Larry and Mick Discuss the Relative Health and Safety Merits of Post-Its and Pins

‘I feel,’ said Mick, ‘that it is high time we organised our lives.’
‘High time?’ said Larry.
‘Yes,’ said Mick. ‘As opposed to… erm…’
‘Low time?’ suggested Larry.
‘Yes, that’s the one,’ said Mick.
‘Do continue,’ said Larry.
‘Where was I?’ said Mick.
‘I believe you were about to offer me your last Custard Cream,’ said Larry.
‘Was I?’ said Mick.
‘Yes,’ said Larry.
Mick, with some degree of reluctance (but not one to doubt the alacrity of his friend’s proclamation), proffered his last Custard Cream to Larry, then sat down and resumed his game of Tomb Raider:Anniversary on the Sony PlayStation 2 electronic games console, which he and Larry shared under a Joint Ownership Scheme, which had been contractually devised, agreed upon, signed by the respective parties and filed by their respective legal councils on the third of November, 2004 (or thereabouts).
‘Mind that ledge,’ said Larry.
‘Thanks,’ said Mick, who nevertheless fell off the ledge and died (for the 112th time that day), upon which he decided the game was impossible, removed it from the machine, fed it to the Chihuahua of the Boy Scout who had been standing at the front door for the past thirty-two minutes, holding out a clipboard upon which was a sponsor form for his “Sponsored Paperclip-Straightening,” signed him and Larry up for half-a-pence per paperclip, instructed the lad to be on his way, returned to the living room and started reading the latest Harry Potter instead.
‘swollaH ylhtaeD eht dna rettoP yrraH,’ said Larry, as he observed Mick’s reading matter.
‘Beg pudd’n?’ said Mick.
‘Your book is upside down,’ said Larry.
‘Damn it!’ said Mick, as he tossed the book to one side. ‘If I had a decent pack of Post-Its, I wouldn’t have these issues.’
‘…’ said Larry.
Hmm, Post-Its… thought Mick, as his mind began to return the subject matter which had been in his consciousness at the top of the page (or the top of the first page, depending on the font, page size, etc, in which this story is presently formatted).
‘Did you say something?’ said Larry.
‘Yes!’ said Mick. ‘I mean no!’ he amended. ‘But I have realised that I had no intention of offering you my last Custard Cream!’
‘You got me there,’ said Larry, as he started to make strange gurgling noises with the back of his throat.
‘What you doin’?’ said Mick.
‘Just a mo,’ said Larry; ‘I’ll have this Custard Cream regurgitated in no time…’
‘No!’ said Mick.
*gurgle*gurgle* - went Larry’s throat.
‘For God’s sake!’ said Mick; ‘Don’t do it!’
Larry swallowed (*gulp* - went his throat).
‘I don’t even like Custard Creams that much!’ said Mick.
‘Well that’s a relief,’ said Larry. ‘I think last night’s Green Bean’n’Sea Bass Medley was coming up there as well.’
‘But we had French Toast with Chick Pea Al Forno for tea last night,’ said Mick.
‘Strange…’ said Larry.
‘Anyway,’ said Mick, ‘let’s get back to the matter in hand.’
‘And what would that be, friend Mick?’ said Larry.
‘Post-Its!’ said Mick. ‘Specifically, how best they can be utilised to organise our lives.’
‘I prefer pins myself,’ said Larry. ‘Specifically, with regard to their utility in attaching small pieces of paper on a chalk board of approximately two foot squared.’
‘But pins can be dangerous,’ cautioned Mick.
‘Whereas Post-Its,’ advised Larry, ‘apart from never being as sticky as one would hope, can be highly toxic if accidentally licked.’
‘Accidentally licked?’ queried Mick.
‘It happens,’ contended Larry. ‘Why, only last week there was a story on page twenty-seven of the Hobbiton Gazette which related the tragic tale of the hobbit who suffered a tragic demise upon the licking of…’
‘Larry,’ said Mick.
‘Yes, Mick?’ said Larry.
‘The Hobbiton Gazette does not exist.’
‘Yes, but--’
‘Hobbiton is a fictional town.’
‘Well yes, but--’
‘And hobbits are a mythical creation of J.R.R. Tolkien.
‘Post-It’s it is, then,’ said Larry.
‘I’m off to Staples,’ said Mick.
‘Staples, the stationery superstore?’ said Larry.
‘Yes,’ said Mick.
And so he was.

* * *

EPILOGUE:

While Mick was at Staples (the stationery superstore), purchasing a pack of purple Post-Its, Larry sat on the soft silver sofa (not to be mistaken for the silver surfing superhero, the Silver Surfer), munched his way through the secret stash of Custard Creams which he had stored behind the cunningly stacked tins of Sainsbury’s Tomato and Three Bean Soup (now only 35p!), and perused the printed pages of the Hobbiton Gazette.
‘That’s an interesting story,’ he said, as he came across an interesting story. ‘Pass me a pin and a small piece of paper,’ he said to the Boy Scout who was standing in the corner of the room, straightening paperclips.
‘I fear that I am not in possession of the items which you require,’ said the Boy Scout, ‘but upon my return from the Crack of Doom, I did so happen upon these fine and magical items…’ - at which he proffered a pack of purple Post-Its to Larry.
‘That’ll have to do,’ said Larry; ‘but whatever you do, don’t li--’
- but his warning came too late, as the Boy Scout removed the pack of purple Post-Its from his gob, dropped said items, held a hand to his throat, made a dramatic throaty hacking sound and fell unconscious to the floor (as he did so, his shoes fell off, revealing his excessively furry feet).
‘Oh dear,’ said Larry. ‘Ahh well, that’ll save me some sponsor money.’
And so it did!

[ fin ]