CLANK: A Book of Madness (Psychological Satire Novel) Unsettled Office Worker Loses the Last Screw by Draven Madpen Page B
Authors: Draven Madpen
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I’m losing him. He’s got to be convinced. I must
remove all doubt!
“It was a black guy!” I shout,
almost wheezing with exasperation. Sweat dripping from my sideburns.
“Oh crimmity!” screams the
duncepot. He takes off like a madman sprinting toward the backdoor, yelling for
assistance. Something about a code 13. Two other workers follow after him.
Everyone in the store glues their eyes on the ensuing scene as I make my way to
the nearest register. Take that Cromwell!
There’s a pretty girl standing
behind the register. She has beautiful blue eyes accentuated by an angelic
face.
“Hello,” she says, “find
everything all right today, sir?”
Good god! Another one!
That night I slept well. Heck,
better than ever. Dreams of Wilmer accepting the bowl titillated my thoughts. I
imagined his face as he saw the dish for the first time. I envisioned him
sitting in his office eating… silently!
17
A friend of mine back in high
school thought he’d committed the perfect crime. Not a murder, only a crime. He
was a simpleton. I only remained friends with him to make myself feel better.
The most rudimentary of ideas confused him to no end. Although the boy
possessed an ambitious and fearless personality, those traits were combined
with an unsurpassed ignorance and stupidity – he was destined for failure.
Still, he executed the crime
to the best of his abilities, which is to say, not very well. You see, my
friend had a bitter rivalry with the teacher’s pet. A preppy looking kid with
blond hair and blue eyes, reminiscent of a little Hitler youth. This nitwit
believed himself to be God’s gift to man, or at least the teacher’s.
His loathsome, effusive
compliments lavished upon the instructor are still fresh in my mind. Imagine a
little dork equipped with a high-pitched voice saying these lines:
“You look lovely today, Ms.
Blackwell.”
“That’s a very funny story,
Ms. Blackwell.”
“You’re so smart, Ms.
Blackwell.”
Yadda, yadda, yadda. His name
was Buckner White. Never “Buck” or “Bucky.” He’d only respond to Buckner. My
friend, we’ll call him Roger Mills for now, decided to pull one over on ol’
Buckner.
Here’s what Roger did. It took
him all of four days to plan this perfect crime . His goal was to frame
Buckner for a nefarious deed. An expulsion worthy offense. Tarnish the
reputation of that little creep.
On the Thursday before Spring
Break, the school received a dangerous bomb threat. Somebody had left a note on
Ms. Blackwell’s desk threatening to blow her up along with the rest of the
faculty if she didn’t marry the love struck, soon to be bomber. And who had
written the note? Why Buckner White of course. At least that’s whose name was
signed down at the bottom (in rather poor hand writing…).
Roger Mills had made one major
flaw. He’d used an old assignment paper of his to write the threat on. He wrote
it on the blank backside. However, all one had to do was turn the paper over
and see his name written on the front. That alone didn’t mean anything. It’s
easy enough to steal someone’s paper, isn’t it? But the writing on the front,
Roger’s writing, matched the bomber’s handwriting on the back, perfectly. The
same scribbled chicken scratch. School officials announced it to be a hoax
fairly quickly and Roger was soon apprehended. He denied any involvement of
course, but the evidence proved damning.
After speaking with his father
for a brief period of time Roger confessed to his crime. They sent him off to
the school for “bad kids.” You know the school I’m talking about. The school
all the “good” kids whisper dark secrets of, but no one has ever been to.
Except maybe one kid who tells these fantastic tales about the “other side.”
The savage beatings that take place and brutal muggings that occur right in the
hallways. The teachers have no control over the incorrigible students -- chaos
is rampant.
Anyway, that is where Roger
Mills
remove all doubt!
“It was a black guy!” I shout,
almost wheezing with exasperation. Sweat dripping from my sideburns.
“Oh crimmity!” screams the
duncepot. He takes off like a madman sprinting toward the backdoor, yelling for
assistance. Something about a code 13. Two other workers follow after him.
Everyone in the store glues their eyes on the ensuing scene as I make my way to
the nearest register. Take that Cromwell!
There’s a pretty girl standing
behind the register. She has beautiful blue eyes accentuated by an angelic
face.
“Hello,” she says, “find
everything all right today, sir?”
Good god! Another one!
That night I slept well. Heck,
better than ever. Dreams of Wilmer accepting the bowl titillated my thoughts. I
imagined his face as he saw the dish for the first time. I envisioned him
sitting in his office eating… silently!
17
A friend of mine back in high
school thought he’d committed the perfect crime. Not a murder, only a crime. He
was a simpleton. I only remained friends with him to make myself feel better.
The most rudimentary of ideas confused him to no end. Although the boy
possessed an ambitious and fearless personality, those traits were combined
with an unsurpassed ignorance and stupidity – he was destined for failure.
Still, he executed the crime
to the best of his abilities, which is to say, not very well. You see, my
friend had a bitter rivalry with the teacher’s pet. A preppy looking kid with
blond hair and blue eyes, reminiscent of a little Hitler youth. This nitwit
believed himself to be God’s gift to man, or at least the teacher’s.
His loathsome, effusive
compliments lavished upon the instructor are still fresh in my mind. Imagine a
little dork equipped with a high-pitched voice saying these lines:
“You look lovely today, Ms.
Blackwell.”
“That’s a very funny story,
Ms. Blackwell.”
“You’re so smart, Ms.
Blackwell.”
Yadda, yadda, yadda. His name
was Buckner White. Never “Buck” or “Bucky.” He’d only respond to Buckner. My
friend, we’ll call him Roger Mills for now, decided to pull one over on ol’
Buckner.
Here’s what Roger did. It took
him all of four days to plan this perfect crime . His goal was to frame
Buckner for a nefarious deed. An expulsion worthy offense. Tarnish the
reputation of that little creep.
On the Thursday before Spring
Break, the school received a dangerous bomb threat. Somebody had left a note on
Ms. Blackwell’s desk threatening to blow her up along with the rest of the
faculty if she didn’t marry the love struck, soon to be bomber. And who had
written the note? Why Buckner White of course. At least that’s whose name was
signed down at the bottom (in rather poor hand writing…).
Roger Mills had made one major
flaw. He’d used an old assignment paper of his to write the threat on. He wrote
it on the blank backside. However, all one had to do was turn the paper over
and see his name written on the front. That alone didn’t mean anything. It’s
easy enough to steal someone’s paper, isn’t it? But the writing on the front,
Roger’s writing, matched the bomber’s handwriting on the back, perfectly. The
same scribbled chicken scratch. School officials announced it to be a hoax
fairly quickly and Roger was soon apprehended. He denied any involvement of
course, but the evidence proved damning.
After speaking with his father
for a brief period of time Roger confessed to his crime. They sent him off to
the school for “bad kids.” You know the school I’m talking about. The school
all the “good” kids whisper dark secrets of, but no one has ever been to.
Except maybe one kid who tells these fantastic tales about the “other side.”
The savage beatings that take place and brutal muggings that occur right in the
hallways. The teachers have no control over the incorrigible students -- chaos
is rampant.
Anyway, that is where Roger
Mills
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