Hi, this story is dedicated to Terry Jones, who sadly died today, and I felt I wanted to do something (completely) different. It’s people like Terry, with his work on Monty Python and the films he directed, who have had a profound influence on me and helped shape my sense of humour and creativity. Without him and the other Pythons, I wouldn’t be the person I am today. For better or worse. RIP.

Right, here goes… not really rehearsed anything.


Roy Nakedpiano waits impatiently outside his manager’s office, gets up and paces up and down the short corridor. He works at BraCo, a company that sells modern bras for modern ladies. He’s worked at the company for nearly eight years, making his way up the ladder in his own way. Basically, by being a haughty cock. Another man waiting in the corridor, is Brian Creosote, the company’s morbidly obese Sales Executive. Who’s also a cock. Roy can hear the other breathing heavily, due to having recently walking up a flight of stairs after his lunch. He hates the noisy breathing, glares at his portly colleague as he paces.

They’re both waiting for their manager, Percy Services, to make his decision about who’s going to replace him in the top job when he leaves. He’s been in his office for over half an hour. Roy and Brian haven’t spoken to each other during that time. They’re both as confident as each other about the promotion. Roy just wants the old bugger to hurry up, he wants got back to researching bras online. He sits back down, not making a secret of his frustration. Turns to his fellow Sales Executive.

“When is he going to hurry up? He never hurries up. When that’s my office, I’ll be hurrying up. I’ll introduce a hurrying up rule so everyone works faster, increase the hurrying pace every hour on the hour. By five o’clock, the hurrying will be so fast it’ll be ridiculous!”

“That sounds a bit silly,” said Brian. “There’s only so much hurrying one can do. When I get the job, the hurrying will be kept to a preordained level so as no one will be hurrying too much and start making mistakes.”

“Ah,” replied Roy. “There’s a flaw in your plan. If you have to set the hurrying to a particular parameter, the employees who are naturally more adept at hurrying won’t have to hurry as much as the ones who can’t hurry as easily. It’s my strategy that will prevail, surely, as if everyone is hurrying at the same rate, relatively speaking, the company’s productivity will prosper.”

“Nonsense,” scoffed Brian. “The amount of hurrying using your strategy will lead to possible burnout and people will then be afraid of hurrying as a result, especially the ones who find hurrying less natural than the others. Plus, how can you possibly quantify the hurrying required if everyone, using your logic, has a different aptitude and pace when it comes to hurrying?”

Roy thought for a moment. It all makes sense in his head. Why can’t this bloated buffoon see it? The office door opens. Mr Services beckons them in to take a seat.

“Sorry about the wait. Just had to send an emergency email to Head Office. I’ve just been made aware that rival Bra Company BraQuest has just designed a more modern bra. According to them, women are getting increasingly more modern by the day, and they’ve adapted their existing line of bras to reflect this. Just have to wait for a reply.”

Roy steps forward purposefully. “I’ll get right on this after we’ve finished here, increase my research. In my own time if I have to. So, I take it you’ve made a decision about your replacement?”

Percy looks from Roy to Brian, then back again. He has made a decision, he’s just making a dramatic pause like they do on reality TV. Ping! An email from head office.

“Just a moment,” Percy tells the two hopefuls. After a moment, his face drops, sits back on his chair. Stares into the middle distance with a shocked expression on his face.

“What’s the problem?” Roy asked.

“We’re out of business,” he replied. “Head Office has told us not to bother redesigning anything, BraQuest’s new bra is just too modern for us to compete with. BraQuest said they’re going to crush us.”

Just then, a giant foot crashes through the roof and splats everyone into the floor.

They are no more.

Something like that, anyway.

Published by The Daily Jabjab

Hi, I'm from Stockport, Greater Manchester England. My plan on my blog is to hone my creative writing and write a post every day this year. It sounds daunting, and I'm sure things will evolve over time. Let me know what you think about my writing - any tips, useful websites and things like that would be quite lovely. Thanks for reading!

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