The Great Algerian Novel

The Story of One Man’s Struggle Against the World

-Forward-

I, Greg Mathews, being of sound mind and body, do hereby start this Great Algerian Novel. When this novel becomes famous, which it invariably will, people will want to know how it got started, and here’s how: The concept was first conceived in the year of 2003. I decided I should write a novel to share my genius with the world. I was 14 at the time and full of crazy notions, this being one of them. Originally I wanted to write the Great American Novel, but then I found out that like 20 people had already written one. So I decided to set my sights a little lower. I thought to myself, "Greg, what’s a country that’s so rubbish that it probably doesn’t have any novels?" And that was how I selected Algeria as the backdrop for my novel. I knew that my novel would be The Great Algerian novel because there wasn’t any competition. I also knew nothing about Algeria at the time. This may sound crazy to you now and let me assure you, it seemed crazy then. But that’s how my friends and I were: crazy. Well, I invariably faffed about for a while, not writing anything but instead forming shadowy notions of what my novel would and wouldn’t be. Eventually I was stirred to writing the first page when I discovered my best friend Logan Buchy was moving away to Malaysia in December. I decided this novel would be his going away present and I began to write and I started with this forward you are now reading. Because, in my haste to transcript the original weather beaten first page to this electric counting machine (computer) on which I am now typing, I seem to have lost my first page. Oh well, if the beginning sucks, blame the vengeful hand of God!!!!
On an entirely different note, I must instructed everyone who receives this novel, including you (unless I say otherwise e.g. you can’t be trusted etc....), to write a bit more on the end and send it on to a trusted friend (a literate one preferably). So it will sort of be like a chain letter except not so annoying. Every once in awhile send it back to old Greg to show him that he has actually made an impact on the world. Frequent plot twists are recommended if not required. After I write the beginnings, I will pass it on to Logan like the Olympic torch and I hope when it comes your turn to carry the torch that you don’t get shot in the neck.

The Great Algerian Novel.
Part 1- Individual Rights
Author: Greg Mathews (wankeriffic@hotmail.com -or- jammycat@aol.com)
Disclaimer: Any blatant copyright infringements are to be ignored. All instances of nonstandard grammar, spelling and punctuation are hereby declared intentional and should be considered Jokkes;
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chapter One- Blackjack
“Hit or stay?" I demanded to know.
The wiry nervous man in front of me took a peak at his bottom card, sucked in a huge lungful of air, and breathed it all out in one word, "Hit."
I took the top card off the deck and placed it on top of his top card, a nine. The card I had put down was a jack. That makes 19. He stared blankly at the card I had put down then muttered, "Bust," and flipped over his bottom card. It was a ten. I stared incredulously at him. "You hit with 19!? Now that’s style!" He left dejected.
That’s me, card-dealin’, joke-crackin’ Awesome McCool, an all around great guy I might add. But this novel isn’t about me, but how I wish it was. A gig like that could finally get me out of the slums of Algeria. No, don’t even listen to me; you should be listening to the main character who I’m sure will show up soon...
And then he busts through the door. Everyone in the bar goes quiet, and all eyes turn towards him and then me. I pause, savoring the moment, then, "Hey there Chet." He says nothing. I call to him across the room again, "So I hear your having a novel written about you, ‘The Great Algerian Novel’ eh? Well now," as my hand slides into my jacket, "we can’t be havin’ that now can we?" Then I pull out my trusty luger and shoot him right in the neck.
With the sound of the shot still ringing in my ears and the faces of the stunned drunks still ringing in my eyes, I jump into the back of my car which was conveniently parked outside with the motor running.
"Impeccable timing again Grady." Grady was my driver and had the craziest knack for appearing right when I needed him. "Let’s go." And he drove us away. I lay down in the back seat and mulled over what I had just done. Killing another human being was nothing to take lightly and every time I did I had to eat some copper to balance it out. Grady handed me back some copper which I started into with a mixture of relish and disgust. This may seem weird but I figure it must balance something out somehow. While snacking on the tasty metallic treat I mulled over what I had just done. I could obviously never go back there because the Algerian King’s secret police would be swarming over that town for years and since everyone knew my face there, I had to lie low. That was fine though, I was getting tired of that 8 drink minimum town anyway; I wanted action! Maybe me shooting that guy in the neck will turn out to have been a blessing in disguise. I pulled out my pocket atlas and flipped to the well-worn page of Algeria. I browsed around the map for a while and then asked Grady, "How long till we get there?"
He replied, "Just four hours till Algiers."
I said, "Great, that ought to give me enough time for a nap before we reach the capital." And I pulled the raggedy blanket in the back over me and fell into a fitful asleep.
Grady hummed a little tune to himself and smiled as he silently drove the Al Camino off a cliff...

Chapter 2- Checking In
I woke up three and fifty-nine sixtieths hours later just as we were pulling into Algiers. Grady dropped me off at one of the cities many youth hostels and I went in to see if I could get a room. I had no problem getting one; it seems that the sight of a luger can be very persuading. I walked to my room but stopped outside the door, my room number was 2A. I shot a couple of rounds off through the flimsy metal door just in case there was someone in there waiting to ambush me. Then I pushed down the door and went in to drop off my stuff. Since I had no stuff and was too wired to go to sleep, I decided to hit the town. Little did I know that he town would hit back...

Chapter 3- The Town
I stumbled around out on the streets for a while then chose a doorway at random and busted in. Good thing it was a barber because I needed a haircut. Actually it wasn’t a barber, I made that up. Truth be told, I’m not exactly sure what it was. It was basically this room with loads of old chairs with old people sitting in them, around old, yet fashionably cliché tables. I chose one of the youngest old men and sat at a chair across from him. My entrance and sitting was totally unnoticed by everyone except this ‘youngster’. I said to him, "Nice day isn’t it?"
He replied, "Yes, yes it is."
I sat there for a while then offered my hand and said, "My name is Awesome McCool, nice to meet you."
He replied reassuringly, "My name is John Wilkes Booth, but most people call me the town."
I immediately thought that for previously discerned reasons that I should hit this man. I gave him a light tap, and he hit me in return. That being done I examined him closer. He had sort of maroon colored hair, a blubbery tanned face, huge white moustache which I later found out he had glued on, nice teeth though a little yellow, I checked for cavities but could find none (at this point in the examination, he coughed loudly and I took this to mean he was a little uncomfortable so I reassured him with a few whips from my pistol). H was wearing a green shirt, no brand, and plaid pants. I was also interested to find that he was wearing a fabulous Technicolor coat which he told me allowed him to interpret dreams. His shoes were made of egg cartons yet looked surprising. I immediately offered him 9000 Mexican pesos in exchange for his shoes.
He refused simply saying, "Don’t try to pass off that communist hippie monetary units here you jackass! The government!"
I was clearly impresses by this man’s deep rooted insanity and decided to bust him out of the Great Algerian Asylum which I now realized we were in after looking at the huge sign on the wall and seeing all the crazies around.

Chapter 4- The Breakout
To make sure I was able to bust out Johnson (formerly the town) with ease, I decided to voluntarily stay at the mental institute for a while to scope out the layout and security. It was very nice there. Everyone was so kind and they spoke in a nice, calm, reassuring manner. After I had discovered that there was no security at all and that the layout was basically a big room with a door leading to the outside I began to wonder what it must feel like to be an insect. Also I found out that the rest of the ‘old people’ were just glowing plastic cubes that I had mistaken for old people.
My first idea to gain access to the outside world was to blast our way out. I painstakingly constructed a crude explosive charge over the next eight klongos (yeah, that’s metric time, it’s the future). When I showed Johnson the bomb he was so excited that he immediately ate it. I sure am glad I made it out of sausage and couscous instead of actual explosive materials.
My next idea for a breakout was to dig a tunnel. I spent about eighteen drivies (metric time again) digging one but then gave up after I realized the floor was made of diamond.
My following idea was just to walk out of the unlocked door into freedom but I dismissed it as to simple.
The next idea I had involved laxative, a werewolf, a bible, several large goose feathers, a mouse pad with a face on it and 6 banana tipped bullets. I tried it, but all that happened was that I got a nasty bump on the head and went into a coma for six klorfords. As Johnson nursed me back to health I thought of the ultimate plan! Why not just walk out the door? And then I did just that. I staggered back to my hotel room and fell instantly asleep.

Chapter 5- Settling Down
On the other side of the world in Cambodia, some events were taking place that are not at all applicable to this novel and have no relevance to the plot. This is what was happening:
Amateur scientist Daniel Robberts (no pun intended) was studying monkeys in the great subways of Cambodia. One particular monkey interested him very much. You see it could talk, which is not something that monkeys usually do, except when they like screech and stuff. It’s name was Andy.
"I like monkeys said Andy," said Andy.
"Were you just referring to yourself in the third person? Dan asked skeptically," Dan asked skeptically.
"I dunno, were you?" said Andy.
"I think it is about time I actually made a joke, rather than just talking all this complete rubbish. However it will be quite a weak one.
"Back in the day of the cowboys, there once was a cowboy. His name is not particularly important. On this day of all days, he rides into a town and ties up his horse outside the saloon and goes in for a whiskey. After his whiskey, he goes back outside only to find that his horse had been stolen! He goes back into the saloon, angry. He uses his southern accent to tell everyone, ‘Listen up! I’m going to sit down at this here bar and have another whiskey then go back outside. And if my horse is not there, I’ll have to do what I did last Tuesday.’ So he sits down and has another whiskey then goes outside. Sure enough, his horse is right there. As he rides out of town, the bartender from the saloon calls out to him, ‘Hey! What did you do last Tuesday?’ The cowboy yells back, ‘I had to walk home.’"
Andy comments, "That was a very weak joke Dan."
"Well I’m sorry," replies Dan.
"Quite alright old chum," Andy says.
Then they both simultaeneououeaouslaouyoauly pull out their matching lugers and proceed to shoot everyone in the subway in the neck. Unfortunately for both of them, they were the only two people in the subway and died rather pathetic yet ironic deaths.

Chapter 6- Capture!
After an exhausting night of sleeping in the youth hostel, Awesome McCool, myself, was not feeling to great. However after a pleasant breakfast of fruit and cereal, the secret police hauled me off to see the King of Algeria.
Though I had sedated myself heavily, I could tell that the mysterious secret police of Algeria were taking me a long way away.
When I finally came to, I realized I was in a prison! I looked around, bemused. In the cell next to me, there was nothing. But, in the cell next to me, there was a large-Asian-business-man. He was wearing a nice suit. He told me he was from Hong Kong when I asked him why we were here.
I tried a more direct approach and asked him, "Why are we here?"
He replied in a low pitched whine of a voice, “I am here on business from Hong Kong. I came to discuss the tariffs that your king has recently imposed on cork, which incidentally, is one of Algeria’s main exports. China will not stand for it! If you were to ask me why I am in prison then, which would save you having to start a new paragraph, then I would say that the king treats all of his guests like this. He locks them up in his secret-mountain-lair inside the highest mountain in Algeria. At over 3003 meters, Tahat is quite a sight. Did I mention it is located in the Ahaggar mountain range?"
I was slightly suspicious at to why this man knew any of this. I speculated that maybe he had actually done research! Just then a guard came in whistling that song from the wizard of Oz, you know, the one that goes like, "follow follow follow follow, follow the yellow brick road." Seconds later, the guard fell to the floor with a bullet wound in his neck.
"I really hate that song," I said sarcastically. I do to; it always gets stuck in my follow follow head.
Suddenly I felt that urge coming on. The Asian man was blabbing on about something which I couldn’t concentrate on, but felt that it was important. Follow follow follow...I need it! must...concentrate...
"Then I got...in my head..."
Follow follow follow follow.
"What’s the matter with you Awesome? You’re scaring me!"
Follow follow follow follow.
"What did you say was in your head?" I managed to gasp out.
Follow follow follow follow.
"I said a ... plate."
"A what?" I said.
"Follow follow follow follow."
"What?!?!?"
"I said, a copper plate was installed in my head."
Follow the yellow brick road.

Chapter 7- A Disblurbing Scene.
Minutes later, the king of Algeria walked in, flanked by huge guards that were actually robots. He stared in disgust at the scene before him. One prisoner, a large Asian man, was lying on the ground curled up into a ball with his back to the door of the cell. A mysterious red liquid leaked from somewhere near the vicinity of his head. Suspecting trickery, the King drew out his long poking-stick and gave him a sharp poke. The man didn’t move. He poked him sharper. Again no movement. This time he whacked him a sharp one which caused the man to uncurl and roll over slightly.
The king gagged. For there before him, lay an unspeakable sight. The man’s scalp had been peeled back and there was whole on the skull as if some sort of plate had been removed. The flies were just starting to swarm over the dead man’s vulnerable brain when the king caught sight of the other prisoner.
He to was hunched over in the corner, but sitting upright...rocking slowly backwards and forwards, possibly humming a little tune to himself. After the king thought he may have heard the faintest whisper of the word follow, he slowly drew out his tazer, stun-gun, pepper spray and shotgun. However, as he was trying to hold all of these self-protection instruments he managed to drop the shotgun causing it to go off and further mutilate the corpse of the Asian man.
This noise alerted the deranged prisoner and he slowly turned. The king gasped in horror. He had a glint in his eye and an evil grin. His mouth, chin, and most of his chest were covered in blood. He smelled faintly of lavender. When he smiled the king could see glints of metal, possibly copper, in his teeth.
He licked his lips and cleared his throat then, "Have you got a toothpick?"

Chapter 8- The Banquet
Hours later, I had had a shower, a toothpick, and was feeling much better. The king had invited me to his massive banquet that he was having to honor the anniversary of his hostile takeover of the country and I did not want to be late. I arrived just in time and as the harlequins cart wheeled out of the way, a massive party was revealed before my eyes. They had a massive table in the middle with food of all the colors of the rainbow (except yellow) and things to entertain the royalty all over the outskirts of the room. There were elephants, magicians, mimes, AK 47’s, med school graduates and what I thought was really cool, a juggler juggling 3 jugglers who were in turn juggling sticks of dynamite and flaming torches! It certainly was a sight to behold. Just as I was about to tuck into the biggest pork pie I had ever seen, the king grabbed me by the shoulder.
"Stop," he said. "Try this instead," and he handed me a phial (or vial, I can never remember which it is) of green liquid that was smoking slightly.
"You shouldn’t smoke," I told the drink jokingly. And then I drank it. I coughed a little but was totally fine after that.
Just then, a bunch of gangsta’s rode in on their camels. The camels had the same names as the people who wanted to be in this novel but just wouldn’t fit!
"This is a banquet-jacking! Everybody on the floor!" said the ringleader of the gangsta’s. He had the fewest piercings I had ever seen on anyone before.
Just then, thousands, if not tens, of monkeys dropped through the skylight with their cute little monkey parachute’s.
"This is a banquet-jacking! Everybody off the floor!" chittered the lead monkey.
Pandemonium ensued. The mime’s started talking. The med-school students enrolled in Harvard law school. The elephants listened to heavy metal. The monkeys grabbed the AK’s and started shooting. The gangsta’s made some gang signs and said, "Yo." And I, Awesome McCool, silently grabbed a chair, threw it through the window and jumped out after.

Chapter 9- Ending
"Impeccable timing again Grady," I said as I landed in the backseat of the Al Camino. He nodded. Nothing else needed to be said. And then, as cliché as it may seem, we drove off into the sunset.