Better

By Mike Olley

Better: an anthology of 19 absurdly funny short stories, bursting with ideas. A diverse range of life-changing topics are covered, from sliced white bread to plane crashes yet there is humour in each situation.

The characters are real and sympathetic, we laugh with them, not at them (unless, of course, they deserve it). These are everyday people caught in extraordinary situations, forcing them to make pivotal decisions: the starving blue-collar worker stranded in the rain forest (Hungry for life); the independently perfect man who has pre-prepared for all of life's eventualities, except one (He was ever-ready); the rogue writing group who take the adage 'conflict leads to creativity' a bit too far (Write club).

Although food is a common theme running throughout these stories, the main topic is hunger, sometimes for celebrity, power or money but usually just to make things right. However, as we know, life doesn't always go according to plan. They say laughter is the best medicine: if you're feeling down, you should get Better. The instructions for this ebook are simple: take one tablet and read.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mike Olley
• Release date: Jun 26, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301341108

Mike Olley

Mike Olley went to Art School with the express purpose of joining a band but somehow ended up doing art. He made pop videos but gave it all up to live next to a Spanish castle, where he grew cactuses, practised carpentry and wrote strange funny stories. Unable to take the heat any longer, he returned to England with his sense of humour and a half-baked novel. His first collection of short stories is Better.

Book preview

Better


A collection of short stories

Mike Olley

Everything can be explained;

some explanations are less obvious than others. 


I offer those less than obvious explanations in my writing.

Better copyright 2013 Mike Olley

A Hard Egg Book

Smashwords edition

Cover artwork copyright 2013 Mike Olley

All stories copyright 2012 Mike Olley, except: Having a wild time, The Brace, Bread rage, Book of fate, Making misrakes, Minus fifty shades, Write club. copyright 2013 Mike Olley

Kindly edited by Stefani Grabowski

All rights reserved. All the short stories contained within Better are a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, any place, event, or occurrence is entirely coincidental.

No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you.

* * *

Further Mike Olley stories can be found at http://hardeggnews.com or Facebook at Hard Egg News.

To my Mum and Dad for having me,


my family and friends for putting up with me

and to Stefani for making me better

Table of Contents

Experiencing turbulence

Having a wild time

Feast your eyes

Hungry for life

The Brace

Mwamba star

Pants: life or death

Making ends meet

Jason's seat

Mrs Amanda Volsten's unresponsive husband

Bread rage

Little book of fate

Making misrakes

Minus fifty shades...

Help the aged

Time of my life

He was ever-ready

Write club

The corpse effect

Notes on the stories

About the author

The Onion of Reality

Experiencing turbulence

'Brace. Brace!' shouted the airplane cabin crew over the intercom just as they said they would in the unlikely event of an emergency. This was that unlikely event.

'We're all going to die,' predicted the hysterical businessman, probably an insurance type.

Some passengers screamed along with the burning engines; others cried; the bloke in the next seat opened a line of frantically whispered prayer to his God, while Colin groaned but nevertheless followed orders, folding his arms around his head and leaning into the seat in front. A pointless exercise: he'd read somewhere that the brace position merely preserved dental integrity for identification after the crash.

Colin's teeth were awful, not rotten; it's just his smile was more 'Cricklewood' than 'Hollywood', which was why he never did. So Colin had decided to fix the matter with some affordable foreign cosmetic dentistry. But he was too late, now he would be judged by the very thing that had ruined his short life:

'Have you seen this guy's wonky teeth?'

But then Colin did smile, genuinely, he wouldn't come out of this crash the worst: the praying bloke in the next seat had just confessed he was wearing women's underwear.

Having a wild time

If there was ever a place not to lose it, it was here. The Savoy. Afternoon tea. Jane's parents. First encounter.

Civilised conversation in faux tropical surroundings complete with aquarium; I wasn't used to such finery, my upbringing primitive by comparison. I had to change my behaviour, above all remember not to swear.

Jane's parents were just back from jungle-trekking in Borneo.

'...apparently we taste like pork!' said her father.

'Shi...' I stuffed a whole crustless triangular sandwich in my mouth to prevent the final 't' escaping, only to realise it was ham: I'd been vegetarian for years. My girlfriend's expression said 'don't spit it out', so I chewed. After a glistening top lip, sweat broke out on my forehead. My eyes widened. I snorted, stamped my feet. I banged the table.

'Ni! Ni! Ni!'

I leaped up, knocking a waiter over, sending a shower of tea and a snowstorm of doilies across the room. A woman screamed. I couldn't stop.

'Ooh! Ooh! Ooh!!'

I bounded across tables, trampling sponge cake, wrestling potted palms until I reached the fish tank and plunged my head in, mouth gaping - giant carp cowered under rocks.

Relieved, I dragged my sopping head out.

Everyone stared.

'F**k, that mustard goes right up your nose.'

Feast your eyes

'Could I see a menu please?'

'Monsieur, may I suggest a simple steak dinner rather than the dizzying temptation of the possibilities of what you could eat,' replied the waiter.

'Don’t tell me what I can and can’t have, I’m a paying customer and I want to see a menu.' Honestly, being treated like a child as if I couldn’t order my own food.

I was promptly and politely handed a rare menu: a perfectly-weighted folded board bound in a skin of indeterminate origin, warm to the touch; it felt like my hands were being absorbed. Fusing. I was at one with the menu, I was part of the food-chain but I was sitting at the top end as the honoured guest - I would eat whatever I wanted, whoever I wanted.

Upon opening the menu, the scent of all things fine filled my nostrils. A sense of excitement. The butterflies in my stomach were quickly digested by the flowing gastric juices as I feasted my eyes upon the words that so deliciously described the delights on offer.

Hors d’oeuvres, how to choose? Saffron-dusted shrimp; wild watercress tempura; pine-cone mousse; a selection of fishermen-gathered seafood treats; or possibly the micro-salad topped with shavings of white truffle, extracted by truffle hogs from open ground situated in the Langhe area of the Piedmont region in Italy. Or maybe I’d settle for one of the peasant classics: scrag end meat, slow-cooked for a year over a secondhand fire, served in a chipped bowl filled with a thin pauper’s sauce, accompanied by a broken side dish of bread kneaded by the hungry.

'Is Monsieur ready to order?' asked the persistent waiter.

'No I am not!'

Entrees: strictly for grown-ups. Amorous aphrodisiacal Almas, pearly-white Iranian Beluga presented on a pearl spoon bound with a leather handle and draped casually on a disheveled bed of wild rice. Or, Shangri-la tropical vegetables, an exotically curried dish oozing intense flavours, oh! my salivating tongue was restrained to the floor of my mouth whilst the pungent stiletto-heeled spices walked slowly up and down it. A blend like I’d never encountered before: jasmine, lovage, cleavage, nigella, porn-star anise, wild thyme, cloves - no cloves, you’ve been a naughty boy, cumin and finished with a gently whipped cream - this was no ordinary entree, this was an S&M entree. My heart raced uncontrollably. Main, move on to mains, plug me into the mains, give me CPR. Take these dishes away, CLEAR!

Now bring me the seventies' hunk classic of medallions of beef, draped over a golden pork belly and served in a brightly-coloured, open-necked polyester shirt. Or, the medieval favourite of a bird within a bird within a bird, stuffed inside a poached Queen’s swan and dished up with a porterhouse blue sauce. Or, perhaps something naughtier, like a slow roast, Slender-billed Curlew, an endangered species.

I felt a presence hovering at my shoulder but it wasn’t my conscience, it was that annoying waiter again.

'Monsieur...'

'The Slender-billed Curlew hasn’t been seen for over ten years, isn’t it extinct?' I asked.

'It will be by the end of service. Has Monsieur finished with the menu?'

'No, I haven’t looked at desserts yet. Don’t rush me!'

Snail porridge and beetle juice. A rare cheese made from the milk of human kindness, left to mature in a secret cave where it is turned and washed daily by a dying order of nuns. Madagascan chocolate ice cream wrapped in edible 24K gold leaf and filled with soft velvety Tahitian vanilla bean paste and drizzled with Manuka honey (New Zealand bees' puke), followed by Kopi Luwak, coffee ground from beans shat from a cat in Sumatra.

'Monsieur?'

'Shut up.'

I wasn’t sure how much more of this I could take, my head dizzy from wave after wave of culinary pleasure, a veritable tsunami, my taste buds screamed, my stomach rumbled like a Polynesian earthquake. I was feeling a little bit sick.

'Monsieur!?'

'Go away!'

A palette