Chapter 1:- It's a start
Today's morning has woken up with a rarity. Golden, shimmering flares, of the mighty ball of flame, held high up in the sky. It was the sun, with all of its glory. Yet it was only for a brief moment, before the dark grey clouds swallowed the sun whole, covering the land with their doom and gloom. Oh, poor sun. It never stands a chance to last that long in the UK. Well, it was a start to the day, since of course, it is always best for it to kick off a nice and simple day in the household, with the same old thing, that happens in any other old day in this household. A rule of three, violence, vomit, and...
"VIRGIN!" yelled an angry punk, whilst trudging across the room, swinging around a rather old, yet large sledgehammer. Cornering the, so called 'virgin' into the, ironically named 'living room'.
"PLEASthE! STOP! I-I- THOUGHT WE SthETTLED THIS!" cried the defenceless anarchist "WHY ARE WE GOING THROUGH THISth AGAIN?" ducking down to miss the swings of the punk's hammer.
Realisation came to the punk, who then slowly, lowered sledgehammer to the floor and rested an arm on top of it, ready to give an, what looked like, an intellectual explanation.
"Well, you see, the problem is, I'm Extreeeemely BORED!" replied the punk, trying to express the amount boredom, but it was only to be interrupted by a person in dark shades, which never seem to leave the face only for special occasions.
"You, Bored? Listen I think everyone is bored around here, and I'm not talking about the card, it's a Saturday but the nuns are singing. So to get my point across don't tire yourself out before the dawn of tomorrow. Busy, busy, day." finished, who then flicked a few of the magazine pages over, that was held in hand, to find the right page to read, then slightly lowered the shades to get a better view of what was on the page.
The punk gave puzzled look, un-sure of what to understand, about everyone being bored? Or that there are nuns, being let loose outside singing and praising their lord, to their hearts content, while brain washing others? Or maybe the shaded one had only used the term nuns, as a metaphor? This was too much of intelligent thinking for the punk to understand.
Staying baffled, the punk had decided on simply giving a small confused grin with a nod, if anymore brain power had been used, smoke would be pouring out of ears.
"...Ah yes - So, my solution is, to kill two problems in one go is - to kill the annoying virgin so I shall no longer be bored, BUT ALSO. Get to sell your body to Big Benny down the road" then adding a finish to the sentence with a sly toothy grin, that may scare small children if any had seen.
"SELL MY BODY?" exclaimed the poet in anger "WHY WOULD YOU DO SthUCH A THING! I'm going to be violated in DEATH!" yelled out while sitting down on the nearest stable chair.
"You don't get violated in life let alone in bloody death. Look, I need the money! Don't ask why, I just do!" screamed the reply of the punk, while giving life back to the sledgehammer, lifting it high up, causing the poet cringe in fear.
"How about if I-I- Uh... Give you... My... Pocket money of the month!" Giving a odd toothy grin to match the punk's previous grin. The parents of the scared children would have cringed as well with this face.
"Deal!" bellowed the punk, who then, easily & simply lowered the sledgehammer onto a shoulder as if it was light-weight, had then quickly held out a hand, waiting for the poet's money.
The poet just looked at it, curious of why is this action being done. Suddenly, as if been electrocuted, the poet checked any place where money would be, from pocket to socks. The poet then stood up while the psychotic punk glared at the anarchist, simply waiting for the money.
"Uh... Let me just... Yes-th... I WILL BE RIGHT BACK" said the anarchist taking a double take and slowly scurried up stairs, making a clatter as the poet went up.
The anarchist returned with a pink piggy bank with the words written on sides in biro pen 'MY MONEY PLZ DO NOT TAKE'
"Could you be more girlie-er!" yelled the punk with the look of disgust when seeing the anarchist with the pink, piggy bank
"Well I'm sthorry someone broke my old one" said the poet while scrambling to open the bank,"-but mysthelf -I -think itsth -cute" half muttered, half muffled, due to the fact the piggy was in the poets mouth, trying to open the bank. After a while, the anarchist removed the bank and breathed "Ew" before attempting to open the bank by hand again.
The punk just pulled a face while arching an eyebrow from having the poet be annoying. Quietly snickering, the punk noticing the words 'TAKE' had been imprinted on the poet's face, after a moment the psychotic person simply nodded.
"Yes did it go something like this?" the punk quickly snatched the piggy bank and placed it on the floor, lifting the sledgehammer high over head and slamming in down onto the pig, leaving pink china splattered all over the floor with two five pound notes and 50p left in place of where the pink miniature pig of a bank was.
"YESth! IT WASTH EXACTLY LIKE THAT!" screamed the poet in shock horror, eyes nearly popping out of their sockets with a mouth left a jar, still in shock that the poor pink pig had died to a hammer being pounded onto him. There goes Piggy Jr.
The punk had then bent down to ground level to pick up the money "Wow. Corr-£10.50! Didn't know you had that much! And to think, I was only goin' to get £2.16 on your carcass. It was going to be part of Big Benny's pig's gruel" added with a distorted laugh, flinging the sledgehammer over a shoulder, shoving the money into a pocket.
"£10.50! I DIDN'T KNOW I HAD THAT MUCH! I THOUGHT I ONLY HAD THE 50p ! " exclaimed the poet in confusion, with hands flying around in the air.
"I WANT THAT MONEY BACK!" like a child starting a temper tantrum in front of parents when they don't get their own way "NNNOOOWWWAAAHHH!"
"What is with all this noise? It's bringing down my mood." stated a hippy calmly yet sullen while walking down the stairs slowly, looking around at the surroundings of the room, pondering what has happen while 'becoming one with earth' aka. Trying to meditate with an old plastic teapot.
The hippy walked to the middle of the room where the now dead, smashed up pig bank was, still all over the floor, pieces of it laying everywhere.
"Why don't we all just stay calm and-" "Oh shut up! You silly hippy!" interrupted a yelling punk, while casually moving the back of the sledgehammer behind the hippy's ankles, had caused the hippy to trip over and land on some of the pink china which was still left on out on the floor.
"Ouch! Awwh, that was just low... I've got pink china up my bottom now... Thanks guys... And no one helps me up... Great friends... Well you're not my friends really... You're just people tha-"
"SHUT UP!" said all three of them in unison staring at the hippy on the floor that was taking double takes at everyone who yelled.
"Oh that's just great..." sighing the forever depressed hippy.
Notes:My first story! I've always been a major fan of The Young Ones, and they are in a world where anything is literally possible... well nearly everything, since they're still in the 80's so having today's electronics etc. are out of the question, yet other than that I feel like I've got an ability to do many things with this story. But again, it's my first story, so helpful advice is always appreciated. Thanks for reading!
Disclaimers:I do not own The Young Ones, but I do own the characters that you do not recognise from the series.