A Crack in the Chain

Redbubble community had contacted me earlier in the week, asking for my help. They needed me to interview the leader of A.R.S.E, notorious shit stirrer Danny Nolan or as some liked to call him The Nolan.

They had already asked all the really good writers and after being refused by them, had asked the featured ones. No one seemed desensitised enough for the challenge. Only a small amount remained, and seeing as I had the least amount of views on my works they figured I’d be desperate.

And, damn it I was. The profits I had made from my one card I sold last year had finally been whittled away on hob nobs and designer couture, extravagant I know, but I loved those crispy little chocolate biscuits.

So, with the promise of lunch and free coffee I eagerly accepted.

I arrived early and parked my, slightly larger than a skateboard, plane, outside RB headquarters. I had never been here before and was surprised to see what the building looked like. Naturally, I had been expecting a huge glamorous art gallery with busy offices out back and perhaps a warehouse to the side. Instead I was confronted with a steely grey concrete building, long in exterior and covered in small windows with bars. It appeared to have small electrical appliances dangling off the roof.

I walked to the red door at the front of the building.

As I was about to knock, someone came up and grabbed me from behind.

With his hand firmly on my mouth, his other tight around my waist he lifted me off the ground and carried me side ways down an alley.

Wiggling and squirming with all my might, I accidentally let out a ripper of a fart. With that he dropped me.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” I screeched.

Two other men appeared out of the shadows.

They both looked at the robot, that had carried me there, (whom looked very strangely like Mickey Mouse with a gas mask) and they all nodded.

“She’ll handle it fine.” They all said in unison.

“Handle what fine?” I retorted

A tall man with a moustache and black umbrella started talking.

“All is not as it seems. We need your help Chanel2. They have our good friend Danny ole chap imprisoned in the deep corridoors of RB. It’s all because of the book burning you see. The featured artists were highly offended. They wanted to teach him a lesson and it all got terribly out of hand, so to speak.”

“Why didn’t they just kill him off, like any good writer would do.” I said.

“And end a story, with no way of rehashing it, no, no that would never do.”

“Then why did they ask me to interview him?"

“People have been asking questions and getting suspicious, they needed a diversion of sorts, while they figured out what to do with him. Someone who would be desperate enough to write what they told them and er…who wouldn’t be missed at RB.”

“Shut up, they would so miss me!”

“O.k. that’s enough chatter we have little time before they’re onto us.” Said the third man with a hamster’s head sticking out of his pocket.

They gathered around me and told me what they wanted me to do. If I was willing to help them, they gave a promise of at least one good comment a week on my really good t-shirt designs.

It’s unashamedly true, attention would always out weigh hunger any day of the week.

“Done!" I said

“God speed Chanel2.” Said the English man as he handed me some bandages and gaffer tape.

“Here take this, hide it in your jacket too.” The robot Mickey took off his gas mask and gave it to me.

“Thank you Chanel2." Fuck, who said that, oh, the hamster can talk then, cool.

I went back to the RB door and rang the bell.

A girl wearing no top answered.

“You must be Chanel2, we’ve been expecting you, follow me.”

With that she turned around and started walking me down the long corridor. I noticed also the backside of her jeans had been cut out, showing her naked bottom. I tried not to look, not because her bottom was making me uncomfortable, but it appeared she had sat in some peanut butter at morning tea and it was most unsettling.

She led me into a room with just a typewriter and a candle.

“These are your instructions, of what we want you to write.”

“And my lunch?” I asked

“All in good time Chanel2.”

She handed me a folder, walked out and shut the door.

I sat at the small wooden table and before I could open the folder I heard muffled mumblings and fart noises.

It had to be the Nolan.

Carefully I opened the door and slipped out with no one noticing, sneakily I followed the sounds further down the deep corridor, until I came to a wooden door with a huge brass ornament on the front that looked like a wierd gnomes head with rope in its mouth. Next to the door hung a key, I grabbed it and quickly unlocked the door.

I was confronted with a terrible sight.

“I I I I liiike to sey fuuuuck a lot to the monleys… in my poemes, whin I teach thim to write…I loove little evil smiling monleys…and Scott…who, who’s there?”

The Nolan sat tied to a chair, he had food and dribble all down the front of him and was covered in phlegm. There were numerous pens stabbed in his legs and bruises in the shape of cameras on his face and upper torso.

The stench was unbearable.

I reached into my coat and grabbed out the gas mask that the kind Mickey robot had given me.

Just as I had untied him, 3 people with cameras came in through the door.

“What do you think you’re doing?"

With that I threw the bandages over one of them, the two others stopped, turned and proceeded to take his photo as he started to pose. I quickly ripped off some gaffer tape and secured the bandages more firmly.
Worked like a charm.

“Quick, come with me Nolan”

He reached out his filthy phlegm covered hand.

“Um…you’ll be right, er…grab the other end of this hanky and follow me this way, just hurry and try not to fall on the pens.”

I followed the directions the English man had given me, to a small door, like a servant’s entrance at the end of the building.

All three of the Nolan’s friends were on the other side waiting to help him.

“Top work Chanel2”

They were all wearing rubber gloves and plastic suits. They grabbed their friend and started to hug him un brotherly.

“Come on Nolan, CathieT and all your other friends are holding the fort for you back at A.R.S.E headquarters anticipating your return”

“Here you’ll need this” I said as I gave the Mickey robot his mask back.

“Well, I’ll be off then, before those crazy photographers run out of memory and battery power. Don’t forget our deal?" I said.

“Yes, yes a deals a deal…” Their voices were starting to trail off in the distance, I could still hear the Nolan’s ramblings “I like to sey fuck a lot in mi poemes… my hart sings for you Scott, hey, pull my finger… baaruuuuppppp!”

“Christ Nolan, can’t you at least wait until you’re in sjems car.”

“Shut up Lucan you snob.”

I went back to my plane, relieved that was over.

I had no story and I was bloody starving but at least I would get some really good comments on my t-shirts… or…was that…comments…on my really good t-shirts.


That Lucan was a clever bastard.

A Crack in the Chain

Cathryn Swanson

Darwin, Australia

  • Artist
  • Artwork Comments 37

Artist's Description

Official A.R.S.E winner March challenge 2008

I may have bitten off more than I can chew with this one…..
But when have I let a good idea get in the way of quality ;)

Plus my T-designs suck, so I had to write something instead.

You will find the last installment of the real Danny Gonzo stories here

Though I highly recommend you go here first



Artwork Comments

  • Kathleen Cameron
  • Danny
  • Danny
  • Scott Robinson
  • sjem ©
  • Lawford
  • Cathie Tranent
  • Cathryn Swanson
  • Cathie Tranent
  • sjem ©
  • Cathryn Swanson
  • sjem ©
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