"The Wheels on the Bus" is a surreal, satirical novel about the day the Earth stopped spinning—caused, allegedly, by a rope tied to a little girl’s ear. Told by an unreliable narrator under a tyrannical regime, it unravels false histories, absurd logic, and political revisionism with wit, paranoia, and eerie clarity. Think Orwell, think Vonnegut, but unhinged.
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In a bizarre, alternate timeline, Earth stopped spinning on February 7th, 2004 — or so the unnamed narrator insists. The Wheels on the Bus is a darkly comic, dystopian satire told from the perspective of a propaganda writer working under a totalitarian regime that has rewritten history so thoroughly, even physics bends to its will. Through manic footnotes, pseudo-historical documents, and cult-like devotion to a "great and altruistic government," the narrator recounts how a single rope, tied from a little girl’s ear to a tree, brought the world to a halt.
As the story unfolds, we meet Steve Itchkin, the reluctant everyman whose paranoia leads him to flee the state, dragging fate behind him on his handmade rope; John, a man condemned for smoking indoors; Pauline, who mistakenly carries a confetti-filled grenade onto a bus; and a goose named Nigel who unintentionally anchors a strand of rope into the moon. Each character’s absurd choices are pieced together into a tapestry of revisionist mythology, unmasking themes of surveillance, censorship, memory, and control.
Through its surreal and self-aware narration, the novel builds an eerie mirror to our own world—where power rewrites truth and stories make reality. The Wheels on the Bus is a playful, unnerving, and bitingly original debut, for fans of Orwell, Vonnegut, and absurdist literary fiction.
The Wheels on the Bus is written for adult readers aged 20–40 who enjoy dark satire, surreal political fiction, and dystopian absurdism—fans of Orwell, Vonnegut, and Kafka who are disillusioned by contemporary institutions and hungry for bold, original storytelling that critiques power with humour and depth.
Hi, I'm Sam (using the pen name Johnny Carol), and I am soon to be a law graduate from the University of Cambridge with a passion for storytelling that bends the lines between satire, fiction, and biting social commentary. My background in legal reasoning and literary analysis has shaped my distinctive voice—one that pairs absurdism with insight, and comedy with critique. My writing is as sharp as it is surreal, tackling contemporary issues through wildly imaginative lenses.
I have previously published 'A Ballad for the Obsessed, Confessed and Those Laid to Rest', a poetic exploration of obsessive-compulsive disorder that blends lyricism with personal introspection. Outside of prose, I am also a songwriter and performer, fronting a folk band that matches my writing’s wit with rhythm and soul.
My latest project, The Wheels on the Bus, is an ambitious, darkly comic novel chronicling the day Earth stopped spinning. Combining dystopia, unreliable narration, and satire on political revisionism, the novel is a bold and singular vision—equal parts Vonnegut, Orwell, and something entirely his own.
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From Chapter 1: 'having turned the first page'
What comes around turns around. This is a story of turning - turn, turn and turn again.
Now, turn your mind to a curious thought: a spinning saucer on a carousel. Surely, this is a feat of turning engineering - the gold standard, perhaps. Not least, because the planet on which the carousel resides is spinning too. Or it was, at least. And, if we are in the business of astute observation, the ball point of my pen is rolling as I write this very sentence. Or, at least it would be if I had used a pen and not a pencil.
Having established the core theme of our story, let us now turn to a simple assertion: turning is fun, until the turning stops. It is then when we should start to panic.
Of course, this is now self-evident - but it wasn’t always.
Yes, friends, I am referring to the day earth stopped spinning. In Rothwell’s seminal “death day”, he persuasively argues that this day was the 7th of February 2004. I am inclined to agree, or at least I have not seen a better conclusion.
And Lewitt, well, he hits the nail on the head when he argues that “the events which took place on the 7th of February 2004 was caused by a series of twizzling cogs which unfortunately bumped into one another”. For me, I think an ‘accident’ best describes what happened.
And that’s what it was, a darn stroke of misfortune, a cruel twist of fate. If Coach B23 had not turned right on Route 54, 63 miles from Colorado Springs, all of this would have been avoided. Hell, if John hadn’t been so clumsy as to fill his lungs with tar, none of this would have happened.
And, if we are playing the blame game, if god had given Adam a vasectomy, everything could have been afforded. But he didnt think about that, did he? I suppose you’ll say this was all part of your divine plan. I suppose I’ll retort back with: okay, but how has this helped anyone?
Ah, the electric rod. The often neglected but salient ingredient in the accidental yet fateful Molotov cocktail created on that day.
From Chapter 5: 'the Electric rod'
I have on several occasions discussed the electric rods involvement in the disaster, yet I still find some pushback from more orthodox individuals who attempt to nit-pick the watertight argument I have crafted. My hope is that the proceeding section will leave no room for disagreement. The electric rod will be, with absolute agreement, heralded as one of the five horsemen of doom. You will not want to say Neigh, only Aye.
The facts are simple. The wheels on the bus were powered by four separate electric rods, all connected to a main axil underneath the coach. In 2003, the then Government had legislated to remove all mechanical wheel rods. They wrongly argued that, since mechanical rods were made of Zinctonium, they had egregious environmental impacts: what with their unique extraction methods and location far far away.
So, underpinned by this false narrative, the Government issued every motor vehicle, commercial and otherwise, to replace their mechanical rods with electric pin rods. These, the too-trusting citizens were manipulated to believe, would be far better for the environment. At the time, the leading Scientist went as far as saying that the electric rods turned in such a way which sucked in the carbon dioxide from the engine emissions, thus making the whole vehicle a carbon neutral entity.
This sounds good, sure. But it was all a sickening lie. First, it was our prerogative to mine Zinctonium. For supporting Australian forces both monetarily and with a healthy supply of our own men, we had earned the right to extract Zinctonium, as a thank you of sorts. The Australians would have been obliterated by Scottish troops otherwise. No, we earned it.
So, to subsequently legislate otherwise, it was ridiculous. Moreover, the environment argument has been disproved by our benign and altruistic government. To say the environmental argument was based in fact is, to use an excellent assessment by Jenkins, “as if to say that a daffodil upholds an elephant”. No, it is so absurd that it verges on comical, but we must not forget the effect of this joke: extinction.
In 2001, the British government released secret documents showing that Scargill had planned to close down 174 mines over the coming years. So regardless of whoever was in office, the mines would have shut, and the north would have fallen into derelict. If anything, Mrs Thatcher did everyone a favour and expedited the process.
This whole electric rod debacle has a similar plot. We now know, certifiably, that the planet had to warm up. The food we most savour and enjoy, the staple, Joince dough, can only be harvested in tropical climates. As such, if we had continued to resist nature, we could not grow our most sacred food source. And, it is a gift that keeps giving; the warmer the climate, the faster it grows. You see, friends, we can thank environmental shifts for sustaining life.
As far as we are aware, the government back in 2001 was at least somewhat aware of this, with the first Joince dough being farmed only two years prior in 1999. As such, it is my proposition that the government, in legislating against the use of mechanical rods, was attempting to cull most of society.
Of course, this is only one aspect of the electric rods' culpability in the disaster. The more immediate effect is well known. On the 6th of February, Paul Itchen, a mechanic based in the then Washington DC, had fitted the electric rods. Now, you would have thought that Itchen was a careful and considered mechanic, an expert in his craft. You would have thought, wouldn’t you.
Well, in fact, although Itchen had installed many rods before, he displayed a negligent and egregious lack of care when installing Coach B23’s electric rods. This was not his fault though. You see, Itchen had only recently become a fully qualified mechanic - about two years prior.
I think it is important to briefly explain who Itchen was, and what his story is. Paul had started to study Classics at Eaton University. However, while studying, he was exposed to the more conservative attitudes of fellow students. Back then, in 1998, the rage amongst these conservatives was directed towards what is now accepted as biological fact. As we grow old, we deteriorate, sharply. Countless studies pointed to the watershed moment occurring around 63. Yet, these conservatives spouted utter contempt for the truth, arguing that life is sacrosanct always and absolutely. This is a naive outlook. After 63 years, one has lived enough and enjoyed an adequate time on earth. Now, they are nothing but a burden, a burden for our taxpayers' own money. Moreover, they take up space and clog our lives as we help them do basic actions such as cooking and urinating.
It is obvious to us now, that there is no sensible position which involves allowing humans to live after the age of 63. In any utilitarian society, we should strive to conduct ourselves in an aggregately positive way; this is overall positive.
But no, for Paul we lament. He was persuaded by his contemporaries that there is sense in sustaining wasted life and oxygen. Having opened the floodgates, Paul began to become more and more conservative in his views. This eventually culminated in him being forcibly removed from the college by his Father, the great liberal Itchen Senior. Itchen Senior went further and severed any ties with his son. Paul then developed a prolonged depression, which fried his brain.
This depression, this conservative outlook and this frying of his brain all explain why Paul installed the electric rods improperly. He should have never been hired, he was not fit to work in any sense, or at least in a job as important as that. But, the then Government had been recruiting people based on that very reason: to offer jobs to those ‘struggling’. They were literally giving out jobs to those who were incapable of working, while the hard working and sane were forgotten about. A CV, back then, was useless if it was not highlighted in idiosyncratic and heterogeneous personal issues or disadvantages. It was a truly absurd time.
If only. If only they had thought about things normatively, in a way which makes plain and obvious sense. That is the way we run things now, and we are all the better for it.
From Chapter 28: 'a thirty-two second epilogue'
Pauline continued to fly towards the front of the coach. Coincidentally, or perhaps by design, the drunk little girl who had earlier been sick was sitting adjacent to the driver’s of Coach.
And, if you recall, the drunk old girl - who I’m just being told was called Rosie - had connected to her Steve’s rope-9. It was tied around her ear. It tied together history and the future, and when it snapped, history vanished and the future began.
In any case, Pauline - who was still flying - was drawn towards the drunk little girl. She crashed into her. Bang. Wallop. Ouch, proclaimed the little spider on the girl's dress who was subsequently crushed.
And, as Pauline crashed into the drunk little girl, the cigarette fell from her mouth and brushed past the rope-9. Usually, with most things, such a momentary kiss of a cigarette would do no real damage. However, if we recall, rope-9 was highly volatile, and it was also covered in the ethanol of the drink little girls vomit.
Because of this, it ignited instantaneously, with a bright purple flame.
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on April 15, 2025, 8:52 p.m.
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