Rhodie Tony goes to an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting.

Rhodie Tony goes to an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting.

He thought it might be a good idea. His drinking had escalated to a point, that even the owner of the corner shop had complained his purchasing of all lighter fluid had made his sales in refillable lighters go up in smoke.

The meeting was held every Friday night at the local Girl Guide hall. So, with four winds to the sail, he rocks up as the meeting begins. He counts 22 people, but halves that after covering one eye. Finding an empty chair, he joins the group arranged in a semi- circle.

Some bird, dressed as a penguin, is in front of the group and starts to chirp – (In her head - ‘Just smile and wave’).

‘Good evening. So nice to see you all. I also notice we have three new members. I greet you. I am Sister Mary from the Holy Virgin Hole Church. I am here to guide you to a full recovery. But we always start with members who have been here the longest. We will start with Luke as Mark is not here tonight. Have you seen him? I gather (looks at notes), you have been now sober for more than 10 days.’

Luke stands up.

‘Yes, I did see Mark on Wednesday, but so did many others. Not surprising as he was hanging by his neck from the town’s May pole. Otherwise, it has been a rather boring week watching repetitions on TV of ‘Trade in your wife for a second hand car’.

He sits down.

Sister Mary, jots down a note. Rhodie Tony was only listening with half an ear as the other half was ringing bells. He was fascinated by the gallery of gilt framed photos of former Girl Guides who had achieved the Chief Scout’s award. His eyes wandered to the trophy cabinet wondering if the men’s world cup, rugby trophy might be in there.

‘Now, perhaps, Magdalena, would tell us all about your week. You have been sober for … how long now?’

Magdalena stands up.

‘Since my last benefits cheque.’

She sits down.

‘Yes, that is wonderful. Perhaps new member, with the raincoat on, could introduce himself, explain why you are here?’ Sister Mary smiles a benign smile of deep felt love for the human race.

‘My name is the real, Slim Shady, and I am 56, by profession a Rap artist. I admit I am an alcoholic, but wish to change my ways.’

‘Splendid, to come out is the first step to achieving that goal. What exactly is a Rap Artist? Please elaborate to the group.’

‘I like to get drunk, and then dressed in this filthy raincoat, I hang around at traffic lights, and when they on red and some sexy bint is driving, I rap on her window and expose my art work.’

Sister Mary, hides her blushes. Rhodie Tony can’t believe what he is hearing. This was bringing a tear to his eyes.

‘And, I wouldn’t even be here if that sick fuck the judge told me to come, clean up my act or face 4 years in the slammer with a load of bum artists rapping at my rear door.’

He sits down.

Tony cannot fathom this at all, the terrible pain and mental anguish these poor souls were going through. His shoulders started to shake. He takes a sneaky swig of Swan’s lighter fluid. Boost his Dutch courage for when it is his turn.

Sister Mary rearranges her black robe, flashing a neat pair of ankles. Tony took mental note.

‘The lady dressed as a back ally whore, would you like to tell us all your name and why you are here.’

Chewing gum, scratching at exposed hairy armpits and reeking of a mixture of a maggot ridden dustbin and the slops from a gin distillery, she stands up.

‘Me fekkin name is Ruth. I am 17. Me pimp sent me here said customers complain that I was like fuckin a pickled whale. Eee said - Fekkin get ya self sorted cos not enough sick fucks who fuck dead people around to finance my habit.’

She sits down.

Tony was now full of attention. His body was convulsing, in shaken sympathy for these lost souls but… he had to get a grip on himself, as a speechless Sister Mary of the Holy Virgin Hole, waggled a fluttering hand in his direction. The other hand? Tony thought she was fondling her own breasts, but realised she was just doing that up, down, left and right stuff.

Tony stood up, his chest fit to burst with emotions for his fellow sufferers. This was ground breaking stuff. Not surprising as he did a ROFL. Standing up and dusting down his Hugo Boss, charcoal grey suit, complemented with a pure white satin, long sleeve shirt, exposing a hint of sleeve flashing gold cufflinks, with a naughty glint of a diamond.

‘Greetings, you bunch of sick fucks. Lend me your ears. My name is Rhodie Tony – I am immortal, pissed out of my box, need a drink as my tongue tastes like sandpaper as if I tried to have given Sister Mary’s holy hole a lick in time to save time, BUT’

Tony holds up a small piece of cardboard -

‘This my fellow sufferers, is pieces in our time as – this is a scratch card with 5000 pounds win. I only came here for a laugh – now, drinks on me at the ‘Nag Gives Head’ pub. Who’s coming?’

Tony walks to the door. Followed by everyone. Even Sister Mary, as she rips off her habit of wearing one, exposing a sexy body in jeans and, braless, a tight white T-shirt - nipples taunt with expectation.

Stay tuned as Rhodie Tony becomes an astronaut.

Rhodie Tony and the chain saw.

Rhodie Tony and the chain saw.

Tony works part time for a wealthy Boss and lives in a tiny village in Bavaria, which since 18 months ago would have been considered a ‘whitey’ zone, but now looks like any other town in Africa.

Besides the point. The Boss says to him in German – ‘Though shall take Holy chain saw, go hence forth into my forest, and cut down trees thus marked with an X as surely as the rain pours, I will build my ark, and you, as a sinner, is not invited. Is though worthy of the task or will you pull another sickie?’

Nice man. Bit heavy with the religious bit, but Tony had never played with a chain saw before and eagerly agreed. His only experience with felling trees was that you hollered ‘TIMBER’ as it fell over, which is the same of his knowledge of golf when shouting  ‘FOUR’ before you hit a little white ball with a weighted stick.

A quick glimpse at the instructions appeared rather complicated but sussed out the ‘ON’ switch and to pull a handle attached to a string. Getting it brumming nicely he sussed out that the trigger made the chain chase around itself like an Alsatian on acid, and so attacked the first tree.

Halfway through the 40cm thick pine tree, the saw stuck. No amount of pulling and tugging would release it from the jaws of the one ton, 40 metre high future ark planks. Tony scratched at his hole first, then his head and finally wiggled a little finger into a lug hole to turn his brain on.  ‘Aah’ Bingo! Boss had supplied him with a twenty metre rope attached to a triple hook grappling iron.

So. The plan. Toss the grappling iron high up into the tree, attach it to the VW Caddy tow bar, and gently pull the tree a teeny weeny bit, to release the chainsaw. Job done. A classic example of a Rhodie making a plan.

Firstly - 1.0 -

Rear up the car three metres from tree. Climb on roof. This would give a bit more height so to get the grappling iron at a good angle when the pulling starts.
Erm, er, ahh- not quite goes to plan because as Tony took a few steps back, the hook with both hands swinging it nicely in rapid circles, blades glinting in the hot midday sunlight – he plunged straight through the open sun roof, nuts crushed on the gear stick and the spinning hook embeds itself  into the spare tyre. Quite some feat when you consider the tyre is located under the car.

Firstly - 2.0.

Tony screamed in agony quietly because scientific researches proved that if there was no one around to hear - there can only be silence in a forest. Tony wished his Mummy was there to kiss and rub the pain away.

Secondly- 1.0 -

Weeping quietly, he wiggles the hook free, toss its nonchalantly a few metres up the tree, attaches the other end to the tow hitch and climbing gingerly into the driver’s seat, sets off. His brains, along with his eggs, were truly scrambled.

Secondly - 2.0 -

The only one to hear the terrible noises that followed was Tony himself. A huge tearing of metal - as the rear of the car made the front a two seater, a whip like snap as the 50mm thick rope parted, a wood cracking sound, followed by a whoosh as a ton of fir tree converted the car now into some bizarre one wheeled, single seater. The only thing that had been on the passenger seat had been a crate of beer, now spitting foam and glass into his face.

Thirdly - 0.0 -

Get home. Phone the police reporting a stolen car, pull a sickie and hide under the bed clothes till the furore fades away.

And so our brave hero, Rhodie Tony, lives to carry on exploits that has explicit warnings in his memoirs – ‘Don’t try this at home’.

Depression. Rhodie Tony faces suicide.

Depression. Rhodie Tony faces suicide.

This was IT. The end. To exterminate, never to have passed his seed on to procreate a litter of like minded lunatics.

Tony was not a virgin. He had been sodomised by his best friend when he was 15.

Now at the age 36, it was time up. To go where all dead souls go – fucking nowhere, but he didn’t know that- he would only find out later.

So, there he was, balancing totally drunk on a bridge crossing a tributary of the Mecumbura River, Zimbabwe. The fall looked awesome. Closing his eyes, crossing his heart and promising to die – he jumped. Well, not exactly jumped, more like a shuffle off a pavement, but down he went.

Down, down he went. Tony’s last thoughts were ‘Oh how I wished I had fondled Mrs Gunther’s breasts.’ (His former maths teacher.)

It seemed to last forever – a bit like the crap your reading - as the tributary was dry, the small, bit of concrete as a bridge, was just two meters above a sandy bed. Tony hit the deck, almost breaking his fucking  neck, staggered up, a bit disoriented …

And

Lives to tell how he escaped from being a prisoner of the Taliban.