Showing posts with label Fiction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Fiction. Show all posts

Saturday, 11 April 2009

iTunes vs. George Handel vs. T-Mobile

Hello,

It's been a while! Needless to say, the pace of modern living doesn't stretch to keeping various instant news and moods sites up to date.

Yes, this afternoon I decided to educate myself and bought Flight of the Conchords album. Lovely!

Then after that I listened to the Fighting Talk podcast, which features the "Hallelujah!" section from Handel's Messiah. So for a few quid, I bought the LSO performance. It has now been downloading for some four hours. Arses.

Four hours? For two CDs? This must be some kind of perverse joke.

Thanks to iTunes (relatively blameless), George Handel (entirely blameless), and T-Mobile (who annoy me more as each day passes).

Thursday, 5 February 2009

Things you don't read in newspapers:

Teenager Marcus Revell was stabbed to death yesterday in broad daylight, leaving the people he was standing at the bus stop with horrified. Revell, 17, was assaulted by a group of seven hooded assailants, who "attacked him like animals with knives".

Friends of Marcus were quick to post their personal recollections of him to social networking sites.
  • "You were an ignorant arsehole who always were threatening my children", wrote AngryDad1971. 
  • "Another dealer off the streets! Yes!", recalled OffMyStreet2.
  • "Where will I gets my crack from now, geez? LOL", wrote TheAddamsFamily
  • "How will your three angels survive without you?", typed a tearful eMmA924EvA, referring to Marcus' three daughters from three separate relationships.
Local Police Media Relations Officer Clive Raymond read from a statement at the crime scene. "For two long, Revell's reign of terror on these community streets remained unchecked by the people of this town, the Police, and Social Services. Many sleepless nights went past with the sound of Revell's gang cynically smashing up cars, property and shop fronts. The sheer weight of drugs he brazenly sold in front of my Police Station, knowing his rights as a nine year old, that he could not be searched, was astonishing. Only when he tried to rip off some Somali gangsters did he ironically, finally realize the true meaning of the word 'terror', as they cut open his chest and started to sever his internal organs with delight".

A Police investigation continues.

Wednesday, 13 August 2008

I Was A Teenage Hitler Clone

Idea for a film! Not my life story. Honest.

It is November 1989, in a secret laboratory somewhere hidden away in East Germany. Two bearded ginger scientists rush around feverishly knocking over bottles and shovel papers into a concrete mixer. There is panic in the air. There are suggested links to cloning in the laboratory. As they continue to destroy ‘evidence’, they uncover a long forgotten safe, which has never actually been locked.

Inside, there are some effects, an old parcel of papers, and a dusty test tube with a tooth in it.

The scientists stop and look through the papers. This is the writings of Otto Unterhosen, the fabled researcher from the early days of the East German regime. They are agog at the unexpected discovery.

Detailed diagrams and graphs, and copious black and white pictures. The investigation becomes more hurried, then stops when they see a photograph of Adolf Hitler.

There is a circle of red crayon around one of his teeth.

Our two scientists make the link that the tooth is the last remnant of Hitler. Obviously, being communist faithful, they jeer loudly at the tooth of the detested leader of the fascist regime.

Their thoughts turn to the possibility of using the stored DNA in the tooth to clone a Hitler that could possibly be used good; maybe propping up the falling communist government, and the thought also occurs that they could make lots of them to chain to benches across the nation to be given a good hiding at any opportune moments – a stress Hitler? 

Anyhow, this is to irresistible an opportunity to miss, and with the sounds of ‘freedom’ playing on their radio, time is ticking down. They boil the tooth and extract the DNA in a way that is only possible in a short comic film. Preferably with tweezers.

So our scientific heroes (for want of a better phrase) store this DNA in a container with obvious danger markings. Knowing that time is against them, they shovel all the rest of the available papers into the concrete mixer and run out of a side door, leaving mess everywhere.

Here, there is a plot detail I’m yet to decide on; somehow the DNA makes it to a city in England, either on purpose or design. Is there a crash of some sort, or a plot that sees one of the scientists move here and marry.

This plot is vital, as it follows to the main crux, as very soon the Hitler DNA is (either by accident or criminally insane scientific design) impregnated into a ‘nice woman of child bearing age’. The more wholesome the better, this decades equivalent of Felicity Kendal, if you will. Scientists go to ground, in hiding.

Fade to black.

Caption: Today…

A skateboard park in suburban UK land. A cheerful helpful teenage voice is out of shot, saying polite and thoughtful things. Wide shot of the teenager reveals teenager in typical Emo clothes, but with obvious Hitler fringe and downy moustache.

Cue mishaps, as the child struggles to come to terms with occasional outbursts that are out of keeping with his wholesome upbringing, and lots of Nazi style imagery which the Emo kid fails to connect with. The essential point of the humour is that the central character has to totally oppose the views of the Nazi party, and if possible, come across as the Anti-Hitler.

Eventually the scientists come out of hiding when they see the kid win a national niceness competition of some sort and try to track the kid down.

In the end the kid is told about his genes, and he’s happy with it as the message is it’s out upbringing that defines our character and not out hardwired DNA.

Title of the film? No idea. But I’d pay to see it. I may have to write star, film and direct it myself though…

Tuesday, 29 July 2008

Sarcastic Work Experience Report

Timekeeping: Not sure. Never seemed to be at her desk.

Learning Ability: Limited to stuff about texting

Appearance: Wretched, with special mentions to jeans and trainers

Motivation: Seemed to be money, violence and watching television

Relationship with other employees: Non-Existant

Relationship with manager: Possibly hostile

Ability to follow/seek guidance: Ha!

Ability to work in group/team: Never in a month of Sundays

General comments: Possibly the squadron leader for the next wave of inconsiderate mouth-breathers that will further tarnish the name of our once great nation. I weep for all of us, for in fifty years, thei children will care for us in our nursing homes, unless, I can finally get my hands on some automatic weapons.

Wednesday, 23 July 2008

Here are some words I invented...

Yep, just came across some words that I claimed to have invented in 1998:
  • Glurty
  • Sleb
  • Gimm
  • Perbulo
  • Teg
  • Flubble
  • Gnaah
  • Joom
  • Furt
  • Nenvex
  • Goom

Monday, 30 June 2008

The Farmhouse

I have a beautiful farmhouse in Norfolk. It stands proud over the rest of the flat landscape, dominating the nearby overgrown fields and woodland. I may be right in thinking that this is the highest point for fifty miles or so. Inside is everything you would find in a grand working house of the time - the huge fireplace, slate covered kitchen and warm oven at the centre, four cosy bedrooms and room for all of my dogs. I left there six months ago. I will never go back.

It began on a cold winter's night eighteen months ago when things started to...well...go a little strange. Mary, Isabella, Ralph and I were sitting round the kitchen table, talking over that days efforts at school when suddenly, my two dogs start barking and becoming agitated. Could they have seen a fox, I wondered? It would have been unusual for one of them to get through my new fence. As I rose from my seat to investigate the cause of all this noise, the barking from the dogs seemed to increase in anger, and maybe fear. I rushed to the door at once, and as soon as I opened it, the dogs stopped barking and dashed in to be in the safe position by the fireplace in the kitchen. I though no more of the commotion outside as my children and I comforted the frightened hounds.

After ten minutes, they were up again and moving around the farmhouse - but nervously. I never thought to check outside afterwards, it was bitterly cold, and driving snow was beginning to fall heavily.

Our dogs have seen snow before, surely it can't have been that which spooked them?

That night moved slowly toward the back of my mind as winter wore on - soon it was February and the days were lighter and longer.

On bright Saturday morning, my children and I went for a walk along the River Saundersfoot to see the first signs of spring, well, springing. Some snowdrops were pushing up against the softening earth, and we stopped and crouched to admire Nature's struggle.

Unexpectedly, there was a sharp gust of wind and what seemed like a loud, but distant cackle. All was still. Isabella, my youngest, asked for a reassuring cuddle. As I held her closely to me, as small birch tree snapped over in front of our eyes. We stood as one, open mouthed as tree after tree snapped in the middle.

I decided to get the children back to safety of the farmhouse as quickly as possible. As we ran from the river's bank, the noise of the destruction of the trees was unbearable. After five minutes we were far enough away to not hear the terrible force at work.

Shortly, we were at the door to the kitchen, which I always keep on the latch. It was locked, and stuck fast.