An old alter ego

A while ago a friend asked me to invent a back story for a charecter on a social networking site. I decided upon a Road Cone and named him Roger. Here is chapter one of his back story. If you want more, there is loads of it. Let me know. Hope it gives a chuckle.

CHAPTER ONE OF MY LIFE

I was born in Yorkshire in a leap year. It was 29th of February 1976 which makes me either 34 or 8 and a half years old depending on which way you decide to look at it.

I was removed from my parents by social services the day I was born and lost contact with them when I was just a toddler.

Their relationship was doomed to failure, on account of my father being a space hopper and my mother being a carrier bag from Sainsburys . They were both unstable and it was thought that it would only be a matter of time until he bounced away and she flew off with the first person wanting to hold her handles.

He did indeed bounce off, unfortunately for him though it was straight over a canal wall near a nuclear power plant. Some Lesbians were on a protest and had found him near the plant and after stripping off their dungarees and towelling underwear had been riding him. Naked.
Due to the amount of fun he was giving them they never noticed he had become slippery underneath, and, as Glenda, a larger fuller figured Lesbian had bullied her way onto him, he caught a stone and over the canal wall they both went.
My Father instantly burst upon contact with the polluted water, and she, after been rescued became some sort of scary monster type woman.
She almost died and was severely disfigured but after relatively successful surgery and changing her name she now presents sports coverage on the BBC.

My mother didn't outlast him by much.

She was also murdered and I wrote a song about it. It's in a Country and Western style. I like Country and Western. Dolly Parton is my favourite co's she's got really big tits and her own Theme Park.

I might post the song about my mother one day, it's sung to the same tune as "my mother was a truck driving woman" and it is called

"My mother was a carrier bag and died being a parachute for Spiderman"

Here is the first verse:-

My Mother was a carrier bag and died been a parachute for spiderman
She got caught up on some electric cables and then got eaten by a dog
The Dog suffocated after swallowing her and spiderman and then got buried in a landfill site
All three went to doggy heaven where she became a poop a scoop and got covered in loads of rubbish

It then goes into an upbeat chorus. It's really sad and I sometimes feel like crying when I perform it at Folk Festivals with my Kettle drums.

Surrealy amusing up to the song, at that point you lost my interest.
I would prefer to see the song dumped and substituted by an amusing
Grace's co-op. (Coop de Grace)

I'm not sure about the song either but the rest is very nice indeed.

Jolly good!

Part Two (dont worry there's loads)

I went to Foster homes and local authority care homes but didn't really fit in. I soon learned to deal with Bigotry. Being Orange and pointy didn't help. Registration was a nightmare.

"Adams. Here. Ball. Here. Bullock. Here. Big pointy Orange thing? Don't bother answering I can see your here".

Even the Ginger kids called me carrot top.

My worst time at school was near the end. It was Careers time.

There was no way I could go to university although I wanted to, there was no one to pay, so I had to look for a Job. The careers advisor was of little help.

I got O Levels in Biology, Maths, Drama and Physics and wanted to go on and be a Rocket scientist, but the careers advisor said

"NO! You will be a Road Cone"

It was just because of the way I looked, I was left without a choice. I tackled him about it of course.

"You only want me to be a Road Cone because of the way I look" I told him.

"Yep, that's right" he said.

He didn't tell the spotty kids they had to work at McDonalds, or the thick kids they had they had to work in Retail. He didn't tell the stroppy girls to become doctors receptionists or the class bikes to go into nursing. He never mentioned to the short kids to look for jobs in chocolate factories or the circus. He told me though that I had to be a road cone.

So after leaving school I did become a Road Cone. The first few months were hard, conditioning myself against the weather, listening to the older cones drone on, telling stories about near misses they had experienced and learning how to catch flies for dinner.

Everything changed however when I met my first wife. Doreen.

First part didn't really grab me, to be honest, but reading on to part two, I found myself getting interested and running with the narrative.

I'm a crap critic, but yes, do go on.

Regards

Skoob.

Part three (sorry it's a bit long but it's a bugger to edit)

Doreen and I met at the scene of an accident in 1992. It was a wonderful Bank Holiday weekend and I was feeling pleased as I had let a gust of wind push me into the carriageway causing a minor accident and writing off a caravan. A good day's work.

I was just been congratulated by some of the older cones and admired by one or two of the younger ones when a Police car pulled up, lights flashing and siren blaring.

A copper got out of the car. He was one of those look at me fellas, never taking off his Ray ban aviator sunglasses and his mullet showing from underneath his hat. You could tell he loved himself.

He took some cones from the boot of his Volvo and, one at a time threw them, sliding them along the carriageway. Now you may think that having you lower bottom scraped on a piece of rough tarmac would be painful but it aint. In fact it's one of the few ways road cones get kicks.

When our Lower Bottom (we have more than one for the ill informed) slides across the tarmac it's like, well. Imagine driving fast over a humnped bridge when your belly goes in to your throat, now imagine doing that whilst popping bubble wrap. It's like that.

So these Police cones were having a wonderful time been scraped along the carriageway by PC New Romantic Plod, and as they came closer to me I began to worry.

Although it is good sport to cause accidents and you get bonus points for each category of damage caused and delay achieved, it is technically illegal for a cone to cause one and I could end up in trouble. If a cone could sweat?

There were two more cones to come out. The first landed about five foot away from me and the final one actually stopped an inch from my skirt. I looked down. I could feel the other cones staring at me, congratulations and admiration turning to an embarrassed you're in the quagmire and we don't want to look at you silence.

I felt a nudge, I looked up, and then I had to look down a bit co's Police cones are a bit short, and that's when I saw her for the first time. Doreen.

I was expecting a grimy, bearded, humourless, cold eyed, cocky, short, Metropolitan Police tattooed sergeant major and was really surprised to be staring at a wonderful triangular Yellow, Navy Blue and Red multi use cone beauty.

I had never seen anybody like her before and although I knew instantly that it was wrong, my heart skipped a beat and my world came down to just what was an inch away from me. Nothing else mattered or even existed at that point. I swallowed painfully looking at the Red blotches of embarrassment on her face resulting from the extreme enjoyment of her scraping.

We stood there for a moment or two in silence, and then I spoke
"Hi"
"Hello" she replied
"Busy?" I asked
"Fairly" she looked around. "Any idea what happened here?" I didn't want to lie to her, I wanted to tell her the truth but I knew far from being impressed she would probably think that I was a joker. Not someone to be taken seriously. I didn't want her thinking I was immature. I must have blushed.

She looked at me with her Navy Blue and Red eyes. I felt she could see all the way into my soul. "It was him" I said looking to my left. "I told him not to, I said there would be trouble but he didn't listen" Her gaze went to the cone on my left. He started to look incredulous. "Don't deny it" I told him.

He looked down, not knowing what to do, he was guilty by association in my mind, he had egged me on, he was also to blame. I could see that he was thinking about protesting his innocence. I could not have him tell the truth, I couldn't risk that. I moved to my left and nudged him down the banking. He was off balance and began to tumble. Below us was dual carriageway and before I knew it he was under the wheels of an arctic.

I turned back to Doreen. She looked at me. "You just saved my life"
"I did?" thinking it was obvious to everyone what I had done
"You're a brave cone"
"Err thanks, my names Roger"
"I'm Doreen" she said
"Doreen, that's a nice name" and that's how we met.

Part 4

We saw each other quite regularly for a while. It turned her personality wasn't all that good, but she had a good job and great body. We were married the following year 1993 and afterwards I transferred from Motorways to minor roads, the money wasn't as good but Doreen was doing well and she was waiting for a transfer to a beat car from the Motorway Patrol.

After a couple of months we settled down to a nice routine. I had told her about my past and she accepted it. It was difficult for her, marrying a cone from a different social standing and a different race was not easy at that time, she put up with the bitchy comments and the sneers of her co workers. Her family sort of accepted me, I was much bigger than most of them.

It was early autumn when Doreen died.

She had been transferred to a local beat car. I don't know all of the details and probably never will but I was told that the car was answering a 999 call to a break in at a school. It had taken a corner too fast and the driver must have knocked the button for the cars boot with their knee, and due to some kind of malfunction the boot opened and Doreen was thrown out.

She probably survived the fall, but it was a town centre during fresher's week at the local university. By the time the call had been answered and the car had gone back to look for her, it was too late. She had gone.

Doreen was found twenty two days later in a student's bedroom. She was underneath a pile of soiled underwear next to an old cheese sandwich. She never stood a chance.

The only solace for me was that she didn't die alone. At least she had the sandwich for company.

After the death of Doreen, I must admit I went to pieces for a while.