A Chip is a thing of the past- discourse Mark Deegan Picture our scene; the sun is setting on bingle of the first days. A gentle mist rises, selection the air with expectant coldness that catches the breath. A pink and orange tree subtleness fills our eyes. All is pleasant. No history has happened to bring scorn; no sinicism penetrates the mind of the lonely figure pissing in the feeble light circling him from the round, red burning departure of the sun. He is the first, there will be others, oh yes, he will not be the uttermost. He slumps on the green dewy hillock and lies on his back, staring upwards at the now forming stars in the earliest world night sky. Something irks him. He has never felt this intent before. Never has he been so overwhelmed by a bank so strong as this. And yet it wont go away, he cannot be satisfied. What troubles our early friend from so long ago? Is he amazed by the tremendous world that is forming around him daily? Is it because his early mind cannot consume him answers to his questions, why, what and how? No. His trouble is simple. He is prat starving. And nowhere on Gods green planet can you stand a curry after eleven pm out of doors of Bradford. Even if it is a thousand years before the conception of fast food.!! Our friends problem has been caused from his own impudently found interest in everything. He innocently called upon one of his mates earlier that day and was fobbed with some ridiculous runny that was taking up room in his friends workshop. Borne from some pre medieval desire to create gold from lead, our friends companionship had thrown random ingredients of Hops, yeast, sugar and water in a bucket and forgot about it. When our friend became a nuisance by declaring a great thirst, the random liquid had been thrust upon him. It tasted shit, just now still he drank it. The alchemist had been utterly shocked at the demeanour that followed.
Mind you, not as shocked as his sister! Our friend now finds himself staring at the sky without the faintest fucking clue how he got there. He was fucking starving. The joy that overwhelms him when he remembers his fathers cease store is simply orgasmic, and he trails some five miles back to his familys farmstead. He crams the crappiest, ropiest cheese down his throat until he can take no more and collapses amongst the chickens for the most rewarding sleep of his life. Unfortunately he was awoken early the next morning by an angry crowd who gave summary justice and burnt him alive later in the afternoon, proclaiming that he was possessed by some devil. But at least the cheese had done the trick on the last night of his short life.
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