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- 2nd Short Story

2019 'SHORT TAKES'   PROSE COMPETITION

CATEGORY A - SHORT STORY
Second Prize

Rock 'n' Roll at the woolshed! by David Campbell

G’day. ’Ow yez goin’? Now lissen, I dunno what all the fuss is about, really I don’t. I mean, they didn’t ’aveta stick us in jail, did they? So what if a few of them little devils got loose! That sorta thing ’appens all the time, don’t it? Anyway, ’ere it is, my side of the whole shebang, just ter set the record straight.
  See, it was the night of the big dance down the woolshed and I just got me new ute…a Holden VF six-litre V8, fire-engine red. If sexy Kylie McIlhenny didn’t get off on that then I reckoned I’d be joining a monastery.
  Anyway, when I got there I seen Kylie standin’ out front, just sorta hangin’ out yackin’ the way sheilas do, so I figgered I’d put on a bit of a show…you know, make sure she saw the new wheels. So I started tearin’ up a bit of turf, rippin’ around the paddock like those city kids do with their burnouts, only we ain’t got no proper road out at the woolshed, just gravel an’ dirt.
  Trouble is, just as I came roarin’ up close I hit this bloody great bump an’ the ute bucked like a rodeo bull an’ dirt an’ stuff went everywhere an’ I had ter slam on the anchors real quick. Well, the girls, they weren’t too impressed…in fact they was ropeable…’cos some of that muck ’ad got on their clothes an’ in their hair an’ they was callin’ me names like yer wouldn’t believe.
  But that weren’t the worst of it. See, that bump I clobbered was a bloody jumper ants’ nest! Yer wouldn’t read about it, would yer? Talk about bad luck! I mean, nobody noticed at first, but when we got inside an’ started up with the dancin’ it weren’t too long before them little buggers got ter work. An’ they got a sting that kicks like a mule!
  There we was, about ’alf an hour in, rockin’ away like crazy ter some pretty wild music…Britney or someone like that…an’ suddenly Kylie starts screamin’ an’ shoutin’ an’ bouncin’ around like somebody set ’er hair on fire. At first I thought that’s what it was, as I actually done that to ’er a few months ago ’cos I figgered it might get ’er ter notice me. It worked, too. She knew me name after that.
  But this was different, ’cos now she began rippin’ ’er gear off! Fair dinkum, right there in the middle of the floor she tore off this spangly number she was wearin’ an’ started prancin’ about in ’er knickers an’ bra! Fire-engine red, would yer believe… just like me ute!
  Trouble is, I didn’t get no chance ter check out the view properly ’cos right then I got stung in a place no bloke wants ter feel pain an’ they reckoned later they could ’ear me yellin’ clear up Main Street. I dunno if yer’ve ever tried ter yank yer pants off while a jumper ant’s attackin’ yer old Jolly Roger, but lemme tell yer, it ain’t no picnic!


  I almost ’ad one leg out, but me foot got stuck an’ I started ’oppin about like a one-legged pirate on pixie-dust an’ cannoned straight inter Kylie. Next minute we’re both rollin’ on the floor an’ everythin’s comin’ off…undies an’ all!
  Well, the others all think we’re gettin’ down an’ dirty right there in the middle of the dance floor, an’ I can see ’em gawpin’ an’ Snapper Thompson flashin’ away with ’is camera, but all I can do is grab at me crotch an’ try ter find where that little black bastard ’as gone. Only Kylie keeps gettin’ in the way ’cos she’s thrashin’ around an’ gropin’ down there where the sun don’t shine. Fair dinkum, those little buggers can move…they ain’t called jumper ants fer nothin’!
  Anyway, just as I get ’old of mine, Prissy Purdey, whose dad is the local cop, suddenly lets out a shriek an’ starts tossin’ ’er clothes all over the place! Well, that really started it, like some sort of plague or somethin’. Them bloody ants must’ve gone berserk! Before yer could say Miley Cyrus it seems like everyone in the shed is runnin’ round like the devil got ’em by the short an’ curlies, shoutin’ an’ yellin’ an’ gettin’ all nuded up like there was no termorrer. It was like one of them porno fillums what Snapper found in ’is dad’s workshop, only there was so much skin an’ sweat an’ noise it was ’ard ter know where ter look.
  I guess somebody musta rung the cop shop because next thing I know old man Purdey turns up, lights an’ siren goin’ like crazy, an’ people are racin’ ground grabbin’ their clothes an’ hoofin’ it as quick as they can with all this flesh jigglin’ an’ bouncin’ like yer wouldn’t believe! So, ter cut a long story short, me an’ Kylie got ’auled off ter the cop shop an’ spent the rest of the night tryin’ ter explain what ’appened. Although there’s a lot of dodgy stuff goes on in our town, public orgies ain’t exactly common, an’ Purdey even dragged the parson out of bed ter come an’ give us a lecture.
   But all ended up okay. Sort of. Yer see, the local paper came out a couple of days later, an’ there was the ’eadline: “Rock ’n’ Roll at the Woolshed!”. Along with a selection of Snapper Thompson’s photos, those that showed enough, but not too much. Prissy Purdey was there. An’ me an’ Kylie, of course. Which made things awkward, what with Prissy’s dad being the local cop an’ Kylie’s dad being the parson. Did I mention that? So there weren’t no punishment or anything. Just red faces all round.
   Except fer Snapper Thompson, who made a mint out of the rest of them photos.

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