The Un-holy Empire of MicroLimpia

The Un-holy Empire of MicroLimpia ™
Another day in the Life of the Insect Family

Mr. and Mrs. Insect returned from their shopping trip to SprawlMart Inc. ™, the delightful new emporium out in the sticks near Annoy Hill, to find the friendly neighbourhood builder at their door.
'Our first shopping trip after Christmas and already people are back at work!' said Mrs. Insect.
'Hmm,' conceded her hubby.

'Oh hello!' began Mrs. insect as a vaguely familiar figure emerged from the ginormous vehicle parked in their drive. 'It's Mr Gaytes, isn't it!. I nearly forgot your name after all these years, and I never forget a name. Not yet, anyway.
'Don't fret dear,' advised Mr. Insect, 'There's no fear of alzheimers yet awhile. You've probably got weeks left before that kicks in!'

'Ooh you are a one,' laughed Mrs. Insect, playfully kneeing him in the groin.
'Quite,' said Mr. Gaytes. His eyes instinctively watering in sympathy, almost.

He could be more friendly, thought Mr. Insect. Mrs. Insect didn't allow herself such negative thoughts about people.

The Insect's four year old daughter, Fragile, finally emerged from daddy's 6x4 pickup truck and wandered over to her parents, talking en-route to her imaginary friends.
'Oh!' she suddenly squealed, 'Who's this funny man?' She giggled innocently, as she'd been taught by the cartoons on TV.
Mr. Gaytes showed no sign of having heard.
'Shush, dear,' advised her ma. 'This is Mr. Gaytes, our friendly neighbourhood builder.'

Mr. Gaytes looked up suddenly and cocked his head to one side, listening. Mr. Insect smiled, secretively, but his wife noticed. He knows something I don't, the rotter, she surmised.

Mr. Gaytes, vaguely aware of the impasse, took the opportunity to look around. His metallic turquoise pick-up looked magnificent and overbearing next to Mr .Insects' truck. Mrs. Insects' pick-up was even smaller, an outdated 6 wheel drive midget. They were both showing signs of impact, despite being only a few years old. Mr. Gaytes grimaced happily as he noticed the Insect's daughter's toy pick-up even sported a huge dent in one side.
Typical backwoods folks, thought Gaytes, but displayed no emotion to his customers – just his habitual, omnivorous smile.

Mr. Gaytes dangled a pair of bright new keys in front of the proud householders. He smiled, after a fashion. 'Your new house keys,' he smalmed. 'Special new locks with built-in web-cam to detect burglars and scare them away.'

'Oh thank you!' said Mrs Insect. 'The old lock has always been good, but I'm sure a new one will be better!'
'I need an ice-cream,' added Fragile, eyeing the boxes of groceries piled in the back of daddy's truck.

'We don't really get burglars around here though,' said Mr. Insect. 'It's the famous Kensington on Trent NeighboUrhood Watch, you know. Began over a hundred years ago with shotguns and smoke signals. Of course it is a little more civilised now. Not much more, I mean we don't want to encourage the burglars and misfits, do we!?'

'Certainly not,' agreed Mr. Gaytes, and he gave them the keys with a malicious smile.
'And towny misfits can't cope with the local deer, anyway, neither,' added Mr. Insect, with a finely judged measure of pleasure.

'Thank you,!'insisted Mrs Insect. She was addressing her husband more than the builder. Mr Insect was always forgetting his manners, the silly boy.

The gentle, distant rumble developed into a purposeful thundering of hooves and a giant deer leapt over the Insect's picket fence, vaulted their daughter's mini 4x4 pick-up, side-stepped Mrs. Insect's pick-up (6x4) and gave the Gaytes pick-up (11x9) an almighty prang with its giant battle scarred antlers. It shook it head to dispel the stars, turned around and let fly at the pick-up with its rear hooves, its massive haunches coiling then exploding like a 100 metre Olympic athlete's; post-steroids, from the good old days before dope testing. Then, mission accomplished, it departed.

Mr. Insect smiled sympathetically, more or less.
'Oh Mr. Gaytes! I'm so sorry!' exclaimed Mrs. Insect. 'Your poor car!'

Mr. Gaytes grinned hatefully and began to walk away. 'You can purchase the validation key, a 764 digit encrypted number, by phoning the brass monkeys at MicroLimpia Builders ™ Inc. Dedicated Customer Support. All major credit cards, PayFiend, automated bank transfer, etc., are acceptable. We don't use the Googler(TM) Checkout, thank you SO much.'
He clambered up the steps to the passenger seat, the driver's door being rendered unserviceable by the local fauna.

'Mr Insect, dear,' said his wife, while watching the Gaytes pickup execute a seventeen point turn across three lanes of the local highway.
'Whassup, Mrs,' replied her hub, 'I'm busy watching the towny fella trying to learn to drive.'
'We done got bags full of shopping, much of it frozen, and the blessed door won't open.'
'Roight. That duz it,' said Mr I, mood swing imminent. 'This calls for the famous Kensington on Trent NeighboUrhood Watch. Where's me blessed shotgun?!'

'It's in the house,' said Mrs. Insect.
'In our house?'
'Well, nominally ...'

Copyright Peter Fairbrother stories 2008

typed on OpenOffice.org software
using Ubuntu Linux 7.10 operating system
published on Google/Blogger custom domains

A prequel to MicroLimpia - Skyelights, about the earlier days of Linux

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