LE CRUNCH by COMPLETE SNAKE
LE CRUNCH, by COMPLETE SNAKE
Rechorded, mixed and mastered by James Freeman aka Freeman Santiago
Cover art by Ollie Gregory (@trashymag)
Guitar solo on track 8 by Rabea Massaad
Jimmy's message by James Tobin
ALL PROCEEDS RAISED FROM THE SALES OF LE CRUNCH WILL GO TOWARDS RECORDING A SECOND ALBUM.
COMPLETE SNAKE IS
RICH (ARDO REYES) ALLEN - BASS
OLIVER SMART - DRUMS, VOCALS
IDRIS MIRZA - GUITAR, TRUMPET, VOCALS
ALFIE WILLIAMS - GUITAR, VOCALS
STUART - VOCALS ON SECRET TRACK
An album of late capitalism - the latest, in fact. Le Crunch is the very latest in the latest line of most recent late capitalist expression.
It looks a bit like punk, it's written like metal, and it's a bit of neither.
A confused, abandoned concept album, it moans about a lot of things. But most importantly, it grunts begrudgingly that the system is le tired, and it asks of you - when's it going to break, what are you going to do to help, how exactly is it going to happen, and how can we make this good for everyone? However, it doesn't believe in any of your answers or indeed in anything, and is laughing at you the whole time you are talking.
A whiny, scathing indictment of the life experience from a place way out left, Le Crunch opens thus:
"welcomed screaming down in Langley's cultural recovery farm and i was fed up
I was born in a red slime and trying to crawl back inside but they told me get up
it's bullshit! fuck it"
This is what happened to everyone in the world! Dragged from the cosiness of that sweet warm amniotic fluid. Manhandled by a corporate worker! Unplugged from the astral realm in all it's limitless glory, and flung head first into a life of someone else's choosing! Absolutely disgusting behaviour if you ask us.
BROKER put it best without even swearing in their song PRO RATA from their first album ARGUMENT/COUNTER ARGUMENT -
"you won't remember signing in, cause birth was your induction
but is half your life too much to ask? for happiness, security?
if some dream different, let them lead us"
It's enough already, definitely
but what is next, friends?
It seems we are all too preoccupied with our navel gazing to likely enjoy the fruits of a new dawn in our lifetime, and moaning about this paralysis is the backbone of this album. However, for those who seek them, messages of hope and perseverance are to be found in Le Crunch. There is always a reason to go on. Behind the mask of cress, there are glints to be seen of a very bright light that does not go out.
We hope you can see it.
COMPLETE SNAKE
yew boy
yew !!!!!!
yewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww you're scrolling so good keep it up you rock !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
don't stop now ! think about how far you have come :)
wow !!!! you really are doing great !
you are a
LEEJAY !!!
L ovely
E nigmatic
E legant
J uicy
A nd
Y es
It's true
!
!
!
!
!
WELL DONE YOU !!!!!!!!!!
LOOK AT THISS !!!!!! YOU MADE IT TO THE MESSAGE FROM RUN DMC !!!!!!!!!1
THE MESSAGE FROM RUN DMC:
'Bills fly higher every day
We receive much lower pay
I'd rather stay young, go out and play
It's like that, and that's the way it is'
yewwwwwwww !!!!!!!!!!!!1
what a great time we've had together today !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
it's been really special !!! you're truly a one of a kind !!!!!!!!
thank you for scrolling !!!!!!!!! you've scrolled so far, you've actually scrolled all the way to australia !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
"G'DAY MATE" !!!!!!!!!
^^^^^ wow ! you've made your first friend in Australia already !
and a handsome one too !!!!!!!
See, everything really does work out !!!!!!!1
I'll be on my way back to England now!!!
Speak to you in ten years !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Thanks for scrolling, thanks for visiting, thanks for listening !!!!!
You are
COOL !
C ompletely great
O h so adept
O ften overlooked
L e good at scrolling
And for those of you who aren't done scrolling yet - a) you're crazy !!!!!!!!!!!
but b ) Here's a 20 chapter detective story about Le Crunch. This is the real shit. thanks for scrolling.
any minute now
LE CRUNCH
CHAPTER 1
Le Crunch had been a good detective once, but that was a long time ago.
Back in '87 he was 86'd from his agency. You follow corruption up the ladder, the ladder gets slippy quick.
At least the ladder had given Le Crunch twenty large to lie dormy and keep schtum. He had spent the last umpteen years in a cloud of reefer smoke, steadily getting skinnier. He drank Joe in the mornings, Hooch in the afternoons, and Shine to sleep.
It felt like '99 when he got the call from Pumpers.
'Crunch'
'Crunch, you old slug. It's Pumpers here'
'Pumpers?' Crunch lit a reefer.
'Crunch. It's been too long'
Pumpers was his old partner. He had kept his job after Le Crunch was laid off. He was a better detective than Le Crunch, and he knew not to get in too deep.
'What's the crop, Pumpers? Ringing to put me in bracelets?'
'I'm not a snooper anymore, Crunch. I work for the paper. In fact I have my own paper, The Daily Pumpers'
'I always thought you were too smart a cookie for a dick's salary, Cheg Pumper. I'm glad to hear you landed on your feet. But I get my news from the LJ Times. Was there anything else? i'm very busy.' Le Crunch put his feet up and blew reefer smoke.
'Well actually Crunchers i'm not after your subscription. I'm in a bit of a rummy situation myself and i need a peeper. Did the LJ Times cover the story about the Buick washed up in the Hoosic River?'
Le Crunch only bought the LJ Times for the crossword.
'No'
'Well the rumble is this. Some rich old Jasper leaves his Jane for a bit of skirt he's got up on 11th Avenue. A dancer. Real pretty. So Jane's looking to bop herself off, she can't live without her Jasper. She takes off one night in his Buick and drives straight into the Hoosic. Case closed.'
Some case.
'But then the dancer dies two weeks later, all doped up in some party house on the Lower East Side. Jasper is distraught, he had no idea what she was hopped up on. The Pumpers ran a piece... the man who lost his wife and mistress in a fortnight. A real classy piece. Anyway, a few days later we get a call about Jasper down at the news desk. It's the old ex boyfriend of the dancer who OD'd. Says Jasper is a double murdering dope peddler and he's got proof to boot. They put him through to me. I asked him why he doesn't call the heavies. He said because the heavies are in on it. It's round about this point i start thinking, man, this is some Le Crunch shit.'
'So you went over and the kid was dead, killed off by a bent cop. What does this have to do with me anyway?' Le Crunch could feel his old instincts returning, and immediately tried to suppress them.
'The kid was dead, Le Crunch. Your old instincts are returning. You mustn't try to suppress them. The kid was dead and i got there too late. But i did get there soon enough, soon enough to see the perp driving away. Strange license plate - BBDGBB. I run the plates and it's Brannigan. You remember Brannigan?'
Le Crunch remembered Brannigan. All three of them had been in the academy together. Brannigan was shady.
'Looks like old Brannigan is Jasper's man on the inside and they got a little dope ring going on. They got enough to hide to murder this kid... So I send a couple reporters to follow Brannigan and Jasper around and -'
'They're dead' Le Crunch interrupted
'They're missing. This was last week.'
'They're dead, and it's your fault, Pumpers, you old goose. You should have called Le Crunch sooner.'
'So you'll help?'
'First of all you want to shift your focus from Brannigan. He's small fry. Just an alcoholic with a knack for murdering. He was a pawn last time and he's a pawn this time. We've got to go all the way up the maypole on this one Pumpers. You know that?'
'I rang you knowing this, Le Crunch. I'm not afraid.'
'We should both remain very afraid or we will no doubt be murdered. In fact I will need you to up my public profile for my own safety. Tell my story in the Daily Pumpers, but paint me as a villain. Have my picture on the front page - Le Crunch is a bad apple, exiled from the police force, he's been gone for 12 years, and now he's pretending to be a detective again.' Le Crunch had never been in the paper.
'Won't they still try to kill you?'
'They'll likely try twice as hard. It is important however that you do this' Le Crunch had always wanted to be in the paper.
'It's that important to you? It doesn't really seem to make any sense and seems awfully dangerous.'
Le Crunch lit another reefer and laughed. 'Sense? This has always held back great men. And danger is to be embraced. Print the story, i'll swing by the Pumpers tomorrow afternoon.'
'You are a strange man, Le Crunch. I look forward to working with you again.'
'Working?' Le Crunch reached for the hooch.
Pumpers laughed. 'Come by tomorrow.'
'Tomorrow.. and Pumpers, be sure to use a decent picture'
Le Crunch put the phone back on the hook and smiled. He was going to be in the paper. The front page!
Still smiling, He moved over to the window. A black Lincoln parked outside caught his attention. The numberplate - BBGDBB. Brannigan! The car was unoccupied.
He should have turned around at this moment, but instead he lit his reefer and looked up and down the street.
Next thing he knew, he was hitting the deck like a sack of doorknobs.
No one calls Ben Brannigan small fry, not even Le Crunch.
CHAPTER 2
Le Crunch had forgotten to feed Guzman before, but this was something else. Guzman was growing ravenous.
They had been living together in a cloud of smoke for many years now, and both were big nappers, but Guzman had never seen Crunch this lean before.
He had been lying on the floor by the window for what Guzman took to be around 32 hours, snoring like a hog with half a reefer next to him on the floor.
Guzman couldn't get high either without Crunch - no thumbs.
This was starting to become a problem. No food is one thing, but no reefer is quite another.
Guzman's gentle attempts to wake Crunch were met with no response. He simply let him walk all over him.
He scratched Le Crunch on the face. Nothing.
He scratched him harder. Some vague wince.
He brought his claws fully out and scratched Le Crunch's cheek hard, leaving fairly impressive marks.
Bruce Lee style.
The man did not move. Guzman thought, he actually looked pretty cool.
Must be some strong reefer.
Fuck it.
Guzman opened up Le Crunch's left eyelid and scratched his eyeball.
Le Crunch woke with a start screaming and grabbing his eyeball.
Guzman scrammed.
'Brannigan!!!! My eyeball !!!!! I can't see I can't see !!! Brannigan you old cocksucker!'
Guzman had never been called Brannigan before. Pretty cool name.
'Brannigan !!!'
Le Crunch was running around their cramped apartment like a blue assed fly bumping into things and screaming Brannigan. Guzman observed the scene with amusement. It was around ten minutes before Le Crunch settled down, rinsed his eye several times in the sink and took a seat in the corner holding a note.
Guzman went and sat on his lap.
'Guzman my boy. Note from Brannigan here. It seems he's been and gone. Whacked me with the old Kosh and scratched my eye by the feels of it, the sick pup. I must have been out for a while, at least 8 hours or so. He's given me a right good whack. I didn't know that old goose had a shred of honour in his body, but it looks like he hasn't forgotten about that time Old Crunchie saved his life way back when and he's-' Guzman jumped off Le Crunch angrily and began pawing at the reefer on the floor.
Le Crunch grabbed the reefer and lit it. Guzman went back on his lap.
'and he's even given me a bloody clue. Look at the note.'
It read:
" Skipping town on this one Crunchie.
You got the kosh for calling me small fry, and a good whack at that.
Next time it'll be the Luger.
Don't look for me. My debt to you is paid.
The guy you want is Todd McGruff.
As for Pumpers, he might have got more than a whack...
Brannigan
PS Took your Hooch "
'That old fuck's off to sit in motels in his pants and get liquored up with dirty money. What a guy. I saved his life about twenty years ago and he's finally got around to saving mine, only he did it the Brannigan way - backwards, violent, and dripping with liquor'
Guzman enjoyed breathing in the sweet smoke and immediately felt more relaxed, at ease with his existence. He was fantasising about the damage he could do in the neighbourhood with a Luger.
'Todd McGruff though. I knew the guy. He made rank before all of us and moved district. A real ball buster. I better try for Pumpers, this doesn't look good.' Guzman got up and Le Crunch reached for the telephone. The reefer was done.
It's not that Guzman wasn't cool anymore, he still got along with the neighbourhood cats, he knew them to say hello to, but he had lost touch with the scene in recent years and felt threatened by a lot of the new cats in the area. He just got lean with Le Crunch most evenings, he wasn't out hunting with the gang much, and had started to get a bit of a house cat reputation. No one had said anything to his face, but he just knew it. He felt it. Yesterday on his rounds more than ever he felt out of touch. If he had thumbs he would take a Luger out... show these new cats a little something about Guzman. Shoot a fox up, a badger maybe. With Le Crunch out cold for over a day, he had been fantasising about having thumbs more than he would care to admit. No food, no reefer, no reputation.. Guzman needed thumbs and a Luger fast. He couldn't rely on this mope.
'Hi I'm calling to speak to Cheg Pumper. It's Le Crunch here.'
'Anthony Le Crunch. I'm supposed to be on the cover of this mornings paper in fact. How's that looking? Gone to print yet? What time do the lorries get to the shops? If Mr Pumper isn't there would you please give me his home number? I am an old friend of his.'
'Well then i'll look him up in the bloody directory then, you dozy mare. What time do the lorries get to the shops? I'm the cover story!'
Le Crunch slammed down the receiver.
'I'm going to get down to the newsagent and wait for the delivery. Front page, Guzman!'
Guzman hissed.
'See you in a bit!' Le Crunch grabbed his jacket.
Guzman hissed maniacally and ran over to the kitchen unit, swiping his empty food bowl hard. It moved roughly three inches and clanged slightly. If Le Crunch fucked off without feeding him again, he'd go live over at the cat shelter. Three square meals a day and a mahjong set...
Le Crunch poured some super juicy wet chicken chunks in goose brine into Guzman's bowl and he lapped it up happily. He looked up at Crunch with his cutest face.
'Ah fuck it, i'll wait for the shops to open. No sense waiting outside for the lorry. Let's get a little more lean, Guzman, and i'll try to get hold of Pumpers home phone.'
Guzman purred. Nothing better than a smoke after a meal.
credits
CHAPTER 3
Man, that cat sure could smoke. Crunch was leaner than a halloween hooner queen. He had left the house without his hat.
Turns out Pumpers was ex directory, and the directory was ex roach.
The guy used to live downtown in the 80s. Crunch would swing by there and see if he was still shtooped up there after he had bought the paper. Or what Brannigan had left of him..
Crunch hadn't been to the newsagent in years. He got the LJ Times and his groceries delivered to his apartment, along with the reefer he and Guzman had been greedily consuming in there together for the last decade or so.
As he stepped in to the shop, he was immediately shouted at by the man behind the counter. He seemed to be screaming 'No Mark' at him and was pointing for him to get out the shop.
Le Crunch ran out in a blind haze. What was all that about? Le Crunch was a loyal delivery customer.
He walked back to his apartment frowning, considered going in for a top off, then thought better. He hailed a cab on the corner of his street and got in.
'You wanna put your mask on or get out.' The driver was wearing some kind of sleek gas mask.
Le Crunch was puzzled. 'Mask?'
'Your face mask mister, you wanna get it on or get out. Zero tolerance policy. I got cameras.'
Le Crunch left the cab and the driver sped off. What in the name of Pete was going on.
He went back into his apartment and went immediately over to the stack of LJ Times by the bookshelf. Sure enough, in no uncertain terms, there was a pandemic going on that had been getting more severe for several months now, that required members of the public to wear face coverings when in enclosed spaces with others.
It's amazing the headlines that your eyes can gloss over in excitement to get to a crossword.
It was also 2020, which came as a big surprise. Over 20 years out of whack! Jesus.
Le Crunch caught up with the news, smoked a small jazz with Guzman, who he now took be around 100 years old, then went and got his old silk scarf from his dressers. He put it round his face, grabbed his hat and left once more.
He walked back to the newsagent, catching his reflection in a storefront window on the way. Dam he looked like a pretty cool futuristic alien cowboy in this silk scarf/hat combo. This wasn't so bad!
He said nothing to the man at the counter at the newsagent as he entered. He was getting into this cowboy role.
The Daily Pumpers was on the shelf. The headline of his fantasies - 'Le Crunch is a bad apple', was not there. Instead, it read - 'Brannigan Is Public Enemy Number One' with an old picture of Brannigan from his academy days.
Oh for Pete's sake. Pumpers was probably already dead over printing this one.
And Brannigan looked great in the photo too, really handsome and cool. This was awful news. Today was supposed to be Crunch's day. Guzman would probably leave him for the cats shelter now. They have a Mahjong set.
Le Crunch was on the brink of tears for the whole taxi journey downtown, but managed to play it cool thanks to the scarf. These things were pretty handy for espionage. Hiding in plain sight... plain sight is important.
He got out at Pumper's apartment, and tipped the driver handsomely like a really fucking cool space cowboy.
He knocked on the door. Who should answer but Jeanette Pumpers, the wife of Cheg Pumpers. A real classy broad, she was beautiful inside and out and Crunch had got on well with her back in the day. A little too well maybe.
'Crunch. I thought you might show up here. I was hoping you'd be on the front page today, it was great to hear your name in the mix. But Brannigan had other ideas. Look, your scarf matches my robe.'
It did. Her robe was spectacular.
'Your robe is spectacular.'
They looked at each other in the eyes for around three and a half seconds. It was one of the greatest moments in Le Crunch's life so far. Then it was over.
'What has Brannigan done to your husband? He cased my apartment last night, gave me a bloody good whack with the kosh and scrammed. The note he left suggested Cheg was in for worse treatment'.
'Oh Cheg's quite fine, he's relaxing in the garden. Why don't you come in and i'm sure he'll be keen to tell you all about it.'
Crunch squeezed into the house. Jeanette led him through the corridor, through the pantry, into the kitchen and out into the garden. He knew her legs were there but didn't look at them.
Cheg was sitting in the garden in a hot tub, drinking scotch. It even smelt like reefer out there.
'Crunch! Just the man. Scotch?'
'Pumpers, enough with the Yale pleasantries. Yes, a scotch. and where's the reefer? Jeanette, please assist us. Now what's the squeeze, Pumps? Why is academy Brannigan on the front page looking all handsome and young and i'm not?'
'Well, i suppose the long and short of it is that i've sold the Pumpers, dear boy. Just today, in fact. The Brannigan story was all Brannigan's doing and will be my last cover in charge of the paper.' Jeanette handed Crunch a scotch.
'Brannigan! He wants to be public enemy number one? That doesn't make any sense. Give me that reefer Pumpers. Who did you sell up to?'
'Well this sounds awful familiar Crunchie. But you're not the only mope who watched Westerns as a kid. Brannigan insisted we run the story, he came over with the kosh and said i better run that story cause he's leaving town. But his girl is gonna send him the paper, he'll be waiting to read it. So I run it, and then just today a group of men came over here in suits. Real ugly fellas. But real rich. The McGruff Group, they called themselves. Jeanette made the coffee and they made a proposition - 1 million dollars for the Pumpers. I remain a 25% silent shareholder, keep my company assets and enjoy a steady stream of income until retirement, on top of an otherworldly lump sum. All i gotta do is nothing. I can finally relax, Crunch.'
'What about Jasper, the maypole?'
The McGruff Group... there were alarm bells ringing somewhere, but the Jamaican skunkweed had smothered them into near silence with a foggy blanket of goodness.
'That maypole gets slippy quick. You know all about that, Crunch. It's not often that you get to fall off it alive with a 7 digit payoff. I mean, what did you get, twenty large?'
Le Crunch looked at Jeanette's legs.
'Don't look at Jeanette's legs, Crunch.'
'Fuck you Pumpers. I got twenty large in '87. A million now ain't much. And there's a pandemic going on in case you forgot.'
'I suppose there has been for around six months, it makes sense that it's finally made it into the crossword clues' Pumpers laughed heartily and sipped his scotch.
There is nothing worse than the air of a successful and happy man enjoying relaxation, laughing at a small man's small world. A man with money, who can do what he wants.
Crunch was getting outraged. He couldn't believe Pumpers' lack of moral fibre. There was only one thing left on the agenda.
'So this McGruff Group. Do you think they would still be willing to run a story of me, on a slow day? It's got to still be on the presses, right?'
'I'm sure I can have a word with Herb about it for an old friend. But i have given up all control of the business, so I can't say for sure whether I can swing that.'
The day dropped, the penny dawned - Herb McGruff. Todd McGruff's brother. Le Crunch knew of him. He was a mogul.
'Have a word with Herb. Tell him Le Crunch is back on the job, and he's taking this Jasper business all the way to the top until he gets a front cover. And after that front cover, he's going to need a Pumpers style payoff to keep schtum. High six digits if not seven. Tell Herb that, and let me know what shakes.' Le Crunch downed his scotch and handed the glass to Jeanette.
'I will do just that as I know you would not settle for anything less or listen to my advice regarding the matter. This will be my last interaction with the new owners over at the Daily Pumpers. From now on my life is simply about pure golden relaxation and i hope you won't begrudge me that. I am sorry for letting you down here, but the figure was too good to pass up.'
Le Crunch understood, and he tried his hardest not to look at Jeanette's legs as they walked toward the door together, but the figure was too good to pass up.
'Goodbye Jeanette. In another universe, perhaps'
'But not in this one Crunch. You take care now.'
Le Crunch felt drained and sad on the taxi ride home, but thankfully looked emotionless and cold with his silk scarf around his face. He left the cab without tipping the driver or saying anything, like a cool space cowboy.
He got home to his apartment and got high with Guzman. It didn't feel that great.
Nothing else to do but wait.
credits
CHAPTER 4
And so Le Crunch sat in wait.
He waited and waited, he tried not to weep. Eventually he did weep. Guzman laughed heartily at this. Le Crunch wept and wept. He wept at his past and his stagnation, his unfulfilled potential. He longed to go backwards. Every step he took towards the past in his mind sucked him further in to a deep swamp of regret. He saw himself in his memories as some blind idiot with no control over his actions. It was painful. He and Guzman smoked and smoked until the reefers didn't taste like reefers any more. They tasted like some dark root, a tea, a brine. It was no longer at all pleasant. Unable to stop, however, and under immense pressure from Guzman to continue skinning up, Le Crunch and his cat smoked together until Le Crunch's existential depression was long gone. A delirium set in that was most lovely. It was at this point that the doorbell rang.
Crunch and Guzman looked at each other's lean faces in shock. Who could that be, at this hour?
Le Crunch walked over to the peephole and saw immediately that it was the police. A dick, and three goons.
A dick knocked on the door, loudly.
'Sir, we can see your shadow in the peephole. Open up, we need to have a word with you down town. It's about Cheg Pumper.'
Guzman scrammed. Fuck it.
Le Crunch opened the door.
The goons grabbed him. A dick cuffed him.
'Anthony Le Crunch. I'm Detective Goujon, Caw Caw Caw motherfucker. You are under arrest for the murder of Cheg Pumper. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a - oh shit boys you smell that? It's a stoner's dojo. Where's the reefer, Anthony?'
Pete's sake.
Le Crunch said nothing. He had the right to remain silent.
'Let him go for now boys, i don't feel like going nowhere - let's get lean as fuck before we take him downtown. He's not gonna be coming back here for a while, be a shame to waste that reefer. mmm... smells Jamaican'
Le Crunch got the reefer out and skinned up a fat one. Guzman shuffled back into the room and sat on his lap.
'Crack the Hooch out then Crunch' said Goujon
These guys were alright.
CHAPTER 5
Guzman awoke in the dark with a bad case of Siamese tongue. He led himself to water and made himself drink.
He then surveyed the room.
It may seem an odd thing to say, that a man who had spent his entire last decade inside chaining reefers was full of surprises, but it just happened to be the truth about Le Crunch.
Creatures of habit were he and Guzman both, but to expect that their routine lacked spontaneity and excitement in its minutiae was simply naive.
Le Crunch was always surprising Guzman with his energy at times of lethargy, and it looked as though he had done it again.
There were six policemen sleeping soundly in the room. They had got through a whole lot of Le Crunch's reefer and drank a whole lot of Hooch last night and they had all dozed off, deciding to go down to the station in the morning.
Now the four policemen were handcuffed together and taped to the sofas.
It was real messy looking. Le Crunch had always been terrible at wrapping Christmas presents.
Where was Le Crunch? It was around 3am. Guzman could really do with a little smoke. He nipped out the cat flap and made his way out on to the street.
It had been a while since Guzman had been outside. As a keen reader of the LJ Times, he was aware of the responsibility he had to distance himself from others at this time. He hadn't been keeping up with the pawlitics of the neighbourhood of late, but he had heard about Conrad and he recognised his silhouette as it appeared on the wall beside him.
A mean young British shorthair who had crossed the pond about half a year ago, Conrad had a nasty reputation as a clawer and biter.
He was widely known to disregard the code of the streets. This guy didn't give two meows about the hierarchic system of respect that protected cats' legacies and territories. He just did whatever he wanted, whenever he fancied. Disgusting.
It was this new school poison, this complete overhaul of important values, that had forced the Guzman into an early retirement. Fuck this guy.
Guzman turned to face Conrad, and he don't know where it came from, but it came -
'Now listen here you British fuck. I've heard about you and your vigilante bullshit. If you want to try something you go right ahead and try it, because i'm hooched and reefered up out of my tiny brain and i will not hesitate to claw your fucking eyes out...'
*FURBALL*
'...Ask around, ask around about the Guzman, yeah? Ask about what happened to Fletcher in '97 when he tried to fuck with the neighbourhood. You may try hard to dismantle it, but there's still a community here and we look out for each other...'
*FURBALL*
'...You will respect the order of things. This isn't the last of this, Conrad, I'm out tonight on important business. But i run this spot and if you think differently you're a suit tile short of a full Mahjong set, Now fuck off and leave me alone, i'm looking for someone.'
Guzman turned immediately and continued walking. Man, that was so fucking cool.
He wasn't going to look back but he heard Conrad mumble something. 'dun dun' or something.
Guzman turned on a dime with claws out and rasped - 'Your pardon?'
'Downtown. He went downtown, your owner. Saw him get into a cab about 20 minutes ago, if that's any help. I was just coming over to introduce myself. I know you are the top cat around here and just wanted to pay my respects.'
Guzman blushed.
'I heard about Fletcher too, nasty business. I'm not involved with any of that sort of tomfoolery - you must have heard that from the Bobtails? I'm not a violent cat myself, i'm a lover, not a fighter. But unfortunately being a lover can get you into just as much trouble - I thought we cats were supposed to have nine wives but i may have heard this incorrectly. Anyway - nice to meet you, and don't believe everything those bitchy bobtails tell you, Guzman.'
Guzman went scarlet. Bloody good thing he was covered in fur.
'Nice to meet you too - Conrad. Sorry about all that. It's been a long night. Perhaps another time we could have a smoke together and put it behind us?'
'Ah, not to worry, i run into this sort of thing all over town. I'd like that - my owner doesn't smoke reefers anymore. It's awful'
'My heart goes out to you, Conrad.'
It truly did.
'So long'
Guzman kept walking, feeling Conrad's eyes watching his back legs. He felt powerful and cool. He had always been a pretty cool cat, low key, good looking, interesting, and pretty dam tough. It was unbelievable really that he wasn't famous...
...As a kitten he had been the talk of the town, such was his curse - oh for pete's sake, Le Crunch!
Guzman had forgotten about Le Crunch and the mission, so happy was he to have got respect from Conrad pon road.
Downtown, downtown... Le Crunch never went downtown, but he had done so very recently. There was only one place he could be.
This was light detective work for the shrewd Guzman.
Le Crunch had to be at Pumpers' house.
CHAPTER 7
Le Crunch was at Pumper's house. It was around 3am.
He rang on the doorbell.
No answer.
He shimmed round the side of the building and climbed the fence into the garden.
He grabbed for some stones and threw handfuls at the window until a light came on.
Jeanette came to the window and saw Crunch.
He twiddled his thumbs, humming Greensleeves at around 240bpm, until she was in his arms at the back door and crying, calmly crying.
They went inside, the scotch was poured. Pumper's reefer box was brought from the pantry. He wasn't going to be needing it, and it had a lot of reefer in it.
A good man.
So much for Pumpers being a silent partner at the Daily - It looked like Crunch wasn't going to be getting in the paper after all.
Jeanette Pumpers had lost her husband just a few hours earlier and seen it happen to boot. Detective Goujon and his three goons had pitched up under cover of darkness and killed Pumpers while he was in the hot tub listening to Debussy. They came in the same way Crunch did.
Jeanette had hidden in the attic behind a stack of canvases. She was a keen painter.
Le Crunch was taking it quite hard that Goujon gang was behind the murder of Pumps - He was beginning to like those guys a lot, it was a good session last night.
'Are you sure it was Goujon?'
'Yes Crunch you old fool, i was upstairs, i heard noises in the garden and looked out the window, i saw them murder him with my own eyes, i hid in the attic and i heard them talking, laughing about how they were on their way over to set you up...'
Jeanette paused for a breath.
'They're all rotten, rotten murderers. The whole bloody police force is corrupt and working with global conglomerates like the McGruff Group to control and distort society. It's all about money. The McGruff Group had to kill Cheg - they gave him too good a offer as a silent partner, just to get him to sign it all over. And then he had to go. It's just numbers to these people, don't you see?'
'But Goujon, Nugget, Tender, Those guys were alright...'
'No, Crunchie, they are all bastards. They killed him and would have you do life for it. How did you get here tonight, Crunch?'
'What do you mean?'
'What mode of transportation did you use to get over here tonight?'
'A cab'
'Exactly, Crunch. Acab.'
Le Crunch didn't get it. Must be an internet thing.
Jeanette Pumpers had, as mentioned, lost her husband a few hours earlier. So it would be disrespectful to her husbands honour to mention just how beautiful she looked at this moment as she laughed a wry laugh that Le Crunch didn't understand, her distress and delirium colouring her cheeks.
The scotch was going down fine, they were alone together at length for the first time in over twenty years, and the robe she was wearing was just spectacular. Le Crunch felt an impulse he could not control and reached out to touch her.
The phone rang.
They stared at each other in disbelief. This whole thing was starting to feel like some terrible detective story written by a pothead.
Jeanette was not going to answer it, clearly.
Crunch picked it up.
'Pumpers' residence'
The spluttering alcoholic drawl that oscillated from the speaker could surely belong to no-one else.
It was Ben Brannigan.
CHAPTER 8
Ben Brannigan had had one hell of a day.
At around 10am he had woken up on the bathroom floor of his motel room as usual. After sipping dark liquor for a significant portion of the morning, he greedily wolfed down a 200g tin of Bradley's traditional Jellied Eels, before retiring back to bed with the Daily Pumpers. He re-read his article, enjoying his handsome picture, and thinking about what he was going to have for his hot lunch dinner.
He fell back to sleep, having decided on a poutine. Lamb, chips, beans, gravy, beef, pork, chicken, stuffing, cabbage, cheese, onion.
It was going to be lovely, but unfortunately he never got to munch it.
He awoke in a room full of dicks. Well, a dick and three goons, but it took a moment for his eyes to adjust upon awakening.
He was handcuffed to the bed.
Detective Goujon and the boys said nothing, they just loomed over him.
He cried out for his liquor, for his eels. They laughed and lit cigarettes. The situation was beginning to reveal itself to Brannigan.
'We're here to tickle you' one of the goons said.
'Lochlan McGruff's orders' said another
Which one was Lochlan? There was Herb, Todd, Gustav, Stuart, Olaf.. there had to be around fourteen of these brothers all in all. And one sister - Tank. Tank McGruff. She was the nastiest of them all. A real nasty bastard. Then there was Weejus McGruff, he was a hunchback.
But which one was Lochlan? Brannigan cried out for his liquor once again as Goujon and the boys tied his feet down. Then they rolled up their sleeves and started in on the tickling. Slow at first, getting a feel for it. Brannigan giggled. They worked out his hot spots pretty quickly.
Two of the goons worked his ribs hard, digging in to the hot spot that Brannigan had so easily revealed. Goujon and his favourite, Nugget, circled around working the feet, the knees, the neck and the pits.
There is nothing worse than being tickled. There's certainly nothing funny about it. The custom is no laughing matter.
Brannigan went to his sunken place.
He came to as they were leaving. The dicks were getting their jackets back on.
They were talking about Pumpers and Crunch! Pumpers and Crunch, and the chicken party later on. He was drowsy but heard that much.
And then they gave him a bloody good whack with the kosh he kept under his pillow and made off with it. The kosh his dad had given him. Big Billy Brannigan.
CHAPTER 9
'Crunch. Let's cut the bullshit here. I'm looking to wrap this story up. let's tie up the fucking loose ends and get out of here, alright?'
Le Crunch very much agreed with Brannigan here.
'OK Brannigan. Let's do it. But how can we tie up all those loose ends?'
'Oh for Pete's sake Crunch. Stop breaking the fourth wall, it's not cute, it's just lazy writing man. And you don't have to tie them all up, just some. Stick with me now - This is some third act shit right here. I'm upstate right now in a motel 6 just off route 73, Goujon and the boys have been round here and tied me up and tickled me silly. Lochlan McGruff's orders, apparently. No loose ends my end - i'm still bloody tied up.'
'Lochlan? Which one's that, is that the hunchback?'
'No, that's Weejus.'
'Which is the one that ate someone?'
'Ah yes, Dingley! Dingley McGruff' Brannigan had forgotten about Dingley. 'And of course his twin, Gleejson. Gleejson McGruff. But i feel we are meandering. The point is, these bastards broke into my motel and tied me up, tickled me pink and given me a bloody good whack with my own kosh. My da's kosh.'
'I know it well. It is still imprinted in my skull. I am in no mood to hear of your tribulations, Brannigan. Goujon killed Pumpers earlier. I am sat here with Jeanette. They were set to frame me for it but unfortunately were not prepared for the immense potency of my Jamican skunkweed. They are currently tied to each other in my apartment. No loose ends my end. Call the chambermaid.'
'I'm calling you, Crunch. Cause we are going to go to that fucking chicken party and fuck shit up Brannigan and Crunch style. I need you to get over here to motel 6 off route 73, i need you to untie me and get some liquor down me, and then we're going to go to that chicken party and fuck shit u-'
'What chicken party, Brannigan? You never mentioned a chicken party. I'm not going anywhere with you!'
'You'll come and get me and take me to the chicken party, Crunch, or i'll send that picture of you to the LJ times. You know the one.' Brannigan plonked down the receiver.
Crunch got his stuff together.
'You coming with, Jeanette?'
'What's the picture, Crunch?' Jeanette was laughing. It would have been good to see were it not for the context. Crunch could not let anyone see that photo, ever.
He headed out. Jeanette followed him to the door.
'Have fun at the chicken party. I think it's a terrible idea.'
Le Crunch was visibly shaking.
Must be some photo... You can take Cheg's car if you like. It's out front.'
Le Crunch took the keys and left the house without any further words of comfort or gratitude.
Le Crunch was a complete and utter moron.
CHAPTER 10
Guzman arrived at Pumper's apartment after a long walk and lurked outside. Nothing much happened. Finally Crunch came out and got into a sedan parked out front.
Guzman latched onto the underside of the front bumper, hugged and held on tight.
CHAPTER 11
Conrad had followed Guzman on his way downtown. He sensed danger in the air tonight. And he liked it. He was also secretly hoping to maybe smoke some weed with Crunch and Guzman at the end of it all. He had a really strong feeling this was how it was all going to end, and he was really excited about it. Since Roland gave up weed, things had been tough. He could really use some in built entertainment for his little cat mind.
Conrad lurked at a distance until he saw Guzman scuttle under the front of a sedan.
He scooched and scrammed over there, but real gentle and stealthy. He even skedaddled. He schlonbloonged. He got over there just in the nick of time. He grabbed onto the exhaust and prayed.
CHAPTER 12
And then there were four.
Four souls on their way to the chicken party.
Brannigan stumbled into the sedan, gesticulating wildly with rage, muttering McGruff this, McGruff that, McGruff they/them.
Crunch drove.
Brannigan drunk.
Guzman hugged the bumper, undetected by two.
Conrad prayed at the exhaust pipe, undetected by three.
There was no plan of action. Brannigan had been to a couple of chicken parties before. Not for many years. They were held on the McGruff estate. A huge, gated behemoth of real estate bullshit tucked behind the valleys of the shadow of the cunts. Chicken parties were not Brannigan's thing, but he was going to get his own back on these McGruff's somehow, once and for all. He had been doing their dirty work dirt cheap for donkey's years. No one took Brannigan's kosh.
They pulled up around half a kilometre from the main gate.
'Let's get these chicken costumes on then Crunchie. Unlock the boot'
Conrad scooched.
Guzman scrammed.
CHAPTER 13
Crunch and Brannigan surveyed the grounds. They shared a drink and a smoke.
It was nice being together like this - Brannigan was alright without his kosh at hand. It was cruel to say at this moment, as it meant so much to him, but it was really nice to just hang out with the guy for a bit without having to worry about getting koshed.
Right now they were just two guys in chicken costumes about to jump a hedge.
They jumped the hedge.
CHAPTER 14
If you've never been to a chicken party before, let me tell you about it -
There's only two types of guests.
There are many men dressed as chickens, and there are many, many chickens.
Many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many chickens.
There are no rules at a chicken party. It is mostly very violent, but some do enjoy a more role-play based approach to the party.
You don't know who's behind the chicken masks, but you know it could be your doctor, your teacher, your dentist, your dad.
Once you've been to one you won't forget it.
Anyway, like i said, there's only two types of guests at a chicken party.
There's no cats. A cat's going to stick out like a sore thumb and set off the chicken alarm.
The chicken alarm halts the proceedings deafeningly, and commands the guests to gather at the giant egg to await further instruction.
CHAPTER 15
Crunch and Brannigan were getting into this. They laughed like schoolgirls as they stamped on the skulls of the chickens that covered the grass. They were deep in the thick of the chicken party. The mission was completely forgotten. They were no longer looking for the McGruffs. They were simply part of the carnage.
It was glorious. They were hopping around with frenzied bloodlust, stamping on as many chickens heads as possible. Brushing shoulders with every chicken man they passed and giving them a jubilant brotherly salute.
The sound of bubble wrap popping is nothing on the sound of a chicken's head being crushed by a man's foot.
Le Crunch hadn't felt this free in years. He felt that his soul had not felt this free in lifetimes. All of it washed away - Pumpers, the McGruffs, Jasper, the maypole, Goujon and the boys, all the bullshit he had let himself get dragged into. It didn't matter now. All that mattered was stamping on as many of these little chicken heads as possible, and laughing with glee, and enjoying the sound and the feeling and the freedom.
And then the chicken alarm went off.
It was deafening.
Le Crunch thought he heard cries of 'Cat, Cat!' beneath the ruckus that was around 1000 chicken men making their way to the giant egg to the sound of the chicken alarm.
And sure enough, when they got to the egg, there was a chicken man dragging a cat by the scruff of its neck.
It was Guzman.
CHAPTER 16
Le Crunch, Brannigan and Guzman were tied up inside a chicken coop.
It smelt like chicken poo.
Le Crunch had tried to get Guzman back. It didn't work out for him.
Brannigan had begun to unmask chicken men at random and interrogate them about the whereabouts of his kosh. It didn't work out for him either.
The plan was to set fire to the three of them after the king chicken ceremony. The king chicken that night was Schnoobly Jones. He was a popular TV weatherman.
Le Crunch was livid at Guzman.
The only chance they had of escape was Conrad, so it was great news for everyone when he poked his nose in the coop.
'Conrad!!' Guzman exclaimed jubilantly. 'How are you here?'
This was really a turn up for the books.
'Forgive me Guzman, i did follow you this evening as i sensed you may be in some danger. I am not pleased to see that i was right. Now allow me to untie you fellows.'
Conrad began to claw and bite at the ropes. It was short work for the mean British shorthair. They were free in no time.
'How did you get here, Conrad?' Guzman was amazed
'I was holding onto the exhaust pipe for dear life'
'But how did i not see you when we got here, when we picked up Brannigan, how did i never see you?'
'Well did you scooch or scram?'
'I scrammed, of course.'
'Absolutely. And a good choice too, Guzman. I scooched, however - so naturally i did not bump into you.'
Guzman respected the technique. This must be how Conrad evaded the chicken alarms, also. Scooching - he'd have to try it sometime. Scramming was a bit passé.
'Let's get the fuck out of here while we still have our lives, Brannigan. Forget your kosh. Guzman, tell your friend thanks for saving us.'
Conrad and Guzman conversed together for several moments.
Guzman signalled to Le Crunch that Conrad wanted to come and get stoned with them sometime, as his owner didn't smoke weed anymore. It was a series of complicated signals that Le Crunch understood immediately.
'Very well, tell him to nip round whenever. Now let's get out of this coop and back over that hedge while they are still doing the king chicken ceremony. Sounds like it's really heating up. Could be nearing climax.
The cheers and claps were growing tumultuous.
The four of them stepped out of the coop.
CHAPTER 17
They stepped outside into immediate chaos. Tens, twenties of police vans, press vans , even a fire engine, were swarming the grounds. The sirens were not that loud compared to the chicken alarm.
All four of them were captured immediately. They were loaded into the back of a van.
Conrad scooched.
Guzman tried to scooch - it didn't work out for him. He's new to the manoeuvre. Maybe next time.
And so the three of them sat in the van, waiting to be taken to the station. Le Crunch would probably serve a life sentence for 'killing Pumpers', Brannigan would probably never get his kosh back. Guzman would probably never get passively high again. There was a sad, tense atmosphere in the van.
Then the door opened. The policemen were standing with another fellow in a sleeveless jacket. He was holding Conrad.
They expected him to throw Conrad in. But instead, one of the policemen said 'Right then - out, you lot.'
'You're free to go if Roland vouches for you.' said another.
The man in the sleeveless jacket was beaming, and had his arm outstretched to shake Crunch's.
'Roland Weejus - pleased to meet you, Crunch. I know all about you of course, such brave work in '87. Your tenacity and resolve were a great inspiration to me as a young writer.'
Crunch was gobsmacked. He said nothing.
'Good old Conrad. He does have a habit of saving the day - he's a very shrewd, switched on cat and i'm very proud of him since he stopped the skunkweed. He's GPS tracked of course, so when i saw he was on the McGruff estate i knew it was time to call this case in. The LJ Times has been working on nailing the McGruff's for years, thing is there's only a few decent cops left in this town. All these lot are from upstate. Thankfully, the new COVID laws mean we can basically do what we want now we have this initial charge. It's a massive breach. And we can search the estate now, etc. The arrests made tonight will go a long way towards stamping out the corruption and cronyism that cements power in this hellhole. I see it as an extension of the work you began many years ago, and it's an honour to finally meet you at this great stage in the game.'
Le Crunch was still speechless. He couldn't believe it was Roland Weejus. Finally, he moved his lips.
'You're... Conrad's owner? But you don't even smoke reefers?'
Roland laughed. 'Dear boy, believe me - i remain to this day high from the reefers i smoked in my youth. Reefers are the best, they will always hold a very special place in my heart, and i miss them dearly, but i had to give them up on one particularly strange day a long time ago. I may add, that the very day after, i started up the LJ times and finally made something of my life.'
Brannigan chortled and mumbled 'Lefty leejay tossers'
They bid Roland and Conrad good day and set off for Crunch's.
CHAPTER 18
Goujon and the boys were still asleep and taped to the sofas when Brannigan, Crunch and Guzman returned, such was the potency of Crunch's Jamaican skunkweed.
They awoke to Brannigan leering over them with the feather duster.
Crunch and Guzman went and got lean while he did his thing.
Naturally, Brannigan's kosh was in Goujon's jacket pocket. Crunch hadn't even thought about this. All four of the policemen got a good whack with it, and they were put out in the street.
Brannigan bid them good day. He was back to his old self by the time he left - threatening to bop Guzman and Crunch both.
CHAPTER 19
The L J Times was in. On the front page, the headline read - '9 McGruffs Jailed In Return of Le Crunch'.
Le Crunch didn't see it. He went straight for the crossword.
Guzman gave him the signal and he rolled an absolute log.
3 down - 'Strike noisily (5)'
Had to be knock.
17 across - 'Astatine (2)'
At.
5 across - 'Most commonly used word in English (3)'
The.
1 down - 'one is shown it dismissively (4)'
Door.
Knock at the door!
Then, there was a knock at the door.
Who could that be?
Jeanette?
Weejus?
Brannigan?
But there wasn't a person at the door.
It was just Conrad, coming to get lean with the boys.
'Oh good', thought Guzman. 'Perhaps he'll show me how to scooch.'
CHAPTER 20
Guzman scooched
Not satisfied?
Keep scrolling to hear about the mystery of Freeman Santiago's secret message.
The mystery of Freeman Santiago's secret message
'Yeah so, once we got the masters back for our album, we signed off on them and uploaded them straight to bandcamp, obviously. No messing about with a label and all of that. We've got a fan base, and they want it raw and direct, yeah ? So we're sitting on the sofa getting lean and watching the payments roll in and who should we get a call from but Freeman Santiago himself - The captain, the conquistador. The man behind the controls of the complete snake spaceship. He calls up just to say hello, and we have a bit of a natter, we're thinking nothing of it. We're talking away and talking away and just vibing with santini. But as the nattering starts to wind down, his tone changes - his voice quietens with the palpable mystery of restrained excitement, and he says - 'Actually boys - I've got a little something to tell you. I've put a secret message in the album. and it's gonna take you boys to the top.' Intrigued, we quizzed him and quizzed him to reveal it, but he insisted this message was so secret, so abstract, so encrypted that the human brain could not even attempt to decipher or recount such information. We never spoke of it to each other again.' RICHARDO REYES , speaking to director of unaired BBC documentary (liquored up), 2006
This is the only known reference in history to Freeman Santiago's secret message apparently hidden within Le Crunch.
Tracklist
| 1. | BEN RAEMERS | 1:40 |
| 2. | THAT'LL BE YOUR HALLOWEEN SPACE ONION SOMEDAY, KID | 3:08 |
| 3. | CANCEL OK BEASHRED | 0:26 |
| 4. | 2 X STODGY GUSTAV | 1:28 |
| 5. | TODD, DONKEY SHEARER | 1:08 |
| 6. | MRS BEAN | 2:10 |
| 7. | KOSH | 1:01 |
| 8. | BRANNIGAN'S HOT LUNCH DINNER | 2:19 |
| 9. | I THINK THAT I'VE BEEN FUCKING AN ALIEN | 1:18 |
| 10. | GONE INSANE | 1:29 |
| 11. | SHIT BUSINESS ! | 1:10 |
| 12. | SPEAK TO YOU IN TEN YEARS | 4:49 |
