Fifty Shades of Way 2: Way-hey!

Having previously been challenged to write an erotic scene of no more than one hundred words (the result of which can be found here), I have since returned to cap off 2012 by producing this sequel. Why? To see if I could improve on a classic.

Well, that and it was pointed out to me that its predecessor was in fact not an erotic scene and merely a prelude to one. Anyway, here's my follow-up.

Once we finished up our foreplay, our bodies were glistening. Every part of me, apart from the obvious part, was relaxed, but soon it would offer no more resistance than the rest of me. I slipped myself in and we established instantly the first beat of the methodical rhythmical pounding that comes when two partners are so in sync.

Our tempo increases. Our moans grow louder. Both of us cry with ecstasy as we together achieve the release we desperately needed and sought in each other's arms.

It is over. In ten minutes, we shall do this all over again.

The Joke(r)'s On Me

The last thing the Joker remembered was falling.

As he came round to consciousness, he realised he was in unfamiliar surroundings. This new place was dark. Good. The Joker liked the dark. He could do a lot under the cover of shadows.

A very familiar voice pipes up behind him.

'Have a good sleep?' enquires the guttural rasp of the caped crusader. Before the Joker could reply with something equally sarky, another, more chirpy, voice chips in.

'Holy maniac, Batman! We've got the crazy clown.'

The dark knight sighed and turned to his young protege.

'Robin?'

'Yes, Batman?'

'What did we say about you talking during interrogations?'

The Boy Wonder strokes his hairless chin in thought.

'Hmm... Was it that I shouldn't do it?'

'Correct. Now shut it or I'll hit you, understood?'

Robin is about to agree but, upon seeing his mentor's raised backhand, settles on nodding instead. This settled, Batman returns his attention to the Joker. Leaning in so he is face to face with his insane nemesis, he drags a finger down his captive's forehead. This done, he pulls back slightly and looks at his prisoner with disgust.

'My god, you're greasy.'

Robin gasps. 'Holy Happy Meals! Maybe he's smuggling deep fat fryers to fast food fans?'

Batman whips round to his protege.

'Shut up!'

He slaps Robin firmly round the face. The boy collapses. He certainly won't be butting in for a while. Now Batman can fully focus on the Joker.

'Okay, Joker, what's the deal? Why are you so greasy?'

The villain grins. 'What, you think a guy can organise the destruction of the whole of Gotham without breaking a sweat? Give me a break. Most days I'm moister than a teenager's armpit.'

Batman shuddered. Now that was an image he'd be unlikely to forget. He tries to shake it off, then realises something.

'Hang on you fiend, sweat isn't the same as grease. What on earth is on your face?'

The Joker sniffs. Batman does the same. This time, he knows why there's an odd smell in the cave.

'Petrol.'

'Got it in one, Batfreak. I'm covered in fuel.'

'Why?'

'I've been nicking the mayor's automobiles and draining them.'

'But-'

The Joker shoots him a look to indicate he should be quiet now. He chuckles.

'Did I ever tell you how I got these cars?'

Both protagonist and antagonist are silent for a moment. After said moment, Batman speaks.

'I really hope the whole point of this story wasn't just to make that pun.'

'If it is, we should kill the writer.'

'Agreed.'

They wait. Neither has any bright ideas about how this plot progresses. Eventually, Batman unties the Joker.

'Okay, let's get that hack.'

'Alright! Can we take your car?'

'Only after you shower. I don't want you dripping on the seats.'

'Okay.'

The two sworn enemies walk out united by a common cause: the desire to whup my ass. Oh, this is going to be so cool...



This story was produced after someone challenged me to write a situation in which Batman says to the Joker 'My god, you're greasy'. Following this, another person asked for the 'Shut up'/Robin slap to be incorporated too.

The pun was entirely my idea.

Have I Got Muse(ums) For You! - Part Two

In Part One, I was in London's Natural History Museum. In Part Two, I'm in London's Science Museum. Well, obviously, I'm not still there. I definitely did not hide in their Apollo 10 command module around closing time in order to write this blog on location.

Anyway, whilst I was/am there, I saw some things. They include...



MUGS WITH ATTITUDE.

THE WORLD'S BIGGEST ENGAGEMENT RING.

A SURPRISINGLY TACKY SPACE SHUTTLE.

THE MOST INTIMIDATING-LOOKING FRIENDLY FACE EVER.

AND THE CAST OF SOMEONE WHOSE DOCTOR CLEARLY HAS COLD HANDS.

That's all for now. I've got to run from security. Wish me luck!

Have I Got Muse(ums) For You - Part One!

This fourth entry in my occasional Things I Have Seen Presented In The Form Of A List series is a bumper two parter because I recently went to see two museums in a day and so saw twice as many things! Hooray! Does that increase the likelihood of me seeing something interesting? Probably! Will you stay until the end of this post to find out? Probably not!

Regardless, let's start at London's Natural History Museum. I saw...

SOME ART THAT'S REALLY CRAP.

A BUTTON THAT MUST NEVER BE PRESSED.

Seriously, whoever invented this was really irresponsible.

SOME SORT OF TIME MACHINE.

A SIGN INDICATING WHERE TO FIND GIANT PALEONTOLOGISTS.

AND A WOMAN WHO FEELS THE NEED TO SHOW WHERE HER DOG IS.

In Part Two, you'll see images from London's Science Museum. It was there I spent most of my visit compulsively hummed the theme to Back to the Future. Great Scott! Anyway, those pics coming soon...

Fifty Shades of Way

My flatmate challenged me to write an erotic scene of no more than one hundred words. Not wanting to disappoint (and also hoping to start a run of pieces done on request to mark this blog hitting 1,234 views), I produced this. You'll be happy to know I didn't keep my original last line - 'Then we had lots of lovely lovely sex'.

I saw her from across the room. She sees me looking and smiles. I don’t know how to react. She gives me a little wave. I wave back. She comes over and touches my arm.

‘Do you want to get out of here?'

I gulp. I really really do. Should I go with this complete stranger? For all I know she could be a psychopath. She is quite attractive though so why not? After all, you only live once.

I turn to her and nod. She takes my hand and we run off upstairs to find ourselves a room…

Sorry for the Quality of this Apology

THINGS WORTH APOLOGISING FOR:

*Hitting someone

*Hitting someone with a car

*Hitting someone's car

*Hitting on someone's car

*Sleeping with someone else's car even though they're in a long-term relationship with it

*Unwittingly turning what should be a list of silly things into one involving intercourse with automobiles

*Unwittingly turning into a poodle

*Unwittingly turning a poodle into a cat

*Wittingly turning a poodle into a cat

*Wittily turning a poodle into a cat

*Wittily insulting someone and not meaning it

*Wittily insulting someone's loved one and not meaning it

*Not-so-wittily insulting someone or their loved one and not meaning it


THINGS NOT WORTH APOLOGISING FOR:

Updating a blog on a regular basis as it is a hobby and not something you've been paid to do or something you've been asked to do. You do not owe anybody anything. Stop saying 'sorry' - it's not as if you called someone's a nan a nincompoop. Thank you!

Coming soon to an Internet near you: eBaby.

So apparently Amazon sell babies now.

Before you stop reading on the grounds that you think I'm keen to get a conspiracy theory going, let me reassure you that I only tried to do that once, but the whole "bananas don't exist" idea turned out to be a dead end.

Anyway, I have proof of this Amazon thing. In fact, they're pretty blatant about it. They've even started emailing people about this new venture. How do I know? Well, what follows is a genuine picture I saw whilst skimming through my inbox. The only explanation for it I can think of is that Amazon are branching out into discount kids.



Is it Buy One, Get One Free?

On second thoughts, maybe they were attempting a poor pun on the word 'delivery'. Ah. Perhaps I shouldn't have sent them that scathing letter. Oh well, you live and you learn...

The notable exception to this trend is 'Toy Story' which obviously is awesome

There are many trilogies which have a belated third installment written long after anyone cares for, or indeed remembers, the first two. Bill and Ted and Ghostbusters are a pair of such franchises set to round things up with another episode a couple of decades too late, and now I shall join their illustrious ranks with an unwarranted not-at-all-sought-by-popular-demand follow-up to my 'things I have seen presented in the form of a list' series.

Yes, I have once again been out and about with a camera (not that we're dating, mind. That's just a vicious rumour), this time in the exotic locale of Portsmouth. It's home to Nelson's ship, HMS Victory, a museum dedicated to the ship, and an exhibit devoted to Nelson, so you might be thinking that they're a little obsessed with a boat. Well, you'd be wrong.

They're obsessed with loads of boats. All of these things are right next to the navy base as Portsmouth is a major port. Does this clash of geography lead to the armed forces regularly having to stop from their work of national importance in order to pose for pics with a cute elderly couple from Florida called Chuck and Nancy? Probably. Thank godness Area 51 doesn't have a gift shop then - we'd be swamped with aliens otherwise.

Anyway, my pictures. Here's what I saw around Portsmouth:

SOME OBVIOUS ADVICE

Guests should also avoid taking hot things out of the oven with their hands, and driving with their eyes shut.

 YE OLDE FIRE EXIT ABOARD HMS VICTORY

 THE LEAST THREATENING NAME FOR A SHIP EVER

 THE CUTEST NAME FOR A SHIP EVER

 A STONED SWIMMING FIGUREHEAD

 AND THE MOST ADORABLE SET
OF WOOD-EATING PESTS SINCE I PUT SOMBREROS
ON A COUPLE OF DEATH WATCH BEATLES.

Aww... Well, that's the end of another list. Will there be another? The answer is, like in the case of the aforementioned trilogies, only if the desperate attention-seeking people behind them want to rehash a successful formula in order to recapture their former glories.

That's a 'yes' then.

Given that I was in France, I also saw a lot of baguettes and cheese

If I've learnt anything from being a student, it's that lists are useful. If I had to stretch to a second thing, it would be that if you need something, you can probably find it in Poundland, but enough of my blatant attempt to get sponsorship from one of Britain's leading discount stores.

I recently (or, depending on when you're reading this, ages ago) posted a few photos from my holiday in France. Now, these were accompanied a list seemingly compiled by pulling words out of a hat.The following one, also of things I saw whilst across the Channel, promises more of the same, but without the pics. Oh, don't complain, just get on and read.

I saw...

*An octopus made of bread

*A combine harvester made of straw

*Stalactites

*Stalagmites

*One of the only cave-dwelling vertebrates in Europe

*A woman who evidently thought it was a good idea to bring her terrier on a cavern tour

*A road sign bearing the silhouette of a sheep

*A deck chair marked 'private'

*A road sign for a speed bump which had been altered to depict a snail

*A door knocker in the shape of a hand

And, finally...

*A beggar with a sign reassuring us that any money we gave him would be spent on alcohol and drugs


Yes, you're right. It was a lot better when there were pictures.

Reads like a 'Where's Wally' game held across the whole of France

One quality often identified in a good writer is that they are observant. I hadn't noticed.

Anyway, regardless, I have observed a lot of things whilst away (as opposed to a Way, which I've been all my life) in France, so I thought I'd share a few of the more quirky things with you. Why? Well, it means I get to show some of my holiday snaps, and you can get to see some interesting things without having to wait for me to work out when exactly it was I spotted a dead cat. Everybody wins!

Except the cat. Obviously.

Right, on with the list!

I saw...

A CONTRADICTORY REVIEW

 

A DISABLED KNIGHT

 A PLANT POT WITH A FACE

A HOUSE THAT LOOKS LIKE HITLER

THE WORLD'S MOST UNAPPEALING MANNEQUIN

AND THIS PIECE OF UNDERWHELMING GRAFFITI.

On second thought, it's probably a tribute to the deceased tabby. May they rest in peace.



This blog courtesy of Writer Brendan

You need many things to succeed in show biz. A combination of luck and talent. The desire to perform. Compromising photos of various producers. What also helps is a kickass name.

You've got to have something memorable. For example, 'Norma Jean Mortenson' is certainly that, but for all the wrong reasons. It's only when Ms Mortenson became Marilyn Monroe that people really started paying attention. It's a great name for a star - 'Marilyn' sounds like someone glamorous. 'Norma' sounds like she should be taking trash out to the bins round the back of a diner.

Anyway, this is all a roundabout way of getting round to talking about someone who obviously hadn't thought about what title would look good on posters or draw in a crowd. This person really hasn't a clue when it comes to advertising themselves because the moniker they'd chosen for themselves was...

Magic Dave.

Ooh, sounds exciting, doesn't he? I bet the punters are really going to flock to see him in Vegas.

Seriously, Magic Dave? That's the least exciting bit of branding since Jif became Cif. You can't simply stick a word related to your act to your name. Do I go around calling myself Laughs Brendan? No, because that would be idiotic. Also, it reads like an out of order stage direction. Magic Dave is not a good name. You can't call yourself 'Magic', you have to earn that description.

Also, 'Dave'. Dave, like Norma, isn't exactly a name you expect to see up in lights. On the chalk board to next play snooker perhaps, but not one you'd see above the theatre doors. Believe me, David Copperfield would not sell as many tickets if he was billed as 'Dave'. Dave is not a magician, it's a TV channel of blokey shows. If you're going to stick to being known as Dave, your repartee better be pretty funny. If it's not, I certainly won't be Laughs Brendan.

I came up with this title all by myself.

Well, I'm done. I asked for people to give me a title, and they did. I got ten great prompts, and so was able to produce ten great stories. Some, despite their titles (few would have thought Blu-tack would have been hinted towards a break up) were downbeat, others were out and out silly. Surprisingly, one reader found the fate of the naked role rat to be both. Each to their own, I suppose. In the end though, it was a useful exercise all round that allowed me to include a bit of everything from talking animals and topical figures to foodstuff and street signs. I will definitely do this again. Until then, I'll put down my pad, take a break, and go enjoy the simple things in life, like a good meal or a sunrise.

Thanks to everyone who contributed a title. Without you, I'd be sat just waiting for ideas.

Silver Dollar Sunrise

Staring into the campfire, I wonder if it has all been worth it. Was it really a smart move to leave Mary, little Zeke, and a house full of comforts to come out here and pan for gold? After all, all I get is a couple of silver dollars a week. Sure, there’s promise of more if we find something nice and shiny of course, but so far I’ve been sieving nothing but plain ole rocks. Oh well, at least the sunrises around here are spectacular. Honestly, they’re beautiful. I like to think of them as my reward for getting up.

Every time I rise in the morning, that big flame ball that we call the sun is peeping up over the horizon as if checking that I’m awake. Once he’s ascertained I’m up and about, he slowly flies into the sky, ready to redden my cheeks and lighten my hair throughout the day. Naturally, he’s hot as well, but swinging pickaxes into mountains was already a strain without him coming along and making us sweat, so I try not to resent him for that too much. Besides, I know that soon he’ll be retreating and I’ll get to go to bed. It’s the perfect arrangement.

There are times I think about leaving here though. Someday I will probably just chuck it in and return to Mary and little Zeke. I miss them, but right now, for the moment anyway, I know I would miss those silver dollar sunrises even more. Until that changes then, my life is going to be just me, Mr Sun, and a mountain load of rocks, and that sounds pretty good to me.

Butts Wynd

Jamie leads me round a corner. He giggles all the way.
‘What? What? What’s so funny? Where are you taking me?’, I ask.
Jamie laughs.
‘Oh, you’ll see.’
We run across the high street, then down a steep hill. Jamie stops to catch his breath, and then we’re off again. Eventually we stop outside an alley.
‘Here we are’, says Jamie, laughing.
‘What am I meant to be looking at?’
There’s nothing here. Jamie points.
‘The street sign.’
What? I turn around and I see it. BUTTS WYND.
‘Yeah, so?’
‘It’s funny, isn’t it?’
‘Why, because it contains the word ‘butts’?’
‘Yeah. And ‘wind’.’
‘I see. You do know the origin behind this place name, don’t you?’
‘No. Why, do you?’
‘Sure. Dad told me. Wanna hear it?’
‘Okay.’
I clear my throat loudly and somewhat overdramatically.
‘Right. Well, Tobias Butts was a Roman foot soldier who, pretty much by accident, ended up leading the legion to victory in the Battle of Badoink. He’d just been messing around, trying on his commander’s helmet, when someone mistook him for the actual leader. The real one was probably elsewhere, I don’t know, peeing behind a tree.
Anyway, rather than admit that he was an ordinary soldier playing a bit of dress up, he, out of fear of being found out, gave the men their orders. Luckily, it turns out that Butts had got wind of the enemy’s position via eavesdropping, and it was this knowledge that meant the plan of attack he formulated won them the Battle of Badoink.’
By now, Jamie is sat captivated and open-mouthed.
‘Wow… Is that true? Is that why the street’s called Butt’s Wynd?’
‘Course not’, I scoff, ‘some builders probably wrote up some graffiti by mistake. Come on, let’s go home.’
Helping him up, I laughed at the ridiculous notion that Butts Wynd could ever me named after an actual person or an actual butt when suddenly there was a low rumble below us. A burst of gas wafts in from nowhere. Now, I’m not entirely sure what it was, but it smelt distinctly like…
Farts.

In with Anger, Out with Love

Today, I hate you.

I BURN ALL OF YOUR CLOTHES.

I SHRED ALL OF YOUR PHOTOS.

I WISH YOU WOULD DIE…

Tomorrow, who knows? I might regret this or feel strangely at ease. That’s what’s so fun about being in a relationship.

Please don’t sue me.

The Naked Mole Rat New Testament

St Peter was pretty sure he’d never seen an arrival quite like it. As he peered over his desk, he could swear he was looking at what appeared to be a penis with teeth. Not only that, but it was accompanied by a tiny book. Eventually it spoke – the penis that is, not the book.

‘Is this Heaven?’

St Peter looked around at the pearly gates, the angels beyond them, and the clouds under their feet, and decided not to dignify this with a response. The talking phallus, met with this frosty silence, tried again.

‘Am I dead?’

Now, this was a query to which the answer wasn’t always apparent, so Peter nodded.

‘Excellent!’ The little pink thing started to do a celebratory dance. St Peter stopped it.

‘Sorry, why is your demise something worth celebrating?’

‘Because it means I can bring you our book, of course.’

‘“Our”? “Book”? What are you talking about?’

‘I’m here to bring you a new version of the Bible. A new New Testament if you will.’

‘I see. And you bring this on behalf of who?’

‘The naked mole rats.’

‘What’s that – some sort of punk band?’

‘Nope. We’re burrowing creatures from Africa.’

‘Right. God must have created you on one of his off-days. Come on then, let’s see this Bible of yours.’

St Peter picked up the creature’s book.

‘So what exactly have you put in this new New Testament? You haven’t changed much, I hope.’

‘Uh, well, we’ve, er, altered the odd commandment.’

‘You changed some of the instructions laid down directly from God?'

‘Yeah.’

‘Which ones?’

‘Well, er, adultery. That’s gone. We reason we’re so ugly that it’s a miracle anyone will shag us, so why keep that to the confines of marriage?’

‘Right. What did you replace that with – “thou shall shag around”?’

‘No, of course not – that’s what we put in place of ‘thou shall not kill’. No, instead of adultery, we wrote ‘thou shall not wear clothes or grow fur.’

‘Why?’

‘Well, we’re naked mole rats, aren’t we? We’re meant to stay nude.’

‘You can’t grow fur.’

‘Exactly. That’s why it’s in the rules.’

‘No, I mean it’s impossible for you to do it, so there’s no need to ban it. It’s never going to happen.’

‘Oh… still, better safe than sorry.’

‘Better safe than – forget it. Is that all you guys have changed?’

‘Yeah. Ah, no, actually we might have changed Jesus to a mole rat.’

‘Why?’

‘Well, how else are we going to get the kids to read it?’

St Peter glares at the creature, who, despite this, continues talking nonetheless.

‘So, when can we get this published?’

‘When Hell freezes over.’

‘Great! And when will that be exactly?’

St Peter kicks the mole rat off the cloud.

‘You’ll have to go find out for yourself.’

The Glow in the Dark Ladybird

‘Dave?’
‘Yeah?’
‘What’s that over there?’
‘Where?’
‘By the cabbages. That fluorescent thing.’
‘That?’
‘Yeah.’
‘It’s just the Glow In The Dark Ladybird.’
‘Of course.’
‘Why, what did you think it was?’
‘A very very small torch.’
‘Ah. Now, that is stupid.’
‘Tell me about it…’

The Dentist's Yoghurt

Dental hygienist Dr Stewart was highly strung. Few would think that dealing with teeth, which neither bleed nor unexpectedly multiply during operations, would be so stressful, but it long has been rumoured that dentists have a very high suicide rate. However, it was not issues with overcrowding, plaque, or crowns that so bothered Stewart today. No, what he was more irate about was that someone had nicked his lunchtime yoghurt.

This meant his assistant, Cat, now had the incredibly difficult job of trying to calm the good doctor down. After all, his patients would hardly want him this wound up during their extractions.

‘Maybe you just forgot to take one this morning’, she offered, hoping this explanation would placate him. It did not.

‘Don’t be ridiculous! I’ve been working at this surgery for eight years, and in those eight years, every single day I’ve brought a yoghurt from home for lunch. It’s no longer a question of remembering for me, it’s now a matter of routine.’

‘Well, maybe you should change the routine. Shake things up a bit. Have a peach.’‘HAVE A – Cat, are you listening to yourself? Having a yoghurt every day is hardly a destructive habit. It’s not like I’m having an hourly dose of crack, or swallowing fire for a living, it’s just a little snack I’ve had in my lunchbox since I was five, and, if it’s okay with you, I’d like to maintain that tradition.’

‘Fine. Whatever. Keep having your yoghurt.'

‘Well, I can’t, can I? Why? Because somebody’s taken it!’

‘Look, do you want me to get you another one?’

‘What?’

‘The corner shop down the street. I could go there and buy you a new yoghurt. Would that make you happy?’

‘Yes. Yes, it would. Thank you, Cat.’

‘You’re welcome. I’ll see you in ten minutes.’

With Cat gone, Dr Stewart calls in his next patient. In walks a mother and her little boy, Sammy. Sammy is eating a yoghurt. The dentist looks at his suspiciously whilst his mother gets in the chair.

‘Wh – Where’d Sammy get that, Mrs Allen?’

She looks, then waves her hand dismissively.

‘What, the yoghurt? It was just lying around in the waiting room, and I said if nobody claimed it in twenty minutes, he could have it.’

‘I see… What did you say you’re in for again?’

‘Oh, just a routine clean. Nothing special.’

‘Ah, very well.’

Dr Stewart smiles, lowers the chair, and reaches for his pliers. This is definitely one cleaning that is going to hurt. To be fair to him though, she did deprive him of his yoghurt.

When my Blu-tack Stopped Sticking

When my blu-tack stopped sticking, the poster you got me fell down. At the time, I didn’t realise that it was the perfect metaphor for the state of our relationship. It was only many months later, after we’d struggled to stay together before finally calling it a day, that I knew I should have given you back the poster there and then.

I’ve since thrown the blu-tack away.

Give Me a Title

Dear Queen Liz,

I am writing to you to be honoured. By this, I do not mean it would be a privilege to hear from you (which it would be), I simply mean I am looking to be given an OBE or MBE or CBBC. Hell, if you’re feeling generous, I’d even go for a knighthood.

Bruce Forsyth’s got one of those. What’s he done to deserve it – say a bunch of catchphrases and date a Miss World? Pathetic. I’m much more worthy than he is – after all, I’ve spent most of my life in Britain’s favourite soap, and brought the nation to tears with my character’s frequent drinking, and troubled relationship with a speccy son. Bringing drama to people week in and week out should be enough to warrant me some of those little medals, surely? Honestly, it’s harder than it looks, this acting lark, especially when you do it on such a regular basis.

Anyway, attached is a recording of last week’s omnibus edition. I’ve got some good scenes in that; make sure to check out the one in which I almost cry. Watch that and get back to me, alright, darling?

Cheers,

Steve “Phil off Eastenders” McFadden

Julian Assange ate my Hamster.

Of all the clichés I expected to hear in this job, ‘stop the press’ was not one of them. There I was, writing up yet another bonny baby competition when Bill, our permanently agitated deputy editor, ran past my desk and shouted that immortal phrase you only ever hear in the movies. Naturally, I put down my pen, got out of my swivel chair, and caught up with him.

‘Bill, what’s the problem now? Look, if it’s the missing page numbers, I’m pretty sure nobody reads those anyway…’

He stares at me incredulously as if I’ve just told him I was abducted by a tribe intent on making me their king.

‘Oh, no, it’s not the numbers, Sam. Dear God, I wish that it was. No, what’s wrong is the headline.’

‘The headline? Come on, what’s  the matter with it?’

He thrusts a warm copy of our latest edition into my hands.

‘See for yourself.’

I look down and the first thing I see is the headline:

JULIAN ASSANGE ATE MY HAMSTER.

Bill’s now staring at me for a response. Clearly he wants me to agree that this is a major issue that should be rectified immediately.

‘Well?’

‘Uh, yeah, I see what you mean. Something must be wrong.’

He looks satisfied. I continue.

‘I mean, usually we put the pet consuming stories before the funny pages, right?'

He looks exasperated. Result.

‘Nooo…’, he snatches the paper back from me, ‘if you’re not going to take this seriously, I’m going to find someone who will.’

‘Ah, I think I can help you on that front, Billy boy.’

‘Oh really?’

‘Yeah. Talk to Freddie Starr. He’ll want to know that Assange is muscling in on his schtick.’

Bill throws his hands up in the air, just about restrains himself from hitting me round the back of the head with the newspaper, and storms off. I laugh and return to my desk. Putting aside the beautiful baby piece for a moment, I get to work on my next headline: VLADIMIR PUTIN ANNOUNCED AS X FACTOR JUDGE.

Man, I can’t wait to see Bill’s face.

The Cat Flap Bandit

As soon as I saw the lights go off upstairs, I seized my opportunity and headed for the panel in the door. This is where all the waiting pays off. See, I’d snuck in unseen hours ago, but the stupid giggly young couple here hadn’t even thought about going to bed until I was almost dozing off myself. Luckily, they were gone now, so I could finally get to work.

I started by undoing the screws. As each of them bounced off the tiles, they made a tiny metallic tinkling sound, but nothing that would rouse the sleeping unsuspecting above.
A thud from the lounge. Damn, rumbled.
I turn around to see who or what has caught me in the act. Eventually, a weedy grey kitten plods in. Oh, for the love of –
‘Dammit, Larry! I thought I told you to stay outside and keep watch!’
Seriously, where do I find these amateurs?
Larry tries to look all timid by putting on the big ole watery eyes, evidentially forgetting that I’m immune to them because I too am a cat.
‘I’m sorry, Rover. I just got scared. It’s dark out there and I ain’t too good when there’s no lights on.’
‘Hey, if you don’t like the dark, you shouldn’t have come out tonight. You know we only nick the silly flappy panels when humans are super-snoozing, so you should have expected a late shift.’
He starts to paw the floor nervously, and deliberately avoids my gaze.
‘Sure, but, see, I kinda forgot how dark the dark is, you know? In my mind, I’d be able to see.’
‘You can see fine. There’s street lamps past the fence.’
He looks – despite the fact we’re on the kitchen floor and nowhere near window height – in the direction of the front garden as if to check whether I could possibly be wrong. I sigh.
‘Look, Larry, it’s great that you want to get into the flip-up door removal game, but perhaps you could follow someone else for a change. I’m not looking to be a mentor any time soon. Plus, you’re sort of slowing me down.’
‘Am not.’
‘Yes, you obviously are! Right now, I’m talking to you when I should be taking another panel out. Clearly, you’re a distraction, so scram. I don’t need you screwing this job up and getting us caught by Tibbles.’
‘Tibbles? Aw, you don’t think he’d actually make an appearance, do ya? We’re petty thieves, not bird bath poachers. We’re hardly worth his time…’
‘We’re in his territory hitting up the doorstops where his gang get good grub. I think we’re definitely a threat.’
‘Still, we’re taking cat flaps, Rover, cat flaps! They’re hardly worth working up a furball over.’
‘Maybe so, but we can’t take that chance. He already knows that, thanks to some lone ranger, every feline now has easy access to previously exclusive meals. All he has to do is find out who it is, and rub them out.’
Larry gulps. I’d do the same, but for his sake, I feign nonchalance and return to unpicking the screws with my claws. Suddenly, behind me, Larry hisses and scampers off.
‘Jesus, what now?’
I turn around and see a plump well-groomed tabby looking extremely pleased with himself standing in the doorway. Tibbles.
‘Evening, Rover.’
This time, an air of nonchalance is much more harder to come by.
‘Hey, Mr Tibbles. Long time, no see. What have you been up to? Great. Bye!’
I head towards the lounge, but he pins down my tail with one of his round paws.
‘Not so fast. I believe you can help me with something that’s been troubling me lately.’
‘Er, sure. Anything for you, Mr Tibbles.’
‘Excellent.’ He releases my tail and pulls me round so we’re face to face. ‘Rover?’
‘Yes?’
‘Who’s been taking the little doors off my hangouts?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Wrong answer.’
He bats me to the floors. He puts his paw on my chest with his sharpest claw poised to stick into my heart the moment I give any further responses deemed incorrect. He continues.
‘I’ve been having young Larry follow you. He asked around the neighbourhood where to get bandit work, and voilà, he was sent to you. Funny that.’
Oh no. I really should have suspected that – after all, no kitten can truly be that stupid.
‘Looks like your cat flap capers are over, Rover. In fact, I’ve heard you’re going to retire – permanently.’
This does not look great. I nod in the vague hope that I’m going to be let off on a promise of good behaviour.
‘Say your prayers, Rover.’
Ah, no such luck.
‘One last question though before I kill you. Why the name?’
I smile weakly.
‘My owners wanted a dog.’
‘Ah’, the fat cat considers this, ‘well, now they can get one.’
And with that, my nine lives are extinguished. To think, I died for a cat flap. Oh well. At least there’ll be none of those in Hell.

What are (Facebook) Friends for?

Recently, not satisfied with producing a weekly story for the Flashnificent 7, I've been going to coffee shops with my fellow flash fiction colleagues, and producing pieces on titles supplied by them. This has proved a very useful exercise, both in terms of forcing me to cover subjects I wouldn't choose myself, and seeing whether giving me caffeine is a good idea.

Anyway, I've since opened up the idea one step further. Earlier this week, I asked for titles from my Facebook friends, and boy, did they deliver. Each of their eight prompts were quirky, interesting, and a joy to write on. Consequently, I'm publishing all of the tales here, once a day, for a week, starting with The Cat Flap Bandit.

Enjoy.

Who knew the saviour of humanity would be Her Off 'Emmerdale'?

Now, logic would dictate that if you find a headline sufficiently intriguing, you will then go onto the story that follows. However, occasionally there are some titles so concise that you've no need to read the piece because its contents have been conveyed already.

I have found such an article.

I spotted it whilst looking round the MSN homepage. There, tucked away in the celebrity section, was this astonishing bit of self-contained news:

Natalie has first baby boy.

What a scoop, eh? Honestly, I'm surprised MSN hasn't given this a more prominent place on its site. I mean, come on, the first baby boy? What mankind has really been lacking up until now has been, well, men, so to learn that Natalie Anderson off of Emmerdale has provided us with one finally is quite frankly something worth celebrating.

Hang on though. You might very well be thinking "hang on a second. Unless I dramatically understood my Primary School biology lessons, I'm pretty sure for this glorious conception to have taken place, she would have needed help from a male."

And you'd be right. So, did Natalie, formerly of Emmerdale, indeed produce this boy, the first, with a man, or is this an even more miraculous event - a virgin birth?

Well, no. It turns out she does have a partner, the baby does have a dad, and she has definitely not made the first male ever. What she has done is get her first son. Now that's not so impressive, let alone worthy of press coverage unless it's among the births listings in a newspaper.

Thanks for getting my interest up on false pretences, MSN. Next time, make your headlines less obscure or else your next top story will be Boy Launches Complaint Against Website. Cheers!

The problem with Digestives (and no, it's not the unappealing name).

Other brands are available.

Does anything unusual strike you about this packet?

No? Well, let's take a little closer look then, shall we?

These questions are all, of course, rhetorical - YOU HAVE NO CHOICE IN THE MATTER.

Anyway, observe:

No, it's not that the flag now has brown stripes instead of blue
(although that is quite distressing).

See the problem now? McVities have only been proud to be British since 1892! What on earth did their branding say before that - 'Largely indifferent to nationality since 0 B.C.'? How come they're so late to the patriotic party? Were they were too preoccupied with figuring out the chocolate to biscuit ratio that results in maximum yumminess and dunkability that they simply forgot to acknowledge that they appreciated being part of the Empire? How dare they! I used to think they were British enough fare to warrant inclusion in Danny Boyle's opening ceremony, but now I'm not so sure...

On second thoughts, maybe McVities didn't exist until 1892. If that's the case, perhaps they can be forgiven.

FOR NOW!

For a start, it was set to last 127 hours...

If you were among the twenty-seven million UK kin who watched the Olympic Opening Ceremony on Friday, then you would have seen Danny Boyle's sensational celebration that suggests that Britannia does indeed rule (in the sense that we're awesome that is, and not, as it used to mean, that we dominate the world. No, if that was the case, the athletes' parade would have been a whole lot shorter).

Anyway, like any creative, Boyle came up with more ideas than he had time for. Consequently, some quintessentially British bits didn't make the final cut. Luckily though, I think I have a pretty good idea of what might have been in those deleted scenes...

-Barn owls on a shed.

-Stephen Fry talking. Don't know what about, but he could read Hugh Laurie's IMDB credits and people would be happy to listen.

-Attempt to break the world record for longest ever queue.

-Food fight between those who insist it's pronounced 's-con' and those who think it's 'sc-own'.

-Morris dance on the Round Table.

-Quick break for pie and cider.

-Synchronised library closing.

-A tribute to dogging.

After all, what could be more British than those things? Come on Mr Boyle, release an extended edition of the show, you know you want to. It'll guarantee you a knighthood AND it will be a good way to stick two fingers up to Mitt Romney. Everybody wins (which is more than you can say of the Games).

The fact that Kathy Burke's dog is called 'Shenanigans' didn't even come close.

This week, I learnt perhaps the greatest fact I will ever learn. Of all the bits of useless knowledge I've gleaned from quizzes, Twitter, chat shows, and a bloke down the pub, this will forever be my favourite piece of trivia. Honestly, it will be hard to top this one. If I died tomorrow, I would do so with a smile on my face because I know that Sweden has an official Twitter account.

Yes, you read that right. The entire county of Sweden has a Twitter account. That, in itself, is amazing, but wait, it gets better. Not only is it on the social networking site, but its page is run by random citizens for a week each. What other tourist board would ever allow that? Certainly we can't expect a @northkorea feed any time soon.

What if the UK opted to start up something similar? Would the varied voices of our famously self-depreciating nation inspire a nuisance of tourists (or whatever the correct collective noun is) to come to our illustrious isles, or would it make them reconsider that holiday to Bedford? Now I'm not sure I know the answer, but I can very much imagine what our feed would look like...

@UK/Chantelle @UK
OMG 1D = fit. <3 them

@UK/DwayneLEGEND @UK
@germany TWO WORD WARS AND ONE WORLD CUPS!!"! HAHAHA twats

@UK/ArthurSmythe @UKQueueing...

@UK/ArthurSmythe @UKQueueing...

@UK/ArthurSmythe @UKQueueing...

@UK/Doris1949 @UKI will tell you what is wrong with this country today - people are not as educated as they were when I was a girl. Why, in those days, you w

@UK/AlexC @UK
Trains all late again. Bloody disgrace.

@SamTheMan @UK
Raining. Typical.

@UK/WILKO @UK
RT@LdnMayor "Look you lot, perhaps it would be best if you stopped complaining and promoted our heritage sites" <--- Get a load of this guy.

@UK/ArthurSmythe @UKStill inexplicably queueing.

Better put this amongst the post for my other flatmates - Home Owner and Whom It May Concern...

We received this in the post recently (I say 'recently' - it was actually about four months ago, but that's besides the point) and I cannot help but have questions.

First off, am I to disregard this postcard if my feelings for the Italian staple are anything short of love? What if I really really appreciate a good pizza, but only to the extent of liking it an awful lot? Does this mean I should chuck out this thinly-disguised ad, or perhaps seek out people who better fit the recipient description? Maybe it would be best if I left it on the side, and never ate, touched, or thought about another pizza again until these issues are resolved.

Man, all this pondering is really making me hungry. You know what I could really go for right now?

Pasta.

Maybe Skynet has something against Pixar? (AKA an intro to Episode Six of 'The Film Show'.)

Once again, the movie billed for Film Club fails to feature majorly in the feature. This time however, it is not due to our tangents, but because of technical difficulties. Yes, Episode Six is supposed to be about Toy Story, but, thanks to the machines, the trilogy barely gets a mention in the material that remains. Consequently,  like bakers used to mix bread with sawdust to compensate for the lack of quality ingredients, it is filled out with a longer opening.

Incidentally, we only ever intended to produce introductions for Episodes One and Six to explain why we jump in without proper openings. We were then going to record a brand new edition. As it happened, Chris didn’t show, so James and I went ahead with the planned preludes before deciding that they were so much fun that we’d do a full set.

As of yet, there are no plans to produce this final show.

With James heading off to learn how to teach English, and Chris and I set for multiple projects outside of our third year workload, it is unlikely that we will manage to get together for a recording any time soon. Who knows, we might reunite in a decade or so, but, for now, we can only imagine what that seventh edition would have been like. I have. Here’s my version.

-Chris moans when I mention Daniel Radcliffe has expressed an interest in playing Marty McFly if there’s ever a reboot.

-Panel devise the most unsuitable cast for a modern remake of the film.

-I reveal the time travel device in an early draft was a fridge.

- Panel slag off Indiana Jones 4.  

-In Taglines, James gets them all because he’s a massive fan of the eighties.

-Our debate on sequels to long-dead franchises consists of despairing about Ghostbusters 3 and pondering how desperate Eddie Murphy must be if he signs on to Twins 2.

-In Box Office, Chris rejoices that Avengers is finally out. Massive geeky conversation entails, most of which is cut.

-Panel use the inclusion of Safe in the top ten as an excuse to do Jason Statham impressions.

-James spends the majority of Trailer Trash’s coverage of Men in Black III reciting the Fresh Prince theme.

-We wrap up with a list of people to thank in the style of an Oscar speech…

Yes, to conclude the show (and, potentially, the series), I was going to have the Taglines winner wrap up by reciting a list of people who contributed to the show in the style of an acceptance speech. It’s essentially a technique to make credits interesting that I nicked from Whose Line Is It Anyway. Casual plagiarism aside, as we never did produce that show, I can think of no better place to incorporate this list than here…

“Oh my god, I can’t believe this. This has been such an amazing journey. I have worked with so many amazing people and I owe this all to them. They are, in no particular order, you for listening or reading, Sonney for commissioning the show (I LOVE YOU, MAN), Chris and James for taking part, Alex and Tom for producing it (God, they do great work…), the M.M.C., Kermode and Mayo, anyone who sent in a review or comment, Bruce Willis (for just being awesome), and, of course, my mom…”

CORRECTIONS

James did not, as promised, spend the entire show trying to remember the name of Christoph Waltz’s next film.  He quickly reverted to thinking about Die Hard.

I am wrong when I suggest no one wants to sleep alone. Ebenezer Scrooge famously stayed away from company because he was a sucker for his single bed.

“We never said the spoiler” for Sixth Sense. I’m pretty sure there’s evidence we did…

The ninth rule of Fight Club - you do not talk about Colin Firth (AKA an intro to episode five of ‘The Film Show’)

There’s no way around it – this fifth edition is unequivocally The Liam Neeson Show. Every topic or segment seems to come back to him like a massive game of Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon in which the mentor-turned-kickass-butt kicker takes the place of the Footloose star. By now, our ability to go on tangents has become so refined that we’re even able to unintentionally cover related projects – the Narnia link was completely not planned. As James points out, it’s as if the universe wants us to talk about him.

I suppose I’m to partially blame for this Liam love-in though. After all, I was the first to bring him up when I compared the changing stock roles filled by Firth to those Taken by Neeson, and I only did that because, like with Fight Club, we can’t really talk much about The King’s Speech (Not that it’s an official rule – it’s just that there’s little that we can make light of). Hence, we spend most of the Film Club discussing everything but the film. As with the Fight Club show, we don’t even get around to talking about Helena Bonham-Carter, so if she’s reading this (I doubt it) or has heard the shows (see content of last brackets), I can only apologise – not for the shows in general, but for not acknowledging her contribution to those movies.

Another aspect of the Bonham Carter canon that we did not say much about, this time deliberately, is the Harry Potter series. It transpires, during the King’s Speech Box Office rundown, that Producer Alex has not seen the recent films because his flatmates have insisted he read the books first as he “forgot” to tackle them earlier. Ah, yes, an interesting interpretation of the word “forget” there. I was under the belief that it meant you had neglected to do or remember something important. In this case, it appears to refer to not doing something that was forced upon you, as in ‘Mum told me I’d "forgot" to paint the house”. Well, you can’t say The Film Show isn’t educational…

What you can say is that occasionally we make mistakes – no, this isn’t a segway into the Corrections segment (although, in retrospect, it very much should have been), and even the presenters’ names aren’t immune to slips of the tongue. Not only do I start the show by making Chris sound like two people, I end this edition by calling Alex ‘James’ (which, if this was indeed his name, would certainly make asking his verdict on Taglines scores very confusing). Ah well, nobody’s perfect.

Except Liam Neeson.

 CORRECTIONS

‘We’re discussing The King’s Speech’. We’re clearly not.

Chris misspeaks – we don’t like Sex and The City. As for sex in the city...

James definitely does not think Crossroads needs a sequel. Not even Britney Spears wants that.