We write stuff. That’s what we do. We write and we read and we discuss stuff. That’s what Groupthink is. This week though we decided to go a different route. The route of our forepeeps. We wanted to get our olden timey on and do the whole “sittin’” by the fire telling tales thang”, and so we did. But HAL style.

Instead of a camp fire we sat around a table laden with cheep booze, getting hammered and chain smoking cigarettes of questionable authenticity. Yup, twenty people crowded around the tables at Crocus telling true tales. Real live stories! None of that fiction crap the kids are so crazy about these days. So sit back and enjoy these recordings from our evening of storytelling.

Oh, and just when you thought it couldn’t get any sweeter HAL is putting together the first ever Storytelling Event in Shanghai this coming October! We are looking for Storytellers, Musicians of all kinds along with Artists, illustrators, painters  and digital artists to join HAL in putting together an event that combines all these elements in a celebration of storytelling. Interested in joining? Email us at butler@haliterature.com

Click on the links below to listen to Groupthink live storytelling!

W.M.Butler: Extra Cracky KFC

David Hampson: Declare Your Pork Pies

Kitty Harlow: Mum, Dad, an Arabian Prince and an unspecified amount of Cocaine (We withhold, for now, from you this brilliant piece, it will instead be performed live in Shanghai soon by beautiful Kitty, stand by for updates on HAL events).

by David Hampson

March 15 2015 – Monday,

7.24am

I awake with a start. My head is pouring with sweat from wearing my helmet in bed. This stops the kelpies putting little electrodes, probes or some other electronic hardware in my brain; eves-drop on my thoughts. I´d slept for 3 hours, but it seemed I was out a lot longer than that. Maybe someone is fucking with my clock…or with time? I check the talcum powder spread around the floor for footprints. Nothing. As most people know the kelpies can levitate above the floor, but the talcum powder would catch any dogs, dingos or hyenas who sniffed their way into the apartment, looking for fresh meat.

I check under the bed, all clear. I remove the helmet and unzip my sleeping leathers, then walk to the bathroom.

8.10am

I finish my breakfast of Mcdonalds sausage and egg McMuffin, two hash-browns and Mcdonalds coffee. I keep a large store of these staples in my refrigerator. Aluminium foil covers the fridge, it protects the food stuffs from radiation poisoning. I light up my third high tar Marlboro, and scoff at the pathetic attempts of what the kelpies write on the box to try to stop me smoking these things. We all know cigarettes increase lung capacity. I am preparing for the great flood.

8.47am

Dressed in my day time helmet, gloves and bright yellow motorcycle racing leathers, I board my taxi to go to work. I prefer to dress in leather, the faint resonance of the previous animal owner permeates my aura, emboldens me, intimidates the kelpies. And anyway, people tend to give me a wide birth dressed in this yellow leather gear. People are problems.

9.12am

I see a kelpie, squatting by the traffic lights. The kelpies are a subhuman species, employed by the government, to spy on the populace and spread lies and rumours to keep the people weak. This kelpie is dressed in a brown uniform, with a red flag and a whistle. He´s counting the sheep, keeping track, subverting the truth. I wind down the taxi window and shout at the bastard:

“I know what you are doing, you fucking kelpie mother scratcher!”

Several people look up bemused, my full face helmet must have muffled the words, but the intent was clear. The kelpies have identified me as one of a few people who have rumbled their game. I´m known by them as a ‘wolf’, the rest of the people are sheep. I´m onto them. Their human form usually takes the shape of uniformed municipal workers, parking attendants. But I have also seen them in the form of hair dressers, dentists. My uncontrolled emotional outburst makes me nervous; must be careful, stay focused.

9.24am

My taxi journey improves, I see two other “wolves” dressed appropriately in leathers, helmet and gloves. Both of them happen to be riding high powered motorcycles, hmm, strange coincidence. I wave to them from my taxi window, no reaction. I smoke more cigarettes. The driver coughs and complains – Stupid sheep, I tell him I´m doing him a favour, then mock him with farmyard sheep sounds, “baa”.

10.15am

I arrive at my destination. When I say I´m going to work, actually I have an appointment with the bank to secure a lone. More on that later. Next to the bank I catch a glimpse of the holy golden arches. I decide to take advantage of the opportunity to refuel. I buy five sausage and egg muffins, eat two immediately and put 3 in the sack and drink more coffee. Something I have learnt: Mcdonalds – the only place to get uncontaminated food – is not always readily available, so when you see one use it, fuel up. A bit like finding a good public toilet. Although I havn´t shit anyware other than my plastic bucket for the last 3 years. I need to sift through my turds with rubber gloves, check for bugs, make sure what goes in, also comes out; sometimes better looking.

10.50am

Knowing that the bank will be swarming with those kelpie bastards, I take several deep swigs from my large flask containing Jack Daniels. Not only does that sweet liquor taste and feel good, Jack Daniels protects you, makes you invisible to the kelpies.

11.23am

With Jack Daniels dancing through my veins I enter the bank, I present my fake I.D. card; “Jeffery Wokao”. The kelpie masquerading as a security guard, asks me to take off my helmet. I oblige, knowing I am safe for at least 45 minutes in the warm embalming goodness of Jack Daniels. I approach the information desk to where an attractive woman smiles and says;

“Can I help you?”

“Too late for your help sweet lady, I´m in too deep. I need to see Mr Jacobs, about a loan” I reply.

I am promptly directed into a small room, decorated with brochures depicting happy young families freely spending their newly attained loans on frivolous nonsense likes cars, kitchens, new patios. Happiness can be bought they tell us, with 12.5% interest and nothing down.

11.34am

Mr. Jacobs enters the room, I have already identified him as a fellow wolf, I have seen him arrive at this bank several times dressed in a black motorcycle leathers with red trim. Blue and purple zig zag flashes decorated the arms and legs, and the letters YAMAHA was emblazon across his upper back. This wolf has style. However, Today I am a little uncomfortable to see him dressed in a dark blue suit, I make the secret sign of the wolf, he does not respond, probably we are being watched. Smart guy.

“What can I do for you Mr. Wokau?” he asks.

In hush tones, I outline my plan and need for a loan:

“Mr. Jacobs, basically it’s a cull, there are too many sheep. Stupidity is everywhere, stupid weak people everywhere, The kelpies are becoming too effective. The sheep are diluting our ability to live. We wolves are being pushed to the fringes. Misinformation is everywhere, sheep numbers are growing inexorably. We need to reduce the sheep numbers. The exact details of the cull I have not worked out, maybe total carpet bombing, maybe with sharp sticks, but we need to act now. And, I´m sure it will cost a lot of money, that´s where you come in Mr. Jacobs”.

Mr. Jacobs leaned back in his chair, and with raised eyebrows he pressed the intercom button:

“Security”. He said.

11.36am

Security enter the room to discover myself and a kelpie wrestling on Mr Jacob´s desk. My hands around the fucker´s neck strangling the life out of him. The kelpie was strong, he was beating me over the head with the desk phone. I was hysterical, screaming:

“What have you done with Mr Jacobs you fucking kelpie bastard!?”

12.50am

After being detained and beaten by the goons and kelpie lovers at the New Commercial Bank, I retire to the only sanctuary in the city: Mcdonalds. With my helmet replaced, I was sitting away from the window munching on several Big Mac meals, smoking heavily, and swigging down Jack Daniels bourbon whisky, rebuilding my protective shield. The kelpies are getting smart. I need to focus, need to be sharp, need to get another bottle of Jack Daniels. I also need another bank, maybe the International City Bank.

Banks must be full of clever people, full of wolves, they know how to make money, and I need money.

…to be continued?…

Willy had 2 friends, bolliker and balliker. Willy always wondered why they looked so similar and he looked so different, so strange. They would tease him when he inexplicably grew large and then shrunk. And when it was cold they would snuggle together leaving Willy all alone. They shared the same space inside the 95% polyester tent. Worse was when bolliker and balliker made him vomit when he didn’t want to, and sometimes in very embarrassing situations, getting the tent all wet. Sometimes he would be pushed into the water chute, with bolliker and balliker making him vomit, which was strange because he never ate anything.

One particularly busy day, after bolliker and balliker had made him vomit 2 times already, and then vomit once again into the tight pink swimming suit that the man in the sky made him wear, Willy and bolliker and balliker were taken for a ride across town. They went into a dark place that smelt a bit fishy. Suddenly the tent came off and balliker and bolliker were getting slapped by a wooden paddle, Willy started laughing at his little friends jiggling around, so much that he vomited with all the excitement! But this time he didn’t mind.