A Day in the Life of John Milk

John Milk was eating a pie. Not just any pie, but a microwaved Farmfoods macaroni pie with added chunks of ice in the centre and a crispy layer of “crispy and rubbery at the same time” cheese on the top. John wasn’t too fond of pies, or macaroni cheese either, but as unique and gifted as he was he needed to eat in order fuel his super human body. A first generation spunkragian would have to consume over twelve pounds of cheese and whipped cream per day just to survive, but as a third generation intergalactic spunkrag/Earthned cross-breed his body had adapted to life on Earth, and in specific Glasgow, so much that he could get by on a couple of Dairylea Lunchables and seventeen bottles of buckfast (this was sadly ironic as the holy wine had proven poisonous and ultimately deadly to all of his predecessors. His apparent immunity to it’s effects had thwarted their mass suicide in an attempt to reach the afterlife to be greeted by 140 virgins. It turned out that they weren’t actually virgins but just young looking.)

Once John had finished his pie he got out of the shower, put on his work clothes and shuffled back to bed and went back to sleep until it was time to wake up. Little did John know that when he woke up he would embark on the biggest day of his life, owing to a weirder than normal alignment of the sun, the moon, the Earth, and George Bush’s arse, which provided an extra thirty seconds of sunlight than the usual longest day, which is sometime in June or July. This thirty seconds of sunlight would prove crucial to John on this very fateful day, as he had struggled to see the keyhole when he got home the previous day and spent a longer time than usual opening his door, he was just caught out by the spin of the Earth but he would beat it today. Getting in the door right on time would be of astronomical importance to Mr John Milk on Tuesday 24th of July 2005, because if he got home even one second later he would miss the bit of Neighbours which shows you what happened the previous day in order to prepare you for the new episode, as he had missed the last five minutes of the Monday instalment after being rudely interrupted by a travelling garden shed salesman. Not even the mighty milkster himself could have predicted that this very garden shed salesman would return today, in gruesomely different circumstances, he was also a travelling headstone salesman who worked to a strict “two day per area” rota in order to keep his mind fresh and maximise his sales potential over two key demographics.

Before the tumultuous conclusion to this not so everyday Tuesday, John had work to do. Once both of his alarm clocks had sounded, and he had counted to twenty, fifteen, and ten a few times, he got up from bed and checked the time, 08:40 (which was actually 8:25 but he had set his clock forward so that he wouldn’t get up late.) Due to his earlier preparations John left the house in seconds. He had the world to save, and give or take a late bus or two, he was starting at 9am.

Milky Bar wasn’t for taking things easy first thing in the morning, by 09:30 he had sent three memos to separate departments and produced a chart displaying the amount of complimentary coffee consumed per kilogram of employee and a report detailing how this cost could be cut dramatically if complimentary donuts were also supplied and therefore making employees heavier. The Peace of Mind Insurance Company were lucky to have John, and they knew it.

The only other applicant for the assistant to the office arsehole found employment a few days after losing out to John Milk, and subsequently massacred all but one of the Sleep Easy Insurance Company’s employees. This infuriated his employers, You’re Getting Fuck All Insurance Inc. The one surviving employee of SEIC held an unemployment insurance claim with them, in which the only pay out was explained in clause 67d as “You will receive your full standard monthly salary for fourteen years if the entire workforce of your employer, other than yourself, is beaten to death with biscuits by a twenty stone ginger African called Seamus-Joe Shuttleworth the Second of Hesselink. “Fuck you Seamus-Joe” was the last words screamed by the Director of YGFAII before he landed face first on the pavement of Insurance Boulevard, Glasgow, and then he was helped to his feet by the guy he tripped over who wasn't even called Seamus-Joe.

Officially John milk knew nothing about this, unofficially he knew nothing at all.

After successfully photocopying an A5 book without any black bits and replacing the water bottle on the cooler, John’s working day was over. On the way home he stopped an armed robbery and held a bridge together with his own body to let a train go over it.

John Milk wouldn’t miss Neighbours tonight, and he deserved it.