Once upon a time, there was a laugher. She laughed at everything. It was a language, a way of being, a communication although limited, it had a range – the laughter could be raucous, sarcastic, thunderous. It could be sad, low and guttural, or even tittering on hysteria. She was a laugher and the laugh was from her body, her ribs expanding and contracting, breath sometimes high or low or snorting out her nose. Of course she drew attention. She didn’t mean to, but to laugh at everything does that.

Every day she rode the bus into town, sometimes at peak hour where she blended into the crowd. Everyone in their own personal space, looking at their phone, talking on their phone, perhaps talking to a friend or brief interaction with a fellow commuter, she blended in with her laughing. No-one usually paid attention, her laughing another background noise. But when she caught the bus at quiet times of the day, her laughter drew attention, drew concerned looks for her wellbeing, for the safety of the onlookers. Who is this woman? Why is she laughing? And sometimes she looked back in mirth, or gently giggled as she looked out the window. She sometimes started a laughing party on the bus with infectious laughter.

One day the bus driver asked her why she laughed. And she just laughed and smiled. He asked if she would like to ride the bus in the afternoon when he picks up the school kids. Some in the area were particularly unhappy. Life had been tough. The kids were still quite young but had stopped that spontaneous joyful laughter as they were rushed towards adulthood, not ready for the strain of life too soon. Because of that, she remembered when she had started laughing. She laughed because she could. Because it felt good. Because she was a child again and the angst of adult worries would loosen from her body with each laugh. She agreed to ride the afternoon school bus. The kids were talking about “party tricks” and how that was a way to make others laugh. Each child  took turns standing in the aisle to perform their trick, each was seen, each offered joy. And the laugher laughed. She did this each day until finally the children were there just for each other.

The laugher had not always been so well appreciated. Her sister was calmer, cooler, hair perfectly in place, cigarette elegantly drawn, beautifully dressed. She was elusive, distant. Her cares slipped over and from her body, never taking hold. Definitely not penetrating her body like her sister’s mirth. The coolness left her remote and beautiful, like a sculpture or artwork. Life fell around her but no longer bubbled up inside of her, no imperfections. She’d cultivated the behaviour so perfectly.

Yet there they were – no makeup, hair done with a rough comb and every day the same thing: a dress. Maybe a grey dress this day, maybe a blue dress like mine if they had a bit of style about them – am I right? But the fact is they don’t have to think about their clothes.

It’s men who have to consider what to a wear: the floral shirt with the baggy pants or the skinny pants with the tunic, do I need a tie, a cravat, a bow tie, a scarf? It’s enough to drive a boy crazy, am I right?

And then, once we’re absolutely certain we look good enough for that lady in our lives, we have to apply our makeup – but how!?! What with the baby and the washing, the ironing and the cleaning, there is hardly a moment in a man’s day when his hands were free!

Well today, all of your worries are over, fellas. Today, I present to you The Applicatron! That’s right, this miraculous device is the technology of the future, delivered to you today! This wonderful little headpiece can save you hours of foundation application, eyeliner, mascara, beard-trim, beard-colour, eyeshadow, blush, concealer, lipstick, highlighting and touch-ups.

That’s right, gentlemen, one day you will say to yourself “how did we ever live without our Applicatron?”. When housework and cooking can be done with ease while the Applicatron applies, touches up and fixes your makeup for you – all for the one low price of just $359.99 or five easy payments of just $129.99.

The Applicatron – have that special lady in your life swooning when she returns home from work. She can’t ignore you anymore! You’ll be the centrepiece of the home day and night and all because of that clever little secret you keep hidden away in your briefcase.

Don’t tell her how you do it – it will be your little secret!

But, you ask – how does it work? Well, fellas, it’s all to do with the miracle of electronics! That’s right, this tiny device carries within its stylish, contemporary plastic case an advanced integrated circuit board and because of that magic of modern engineering, the Applicatron will allow you – the hardworking, everyday househusband – to not only apply your makeup hand-free in minutes, but to program the style which you want to wear for any occasion!

That’s right boys, not only will the Applicatron do your work for you, but you can tell it exactly how you want that work done! The Applicatron comes with five programmable styles and a selection of twelve different colours for eyes, cheeks, lips, a choice of three colours for your beard and a choice of three fabulous foundation colours.

Let me show you how we do it, fellas. I’ll need a volunteer – yes, you sweety, why don’t you come up here and show us that wonderful beard. Oh I do envy you boys and your beards. Now all you other gorgeous gents take a look at…Mike here. Thanks, Mike. I am going to program the Applicatron now – what’s your favourite colour, Mike?

Green! That’s a bit different. No, don’t be shy, Mike – I like different. Maybe we can get a drink you and me after you buy your Applicatron. HAHAHA!

Now – Mike here likes green, I’m gonna go ahead and give him some gorgeous green eyeshadow. Mike, what colour do you like your beard? You a brown kind of guy – I could hardly tell. HAHA! Brown it is and I’m programming this directly into the Applicatron. Now, how heavy do you like your makeup, Mike? I can see you’re a medium-to-heavy kind o’ guy. Heavy? You bet, Mike – heavy it is!

OK, now I’ve programmed all of Mike’s options into the Applicatron and I’m going to fix it to his pretty little head here and I’m gonna…Mike, you OK in there? You are? It’s comfortable? Good! Well of course it’s comfortable, the good women of our science and technology labs work night and day to make sure every Applicatron feels like a gentle kiss against your cheek.

And now The Applicatron…Oh boy, Mike, stay still darlin’. Now the Applicatron is laying foundation, you can see it as it moves down his face, you might be able to see the beautiful, rich colour coming down there. Now the Applicatron is coming back up, applying beard colour,  highlights, lipstick, blush and eyeliner, eyeshadow and mascara.

And the Applicatron keeps going up – don’t worry Mike , it won’t touch your gorgeous hair. Until finally…there we go, gentlemen – look at his amazing face!

All thanks to the Applicatron! Your miraculous little secret in your briefcase.

Don’t tell you wife!

I’m taking orders!

How many do you need, Mike?

Once upon a time there was a circus performer. She arrived from the old country, landing in NYC with a babe on her front and a gold coin in her pocket.

Central Park was the largest open aired big top she had ever laid her eyes upon. Her son, happy in his place, woven to her back, participated with or without conscious knowledge of drawing in the crowds as his Mother performed feats of dare defying acts on a tight rope she pulled from the only bag she arrived with on the Island. It also contained an image of her husband. He was killed before her babe was born. He too a circus performer, killed in a train derailing.

The New World called her, NYC, the place of her dreams. The place she knew, mythologically as where she could be free and find her place of belonging.

Between two old Oaks she walked the tight rope, babe in tow, day after day after day. At night she slept in the shade of the Oaks, knowing full well from the life of her past that the earth beneath her feet and at times the air beneath her feet held her solid.

Every day she drew the crowds, everyday they grew larger and larger. Everyday she gave thanks for this life that meant she was free to do what she loved, feed her baby and sleep on the green, green grass of the beauty that is Central Park.

It did begin to get cold. The leaves did begin to fall from the Oaks. And nights did begin to cool right down. In her evenings, she began to knit and knit and knit in preparation for the cold that would come. Not a cold like she had experienced before, but a NYC cold. A cold that would bring the joy of the skaters to the park, that would bring the smell of roasted chestnuts and the joy of hot chocolate.

Warming her nest, her baby grew and he grew and he grew towards the dawning of winter. Autumn came and autumn went, and the snow mounted in the skies above.

One day as she was devising a winter hammock home for her and her babe, when a package appeared. It was addressed to the Tightrope Walker and her Son. She looked around her. In the distance she could see a bicycle crossing the bridge over Swan Lake.

Because of that moment, that magical moment (as it became known to her), the moment she saw the bicycle and the bridge and the frozen Swan Lake, she found herself no longer living in what was becoming a crumpled, too small life for her and her soon to be crawling babe, she found herself on top of the world.

A key. An address. A miracle.

A high rise, empty but clean apartment with furnishings unlike she had ever imagined before and knew could have only been dreamed up by the kindness of hearts, a window open and caged and soft with the fur skins of sheep, a place for her babe.

And because of that, she found her self at HOME in NYC.

Her child free to breathe the air of the birds, her soul free to dream and imagine and realise a soft place for she and her babe to watch the snow fall.

And still she walked the tight rope by day and in the spring and summer by night.

Until finally She was the Woman who came to NYC from the Motherland with a babe on her back, who walked the tightrope between the Oaks of NYC and by winter, watching Swan Lake turn to ice and the last of the bicycles head into hibernation, she and her son, now toddling learned to skate.

Wollman Rink the playground of a boy and his mother. Smiling as flakes of snow danced this snow globe of wonderland into the good life and the magical reality.

THE END

Once upon a time there was a land of death. We could smell it. The decay. We could hear it. The screams. We could see it. The blood. And we lived it. The hopelessness.

We knew that in all of this assault on our senses and our spirit we had to find a way to survive, to fight. Not to fight our enemy but to fight ourselves, our fear, our desire to just give up. It wasn’t like we could just go down the pub and drown our sorrows. Or wrap ourselves in the arms of a lover hoping that, if they held us long enough and hard enough, that the pain and the fear would disappear like gun-smoke in the wind.

Some days all you could do was stay alive and stay sane. And that’s where He came in. For us, Jimmy, Steve, Billy and me, He became our symbol of life and survival.

Every day became like the next. An endless stream of a bitter cocktail of boredom, fear and waiting. Waiting for the next assault, the next bomb, the next wave of death or despair.

But he changed all that when He came into our lives. As mates, we always looked after each other and had each other’s backs, kept each other warm and listened to each other when fear and pain and loneliness had to be vomited out so that it didn’t fester like a pus filled sore. But sometimes friendship wasn’t enough. We all started to live within ourselves, to withdraw from the madness.

One day he just appeared. We don’t know how he came to be in this hell or how he made it to us alive. But He did. And He changed everything. It was like we became one man with one purpose and that was to protect Him, to make sure that whatever else happened He survived. It was like the tiny slivers of hope that remained within each of us had morphed into this solid bundle of furry love and if that hope was to remain alive, He too had to survive.

Because of that we became better soldiers, we became a team, closely knit with a common goal, a sense of purpose that had deserted us. At night we’d surround him to make sure that even when hands turned blue with cold He stayed warm. If He whimpered in the night, the act of providing comfort would warm the coldest heart. A lick on the face, as weird as it sounds, was a salve for a wounded soul. And His antics brought laughter where there had been none.

And because of that, we did survive. And as dawn came, the word spread that peace had risen with the sun. As the cheers of excitement washed through the crowd, cleansing away despair and fear like a sudden rain washes away the dust, we stood and embraced each other. Friends through war, friends for life. And He just stood there, a straggly skinny stranger wagging his tail and watching us with a smile that looked so human. And then He barked, as if saying farewell, and ran off over the hill. We thought he was just having a joyous run into territory that had been denied him. And we waited.

Until finally we knew he wasn’t coming back. We saw no rhyme or reason to explain his appearance nor why he chose to leave us. We just had to accept that He would always be one of life’s mysteries, a blessing, a savior.

So to this day Jimmy, Steve, Billy and me meet each year on this day to celebrate life and salute Him, the one soldier who we believe saved our lives and our sanity. Who we only knew as Dog.

Our house, so far had been saved.

Years ago you would have driven down our road and seen perfect gardens, with white picket fences, and children riding their bikes until called in at night for dinner.

But now, the houses are empty. Not a single sound. You can only walk down our road and not drive as there are burnt out cars, fallen trees and decaying bodies lying everywhere as far as the eyes can see. You get used to the smell. You get used to the sight. What I can’t get used to is our house. Still in pristine condition, two story looking like it had just been painted, beautiful lush green grass and roses, so many roses. Lucky, because the stench of death surrounding you, seeping into you, needed to be masked by every breath you took.

The coin had not been delivered to us yet but we were ready. Mr and Mrs Jefferson from across the road received the coin last. The delivery came to them in the middle of the night. The moon was out and it was so cold. I could feel that something was going to happen. The chill in the air was a warning that they were on their way. I was upstairs and ready to go to bed, it was very late and something just didn’t feel right. I looked across to the Jefferson house and their bedroom light was still on. It was never on after seven at night.

I started to shake, and my body was covered in sweat. I saw movement outside their house and then I saw them.

‘Oh god not the Jefferson’s. Dear god no.’

It was time for them to receive the coin. Please make it quick for them. Don’t make them suffer, they are old, they don’t deserve this. I shut my curtain, turned around and lay on the bed. I curled into a ball. That’s when I heard it. The most terrifying howl from Mr Jefferson. A sound of pure torture. The torture for him, that lasted all night. They had received the coin, and now we were the only house now left standing.

A code of conduct is a set of rules outlining the social norms and rules and responsibilities of, or proper practices for, an individual, party or organization. Related concepts include ethical, honor, moral codes and religious laws. So here is my code of conduct for giving ZERO FUCKS.

Zero Fuckers should behave in the appropriate way as follows at all fucking times or risk expulsion to a life of misery and ass kissing.

– Be badass at all times. Perhaps the most important part of giving no fucks, is actually giving no fucks. Be badass, it works well.

– Say what you think, ask for what you need, and express how you feel. Fuck pleasing people.

– Wear what you want, when you want, wherever you want.

– Eat whatever the fuck you want.

– SWEAR

– Don’t apologise for who you are

– Listen to your own story, not others people’s version or chapter of who you are.

– Be unapologetically successful. Succeed and own it. Be proudways.

– Don’t ever put yourself down or you’ll be required to vacate the premise of your own soul to be sucked into the societal void of everyone else’s unhappiness. And no one needs that kind of fuckery.

– Play every goddamn day. All work and no play makes you a boring old shite who may have loads of money, but no sense of how to spend it.

– Put yourself first and unapologetically give zero fucks about it. People hate it when you speak your truth and put your needs first. Fuck em! It’s not selfish, it’s basic self care.

– GIVE ZERO FUCKS AT ALL TIMES