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Book Outline

RAGE HAVOC is written in Edgar Allen Poe-like style. 15 short stories. The short stories are anecdotal tales concerning the secret transgressions of every day life on the unwritten rules which keep order from chaos. RAGE HAVOC widens out the authors' philosophical views relating the analysis and social theory of RAGE LOCK to the political economy of RAGE BLOC and broadening out the perspective of the nature of the chaos caused by the mis-use of a clockwork piece of equipment - the impulse tool-weapon mechanism equipment. The short stories tell the tales on the ways in which people are shaped by the psychological groupings of family and society when living under the kosh of the impulse tool-weapon mis-use. And the resultant failures of elementary systems of law and governing of mechanical operations of being human. And the undermining effect the mis-use of an enclosed hidden mechanism holds over an individual's life-force and journey of becoming more conscious as a human being.

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Contents

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POLKA DOT DANCER

Arthur and Sybilla rode high on the hog for the ten years Arthur enjoyed as company director of the well renowned chocolate company, 'Polka Dot Chocs'.

Sybilla, his wife, was a woman of notions, she had notions about her hair, notions about her nails, notions about their house, about Arthur, about the chocolate company, about just about everything. Arthur tried his utmost to keep Sybilla's notions in her head, he pampered her, he bought her gifts and gave her money to spend, he brought her on expensive holidays, he paid to have their house redecorated.

Arthur worked like a dog, all day at the company and then he worked non-stop when he came home trying to keep Sybilla happy. Days would pass by where Arthur would spend his time placating Sybilla out of a temper tantrum. He would spend hours coaxing and cajoling her until finally she would sniffle her way back into an amicable humour.

Arthur would then be allowed to receive her affections, as she called their physical contact. Arthur's wife was not unlike the wives of many of his work colleagues. He would occasionally discuss marital conundrums with these men but no answer ever revealed itself.

So when Arthur's ability to effectively run a company and run a wife became tested to their limits, one had to suffer. Sybilla was not sacrificed. Arthur knew better than to attempt to cut back on his attentions towards her.

It was the company which suffered and the board of directors found out what Arthur had been up to, so they put a stop to Arthur‘s days of high living. Polka Dot Chocs had been making and selling chocolate for fifty years before Arthur became director. Their reputation: was full bodied and a byword for quality.

That is until Arthur began to out back on budget allowances for chocolate production. Employees had been extremely concerned with the adjustments made to raw material expenses. Arthur had begun to fiddle about with the accounting of the company, trickling away some 'pocket money' for his lifestyle which escalated daily.

Arthur told himself he needed the money. He told himself that he would be unable to win his wife's heart without the added cash. Arthur thus strayed onto a treacherous path to which he was doomed for failure.

His siphoning of the company's money became apparent when a torrent of letters from mothers, children, fathers and grandparents tumbled onto the laps of the board of directors. Letters outraged at the change in the much loved Polka Dot Choc chocolate taste .... 'very sugary' ..... ‘tastes like condensed milk' ..... ‘has no chocolate taste whatsoever' ..... 'why the price increase?’ ... ‘please tell me why the chocolate bars have been made smaller' ..... 'why are the chocolate wrappers made so big but the bar inside is nowhere near the same size?' ..... Letter after letter demanding answers.

What on earth is going on?' asked Michael Black seated at the boardroom table where an emergency meeting had been called. Arthur was not in work that day, he had taken the day off to bring Sybilla to the country for a picnic.

'It seems that someone has been tampering with the chocolate production process' replied Tom Wellington.

'Yes' joined Mitchell Williamson the resident objective taster, hired by the company to eat and sample the chocolate on an ongoing basis, 'the chocolate has slowly deteriorated over the past six to eight months.'

'What, why on earth have you not said?' said Michael firmly.

'I did, I filed report upon report and heard nothing back' said Mitchell.

There was a deathly silence in the boardroom.

‘So that means there is sabotage afoot in the company' said Michael. A tense atmosphere descended on the room, every person under suspicion.

'Where is Arthur, why is he not here?’, asked Michael.

’He's on a day’s leave' said Tom Wellington his voice grave.

'We shall have to commence an investigation immediately' said Tom. The other members agreed and thus the beginning of the end of Arthur's reign as director began.

Arthur meanwhile was somewhere in the country driving Sybilla to some fantasy location she had seen in a magazine. The day itself was dark and threatening to rain at any moment.

'Are you quite certain we are going the right way?' asked Arthur of Sybilla's rambling directions.

‘Yes of course I am', she replied vaguely.

‘Might be better to go to a pub for lunch instead' said Arthur as his stomach rumbled.

'Don‘t be silly Arthur, we shall find the spot' said Sybilla gazing at fields and gateways.

The road was as most country roads narrow and winding. They met the odd tourist on a cycling holiday and passed the odd barking dog but otherwise they were alone in the countryside. Arthur tried to spend as little time as possible alone with his wife.

He found that she became unbearable for even him when they were alone, particularly when there were no distractions to occupy her. When they were alone Sybilla's griping became intolerable to him.

He felt almost like his groin was about to burst into flames from the sheer sound of her voice.

Arthur never spoke about this discomfort, he kept his mouth shut and told himself that there was no alternative. But try as he might he could tell himself lies, but he could not block out the little voice in his head saying, ‘there is another way Arthur, over here.'

But Arthur refused to listen and remained in cahoots with his wife; for although he pretended to himself that he was at odds with his wife, in reality he knew very well that he had formed a pact with her a long time ago.

But Arthur refused to listen and remained in cahoots with his wife; for although he pretended to himself that he was at odds with his wife, in reality he knew very well that he had formed a pact with her a long time ago.

Today however was one of those days where he felt weary of the pact, but he persevered with the hope that his wife would give him more physical contact. His wife had been very beautiful a few years back and now her excuse was 'past all that’, as she ducked and dived him.

Sybilla was constantly talking about how women were misunderstood and must rely upon each other for comfort and support. Arthur‘s head would spin, when she spoke on the subject, a subject which she could gripe for hours on end about without a care for time.

Today was no different as they drove through a hedgerow landscape. Arthur’s heart sank, he knew that when his wife began on women needing this and that the day, night, afternoon was a washout. She would remain entrenched in her griping until bedtime when she would turn Arthur once again, the cold shoulder. Arthur’s day was ruined and in more ways than just being physically gratifying.

Back in the boardroom the directors were making phone calls to various department heads; accounts figures were being requested, raw material comparison sheets, quality control tests checked. By late afternoon the grim silence in the boardroom would certainly have knocked Arthur from his deceitful pact with his wife. The day’s investigation had shown Arthur to be the culprit.

'I don't understand', said Michael Black, 'he hasn't covered his activities with false names or even gone to the bother of concealing his intentions to cream himself some extra pocket money.

Forgive me gentlemen but I would almost want to laugh if the company’s reputation were not on the line, but Arthur has left a trail of bread loaves and blatantly told us that he is just a big schoolboy stealing money to buy sweets!'.

The search for the culprit to the company’s demise had revealed scribbled notes by Arthur saying, ‘need a few quid for wine tonight' .... or 'goin' on holidays tomorrow time for a bit of scalping from the petty cash.’

The notes had been found in the columns of his personal diary which the directors had broken company privacy policy to investigate.

‘He shall be dreadfully embarrassed Michael' said Tom.

'Hmmm' said Michael, 'I can't help thinking that he wanted to be nab bed and embarrassed for some peculiar personal reason.’

'Really?' said Tom, ‘any ideas why.'

'No, not yet' said Michael, 'let me sleep on it and I'll have an answer by tomorrow. I can definitely say that his behaviour has unusual motives at its core.' The meeting ended.

'Get me some apple tart and whipped cream and make sure they heat the tart, but I don’t want the pastry to be soggy and I want the cream on top of the tart and tell the waitress to stir a small teaspoon of sugar into the cream before she puts it on top of the tart’ said Sybilla to Arthur as he stood holding a twenty pound note in his thick hand.

The picnic had been dropped thanks to a heavy rainstorm. Lunch had been eaten in a rustic pub which despite Sybilla's incessant griping, Arthur had thoroughly enjoyed.

He lumbered his way to the service counter and ordered the dessert for his wife. The waitress smiled cheekily at Arthur as he delivered the order.

'She's a bit fussy then?' said the waitress nodding towards the table Arthur had come from. Arthur nodding heavily, he felt like taking the pot of tea he had ordered for himself and throwing it over his wife's head. He silently wished that his marriage was over, a thought he had never allowed to ever before lodge in his conscious mind.

‘What's her problem, you look like you more than take care of her?’

Arthur was too tired out from his wife’s griping to register surprise at the young waitress' personal questions.

'I have to say that I don't know, she's just always finding something to gripe about. I’ve had enough, she's driving me mad.’

The waitress stirred the requested sugar into a serving of whipped cream.

She leaned against the counter as she waited for the apple tart to heat in the microwave.

‘Does your wife have a past-time?’

Arthur snorted ‘you must be joking she wouldn’t have the energy by the time she's finished click clacking her tongue.’

Arthur straightened his back and paid for the dessert and tea.

'Why don’t you bring her ballroom dancing?'

Arthur laughed 'do what?’

'My father nearly got cancer listening to my mother's constant griping. It was stressing him out so much that the doctor told my dad he needed to exercise to lose weight, he was eating like a horse you see to try and comfort himself from her constant griping. Anyway he put on so much weight that pressure occurred on his heart and he developed abnormal cells.'