Rebecca:
Wasn't I reading that... before school started and my only reading material is pared down to text books and journal articles?
James:
Evil school.
It will all be worth it when you have a degree and a humongously paying logistics/project management job.
Scott:
And then bec can wear a hockey mask while she rides across the wasteland in her post apocalyptic truck all while screaming "I am the Lord Humungous!"
James:
Her mob of crazed desert raiders would be unusually well-organised.
"Now remember, it's Hammer, Maggot, and Screech's turn to devour the flesh of our still alive and screaming victims. Oh, and Mungo, you're rostered for flamethrower duty."
Rebecca:
Well of course, what's the point of all this studying if I don't get to have well-organised ravening hordes?
Scott:
"Now Mungo, about your performance for the last 6 months, how do you feel you've been doing?"
"Uh, well, *scratches*.....I dunno....I killed them farmers out near Port Hope good, an', uh, I been keeping me guns all shiny an' working an stuff...uh..."
"Yes? Anything else?"
"Um....I bin scavengin' stuff good too. Like, I bin strippin' clothes off the bodies for us, but I bin makin' sure to get stuff that ain't, you know, too full o' holes and blood and stuff. Wozzers and Beef reckon the pants I got 'em off those dead hippies are the best they've ever had."
"Is there anything you think you could improve?"
"Uh...um...I reckon I could kick people some more, speshully when they're on the ground bleedin' an' stuff. An' I reckon I could probably do with some better war cries. I don' think mine are, y'know, scary enough...'I'll 'ave yer bollocks!'....I mean, it's not bad 'an stuff, but what if they
ain't got bollocks? I reckon I'd look pretty f'ckin' dumb shoutin' out that when they ain't got no bollocks to 'ave."
James:
"Settle down please gentlemen..."
"And lady!"
"Sorry, Madame Blood. Lady and gentlemen. I am now calling to order the general weekly meeting of the assorted wasteland marauders leadership committee. Our first order of business is the fuel-saving initiative. Many of our staff have been leaving their makeshift death buggies idling while they storm into unguarded settlements to rape and pillage. At last week's meeting I asked you to brainstorm ways to encourage our people to turn the engines off before embarking on their orgies of blood and death. Have any of you come up with good ideas?"
"Aw, yeah, uh..."
"Skullsplitter? You made some progress?"
"Uh, yuh. When Ox forgot he left 'is motor runnin' the uvver day, I hacked off both his arms an' set 'em on fire before he died from blood loss."
"Hmmm, I can't say I approve of unnecessary staff turnover. However, did you find it had any results?"
"Yah, de uvvers've bin too scared to even turn deir motors on since den."
"Ah, now, can you see the negative result here? Dismemberment of staff can lead to a drop in morale, which is bad for our overall productivity, not to mention the lost staff member."
"Awww, sorry Mistress Rebecca. I'll only rip off arms fer serious offences in future."
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Saturday, July 4, 2009
James develops a screen play
Scott:
You should sell that concept to Michael Bay!
James:
REVENGE OF THE AIBO
An original screen play by Michael Bay
Scene 1 - INT - Suburban house, living room
TOMMY is playing with his SONY AIBO - be sure to get lots of lingering shots of the SONY logo; they're paying us a lot.
TOMMY'S MOM enters - she is smoking hot, the ultimate MILF.
MOM: Come on Tommy, time to go to school.
TOMMY: But Mom, I wanna play with my awesome Sony Aibo!
MOM: Tommy, I know that the Sony Aibo is both fun and educational, but you're going to miss your bus.
Suddenly, a yellow school bush crashes through the wall! Rubble flies everywhere in awesome slow motion!
TOMMY: Woah... looks like the bus only just missed ME!
A crazy old man jumps out of the bus. He's some kind of mad scientist, so cast someone English, maybe that Ewan McGregor fag.
He's clutching a funky electronic box under his arm, with flashing lights and sh-t. It looks super awesome and will make a great merchandising item.
SCIENTIST: You're in terrible danger! You have to run!
MOM: [Dusts herself off - her clothes are ripped in a super-sexy way.] What do you mean? I have to save my son!
SCIENTIST: [Checks out the MILF - you can see him drool] No time to explain. The XBots will be here any second!
Suddenly, evil white robots with bright green light-up circles in the chests burst into the smashed-up house! They look like evil XBox 360's, because Sony's paying us a f--king sh-tload of money.
ROBOT BOSS: [He's a bad guy, so make his voice English too - maybe like that Saruman guy.] Stop, human! Hand over the Scion of Destiny!
SCIENTIST tries to run, but the robots shoot him in a f--king wicked awesome effects sequence. The box he was holding flies through the air and hits the SONY AIBO. There's a bright flash of light and lots of wicked cool CGI as the power in the box transforms the Aibo into a giant silver and blue robot dog with machine guns and sh-t.
TOMMY: Wow, look how cool my Sony Aibo is now!
SUPER AIBO blasts the living sh-t out of the robots, and they run like hell.
Scene 2 - Inside the Pentagon...
This stuff writes itself, really.
You should sell that concept to Michael Bay!
James:
REVENGE OF THE AIBO
An original screen play by Michael Bay
Scene 1 - INT - Suburban house, living room
TOMMY is playing with his SONY AIBO - be sure to get lots of lingering shots of the SONY logo; they're paying us a lot.
TOMMY'S MOM enters - she is smoking hot, the ultimate MILF.
MOM: Come on Tommy, time to go to school.
TOMMY: But Mom, I wanna play with my awesome Sony Aibo!
MOM: Tommy, I know that the Sony Aibo is both fun and educational, but you're going to miss your bus.
Suddenly, a yellow school bush crashes through the wall! Rubble flies everywhere in awesome slow motion!
TOMMY: Woah... looks like the bus only just missed ME!
A crazy old man jumps out of the bus. He's some kind of mad scientist, so cast someone English, maybe that Ewan McGregor fag.
He's clutching a funky electronic box under his arm, with flashing lights and sh-t. It looks super awesome and will make a great merchandising item.
SCIENTIST: You're in terrible danger! You have to run!
MOM: [Dusts herself off - her clothes are ripped in a super-sexy way.] What do you mean? I have to save my son!
SCIENTIST: [Checks out the MILF - you can see him drool] No time to explain. The XBots will be here any second!
Suddenly, evil white robots with bright green light-up circles in the chests burst into the smashed-up house! They look like evil XBox 360's, because Sony's paying us a f--king sh-tload of money.
ROBOT BOSS: [He's a bad guy, so make his voice English too - maybe like that Saruman guy.] Stop, human! Hand over the Scion of Destiny!
SCIENTIST tries to run, but the robots shoot him in a f--king wicked awesome effects sequence. The box he was holding flies through the air and hits the SONY AIBO. There's a bright flash of light and lots of wicked cool CGI as the power in the box transforms the Aibo into a giant silver and blue robot dog with machine guns and sh-t.
TOMMY: Wow, look how cool my Sony Aibo is now!
SUPER AIBO blasts the living sh-t out of the robots, and they run like hell.
Scene 2 - Inside the Pentagon...
This stuff writes itself, really.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
James continues a story
Scott:
Bleah. Blargh. Rargh. Grumble.
James:
...said the grumpy giant.
The children squealed and hid behind Geoffrey the Magic Badger. Geoffrey did not want to let down his new friends, so he puffed out his chest and spoke boldly to the giant.
"Excuse me Mister Giant," said Geoffrey, trying to sound brave. "We have several issues of this fascinating magazine called Watchtower that we would like to sell you. Could you spare a few minutes of your time?"
[Extract from the unpublished Enid Blyton novel Door-Knocking in the Faraway Tree]
Bleah. Blargh. Rargh. Grumble.
James:
...said the grumpy giant.
The children squealed and hid behind Geoffrey the Magic Badger. Geoffrey did not want to let down his new friends, so he puffed out his chest and spoke boldly to the giant.
"Excuse me Mister Giant," said Geoffrey, trying to sound brave. "We have several issues of this fascinating magazine called Watchtower that we would like to sell you. Could you spare a few minutes of your time?"
[Extract from the unpublished Enid Blyton novel Door-Knocking in the Faraway Tree]
Monday, June 29, 2009
James reads a bible verse
Book of Amphibians, Chapter 6, Verses 8-12 - "The Lord then spake again unto the Children of Israel. / `Lick ye not the flesh or secretions of the slimy things which dwelleth in ponds and swamps. / Lick not the frogs, the toads, the salamanders, the newts, the axolotls, or the tadpoles. / Know ye that thy tongue is the red carpet that leads into my Holy Temple, and getting it all slimy makes me grumpy.' / The Children of Israel didst hear these words, and those among them who were smartarses didst crack jokes about how this bit of the Bible wouldst prevent Jehovah's Witnesses from using frog glue."
James tells another story
Once upon a time there were three little pigs. They were extremely shonky builders who made homes from substandard materials. The first pig made a house out of bendy straws. The wolf came along and, after a well-rehearsed speech centred around forceful exhalations, blew the house down, pureed the pig into a baconshake, and drank it through one of the many bendy straws. The second pig made a house from stickers. The wolf came along, noticed one of the stickers was a Texan pro-gun bumper sticker, and in a rage (he was a very left-leaning porcicidal hamovore) blew down the sticker house and made the pig squeal like Warren Beatty. It was pretty unpleasant. The third pig was going to build a house out of reinforced concrete and razorwire, but when he went to Bunnings to buy the materials he got all caught up browsing the garden section. The wolf caught him on the way home and ate both the pig and his newly-purchased tulip bulbs. After that he felt a bit unfulfilled, so he went and blew down a few houses.
Then he exploded for no adequately explored reason.
Nobody lived ever after, happily or otherwise.
James tells a story
Once upon a time there were three bears: Dwayne, Greg, and Eddie. They lived in a loving three-way relationship, and played fun games in which they pretended to be lumberjacks and plumbers.
One day their house got hit by a rogue asteroid that had been labelled GLDLKS01. They all got vapourised instantly, along with their black and red chequered flannelette shirts and tool belts.
...and they all lived vapourousnessnessly ever after.
Friday, June 26, 2009
James and the ducks
I remember that night like it was yesterday, even though I was a boy then and now I'm real old.
I remember that crazy man banging and hollering at the farmhouse door. I remember pa telling me and ma "Git upstairs!" and we went, sure, but I didn't go far. I sat on the top step, and I saw my pa get his shotgun and shout through the door. "Who's there?" he shouted, trying to sound scary. "Larry!" was the shout from outside, and pa pointed the gun at the floor and opened the door.
Larry was the Sterlings' youngest. Mr and Mrs Sterling owned the next farm over, up against the foothills. Big property, but tough land to farm, and they was getting old. All their boys had gone - to the city, or those big cattle ranches over in the plains - but Larry stayed. When he weren't around, people would joke he was soft in the head, "born idjit" they said. Nobody said that stuff to his face, though. No fear or nothing, just that Larry was too friendly and cheery to be mean to.
No cheer that night, of course. Larry seemed like he'd gone crazy, eyes bugged out and hair messed and tangled like a tumbleweed. I knew he weren't too many years older than me, not shaving just yet, though looking like he'd need to soon. When he crashed into our front hall
that night, though, he looked older than his own pa. White, his face was. I remember thinking I never saw a face so white.
He stumbled over to pa, grabbed him, bear hug like, and they both went half down, kinda half sitting and half kneeling. I thought for a second that Larry was attacking pa and I was getting set to pelt down those stairs and drag him off, forgetting of course that Larry was twice my size.
But then his foot kicked back, slammed the door with his foot. After the mighty bang of it slamming, everything was still and silent for what felt like a long time. There was only one noise, a kind of bubbling and whistling. Took a minute, but I worked out it was Larry crying. He held my pa like a baby clings to its ma, and he cried into his chest.
Was weird, seeing a near grown man cry like that. I could see pa was out of his depth, too. His hands was up in the air and his face was all confusion and shock, like a man who cracks an egg into a frying pan and finds a goldfish inside. "What's goin' on, Larry?" His voice was gentle - he remembered who he was talking to - but there was a lot of worry in it. "Huh? Your folks okay?"
Larry stopped crying and pushed back, fast. His foot slipped out from under him and he plopped down on his ass. Would've been funny if I weren't so scared.
"Ma and pa..." Larry started, then stared. He tried again. "Ma and pa, they're dead."
"Dead? How Larry? Tell me." The gentleness had gone out of pa's voice - it was like a stone now.
"Ducks," he said. "The ducks did it."
Stay tuned next week for part two of Beyond the Valley of the Ducks!
I remember that crazy man banging and hollering at the farmhouse door. I remember pa telling me and ma "Git upstairs!" and we went, sure, but I didn't go far. I sat on the top step, and I saw my pa get his shotgun and shout through the door. "Who's there?" he shouted, trying to sound scary. "Larry!" was the shout from outside, and pa pointed the gun at the floor and opened the door.
Larry was the Sterlings' youngest. Mr and Mrs Sterling owned the next farm over, up against the foothills. Big property, but tough land to farm, and they was getting old. All their boys had gone - to the city, or those big cattle ranches over in the plains - but Larry stayed. When he weren't around, people would joke he was soft in the head, "born idjit" they said. Nobody said that stuff to his face, though. No fear or nothing, just that Larry was too friendly and cheery to be mean to.
No cheer that night, of course. Larry seemed like he'd gone crazy, eyes bugged out and hair messed and tangled like a tumbleweed. I knew he weren't too many years older than me, not shaving just yet, though looking like he'd need to soon. When he crashed into our front hall
that night, though, he looked older than his own pa. White, his face was. I remember thinking I never saw a face so white.
He stumbled over to pa, grabbed him, bear hug like, and they both went half down, kinda half sitting and half kneeling. I thought for a second that Larry was attacking pa and I was getting set to pelt down those stairs and drag him off, forgetting of course that Larry was twice my size.
But then his foot kicked back, slammed the door with his foot. After the mighty bang of it slamming, everything was still and silent for what felt like a long time. There was only one noise, a kind of bubbling and whistling. Took a minute, but I worked out it was Larry crying. He held my pa like a baby clings to its ma, and he cried into his chest.
Was weird, seeing a near grown man cry like that. I could see pa was out of his depth, too. His hands was up in the air and his face was all confusion and shock, like a man who cracks an egg into a frying pan and finds a goldfish inside. "What's goin' on, Larry?" His voice was gentle - he remembered who he was talking to - but there was a lot of worry in it. "Huh? Your folks okay?"
Larry stopped crying and pushed back, fast. His foot slipped out from under him and he plopped down on his ass. Would've been funny if I weren't so scared.
"Ma and pa..." Larry started, then stared. He tried again. "Ma and pa, they're dead."
"Dead? How Larry? Tell me." The gentleness had gone out of pa's voice - it was like a stone now.
"Ducks," he said. "The ducks did it."
Stay tuned next week for part two of Beyond the Valley of the Ducks!
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