CRUMBS!

Druff hated crumbs. He loathed them. Little tiny nuggets of toasted dry bread that got everywhere. Untidy. Untidy. Bothersome. Untidy! 

Crumbs were the bane of Druff's life and he went all out to avoid them, evade them and evict them. But he could never ignore them. Crumbs were his bête noire.

The creation of crumbs was taboo in Druff's tiny flat. No toast. No breadcrumbs. No bread. No biscuits. No cakes. And so no crumbs. The mere thought of a single dry speck of an old loaf would send him into fits, never mind an entire bag of crumb rub! That would finish him off.

And so it was that one day at work, a wet fish plant - haddock, turbot, gudgeon, cod and so on - that Druff had his 60th birthday. His colleagues on the gutting crew, who knew nothing of Druff's aversion to crumbs and all, but like him were always up to their welly-tops in wet dripping guts, bought him a huge cake. A very crumbly cake with a thick crumb topping.

Happy birthday to you squashed tomatoes and stew! .. and so on.

The cake was was wheeled out.

Now on the breadcrumbing section staff was a young man called Shirtz. Shirtz was a prankster and furthermore he'd had a few run-ins with Druff, who he thought was a jobsworth. Shirtz didn't like Druff.

And so as the birthday boy approached his cake Shirtz secretly threw some fish crumb and sturgeon guts onto the tiled floor. Druff walked onto it and flew forward completely losing his balance. His face catapulted into the cake at full pelt. Splat!

Druff rose. His head was blathered entirely in crumbs and cream. He spat and spat and spat but couldn't shift all the crumbs that had filled his mouth. He knew he'd been pranked and he knew who it was.

He turned. Seething. Raging. Covered in crumbs like a cod. The whole assembly howled.

'Shirtz! You little bastard! I'll get you for this. This time you've gone too far!"

Druff shook his fist ferociously and pointed at Shirtz and then made the slit throat gesture. His peers laughed and he stormed out leaving a trail of dry bread.

That night, still reeling from the prank, Druff re-entered the plant and took the wages box - hundreds of notes - and then finding a spare set of keys for the lockers, snuck it at the back of Shirtz's.

"This'll be you finished Shirtz you simple moron!" Druff gloated.

The next day the wages box was found in the worker's locker.

"But it wasn't me! It wasn't me!" He implored but his Boss, Bream, was having none of it.

"You've gone too far Shirtz. This is curtains I'm afraid. Pack your tackle and get out!"

"You fuckin' cunt Bream! It wasn't me but you can shove your shit job up your fishy arse!"

"How dare you! Druff's right, you are a moron!"

"Druff! What's he got to do with ..."

The penny dropped. It was that bastard Druff!

Shirtz left the premises but made a point of passing Druff on the gut line. He knocked into him viciously.

"Watch out Druff. One day. One night" at which point Shirtz made the hanging gesture and walked out smiling.

Druff eventually forgot about Shirtz and got on with his everyday life. Day in. Day out. Just getting on.

In November a big order came into the plant from Captain Birdseye. A million fish fingers for Christmas. It meant overtime for everyone.

Druff wanted to save up for a holiday. He did as much extra gutting as possible late into the night most nights. The fish came in and he would slice them open and clean them out. On they went from there to well, Druff didn't care. He'd done his bit.

One night Druff was working hard. It was late and he was sleepy. He'd already sliced his gloved finger and applied a plaster in the first aid room. When he got back he was too tired to notice a pool of fish oil at his station.

He slipped and banged his head on the hard edge of the conveyor, falling to the floor. Concussed he swore he could hear laughter nearby.

"Hello Druff! Had a little fall?"

It was Shirtz.

"Sh-h-irtz. Wha-a-t?" Stuttered Druff.

"Thought I'd stop by and say hello to my favourite old workmate. I say old because you got me fired. Remember! You stitched me up! So I thought I'd pay you back Druff. Pay you back good and proper. So here goes!"

Shirtz lifted the semi-conscious Druff up onto the conveyor belt. He went face-down into all the cod bits, skin and guts. Splat!

'Sh- Shirtzzz!' gurgled Druff, a small purple colon sliding between his lips.

Shirtz went over to the start button and skipped as he pressed it. The conveyor belt sprang into life and moved forward slowly.

"By the way Druff. Do you like fish fingers? Hope so. 'Cos you'll be Birds Eye soon. Oh crumbs! I wasn't going to tell you. It'll mean dying horribly I'm afraid. Then again you are a rotten old bastard who deserves to be gutted aren't you!"

As quick as the devil Shirtz took a knife and pushed Druff onto his side. He sliced him from chin to groin. His hot innards slopped out onto the wet belt mixing with the fish guts. Purple, blue and red bags and pipes, all steaming in the cold air. Druff looked on in horror as his entrails spread out before him.

Shirtz laughed hysterically and laughed even louder when the belt reached the choppers. The fast blades hacked up everything on the top. Druff couldn't believe what was happening. He tried to cram his insides back into his belly but it was too late. He looked up in terror as the side chopper first lopped off his nose, then his fingers and then his toes. The central chopper did the rest. His head was riven in half and eventually his entire body was minced up like the fish pulp swimming around him.

When the initial fish fingers came out of the other end of the machinery Shirtz was eagerly waiting with a little frying pan and camping stove.

He cooked a handful of fingers and sprinkled on some salt. Cutting into one he could see an eyeball.

"Well hello again Druff! Still keeping an eye on me!"

Shirtz howled and bit into the crumbed Druff fingers, ate the lot and licked his lips.

"Not bad Druff! Not bad at all!"