| abstract
| - The Fool on the Hill is a song by The Beatles (credited to Lennon/McCartney) which was recorded in 1967. It was included on the Magical Mystery Tour album and in the film of the same name.
- The Fool on the Hill was an e-wrestling promo written by Jude Maxwell on March 12, 2009 for a Texas Bullrope match against Jeff Watson at the Inferno pay-per-view, Take No Prisoners. The promo was inspired and quote lyrics by The Beatles' song of the same name from the album Magical Mystery Tour, recorded in 1967.
- "We'll keep on killing," Augustus Theobald said. His voice echoed around the mountains in the late afternoon breeze. Clouds were gathering and the evening was fast approaching as the hateful man led his allies up the steep slope to his small hut high up in the mountain ranges. "How long until people catch on to what we're doing though? That's if the news of the Tree Gnome Village fire hasn't spread like fire, for all we know the Ardougnese authorities will start hunting us," replied a scrawnier man with greying hair and a bow under his right arm. "And how will they do that Matthew? Now we have our little friend here." Augustus grinned, indicating the sack from which squeals and wrustling came, as something inside kicked and fidgeted. "Are you sure it's him? For all we know it's not a double, all gnomes look the same," Matthew grumbled, lashing the sack with his bow. "It's definitely him, I could remember his smell," said a stocky man carrying a small steel helmet, far too little to fit his round head underneath his left arm, and clenching a blood soaked sword in his right hand. "You'll get a good price for that helmet, it's still in pretty good nick," Augustus said, looking at te stocky man's trophy. "I'm more interested in our godsend in the bag," the stocky man said. "What shall we do with him?" asked Matthew. "Let's think of something imaginative," Augustus grinned as they continued their journey. A good few hours had passed, filled with hunting and slaughter as the group fed on the remains of a mountain bird they had hunted. Augustus finished chewing on the final piece of meat and sat back in his chair, surveying the people before him. For once he was part of something, and he was in charge. He no longer needed his wife by his side, she was dead and gone along with all the misery and bad memories he associated with it. Augustus was more independent and had come to realise he was a natural born leader, he was made to fight this battle and reclaim what had been lost. "So Augustus, this camp you've been talking about, is it prepared?" the stocky man asked. "Yes George, I think we're ready to get things going, there's too many gnomes about, we don't want their numbers to start getting higher again, we need to keep them low," Augustus replied, stretching his arms with a yawn. "You seem to take this in your stride, but what if the authorities were to find out? I know we keep asking you but we need a definite confirmation that we're all safe, I've got a boy to feed at home you know." "After all that business with the economy and the floods, the monarchies all seek peace now, they don't want to dirty their hands with criminals and murder and conflict and such as long as it doesn't affect them. If they really cared, why didn't they storm the Tree Gnome Village looking for us? They could have easily captured us, why do you think we were so willing to hang about afterwards? We knew we weren't at risk. They simply don't care anymore." "Well this is brilliant, we can do what we wish! We can spew hate and propaganda into society, get whole towns, cities, my Saradomin, even kingdoms on our side! Imagine the look on ol' Boelryn's face if the Imperial Guard tore down the gates to his damn Stronghold!" "No, no, there are too many people who have been tainted by peace and doing good, they think it's wrong to hunt other species because they're different; because gnomes are so-called a intelligent race! Well I'll bet they're as clever as the trolls up the path from here!" "What're you scared of Augustus, a couple of druids and pixies coming after you with sticks? Bah!" "I'm just not going to take risks," he replied, "besides, we've got enough of us at the moment to get the ball rolling!" he added hastily. "Just as long as you ain't rolling no gnomeballs," Matthew sniggered, trying to make himself noticed. "Your jokes are as old and sorry as you are Matthew, now keep it shut this is a serious discussion," Augustus intercepted, slightly annoyed. "Sorry Augustus." "Truth be told, we Theobalds are strong fighters, but my nephew brought shame to the family by interfering with gnomes. We cannot have him know of my actions, I want him to look up to me, to become like me one day." "We'll have to go soon," piped up a man named Nelson who had come with his wife, one of the pointiest faced women in the kingdom. "No, stay," Augustus interrupted. "Well me and Mary live at Catherby, we've gotta go across that damn wolf-infested mountain to get home, that'll be a good few hours of travel navigating the base of it." "Anyone going to stay, until nightfall?" "No, of course not Augustus! We're not walking in the pitch black with these bloody trolls about, besides, there's ghost stories about these mountains, plenty of travellers have died up here, I'm not in the mood for a spooking you know," George said. "Nonsense," Augustus said, brushing it off. Night arrived quickly, as Augustus was left with his final visitor, Matthew who was trying to get his stomach to settle before he made the journey onwards. Too much wine had made him lose his balance and sense of direction, but Matthew was certain that it would all wear off in a few minutes. "Looks like you're stuck here for the night," Augustus said, in a false joking voice. "No, I'll be hopping off sooner or later madam, oh dear, this wine is certainly strong," Matthew replied, kicking his shoes off his feet, "my toes feel like they're on fire," he added with a childish giggle. "You're too drunk to go anywhere now, you'll have to stay with me, you'll be killed if you go out now!" "Fine, fine, fine, I'll stay here with you papa, but no more wine for me." "Papa? You're six years older than me you idiot, now pull yourself together." Augustus went out to the back of the hut and picked up a small wooden bucket he kept. He then went to his water pump and filled the bucket with freezing cold water. A cold breeze made the hair on Augustus' back stand up as he surveyed the empty backdrop of the rocky valley and mountain range at dusk. He had never felt so frightened. He hurried back into the hut, as the door slammed shut behind him making him jump. "Now Matthew, if this doesn't wake you up I don't know what will," Augustus said, as he flung the bucket over the man. "Aagh! What was that for? That water's as cold as ghosts!" Matthew shrieked as his eyes opened wide. "Where?" Augustus spun round and surveyed the room; it was empty. "Don't talk nonsense about ghosts and the like!" Augustus snapped, tossing the empty bucket to the floor. "Why're you so tense this night papa?" Matthew asked. "I'm not tense, it's just the drink getting into your head, making you think things that aren't actually happening, you do realise you're drunk don't you?" "Just like when you were drunk and used to beat me every other night because you said I wasn't good enough," Matthew replied sharply in a clear voice, in a pitch that wasn't his own. Augustus shuddered and stepped back, panting for breath. "See, you are tense," Matthew said resuming his usual voice. "Get out. Now," Augustus ordered picking up the drunken man by the scruff of his neck. "Oi! Put me down you big oaf papa, I didn't swallow your polished buttons!" Augustus opened the door and pushed Matthew down the slope where he lay in the dirt, grumbling and slightly injured. Augustus slammed the door shut and sat down, feeling very tense. It felt as if a long period of time had passed, not that Augustus could ever properly tell as there was no sense of time in the mountains, it was as if time stood still. The only real indication was the passing of day to night, and again night to day. Grumble, grumble, grumble. Augustus pottered about his tiny home amidst the mountains, once again failing to make any progress with his several 'chores' of the house. From cooking to cleaning to washing his ragged clothes, Augustus did it halfheartedly, caring very little that his home had become a sty. As he put a dirtied handkerchief up to the mirror he looked upon himself with the most unadmirable pride. "Doing the good work," he muttered to himself, raising a smile for the first time all evening. It was growing dark, and as he continued to try and wipe the smeared grime from the mirror something caught his eye. A hand. He blinked several times in shock and spun around. Nothing was there. "What the-" he commented, muttering to himself out of an apprehensive sense of fear. He looked upon the mirror again, no hand was reflected. Of course not, he thought to himself, probably just the mirror, it was filthy anyway so almost certain to deceive in what it showed. For instance, in Augustus' eyes, the mirror made him look like a grimey old man with the greasiest hair in all the kingdom, and he was certain that wasn't the case. Working on his mirror again with the rag, it finally gave way and tore, falling to the ground in half. Still, it had lasted him the last five months... "Damned rags," he grunted. As he bent down to pick up the handkerchief, clicking several joints on the way down, he caught something in the mirror. A figure behind him. His face twitched in fear, as if it wouldn't take in the sight before him; Gwendoline. She was not as she had appeared in life, she was pale and pasty, and her shakey composure had vanished, leaving her blank faced but with beaming eyes that said a thousand words. But - why should any of that matter? By the time Augustus swung his head round, she'd vanished, but not before a seering pain erupted from his neck bones, leaving him in agony as he clutched it and lie on the floor. The pain of pulling a muscle caused him to be out of breath and fall out of consciousness for a few minutes at least. Waking up, Augustus slowly realised where he was and more importantly, what had happened. He stumbled to his feet as quick as he could, flashed a gaze at the mirror and then at the rest of the room. Nothing there. And Gwendoline wasn't a "nobody" now she was a "nothing", what had appeared to Augustus was nothing like the woman he had spent all those years with, she was lifeless, uncomposed, and worst of all, she wasn't afraid of him, not one bit. How the tables had turned. "Spirits, pfft, you can't wake the dead, not a chance," he grunted, but found himself involuntarily walking over to his dagger which lay on the table. "Just a precaution, nothing- nothing to really use it against, not really," he stammered. He peered behind him, and saw that a cloud of smoke had coated the mirror, obscuring any tiny amount of reflection that had been there. Augustus headed over to it, maybe there was a fire somewhere, maybe this same smoke had made him delusional and pass out. Only problem with that was, if there was smoke, where was the fire? "No smoke without-" He was cut off, and to his horror a single word was smudged on to the mirror as if a finger tip had done so; FIRE. "Sweet Asgarnia," he yelped, but he lost his vocal abilities again as the mirror once more clouded up. Shaking, he clenched hold of the dagger tighter. A new message read out: You're clutching your dagger my dear, but you can't halm the dead "I can damn well try," he spat, jamming the dagger into the mirror causing it to shatter into several shards. One of the smaller shards lay at his foot, which once again clouded over. Augustus picked it up, it was ice cold, and to his horror a new message began to form on it. Breaking mirrors now? That's seven years bad luck. Not to worry about superstitions though... not tonight "Why's that? Why's that, WIFE?" he angrily stated, having grown in some confidence now he began to realise it was only his wife communicating with him. Because tonight, I'm going to cram seven years bad luck into the space of seven hours "You devil," Augustus stuttered, feeling his skin turn as cold as the mirror. Dropping his dagger to the floor he ran out of the room, turning to a cupboard-like room at the end of the hut. He hurriedly tried to open the door, and when he did he darted inside the small confined space. Now he'd trapped himself... The torment by his wife had shaken Augustus, that was without a doubt, any sane man would at least get a chill down their spine when they saw a spirit. This was worse though, because Gwendoline wasn't only Augustus' deceased wife, she was his murdered wife, and by him; the same man who was now crouched in the cupboard cowering from her. "Damned wife, leaving the gates of Hell behind to torment an innocent man, her husband, of all things!" Deciding enough was enough, Augustus felt around the floor of the hovel he was confined to. He knew there were matches in there somewhere, he just had to find them. There, he thought to himself as he triumphantly held them up to the tiny cracks in the wall to the outside world, allowing the thin beams of moonlight to just about indicate where to strike the match. "And I say, let there be light." He grinned triumphantly as he lit the room, his fear slowly disappitating, but once again he'd gotten ahead of himself, as a gruesome image began to appear. The sorry material that was holding the house together began to twitch and pulp itself, as if it was trying to remould itself. Augustus was taken aback, and then put a figure out to it. Ice cold. He removed his finger as quick as he could. "If there's a spirit in this cupboard, and I'll bet my life there is, show yourself!" He immediately regretted this, as the wall moulded itself into the face of Gwendoline, and then gazed at him. He went blank. The face then let out the most terrible scream causing him to stumble to his feet and run out the cupboard. He now knew there was only one thing to do to appease her for now at least; the same thing Grandfather had done in the same situation. Stumbling over the rocky terrain outside his home with a shovel in his hand, he began to dig out a hole. The same hole he'd horribly thrown Gwendoline's corpse all those months ago and filled with live maggots from the mountains. The hole he thought would have sent Gwendoline to Hell and kept her there. The foul stench of the grave and the remaining bones made Augustus' stomach twist and turn several times over, but he had to do this if he was to be left behind. "I'll bury you properly, with love, I will I swear it as long as you leave me be!" he yelled out, as it echoed around the mountains. He retrieved Gwendoline's skull from the pit it was in, and held it up to his face with both hands, overwhelmed by what was before him. Despite his masculinity and assertiveness in front of Matthew, George, Nelson, Harold or the gnomes themselves, it had all faded away now. He'd killed his own wife in anger. All over these gnomes. It was their fault. "It shouldn't have happened this way, none of it! You were meant to see my glorious-" He stopped mid-sentence, as in his hands the jaw of the skull began to twitch. "Leave this place," it said somehow, and its voice, that of Gwendoline's caused Augustus to drop it to the floor. "I'll go, I'll go, you've finally driven me away, finally seen me crumble," he began, slowly regaining his anger. It was no use though, whatever had happened tonight was too strong for one man. He needed his followers, and the sooner he got away from that wretched shack he lived in the better. Running back into his home one last time, he gathered his few belongings he knew would be of use, while a strong gust of ice cold wind shot through the room. The cobwebs were torn from the ceiling and the door to his cupboard he'd hid in banged and banged and banged against the wall. Before she'd drive him away for good though, Augustus was going to have one final laugh. He remembered a few days ago, all them miles away in the Tree Gnome Village, the gnome that got away. The one he'd captured today. "Here's one for the road," he chuckled, as he went to the tiny prison-like room out the back of the hut. "Millovale," Augustus began. "What sort of a name is that?" Ignoring the intense rush of wind and shattering of windows, Augustus heaved the sack containing Millovale over his shoulder. Everyone thought they'd get a chance to teach the little pest a lesson over dinner, but no, oh no, thought Augustus. This troublesome gnome was being saved for later, and now it was later. Untying the sack, Millovale was emptied into Gwendoline's open grave where her skull still twitched and turned on its own but to little effect. The other bones convulsed more and more violently, as if trying desperately to latch on to some sort of life, to take revenge on Augustus for years of unhappy marriage and homicidal brainwashing. "You, Millovale, happen to have family from Catherby, which I know for a fact," Augustus began, "they were some of the vile little gnomes who spread like fungi beyond the limits of the Village or the Stronghold, but not you, you were never that brave." "My family in Catherby, what, what about them? There are gnomes all over, all over the globe now," Millovale uttered, having been deprived of enough air and nourishment for several hours now. "A certain group of gnomes in Catherby happened to cause me a bit of suffering; kill a few friends, quash a few dreams, so make an assumption, what am I going to do now?" "No, please, human, don't do this!" "Look, Gwendoline's a bit snappy, for the first time in decades; she would never dare act in this way while she was alive. I'd best silence the dead old hag, best let that skull get a hold on something a bit more fleshy than her." Against the tiny gnome's pleas, Augustus dropped him into the grave and began to shovel the dirt on top of him, gusts of wind in his greased, tattered hair, while Millovale screamed as the dirt began to blacken his world. "Well Gwendoline, I've clearly outstayed my welcome; it's time I sought somewhere new," Augustus confidently proclaimed, yet still the hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he craned his neck around the landscape one final time for any more malicious spectres...
- Name: The Fool On The Hill Run Time: 5:17 Written By: John Lennon, Paul McCartney Year: 1997
* The Mixture
- "The Fool on the Hill" is a song by The Beatles that takes an outrageous jab at The Greatest President. It claims that he sits in his ranch in the hills of Texas while he watches the world spinning round, without moving.
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