“Me & Chippie Hopkins – who was my best friend, spent hours in the blazing sun. He being red haired & fair skinned would get horribly lobster-like sunburnt, while I was merely lightly toasted. We roared around on bicycles, climbed trees & hunted eels. Yes me & Chippies young lives were all typical small-town stuff. We were afters-school part time rebels & would get up to a fair amount of various mischief, such as throwing rocks on our Neighbour’s roof, aka Principal Teasdale.
Principal Teasdale was a typical old fashioned type man – a firm disciplinarian, sometimes cruel & looked haggard but commanded certain amount of respect amongst the schoolkids – this of course was mostly out of fear.
One incident stands out in my memory & it involved our good old nemesis & coincidentally Chippies next door neighbour ‘Principal Teasdale’. Our fear of him had made the prospect of playing a trick on him too divine to continue to resist.
One day Chippie Hopkins who was definitely the more rebellious of us, decided to really upset Principal Teasdale – this time instead of throwing tiny insignificantly small rocks – he’d climb on the roof & pour a bag of manure down the chimney. This would be the trick to satiate our long held rebellious schoolboy desires. Chippie scaled the roof expertly with the bag tied to his wrist via a cord.
He was a great climber, we had practised a lot climbing trees, Chippie always beating me in height. I would look up at him & curse his ability to climb the spindly branches as if they were sturdy ladders.
He edged closer & closer to the Chimney walking along the horizontal roof line. I had to desperately cover my mouth as to not laugh & give the game away to Mr Teasdale, who I could see via his window. He was within earshot reading the paper by the fire.
I watched Chippie edge closer & closer to the chimney, each creak of the tin was a minor heart attack for us both. After what seemed like an eternity Chippie lifted the white manure bag emptied it almost perfectly – apart from one bit of horse crap that rolled off & down into the gutter.
There was a whoosh sound as the manure went down the chimney, followed swiftly by an aggressive yell from Mr Teasdale, who then rushed outside to figure it all out. Chippie tried to scale down the roof to the tree but in the excitement of the getaway he lost footing & rolled down the roof, off the roof & landed on the hedge, right in front of the furious Principal Teasdale.
Chippie was half embedded in the hedge, his face with small scratches over it, his overly long red hair tussled with sweat & looking like a wild campfire. Chippies little freckled red face became twice as red as his eyes locked with Teasdale’s. Teasdale grabbed him by the ear & Chippie squealed like a little piggy. Mt Teasdale simply took him by the ear and into his house, not saying anything – the door slammed like a gunshot.
Chippie spent the next 7 hrs cleaning manure out of his fireplace, among other chores such as mowing & raking leaves. I, like a coward watched from the sidelines, feeling sorry for Chippie but also in true schadenfreude fashion, happy it was him & not me in there facing the wrath of Principal Teasdale – it so easily could have been.
To this day, 30 years later I can still hear Chippie Hopkins’s loud wailing, as he cried & cleaned up that manure in Teasdale’s fireplace. I still hear Teasdale’s screaming at Chippie…….”You’re a stupid boy Chippie Hopkins!..& you’ll never amount to nuthin’ ……now clean harder dopey!”
After that, me & Chippie would still roar around on bikes, catch eels & climb trees – but it wasn’t quite the same as before the Teasdale incident – it didn’t help when the kids at school found out about it either – they called him “Manure Boy”.
Chippie wasn’t the same boy as before & soon we drifted apart as friends. As we both became teenagers & young adults life’s changes took us to different schools, suburbs and eventually different towns altogether.
The last I had heard anything of Chippie Hopkins was when I was home on summer break from my freshman year, when I ran into a mutual friend of ours – Billy Sanders – Billy told me Chippie had gone overseas to ‘follow his dreams’.
I’m writing you this story of my old friend Chippie Hopkins, because today my old memories of him were jogged. This morning I opened up the newspaper & saw a headline in the ‘World News’ section that made me practically spit out my morning coffee, it read:
“Chippie Hopkins Becomes Prime Minister Of Small Nation Of New Zealand“
I wondered if the ‘manure incident’ at Principal Teasdale’s House was the root cause of Chippie becoming the Prime Minister in a little-known foreign land. Was that traumatic childhood event thirty years before in our home town the seed that created Chippie Hopkins as a ‘Great Leader Of Men’?; or was it because he – like most who enter Politics – had turned to the ‘dark side’ & wanted ‘Payback’ on Society?
Was Chippie aiming delusionally to get back the power he had had lost as one of the ‘bullied children of the playground’?
Maybe one day if I ever run into Chippie again, I’ll ask him that very question. If he was still the old Chippie I knew as a ten-year-old he would say “Well you know what they say Marty – shit happens! & that’s why I’m here”. Somehow, I don’t think he will put it like that, but you never know – I might be happily surprised.
I hope you enjoyed my story of my old schoolboy best friend – ‘Chippie Hopkins’ – & if you are a citizen of that small foreign land he now runs, I hope that Chippie’s personality eventually reverted back to what it was before I dared him to drop manure down Mr Teasdale’s Chimney.
If not, you could be in some very deep horse manure yourselves.
And to Chippie – If you’re reading this – I’m really sorry I dared you to do that – I hope after all these years you found it in your heart to forgive me. Good luck on running New Zealand & I hope you’re still the good guy I knew all those years ago.
( Writers Comment – Thanks For Reading “The Bonus Poem” Poem – The First Of Twenty Twenty Three. Yes It Is Shameless Filler, But It’s Only Function Was to Smash The Dreaded Lurgy – an Affliction If you will – That I have dubbed “The Dreaded Blank Pages In The New Year Syndrome”. It just roles off the tongue. M.A.S 09/01/2023)
(Writer”s Update # 2 – I Massively Updated & Improved The Poem – I’d like to think it is no longer “Filler”. I think Its’s Not Bad For The First Poem Of ’23 M.A.S 10/01/2023)
By Martin Anton Smith martinantonsmith@gmail.com copyright owned by Martin Smith Creations Ltd All Rights Reserved
(Note This Story is inspired by a real-life story I saw in the headlines M.A.S. )
I M.K. Smithki report the following for the case of Tubes Vs Lurr for the day 15/12/2022 at Doondon City Courthouse, Nu Zuland.
Those Parties Involved:
The Plaintiff: T. I. Tubes
The Defendant: Ms Sally Lurr
The Plaintiff’s Lawyer: Mr I.T. Aintright
The Defendant’s Lawyer: Ms H. Ardboiled
The Presiding Judge: B. Igball KC
Key Witness/The Driver: N. Wittheld
The Disreputable Reporter: Peter Out.
The Plaintiff, Mr T. I. Tubes is a Paramedic who has laid a charge of ‘illegal groping’ vs the Defendant – Ms Sally Lurr – a supposed ‘drunk woman’ that he was attending to in his day-to-day activities as a Paramedic in his Employer provided Ambulance. In short Mr T. I. Tubes alleges Ms Sally Lurr his patient at the time of the incident, illegally groped him in the groin as he was treating her. This is a highly unusual case as usually in these cases the genders are reversed – a male offender & a female victim. This case is already known around the ‘traps’ (to use colloquial language) as “Drunken Woman Gropes The Medicine Man”.
The Plaintiff’s case had been going well, until the point where a ‘Key Witness’ was called by the Defendant’s Lawyer – a Ms H. Ardboiled. This spanner ‘thrown in the works’ was when the Witness – a Mr N. Wittheld -who was the colleague of the Plaintiff and also the Driver of the Ambulance at the time – Mr Wittheld alleged that (referring to the Plaintiff) “He wanted it, as he did not move away from her groping hand”. In response to this charge the Lawyer for the Plaintiff – Mr I.T. Aintright – states his client simply decided to not move, so as to keep treating the Defendant as any ‘Experienced Paramedic’ would.
The Defendant’s Lawyer – Ms H. Ardboiled – then drew gasps from the gallery when she produced a pair of trousers with a three ringed “Circular Target” painted on the crotch area. She then asked “Mr Tubes – are these the very trousers you were wearing during the moment you allege my client ‘groped your genitals’? The now much sweating Plaintiff Mt T.I. Tubes under such expert cross examination from Ms H. Ardboiled, held a long pregnant pause. The tension in the courtroom & public gallery became so thick you could cut it with a knife, and not very easily so. He said “Yes those are my trousers”.
Then the Defendants Lawyer Ms H. Ardboiled asked for permission to approach the Plantiff Mt I.T. Tubes – this was duly granted by the judge My B.I Igball. Ms H. Ardboiled then approached the Plaintiff and showed him the trousers & asked “Can you read the words on the outer ring of the ‘Target’ that is painted here on the crotch? The Plaintiff Mr T .I. Tubes answered meekly “it says the word “Almost”. Ms H. Ardboiled then asked “And what does the next inner concentric ring say?” The Plaintiff mumbled “Nearly There” – the gallery then had to be asked to compose themselves by the Judge Mr B Igball KC.
Then as the Plaintiff T.I Tubes was frantically perspiring and wiping the sweat from his brow – which incidentally he did with his bright yellow tie, Ms H. Ardboiled then asked the decisive question of the case: “And finally Mr Tubes can you recount to the gallery the words written on the bullseye” Mr Tubes’s white shirt was now so sweat filled his nipples were clearly showing through – his barely audible words that were weakly shoved from his trembling lips were – “Bullseye”.
The Public Gallery – who naturally were majority Lurr & Ardboiled supporters were on their feet throwing a large array of peanuts, balled up paper & rotten vegetables. With such wild scenes of emotion & anger on display, the Judge B. Igball KC banged his gable many multiple times & with acute veracity so as to eventually quieten the baying gallery. He also shouted loudly “Order, Order I say, Order I damn well say, Order!”.
When the roar turned to whispers & murmurs & then a rustle, he said “Ms Ardboiled, please continue”. Ms H. Ardboiled assuredly replied “Your Honour – I have no further questions – I rest my case”. While the case would not yet be over until Mr T.I. Tubes’s Lawyer – Mr I.T. Aintright had his closing statement – all present knew without a doubt that the case was over, the result was now a formality.
Other anecdotes from the day:
After the brilliant & cross examination, the Defendant Ms S. Lurr was allegedly often seen smiling sweetly at her lawyer Ms H. Ardboiled. A reporter named ‘Peter Out’ from the disreputable media outlet called LISTENUPJACK said in his radio report that saw Ms Lurr reach repeatedly and take a swig from a small hipflask in her breast pocket. Though plausible in this case, I believe this to be just another one of Mr Peter Out’s many wildly entertaining but not very true furphies.
The Plaintiff Mr T.I. Tubes was reprimanded by the Judge B.Igball KC for wearing a “Garish yellow tie also bearing a cartoon like figure’ totally inappropriate to the seriousness of the case”. Strangely KC Igball did not force him remove it – and I can’t but help wonder why.
The Judge B. Igball KC seemed to suffer from a terrible itch throughout the day & at 3:15 he adjourned for “five minutes to apply ointment”. Afterwards no scratching was observed.
At the end of the court session Mr T.I. Tubes fainted wearily in his chair & his Lawyer Mr I.T. Aintright had to be fetch a wet cloth, a glass of water & some smelling salts to regain his client’s vitality. When Mr Tubes finally came to, he slowly raised himself and said quizzically “Where am I?” to no one in particular & as he looked around himself. This of course garnered a few chortles from the public gallery. Shortly thereafter, Mr Aintright regained his usual state of composure – that is, nervously & fidgety but totally aware of his surroundings.
Ms H. Ardboiled who is a sassy & performative young lawyer in her mid-thirties, had as usual her “cheer squad” in the public gallery, which I understand is normal as she is quite the celebrity lawyer, largely owing to the success of her popular Podcast “Break Some Eggs & Win Lifes Omelettes”.
The Plaintiffs lawyer Mr I.T Aintright seemingly had a terrible cold, and was heard to sniff violently every minute or two – for some reason he never produced a hanky – much to the chagrin to all around him. Eventually late in the day Judge Igball KC motioned for a court staffer to wipe Aintright’s nose directly – and the staffer did this in much the same fashion as a mother would to their toddler age child. After seeing this unsavoury scene – which was before Ms H. Ardboiled’s wizardry – I had the distinct inkling that the Plaintiff might lose this case.
The rain was heavy & was a low audible rumble on the tin roof throughout the day – I overheard a wag in the public gallery say as he pointed to a bucket cin the corner of the courthouse “That’s not the only drip in this case” – I stifled my laughter with aplomb – a skill every serious court reporter must learn in these veritable ‘Madhouses of the Law’.
Features: Fly The Nest/Finally Finalised/Remembering The Bar/Absolutely Positively Contrarian St/The Nouveauricians/Dead Men Don’t lie
Podcast Intro
Greetings & welcome to a Poem Extravaganza! Yes We have 6 Poems!!!! Yes it has been a very productive time of late on the poem front. I could talk about the world of late – Namely how ridiculous & duplicitous it mostly is – but instead I will simply do a quick chat about each Poem at the end of each poem. Note: Yes Things are ok in New Zealand – we have not yet been chipped yet I repeat We have not been chipped yet!
Lose a PAYCHECK & The ‘Sunday Dreads’ Gain A Life! Then Sleep In your Shed
Tell Your Boss to “Get F*cked” Then Breakdance in the Lift You’ll Sail Into The Sunset If First You Catch The Drift
Of Course, You’ll Second Guess This Beating Of Your Chest But Could This Dream Be Real?
Naration:
Ok Poem 1 “Fly The Nest” A simple short Poem about quitting your soulless chicken barn raised Corporate Job! Oddly I don’t talk of what you’ll do after you quit – now that’s a massive oversight – let me finish the Poem here – it is in instructional Form:
Now To Leave The Building
Then Start Flapping Wings As A Dove Would
Wait 7 Seconds as it will take a while to Liftoff
Drift Off Into The Sunset
Hang Out With The Other Freed Slave Doves
Make Coo Coo Noises That Translate as Follows:
“No Way You Bird Brain!
My Ex Office-Life In The Cubicle Chicken Coop World Was Way Worse Than Yours”
You now decide to dive bomb your old boss crap on his bald head & steal his sandwiches.
You never liked that old ‘Love Cliche’ about Doves being Loving anyway.
Poem 2 “Finally Finalised” This is a Poem about how too many of us have been brainwashed into demanding our own servitude & lack of personal freedom – my theory on these idiots were/are the noveau riche people who had a great time on laptops and in leafy suburbs during the pandemic – while everyone else suffered. This effect makes me think how selfish human nature is, and how breaking free of that should be everyone’s mission.
If You Are Born Into Madness – Madness Is Normal & Unseen.
You Can Be Born Into a Mad Family,
Or a Mad Town,
Or a Mad Nation,
Or a Mad Planet,
Or All Of The Above.
But You Can See Madness – If You Work Hard,
& Strive To Be a Contrarian – An Independant Thinker.
It Is Worthwhile,
& Despite The False Adage “Ignorance Is Bliss”,
Truth Is Nirvana.
They’ll Hate You For Wanting It.
They’ll Hate You For Seeing It.
They’ll Hate You For Teaching It.
Wear That Badge Of Honor,
That The Madman Pinned On Your Chest.
For When A Madman Calls You A Madman
You Must Not Be Mad.
As Two Negatives Multiplied,
Always Make A Positive.
Live In A Universe Of Positively Truthful Nirvana,
Where The Madmen Are Slowly Disappearing From View.
Narration : Poem 4. “Absolutely Positively Contrarian Street” A Simple Poem which espouses to benefit of not following the crowd. Yes ! Be a contrarian. But then now that I think of it – If everyone is a contrarian doesn’t that also make them a conformists? This effect happens a lot doesn’t it? That’s signals the end of an alternative movement – when it becomes mainstream & full of ‘pile ons’. This happened in the Hippie Movement & the Grunge Era & we see it now with Woke-ism
Poem 5 “The Nouveauricians” A Simple poke in the eye of the Nouveau Riche – The best thing about this Poem is the new term “The Noveauricians” I will use it as much as possible from here on in.
There Were Three Billion Views Of Something In The News I Can’t Remember What It Was But It certainly Wasn’t Truth Yes, “Social Media’s a Curse” Said The Limp Man In The Hearse & The Flowers Drooped As He Sped By But Oh My Word! A Dead Man Doesn’t Lie
Narration
Poem 6 “Dead Men Don’t Lie” Another Simple throwaway poem that talks of the evils of Social Media. At heart I feel we should as Lars Ulrich’s Dad might say be better off to “Delete That”.
