I can see now that it was no good. Futile in the extreme.
Leaving school = useless.
Getting a job = stupid.
Moving house to a new county = hopeless.
BECAUSE HE STILL MANAGED TO TRACK ME DOWN.
Hello to you once again, and let me assure you that the pain you experience from reading this is only a fraction of what is happening to me. Last time we all crossed paths, I do believe that the distinguished individuals behind The Webpaper were bracing themselves for a horror heretofore unexperienced by their noble persons. Taking A-Level exams. They came and went. Some of the staff moved off to give university a try, some didn't. For me, the lure of making full time money was too much, but given all that, we all found time to meet up once in a while.
Still, I dared not breath a sigh of relief. The last time I did that I got a highly disturbing package in the mail; a dead rat with a note warning me that I would never be free. The Webmaster had traded some extremely sensitive parts of his anatomy, or so I'm told, for four staff writers to do his bidding.
I ended up moving house with my parents into a new county. I gave it three months and when no rat or horses colon arrived for me in the post I dared to dream of freedom. It was a glorious feeling...for about two weeks. Then it happened - he found me.
Quite a few of the other people I know have been changed in very significant ways by university and the time elapsed since we all used to spend every day together. Some seem taller, more confident and more knowledgable. Others have changed their physique, either through regular visits to the gym or McDonalds.
Doosh tells me that, if anything, he seems to have gotten taller. Steve has lightened up although I don't think he can get any taller. Alex seems, impossibly, more together than he used to and has grown his hair long. Hell, even I gone for something different, I'm harbouring a Ming The Merciless complex - NO 1 buzzcut with a goatee. I don't wear the cloak that often though, I find that it drags on the floor and catches all the dogs hairs. As the car pulled up outside my house, I was curious to see who it was who had driven all over my dad's flower display. A man scurried out of the driver's seat and went to the passenger door and opened it. Out stepped Chris/Webmaster/Ed; now if the four of us can change ourselves I found myself gaping at how Webmaster seemed to have preserved himself in some kind of...preserving thing. He was exactly the same as when I saw him, roughly a year and a half ago.
Ducking down under my windowsill, I harboured the vain hope that he hadn't seen me, who knew, maybe I'd be lucky.
"Lang! get out here!"
Dammit.
I opened the front door and trudged out to the car, resigned to my fate.
"Wipe that ginger fluff off your chin lad, you're embarrassing yourself." he cried, before continuing, "Hark and Forsooth! 'Tis indeed the whimsy of the Fates that hath led me to your very portal."
"OK." I said, "So, what hath...have you been doing with yourself?"
He kicked me in the shins before saying,
"Me, lad? Verily I hath, for these three solar sojourns past, ventured into the deep and dark places of the world. Discovering, excavating, eliminating..."
"Eliminating? You joined a Doctor Who fan club?" I asked, confused.
"That's exterminating, you brash fool. Showeth the proper respect to the Doctor before I clouteth you one. Anyway, travelling far and wide for these past three years, I have discovered secrets that would chill your very soul...eth."
"Hold on," I said, interpreting every third word, "for the past three years, university has revealed to you secrets that make your blood run cold? Sounds about right, but I've bumped into you, you've talked about your course and stuff."
"Ah, thast which thou conversed with whast not me. I had hired an out of work actor to be my body double so as not to arouse suspicion as to my true location."
I couldn't resist asking,
"Who was he then?"
"Timmy Mallett." came the answer.
"Huh. Well that would explain your strange obsession with that giant hammer... and the glasses...and the clothes. Well are you going to share these secrets?" I asked, hopefully.
"Stuff thou! Go on a death quest yourself. I am here to reform the site and you are coming back to write for me, Sonny Jim."
"Look, Chris. I know that it's like the sites fourth anniversary soon but you'll never get us all back to write for you. We've all moved on, got too much going on right now..."
"Lex and Doosh have already said they'll try to get something to me and I'm dropping Steve's Sports, so that leaves you." he said and began to reach into his jacket. I recoiled in panic.
"NO! See! That...that is why I won't come back to work for you. Employee treatment is just two words that make no sense to you unless they come with a clause about a Smith and Wesson, for the use of."
He smiled,
"Is that what you're scared of? Don't worry, I've grown past that now. I don't need it anymore, honestly. See? This is what I ws reaching for."
He pulled a handgun out of his trouser waist band. The good news is that it wasn't a Smith and Wesson. Oh no. It was too big for that.
"Hark! Thou beholdest the Magnum .45. The most powerful handgun of its type." He levelled the barrel at my head, "It could blow your head clean off your shoulders. Now I know what you're thinking punketh..."
Good god, he'd gone Dirty Harry on me...
"...didst I fire five or six shots? Well, in all the confusion, I kind of forgot myself. So the question you need to ask yourself is - dost thou feel lucky? Well, dost thou...punketh?"
I guess the fact that here I am writing an article for the sites fourth anniversary answers that question for you.
Welcome back folks, it's 'good' to be here again.
THE LANG