Fred’s not Real
… better dead than Fred
(A work of complete and utter fiction)
This is a short fun story based on a family joke – very silly and quirky humour so not to be taken seriously … I know I wasn’t ! It is amazing any part of it has ever found its way here considering my procrastination to finish writing.
Throughout the daily commotion, their mother maintained her stylishly and elegant pose, cigarette holder lightly pursed to her lips as she gently drew in breath – and occasionally coughed and sputtered, sort of like how a cat sneezes. All the while she maintained a confident yet ambivalent expression with an ever so slight but gentle scowl appearing towards her upper right lip. Why she maintained this asynchronous 1960s pose and stereotype more than half a century later is a little mysterious. Nonetheless it was quite an elegant and timeless look.
“Mum, Fred is drinking your coffee again. Can I finally end him?” relayed a hopeful George to his mother.
“Don’t worry, dear, I will send out the Rottweilers and attack drones. He almost didn’t make it last time, so obviously he hasn’t learnt his lesson”.
“Thanks, Mum. Always grateful for your love and use of ill-considered and extreme forms of violence. Two thumbs up for your innovative use of advanced military technology”.
Of course this was all said in jest, and in the heat of the moment. Although, probably not in jest for George, who did really despise Fred, along with a few personal hygiene issues Fred was currently experiencing. It was not made any easier because their mother thought Fred too beautiful and intelligent, and George as such an incredibly annoying twat. If anything, the Rottweilers were being groomed to be set upon George one day.
Mothers always know best, as well, and Fred really was an incredibly bright and talented, but also a conflicted and confused soul about his future, even from a young age.
They lived high in the rolling, picturesque but rugged terrain of Beverly Hills. It was rugged for how the many movie star has-beens and one hit wonders that found themselves still living off the scraps of the entertainment business, managed to survive in spite of the sneering and roundhouse blows from the current crop of A-listers and corporate thieves that also inhabited the same suburbs. How Fred’s modest family came to find themselves living there was more by good fortune than by design – and maybe some underworld conniving from their father but let’s leave that story for another cinematic universe. Fortunately for Fred, this allowed him to grow up in a vibrant community surrounded by many of the most beautiful, successful – and excessively superficial – people, since the age of the dinosaurs ushered in ill-fitting Raybans on our early inhabitants. They would regularly rush past in their shiny bullet proof convertibles, often spun up and coked up to their roulette spinning eyeballs, without ever a second glance at the more modest mortals in their shambolic abodes. If anything, being doped to their eyeballs, also meant that they thought Fred’s home was an environmental waste dump for their el grande infused soy almond latte moccachino cups. The end result for Freds family, was a cup cleanup was duly incorporated into the children’s daily chores – as well as a ritual weekly dumping into the neighbours backyard – who strangely never complained mistaking it for a show of affection. But, this good fortune did come with other side benefits. Odd jobs for Fred allowed for more innovative boyhood ventures and lucrative payback beyond the typical pay scale for a child working deep in the mines at the city edge. He was handsomely rewarded with the loose change dripping from his neighbours deep pockets, or at least whosever pocket those roving hands – or their accountants hands – may have found themselves trolling in the night before.
Fred grew up in a family surrounded by the fine arts, gladiatorial sports, and a love for the media including journalism, film, music and television. But of all the stranger things, these respectable pursuits were not Fred’s ultimate obsession. Fred loved a full blend single origin coffee most of all – which is a pirate king’s paradox if ever there was one. This surely must have come from an upside world, especially for someone so young to treasure what is typically an adult addiction of legal stimulants. His earliest and most vivid memories, were the smell of percolated coffee wafting through the kitchen and spilling over into the dining area, and even into his bedroom when the marathon of pots was running hot. Those sweet smelling aromas were ingrained into all of his most treasured and innocent moments of childhood. And the wisest of us all know, that neither childhood nor its innocence lasts forever, and for some it can come to an end sooner than we would like – but let’s not get ahead of ourselves just yet with that teaser.
Summers were an amazing and exciting time for the glowingly young and hyped-up Fred, as it would for any young boy finding themselves misplaced into the wrong, but wealthy, neighbourhood. There was much time spent talking absolute sh*t with friends, who were so pretentious they tried inventing new meaningless words to enter into the English vernacular – this surely would make William Shakespeare rise from the grave and slap them, really hard on the face. There was lots of baseball and basketball to display his sporting prowess, often in slightly under-sized shorts and tight shirt. Imagination was often wasted here. And the time to use his undeniable charms with the girls and boys, but it was mostly just to put some of that meaningless sh*t talk into use. Boys will be boys, no matter how intelligent, which is not really saying much.