The Comedic Life of Jonathan Buxley

Jonathan sat staring blankly at his computer screen. His phone was ringing, but he didn’t feel like answering it- he knew who it would be.
“Hey, this is Jono Buxley,” he heard his voice coming from the answering machine, “I’m sorry I can’t answer the phone, but I’m busy swapping saliva with Kiera Knightley right now so I’m obviously prioritising, leave a message and once I’ve taken my tongue out of her throat I’ll consider calling you back- Kiera, darling, don’t put your shirt back on!” *beep*
“You know, Jono, you really should change that!” the voice that was now coming from his machine was that of his publisher, Caroline Spencer. “Jono, I know you’re sitting right next to your phone so I’m going to tell you what’s going on now and I don’t want you to call me back because I don’t care to talk to you.” He looked anxiously at the machine, when Caroline spoke like that she meant business. “I need the next chapter by tomorrow at noon or we cut the book completely. The board’s been on my arse all week and the only thing I could say was ‘We’re waiting on Jono’ -well, Jono, we don’t want to wait any longer! Have a nice night, ‘bye.”
He looked up at his screen, the Microsoft Word document a complete blank. He almost shat himself when he saw the time- 18:57! That meant that he had only 3 minutes to get ready for his hot-date, get to the girl’s house AND get to the café! He jumped off of his chair and sprinted down the passage to his room; dodging empty take-away boxes and piles of dirty clothes as he ran.

As he stood outside her front door he took a sniff under his armpits, hoping that the aftershave he doused himself in had done the trick. He heard the door being unlatched, and when it was opened, he found himself looking into the eyes of an incredibly ugly woman. She smiled, her teeth covered in plaque.
“’Ello, love,” she whispered in a voice that Jonathan could only assume was an attempt at being seductive. “Why don’t you come on in and I’w be done in a mo’.”
He stepped apprehensively into the hall. The smell of Rogan Josh curry almost knocking him off his feet. The girl, whose name he knew was Annie, motioned to a hard looking chair and Jonathan sat. As Annie left the hall, he pulled his mobile out of his pocket, flipped it open and searched his contacts for his buddy Andy. He pressed call.
“Hello hello hello,” Andy said, laughing, “how’s the hot-date going? Hot, I hope.”
“Andy! You bloody bugger you! Do you have ANY idea who you set me up with?” he loud-whispered. Andy was on the verge of hysteria.
“She’s really something- isn’t she?”
“That’s an understatement. How do I get myself out of this?” Jonathan asked. ‘How did I get myself into this?’ he thought.
“Alright, alright,” Andy stopped laughing, “there’s only one thing to do.”
“What’s that?”
“RUN LIKE HELL!” Andy laughed again, this time he was joined by the laughter of some of their other mates. Jonathan could hear Andy explaining the joke to one of the guys- ‘Probably Kev,’ he thought, ‘that bloke is as thick as two short planks!’
He heard the front door open and someone talking on their mobile. He hung up on Andy and the lads and stood. The lady who walked into the room was by far the most beautiful woman Jonathan had ever seen in his 28 years. She had long brown hair and an incredible pair of… shoes. She looked at him and mumbled something to the person on the other end of the line and hung up.
“Hey, I’m Katherine, but everyone calls me Katy, you must be Annie’s date,” she put out her hand and Jonathan took it.
“Yeah, I’m Jonathan Buxley. There’s actually been some sort of miscommunication-”
“Oh?”
“Yeah- um- see, my friends told me I’d be going out with someone- uh-”
“Beautiful, incredibly sexy, ‘shaggadelic’?”
“No, well, yeah, I mean…”
“Oh I see!” she shouted, “You’re a hot-shot writer, yes I’ve heard of you, and you don’t think my baby sister is good enough for you because she’s a little-” she lowered her voice, “-facially challenged? Well, Mr Buxley, I’m afraid to tell you that you’ve just missed out on an amazing woman and you don’t deserve to be standing in our home, so, if you don’t mind, I’m going to be kicking your arse out now.”
And true to her word, Katy kicked Jonathan’s arse right out of the front door.

It was about 01:28 when Jonathan finally fell through his bedroom door and onto the floor. He was completely smashed- he had said it to the girl who wanted to take him home after the pub. That was his excuse for not having a wild, drunken one-night-stand; “I’m so bloody pissed, I won’t know where to put it!” he had told the scantily-clad blonde at the pub. The truth was, he didn’t feel like doing the deed tonight, not after what had happened in Annie and Rachel’s semi-detached. After he was kicked out, he got into his car and sped to the pub where he knew Andy and the lads would be getting sloshed. After downing his share of pints and shots, he allowed himself to be taken home by Mohammed ‘Designated Driver’ Patel. All that night, he dreamt of Katy and her hair, and how his arse hurt from being kicked out.

He had an interesting sleep, to say the least, and woke from his drunken coma 9 hours later with the world’s largest, most painful, hangover. He was still on the floor, still in the jeans and shirt he had worn the night before, still with an arse-ache and his phone was ringing.
“Hey, this is Jono Buxley-” he crawled towards the phone and lifted it from the cradle.
“Mmm?” he grunted.
“Jono!” it was Caroline, “it’s Caroline.”
“Mmm…”
“How’s that new chapter coming?”
He sighed and put the phone back on the cradle.
10 seconds later, it rang again. He stood, slowly, got his cricket bat out from his cupboard and smashed his phone into tiny little pieces. He could hear the phone in the study still ringing. He sighed again and shuffled towards the study.
“Hey, this is-” *smash* “-sorry-” *smash* “-Kiera Knightley-” *smash smash smash*
He decided that he had destroyed the phone very well and that he deserved a reward, so he made his way to the refrigerator and pulled out a beer. As he was about to open it, he noticed the wall clock and how the arms were positioned, it was all a bit fuzzy but from what he could see, he guessed it was about 10:15. A little red flag went up in his mind, but all of the other flags were too drunk to notice. He opened the beer, took a swig and vomited on the kitchen floor.

After 15 minutes of vomiting, 5 minutes of showering, 3 minutes of teeth-brushing, 10 minutes of getting dressed and an hour of watching ‘The Catherine Tate Show’ on the telly, the other little flags began to sober-up and one of them realised that a little red one at the very back had been standing up for the past hour and 33 minutes. Jonathan jumped off of the couch and ran into the study. His screen was off, but he didn’t remember if he turned off the actual computer. He turned on the screen- yes, there it was, the blank document. He checked the time on the screen; 11:48. Oh, shirts on a pig. 12 minutes to write a chapter, is that possible? He cracked his knuckles, flexed his fingers and placed them carefully on the A, S, D, F, J, K, L and ; keys. He sat staring blankly at his screen. He decided to back-track to the last chapter and pick up from where he left off. His last chapter was good- at least that’s what Caroline had told him.
“This is what we want,” she said, “this is exactly what’ll sell, keep it up.”
Jonathan really hoped that he could. He read the last paragraph of his last chapter and became slightly irritated. It was good, no doubt about that, but he didn’t know what to write after a chapter like that. He decided that he had had enough of writing this book, he was going to end it right here, right now- but how?
He scratched his forehead and checked the time- 11:53. ‘Mmm… I’ll be cutting it close but- what the hell?’
Jonathan coughed and put his fingers back onto the keyboard. He blinked, took a moment to gather his thoughts and began to type;
‘When Rachel woke up the next morning, she realised that her time in Nottingham had come to an end. She got out of the bed and put on the clothing she had worn the day before. As she was dressing, her eyes wandered to the man lying on the bed- he had served her well. She walked over to him and kissed his temple. She knew then that she needed to get away- before she became too attached. She had to escape, to run away- and running away was something she was very good at.
The End’
He read and re-read the last chapter of his book and after spell-checking it twice, he e-mailed it to Caroline Spencer. It was just after 12, he hoped that the board would give him a few more minutes of grace. He got a reply almost instantly;
‘Jono, it’s great! Very unexpected- I’m sending it to the editors right now and the book will be in stores in about 3-4 days. Great work! I can’t wait for the next book. Cheers! –Caroline’
“Mmm…” he grunted, “because I’m going to write another book.”
His mobile started ringing.
“Oh, for crying in an effing bucket!” he shouted as he fumbled for his mobile, “Won’t these bloody people just leave me alone?!” He looked at it; ‘Unknown Number.’
“What?!”
“Oh, I’m sowy, I jist wan’ed ta speak wiv Jono,” the voice on the line almost made him lose it, it was Annie.
“Oh really? Did you now? Well, let me tell you something, love. Your sister, Katy, literally kicked me out of your house last night and I’m so bloody hung-over that your stinking voice is making my head explode!”
“Uh- well, I actually wan’ed ta apologise for me sister’s a’itude las’ night, bu’ I cin see tha yer the one wiv the a’itude problem!”
“Ah jog-on ya bloody muppet!” Jonathan hung-up, fuming- the realisation that he may just have ruined any chance that he had with Katy- actually, he was certain that he had ruined any chance that he had with Katy. It was lunch-time and his stomach was growling. He made his way to the kitchen, slipped and saw stars for a minute, and then he saw nothing.

When he woke up, he found himself lying on the kitchen floor in a puddle of his own sick. It was slightly ironic, being in the position he was in, how down he felt. As he lay staring at the ceiling, he heard the doorbell ring.
“Oi! Jono! Are you awake yet?” Andy sounded annoyed, and still drunk.
“Mmm…” Jonathan grunted loudly.
“Well, open the bloody door you moron!”
“Get the spare key and do it your bloody self!”
Andy swore and mumbled complaints, but Jonathan could hear the key being shoved into the keyhole. The next thing he knew, his old buddy Andy was standing over him laughing his pants off.
“Do you realise that you’re lying in your own sick?”
“What? Really? Oh my God! Are you joking?” each word that came out of Jonathan’s mouth was soaked in sarcasm, “Of course I bloody know I’m lying in my own sick!”
“Oh, well done Jonathan,” the aristocratic voice that came from behind him was as disdainful as ever.
“Hello dad,” Jonathan rolled onto his stomach and looked into the eyes of his father, Mr Charlie Buxley. He stood, looking down at his only son, with surprise in his eyes- ‘As if he’s never seen me lying in my own sick at 1pm after having a crazy night out,’ Jonathan thought.
“Uh… Jono?”
He rolled back onto his back.
“Yes, Andy?”
“You should consider getting up, I mean, you’re going to smell bad.”
“Thank you, Andy,” he spat, “how very considerate.”
Jonathan rolled back onto his stomach, placed his hands in the sick-puddle and pushed himself up. The vomit dripped down his shirt-front as he walked towards his bathroom. He stripped and got into the shower. He could hear his father complaining to Andy about how he (Jonathan) needed to get his life sorted- obviously not knowing that Andy was a bassist in a wannabe punk band who could be caught snogging 5 or 6 different girls in a night, whereas Jonathan was a best selling author who didn’t even have it in him to have a one-night-stand with some random girl from the pub. Jonathan turned the water on and screamed like a little girl when the icy water hit him. He jumped out of the shower, grabbed a towel and raced into the lounge.
“Bloody hell, Dad!” he shouted upon arrival, “am I not good enough, is that it?”
“Now, son, you know that your mother and I hold you in the highest regard and we-”
“Oh don’t feed me that rubbish! You’ve been doing it my entire life and I’m fed up!”
“Look how you’ve been acting, Jonathan! You’re going out, getting drunk; you were lying in a puddle of your own sick for Pete’s sake! You’re behaving like a child, and you need to grow up!”
“Oh, do I now? Well, I happen to think I’ve grown up very much since you last saw me when I was 18! I’m an accomplished writer, my newest book is being released in a few days and I’m very happy with the life I lead thank you.”
“Are you married?”
“No.”
“Are you seeing someone?”
“No.”
“So you’re completely alone?”
“Yes, and that’s the way- ah ha ah ha- I like it!”
“You may think your jokes will make it easier to bear, son, but one day you’re going to wake up and realise that writing books about a secret agent who falls for different men in different cities and has to leave them, will soon become very boring, and you’ll want a wife and children. I hope that when that day comes you’ll at least have someone lined up.”
“So is that why you’ve come here?” Jonathan asked angrily, “You just want to make me feel even more crap about my life than I already do?”
“No, I’ve come because a young woman, one Katherine Bale, seemed very distressed when she brought me my tea this morning.”
Jonathan cringed- he knew what was coming next.
“Apparently,” his father continued, “she met you last night when you came to pick her sister up for a date.”
“Yes,” Jonathan sighed, “Andy over here set me up on a blind-date, and I was surprised to say the least.”
“Indeed, well, she said that she kicked you out of their home and that she is very sorry.”
“Mmm, then why can’t she tell me herself?”
As he spoke, the doorbell rang again.
With his right hand still gripping the towel around his waist, he made his way to the door. He could see the silhouette of a woman through the glass pane in the door; this made him slightly very confused. As he opened the door, his confusion grew. Katherine Bale was standing on his front porch, her hair blowing in the light summer breeze, her shoes as glorious as ever.
“If you’re going to kick me out again, I’d just like to inform you that it’s perfectly legal for me to shoot you- being on my property and all.”
She laughed; her teeth were not covered in plaque.
“Actually,” she said, “I’m here to apologise for my appalling behaviour last night. After you left-”
“I left?”
“After you left, Annie came into the room and said ‘Thank God he’s gone! If that bloody Andy ever tries to set me up with another one of his loser friends again I swear I’ll kill him!’”
Jonathan laughed and put his hands on his head. Needless to say, things became slightly awkward when he moved his right hand.

From then, the day became very strange- well, stranger than it had been so far. Katy came in for a while and after Jonathan had gotten dressed the lot of them went out for a late lunch- they had fish and chips. Charlie forced his son to call the cleaning service, who agreed to come in the next day. Jonathan felt somewhat sorry for the poor woman who would have to clean his kitchen floor- she would be in for the shock of her life. Caroline called him on his mobile, “Jono,” she had said, “The book’s at the printers and the board wants to know if you’re going to write another.” He had hung up on her at that point. Another book was not on the menu right now.

When he got home that evening, at around 18:43, he was totally and completely bushed. Andy was sitting on the couch and Jonathan had fallen asleep next to him. Andy considered his options; he could either leave the house and let his friend sleep or he could fall asleep himself. He pondered for a moment. Andy was an interesting character; he and Jonathan had been friends since high school. They had started a band together with Andy on bass, Jonathan on lead guitar and vocals and their other friend Kev on drums. They had been through a lot together- they were as close as brothers, but Andy had always had a secret. He had always been jealous of Jonathan. Jonathan was more handsome, more talented and more liked by the female species. Everything Jonathan wanted Jonathan got; everything Andy wanted Jonathan got. He realised that he had an opportunity which he could not pass up. He stood, grabbed a pillow and covered his best friend’s face with it. After 15 minutes, Jonathan’s breathing stopped. Andy put the pillow on the couch and carefully placed Jonathan face-down on it. He took the spare key, left the house, locked the door and put the key back in it’s hiding place and walked back down the street towards his house.

Jonathan woke up, got off the couch and walked into the kitchen; carefully dodging the sick still lying on the floor. He tried to open the refrigerator, but found that he couldn’t. There was a strange light coming from the end of his passage, he walked towards it.
“Bloody hell!”
The light became very bright, so he closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he found himself standing in a large white hall with marble floors, accessorised with gold statues. For some reason, he knew where he was.
“Hello Jonathan,” a female voice called from the end of the hall. She was wearing a white dress and had a divine glow about her.
“Hi, uh, who are you?” he stammered.
“Oh, where are my manners?” the woman said standing, “My name’s God, would you like a seat?”
“Holy jam on toast,” Jonathan whispered.
“Would you like some? It’s absolutely divine!” God laughed; a high-pitched laugh with a few snorts in between.
“Am I dead, God?”
“Yes, of course! Why else would you be here? I’m very sorry to have to tell you, but, it is what it is!”
“Oh… But, I wasn’t quite done.”
“See, I knew you’d say that,” God smiled, “I have somewhat of a proposition for you-”
“Yeah?”
“-a way to live again-”
“Yeah?”
“The only thing is-”
“Yeah?”
“Cheese and rice, Jonathan! Would you shut up for one minute so that I can talk?!”
“Yeah, sorry. Carry on.”
“Thank you! Right, well, you get another chance at life, but you won’t be Jonathan Buxley anymore- well, you’ll still be you on the inside, but you won’t be in your own body.”
“I see, so whose body will I be in?”
“It depends entirely on how Pete is feeling; if he’s in a good mood you’ll get someone good, if not, then you probably won’t get someone good.”
“Who’s Pete?”
“Uh, duh, Saint Peter- you don’t read much do you?”
“Not the book that you’re talking about. I’d like to live again, please.”
“Good man, that’s what I like to hear!” God reached into her dress-front and pulled out a remote.
“Here’s a teleporter, just press the green button and you’ll turn up at Pete’s office, tell him I sent you he’ll sort out all the paperwork and give you the body, before you leave, be sure to give him the teleporter, I only have one,” she handed it to him.
“Thank you, God.”
“No problem, have a nice life and God bless!” God laughed again.
Jonathan pressed the green button, and found himself outside an office door.
“Saint Peter, Public Relations Manager” he read. As he lifted his hand to knock on the door, a voice came from inside.
“Come in Mr Buxley, I’ve been waiting for you.”
He opened the door and walked inside- unaware of the events which would follow.