Stream of ideas exercise

In a fevered dream I saw myself hurled through time at the rate of sixty minutes an hour, I couldn't remember the words to my favourite song, so I hummed the melody but alas, I was out of key. A dog was there, who did not bark but instead yodelled, searchingly, longingly, as though it would help; it did not. Eventually I came upon a wizened old woman who, in place of her eyes, had liquorice allsorts, she enquired as to my wants and I told her I only wanted respite from a world gone sane, she offered only clichés and crumpets for an answer. Then she got on a motorcycle and flew downwards into the ground, I decided not to eat the crumpet she had given me. From where I had thrown the crumpet down, there erupted a mechanical dragon who berated me for littering and who then exploded, knocking me out. When I came to, I found that my legs had ran away whilst I had been asleep. Luckily, there was a spare set in my trunk and so, with my new legs attached, I set off once again. A passing cloud shouted an insult at me, I jumped up and punched him in his cloud face and was then arrested by the cloud police. A cumulus was brought in to defend me but as the afternoon wore on, he began to precipitate which spoilt all his notes for the defence and so I shot the judge and ran out the court doors, which was stupid, because I was in sky-court and fell. As I was about to hit the ground, I remembered I could fly, so I did. But then I remembered that I couldn't, so I began to fall again. Fortunately, a passing pterodactyl took pity on me, caught me and put me down on the ground softly, I thanked him and asked him what he would like as a reward, to which replied "crumpet please". I was forlorn, as I had no crumpet to give and had foolishly thrown the one I had had away earlier on. By happenstance however, we had landed in the area where I had thrown it away and it was still there on the ground. I picked it up, brushed off most the dirt and gave it to the pterosaur. He thanked me most profusely, explaining that ground crumpet was his favourite kind of food in the whole, wide world. Then the yodelling dog reappeared, as did the wizened old lady, my old legs, the cumulus solicitor and the judge I'd shot (he was only a cloud, bullets can't harm clouds) and even the mechanical dragon was there as well, and they all began to murmur my favourite song out of key, as they too did not fully know the lyrics and everyone lived happily ever after....

...except for the insulting cloud who I punched, because he was a dick, who would later die of being an arsehole.

Thou shalt not bear false witness, False Witness Bear!

Today's Episode: You should not bear false witness, False Witness Bear!

"Your honour, I move that the court remove this witness, as he is clearly bearing false witness and is also a bear."

"You fool!" *removes bear mask* "I am a false bear!"

"I'll going to allow this," said The Judge, "I want to see where it goes."

"But your honour-"

"Sssh" False Bear Witness slid across the table and put a thick claw on The Prosecutors lips. "Sssh, or you'll move various organs within your body and through a complex series of these movements and through the intake and expulsion express sounds to influence the minds and actions of others."

"You mean speak?" The Prosecutor muffled through his partially closed lips.

"Exactly, sweet one. Now sssh" False Bear Witness patted him on the head. "Your honour, I am but a simple bear, who one day ate a child, but that child grew up to be a man and that man became a bear, a false bear, and it is this false bear who now stands before you, this false bear to bear witness, but not falsely, for this false bear is witness to that which is false about this false bear! They say a man who represents himself in court has a fool for a client, well, I am no man, I am a false bear! And I would that the court hear my case!"

"I'm going to allow this." said The Judge.

"Actually, I've changed my mind, I don't want the court to hear, I want them to see, I demand trial by combat!"

"What?!" The Prosecutor sputtered. "That's literally insane! This is a court of law, not some...gladiatorial combat arena, this isn't-

"Bring in the gladiator weapons." The Judge waved his hands.

"What?!"

"Ah," said False Bear, holding up a net and a trident, "This takes me back to my old days as retiarius, back before I was bit by the radioactive bear that turned me from a normal, time displaced ancient Roman into a thrice damned false bear witness."

"But you're clearly just a man in a bear suit! And also didn't you allege that you were a bear who ate a child who became a man who, I don't know, fused with the bear and become a false bear or something?"

"Your honour, this man is bearing false witness against me, False Bear Witness, I demand this trial by combat now be to the death."

The Judge looked down.
"I'm going to allow this."

"What?!" The Prosecutor ejaculated.

"Hehe, the author wrote a dirty word." said False Bear

"It's only dirty if your mind works that way," said The Judge, suppressing a giggle.

"What author, what word? What the hell are you two on about? Also, why hasn't the jury said anything about this?" The Prosecutor pointed at the court that had now been fully turned into a coliseum.

The jurors put their heads together and started talking in hushed whispers. After a few moments they reached a conclusion and separated. Hesitantly, one of the jurors put his hand up.

"Erm, this is the first court case any of us have been to...aren't they all like this?"

"What?! No! Of course not, what the hell is wrong with you people!"

"No more outbursts like that from the prosecution or I'll hold you in contempt of court." sighed the Judge, who had put his feet up and was lazily flicking through a comic book.

"This is madness!"

"Madness?" repeated False Bear, "This! IS! AN OVERDONE MEME!" And kicked the prosecutor down a bottomless pit.

"I find the defendant not guilty by means of his ability to kick people to their death." The Judge leaned over and looked down the bottomless pit. "Well, eventual death anyway. Case dismissed."

And so it was False Bear Witness, who did bear false witness, got away scot-free and free of Scott, which was the name of the prison inmate with an insatiable lust for bear butt and who would have raped False Bear, right through the suit, had he but got his hands on his butt in prison.

Next weeks episode: Terence gets prescription medication for his now obvious and growing insanity. He find them to be particularly moreish.

A short poem about becoming (or rather not becoming) a vegan

For 10 million dollars,
I do not think I can,
Be a Vegan,
Give up my ham, 
My eggs, meat and spam,
For 10 million dollars,
No, sir, I do not think I can. 

For 10 million dollars,
I could not recant,
And eat only plant,
That's not my stance,
To eat only plants,
For 10 million dollars,
No, sir, I think not a chance.

For 10 million dollars,
So much I'd do,
Oh it is true, 
Except poop green poo,
When I go the loo,
For 10 million dollars,
No, sir, that I'd rather not do.

Context: I wrote this, very quickly, as a response to the question "For 10 million dollars would you become a vegan" which was posed on an internet forum I frequent. 

The Magician - Part 1

1 - The Magician.

"And lo! From my hat I doth produce....a bunny rabbit!" The Great and Powerful Spinelli proclaimed as he triumphantly pulled nothing from the hat. "I said," his face glowed red, "I produce a bunny rabbit!" His hands fumbled around the hidden compartment within the comically enlarged top hat, but found nothing. A child in the front row tugged at its mother's sleeve. "Mummy, why'd you get this magamician, he's poo."

The Great and Powerful Spinelli, whose face was now the same colour as the ripest of tomatoes, grimaced. Inwardly he would have liked to have been able to pretend not to have heard the child's complaint, but he couldn't control his shame. His hand fumbled around the hat once more, before he awkwardly dropped it, and attempting to save the act, he muttered a feeble "ta-dah"...his patron looked less then enthused.

"Just so you know, I won't be paying you at all!" Little Sally Jenkin's mother shouted at The Great and Powerful Spinelli, who cringed and ashen faced, looked shamefully at the floor. "I understand," Spinelli mumbled, "I really do." he said as the parent raged at him. He hadn't been laughed off of the stage, that would've been something, at least he would've provided some form of entertainment, but no, people had merely shook their heads, the children were confused, was this a joke they'd not understood? Where was the real magician? So Spinelli had left the stage, he hadn't gone back for the hat. (Incidentally, the rabbit who had escaped the hat went on to lead a full and happy life, marrying a beautiful rabbit wife, having many rabbit children, and saving the rabbit kingdom from a powerful and fearsome dragon, but that is another story altogether).

Dejectedly, Spinelli walked down the rain lashed streets, briefcase full of various tricks in hand. Since he'd not been paid, he had no money to take a cab home, and so lugged the case after him. The handle snapped. Springs and cups and multi coloured balls and all manner of other apparent magical goods spilt onto the water strewn streets. He scrambled after them and gathered up as much as he could, but they tauntingly rolled down the sideways, into gutters and drains, mocking his ability as a magician. He sank to his knees, dropping what he had gathered and bellowed wordless anger toward the gloomy heavens.

"If you don't mind, some of us are trying to watch the television!" An old man poked his head out of the window and remonstrated Spinelli, who looked up abashed at his outburst. "I'm sorry, I've just...I'm sorry." Spinelli spluttered. The old man looked down at him, scratching his whiskery chin thoughtfully, then he let out a dejected sigh. "It's all right, lad. Nothing good on any way. What's up with you anyway, you look positively beaten?" "It's nothing, just...thinking maybe it's time for a change of career, that's all" Spinelli said miserably. "You should be one of them magicians! Like what's on TV!" The old man barked out loud, Spinelli let out a small whimper,

"What's the matter, lad?" he added quizzically.

"I *am* a magician," Spinelli cried out, "that's the problem!"

The old man disappeared from his window, and suddenly there was a buzzing from his door.

"I've just unlocked the front door," came the old man's voice, crackling over the intercom, "meet me up stairs, room 2B."

Spinelli hesitated, looking around the street at the detritus that was his opening act, and decided that it was probably safe there for a moment. Anybody would just think it was multicoloured rubbish anyway. He opened the door to the building and found himself staring down a dark hallway. He quietly closed the door behind him, and found himself creeping down the hallway. It was very dark, very dusty and the floorboards beneath his feet creaked uneasily with every footfall. As he passed the shadowy doorways of the first floor, he had the distinct impression that he was being watched, and this unnerved him greatly. He was so unnerved, he failed to see the first step of the stairway up to the second floor, he tripped upwards and hit his face hard on the balustrade. A thick patter of blood dripped from his nose onto the dusty steps beneath his feet.

"Ow! Shit! Shit!" he mumbled, and reaching into his inside jacket pocket, produced a flag of many nations. He ripped a few of the nations off and tried to stem the blood flow from his nose, and with the rest, he attempted to mop the blood from the stairway. All he did was spread the puddle out. He glanced around, and again felt that he was being watched, even though he could see that the only way the people behind the doors could see him where he was now, would be by opening them and stepping through. He hurriedly stuffed the flags he'd used for mopping the blood back into his pocket, and with one hand on the balustrade, and the other clutching the remaining flags to his bleeding nose, he continued ascending the stairway.

The Magician - part 2

Spinelli reached the top of the stairs and looked around. The hallway was short and there was only four doors. He shifted his weight on the creaky floor, trying to will his foot forwards but it didn't seem to want to listen to him. Something about this hallway was deeply unnerving him.

"Come on," he said to himself, "it's just some incredibly old geezer, inviting me up to his room, for reasons unknown...what could be suspicious about that?"

Spinelli inched his way down the hallway. He looked at the doors, there were no numbers on them. Well, not exactly, the numbers had been scratched off. He reached out to the first door and rubbed the faded scratch marks...

"Are you coming in or not?"

Spinelli jumped, a door he had not noticed at the end of the hallway was open and the old man who had shouted down to him in the street was poking his head through the opening.

"Well, come on, you're letting the cold in." said the old man, disappearing back through the door.

"...Heat out. Thermodynamics 101." Whispered Spinelli.

"What's that?" the old man's voice came through the open door.

"Nothing, nothing." Spinelli said a little more loudly than he meant. He walked forward and went through the doorway.

"Take a seat" came the old man's voice from behind a door, "I'm just bringing in some tea."

Spinelli looked around the room. It was very brown, very messy. Stacks of old newspapers and magazines were piled in rather precarious looking piles. There was a distinct aroma of cat piss but he could see no other hint that a cat had ever been in the living room. Spinelli clicked the door shut behind him and went over to the plastic covered settee, wiped it down and sat. He could hear the clink of metal on china coming from behind the closed door. He looked around the room again and saw a picture on the mantelpiece. Glancing at the still closed door, he stood up and walked over the picture. It was one of a man in a pinstripe suit lounging against the doorframe of what looked like a jazz club. The man was smirking as though he'd just thought of a great joke but wasn't going to tell anyone else what it was. Slung over his shoulder was a saxophone and-

"Oh I see you've found that old picture of me." The old man stood in the doorframe holding a tray. "Lucky, actually, as that is what I wanted to talk to you about."

"What are you talking about?" asked Spinelli.

"Sit." The old man commanded, Spinelli put the photo back on the mantelpiece and sat.

"That photo you were looking at was one of me, back in the early 60s, late 50s, I forget exactly when, it's not really important. What is important is what I was doing."

"Which was?"

"I'm getting to that, if you'd quit interrupting. Drink your damned tea and I'll get on with it!" The old man croaked loudly. "Now then, as I was saying, that was me back in the day. I was a bit of a hotshot, well, at least I thought I was. Barely in my twenties I was and I was sure that my big break was just around the next corner. So I kept turning corners but I never did find success."

The old man took a sip of his tea. "That is until one night, the very same night that picture was taken as a matter of fact, I came across something quite spectacular. It was a melody. A simple four bar tune that unlocked everything for me. By the end of that night I had everything I ever wanted or thought I wanted. Some big-shot producer wanted me signed to his record label, the women were all over me, I was promised fame, fortune, the world..." He trailed off.

"So then what happened?" Spinelli asked, the cup was raised to his mouth but he had not yet drank a drop.

"I got cold feet." The old man chuckled. "There I was, ready to conquer the world and I blinked. I think the melody knew as well, somehow. I'd written it down, but I could never bring myself to play it again. Not even after I found out the producer's phone number was a fake, not even after the girls who'd been so very...friendly...the night before, suddenly looked at me as though I was shit beneath their heels. Every little, or big, tragedy that happened after that night, even though I knew I could prevent it with this melody, I never did."

"But why? I mean, if this is magic, and I'm not saying I believe your story, but if it could make your life great why not use that?"

The old man shrugged. "I was scared. No one had ever given me something for nothing and now here was this tune, that just magically appeared in my head one evening, giving me access to everything and more. I didn't want to know what the price was."

"So, then why did you invite me up here?"

"It's obvious, isn't it?" The old man took a folded piece of paper from his pocket "I want to know what the cost is."

Spinelli looked at the old man, incredulity etched on his face.

"You've just told me how scared this thing makes you and you want me to test it out for you? Just to see what happens?"

"That's the long and short of it. Remember, it can do anything you want, and there's a possibility it might not do anything." The old man put his cup of tea down and stood up. "I'm going to leave the room now, I'll just leave this here." He put the folded piece of paper down on the table. "You can either take it, or not, it's up to you." He shuffled towards the kitchen door. "All I ask is that if you do take it, please let me know how it turns out." He exited the room.

Spinelli looked down at the piece of paper. Was this a trick? Was the old man just bored and had he decided to invent a story about some absurd wish granting tune to prank a gullible fool? He looked up at the door, there was no spy-hole that he could see. Hesitantly, he reached across and picked up the folded piece of paper. On it was a simple series of notes, scrawled messily amidst stains and cigarette burns.

"This is stupid." He muttered under his breath and then, slowly and uncertainly, he began to whistle the notes on the paper. He reached the end of the paper and silence fell upon him.  Nothing happened. He whistled the tune again, this time more confidently and with increased volume then looked around as he finished. Nothing continued to happen. He stood up and walked to the kitchen door.

"Hey, old man, is this a joke or what? Do you just invite people up to your house and laugh at them when they-" he froze as he pushed open the door. Inside, the kitchen was a mess and had clearly been abandoned for years. Thick swathes of mould painted the corners of the ceiling, various large fungi grew around the dilapidated sink. Smashed crockery and pigeon droppings littered the floor. A wave of decomposition and rot washed over Spinelli. He spun around and fought back the urge to vomit as nauseous bile retched up inside him. Then his eyes saw the living room he had just been in and he vomited profusely.

The couch he had been sitting on was covered in black and green moulds, the cup he had been pretending to drink from had become chipped and cracked and its contents now lay in a pool around it. Orange street light filtered into the room through boarded up windows. The smell of the rot of decades passed assaulted him again and he fought back a second wave of nausea and ran to the front door which he noticed was hanging from its hinges. He ran down the entry hallway and as he was bounding down the stairs, one of the steps crumbled beneath him and a pain shot through his body.

"Argh!" He cried out as he pulled his leg free from the broken staircase. As he did so he unbalanced himself and tumbled down the stairs. He landed in a heap at the bottom and was still for a moment as he lay confused over what had just happened, but that reminded him what had just happened, and so he picked himself up and ran from the building.

He burst through the front door of the building and ran across the street, before finally collapsing from the pain in his leg. He looked down and saw that it was badly cut and bleeding quite freely. He glanced up at the building he had just ran from and saw that all of its windows were boarded up and so was the doorway he had just ran through. Struggling to make sense of what he was seeing, he promptly gave up and passed out on the sidewalk.