LET’S PLAY THE HAPPENING

It’s autumn…getting cold….windy. There’s no point going outside now the summer’s over right? No you morons.

Now’s the perfect time to play THE HAPPENING! It’s a great game based on the massive hit blockbuster by M Night Shyamalan.

To play, you need the following:

1) A windy day and an open field or park
2) At least 4 friends: 1 to play Mark Walhberg’s character, 1 to play Zooey Deschannel’s character (you can both be the same sex in this game because there’s no hanky panky between them because they’re super tense throughout the film about something that I don’t remember. I think Zooey Deschannel had coffee with some other guy and Mark Walhburg is suspicious. This sub-plot goes on for 90+ minutes) and at least 2 other people to be ‘tree fodder.’

So, the rules:

– The trees are mad at you and trying to kill you
– You need to try and get from one end of the park to the other
– Everytime the wind blows you need to scream and run across the park
– Occassionally, the other people whom are not Mark Walhberg or Zooey Deschannel need to throw themselves on the ground elaborately and play dead. (The method actors amongst you might like to throw yourselves on to your keys).
– Repeat this frequently
– During a particular lull, the person playing Mark Walhberg needs to try and negotiate with the trees.
– During another lull, the person playing Zooey Deschannel needs to confess to Mark Walhberg that she had coffee with another man. The person playing Mark Walhberg needs to appear devasted.
– Continue to run amok across the park for another twenty or so minutes and then abrubtly stop without explanation, ala the film.

It’s a blast!

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Categories: Other Stuff

Stag-do Brainstormin’

September 1, 2011 2 comments

Have recently been honoured by being named as best-man in an upcoming wedding….no ideas for stag-do….

Categories: Other Stuff

The Voodoo-Celebrity Diet

Categories: Other Stuff

A Disturbing Legal Analysis of the Third Act of Sixteen Candles.

It was my birthday recently (hooray for me) and I was lucky enough to receive a John Hughes collection full of greats like The Breakfast Club, Weird Science, Ferris Bueller’s Day Off…then I stumbled across Sixteen Candles, Hughes’ directorial debut.

It tells the woes of a young girl, Sam, who seems to fade into the background. So much so, that her family forget her sixteenth birthday and the popular boy she likes in school doesn’t even know she exists…or so she thinks.

And so we get to the third act. The popular boy (Jake) has grown tired of his girlfriend Caroline, who lies on his bed in a drunken stupor, and longs to be with our heroine Sam. He tells a comic-relief character, known only as The Geek, that he can ‘have’ his girlfriend, and so follows a series of events that comically appear to present a prima facie case of rape pursuant to the Sexual Offences Act 2003. Ha ha ha ha ha. Oh wait.

First, let’s breakdown the offence: To commit the offence of rape (Section 1 – Sexual Offences Act 2003) both the mental element (mens rea) and act element (actus reus) need to be present.

 

So, the actus reus:

Section 1 a) (b) requires penetration by a winky.

We can assume this happened from the discussions between The Geek and Caroline after the fact.


THE GEEK
Did we, uh...

CAROLINE
Yeah.              
I'm pretty sure.
     
THE GEEK                   
Um, excuse me,
but do you...
Do you know if...
Um, did I enjoy it?

 

blah blah blah

Caroline & The Geek reflecting upon the sexual offence that just occurred

And the final element of the actus reus is:

Section 1 b) Requires that the complainant does not consent (we’ll return to this point later).

 

Now, the mental element, the mens rea:

Section 1 c) The defendant does not reasonably believe that the complainant consents. (Again, we’ll return to this shortly)

AND

S1 a) The penetration by the winky must be intentional ( I think it’s fair to assume this point).

 

Now, let’s look further into the consent issue:

There are two key issues to consider relating to consent. The first is whether anything within the facts may have fallen within Section 75 which details Evidential Presumptions about Consent.

The obvious one to select from here would be S75 (2) (d) ‘The complainant was asleep or otherwise unconscious at the time of the relevant act.’  

So, as per S75, if, whilst Caroline was unconscious, The Geek intentionally penetrated her with his winky, then Caroline will be deemed to have not consented (S 1(b)) and The Geek will also be deemed not to have had reasonable belief that Caroline consented (S1 (c)) unless sufficient evidence to the contrary can be adduced.

(As a side note, as per S75 (1) (c) The defendant must also know that the above circumstance in S75 (2) (d) exist.)

 

But…the real zinger is what happened before the sex:

CAROLINE

Who’s he?

 

JAKE

That’s me.

  

CAROLINE              

Who are you?

 

JAKE

I’m him.

 

CAROLINE                  

Oh.          

Okay.


JAKE            

(Chuckles)

She’s totally gone.

Have fun.

  

THE GEEK              

Thanks.

 

Jake the moraly questionable stud

Jake the moraly questionable stud

This comical situation will likely fall under Section 76, Conclusive Presumptions about Consent.

Section 76 (2) considers circumstances where ‘the defendant intentionally induced the complainant to consent to the relevant act by impersonating a person known personally to the complainant.’ (As a side note, this provision requires a causal link between the impersonation and the inducing of the consent to be proved by the prosecution, hence the ‘induced…by impersonating’).

So, if it is proved that The Geek did the relevant act, (intentional penetration with his winky) and the circumstances in S76(2) above, existed, then it is conclusively presumed that Caroline did not consent (s1 (b)) and that The Geek did not reasonably believe that Caroline consented (S1 (c)), regardless of any evidence to the contrary.  

In short, we now have a complete offence of rape, according to modern English law, in a heart-warming 1980s coming of age movie.

Oh god that’s depressing. Quick, someone put Uncle Buck on.

 You'd never catch Buck doing any of these shenanigans

Ah, that’s better.

Categories: Other Stuff

The Hip-Hop Phonetic Alphabet – The Greatest Invention of Our Time

I love the phonetic alphabet. I can communicate clearly and pretend to be a bad-ass cop all whilst renewing my home insurance. But something strange is happening. The phonetic alphabet that we all know and love just isn’t universal anymore.

‘Your postcode sir’ they say.

‘Sierra Whiskey Nineteen’ I reply.

‘So that’s C W nineteen…’

‘No, how did you get that?’

‘C for Ciara…’

‘No, no, S for Sierra…not Ciara….she’s a hip-hop artist….’

This has happened to me at least twice so I can only conclude that it happens to everyone all the time and that something must be done!

Wouldn’t it be so much clearer if you could just call up your bank and say:

‘Solid Gold Dancer – Woop Woop, that’s da’ sound of da’ police! – nineteen’.

Everyone can understand that.

And so, without further ado, I present to you, the new phonetic alphabet, the Hip-Hop Phonetic Alphabet!

A for ‘The adventures of Grandmaster Flash.’

B for Bitch get outta’ the car!

C for Cyprus Hill, or of course, the classic, C for Ciara.

D for DJ, as in, ‘What the hell happened to DJ Jazzy Jeff?’

E for Explicit Lyrics.

F for Fiddy

G for G-unit……. or of course, Grandmaster Flash!

H for Homey, as in, ‘What is up my homey?’

I for ‘I’ve got the power!’

J for Junk, as in, ‘What ya’ gonna’ do with all that Junk inside your trunk.’  [nb. it is customary for the recipient to reply with ‘I’ma get, get, get, get, you drunk, Get you love drunk off my humps.’

K for Kane ,as in, ‘Big Daddy Kane.’

L for LL Cool Jay

M for Milkshake, as in, ‘My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard…..’

N for Notorious BIG

O for Original Gangsta’

P for ‘Pop a cap in yo’ ass!’

Q for Queen Latifah, as in, ‘Yes Queen Latifah is Hip-Hop’

R for Run DMC

S for Solid Gold Dancer [insert mandatory dancing move]

T for Tupac

U for Ultramagnetic MCs (Yes they exist – Do you remember the old gang?  Kool Keith, Ced Gee, TR Love and Moe Love. Oh and let’s not forget Tim Dog )

V for Vanilla Ice!

W for ‘Woop woop, that’s the sound of da’ police!’

X for DMX

Y for Yo, as in, ‘Yo!’

And of course….

Z, as in, spelling things with a Z instead of an S because it’s cool and also badass.

Try it now!!!

Categories: Other Stuff

Jerry the Soul Eating Cow – An Existential Children’s tale

Pretty Pictures by Peter Spence ( http://monotonouschirrup.blogspot.com/)

Words by Robert Norris


Jerry nooooooooooooooooooo!

Categories: Other Stuff

Short Story – The Picture of Britney Spears (A modern adaptation/bastardisation of The Picture of Dorian Gray)

1.

“Tremendous Britney!” said the sycophant in the suit. He had no real interest in her or her music beyond making a profit from record sales. He would, on occasion, gently remove the image of her face from magazine features and engage in self-gratification so that his result fell gradually upon the severed heads, but with that aside, he had no further interest.

He continued to praise her and whilst humbly she thanked him, in truth, she was deeply saddened. Being the daughter of a psychic, Britney was an excellent judge of character and knew what he said to be false.

What offended her most was his complete ignorance of her gift. Sadly he was not alone. There were many others; fans and media alike who worshipped her for her beauty instead of her talent.

She still trembled from the intensity of her performance: a medley of Mozart arias culminating with a virtuoso expression of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata. It was, she said, her salute to the two greatest musicians of the ages. Most of the world was too ignorant to realise they were in the presence of the third.

2.

Britney was a genius – there was no doubt – yet she seemed cursed too, by her intoxicating beauty. She ran from the sex-addled crowds that surrounded her and fled to her home where she wept intensely, soiling three magnificent silk tissues.

Soon her mother and loyal agent were by her side looking on with great concern.

“Oh mother, why do they do this to me?” she asked in despair.

It pained Mother greatly to see her child this way, but she dared not lie. “The world is a strange place my child.” She began. “The fools find greater reward than the wise. And yet…….. it was with forbearance that the gardener tended to his orchid……… He fought many a harsh winter, finally for it to reveal it to himself in all its glory.”

“Oh dear sweet mother” She exclaimed in between sobs. “Why must you talk to me now in riddles? Please…can’t you see….I need to know what to do?”

“There is no single thing you can do now my child” she lamented. “The world will not be changed in its attitudes in one night. You must educate them and show patience with them. The world is so very young.”

Britney shook her head in frustration but knew better than to argue with her sage Mother. Restraining another barrage of tears she ran to her room and locked the door. Here she could embrace her disgust at the outside world; their pitiful understanding and their sordid desires. She retrieved her Oboe from the corner of the room and played it discordantly; as loud as her lungs would permit. It was like the scream of Apollo.

3.

By morning her tears had disappeared, but her artistic appetite had not. Her agent woke her, gently uttering her name.

Over breakfast, the announcement was made. She was to try again; to give the world another opportunity to see beyond her feminine shape. The agent had failed.! Despite his adoration of her talents he too was besotted with the physical. He had let Britney dictate the terms of her return and too much rested on this one event. In one grand display that surely none could ignore, Britney was to perform a one woman show of each Wagner opera.

And still press attitudes seemed not to have changed. They ran their hands through her hair curiously as Britney emoted, teary-eyed, over the significance of her next performance.

“My child I sense great danger!” warned mother. But her child was a stubborn beauty. She struggled on through promotional appearances on sitcom after sitcom, and chat show after chat show.

They would blather amiably about boyfriends and fashion. She just wanted to scream to the audience “I’m a dammed artist you fools. Get you perverted kicks elsewhere” but she wouldn’t. Her opera would show them, it would show them all.

4.

It was the day of her performance and Britney rose early to watch the sunrise. There was a spring in her step, a marked difference from Mother who seemed to be suffering from some manner of supernatural affliction. Curled pitifully upon the floor she tried to reason with the prodigy: “I beg you child. Do not go to your performance on this night. Something grave awaits you I fear.”

“Mother that is preposterous” she exclaimed. “This is my day. Finally……..my day.” There was so much hope in her eyes; so much happiness in her sweet voice.

But no! It couldn’t be! Opera on Ice. “What deception!” she squealed upon seeing the title adorning the building’s façade. Her promoters had been touting the ‘Sensational Britney Spears Event’ all this time deceiving her of its true meaning.

And inside she confronted her nightmare. Circus animals dressed like people flanked the stage. Two monkeys were to play the parts of Tristan and Isolde. Stage-hands tied ice-skates to the monkeys as others wheeled out great wicker rings that soon would be ablaze. Rings of fire! What sick pantomime was this?

She could stand this depravity no more, and ran from the stage, barricading herself within the relative sanctuary of her dressing room.

5.

Mother had never seen her in such fury. “I pray child that you will open this door.  Let your mother comfort you.”

“I will not Mother. You cannot help me” she accused and threw ever more into her barricade.  Now leaning her own weight against it Britney held off the demands of Mother and her agent.

As if taunting her, the stage show began. The circus tunes could be heard in the distance; the crash of a symbol and honking of a horn every time one of the ice-skating monkeys plummeted to the ground.

“I will not have my art belittled by these philistines!” she cried. Another honk in the distance; a cruel riposte from the show.

“I would rather sell my soul to the beast himself!”

And then silence. “I trust that you suitably regret that remark” said mother. There was no reply. She knocked firmly upon the door, and still nothing. Yet now she felt little resistance, as if the barricade had weakened. Slowly she ushered the door open and entered with the agent in tow.

Mother tried to scream but was starved for breath. There stood her dear sweet Britney shaking hands with the Beast! The god-damn Devil!

“What foul degradation!” she hollered still gasping.

The Beast turned to her with a genial smile and, taking another puff on his pipe, patted Britney gently upon her buttocks before addressing his audience:  “I’m afraid you are too late” he began. “We have reached amicable terms. Now I must away.”

In a flash he was gone. Another honk in the distance seemed to deliver the final blow. Mother collapsed.

6.

Britney stood resiliently at the foot of Mother’s bed, stubbornly overlooking her convalescence.

“You must tell me everything” Mother begged urgently.

“I have taken my career into my own hands. The Beast and I have come to a deal.” She answered.

“I dunno Britney” chimed the Agent “I always figured the Devil for being a kinda’ tricky fella’.”

“That is my fear also Mervin” said Mother to the Agent. Then addressing her obstinate daughter added: “What was the exact arrangement?”

“That the world would finally recognise my true talents and find some other outlet for their more perverse fascinations!”

Suddenly the telephone rang and the Agent swept off to retrieve it. It was the Royal Opera House in the quant little Isle of the United Kingdom. They immediately offered to host Britney’s ‘One-Woman Wagner’ show in London for a three month tenure. Oh such a charming and flattering offer!

“Now I feels like an imbecile” said the Agent humbly.

“Don’t be so cruel to yourself Mervin” said Mother as she admonished her daughter psychically.

“You thinks we still might have some trouble with em’ even after this?” he probed.

A sombre pause hung in the room before she finally would answer: “We’ll see” said Mother. “We’ll see.”

7.

“We’ll see…….. We’ll see” she continued to say. Britney grew tired of her Mother’s mysterious chanting and trotted off to her room, excitedly packing her bag for the grand adventure ahead of her.

So much was to be done before she could leave! Arrangements must be made for someone loyal and trustworthy to look after the house; her belongings too must be shipped to the Isle.

Time passed insufferably slowly to that fine day of departure, but what a magnificent day it was! Helios marched his chariot across the sky with great fervour and as Britney climbed aboard her flight that day she was gazed upon as one would a goddess. “First class is not fit for her” one passenger was heard to remark. How they loved her.

The flight was long and yet held no suffering for Britney. The crowd adored her, and furthermore, they adored her for her gift!

“Oh Britney the infernal humming of those jet engines is quite a bore” said one young boy. “Sing us a song. Please. Anything, we must hear your voice.”

The entire jet was roused with the call of “here, here” beckoning the prodigy to step forward and take her rightful place. And when she did, their gratitude was a rapt and awed silence. Never had they heard such beauty, and never had she felt so wanted. Dear, dear, Britney had finally found her recognition.

8.

The morning after that fair flight Britney sat, gracefully watching International news and with a profound sadness, contemplating the plight of the world. There was such misfortune on this dark earth. She shed a tear and prayed that her music might bring some beauty into the lives of the unfortunate.

Slowly, slipping back into reality, Britney looked up at Mother who having returned from her morning stroll held aloft a copy of a contemporary gossip publication. This foul purveyor of non-news spoke wildly on the front cover of this and that, and things that were of no importance and then, in the far left corner sat, like some arrogant aside, a claim relating to Britney herself!

Wondering why this fair Isle was still so caught up in the past, she took a brief glance at the date and squealed with horror at the sight. Yesterday’s date! This cannot be true; the accusation itself was absurd: being rowdy on the streets of London!

“Why would you want to sully your prize” Mother asked, restraining emotion.

“Mother this isn’t true! I slept well last night, a good and full night’s rest!”

Mother looked deep into her child’s eyes and smiled sadly at what she found: “I believe you” she reported.

Then what could this be? Both minds suspected the same hideous deity but neither dare speak its name. Could this be the work of the devil? Mother tried to put the talk to rest for the time being; her child needed to compose herself lest she be burdened with further stress on her first day at the opera house. Perhaps that was what the devil wanted!

“I am sure this is merely a small complication” she said. “A result of your success. Ignore it, and work hard on your gift. I promise it will depart.”

A gentle nod in agreement was all the prodigy could muster. “I will mother” she said with trepidation. “I will.”

9.

For the best part of a month no more scandal was uttered, the child was free to concentrate on opera and opera alone. The Beast had been true to its word also; there was a fine response to her work. Crowds would fill the house to capacity and standing ovations had become a splendid routine.

Britney became accustomed to such welcome reward yet although she never dared to voice her concerns, Mother was still wary that some trickery might lay behind the Beast’s uncertain transaction.

Week after week Britney’s reputation for greatness grew; the stage was hers! And now, with her voice at its finest and the crowd at its most receptive the insidious blow was struck.

Relaxing her precious voice before tomorrow’s event, Britney gazed out into the London twilight as her agent swept into the room. Trembling from anxiety he directed their attention to the current broadcast, and together they watched as another foul rumour was bandied about sweet Britney. Of all the possibilities, causing a ruckus in a local eatery was now the accusation!

“These lies again!” she screamed. “I have not ventured out all day, I’ll soon put these rumours to rest.”

And yet no sooner had she uttered these words with disdain and certainty than the most peculiar of images was thrust upon the screen. There stood Britney in the eatery; it was her and no mistake!

Her voluptuous body spread over the counter as she demanded the attention of the fearful staff. Her mouth too opened widely in contortion; a prophecy of illness more than discourse, and yet to the crowd’s surprise, words emerged from that intoxicated creature.

“Hey boyyyy” she began. “I ain’t geet yet, where’s my hoagie?”

Most were too shocked to respond. One or two within the crowd refused to grant an audience to such a display and left immediately but the doppelganger would not relent. On and on she blasted about her ‘hoagie’ until the manager brought her their finest sandwich. This, sadly was not to her liking.

The patience of the staff expired finally once Britney, still disheartened by her sandwich, assaulted the manager with the meal. Two of the eatery’s assistants seized upon her and forced her to the ground.

“Hah hah hah” she squaked with the laughter of the dammed. “What are you….the sherruf or the depudy?”

The eatery assistant calmly explained that he was neither.

Finally, with her restrained the manager quickly ushered the crowd and media too away from the restaurant. The show, it seemed, was over.

10.

What foul simulacra was this? Over and over they gazed at the recording. Why they could be twins!

In both one could see the same deep, soulful eyes and long blonde hair. And hidden behind her monstrous deformation of the English language still was Britney’s sweet, sweet, voice.

A Spears family conference must be held! The combined minds of Mervin, Britney and Mother, poured other the evidence; debating and counter arguing; proposing and repudiating long into the night.

The next dawn had broken before the triumvirate had reached their decision. Their reasoning was sound and yet still anxiety harassed them. The actions of the beast had herded them dangerously into a corner. Their resolution leant poor Britney such vulnerability.

First, they could not claim that this malcontent before them was not Britney; who would believe them? Only the fools – that was who!

How could she confront the world with her hideous truth? Even choosing to omit her pact with the beast, she would but create more delicious hysteria. Twin Britney Spears’! She would never be granted another moment’s peace! Forever to be compared to her twin, always haunted by her. It would be of no benefit to oust her.

There could be no comment. Britney must trust that her performances would drown out her doppelganger.

And for a time this was true. Her displays were appreciated as profound gifts; the audiences would not wane. Yet now the congregation of reporters grew larger. They would wait for her after the show. The jackals!

She would prattle on with a baneful speech, thanking once again her marvellous audience, her mother, her agent, the gods of inspiration. In fear, she would leave in a dash. She would never take questions.

11.

There was but a brief hiatus in the scandal; oh how the beast was cruelly toying with her! Barely had her constitution survived the last attack when on the eve of her twentieth performance Britney was witness to yet another foul display by her twin.

Resting against Mother and slumped on the sitting-room floor, she watched as the demon-Britney ransacked a local beverage store! Drink was her desire and she would inform all who looked upon her of her mission.

“I’m fixin’ ta’ get me sum drink ya’ll!” she would spew amiably, never forgetting to smile asymmetrically.

Lower and lower sank the dear sweet Britney, and her dress too crept around her like a puddle of melancholy. Over and over those words would be repeated, over and over the footage would be replayed and the wry smiles too of the reporters would stab at her like a millions knives until finally………she could restrain herself no longer! Mother held her back as she yelled, exhausted at the disaster-box that beheld her double! “Make….make her stop….stop” she blubbed.

But there was to be no cessation. No mercy! Soon the twin was singing a ditty of great joviality on the joys of drink. With no success she would juggle the bottles on nearby shelves and engage others in duets of this song which none had heard before. She was for all, an utter laughing stock.

12.

Burdened by humiliation, Britney’s performances continued. Yet for the first time her audiences failed to meet capacity, and for the first time, she felt the most terrible emotion whilst on stage. She hated the venue now with all her heart! All those faces, those accusatory faces whispering and conjecturing….. Perhaps somewhere amongst them were still the lovers of music pure and beautiful, but her mind could not relinquish the fear that this was now nothing more than a human zoo!

With another performance finished and ignoring perfunctory calls for encores, she dragged herself to her dressing room, head hung shamefully low. It seemed as if with one simple push one could topple that beauty and she would crumble upon the floor like the last atoms of her dignity. There she stood, precious and week in the centre of the room. Some ten frozen minutes had passed until her agent entered cradling the routine bouquet of flowers.

In an instant, that fragile beauty metamorphosed into a creature of vile contempt, leaping upon the agent, screaming words of incomparable cruelty. She tore at his clothes, his skin, bit at his face, pulled at his hair and beat him senselessly with her delicate, feminine fists.

“You fool!” she screamed in between strikes “You dammed, dammed fool! You are my agent and my career is in your hands…..oh why won’t you do something?”

He was forced to endure several minutes of the merciless beating before Mother ran to his rescue, dragging the incensed beauty away from him.

“My child what has become of you?” asked mother with tears near to expression. “You have a loving family and no just cause for retribution.”

Having found the moment to contemplate her actions dear Britney was now ambushed by guilt. She threw herself at the wounded body of the agent and begged him for mercy.

“It’s not you I hate Mervin. Oh you know that! It’s her…..I looked at you and I saw her……..she is destroying me Mervin and I want nothing than to do the same to her.”

“Silence!” screamed Mother. “I will not have you say such things!

“So you would have me withhold the truth Mother?” replied Britney with vigour.

And then there was silence, all except the tremulous breathing of dear Britney, still brimming with adrenaline. She would not let her fury overcome her again; she stormed past Mother and out of the room, leaving Mother to tend to the wounds of poor Mervin.

13.

Mervin’s wounds healed quickly and his devotion to dear Britney was unchanged. Meanwhile Mother and Britney grew increasingly distant. It was now Mervin who would cradle her as she watched the twin ravage her reputation; Mother could only abandon the room as Britney’s exchanges with the television became heated.

Mervin and Britney too spent more time alone, entertaining discussions of an unwholesome kind. He would be her confidante for her most vindictive desires; her bitterness for her once great love of performing and her pitiless yearning for revenge.

The twin of course would allow dear Britney no time to rest!

A plenitude of footage blessed the media as they groped their way through the crowds of each and every celebrity party to see her being lead away by an officer of the law. And yet remorse seemed inconceivable for the beast’s creation. Indefatigably she would struggle, beaming with the greatest of satisfaction… and then…. would announce with glee to the crowd her proud situation:

“I’ll be out lickety split ya’ll. I’m Britney Spears!”

Oh how dear Britney would shudder when she heard those words. And yet these were not the cruellest to ever be spoken, those were reserved for one whom Britney had always adored, always longed for the respect of.

The call was received late on some anonymous night. The days had long been ignored by name and were now known only as an abstract collection of humiliations and tribulations.

It was Sir John Osborne, head of the London Opera House. He said softly, with the greatest of solemnity that he would not do Britney the disrespect of embarking on hollow small talk; instead he ventured straight to the disastrous news he bore. Her tenure was to be withdrawn. The Opera House could no longer withstand the damage dear Britney’s reputation was bringing them, there was simply nothing he could do, then of course he wished her the best of luck.

14.

That night, under the moonless sky, Britney and Mervin concocted a foul plot of solipsistic charm. There was no laughter shared between them, nor a smile of satisfaction; each of them held respect enough for that.

With the plan complete, the lawless pair returned to the sitting room where they watched with vindication, the latest debacle of dear Britney’s abominable twin.

The venue was a grand villa of spectacular proportions! Celebrity peers no doubt chatted amiably in every room of the house, with the exception of one.

Sprinkled throughout this shameless space were journalists and paparazzi. Together, once more, they cheerfully chronicled the demise of one of the world’s great talents.

There she was in the centre of the room; the polluted twin, the guest of honour, riding a topless John Goodman as if he were some manner of steed.

Perhaps that wasn’t really John Goodman, she thought…..perhaps he too had bargained with the devil and found himself cursed by some insidious doppelganger …whatever the cause, it mattered very little. The media had found the Britney they preferred and desired. Dear sweet Birtney was now the anonymous twin. Her gift was wasted and she knew that.

And then the doppelganger blasted from the TV:

“Giddy up, giddy up” playfully digging her heels into his cushioned abdomen. John Goodman galloped ever faster.

“Yee haw, I’m Britney Spears! I’m Britney Spears!”

The disaster-box was switched off.

Mervin and Britney looked at each other just once, neither saw reluctance, nor any trepidation in the other. The plan was to go ahead.

At the front door they were halted. Mother stood weakly in the doorway of her bedroom. She could be heard sobbing gently; murmuring too a host of pleas to the lord, begging for his assistance.

She called out to them: “More than one life will be scarred by your actions tonight!”

“More than one life has already been scarred Mother!” screamed back Britney.

Weakly, Mother eased herself back into her room, she could fight no longer.

The lawless pair continued.

15.

The party still had much life in it. As of yet the twin had committed no actions worthy of police attention.

She wandered casually from person to person blathering about hoecake and possum pie and the delights of being Britney Spears.

Soon though, the deceitful Britney began to tire and chose to refresh herself. She made her way to one of the grand bathrooms with the intention of slashing some cool, refreshing water over her face. Mervin and dear sweet Britney followed her.

The grandness of the party was their camouflage. No one noticed the second Britney, nor the addition of her agent follow the twin into the bathroom and close the door swiftly behind them. Nor did any of the revellers hear the muffled screams.

The twin begged for her life. Dear Britney would say nothing. The only member of the group who would speak was loyal Mervin, so shocked and confused by what he saw.

Dear Britney allowed herself no time to consider second thoughts. She swept her knife across the twin’s throat and watched as she fell to the ground.

Britney had taken not a single breath before she too clasped at her throat, desperately trying to close the incision that had un-miraculously appeared.

“This is a trick of the beast!” screamed Mervin in desperate reassurance. “This is a trick of the beast!” he screamed again and again.

“This is a trick of the beast!” He did not stop until dear Britney herself had ceased breathing.

It was then, in that moment of calm, that the most profound and peculiar noise could be heard. It was dear Britney’s voice! She was singing the most magical of arias.

Such a sad and strange exhibition! Mervin cradled her body as the mysterious, faceless voice grew in strength.

Soon it could be heard around the party. The noise of every reveller was diminished and then, although they knew not why, every single guest, every man and woman in that hallowed venue burst into spontaneous tears.

They wept and wept ceaselessly until morning, and as the sun rose, each of them held within them the most profound loss.

No one saw her body that morning. Mervin claimed that none were worthy. And as the paramedics carried her covered body from the bathroom he found reason to smile and begged for them to stop just a moment. Kneeling down and moving his lips up to her delicate ears he whispered: “You did it Britney, you did it last night. If only you could have seen. Your voice is truly the greatest gift I have ever known!”

The End

Categories: Short Stories