of no brand beans at the car, 'See this! this is the shit I have to eat everyday! While you guys are enjoying your nice foods, I have to eat this crap!' and he threw the tin of beans at the vehicle but missed by several feet; the remainder of it's contents spilled onto the street. He went back inside, the sight of the expensive limousine was making him feel ill.

On the way back to his room along the hallway, he passed Joseph's room, which was once a part of the front room, and decided to bang on the door. 'Wake up Joe, wake up!' he shouted, he knew that Joseph would still be asleep since he worked the night shift as a barman on Saturday night. A few minutes later, the door opened, a groggy looking man in his early twenties stood there, eyelids half shut and brows struggling to keep them open.
'What do you want Bob?' slurred Joseph sleepily.
'Have you seen the fucking abomination parked outside Joseph?'
'Oh yeah, didn't you read the article in the newspaper?'
'I don't read fucking newspapers, they're full of shit.' spat Bob.
'Yeah, the multi-billionaire dude, Will Tate, who owns MegaSoft is dying of cancer, he's giving five million dollars to a poor person who deserves it from his home city; it's his "final good deed" before he dies.'
'He's here?' said Bob excitedly.
'No, he's sending out people to parts of the city, over a two month period, to look for someone who might be worthy of the donation.'
Bob smiled, and couldn't stop smiling, the grin pulled his face into an expression that he hadn't made since his childhood.

Bob went back to his room and gently closed the door, he giggled to himself and rubbed his dirty, blackened hands together. He couldn't help smiling, and he began to organize the contents of his room.

Over the next few weeks, Bob Wurm was seen giving away objects from his collection of found items to the neighbours. These gifts comprised of lamps, chairs, sets of plates, teapots and other functional household things. He gave the old lady, Mrs. Gray, a worn Persian rug that he had recovered from a dumpster. He offered a set of baseball cards, although of no collectors' value, to the young son of a mother who worked as a waitress in the local diner. He made sure that he wouldn't be employed during this time of his charity. It hurt him to give away these items, especially since he had spent most of his lifetime acquiring them, but he knew that it was the 'right thing' to do, for him anyway.

Oneday, there was knocking on Jim Stewart's door. A couple of well dressed gentlemen in three piece suits greeted him when he answered it. Jim looked over the shoulders of the men, and noticed a limousine parked outside; he smiled at the men for he knew why they were here; in other circumstances he would have been suspicious of anyone else who went to his house.
'Greetings sir!' said one of the men, the taller of the two.
'Hello sir!' replied Jim humbly as he had grown accustomed to behave as the door keeper of a local hotel.
'Jim Stewart?'
'Yes, that's me...' said Jim anxiously.
'We'd like to ask you a couple of questions...'
Jim nodded, 'Yes.. yes..'
'What do you think of Bob Wurm?'

Joseph sighed as he opened the wooden door to the toilet; there were urine and diarrhea stains on the seat, again. He knew full well that the person responsible for the mess was Bob because Bob was the only person that lived in the house who never cleaned up after himself; Bob also suffered from constipation and diarrhea because of his poor diet. The man had also used up all the toilet paper and hadn't refilled it, he never topped up the paper; when people asked him to buy more paper, he would say, 'I'm really sorry, I'm out of cash, I'll get it next time,' as he drank cheap beer from a six pack that he bought earlier that day. There were also cigarette butts all over the toilet floor, nobody else smoked in the house, he wouldn't pick them up either; the toilet seat was also pock marked with cigarette butt burns.

One evening, Bob had invited all the members of the household to his room. It was a tight squeeze, and some were forced to stand in the hallway. Bob had managed to save up a couple of welfare cheques to buy beer and some snacks for everyone. He told those in attendance about how the committee dedicated to selecting a receiver for the five million dollars have chosen Bob as a prime candidate; he then kindly asked his housemates if they would drop him a good word, and to reward them should he win, he would split the money twelve ways between all of them, so they would all end up being 'winners'. They agreed to Bob's plan, and they all toasted towards their probable future good fortune.

Two weeks later, the end of the two month search, the committee announced, on radio, the winner of the search for the most deserving city dweller for the prize money. 'After much deliberation, and research,' they said, 'we've found that the most deserved person of this large sum of money is,' they paused dramatically as a sample of drums rolling played, 'Bob Wurm!'

Days later, there was an official presentation in the city square, where Bob received the cheque for five million dollars, with hundreds of onlookers who applauded and cheered. A live band played music through the night and Bob was checked into a five star hotel, compliments of MegaSoft Corporation, after the festivities. His housemates never saw him again; he never returned to his room to retrieve his belongings nor to give each of them the promised share of the prize money. A few weeks later, Will Tate, the president of MegaSoft, passed peacefully away in his hospital bed.

The last thing that was heard about Bob Wurm, was that he had bought a mansion and the island on which it was located. Apparently, one of his paid financial advisors had suggested that he invest in some third world shoe-making factories; they were later taken to court on accounts of polluting the local water supplies with leather dyes and killing the fish in the lake; Bob bought the best lawyers and got away scot free to continue destroying the environment.

'So much for responsibility,' said Joseph to one of the customers at the bar as he poured them a whisky, 'yeah, I knew the guy, and I'm glad to see the last of him; men like him will never be happy with what they have; not until the whole world is on it's knees.'

Not Everyone Who Smiles is Nice

Matthew McVitey swivelled around in his chair away from the view of the city that was framed by the large floor to ceiling glass panel. He faced a long teak desk, immaculately polished and bare except for a flip-card calendar, telephone and a leather bound appointment book. He lightly caressed the buttons of the telephone before him and smiled; he then picked up the handset, his secretary answered, 'Yes Mr. McVitey?'
'Take the rest of the day off Miss Brahms, I won't be needing your services for the rest of the day.'
'Thank you Mr. McVitey!'
He then got up and casually strolled out of his office, never to be seen again.

That was one part of Mr. McVitey's life. A selfmade multi-millionaire by the age of twenty-five, owner of the nationwide McVitey chain of supermarkets and notorious benefactor of various charities.

Matt Peehole came into existence at the age of twenty-six human earth years. His personal history was vague, most of his friends came to know him when he was twenty-six. 'Ha ha, Peehole, that is an unusual name!' they would joke, 'you should perhaps change it to something less stupid!'
'I already have!' he'd reply and giggle as snot shot furiously out of his nostrils.

Matt Peehole, like his name would suggest, was a very unusual fellow. He would wake up in the morning and put on his stringed vest and cum stained father christmas boxer shorts (he called those garments his uniform, for he wore it everyday), and fill a pint glass with his own urine, and guzzle it down thirstily. Then he'd go and sit on a dirty rug in the middle of his kitchen and play guitar for a few hours before going back to bed, only waking up for food, which usually was a feast delivered from an expensive Chinese restaurant on the otherside of town.

Once, Matt had a few friends over at his moderately sized house. They partied then stayed the night. In the morning, one of his friends, a girl, caught Matt peeing into a glass and drinking it; she later fell in love with him and they started dating, her name was Emily Munchkin. 'Why do you drink your own urine, my love?' she once asked him.
Matt giggled hard until his nose expelled some mucous in the form of a spray, he wiped it with the back of his hand and replied, 'Ahhh, there are so many things that I do that don't really make much sense,' he paused and farted, 'but these are the things that make me who I am.' he burped then laughed loudly.

Emily Munchkin was the most beautiful girl in the world; men and even straight women would look at and want her; the longing would be so painful that tears would stream down their eyes and they would feel they had a glimpse of heaven. It was for this very reason, that men envied Matt; they wanted him dead.

This is the part where Joe Smith comes into the story. Joe was a computer programmer who had spent his whole life being a nerd, up until the point where computing became profitable and his company made him a millionaire.

Joe had never had it easy in life. He wasn't particularly sociable at school and therefore kept his head buried in books. He was pathetically uncoordinated at physical activities and thus resorted to computers for his gaming needs. He surrounded himself with people who were intelligent albeit considered 'geeky' or 'dorky' by the more popular and influential kids. Having said all that, he was a nice guy, back then.

When Joe became a millionaire, life changed dramatically for him. He bought himself a couple of condominiums and a large house in the suburbs; a collection of sports cars which he had always wished for as a child; and a brand new wardrobe and a fashion advisor. He was cool, no longer a nerd, with a large circle of friends who loved him. He had everything that he ever wanted, but Emily Munchkin, his childhood crush.

His obsession with Emily, had led him to hire a private detective to track her down, find out about her daily routines, who she knew and listen to her conversations. He discovered that she lived her life to a fairly regular schedule, so he decided that he would 'accidently' bump into her at her local supermarket. They did bump into each other and became friends, although Joe wanted much more but Emily wasn't interested, no matter how hard he tried to impress her by lavishing her with expensive gifts.

Emily was a very talented girl, her intelligence allowed her to learn and acquire new skills quickly. She was also very creative, an artist, singer, and poet. Joe always told Emily that they would make a good couple, with their good looks and intelligence, he said that they would make amazing babies who would go on to rule the world. Unable to see beyond her beauty and intelligence, he could never fully appreciate the creative output of Emily.
'There is more to me than my beauty and intelligence, Joe.' she would often remind him, and he would nod compliantly and smile while looking deeply into her eyes.
'Of course there is, that's why I long for you so much and it hurts!' he'd say.

When the private detective told Joe that Emily had started seeing Matt, he grabbed a vase and smashed it against the wall. His hatred could be seen boiling in his eyes, the redness in his face, his teeth and fists clenched tightly; he would have been ready to explode in fury if he was not so given in to a collected calmness that allowed him to be cunning and deceitful. He grinned, 'Matt Peehole must die!'

Joe invited Emily to dinner at the most expensive restaurant in town; she declined at first but accepted as she usually did when he became persistent and mildly annoying. 'Why do you choose to be with Matt Peehole?' he asked her when the moment seemed right (while she was busy devouring her entree), 'He is poor and lives in filthy conditions, a man who cares for you will buy you everything that you ever wanted.' She stopped chewing, looked at him as her eyebrows furrowed furiously, then spat the remnants of her mouth into his face.
'Matt is a better man than you, and always will be.' She stormed out of the restaurant and took a cab home.

'I have something to tell you Emily,' said Matt, after Emily had told him of the incident at the restaurant a week earlier, 'I used to be a real jerk.'
'What do you mean?' replied Emily, 'I could never imagine you being a jerk.'
He smiled sadly at Emily, 'I used to be a very popular guy, but I was a real jerk.'
'I still don't understand what you mean?' pleaded Emily.
'I treated people badly,' admitted Matt, 'I was a bully.'
'But, you're no longer like that anymore.' she answered.
'I was a liar and a cheat.' he began to cry.
She pulled him towards her bossom and he wept torrentially onto her sweatshirt.

That night while the couple slept, there was a noise downstairs; it woke Emily up and she went to investigate. There was nothing there, so she crept back upstairs to the bedroom. She crawled under the covers to find that they were wet and sticky, to her horror, she noticed that while she was downstairs, someone had crept into the room and slit Matt's throat, severing his life, while he was asleep.

The police never discovered who the assailant was, but they believed that it was a madman who happened to have escaped a nearby insane asylum on the same night.

Office Larry

Larry lived for his job, it defined him as a person and kept him occupied. You see, when he wasn't at work, Larry would often find himself bored. When he wasn't occupied with watching television, playing computer games, or going clubbing with his friends, he really had no idea what to do with his spare time.

He was neither an antisocial character nor an unfriendly guy, infact he had a reasonably sized circle of friends. Whenever he met up with his friends, who had little interests outside of work, they complained about their small paychecks and backstabbed each other.

Larry was more like his mother rather than his father. She was a housewife who had little ambition in her life but to marry a rich man who happened to be Larry's father. She would spend her day making visits to her friends, similar housewives, in her suburban neighbourhood and gossip about the people in her life.

Larry and his friends, if you were to meet them in their regular haunts such as expensive trendy bars and nightclubs, would most likely comment on your clothing first and foremost. They're fashionably attired people and they're also very observant about modes of dress, they'll selflessly offer a compliment or insult to your clothing.

He lived in Zisney, a country on a large continent on a planet which supports an interesting array of wildlife and landscapes. The government of Zisney oneday realized that most of it's inhabitants were like Larry. They invested a huge sum of tax payers money to fund scientists to study people like Larry. They discovered that the particular psychological makeup of these subjects inclined them to homicidal behaviour when they weren't given sufficient attention or structure in their lives.

As a result of the investigations, the government decided to turn large areas of the country into a themepark. The 'Larries' as the scientists termed them, would have their minds constantly stimulated by fun distractions to stop them from turning into psychopathic killers. Naturally, the Larries loved it! They found themselves drawn to these entertainment districts where they could watch loud explosions and people having sex on big screens; that's what Larries love, mindless sex and violence, anything else would be too taxing on their minds; not to say that they are stupid, far be it, they just choose to be that way.

I forgot to mention the other group of people, the 'Leonardos'. They were a group who did not need to be bombarded with distractions, they were a minority who had the ability to find their own ways to occupy their time, and they did it well. The Larries didn't like the Leonardos because of this fact, they thought the Leonardos strange and unusual because they didn't like the things they did which they thought that everyone should like. Ironically, most of the Leonardos work in jobs which produce things to the tastes of the Larries in order to keep them subdued and happy.

Leonardos had lives outside of their jobs, they enjoy the countryside, learning about nature and the world in general. To them, jobs were jobs, they kept their non-working life separate so they could use that time to develop themselves as creative individuals. They were easy going people, content with their lives and did not usually complain; though not completely passive, they were concerned with the infringement of their happiness by the needs of the Larries.

The themepark which was designed by the Leonardos for the Larries had one major setback, it consumed alot of natural resources, polluted the environment, and ate up the countryside with it's increasing expansion. The themepark was constantly growing in order to support the needs of the Larries whose numbers were also expanding, yet if it stopped growing there would be outrage and disorder leading to the instability of a society which had lived in symbiotic harmony for millenia.

The Leonardos were also concerned with the type of world that they were creating. Some believed that they should be trying to educate the Larries while others argued that conversion would be futile and that acceptance would be a better solution. Meanwhile, the Larries, quite oblivious to these debates, lived in a paradise that provided them a structure to prevent them from becoming extremely bored.

The biggest irony was that the Leonardos were governing the society. They wanted what was best for everyone, yet the dilemma was that they could only achieve happiness through the happiness of others. The Leonardos governed the society because they produced inventive solutions yet they did not rule it; the Larries ran the show and they were fully aware of it.

Sesame Street: Fan Fiction

Big Bird lay in bed with a slightly puzzled grin on his face, although muppets don't have access to the wide range of facial expressions as humans do, they're usually inclined to be either happy, angry, puzzled, or all of them simultaneously. Today, Big Bird was confused, but he didn't know exactly why. Maybe, it had something to do with the smeared faeces that formed the word 'happy' on his ceiling. He sat up in bed and shook his head as if attempting to shake ants from his ears. Suddenly, he became overwhelmed with a portentious realization and he spoke out loudly to himself, 'I live in Sesame Street, I should be happy!', he smiled then continued, 'Here is a place where I can be myself, do whatever I want, and have fun!' He bounced out of bed, went downstairs, and on the way out, grabbed a meat cleaver from his kitchen.

Half way down the street, Big Bird suddenly stopped, 'Whoops!' he chirped, 'silly ole me, I forgot to do something before I left the house!' He strode leisurely back to his house while whistling the Sesame Street theme tune, unlocked the front door and marched straight through the house to the living room where Snuffleupagus was snoring loudly on the sofa. The creature that resembled a mammoth that's had its DNA resequenced wrongly too many times stirred as the deformed giant yellow bird shook it to consciousness. Eventually, Snuffleupagus slowly drew open his eyes in time to see a meat cleaver come down in between them and embed itself into his skull. 'Oh you silly elephant you!' said Big Bird affectionately while stroking the mammoth's head which was still quivering in a semi-fit. He pinned Snuffleupagus's head with a large foot and retrieved the weapon.

He left his house again, this time he didn't bother to close the front door behind him because he knew that he wouldn't be coming back. 'I'm going to kill all muppets on this street but keep the humans alive so I can torture them!' he told himself, and then forced himself to cry but he couldn't help laughing intermittently as he did so.

At this point, the author finds it difficult to continue this story...