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I love this crazy tragic sometimes almost magic awful beautiful life. Sorry I'm not perfect, but im definitly not fake.

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Everyone calls my uncle Piccolo ‘Thiccle Piccle’. Everyone thinks thatThiccle piccle is swole, but i dont because he's my uncle and thats gross. I used to think he was swole but not any more. Because i found out he was my uncle because murrey told me so. Hi, my nam is auden, and welcome to a really wierd seminar.


Thiccle Piccle is completely green and has a really long body, like that of a pickle, so the temptation to take a bite out of him was sometimes too much for me. I have a chronic love of pickles. Trouble is he can’t afford to have surgery to replace the lost limbs i would have monched on. Gangs of children would tease him. also thats canibleism i guess.

My best friends name is trunks but Ticcle Piccle tells me to call him ‘Trunks’ on account of his name being like swimming trunks, so to shorten swimming trunks into something more easy to say we should call him "Trunks". I think Thikkle Pikkle is a genius sometimes. I’ve known Trunks for over sixteen years. I don’t have to use my memory to work that out; I just count the number of boxes of Turkish Delight I’ve got stashed in my cupboard. Trunks buys me a box every birthday. Trunks once came to Narnia, a play i starred in with my flue playing skills, and thought it was beautiful. i think HE'S beautiful but he can never know. Also I'm a lesbian but theres just something about him. Something... about him. trunks thinks that because I wear my shirts backwards I must be emo (I’m not) and that being emo I must like cryin (I don’t, I hate crying). Because he thinks i like it he tries to make me feel good whenever i'm sad by making me feel bad so i cry. He's a good boyfriend. I mean Boy Friend. Wih the space inbetween BOY and FREIND. we're nnot dating. :(


On my last birthday, after saying:

‘No, Trunks, I dont actually like cring all that much, it gives me a headache and back and foot pain for some reason even doctors cant figure out,’ and tring to get him to not make me cry, I decided to take Trunks to the theatre. He’d never been before.

The play was called ‘Death in the Dark’. We had front row seats. Trunks was captivated. He stared at the actors with a gaping mouth.

The lights dimmed to darkness. Post Malone, the beautiful star of the show, was stood centre stage. A shot was heard. Trunks jumped right out of his seat.

‘What was that?’ he said.

The lights came back on and Kitty was lying in a pool of blood. Trunks let out a scream then shouted:

‘Someone call for an ambulance! And the police!’

The audience thought that Trunks was an actor, that the play was being cleverly extended beyond the stage, questioning the boundaries of theatre.

‘What’s wrong with you?’ Trunks shouted at the audience. ‘How can you carry on as if nothing has happened?’

‘This is wonderful, just wonderful,’ I heard someone say behind me.

Post was stoically sticking to her role, thinking that the show must go on, but Trunks was clambering up onto the stage, crying, stroking Post’s hair and checking her pulse.

‘She’s alive!’ he shouted with relief.

‘No I’m not!’ Post hissed at him through clenched teeth.

That was it; I was in hysterics. What a birthday treat this was turning out to be.

‘I’m acting. It’s part of the play. No one really shot me,’ Post Malone hissed at Trunks.

The realization was excruciatingly slow. I watched Trunk’s face change from shock to confusion to understanding to embarrassment. He made his way back to his seat. He didn’t speak or look at me until the play was over. The play got a standing ovation and we headed for the bar.


Post was in the bar too. he smiled at Dunce who blushed. he seemed to be fascinated by the top of his head. he walked over and invited him to his dressing room.


Twelve hours later and Trunks was in love! How about that? And what’s more, Post Malone was in love too! And not only that but they were in love with each other! Post fell for Trunks. Not ‘fell for’ as in ‘was deceived by’ because there’s no deception where Trunks is concerned, he can’t do it, but he fell from his deceptions towards him. I couldn’t believe it.

‘It won’t last,’ I said to Trunks, envious. ‘Enjoy it while you can but face facts: you are Trunks and he is Post Malone. Think about it.’


Trunks told me that Post had a thing about ice cream cones, a fetish you could say. he ate six a day. he liked to bite off the tip of the cone and suck out all the ice cream. he had a recording of ice cream van music that he played whilst they were having sex. he was forever stroking the top of Trunks’s head.


Then came the day. Trunks came round looking really worried.

‘AUdne, have you seen Post? Do you know where he is?’

‘No, I haven’t seen him. Why? What’s the problem?’

‘I had a dream last night,’ Trunks said. ‘I dreamt that I was in bed and I looked at the calendar by the side of my bed and it was tonight. I put out my hand to touch Post but he wasn’t there. There was just this cold sludge covering his side of the bed and this smell: vanilla. It was melted ice cream.’

‘So what’s the problem?’

‘I think that something is going to happen to Post. I have to find him before tonight. I don’t want to wake up tomorrow morning alone in a bed full of melted ice cream.’

‘Trunks, dreams don’t mean anything and prophecies are impossible. Sit yourself down. Let’s have a couple of beers.’

I opened a cupboard, reached in to get the beers and a pile of boxes of Turkish Delight toppled over and fell out, breaking open and spilling their contents all over the floor. Trunks looked at the boxes then looked at me. I watched his face go through the same slow transformation from shock to confusion to understanding to embarrassment that I had witnessed so many times before.

‘You don’t like Turkish Delight?’ he said.

I said nothing and guiltily handed him a beer.

Dunce sighed then said:

‘So why did I have that dream?’

‘No reason at all,’ I said.

We sat in silence for a while then Trunks suddenly stood up.

‘It’s no good, Auden, I have to find him.’


Trunks found Post Malone in the centre of town, lying on the pavement in a pool of blood. An ambulance and the police were on their way. An ice cream vendor was crying and yelling:

‘I don’t understand! I don’t understand!’

A huge, plastic ice cream cone was protruding from Post’s chest. It had fallen from on top of the ice cream shop for no apparent reason, smashed through his rib cage and crushed his heart.

Trunks cried. Then he cried some more. The next day, he cried and the day after that he cried. Three weeks later, he awoke, dressed, ate some breakfast, then cried. The next day, he came round to see me. He was crying.

‘Hello Trunks,’ I said. ‘Do you want a beer?’

‘What’s wrong with you?’ he said. ‘How can you carry on as if nothing has happened?’

‘It was an accident, Trunks,’ I said angrily, ‘a random occurrence. These things happen. You just have to get on with life. Why are you so stupid?’

I regretted saying it as soon as I heard it come out of my mouth. Trunks stared at me with tears in his eyes.

the next day my uncle thiccle piccle called me and revealed that it had been him all aling. He had killed Post Malone, not the ice cream cone! I found him and killed him.

The next day, trunks was so releaved and grateful that he proposed.

“Trunks heart beat faster and faster as my white face came up to his own. He knew that when he kissed this girl (me), and forever wed his unutterable visions to her (my) perishable breath, his mind would never romp again like the mind of God. So he waited, listening for a moment longer to the tuning fork that had been struck upon a star. Then he kissed me. At his lips’ touch I blossomed like a flower and the incarnation was complete.” ( But then i realized i was a lesbian and didnt like kissing people all that much if they werent female so i murdered him and stole his dragon ballz.

Copyright © 2014 Mike Russell. All Rights Reserved.