The next morning, Billy awoke to an extremely large surprise. He was in a very big and shiny fridge!
“Wh…What on earth is going on?!” he demanded.
“It’s alright, you’re safe.” Came a beautiful voice. “You’re in a fridge.”
Billy peered past carrots and tomatoes (1) to glance upon the most beautiful bottle he had ever seen! She was tall and green with a lovely gold label and curvy body, and instead of an ugly flat twist top, she had a big, beautiful cork on her top. She was lovely! And what an effect she seemed to have on Billy! His bubbles ran faster just looking at her!
“Hu…Hullo.” He stammered. He didn’t seem able to expand beyond that.
“Hullo.” Replied the lovely bottle. “I am so glad you’re alright. My completely equal fridge inhabitants; the carrots and tomatoes (4) and I were ever so worried about you! We weren’t sure when you would wake up. My name is Moet, which is not breaking any trade mark or copyright laws without the umlaut, and I am pleased to meet you.”
“Oh…Uh…I’m Billy. But where am I?” Managed Billy, still bewildered.
“I told you, silly! You’re in a fridge.” She giggled a lovely giggle.
“Yes…but…who’s fridge?” stammered Billy. “Bogans? Is it Bogans? Because that’s where little beer bottles are supposed to end up and I just had a very frightening incident with some.”
“What? Oh, goodness no!” Moet giggled again. “Why absolutely anyone can enjoy beer Billy! It is an outdated and discriminate notion that beer is only consumed by bogans. Enjoyment of any beverage in this day and age is completely independent of socio-economic status, class, education level, or, incidentally, gender. My owner is female, upper-middle class and educated and she loves beer! That’s why she brought you home, lovely little bottle.”
“Oh!” Billy was very surprised to hear this, after having brought up within a very narrow and restrictive mindset.
“And what is a lovely little beer bottle like you doing using horrible, socially dividing words like ‘bogan’ anyway? All people are equal, Billy!”
“Yes, apparently.” Billy replied, “But that doesn’t make for terribly good writing.”
“Oh I do see.” Moet said.
“So…what do we do here?” Asked Billy. “It’s my first time in a fridge.”
“We wait.” Answered the lovely bottle.
“Oh.” Said Billy. And he waited.
“F…for what?” he asked after a while, when nothing seemed to happen.
Why, to be drank of course!” Moet giggled. “You are such a sweet, naïve little bottle Billy! I like you very much.”
Billy’s bubbles started racing, and very nearly popped his twist-top right off!
“But I can’t be drank!” He objected after recovering.
“Why ever not?” inquired Moet.“Because I’m to be a beautiful mirror one day. I was on my way to the recycling plant to have the Recycling ceremony performed on me.”
But even as he was saying it, Billy realised something: At that moment, he no longer cared if he became a beautiful mirror or not. As Billy and Moet gazed across the fridge at each other that day, they both felt something very special indeed. All he could think about was staying as close to her as he could, because every time she spoke to him, he felt like the most beautiful piece of glass in the world! Far more beautiful than any silly old mirror!(5) Suddenly it had all become very clear to him. He could never be made truly beautiful by the physical process of Recycling. It was the things he could not see, like love, that had the power to make a little bottle beautiful.
And so Billy made the decision to end his journey here, in his lovely new fridge home, where he and Moet spend many happy days(7) together, and both learned the true beauty that lies in being able to completely and unreservedly love another bottle.
This was, of course, until the next upper-middle-class-educated drunken party held by the owner where Billy and Moet were both rapidly ingested over discussions of inflation, economic cycles, how the theatre was the other night, what country the kids are studying in on exchange at the moment, and towards the end of the night, a series of very poorly executed Monty Python quotes.(8)
It is said though, that one particular sunny day at an open-air market, the owner of one particular Tasmanian brewery could be seen to be buying a large and beautiful recycled glass mirror, in an attempt to improve workplace ambiance and subsequent employee morale within the brewery, and shut up the unions. It is said the beautiful mirror attracted him so because it was a very special mirror. It is said to make anything that gazes into it appear extraordinarily beautiful. It now hangs on the brewery wall, enchanting any human, beer bottle or goat that looks upon it. It is also never said, always whispered, that late at night after the workers have gone home, if the fluorescent lighting is just right and you lean in close enough, you may just be able to make out the figures of two happy and beautiful little bottles, forever in love and together always. Incidentally, these rumours all surfaced at about the time the brewery hit a goat-related rough patch with the Health Board, and was desperate for some good publicity. The reader is left here to take what they will from all of that.
So here we end our journey, and thank you for reading. Please keep an eye out for the following court-ordered titles to come:
#CALLY THE CARROT CONTRASTS COMMUNISM
Marx to Lenon to Trotsky; How did translation from paper to practice affect the produce of the era? Mainly reported from a root vegetable perspective.
#TOMMY THE TOMATO TACKLES TROTSKY
In a follow-on from Cally the Carrot’s critically acclaimed adventure, one small tomato retraces the steps of Trotsky, and how he may have better tailored his government in practice, taking into account the human (or produce) character. Includes three footnotes objecting to the fact that seeded fruits did not feel their views were sufficiently or appropriately represented in Cally the Carrot’s commentary which was alleged to be targeted mainly at root vegetables to the deliberate exclusion of seeded fruits. Litigation currently underway.
In this light-hearted romantic comedy adventure, Cherie the Chardonnay and Corbin the Cranberry Juice re-enact on paper the rise and fall of the Bolsheviks. Written in collaboration with Cally the Carrot to the deliberate exclusion of Tommy the Tomato. Litigation currently underway.
#DEATH OF THE DAIRY DAYS
The forgotten ones. In this, the age of lactose intolerance, and during the time of the rise of the Soy regime, Catriona the Camembert and Mark the Milk bottle explore the eye-opening world of intolerance, exclusion, rejection and subsequent litigation in the dairy product community. Also explores the effect this has had on political polarity within the dairy world.
“Daring, gripping, and vividly presented. Nothing is held back. The raw emotion flows onto the paper before your eyes, unstopped” (Times)
#FOWL OF FORTUNE
Which came first, the chicken or the egg? In this adventure Eggbert strives to answer, using written and applied Marxist theory. With sections by Lonnie the Leek on possible Freudian applications to Marx’s proposed intellectual facet of communism within the functioning social model.
#YORRICK THE YOGHURT UNIONISES
#ALLITERATION: The Pitfalls and Knowing When to Stop
A 300-page self-help book by someone who’s been there.
(1) Who of course, as equal and deserving fridge inhabitants, all duly objected to being so quickly overlooked and flippantly mentioned in text. Their key objection, which is fully acknowledged and unreservedly apologised for by the author, was that they were each their own entity with their own story and should not be so readily dismissed as insignificant to the plot and treated merely as inert scenery. (2)
(2) As the result of extensive litigation, the carrots and tomatoes will be awarded their own spin-off adventure series and all of the associated royalties early next year.(3)
(3) Yes that’s right, the author is now footnoting footnotes. She wishes to advise that she does not plan to make a habit of this where avoidable, as she is finding it just as confusing as you are. Possibly more. Refer to part two of this series to form an assumption regarding the state of her central nervous system.
(4) Just follow the previous footnoted train of logic to arrive at a possible explanation as to why the eggs, cheese, milk, chardonnay, cranberry juice and leeks will be awarded their own spin-offs in early 2011. The yoghurt didn’t have a union.
(5) The author does not subscribe to the opinion that mirrors in general are silly, or intend in any way to single out any specific mirrors belonging to brewery workers as silly or in any way inferior to anyone or anything. She assures the reader that Billy has merely used the language above in his thoughts as a comparative device in his paragraph of sudden maturity and self-realisation. She is quite sure that Billy in no way intended this language to be construed negatively or as derogatory to any other glass entities. However, if it was taken as such, the author wishes to advise that there is absolutely no point in suing her unless you are first planning to go and get all her money back from the blood-sucking perishables in the previous footnotes. (6)
(6) #sigh# Following further litigation, the author wholeheartedly apologises for any offence caused by the inference that certain perishables were blood-sucking. She is aware that this is not the case, and is generally considered to be physically impossible. She openly acknowledges that said perishables were found in an indisputable decision by a court of law to be fully entitled to what they were awarded, and does not begrudge this.
(7)Which actually amounts to many happy years in bottle years. The bottle year unit of time as a measurement arises from the very real physical fact that as well as depressing the central nervous system, being full of ethanol results in distorted and inhibited time perception. To demonstrate this phenomenon, the reader may take as an example an experience they may have had where they have had to fish through their hand- (or man-) bag for their house keys on their doorstep on a three degree night after cabbing it home from the pub. It probably only takes an average of 60 seconds (depending on degree of inebriation, and the level of the inebriate’s pre-inebriate co-ordination skills) for full key retrieval. At the time though, it actually feels like an hour. This is one bottle hour. In the above example, we would typically find the inebriate’s blood alcohol concentration to be between 0.05 – 0.1%. To extrapolate, imagine the magnification of this effect on time perception were the inebriate’s ethanol concentration to lie somewhere around 5 – 7% (as is the case with most little beer bottles), or at 11 – 15% (as is the case with most beautiful sparkling wine bottles). The implications for the above example, assuming the magnification is linear and not exponential, are that it would take an average of 5.56 bottle days for full key retrieval. And yes, the author wishes to advise that she did just sit down and calculate all of that. She advises that this is because she has no life.
(8)The author wishes to advise that she actually doesn’t have a footnote to go here and, feeling she has sufficiently conveyed her point regarding the excessive extent to which political correctness and objectionability are taken in today’s unduly enraged and obviously very bored first-world society, is now just screwing with you. Made you look. Ha ha ha.