fiction – Page 9 – Anton Martin Smith Writer

“He Who Seeks Flavour (sic) Amoungst the Gum-Chewers” (A Poem)

February 8, 2024Posted in UncategorizedTagged Cewing Gum, chewing-gum, fiction, Gum, health, humor, Humour, Poems, Poetry, social commentaryLeave a comment

The man who cannot ‘walk & chew gum’ at the same time takes a long time to get anywhere –

Unless of course he hates to chew gum,

In which case he is always on time.

But then on arrival he faces a new problem –

No one wants him around –

You see ‘Gum chewers’ think ‘Non-Gum Chewers’ are snobs.

After a while this accusation gets to him & he begins to chew gum.

In no time he makes a lot of friends & is known for always being late.

Over-excited by his newfound popularity amoungst the ‘Gum Chewers’ –

He goes overboard:

He subscribes to “Gum Chewers Monthly Magazine”

He invests his life savings in Wrigleys

He joins the Ivory Towers set & writes a thesis called:

‘Saw Jaws & bubble blowing throughout the ages: a longitudinal study well worth sinking your teeth into’

He is then approached by a well known american publisher to turn his thesis into a book,

Then Hollywood comes a-knocking for a feature length documentary

‘Saw Jaws’ becomes a Rollicking blockbuster –

He moves into the Hollywood Hills & dates a bevy of ‘A-listers’ –

Of course – “what goes up, must come down”

Fast forward 7 years – he is washed up, on crack & outa fame & cash & lives under a bridge.

“I wish I’d never reached for that stick of gum” are the words that rattle his head constantly.

They are not the only ones

“How can something as insignificant as chewing gum lead to this”

“How did the Devil get me in such a obscure way as this”

“Now I am so broke I can’t even afford a pack of gum”

Then he had an epiphany: he’d walk & not stop.

He’d walk & not chew gum – ad infinitum.

He Walked & Walked & Walked & never stopped.

People fed him along the way & gave him a bed at nights.

He began to get attention

Eventually the News Networks wanted to buy his story – for a princely sum.

Strangely he said yes and the whole ‘rise & fall’ story repeated itself again.

The moral of the story is this: Never try to impress the in-crowd.

Alas it is always true – they will chew you up & then spit you out.

But why can’t they Chew you up & spit you out at the same time?

Bloody Hypocrites!

Thankyou for enduring this long lasting & unpallatable gum chewing = life analogie

After all – It really is just some pricks piss poor poetry –

But then again – so it all is – it’s just the fancy packaging that makes you think otherwise.. .

“The Ballad of The Overpriced Shandy” (A Poem)

February 3, 2024Posted in fictionTagged bars, Bartenders, Beer, fiction, food, Humour, Poems, shandys, Small Town Life, small towns, social commentary, travel, writingLeave a comment

And So To the Nearby-Bar-In-The-Other-Town I Did Go,

In My Trusty ‘Horseless Carriage’.

Also known as its shortened name – a “Car”

This Is a regular saturday jaunt of mine,

I go from a one-horse-town,

To another one-horse-town.

Or perhaps I should update the phrase & say “I went to a one-car-town”.

These are mostly Shandy, Books & Coffee & Boob-watching trips –

& by ‘Boobs’ I unfortunately mean the ‘people’ kind.

Yes, most people suck, but occasionally you get lucky.

So, this particular time I sling into the usual regular bar –

a slightly old fashioned working mans bar, but owned by recent immigrants.

The two bartenders that are there are damned good guys,

Guys that you know have a real heart beating in their chests.

But the boss is too – let’s just say his vibe doesn’t fill me with confidence.

The good boys at the bar usually give me a good & fair shandy price,

But I make a mistake & ask the owner for the same drink.

He gives me the usual inflated price.

I tell him it’s too expensive –

I say “I usually get it for Six Fifty – surely you can’t charge me the same for a full beer”

I add that he doesn’t pay excise tax on the half of the glass that is lemonade.

The owner looks at ‘good guy one’ next to his shoulder and asks “what do you charge”

‘Good guy number one’ agrees & says “Six Fifty”.

So, the owner, backed into a corner backs down @ gives me my usual Six Fifty price shandy.

Five minutes later I order from the Boss again.

He rings up Eight dollars.

I say “what gives”,

He simply ignores good grace & says “it’s Eight Dollars”.

I regrettibly cough up – with the half protest of raising my hands up in the air while saying “ok ok”.

He pours it, I take it, I drink it.

I thought to myself “I’m probably not coming back next time”.

I found it amazing that the owner was willing to lose a regular customer,

Just to save the one & a half dollars of an overpriced shandy.

That owner boob only valued my regular custom at $1.50.

I paid it anyway & drank it & left.

After I left, I thought about not coming back,

Then I felt extra sorry for those two good guys behind the bar.

I thought to myself “I really should help them get new jobs”.

As I left the stormy day suddenly turned sunny & drove home.

I thought to myself

“If only there were more bars in one-horse-towns”.

Then my actions could have a chance to live up to my principles & intensions.

Yes Siree! You sure give up a lot when drinking overpriced shandys in one-horse-towns.

Writers Block Poem #2 (A Poem)

January 26, 2024January 26, 2024Posted in UncategorizedTagged fiction, Humour, Lars Ulrich, poem, Poems, poet, Poetry, writer, Writers BlockLeave a comment

By Martin Anton Smith

A few months ago, I wrote a Poem about “Writers Block”

It was about 10 lines.

To Steal Lars Ulrich’s favourite term,

Its content was best described as mostly “Stock”.

But alas – there is reason in the madness –

Yes! Let me tell you kind Sirs & Madams – the phrase “please add stock”,

isn’t just for the pages of cookbooks – the writer needs just it as much as the happy eater.

The strategy for the writer is that it will break the hoodoo that is ‘writers block’.

To put pen to paper or more modernly, single-index-finger to dirty-computer-button.

Because in the Poem or Writing game, to not be productive is to certainly risk ‘dying off entirely’ –

And that my fine poem reading, writing, & consuming friend – is a fate worse than death.

But perhaps as the High School English Teachers used to say, I am “exaggerating for effect” –

Like a typical over-the-top-arts-flake’ – yes this is possible.

But the again – perhaps not – after all good poem’s tell a story, do they not?

And no one would argue with the truism ‘good stories have changed the world’.

Well – Maybe a Lawyer or a Politician would but that merely proves my point.

& so now that this poem has served its purpose – to break writers block,

There is no point in more placking away at these dirty, chocolaty keys.

The “kill writers block objective” has been reached and on top of that,

To do so would result in this C- poem becoming a D- poem

& that is stupid in anyone’s book -even mine.

The End

“The Honest Job Advertisement” (A Satirical Article)

January 17, 2024Posted in UncategorizedTagged Corporations, fiction, Humour, jobs, Melbourne, social commentary, WorkLeave a comment

By Martin A Smith

(Please Note This is Satire)

PoorUrbanPustuleTM is hiring we require the following types of people:

– Serfs
– The easily brainwashed
– Adults that still love a high school environment

PoorUrbanPustuleTM is based in Melbourne & is listed on the ASX with 100,000 employees. We have a Generous Salary on offer, relatively speaking of course – this means it is equally as bad as other fiefdoms with a huge number of employees.

We offer 4 weeks paid leave, but it is only ‘paid’ because we pay you lower for the rest of the year. We have GREAT Superannuation scheme which utilises a strategic partnership with “Black-Holio Asset Managment” – This means a bunch of sneaky Private Equity Goons will legally steal your money, which is why it only returns 5% per annum vs the ASX index long term average of 8% – but luckily, we have a great Propaganda team that stops you from knowing this.

You will have a Great Boss, NO sorry this does not mean they are GOOD or Likable or Professional – we mean his name is literally GREAT – “Bill Great” – we could tell you about him, but *our mothers* told us ‘If you don’t have anything nice to say about anyone, don’t say anything at all’.

We at P*U*P also have a Training Team to help you, the only problem is that they don’t know anything because they are afraid to leave the safety of their back offices & computer screens – but don’t worry – somehow you’ll figure it all out yourselves – have you ever seen the movie *The Lord Of The Flies*?

We also LOVE DIVERSITY – & as such we now have a Policy of hiring *No Ethnically European Males over 35*… on top of this is you have *blue hair* – you get a 5% pay increase no questions asked. On the second day you will meet our CEO – *Ivana Urcash* – she would have met you on the first day, but unfortunately this coincides with her *last day in jail*.

We have great facilities including *one toilet, two rolls of bog-roll (1 ply) & half a basin* – sorry this is due to a poor EBITA result last year due to foreign currency fluctuations – sure we probably shouldn’t have gambled 100% of last years earnings on those Dodgy Sub-Prime China Property Shares – but the online trading platform was created to be like an online Casino & our CFO lost his composure & was mesmerised by all the dings, bleeps & musical sounds (again)!

Finally, we would like to pour cold water (from our hot taps) on the rumour of ‘that strange smell coming out of PoorUrbanPultule’s floor’ – The news article in ‘The Age’ was egregiously defamatory in the max…to clarify: pegs handed out by HR to our employees were for fashion reasons only.
How do we at PoorUrbanPustuleTM see the world? Our motto says it all:

“We strive to make the world only slightly worse off than our next biggest competitor. This hasn’t happened yet – but we believe in the “Parallel Worlds Interpretation of the Universe”

APPLY NOW

(P.s. – Please bring a large Box to the interview – this will be the successful candidates new office)

Percy became Derrick: A Wordsmith’s Folly (A Poem)

December 26, 2023December 26, 2023Posted in UncategorizedTagged fiction, Humour, oil, PoemsLeave a comment

by Martin Anton Smith

I once knew a friend whose name was not-called-Derek.

He loved to cook with healthy doses of olive oil,

Which he poured from a tall oversize bottle.

Which was hoisted by way off guy ropes,

From a sturdy pyramidical latticed structure.

As a wordsmith I knew had to act quickly.

I knew right away It was my duty to rename him.

Instead of his usual name of “Percy Weatherby” –

I simply renamed him “Derrick”.

Ironically the name stuck.

By rights it should have slipped away entirely,

For with the move to clean energy –

No one knows what a “Derrick” is these days.

Now Readers I apologise for the poor quality of this Poem:

Perhaps one should never write a new Poem only –

So they can use a weird word like “Derrick”.

I only hope the audience will not “send me to the gallows” –

Which incidentily is why a “Derrick” was called a “Derick” –

In the first place – For it was a man called “Derrick” invented

The classical tall wooden plus rope structure of the Gallows.

To finish this sub par poem I will ask this final question:

Why is it not a thing to say:

“You better not do that or you’ll be Derricked”.

“How It Went Wrong With Yippy Y’Pong” (A Poem)

December 15, 2023Posted in UncategorizedTagged emotions, fiction, Humour, Love, pain, Poems, relationships, social commentaryLeave a comment

by Martin Anton Smith

I once met a girl called Yippy Y’Pong,
Or Y Y for short, which incidentally, she was.
O ‘culture wars’ did untie this fragile ‘Knot’.
Yes, We got what we got,
& we got the lot.
The Disagreements were decidedly epic;
The passive aggressiveness?
It was unfortunately unwaveringly,
underminingly uncomfortable.

So sadly, we soon divorced our special friendship.
The worry in the aftermath,
was equal in worth to mathematical infinity.
Yes – with My heart being so broken,
My formerly beefy baritone voice,
Became so softly & squeakily spoken.

My heart thus being swiftly & unyieldingly smashed,
Went from foppish aflutter to apoplectic palpitation.
So perilous was this heartless fact,
Its stringy moorings were no longer in-tact.
yes -it did Olympically jump out my chest,
& splattered downwards into the gruesome dingey gutter,
& Then fell down the dangling dirty depths of A sidewalk drain.

I stood wounded, literally heartless & dispiritingly dejected,
& Without much words or even a low decibel mutter.
I stood ‘stoopily’ with unevenly hunched shoulders.
Of course, it goes without saying: I was unhappy –
Suckered into being exquisitely, surgically, psychologically, ‘undone’.
Even worse the victor was watching my unravelling: it was Yippy Y’Pong
Just standing there watching, with a uneven smirk,
laughing when my heart rattled downwards with a
“Da Doink Da Doink Da Doink”.

And here’s the point:
O why O why
Did I Choose someone called
Yippy Y’Pong?
With her ‘worldliness’ in tow?
Alas! I was drunk with on Love!
Blinded by dead doves.
To her,
My flights of fancy,
were far more than just chancy,
They were deadly:
I might not just bore her to death,
I might have opened her eyes to something,
she had until now failed to see.
A dangerous idea that just simply couldn’t be.

“Different Ways” (A Poem)

December 14, 2023December 14, 2023Posted in PoemsTagged fiction, Pholosophy, Poems, ThinkingLeave a comment

by Martin Anton Smith

Yes I was thinking while sitting by myself.
And Now I see those thoughts of things past,
Is often so-very-much all quite daft –
For does the ‘Past’ even exist outside our minds?
Or if it does, do we go from Future to Present to Past? –
Maybe we all live our lives in reverse time order –
& to aid survival our brains reverse it yet again.
This would mean our “Future” is Set-in-stone
& Our lives are just a cacophony of different ways –
Different ways to always get to the same place.
Slowly but surely our memories & skills are wiped.
our common final resting place? – the unified consciousness
That sits outside time – ‘before’ the big bang.
At this point I guess we stop reversing,
& are happy just ‘being.’

For now we are no longer human beings.

“Ontological Thoughts From The Shelf, Vol 1.” (A Poem)

December 14, 2023Posted in PoemsTagged Everything, fiction, God, Humour, Poems, The UniverseLeave a comment

by Martin Anton Smith

Yes, I was thinking while sitting on my shelf.
And Now I see that thoughts-of-things-past,
is an exercise in being very-much-quite-daft.
For does the ‘Past’ even exist outside our minds?
Or if it does, perhaps we go from Future to Present to Past –
Maybe we all live in reverse time order –
& our brains reverse it yet again.
This would mean our perceived “Future” is Set
& our lives are just a myriad of different ways –
Different ways to always get to the same place.
We go from Death to Life to Birth
& slowly along the way our memories & skills are wiped.
But surely we don’t stop as muling & puking babes,
In our smiling -or frowning -mothers arms.
Surely the reverse journey continues:
The Stars turn to swirling dust clouds
The dust clouds disperse to atoms
Atoms dis-asemble to quarks
Quarks splits to anto matter & anti matter
Then we become blinded by traversing a cosmic event horizon
Then we become an infinitely long encoded line –
A cosmic singularity which holds all the information there is or will ever be.
But Alas perhaps we have one more step backwards
This our common final resting place –
This being the ‘grand unified consciousness’
That sits outside time itself.
At this point I guess we stop reversing,
& maybe just maybe we are happy to just ‘be.’
in closing I will say just one more thing:
I predict that most Atheists will love this Poem,
& most Believers will not.
For I didn’t mention ‘God’ once,
Or did I?