FrankieOliver
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Sycophas and Goldtop: The Audition.
Sycophas was a bright but needy, little bastard who hung on the coat tails of his best and only friend, Goldtop. Goldtop, a proud and self-righteous bloke, continued on down the lane through the market. His big-arsed, gold brimmed, top hat glistening in the sun caught the attention of many in the crowds he passed on the way to The Forum. Goldtop turned once more to see if Sycophas was still behind him. His little side-kick was less than a full stride behind. If Goldtop should need to pause and ponder another self-centered thought, Sycophas’ big brown nose would be stuck so far up his arse, it’d cost him ever so much more than he could now afford to have him removed. He kept moving.
What the feck am I to do with this one? Goldtop thought to himself. I love the little fucker…but…he’s killin me fast.
Goldtop couldn’t risk another incident. He was broke. Feck! Goldtop sidestepped to avoid Sycophas and stopped. He studied Sycophas, a wretched creature; a troll, with a grotesquely long, brown nose, but, surprisingly, intensely pathetic big, blue eyes that he simply could not dismiss. Sycophas who was now staring at some rotisserie chickens inside the window of a Ben’s Kosher Deli, pointed at it and mumbled something like, “Me hungried,” and a rather large dollop of milky, white drool launched from his mouth and narrowly missed one of Goldtop’s Tony Lamas. Goldtop shook it off and looked up to see Sycophas remove his dirty index finger from deep inside his nose, pull out a large, crusty booger and attempt to flick it off. Goldtop studied his sidekick as he tried in vain to dislodge the booger. It doesn’t get any better than this, does it? He wondered. Goldtop removed a tissue from his coat pocket and handed it to clueless Sycophas. “Wipe yer hands withis and let’s get the feck outa ‘ere. Time’s a wasten and we’ve that audition.”
Goldtop loved little Sycophas like a brother, but the leech was exhausting him. He’d contemplated going it alone…yet again, but he just couldn’t bring himself to abandon him. He’d known Sycophas since their days at the orphanage over two decades passed. Goldtop recalled his fondest memory of that shithole. He was on the ground in the yard getting his head kicked in by a pair of red headed, freckled-faced, Siamese twins when he heard a plonk and saw the rusty end of a rebar crash through the forehead of one head of the beast. It tilted over, lifeless. The other head followed his sister and then down to the ground and that was that. Goldtop nodded his approval and beckoned Sycophas to follow him. They made haste out of that place and never looked back.
Ricky “The Dick” sat on a barstool, sipping his Sambuca when Goldtop started shredding the intro to Paranoid. Sycophas started singing. Finished with my woman ‘cause she couldn’t help me with my mind.
“Ohh, this is fuggin beautiful…Sabbaaath!” Ricky yelled.
People think I’m insane because I am frowning all the time. Nickay…these two bastids fuggin rock…NICKAY! Ricky started to chug the last of his cordial when the coffee bean became lodged in his throat. His face turned beat red. He was choking.
All day long I think of things but nothing seems to satisfy…Think I’ll lose my mind if I don’t find something to pacify…
CAN YOU HELP ME?
Nicky “Big Nicky” Nutella sat over at a table counting out the money he just shook out of an envelope, singing along occupy my brain. He had absolutely no clue that his boss was dying just a few meters away. He thought to himself as he counted out the last wad of c-notes. Meengk! Good fuggin’ week. If this was somebody else’s racket? Fuhgeddaboudit!
Nicky suddenly felt guilty about what he’d just thought. A little paranoid, he wondered if The Dick could have read his mind and glanced over. “What the fuck? RICKAAY!
Nicky ran over to Ricky, got behind him and implemented the Heimlich maneuver. He heard a popping noise. The coffee bean flew out. Ricky took in some air, fast. “Boss, are you alright?” Nicky asked, feigning sincerity.
“You fuggin kiddin me or what? What the fug is a matter whichu?”
“Sorry, Boss.”
“Nicky, fuhgeddaboudit! Do you hear dese two or what? I almost choked to death and shit my drawers they’re so fuggin good.”
“They’re not bad, boss.”
“That one, what the fug is his name…yeah, Goldtop, he’s got Iommi tone. The little one got some fuggin lungs.”
“May I make one suggestion, boss?”
“What is it, Nicky?”
“The singer looks a little fuggin retarded…I don’t think anyone’s going to want to look at him very long. Could be bad for business,” said Nicky with a sudden burst of confidence.”
Ricky “The Dick” stepped closer to stage, adjusted his glasses and gazed at the duo for a moment. Meengk! Nicky’s fuggin right. The guy’s got lungs like a little, fuggin Caruso, but he looks like he just stepped out of a tomb. What the fug am I gonna do now? Nickay, I gotta talk to him about his appearance. We can’t have him on stage lookin like that there.”
Ricky “The Dick” waved and gave the cut sign to Goldtop. “Listen, chief, we gotta talk about something…your friend there can sing, but we gotta do something ‘bout his appearance…”
Goldtop cut him off, “What do you mean his appearance?”
“Whaddo I mean? Whatdya mean whaddo I mean? He needs to clean himself up, get some new clothes, maybe some cosmetic surgery to repair all the damage happened when he died. Otherwise youse two ain’t workin here. That’s what the fug I mean.”
At this, Goldtop turned to his mate, Sycophas, said nothing and waited.
“Youse two have a problem or something? This isn’t negotiable,” The Dick interjected.
Sycophas was still, calm and gazed at The Dick standing before him. He turned to look at Goldtop. Goldtop flicked the brim of his top hat with his index finger.
“Hey, if youse two are gonna have a problem…hey, what the fug are you doing…Nickaay!”
Sycophas leaped forward landing on Ricky’s shoulders and drove his rebar straight down through the top his head. Sycophas rode the lifeless gangster down to the floor, immediately turned to see Nicky running towards the table where he sat earlier. Sycophas pulled the rebar from Ricky’s skull, stood up and launched the rebar. It cart wheeled through the air, beautifully, and caught Nicky top center of his back and exited his chest. Nicky fell a meter short of the table he sat at earlier and the 38 he had hidden under a napkin. On the table in neat little stacks, was sixty-five grand.
Walking down the lane, side by side, Sycophas turned to Goldtop and asked him, “Brother, am I really that hideous to look at?”
“Not to me, little brother. Not to me.”
“We lost another gig because of me though,” worried Sycophas.
“We don’t need to work for a long time because of you, little brother.”
Sycophas smiled; turned and continued on down the lane through the market they’d passed earlier in the afternoon when there were crowds of people and noise. It was all closed up. Sycophas' stomach was growling. “I’m fuggin starvin.”
Goldtop turned to him, smiled and said, “Fuhgeddaboudit!”
The End.
Sycophas was a bright but needy, little bastard who hung on the coat tails of his best and only friend, Goldtop. Goldtop, a proud and self-righteous bloke, continued on down the lane through the market. His big-arsed, gold brimmed, top hat glistening in the sun caught the attention of many in the crowds he passed on the way to The Forum. Goldtop turned once more to see if Sycophas was still behind him. His little side-kick was less than a full stride behind. If Goldtop should need to pause and ponder another self-centered thought, Sycophas’ big brown nose would be stuck so far up his arse, it’d cost him ever so much more than he could now afford to have him removed. He kept moving.
What the feck am I to do with this one? Goldtop thought to himself. I love the little fucker…but…he’s killin me fast.
Goldtop couldn’t risk another incident. He was broke. Feck! Goldtop sidestepped to avoid Sycophas and stopped. He studied Sycophas, a wretched creature; a troll, with a grotesquely long, brown nose, but, surprisingly, intensely pathetic big, blue eyes that he simply could not dismiss. Sycophas who was now staring at some rotisserie chickens inside the window of a Ben’s Kosher Deli, pointed at it and mumbled something like, “Me hungried,” and a rather large dollop of milky, white drool launched from his mouth and narrowly missed one of Goldtop’s Tony Lamas. Goldtop shook it off and looked up to see Sycophas remove his dirty index finger from deep inside his nose, pull out a large, crusty booger and attempt to flick it off. Goldtop studied his sidekick as he tried in vain to dislodge the booger. It doesn’t get any better than this, does it? He wondered. Goldtop removed a tissue from his coat pocket and handed it to clueless Sycophas. “Wipe yer hands withis and let’s get the feck outa ‘ere. Time’s a wasten and we’ve that audition.”
Goldtop loved little Sycophas like a brother, but the leech was exhausting him. He’d contemplated going it alone…yet again, but he just couldn’t bring himself to abandon him. He’d known Sycophas since their days at the orphanage over two decades passed. Goldtop recalled his fondest memory of that shithole. He was on the ground in the yard getting his head kicked in by a pair of red headed, freckled-faced, Siamese twins when he heard a plonk and saw the rusty end of a rebar crash through the forehead of one head of the beast. It tilted over, lifeless. The other head followed his sister and then down to the ground and that was that. Goldtop nodded his approval and beckoned Sycophas to follow him. They made haste out of that place and never looked back.
Ricky “The Dick” sat on a barstool, sipping his Sambuca when Goldtop started shredding the intro to Paranoid. Sycophas started singing. Finished with my woman ‘cause she couldn’t help me with my mind.
“Ohh, this is fuggin beautiful…Sabbaaath!” Ricky yelled.
People think I’m insane because I am frowning all the time. Nickay…these two bastids fuggin rock…NICKAY! Ricky started to chug the last of his cordial when the coffee bean became lodged in his throat. His face turned beat red. He was choking.
All day long I think of things but nothing seems to satisfy…Think I’ll lose my mind if I don’t find something to pacify…
CAN YOU HELP ME?
Nicky “Big Nicky” Nutella sat over at a table counting out the money he just shook out of an envelope, singing along occupy my brain. He had absolutely no clue that his boss was dying just a few meters away. He thought to himself as he counted out the last wad of c-notes. Meengk! Good fuggin’ week. If this was somebody else’s racket? Fuhgeddaboudit!
Nicky suddenly felt guilty about what he’d just thought. A little paranoid, he wondered if The Dick could have read his mind and glanced over. “What the fuck? RICKAAY!
Nicky ran over to Ricky, got behind him and implemented the Heimlich maneuver. He heard a popping noise. The coffee bean flew out. Ricky took in some air, fast. “Boss, are you alright?” Nicky asked, feigning sincerity.
“You fuggin kiddin me or what? What the fug is a matter whichu?”
“Sorry, Boss.”
“Nicky, fuhgeddaboudit! Do you hear dese two or what? I almost choked to death and shit my drawers they’re so fuggin good.”
“They’re not bad, boss.”
“That one, what the fug is his name…yeah, Goldtop, he’s got Iommi tone. The little one got some fuggin lungs.”
“May I make one suggestion, boss?”
“What is it, Nicky?”
“The singer looks a little fuggin retarded…I don’t think anyone’s going to want to look at him very long. Could be bad for business,” said Nicky with a sudden burst of confidence.”
Ricky “The Dick” stepped closer to stage, adjusted his glasses and gazed at the duo for a moment. Meengk! Nicky’s fuggin right. The guy’s got lungs like a little, fuggin Caruso, but he looks like he just stepped out of a tomb. What the fug am I gonna do now? Nickay, I gotta talk to him about his appearance. We can’t have him on stage lookin like that there.”
Ricky “The Dick” waved and gave the cut sign to Goldtop. “Listen, chief, we gotta talk about something…your friend there can sing, but we gotta do something ‘bout his appearance…”
Goldtop cut him off, “What do you mean his appearance?”
“Whaddo I mean? Whatdya mean whaddo I mean? He needs to clean himself up, get some new clothes, maybe some cosmetic surgery to repair all the damage happened when he died. Otherwise youse two ain’t workin here. That’s what the fug I mean.”
At this, Goldtop turned to his mate, Sycophas, said nothing and waited.
“Youse two have a problem or something? This isn’t negotiable,” The Dick interjected.
Sycophas was still, calm and gazed at The Dick standing before him. He turned to look at Goldtop. Goldtop flicked the brim of his top hat with his index finger.
“Hey, if youse two are gonna have a problem…hey, what the fug are you doing…Nickaay!”
Sycophas leaped forward landing on Ricky’s shoulders and drove his rebar straight down through the top his head. Sycophas rode the lifeless gangster down to the floor, immediately turned to see Nicky running towards the table where he sat earlier. Sycophas pulled the rebar from Ricky’s skull, stood up and launched the rebar. It cart wheeled through the air, beautifully, and caught Nicky top center of his back and exited his chest. Nicky fell a meter short of the table he sat at earlier and the 38 he had hidden under a napkin. On the table in neat little stacks, was sixty-five grand.
Walking down the lane, side by side, Sycophas turned to Goldtop and asked him, “Brother, am I really that hideous to look at?”
“Not to me, little brother. Not to me.”
“We lost another gig because of me though,” worried Sycophas.
“We don’t need to work for a long time because of you, little brother.”
Sycophas smiled; turned and continued on down the lane through the market they’d passed earlier in the afternoon when there were crowds of people and noise. It was all closed up. Sycophas' stomach was growling. “I’m fuggin starvin.”
Goldtop turned to him, smiled and said, “Fuhgeddaboudit!”
The End.
, but I post my scribblings here because all of my inspiration for them comes from MLP: All of you incredibly talented, intelligent, insightful, witty and nutty characters, our many zany threads and the music, which we all have in common. 
