Monday, 7 September 2026

GOX 7: The Trip (Part 4) Legal Criminality

Greg and Pete ended up hitching a ride with a strange man who took an interest in their picture  taken from the video game GOX.  He said he wanted to examine the picture properly but ONLY with the help of a magnifying lens...?
  The stranger told the lads that his name was Vance King.  Greg and Pete didn't quite believe him because the Kings were all well known upper class types who only lived in the rich section of town and never travelled east of the wall.  But Greg and his mate were willing to go along with the lunatic if it meant getting a free ride away from the forest and some information to boot.  
  Greg and Pete had been spending too much of their time getting drunk, chased around and being thrown out of buses.  It was time to get cracking again.  It was time to push on with the GOX project.  They had to try and do something.  They couldn't keep on just aimlessly wandering around.
  So this is how the next stage of the trip started.  This is how they came to meet the man named Vance.

***

Greg and Pete had found this old road and they were walking along the side of it when this man driving a rough scrapheap looking Toyota Hilux plopped up beside them and started inviting them in for a ride to east side.  He was a rough looking guy.  He told them he was heading east and to him it looked like they were heading that way to.  'Welcome to Iguana Country lads!' he said loudly through his vehicle window.  'My name is Vance by the way.  That's it!  It's me, yours truly - Vance King!  I am out and about looking to make my fortune in Sunscale City!  I am off to Fenwood!  You are looking at a future superstar right here!'
  "Yeah right," thought Greg secretly in his head.  "I am sure Fenwood is looking for a grubby looking tramp to star in its next movie production."
  'Where you lads off to then?' the smelly tramp blubbered on.  He smelt of tobacco even from far away and he sounded drunk, which was really quite worrying as the man was clearly driving a vehicle.
  Greg showed the tramp called Vance the photo of the house he had taken from his video game, GOX.  'We want to find this place,' he said pointing at the picture - specifically at the house which was the centre of it.
  'Well you lads have just been handed a little tickle of luck!  I think Sunscale holds such a place!' said Vance.  'I have seen it before in my travels I am certain of it!  Sunscale is the place you want to go if you are hoping to find a house like that!'
  That was some seriously GREAT NEWS!
  Greg and Pete agreed to take the lift and got into the Hilux.  
  'So you have played GOX then?' said Greg to the driver.
  'Of course I have!' after he said that Vance burst out into insane laughter and when he had finished doing that he said to the lads in a more relaxed tone: 'NO!  Never heard of it actually.'
  Greg and Pete didn't get it.  Why joke about such a thing?  Fears of the man's mental state were finally starting to pour in...
  'Why did you say you played it then?' said Greg.
  'I just like messing with people that's all,' said Vance, as if that was an okay kind of thing to do.
  'But you do recognise the picture of the house right?' Greg pushed on.
  'I think so...' and now the man started to sound unsure.  That was NOT a good thing.  If the man in fact knew NOTHING about the GOX house then Greg and Pete were hitching a ride with a clueless moron.  And if they really were riding in the company of a clueless moron then they wanted to get out of the vehicle and quickly.  'I am going to have to take a closer look at that picture first, lads,' said Vance taking a hand off the wheel to light a smoke.  'Don't worry!' he said cheerful, filling the atmosphere around Greg and Pete with second-hand smoke,  'I have got a magnifying glass at home!'  Vance talked about the magnifying glass as if it was something to take comfort in.
  They asked him about the magnifying glass.  They felt that they had a right to know more about it, and in truth they did.  In that moment it was starting to sound like this magnifying glass was going to be the key to the secrets of GOX. 
  'I don't see well,' Vance replied adding, 'my vision is really bad, sadly (at least he had enough shame to apologise about it).  I need glasses really!'
  'Should you really be driving then?' said Pete.
  'Legally no,' Vance replied calmly.  
  THAT man was way to calm about mad things.  A man who is calm in the matters of madness is the kind of man who is a madman that madness just loves to make mad...
  'Then why don't you wear glasses then?' Greg returned.  
  'I am too proud,' said Vance with a hint of glee in his voice.  'I always was a little bit of a rebel.  Even as I lad.  My uncle Frank he used to kick me blue, but now I say to you lads as I used to say back then - "I talk how I like, I do what I want, and I dress like a king," because you see, I am a King literally!  Vance King at both your services sirs thank you very much!'
  "Dress like a king, hey?" thought Greg.  "A king of what exactly?  The king of trash I bet?"  Sadly Greg was soon going to find out that his thoughts were actually not wandering too far from reality...
  'I have a nice little palace just around the corner, lads.  I will stop there and then I will whip out my second pair of eyes,' said Vance confidently. 'And then we will check out that damn house of yours!'
  'You live in a palace?' said Pete innocently.
  'Not quite, but it is a fine place - all refurbished with a swimming pool you get the picture I bet?  Yeah it is a cool place!  Plenty of ladies like to chill with me by the pool.  You are going to love it lads I promise!' said Vance.    
  Vance made his home sound like it was some kind of a fine mansion.
  After a quick bend in the road, 'And there it is!  Home!' it turned out that Vance actually lived on the side of the road inside a rotten frequently used and abused outhouse.
  None of the lads were surprised when they finally found this truth out...
  And O yes, the pool?  It was really a cesspit that the outhouse drained its contents into.  And the ladies?  They turned out actually to be ladybugs - swarms of the little red devils!  The outside of Vance's foul little rotten home seemed to have attracted a whole nest of them for some reason.
  But the ladybugs were only the real start of things.  There were the ants too, LEGIONS of them!  Vance told the lads that he loved the ants and that they were his special little army who marched to his command - even though they never did anything that he told them too.  Greg and Pete actually witnessed Vance giving the ants orders while the ants did absolutely nothing except their own thing.
  But worst of all were the wasps, loads of them everywhere it was disgusting.  Those suckers especially those near Vance's home loved to sting.
  Vance asked the lads what their thoughts were about his 'mansion.'
  'So you actually live here do you?  Or is this some kind of a joke?' Greg replied.
  Vance was standing there coolly with his sweaty hands resting on his hips.  'NO joke lads.  This is my fine little home in the middle of Iguana Country!' he said.  The lads would never have believed him if it were not for the sincere note of pride lurking in the filthy man's voice.
  'How do you actually live like this?' said Greg.  Greg genuinely wanted to know the answer to this.
  'Comfortably, lads.  Very well indeed,' Vance replied.  He almost sounded... smug?  But why?  'I live like a king...' Vance went on.  'Ha!  Do you see what I did there?  King and I am a King, get it?  Right?  Why you lads not laughing at my joke?  I might take a little offence to that.  Look at all that open country around us...  There is plenty of space out there for a couple of lads to go missing...   Ha!  Joke!  The look on your two faces!  I have never laughed so much in all my times!  I used to be friends with a famous writer once, don't you know?  We almost took over the whole damn country together that's right yep.  For a day or two my writer friend and I ruled the whole Sovereign Isle of Fenwick!  And then there was a rebellion and we had to make a run for it.  That is why I am living like this, out in the wastes.  I am kind of an outlaw.  Well, no I am wrong there.  I am definitely an outlaw!  An outlaw wanted by all!  I like to make songs about it.'
  Greg and Pete did not know whether to believe the man or not.  The lads made the unintelligent choice to NOT take anything the dirty man was saying seriously.  And why not think that way?  Life seemed to just look like a joke to our proud boy Vance.
  Greg went for it and asked Vance how it was possible to live at all in Iguana Country let alone like a king.
  And Vance happily offered him a reply and told him this:
  'It is easier than you think!  There is a van  that goes up and down the road.  It is full of fresh pizza.  And bottles of full sugar soda.  Whenever that van stops for a breather or a reliever to my little home over there I jump in the back of the van and I take my pick.  I live on a fine diet of pizza and soda.  That is how I live and I am proud of it!'
  'But isn't that stealing?' said Greg.
  'Sure it is son,' Vance replied without a single tremor of guilt in his voice.  'Now listen to me, lads.  I was never a father, so let me be your old Dad for a bit.  And as your Dad I am going to give you some sound advice - so listen up:  There is nothing wrong with stealing.  NO sir.  No prob at all.  So long as you stick to these rules:  Little and often.  Do you hear me?  So it is like this!  You steal a little bit here, a little bit there...  Slice off a little bit of the pie, or in my case pizza.  When you do it in that way no one notices.  Imagine you are six years old again and it is your mates birthday and you are invited to the party and he has all of these presents lying around.  So what do you do?  You just take ONE for yourself.  One present.  You hear?  Take one of those presents for yourself and your mate will never know about it...  Like the look of the birthday cake his mother baked for him too?  Then what you do is peal off a bit of the icing!  NO one will know.  And that is how you do it my two fine sons!  You nibble at the system - a bit here and a bit there and you will do as fine as a little mouse in a little house.  Why am I talking about mice?  Well you two listen again to your old Dad!  Mice steal, right?  But they NEVER get caught.  Want to know why?  It is because they nibble, yeah, like I say little and often.  Here lads!  Let me show you something.  Behold my secrets!  My pride!  My liveswork!'
  Vance opened the outhouse door.  Inside the little shack was a sight both believable and totally unbelievable.  It was full to the brim with loo roll!  Loads of the stuff!  You couldn’t get into the place there was so much paper stuffed into it.  Now the door had been opened some of the rolls were actually starting to roll out onto the mud, rolling out onto the road and even joining the ladybugs in the weeds of cesspit.
  It was mad.
  'Look at that lads!' said Vance proudly.  'Is that not a sight for sore eyes?  I call that fine sight there paper gold!  And it is all mine!  I bet you are wondering how I did it - how did I get all of this stuff?  Well it is like I say, little and often.  There is this little Italian place up the road, that is where the pizza is heading, pizza Italian, right, get it?  Don't get the joke?  Anyway.  I pop into this Italian place from time to time.  I tell them I am on the road and I need to use their loo.  I stink so bad they want me gone so they shove me in the loo and say, 'Get it done and get out!'  And that is when I do my business.  And by business I mean I steal loo roll.'
  'And then you just calmly walk out with your gains I guess?' said Greg.
  'No mate!  I climb out of the window and make a run for it,' said Vance. 'And you know what?  I have never been caught not once.  It is beautiful!  This is what you call making a living!  Listen and learn lads and one day, who knows, you might grow up to be like me - your old Dad.'
  'Don't the owners ever question their drop in stock of loo rolls?' said Greg.
  'Maybe.  I don't care because they will never find me not out here in the waste,' said Vance happily.  'The restaurant is Mafia run and that lot are too proud to enter the waste looking for a dirty old scumbag like me!'
  That was when two black Sedans with dark tinted windows drove up.  Five men in dark suits and shades stepped out and stepped up to Vance.
  The whole scene was like something out of a movie and at the same time it was also like something out of your worst dreams.
  These suited guys were pretty big and frightening looking as well.  One of them stood out from the others.  He was dressed the smartest, with a waistcoat and all the works.  He appeared to be the leader of the group and he slowly started to step up to Vance.  'You are wanted,' he said finally when he was up close.
  'Like to explain why I am wanted and by who?' Vance replied casually as if nothing really bad was happening.
  'You have been stealing from my family's restaurant,' said the smartly dressed man.  'That makes you our enemy.  Now will you come with me peaceful or do I need to call my men over to bundle you up?'
  Vance returned with a grin.  Then he looked at Greg and then he looked at Pete and at the top of his voice he shouted:

  RUN FOR IT LADS!

  A third Sedan turned up to cut Vance off from his escape.  In no time at all Vance was tied up then gagged and thrown into the back of the vehicle.
  'We have got absolutely nothing to do with this!' said Greg to the smartly dressed man.  'So we are just going to trot off home now thank you very much...'
  The smartly dressed man stopped Greg with his hand.  'Not so fast,' he said to him.  'If you are associating with a man like Vance then you also must be an enemy of the family.'
  ASSOCIATING?
  HE JUST GAVE US A LIFT!
  Greg and Pete did not know what to say, they were too busy trying to prevent themselves from collapsing with horror.  But Greg did tell the smartly dressed man that he and Pete had no idea who Vance was and had never ever met him before in their entire lives.
  'Let me tell you about Vance,' the smartly dressed man began.  'That man we have just put into the boot of my vehicle is Vance King.  He is an outlaw.  He is well known across the country.  The Kings and my family used to be at war and right now we are close to a new one.  Recently Vance caused my people a great personal grievance.  He stole a packet of tissues from my pocket.  Those tissues were a gift to me from my mothers late aunt's sisters brother.  Vance has caused my family an outrage by doing this and I am going to pay him back - with blood.  We have been hunting him for days.  Then we find him out here in the middle of nowhere talking to the both of you.  Now you say you don't know him?  Then I say you are liars!  And if you are liars then that can only mean you are connected to the Kings.  And anybody connected to the Kings must hold valuable information to my family's cause.  So because I am a man of honour I am going to tell you what I am going to do next.  I am going to take the both of you back to my home.  Once there we will make you...  comfortable.  Give you sometime to think.  But if you continue to keep quiet about the Kings,' and he said this next bit with menace, 'then we will make you talk.  Don't displease me.  Displease me and will displease you with pleasure.'  Then he turned to his henchmen and gave them these orders:
  'Tie them.  Gag them.  And put them in the back.'
  Before Greg and Pete even had chance to think of anything they were fiercely and rudely tied and gagged and dumped into the back of one of the Sedans.
  As they drove along Greg consoled himself with this single thought:  "Maybe I am still on drugs...  This could just be another fever dream!"
  But alas for Greg he was not on drugs.
  He wasn't drunk either so he couldn't blame his current plight on the good old DT's.
  No.
  This thing was really happening.  He really was in the full power of the Mafia...


To Read GOX part 6 click here.

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Sunday, 6 September 2026

GOX 6: The Trip (Part 3) A Totally Normal Day In A Weird Sort Of A Way

So there was Woga holding up a foul hand full of dreadful filth - the dreaded mud stew.
  It was time for the lads to eat...
  Yes.
  Greg and his buddy Pete were going to have to get stuck in to that foul thing...
  There was really little else they could actually do.
  You have heard of the saying - caught between a rock and a hard place?  Well the lads were caught between a rope and a muddy place - and the only way out of the fix was to literally eat mud...

  EAT THE STEW!

  Okay it was time to get going.
  Greg started first.
  The mud tasted beyond foul, and far worse than the lad could ever have dreamed of or realised in his worst thoughts.  There are very few words available in the English language to describe the full foulness of Woga's stew but these few that I have prepared sum up the taste pretty much:

These words describe the stew...
  Vile.  Horrendous.  Disastrous.  Oily.  Like vomit.  Evil.  Inhuman.  Possibly alien?  Stomach turning.  Embarrassing.  Disgraceful.  

  Woga's stew was indeed something any other human would be fully ashamed to present for consumption to another living being - but there we are and there Greg was, sliding the stew down his throat.
  Greg started to retch but Woga showed neither mercy nor dignity.  Every time Greg heaved Woga shoved it right back down.
  By the time the muddy stew was inside Greg's stomach the world started to change...
  The trees started wobbling.
  Trees are living things of course but they typically don't bounce about in the weird rubbery way Greg was starting to see - it was NOT good.
  And then the net turned into thrashing snakes and disappeared.  That was when Greg hit the ground head first!  He was conscious, but delirious.  By that stage of the affair Woga had transformed into a giant stag and Greg had turned into a badger.  Greg could see that it was a good time for him to get up and get running!
  Greg finally hit a road outside of the forest, somewhere near town, but a tenacious lamppost standing nearby told him to back up and back off.  He didn't like people being near him, he said.
  The phone booth was not much more helpful either, and neither was the post box.  Everything literally seemed to be against Greg.  Even the dustbins started singing - BACK UP AND BACK OFF BOY!
  Over and over again they lifted their lids up and rang:

BACK UP AND BACK OFF BOY!
BACK UP AND BACK OFF BOY!

  It was nauseating.  
  Just then a giant hippo got of a car made out of square bricks.  
  'Don't worry about them lot over there,' said the hippo.  He was referring to the singing bins.  'They are an odd bunch.  They are still unhappy beasts even though we good people of the town make the effort to feed them filth every day.  How about you, son?  Are you okay?'
  'I don't think so,' Greg replied weakly.
  'Fancy eating some filth with me?' said the hippo cheerily.
  'No!  Please!  I have already eaten a load of mud...'
  'Yes I must say you don't look well!'  The hippo gave Greg a concerned look.
  'I do not feel well...' said Greg and then he started to moan.  Greg wanted to be sick, get some of the stew out of his stomach but for some reason his body just wouldn't relieve him of the rot in his guts!  'I need to free my stomach!' said Greg faintly.  'Seriously...  I think I am going to die!'
  Greg moaned and then he moaned.
  The hippo eyed Greg curiously and then gave the lad a sly little chuckle.
  'Now you listen to this!' said the hippo.  'No human being who says out loud, "I think I am going to die," is actually going to die.  Trust me I know these things.  I work in a cemetery, my son, and the dead there are all quiet.  And you, NO!  You are not quite quiet enough to be dead not just yet.'
  'Is there nothing you can do to help me?' said Greg pleadingly.
  Greg was getting very sick now, and was desperate enough to accept the help of a hippo.
  'I know a shop where they sell tea for free!  Follow me.  Maybe someone there can help you and me.  Well we'll soon see, won't we?' and the hippo waved Greg on.
  The hippo led Greg to a building that was painted green, and inside there was a bar that was just as green, fitted appropriately up and down with green tables and green stools.
  The bar was perfectly fine, really, but the people inside it were indeed a very bizarre little lot.  Greg was in so much stomach pain he was finding it really difficult to concentrate, but this is what he saw:
  A crowded bar with about maybe thirty people in it.  And they all looked, shall we say, abnormal?  The men standing there looked like gross sweaty pigs with yellow grimy tusks, and the women were all vultures!  Actually there was one women who looked like a stork with a beak like a sword.  She looked like she wanted to stick your throat with it and drink you clean of your blood!  Here tiny yellow eyes were very evil looking as she squinted at you over her sword-beak from her shadowy corner of the room.
  The bartender, another great big boar, stepped up to the bar and with a roar got the attention of all.  This is what he said:
  'Ladies and gentlemen!  You need to get out before the pink elephant arrives.  He is the most difficult customer I know!  He has a habit of demanding all of the seats!  O damn he is here already and there is a polar bear riding on his back!  You have been warned!'
  The pink elephant was outside thundering against the door frantic to get in.  'Quickly!  Open the door!' it said.  'Let me in I say!  It is about to rain!'  But nobody let him in.  Everyone was hiding under their tables or behind their seats!  The roaring anger of the elephant scared them all nearly quite senseless!
  The hippo was still there at Greg's side.  He was indeed a loyal friend and he was never going to leave Greg trapped in that bar with all those hideous souls!  'Here drink this,' he said to Greg in a kindly voice.  'It is tea!  It is very good.  It will fix you up - sort you out as it were.  Drink!'
  So the tea vanished down Greg's gullet and that was the moment his guts finally spilled.  
  The green bar with its storks and savages changed into a dark void.  
  A minute later, or a thousand years later, it didn't matter it could have been any length of time, Greg finally woke up on the side of the road covered in mud and in his own vomit.  And he stank worse than a badger too.  In fact it was in that precise moment that a family of badgers heading home actually decided to avoid the usual path and turn in the opposite direction to avoid Greg's despicable toxic odour.
  Pete wondered up out of the forest towards him looking shaken and desperate.  Visually Pete didn't look quite as bad as Greg but he still looked horrible drenched likewise in the essence of his own stomach.
  Greg was the first to speak: 'Pete, mate, I think that there was something weird at work in in that mud we ate...'
  'We could both bet a good sized fortune on that one mate,' Pete replied wearily.  'Something of the fungus variety I think...'
  'Where is Woga and his wife?  I don't see them anywhere.'
  'They ran away when you told them that you were planning to rise up as the new leader of the people...  You said you were going to cut the forest down and build a fortress on top of it.  You said you were the Lord of Dragons and that you had an army of pigs?  But ah well it is over now.  Let's move on.'
  O yes!  No words had ever been better said than that.

LET'S MOVE ON!





To Read GOX part 5 click here.

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Saturday, 5 September 2026

Saturday, 29 August 2026

GOX 5: The Trip (part 2) DEEP in the sticks!

Damn!
  The Bus was crammed.
  Not a good thing.
  For Pete and Greg this was a true nightmare made full flesh...
  To compound the nightmare was the fact that there was literally no seats available for the lads to plant their hides.  
  So they had to stand.
  IN the middle of the aisle.
  Full drunk. Swaying and swerving with the sway and the swerve of the bus.
  It was an evil business.  
  As I explained earlier Pete was a good drunk.  Pete stood his ground as the bus moved around.
  But Greg rocked like a rocking horse, back and forth side to side - in other words he was a mess!
  Greg didn't think he could take it any more, and he couldn't.  His mind said: "YES!  HOLD ON!"  But his guts said "NO."
  Greg gave up and vomited on the man next to him in the aisle.  That was a bad thing to do.  But what was worse was that the man Greg had emptied his filth onto was a strong man with good sized muscles behind the skin of his arms.  
  The driver ordered the bus to halt, and halt it did.  The strong man got up and grabbed Greg by the throat.  The bus doors opened and Greg was thrown out and he fell down onto the ground.  A couple of feet later the bus halted again and this time Pete calmly stepped out.  Pete wasn't going to abandon his friend like that.
  So the lads were back out in the wilderness and this time it was worse than before...
  There was no bus shelter and seemingly no road either.  
  The wood was growing thick in all directions you turned your head - no path no road no field no clear skies...  Just leaves and trees - and o please the breeze - but nothing else to ease the horror climbing steadily up their spines towards their fizzy brains.
  They were nowhere and that was bad.
  'How many bottles of booze do we have left son?' said Greg to his mate.
  Greg looked bad.  He was shaking and covered in vomit and dirt.
  'Enough for the road,' Pete returned casually.
  'There isn't a road right now my mate,' said Greg.  'I don't know how it happened but we have got lost in this here wood.  It is my fault.  When I saw that strong man I ran!  He scared me to death!  I am sorry to get you in this mess, Pete... Forgive me.'
  'If there is a way into a wood there is a way out,' said Pete comfortingly.  'I love woods, forests...  I love trees.  We are part of nature right now and that is right and lovely for sure!'
  'Pete...  Please.  Stop your D.H Lawrence impression and help me.  Can't you see that I am shaking?  I am shaking right now...  I think it is the...  I think it is the BIG DT!'
  'O gosh!  I hate DT...  Are you seeing any giant spiders yet?'
  'Not yet mate...  Not yet...  BUT!  O NO!  I...  I think I saw ...  NO...  I don't want to talk about it...'
  'You are sweating mate,' said Pete.
  'Really?  Damn!  Things are getting worse for me,' Greg replied.  His voice had shrank into a faint whisper.  Aye.  It was obvious to Pete, to the birds and to the fox hiding behind a tree that Greg was dying.  He was dying real bad. 
  The slow death of the tremens...
  'I helped you earlier on the bus,' Greg pushed on with his desperate wisps of breath.  'Now it is your time to help me, mate...  please help me.  Get me a bottle...  Pour.'
  'Bukowski style?'
  
  BUKOWSKI STYLE

Pour son!  Pour the juice into the guts pour it now!

And pour Pete did.
  Pete poured good and he poured well.
  Greg vomited the good juice up to begin with - but Pete consoled himself that the juice had not been wasted...  Such fine liquor would feed with vigour the violent seeds of the earth!
  Pete poured again.  He used both hands to slam Greg's jaws shut firm to keep the juice from returning again.  He punched his friend in the face.  He punched him again!  DRINK!  GET IT DOWN YOUR THROAT SON!  THAT'S IT!
  The juice finally slid down.  Instant relief.
  Greg was himself again.
  'So where are we?' he said.
  'In a forest I think said,' said Pete.
  'Ah!  I love the wood!  The sweet trees, the sweet songs the sweet breeze!  O please listening to the breeze whistling in the leaves is so divine!  The wood is alive - more alive than we, more alive then we will ever be - the living earth on whose turf our mothers gave birth and on whose terms we all owe our due...'
  'You can shut up now!' Pete said and then he chuckled.  'Greg.  You need to buckle up mate!  We are LOST.  So less of the William Blake nonsense and have a drink.  That's it.  Swig it up, son.  Are your drunk enough yet?  Good!  Hopefully you can concentrate now.  I have got some bad news for you Greg.  I don't know the way out of this forest...'
  'If you can get into a forest you can get out of one,' said Greg comfortingly.  'Let's just walk and see what happens.'
  'What if we get attacked?' said Pete.  'Anything could get us out here.'  Pete was shaking and it was nothing to do with the booze.
  'Pete stop it!' Greg shouted.  'Think like an intelligent man will you!  What could possibly attack us in a forest?  Good lord!  It is not like we are lost in Peru or something mad like that.  This is Fenwick for goodness.  We are kind of sort of part of the UK - sort of...  Until we split from them after Brexwick...  But you know what I mean?  There are no monsters or wild animals lurking in forests like this!  Like the only animal that we might meet that might turn us into meat is a boar.'
  'A boar?  You mean that giant pig like animal with huge tusks?'
  'Yeah... boar...  Yeah.'  Greg had to think for a bit and then he continued:  'Actually now I am thinking about it I am quite scared...' he said.
  'So am I,' said Pete.
  'Yeah.  Boars are pretty bad.  Especially if we were to stumble on a nest of them - the parents would go crazy defending the younglings.  They would probably kill us, tear us limb from limb.  Damn it Pete!  We are in a mess!  Monsters are going to get us and kill us!'
  'What are we going to do?'
  RUN!
  The two lads ran until they passed out, and then they decided to make camp.
  Or decided that they were going to TRY and make a camp...
  But of course they couldn't make a fire.
  Neither of them had any matches, and rubbing sticks well...  this ain't the movies right?
  So instead the lads had to sleep out in the open and in the cold.
  It was nasty business.  
  'I heard something moving out there in the brush,' said Pete, who couldn't sleep.
  'It is your imagination,' said Greg.
  'I need a drink.'
  'So do I,' said Greg.
  So the lads had a drink.
  That fresh slither of booze helped to stable Greg's shaky mind and milky nerves.
  'Listen mate,' he said with his new booze soaked confidence brimming, 'there is nothing out there that is going to kill is.  No boar.  No beasts.  I know these things mate.  I grew up in the countryside.  The city now that is a dangerous place!  But the countryside, no.  The countryside is fair and fine and beautiful.  There is nothing dangerous out here, not in this pleasant wooded land.  We are quite safe!'
  Just as Greg had concluded his gentle speech a giant sized man covered only in his own bodily growth leaped out from behind a tree in front of them. He was was about half an inch under six feet and had tattoos carved on his face and his teeth had been filed to be like those of a wild brown bear.  The giant hairy man howled at them at the highest pitch of his throat - 'Sacrifice them!'
  It was time for Pete and Greg to put flight to their shoes and run again.  
  But they just could not outrun the hairy man.
  He kept beating them.
  He was so fast! 
  His legs were like oars on a boat that would scoop him over over the laves of the forest and he just kept on getting in front of them again and again and again until Greg and Pete had to stop so that they could vomit on the leafy forest floor.
  'You two lads need to calm down,' said the hairy giant laughing - like it was all some kind of an expected joke.  He was stood there, covered in hair, hands on his hips, and laughing.  It was a terrifying sight even for a drunken man to behold.  'I ain't sacrificing you to two lumps!' the giant went on.  
  'Then why say it?' said Greg.
  'I was pulling your leg!  Come on boys I am bored,' said the giant.  'Let me have some fun!  The forest is so quiet these days - too many people stay at home playing with their things.  There is no fun to be had for a man like me who likes to mess about!'
  'Well I didn't find your joke funny so please do not try anything like that again,' said Greg.
  The lads asked the giant for his name and the giant introduced himself thus:
  'I am Woga.  God of the Forest!'
  Well that made a lot of sense.
  Pleasantries aside it was now time for Woga to ask the pivotal question:
  'How did you two lads get lost in this woodsy land of mine?'
  'We are drunks,' said Pete.
  'And we are looking for this,' said Greg.  
  Greg showed Woga the photo of the old house captured from the GOX game. 
  Woga looked and looked twice and shrugged his huge ugly hairy shoulders.  'I have never seen such a place,' he replied.  'But then I never leave this place.  The wood is my home, lads.  The wood is my home!'
  'Don't worry about it,' Greg returned politely.  
  Woga looked mad but he sounded sane.  Maybe Greg could do something plain and get the hairy man to explain if there was a way out of the wood...
  '...and if you could show us a way,' dribbled Greg bringing things up to the grand finale, 'if you could if you would show us the way out of the wood.  We would be very grateful, and maybe even able - to pay you...  somewhat?  Like a tip to a waiter?  Do you have anything to which we might cater?'
  'I do indeed,' Woga returned haughtily.  'I will lead you lads to the road,' the giant rolled on, 'but you must do something for me.'
  ANYTHING - said they.
  Bad response...
  Woga held up his huge hairy hand and in its heart lay a lump of dirty mud.
  'Eat this!' he said.
  Obviously the lads thought he was joking so they just laughed in return.
  But Woga did NOT return the laugh.
  'What do you think I am holding in my hand?' said he.
  'Just a bunch of dirty old mud,' Greg replied.
  Woga bared his teeth like a furious dog that has been denied its feed. 'This ain't no lump of mud, boys.  This is my life...'
  Woga talked in such a strange way, I cannot find the words to describe it, but his tone was very confusing - it sent out mixed signals.  So the lads didn't really know whether Woga was joking or really actually being quite serious.  It was really difficult to tell.
  The lads hoped he was joking of course.
  But sadly that night there was no joke going about...
  'I am not holding mud in my hands, lads,' Woga pressed on behind his barbed bear like teeth.  'This is a precious stew that I made with earths dew, and after waiting my due I serve it up to you.  So it is up to you to imbue my product with a good review.  Eat I say to you, eat my stew, so that I can give to you the road that will lead you out.'
  'We can't eat that mud,' said Greg.  'We will die... or catch something bad!  Our lives our difficult enough as it is.  Please let us go Mr Woga.  Please don't make us eat this!'
  Woga would not relent.  He portioned the mud with his other hand.  'There is a little stew for you, Greg, and little stew for you Pete.  EAT!'
  Greg and Pete were starring at one another frantically.  
  How were they going to escape?
  They needed to escape!
  There was no Einstein here.  NO mastermind.  NO plan.  Just two drunk lads and a madman covered in mud and fur.  
  So Greg and Pete did what they could only do...
  They tossed leaves at the giants face and made a run for it!
  But the running was NOT good.
  There was a trap lying in wait for them and the two lads fell into it instantly.
  This whole scenario felt like a massive setup...  it was mad!  It was like Woga had been waiting for them... wait?  NO!  Conspiracy theory brewing...  Maybe Woga really was a God of the Forest and not just a random crazy madman!
  O the horror of it!
  There was a mad looking little woman, almost a dwarf, covered in full fur waiting in the forest ahead.  She had set a trap...  She had to be Woga's wife or something - whatever.  She knew what was going on, apparently, and had set everything up in wait for the lads to fall into.
  And now there were the lads hanging three feet off of the ground in a fibrous web of doom.  Yes.  They were caught in a net like animals!
  Woga came up to them with the dirt in his hand and he held the dirt up and said in a foreboding voice like he was some kind of a god:
  'I say to you AGAIN...' he said, 'eat the stew...'
  
EAT THE STEW!

To Read GOX part 4 click here.

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Friday, 28 August 2026

How Many Damn Passwords Do I Need?

 I talk for 4 minutes and 13 seconds about farcical world of computers and the requirement for unending passwords just to access ...  well...  just about ANYTHING!
  Like I mention in the video I yearn for the good old days of the Commodore Amiga...




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Monday, 24 August 2026

GOX 4: The Trip (part 1)

They got the afternoon bus on purpose.
  The afternoon bus wasn't going to be crammed with folks heading to work.
  NOTHING WORSE than a thick bus: the stench, the fog, the flies - a crammed bus is an ugly ungodly business to be a part of.
  No sir.  Greg wasn't having any of that nonsense.
  He needed a clean open space and a time to think and a chance to drink - booze and the mental process were the same and one to him and Greg could just not afford the risk of being thrown off the bus for public intoxication if someone caught him in the act.  No.  He needed to drink in peace.  It was the only way he could think.  And there would be no way he would be able to think not while inside a prison cell.
  So there was the bus, perfectly clean except for Pete and Greg and one other weird looking old guy sitting at the back with this dazed and delirious looking cocker spaniel - that dog looked more drunk than Pete and Pete up until that point had been drinking rather a lot!
  Halfway on the journey Pete fell asleep.  The stupor had kicked him down before it had been given the chance to  kick in.  Pete was typically a light sleeper but he was full asleep then - snoring like a sea lion sleeping atop the body of a defeated polar bear.  Earths largest land predator brought down by a lump of blubber and skin - and therein lies the truth of it...  The dream of the dreamer is just the dream - and when Pete suddenly arose from the thickness of his booze tinted slumber he still thought he was dreaming.
  And that was a problem.
  'Where am I?' he said slowly.  'What am I doing...  I...  I...'
  'We are on a quest Pete, remember?' said Greg.  'We are going to travel far and wide and we are going to solve this bloody murder!'
  'Why is there a giant spider on the bus?' said Pete.  'O God!  Help me...  I can't...  I can't breathe - my heart!  My heart is going to burst out of my chest!  Damn it I am dying!  Greg I think I am finally going to die!'
  Pete was sweating, and he started thrashing his arms about like a drowning man.  He really did look like someone who was about to die.
  'I am not ready... I am not ready for the tremens - not yet!  Please help me!' said Pete.  Pete started to gag.  He grabbed his chest where his heart was and started screaming.  'I am not ready Greg!  Help me!  Please!'
  Greg told his friend to remain clam.  Greg had a solution brewing.
  There was only one way to keep the tremens away - and that was more booze.
  Luckily they had a backpack full of the stuff - spiced wine: G-Juice, yeah, the bad stuff.
  Greg clicked open a bottle and told his friend to drink, but Pete was all shaky and sweaty and looked pale - he was already halfway from the doors of hell - poor sod.
  So Greg stepped in and did what he had to do, 'Hold on Pete,' he said.  'You are going to have to hit this Bukowski style.'  Grabbing his friend by the neck he pulled his head back and cocked the bottle horizontally so that the juice would run right down the man's throat sliding directly into his guts.  
  Pete blinked.  After a second Bukowski session he finally started relaxing.  Some colour was restored to his flesh.  Pete was looking like Pete again.
  'You alright?' said Greg.
  'Fine thanks,' said Pete who then sighed.  'Just fine, thanks mate.'
  'Any more giant spiders?'
  'No more giant spiders,' said Pete.  'I am sorry about that!' 
  'Such things happen to the best of us,' said Greg.
  Pete opened a second bottle and did what he had to do.  Anything to keep the spiders at bay.  Greg nodded approvingly.  He was proud of his friend filling his soul with that second bottle.  Greg couldn't help but respect a man who was fully drunk, especially at daytime.
  And that was when Greg and Pete were thrown off of the bus.
  'I ain't walking,' said Pete.  'We are going to have to wait for another one.'
  'Fine,' said Greg.  'There is a sign over there.  Let's go up and wait by it.'
  'Fine.'
  But in reality there was little that was actually fine about their situation.
  They were drunk and stranded in the countryside, fields east west and north of them - and a vast stretch of oak and beech wood territory to the south.  The only thing they could see that made sense was the road and that went on and on and on.  There was no way they were going to be walking on that thing.  It just went on forever, and forever is a lot of walking in a single lifetime.  They were going to have to wait in that shelter even if it meant holding on all day even if it meant the next bus was crammed, they were going to get on the thing and sail right out of the no-man's land they were stuck in.
  Just at that moment a strange old man struck up from behind a hedge.  Any other day Pete and Greg would have made a quick dash for it in the opposite direction, but even from a distance the old man had an innocent look about him.  He looked pathetic, nervous, defeated everything and anything except dangerous.  He had a bent back and he needed to keep a hold over the hedge or tree or whatever was at hand to keep himself upright and he kind of sort of crawled towards the lads.  It looked like the man was about to die, but he wasn't drunk.  This was just the natural order of things to the old man.
  Once he was up close the old man started to speak.  He had a gentle voice that was pleasant to listen to.  He sounded like the kind of man who would have been good reading the bible to people, his voice had a soft kind of educated rhythm to it.  His voice took off the edge of the idea that he might have been someone insane or a weirdo up to mischief.  
  The first couple of words that bounced off of his tongue were these:
  'Are you alright if I talk to you lads for a minute?  It is a lonely old life being an old man living in a hedge.  I live in a hedge or sometimes under a tree depending on the weather.  It can be pleasant sleeping under a tree - O yes that is the life for me!  You two are not Irish are you?'
  'No.  We are from the west side of the wall - Crow Country,' said Pete.
  'O!  That is okay then!  I have always had trouble with the Irish ever since they settled in the north.  They joke about me.  They like to call me an old toothless feck!'
  'That is too bad,' said Greg.
  'O it's alright.  I am old.  I have been called worse.  I was in the war don't you know?' said the old man.
  He was starting to sound like Greg's gramps!  'O yeah which one was that?' said Greg.  'The Falklands I presume?'
  'Nay lad.  WW2!  I turn ninety this year!'
  'Ninety hey?  Wow!  I would never have thought it!  Why you don't look a day older than eightynine.'
  The old man thanked Greg for the compliment.
  'Thank you,' said the old man.  'Tis a rare thing to meet a polite couple of fellas on the road,  people like you who have still got time for old folks like me.  I fought for this country back in the day.  I was part of the resistance!  The British didn't send any soldiers to help.  Forgot about us.  Bunch of traitors!  Well it didn't matter in the end because we didn't need them.  We got those nasty fascists out and I am proud to have been a part of that great fight!'
  'That is good to hear!' said Pete raising his wine bottle as a kind of faux salute to the old man's heroism.  
  'They don't care much for the war veterans nowadays,' the old man went on.  'It is not just here it is everywhere.  Folks forget the bravery given up by those rotting in the skin of the earth today.  Nobody knows that I was in the war fighting for freedom.  No sir.  Most people they just jeer me off of the streets!  Most of the people living in these parts are of Irish stock and they enjoy being mean to me because like you lads I am from the West.  But you get used to it.  The war gave me a thick skin!  That is the one thing I am grateful to the army for giving me nerves of steal, the kind of steal that lets a man sleep under a windy tree in the sleet snow and the rain!  No.  I don't mind the Irish, not really.'  And then the old man crept closer and in a whispery voice that he really didn't want anybody else hearing - perhaps forgetting that he was alone and out in open empty country - and then he said this: 'it is them Italians I am wary of.  Italian Americans from New York - Mafia backed if you get my meaning?  They came here to do business and since then they have kind of sort of taken over the place.  I don't like it.  NO sirs I don't!  They are a threat I tell you!  Something needs to be done.  The police need to get involved and split them up.  Darn Italians!  I can see what they are up to, you know?  I am not stupid.  They come over and they are all friendly to begin with, I remember, all fancy words like: "We will help you sort this place out!  We will invest!  We will make the country rich!  Leave it all to us!  We know what we are doing..."  Then before you know it they are taking our jobs and stealing our women.  Not that the women ever cared much about me.'
  'Snap!' said Greg.
  'Snap me two!' spoke up Pete.  'Most women are trying to put me in prison...'
  'I hear you,' the old man replied.  'It's mad!  I read somewhere that the population is something like two thousand strong, and that some one thousand seven hundred of those souls are of the female variety so you would think with such crazy unbalanced dynamics going on among the populace it would be easy for a man to find himself a wife.  Not so.  The last lady I asked on a date kicked me fully and freely in the crotch.  I couldn't walk for four days.  I never tried to ask a lady out again.  I sort of gave up after that.'
  'It happens to the best of us,' said Greg.  'At school we were doing country dancing.  Teacher says, "Get yourself a partner!"  So I left to find myself a partner, asked a girl to dance with me.  She almost scratched my face off!  I still got the scars see?'
  'I hear you lad,' said the old man.  'It is enough to turn anyone to the bottle.  But I never did that, no not never.  I always believed in the power of prayer and the good lord has steered me well away from the evils of the booze and I am grateful to him for that.  There is no good in drinking!  Water is fine but not the spirits!  No sir!  Keep those spirits far away from me thank you very much and I shall live happily!'
  'We like to drink a lot Pete and I,' Greg replied.  'Our bags are full of the good stuff...'
  'You should stop that drinking right now sons,' said the old man considerately.  He had such an honest and sincere look about his wrinkly ancient face that Greg and Pete couldn't help but like the fellow.  'Seriously.  Stop your drunken ways,' the old man continued.  'Life is tough BUT it is what it is.  Right?  Perk your ears and listen!  After the war I suffered a lot.  I had bad memories, I kept thinking about my mates who didn't make it home.  Then one evening I was soaking in the familiar view of the Deadrock Point.  It looked the same as always, wild and rough.  It got me thinking about the books I read at school.  Our ancestors landed on the those rocks back in days now long forgotten.  Like everyone today they were on the run from something or other.  They could have sailed on and forged a new world elsewhere, but then they found this island and decided to stay.  The waves brought them right into the bay.  They brought with them blood and bone, sinew and steal, but more than that they brought dreams.  And they planted those dreams like a forester plants seeds.  Their dreams would be trees - and these trees would sing the dreams when the wind was in their leaves. And on that evening I heard the song of dreams in the trees and out there the seas became calm, like a mirror, the sky was sleeping on its face full and fair - there was a sweet smell in the air, I do declare, the smell was sweet.  Finally the moon met the sky, and the waters wrinkled slightly, and as the moon enjoyed its face in the mirror I watched the foam seal the shores and that was when I was sure I had found my little slice of Eden.  I never let the image go.  I let everything else go, my business, my home, but never the vision of the mirror in the sea.  And even in the darkest days I can still hear the song of dreams, and my heart believes that with these dreams the world and man will one day be one.'
  A bus popped into sight.
  It was time to get on and get out.

KEEP PLAYING.
  
To Read GOX part 3 click here.

For more adventures set in the town of Fenwick check out:
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