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Failed First Contact Attempt 957 |
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Bren
MacDibble is a Melbourne-based writer whose desire to write fiction
stems from a complete distrust of reality. "Wouldn't it all make
more sense if we discovered it was just someone's idea of a joke?"
Bren describes herself as poorly educated and a verbal duffer. She was
afraid this might stand in the way of a writing career but after some
successes, including the prestigious Anti-SF Award, she has begun to
have nightmares that one day she'll publish something really good and
have to explain her writing. Bren was recently assimilated into the
Clarionborg collective that is Clarion South and she hopes that having
access to 17 minds won't result in copyright violations. You can find
out more at her website: <http://members.optusnet.com.au/brenmacd/>.
Small Barry strides into the boozer, slaps a limp goanna on the bar and says, "Name's Small Barry, gimme a VB." The barmaid looks him up and down. "Heat gotcha noggin?" "Whatcha on about, Luv?" he asks. She nods toward the lizard. "We don't take dead goanna." Small Barry shoves his floppy back on his head and drags his sleeve across his brow. "Fair go. It's hot enough to shrivel a what'sit out there." She leans over. "If you've got a good story about how a big bloke like you got your name, I'll spot you a VB." So Small Barry throws his floppy on the bar, settles back on the barstool and tells his tale: "We were out on the salt flats, me an Gazza. That's me mate here, Gazza Goanna. Taking the 350 for a blatt when outta nowhere came this spaceship. Broad daylight, just hovered down over us like a blimmin' great March fly. "Now Gazza, he started talking, and while I'm mad enough to have a goanna for a mate, I'm not mad enough to listen to one. 'Big Barry,' he said. 'Listen to me carefully, Big Barry.' 'Shut up!' I said and fair burned the tyres trying to lose that spaceship. Gazza prattled on. Then he sat up on the fuel tank and scratched his chin like some bloody boffin. So I turfed him off. Left him bouncing along that hard white shit like he was yesterday's breakfast. "That was when me bike cut out. The damned aliens cut the power — left me coasting. I swung me leg over, and hit the ground running. Giant lizard guys zapped down in front of me. I turned and bolted back the other way. Same thing. Every way I went giant lizard guys appeared. And they were ugly. Looked like the whole ugly forest fell on the lot of them. "They coralled me. Accused me of killing Gazza. Said he was their messenger, they had important knowledge to impart, but now I'd pay for my ignorance. They grabbed me. Lots of them. Held me down, pulled my gear off. Strong bastards. "When they backed off, I was left staring down at a goanna twizell where mine used to be. Not a scrap of blood anywhere. They're good surgeons, those aliens. "They left then. Just took off without another word. So I picked up Gazza and tramped in here, changed me name to Small Barry and thought I'd test out me beer-drinking capacity." The barmaid laughs until tears run down her face. "A lizard dick on a big man like you! That's the most ridiculous story I've ever heard. Here's your VB." Small Barry grins and flips the goanna over. An enormous fleshy penis twangs up in the air. The barmaid gasps and jumps back. "How about another for Gazza? He's coming around and he's gonna be livid when I tell him he's gotta wear high heels for the rest of his life."
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