Story #4

As disasters went, it was not a success. Thor looked at the playing board mournfully while Wotan tittered.
"That's your move, it it then?" Hermes asked through a rather large grin.
Thor scowled. "Shut up!" he declared, "This is a stupid game anyway. Why can't we play something like 'belt the bastard over the head with a hammer' like i'm good at?"

"Because we're having an evening of culture, that's why," Fate told him in between sips of wine, "I'll admit that it does lack a certain something..."

"...like a point..."
"...but it's what all of the other gods are doing these days."
There was silence for a while, then Hermes spoke. "By 'other gods', I assume you mean Yahweh?"
"Yes," Fate grimaced, "and he's got almost the whole board to himself."
"That's because he split himself into 3 just to have someone to play against!" Hermes protested.
A thoughtful Thor hefted his hammer in A Meaningful Way. "Right," he declared, and left the room to an awkward silence. Then Minerva entered with a tray of home-baked cookies which she proffered around.

"Fate," she asked, "would you like one?"
"Ooh, don't tempt me."

SniffIMPERTINENCE

FRANKFURT: The surprise unveiling of this year's Frankfurt Motor Show was the new Opel Corsa Caravan. The Caravan is based on the standard Opel Corsa body but is an estate wagon rather than a sedan or a 5-door hatch.

When asked about the reasoning behind building such a ludicrously small wagon Bernt Vogelphart, Opel Marketing Manager said, "We got the idea from some company or other we aparrently own in Australia. Their market research (which admittedly came to us written on a beer coaster) seemed to say that consumers wanted ridiculously small and totally useless wagons. But frankly they all wrestle crocodiles and eat dingoes down there, so if they want a wagon with the carrying capacity of an eggcup that's good enough for us."

Reporters then asked Herr Vogelphart if this also meant that Opel would begin manufacture of rear-wheel-drive passenger vehicles, as 'car'-makers aparrently do Down Under. After picking himself up off the floor and wiping the tears from his eyes Herr Vogelphart said, "Be a bit serious, please. This isn't the middle ages, you know."

Representatives from Opel's Australian dealership network "Holden" could not be reached for comment, or more importantly were reached but as soon as we said we were from Frankfurt they started giggling and impersonating Sergeant Schultz out of "Hogan's Heroes".

Story #3

It exploded (not much at first, only a trifle) then it exploded a bit more, until finally it went properly explody and people nearby got all caked in it.

Captain Doobie was not apologetic. "Well, I did warn you all," he told the assembled crowd.
"Yes, you did," replied Goodtime Slim rather testily, "but when you said 'er, the mix might get a little excited', we didn't think you meant that it would completely blow up."

In lieu of answering Captain Doobie moodily poked the remaining mixture with the wooden spoon.
"And another thing," continued Goodtime Slim, "exactly how do you manage to blow up play dough?"

Story #2

For all his exhortations of assistance, when it came to the crunch Private Bandicoot-fflipping proved remarkably reticent to 'muck in' with the live ammunition test. So the Brigadier did the only sensible thing: he sent a man around.

When the man arrived at the Bandicoot-fflipping residence he was surprised to see the good Private wedged firmly under the bonnet of what seemed to be an ordinary Vauxhall Viva. Upon discussion with him however the Brigadier's man soon discovered that it was no ordinary Viva, for Private Bandicoot-fflipping had, in his spare time, developed the world's first practical antigravity hovercraft engine.

The problem was that he had wished to surprise everyone with it at the test that morning, but a motivator had shorted out and it could now hover but not move. The Brigadier's man, no slouch at engineering himself, came up with a solution.

And so it was that Private Bandicoot-fflipping was able to take part in the test in his battlefield Viva, ably towed by the Brigadier's man on a bicycle. This worked so well that Private Bandicoot-fflipping was able to sell the patents to the Royal Ministry of Defense and retire to a cottage in the country, while around the world the business of warfare continued, although now it involved considerably more cyclists.

Story #1

The view from the outside of the submarine was difficult, as was breathing. Normally either of these problems would have been too much for young Tommy Piper and his loyal dog Smut, but on this occasion they were spurred on by a love of freedom, decency and above all, the British Empire.

Young Tommy attached the last of the homemade limpet mines to the u-boat's hull and swam back to his small fishing ketch. He swam fast, knowing that if he were caught still in the water when the petrol/glycol mix ignited, his frail body would be simply crushed by the force-wave into so much small-orphan-flavoured paste. He surfaced and heaved himself into the ketch, fending off a furious licking from Smut. He threw himself onto the floor of the boat just as he felt more than heard the 20 or so magnetic mines explode, triggering sympathetic explosions that Tommy knew would rip a massive hole along the port side of the armoured wolf of the sea. Presently, Smut began to bark and Tommy peeped over the side. There, surfacing, was the crippled craft. Instantly, Tommy grabbed his helioscope and flashed a morse code message back to Constable Simpkins, who was waiting upon the shore. He recieved no answer, but the quiet drone of aircraft engines told him the his message had got through. Tommy pulled the sail about in triumph and headed for shore. As he stuck in the shallows of the cove near his remote Cornish fishing village, the Bristol Blenheims of RAF Coastal Patrol struck the drifting carcass of the u-boat with stunning accuracy, sundering it amidships and sending it and it's hurriedly-evacuating crew to Davy Jones' Locker.

"I say," said Constable Simpkins, standing on the shore with Tommy and Smut, "jolly good fireworks, eh what?"
They all laughed heartily and went to Mrs MacGregor's for tea. In the fullness of time, Tommy was awarded a D.S.O., his orphan status was officially wiped from the Crown records, the Germans stayed dead and we won the war. Again.

Several Unavoidable Stiplulations

I thought it might be fun to write a very short story using each of the previous opening lines, so that'll occupy the next few weeks. Watch this space!

Possible Opening Lines For The New Novel

1. The view from the outside of the submarine was difficult, as was breathing.
2. For all his exhortations of assistance, when it came to the crunch Private Bandicoot-fflipping proved remarkably reticent to 'muck in' with the live ammunition test.

3. It exploded (not much at first, only a trifle) then it exploded a bit more, until finally it went properly explody and people nearby got all caked in it.

4. As disasters went, it was not a success.
5. If only she had remembered the Polynesian lessons, none of this would have happened.
6. Alberton Ward had the kind of face one would normally expect to see attached to a recently smacked arse.
7. The sea, magestic and eternal, remained unchanged while ironically, Cliff wavered.
8. The most unfortunate thing was that he didn't even *own* an iPod, let alone one which contained information of a lewd or licencious nature.

9. It had happened again, only differently to the first time, and in exactly the same way.
10. "I didn't feel the need to expose myself to you, the nuns or to general public ridicule, thank you very much," remarked the Texan in his typically languid manner.

Random Doobings

Captain Doobie returned to The Cloisters truimphant in his jogging gear. Goodtime Slim, recently awoken, looked up blearily from next-door's copy of the Sunday Mail.

"How'd you go?" Goodtime Slim yawned.
"Ha!" barked Captain Doobie, "My best time ever!"
"That wouldn't be hard, seeing as how you've never been in the City-to-Bay before."
"Yes I have! What about last year?"
Goodtime Slim regarded Captain Doobie archly. "I didn't think that counted."
"Pish posh. Whyever not?"
"Because you had only just stepped over the start line when you were kidnapped by rogue Venezuelan freedom-fighters who thought you were the cameraman in the 1967 assaination of Che Guevara."

"They let me go once they discovered their mistake."
"Three weeks later, after intervention by the Federal Government and an SAS airborne rescue operation."
"Granhted, but I still crossed the finish line and returned my scanny thing. You have to take these things seriously, you know."

"Fair enough. What was your time?"
"17 minutes."
"17 minutes? To run 12 kays? Impossible!"
"Not," replied Captain Doobie with a sly wink, "If you take a taxi."

I Actually Had This Conversation Once.

Today the chaps here at work asked me to order in the usual lot of Christmas cards, for the marketing department to send to all of our customers in celebration of the holiday season. This reminded me of a conversation I had with the marketing section on this very topic a few years back.

Marketing: DC, about these christmas cards you've ordered....
Me: Myess?
Mktg: They've got the nativity on them. And 'Merry Christmas' inside.
Me: Well, yes. They're christmas cards.
Mktg: But what about all of our customers in the middle east?
Me: What about them?
Mktg: They might be offended if we send them a card with 'Merry Christmas' on it.
Me: Then don't send them one.
Mktg: We have to! They're going out to everyone!
Me: Well, i'm a muslim, and i'm not offended by them.
short pause
Mktg: You're a muslim?
Me: Yup.
Mktg: You don't look like a muslim.
Me: I converted earlier this year.
Mktg: Why would anyone choose to become a muslim?
Me: Because my girlfriend looks better with a bag over her head.

The conversation went downhill soon after. To this day, I think the marketing woman still believes me to be a muslim. I'd do something about it, but I really don't care.

Article Included On Legal Advice

D C White would like to advise small children and the retarded that punching pandas in the nutsac is not at all funny or clever.

I apologise for any inconvenience this may have caused.

Theatre Projects That Became Far Better After Subsequent Rewrites

Come Back To The Five and Dime Jackie Gleason, Jackie Gleason.
A Tupperware Menagerie.
You're a Good Man, Secret Squirrel.
The Runcible.
Dogs.

Adelaide Now Home To Communists

It is a disgrace that in this country there appear to be elected (democratically, I might add!) members of parliament who think it acceptable to entertain high-ranking members of a communist nation.

So-called "Alexander Downer" thinks nothing of opening the doors of our fair city to these bamboo-gutzing, freeloading prophets of Maoism.

Well i'll not be held responsible. Let this blog be a beacon of sanity and hope. The minute these goosestepping, seig-hailing nuclear-armed symbols of the struggle between capital and labour are firmly ensconsed in their new hutch I shall be parachuting straight in there with a backpack full of meat pies, hats with corks on and copies of loyalty oaths for them both to sign, otherwise they'll both be punched in their stupid panda nutsacs. Even the girl one.

Random Doobings

The Torana drifted around the corner of the side street, tyres squealing, hotly pursued by the big marine humvee that seemed welded to it's rear bumper. The rear window of the Torrie smashed as several of the Humvee's shots came a bit too close for comfort.

Goodtime Slim wrenched the wheel around and mashed the accellerator harder. "She cannae tek mooch more o'this!" he cried in a mock scottish accent, "ur she'll blow!"

Captain Doobie, hunkered down in the passenger footwell amidst a myriad of empty bottles and chip packets, looked at Goodtime Slim. He took a deep breath.

"Look," he said, "there's nothing else for it. We're going to have to go to my father for help."
"Oh," replied Goodtime Slim, "fair enough."
"You don't understand. He's got the most disgusting habit on earth."
Goodtime Slim's face crinkled up in revulsion. "What, you mean he picks herpes scabs off of dogs' arses and eats them?"
There was a short pause.
"Alright," replied Captain Doobie, "he has the second most disgusting habit on earth."

I'm In The Money Now.

Brilliant new story idea: "Draculon, Lord of the 25th Century!"

In the 1890s, Dracula succeeds in taking over London, then England, then the world with his legions of fiendish undead. This unholy state of affairs remains in place until the year 2450, when Earth is attacked by invaders from another planet! Only the earth resistance (an uneasy alliance between the remnant forces of Draculon and human freedom-fighters led by Chad Van Helsing) can save them by breaking into the ruins of the Vatican and uncovering a millenia-old vatican conspiracy.

I can't quite figure out how to work in a preparatory school for wizards, but I will before too long. Then, all bases are covered. Ka-ching!