Synopsis: This was a task on my course in which I was asked to contemporise a fairytale. Jack and the Beanstalk immediately jumped to mind for some reason! I had a word count so it was somewhat restricted, hope to maybe extend it a bit if i get some good comments!
Jack and Gary lived together in a small flat on Brown Hill, just outside of Brown estate; a well known council estate for all the wrong reasons. Chavs, pikies, scabs, low-life’s, tramps, and their friends and family, all seemed to congregate to this ‘honey pot’, usually all under the same most-ridden roof. Although they would deny that Brown Hill was anywhere near Brown Estate, Jack and Gary would probably still fall into the category of ‘low-life’s’. A roof over their heads being the only threshold separating themselves from ‘tramp’ status. Having recently been fired from their burger-flipping day jobs, an incident involving sacks full of Big Mac’s being flogged on the estate, and a monthly subscription to ‘Playboy’ draining their finances, the lads would soon have to turn to their only asset; an ’84 reg’ Nova with 140 on the clock.
“Beans mate”.
“What?”
“Beans. We got any? Beans on toast for tea init.”
Surveying the barren cupboard for the essentiality of their main course, Jack found what Gary had requested.
“Is it Heinz?”
“Happy Shopper”, Jack revealed.
“You’re jokin’! I’m sick of bloody Happy Shopper beans, Little Man Cornflakes and blue ‘n white labels!” Gary continued in a softer tone, “Look mate, I hate to say it, but if we’re gonna get back on our feet, we gotta sell the Pimp Mobile”.
So it was agreed. Jack made his way to ‘Browntown Motors’ the next day in an attempt to sell their precious ‘pimp mobile’. Nearing, he thought of how the cash could finally ‘pay’ towards reconciling his broken relationship with Nancy; his girl-next-door, who actually was, the girl-next door. But surely he could win her back with…
“’Undred fifty quid."
“What? You avin’ a laugh?” It was the offer Jack was expecting, “hundred and fifty? I’ve ‘ad more good times in the back seat; and that ain’t including foreplay neither!”
“Take e’or leave-e," replied the oily garage owner in his thick, Cornish accent.
Jack stepped outside to ponder the offer before him, when he noticed a familiar face surveying the Nova; an ex-manager of Maccy D’s who went missing during a nightshift and had never been seen since; but here he was. Not really on speaking or enquiring terms, Jack merely explained that ‘she was a good runner’. A lie. The Man said nothing.
“She’s yours here and now if you want it”. Jack pushed. The man looked up, but un-phased. ‘Crazy bastard’, Jack thought to himself.
“She can be mine, but can Nancy be yours, with just a hundred and fifty, can you be sure? Fear not though Jack, I have an offer as well; ask and I will tell”.
‘O-kay…definitely crazy’. Something strange was happening here, and if his experience with crazy people had taught Jack anything, it was to play along. “What you got in mind?” he responded warily.
“It’s what you haven’t got my friend, some thing to put your worries to an end; you’ll get the girl, Gary will have his Heinz back, just take and plant these Magic Mac’s”.
The man held before him a glittering solid gold box with jewel-encrusted lid. Inside, three enchantingly greasy burgers. Jack had seen ‘Dickenson’s Real Deal’ enough to know when something looked expensive, and with that, he headed on the number ‘56’ back to Brown Hill, via Brown Estate.
“9 carat and those stones are bloody amethyst! You bloody mug!”
Not quite the pat on the back that Jack was expecting. Gary failed to see the plus side of a fancy new bread-bin, and after throwing out the ‘Magic Mac’s’ in a rage, retired to an unsettled sleep.
They were woken the next morning by a frantic knocking at the door, and Jack answered to find Pikey Pete, Nancy’s brother, in a fluster; and he wasn’t even cold turkey. Something was wrong.
“Basikly like, there’s massive burger out-side on ‘t ‘sate, touchin’ sky ‘n all, ‘n like our Nancy goes ‘n checks s’out, then like massive grease-monster, proper cross between Jabba Hutt ‘n Sugar Puffs bloke comes down, swipes her, fooks off back up burger wi’ Nance’, ‘n I’m like, ‘oi, dik’ed!’ so goes after him but he’s too fast, even though he’s proper fat ‘n all, but yeah, you’s gotta save our Nancy ‘cos you got like, burger experience init.”
“Yep. Definitely not cold turkey”. However, before Jack could slam the door shut, Gary pointed out the greasy monstrosity that now stood where he had thrown out the Magic Mac’s the previous night, spiralling, somewhat delicately, into the sky above. Jack knew what he had to do.
After an hour and a half of climbing, including burger breaks, Jack reached the greasy monsters’ lair; a gargantuan sized trailer, an envious abode to many a local pikey. After venturing through the open door which towered before him, Jack found the monster asleep on what appeared to be a throne made of grease, making it somewhat hard to distinguish between the two.
“Nancy!” he whisper-shouted, navigating the minefield of chocolate, crisp, and burger wrappers, “Nancy!”
“Jack? Is that you!?” came a muffled reply from an empty burger box, big enough to act as a make-shift prison cell.
“It’s me Nance!” he replied, muscling open the box. After freeing Nancy from her make-shift cheese shackles, they headed for freedom, but stopped when they noticed someone else cheese shackled to the grease throne. Though he was face down in a pool of his own franchised grease, there was no mistaking his, now lifeless, ginger afro. Ronald McDonald had become the grease-monster’s bitch, a victim to his own sugar-coated empire. He wasn’t moving, and it smelt like it had been that way for a while. However, before Jack could begin to mourn one of his idols, a loud booming voice came from above, and he noticed on the grease throne, only an unrivalled ass groove.
“FEE – FI – FO – FUM! I SMELL BLOODY LOW-LIFE SCUM!!”
The chase began, and the grease-monster was fast. All Jack had to do was make it back down to the bottom of the Magic Mac, where he knew Gary and Pikey Paul were already munching away to bring the whole thing down. After ten minutes of high speed grease-tobogganing Jack and Nancy slid off the foot of the spiralling Magic Mac into a glistening pool of juice and cheese drippings.
“Ge’ ou’ d’ way!” Gary shouted with a mouth full of Magic Mac, “She’s comin’ down’!”
As the Magic Man tumbled to the ground, so did the grease-monster; screaming in terror of his inevitable end in a pool of his own drippings.
Now what happened from here is somewhat of a mystery. Some say that Jack and Gary sold the remains of the grease-monster to Maccy D’s to make their all knew ‘Monster Mac’ range. Some say that the Magic Mac fed the whole estate, and Gary no longer had to eat Happy Shopper Beans, Little Man Cornflakes or food with blue and white labels. But most say, whatever happened, that Jack and Nancy live happily ever after, to this very day, on Brown Hill, just outside of Brown estate.
THE END