>I start with a sincere, thoroughly thought through tirading trickle of apologies for my utmostly unmistakably unexplicably uselessness regarding the lack of an update yesterday.
There we go. That is an example of aaaaaliteration. Like alliteration, but much more serious – alliteration is a medical vocal disease caused by vocal parasites that causes severe damage to the linguoverbalisticiamtameter neurones located within the small hippopotamus.
And now time for a story, written by linguoverbalisticiamtameter neurone no. 9 to the 82.
“Voices in The Dark”
Tuesday 3rd August 2010
The fluorescent light shone in Mr Grimmond’s sweaty, red, face. It was a bright light, contrasting with the dark of the room.
“Mr Alex Grimmond, you have been charged with conspiracy to attempt grave acts against the state.” The voice came out from the dark. No-one else was in the extremely large room.
Despite the fact that he knew it was coming out from speakers concealed behind the rubber walls, it was eerie hearing the voice drift out from the dark. Forced to the table, he recounted the events of the previous days. They’d gone by like a dream.
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
Friday 30th July 2010
Alex rose from his desk, taking a peer out of his prison cell. Peering out from the top of his office cubicle, he saw Susie, a co-prisoner tapping away on a computer, undoubtedly typing yet another Doctrine to the People. 20 rows ahead of him, the office of the Director. The Director of the Ministry of Fgnarg. The unknown ministry. What they actually did Alex, and the rest of his co-, had no idea of. Just typing things into a computer – simple, right? But now, something changed. The change came with beeps on Alex’s desk – he was being summoned to the Director. He slowly left, and took deep breaths. Taking small, careful steps, he walked to the office, his pulse increasing the closer he got. A buzz greeted him, and the door swung open. This was only the second time Alex had met the Director.
The Director was a short, balding man, with wisps of hair lingering on the sides of his round head. He wore a little suit, complete with waistcoat and buttons. Rumour had it he always walked outside with a large black umbrella, but then again, not many people had seen the Director outside. His eyes fixed upon Alex the moment Alex stepped through the door.
“Mr Grimmond. Do you know why you are here?”. The Inquisition started.
With his slither of confidence slowly melting away, Alex replied “No.”
“We have.. recieved intelligence of an incriminating kind against a co-worker, and I believe close.. friend? We would find it of great use if you were to provide us with .. information regarding to Ms Susie Pastello.”
Turning red, Alex swallowed. Then he said “So you wish for me to spy on her?”
“Yes… If you want to call it that. However, it may be easier if you were to view it as a promotion. A rather sizeable one, in both funds and position. Mr Grimmond, you are a nobody. If you do this, you will become somebody. ” The Director’s voice took a bloodcurdling turn at this point.
Alex stayed silent, thinking this through. The Director carried on.
“Mr Grimmond, do you know what we do here at the Ministry of Fgnarg? No? Then listen….”
Alex’s eyes grew massive, unable to comprehend…
Sitting at home, on his computer, Alex finished his coffee. Taking his computer, he opened up his mail client, and wrote an email to Susie.
It has been too long since we properly met again, and I have a matter of quite some urge to speak to you about.
Still Yours forever,
Alex hit send, turned off the television, and went to bed.
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
Saturday 31th July 2010
I walk through the door, noting the exits out from the pub. Alex had asked me to come, no idea what for, but as always I have to keep on my guard. Seeing him at the bar, I walk up to him. He’s got a vodka and orange for me. It used to be my favourite. I don’t drink much nowadays, as it dulls my senses. Taking a seat, I order a lemonade. Dropping an iodine tablet in it and a infinisterile tablet, I know it is safe.
“How are you Susie?” Alex asks me. His face is worn with work and tiredness with bags under his eyes. But as always, his deep blue eyes have care in them. I can tell he is hurt as I didn’t have the vodka and orange.
“I’m ok. Sorry about the Vodka. Times change. Yourself?”
It had been over a year since we split up.
“I’m fine. Anything.. interesting happened recently?”
“No.Just .. y’know. Day to day stuff.So, what did you want to talk to me about?”
“It’s .. well.It’s..” His voice stuttered. “It’s.. nothing. I suppose I just wanted to see you.”
I grew angry. I came here, called by his urgency,and he just wanted to see me? There must be something deeper.
“What is it Alex?”
“Erm.. I’m getting married. I thought that maybe I should tell you.”
With this, he suddenly ran out in tears mumbling byebyes.
I walked to the station, keeping aware of my surroundings. The man behind me – didn’t I see him at the bar? Walking into a shop, I browsed the magazines, keeping an eye out of the shop window. The tall man, dressed in a dark brown overcoat carried on walking past, talking into his mobile phone. Walking out, I went to the bus stop – it would be better to bus to the station. Taking out Oyster Card 1 out of 6, I boarded. Every time that I touched in, I knew I could be followed as the information would go somewhere on a government computer. Coupled with CCTV, I could be traced. Therefore, I wore inconspicious clothing, took roundabout routes and never laid tracks. At the station, I topped up Oyster Card 4, with cash. It was a nuisance, but they could trace my credit card. Boarding the Northern Line from Embankment, I took it Southbound towards Kennington. Changing at Waterloo, I changed to oyster card 3. From here I took the Waterloo and City Line. Oyster Card 5, as I went by Central Line to Shepherds Bush. Finally, I took the London Overground on Oyster Card 2 to Clapham Junction. Every journey I checked if anyone was following me – thankfully I didn’t see anyone.
Entering my house, I checked the locks. Nothing had been distracted – finally I could calm down. Closing the blinds, I took a book and started reading it.
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
What are you doing – get on with your job! We are watching you Mr Grimmond.
I open up my diary pad, and write this:
I am still in a dilemma. Susie could be killed perhaps – but also so could I. Should I spy on her or suffer the consequences? She had seemed different when I met her, like something had happened. So she must have done something – but what could it be, and why ask me to spy on her – surely they could follow her on CCTV and get agents on her? And now, surely I have screwed it up. What does he want me to do? How am I going to do this – surely she won’t talk to me now. I mean, it’s just so odd – She always seemed perfectly content. I don’t know. I think I’ll think it over, but I’ve got to make a decision. If I don’t, whatever happens, something will happen to me. It’s just. Impossible.
I close the pad, and go to bed.
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
Sunday 1st August 2010
I still can’t get my head over what Susie could have done. The Director said something about the possibility of saving her if I spy on her, but as the head of such a … disgusting ministry, can I believe him? Besides, what if I find definite incriminating evidence? Then I’m handing her over on a silver plate. But otherwise, surely I am handing myself over? I’ve read reports of what happens in some places where prisoners suspected of treason are kept. Some say they go mad. In any case, it is somewhere I wouldn’t like the either of us to be. But surely if she has done something that bad, she has the ability to kill? Perhaps it is terrorism? I’m really not sure.
To clear my head, I go out for a jog around the park. On my way out, I notice a short figure sitting on a bench, with an umbrella. It’s the Director. He simply nods at me, then walks off. How did he know I was here? I hurriedly go home , checking all my things for bugs. I have made my mind up.
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
I receive a call from Alex telling me to meet at Waterloo station as fast as you can. His voice is brave but it sounds different. The call comes from a public telephone. Taking my things, I take the fastest roundabout route there from Clapham Junction, going via Victoria.
When I meet Alex, I am startled by his clothing – he is wearing a tall brown overcoat. Showing no emotion on my face, I greet him. He hurriedly presses a ticket into my hands, then runs off. I am puzzled. It takes me a second to realise his lies about marriage – there is something, but I’m not sure. He seems afraid of everything, just as I am. But is the reason the same? Turning the ticket over, I see it is a Eurostar journey to Brussels, from St Pancras,for tomorrow. I go home.
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
Monday 2nd August 2010
Dressed as any other businessman, I glide into the morning commute around London. I hope Susie will be there. 1 hour and a suspicious breakdown later, I arrive at St Pancras. I spot her at a bus stop, waiting for a bus that never comes.
“Hello. There’s no time to explain. Just please do this for me. Follow me.”
Silently, Susie follows me. At the Eurostar entrance, we go through without a problem, and board the train. It’s going to leave in 5 minutes. We take our seats, I put my newspaper down, and say
“I’ve got to go to the toilet – read the paper if you want, there is something interesting. Please stay – I promise I’ll explain in a second.” With that, I walk down the carriage, out of the train, and into half a dozen police officers.
~*~ ~*~ ~*~
I pick up the newspaper in the train. There, I see a message from Alex
I am now explaining to you the bewildering events of the past days. I have received information regarding you which was most frightening, and I was ordered to spy on you. The events that could come from this was too much for me to handle, and I suspect that by the time you are reading this I have been taken away. In my holdall is a new identity, with credit cards , a new passport and new clothes. I hope it all fits you. Please know that I do this not for my sake, but for yours, and that I love you to my probable death. Enjoy your new life.
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
Tuesday 3rd August 2010
The voice boomed: “Mr Grimmond. The penalty of failure is death. You have failed.”
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
That’s all. Hope you enjoyed the story, it took about 2 and a bit hours to write.
>I’d just like to clarify something. This is a basket,last time I checked.
This, on the other hand, isn’t. This is a shopping trolley.
A sign that says “Baskets Only”, means that only people with baskets can go in. Right?
So why oh why did I see a woman, in the Baskets Only section with a trolley full of stuff in Waitrose? The sign doesn’t say “Baskets and Baskets-on-wheels Only.” Not “Baskets and Shopping Trolleys for certain people”. No.Just “Baskets Only”.
Anyways – that’s my rant.
And now for something completely different…
No fancy graphs, but I’m just putting this out there. Taking into account that probably 25% of Britain’s economy is generated at Canary Wharf,a large banking and economic area, it’s probably not wise to close the Jubilee Line for maintenance every single day. I mean seriously, if someone did a study about the correlation between Britain’s GDP and Jubilee Line maintanence, every single time there is maintenance, the GDP temporarily halves.
Tomorrow,I’ll hopefully be telling you my views about Toy Story 3. And a certain component of my Social Life. Perhaps. Hopefully.
>I have determined that Magic supports gays.
Only very gay people can use the best spells.
Straight people can’t do magic at all.
Think about it. Of course, I have nothing towards gay people. Or straight people. Or transvestites. I’m not saying that transvestites are gay. Just that magic only likes them and gay people.
Dumbledore: Most definitely gay. Had a relationship with Grindelwald.
Harry Potter: Had a gay relationship with Ron. Hermionie is a boy. She, or he sometimes joined in.
Sauron: His eye can see through clothes. The reason that Denethor is so freaked out and creepy is because Sauron’s been watching him. The Nazgul are his pimps.
Saruman: Very gay. Wears this awfully bright white coat. Hangs out with his deformed buddies, the Uruk-Hai.
Dementors: Nazgul bruvvers. They hang out sometimes.
Merlin: Most definitely gay. Probably slept with King Arthur.
The White Witch(Narnia): Extremely gay. Another man in disguise (Saruman).
Aslan: Lion/Jesus gay.
The Wicked Witch of the East: Gay.
The Wizard of Oz: Look, he lives on a yellow brick road miles away from anywhere. Too gay for words.
Robert Pattinson/Freaky Vampire or whatever: Redefines gay. Then redefines redefines.
Mary Poppins: Merlin in disguise.
Frodo Baggins: Uber gay.
Gandalf: Dumbledore in disguise. Hell – they got Ian McKellen to play him – what else do you want?
Darth Vader/Anakin: Had it off with Obi-Wan once.
The Emperor: Inherently gay for an unknown reason. But he can make lightning. Ergo..
Real life gypsies who “apparently do magic”: All gay. or lesbian. But they are all actually men in disguise. All they do is take the beard off and put loads of clothes on.
The list goes on.
Tomorrow, I’ll be discussing the correlation between Jubilee Line maintenance work and Britain GDP, and a basket on wheels.
>In London, there is a nice park.
The park is called Kensington Gardens.
In This park, is a playground.
The playground is called Diana Princess Of Wales Memorial Playground
In This playground, is a ship.
The ship is called something.
It is 16.5m tall.
I climbed it.
All the way to the very top. Like, past where you’re meant to go.
Up the mast.
This was at the splendid age of 10,about the average of people who would do that type of thingin the Royal Navy during the 19th ,18th, 17th..16th centuries.. and probably the 15th. Anyways, afterwards, due to a slight scare on the staff’s side, as it was meant to be impossible for a child to get up their oh my god there is going to be a problem help help help help aaaah he might fall oh crap hes so high up oh bugger no wait its ok Cornetto Please?
, a nice sticker has been placed on where one starts the ascent, saying “Please do not climb”.
This is as pointless as throwing a switch. If you decide to climb, I very much doubt that they will climb up and retrieve you. Also, why do you throw a switch. That’s stupid. It could break.Also, you’d have to remove it from the electrics.
And the point of Bouncing Around… is that you shouldn’t feed children 200 mints. There you go.
Have a picture of fail.
>Imagine a bomb.
More specifically, a hydrogen bomb.
Now, squeeze yourself down to the size of an atom.
And become one with it.
The astronomical speed at which you are travelling at, as well as all of the energy. Lets call this fgnarg x.
Now, imagine x timed by a stupidly large number. 10 googleplexes is good (google it if you dunno what that is). This is about equal to how bouncy I was one day.
On this day… I found a drawer. In the drawer, was a bag.
In the bag,was a box.
In the box, was 200 mints.Mints full of caffiene and sugar. I had all 200 of them.
I was bouncing off the walls..reality changed around me. Anyways,
In mathematical terms…
Quite a bit then.
I’m sure there is some point to this story. I’ll get back to you if I can think of one. It’s made a nice word though – find out about it on fgnargy.blogspot.com
P.S(Good Night P (ya know who you are ))
So, Red Dwarf commisioned for 2 new series, starting late 2011. New Coldplay Album also!
And something else.. can’t remember. Oh yeah: My Top 10 Coldplay Songs
1. Strawberry Swing
3. Fix You
5. Speed of Sounds
7. Green Eyes
>OM NOM NOM!
>How To Survive Holidays: A Guide
Part 1: Hustlers
Hustlers. The Scum. The people who stand outside restaurants and shops, beckoning you in. No Matter how much they praise you, you must hold your ground. For they are the Sirens of the recro-economic land, that is their preying ground, the resort. They came, in their masses, to fishing villages that are evolving to holiday resorts from their caves.
Their Tactic is to praise you, telling you that you are beautifulness incarnate. You are the manifestation of all the beauty in the world. Even if you are real ugly. You are beautiful in their twisted money seeking eyes, for they see the world in shades of money. Ignore this fully. Pay no attention.
A side-tactic, is to aquaint with you, by asking where you live, then passing a remark about where you come from. It is all lies. No doubt that same sentence has been said to another poor soul. But You have the guide now. You have protection. Your shield against this question is the answer. An answer that shall stump the money vacuums. The answer, is that you live, in Oompa-Loompa land. Tell them about the horrible Snozzwangers, the Wangdoodles , the Hornswogglers and the worst of all, the Vermincious Knids. This counter-tactic shall require some practice, so that you do not fall to pieces laughing, and be torn down by the Sirens.
I hope this first part of the guide shall save some poor souls, from the miserable beings that is the Sirens. The Hustlers. Show them no mercy.
My holiday in turkey was a cruise on a ship on a round trip from Marmaris to Fethiye back to Marmaris. It was on this holiday that I discovered my new found hate for wasps/bees/hornets/whatever the retarded buzzy things were, as well as stupid Turkish Tour manager guides who seemed to have a Ph.D in Prelegation and Superior Annoyance Technique.
The holiday set off badly. Our first night was to be spent in the harbour of Marmaris, next to a party boat. The crew were also all fast asleep, showing a lack of security chalance. I swear – someone could have just got on the boat, stolen stuff from people’s cabins (a large amount, if not all, of people were sleeping on deck , something I shall talk about later). However, as it was 1am, I was rather tired, and managed to get some sleep.
The next day, She came. The one who is nameless. The one who is a wrecking fgnarging destructive annoying monster. She who is feared. She who is the one. She is the Turkish Tour Manager Guide. And she must never be argued with, for she is she. She shows up on the boat. And unleashes hell upon earth, with a barrage of pictures and annoyingly bad English. Lies… all lies. Following this violent interlude upon our consciousnesses, we set off.
Our first day was relatively boring, simply travelling from bay to bay, reading, sleeping, swimming.
However, on the second day, there was an excursion which was arranged by She. It was an excursion around somewhere. Supposedly, we would be going to a beach populated by Turtles. It would be so full that every square foot would be covered in shell, and by simply walking from one side of the beach to the other, you would have seen and walked over 90% of the worlds turtle population. Unsurprisingly, this wasn’t true. However, we did see turtles. They were little porcelain models, wholesale bought from China and painted using toxic lead paint, I should think. The next section of the Excursion was to a mud bath. Wow! Let’s throw ourselves into mud warmed by Sulphur and hope that you lose a few years, or suddenly grow 10ft taller. Wow! I didn’t do this bit. I sat by the side, constructing a dam, which was surprisingly effective.
The next 2 days were much like the first, except that She did not show up in the morning. However, I spent this time playing blackjack, trumps and rummy with Chris, fiancé of Jemma, and David, Jemma’s father. I also slept on deck. This is where the wasps and mosquitoes came to die! Armed with my sturdy book and a water bottles, I killed 6 wasps. No mosquitoes unfortunately. Wasps/Bees/Hornets/Retarded Buzzy Things/Whatever Gwen(Biology Teacher) decided they were/ buzz like a bomb. That is to say, very loud, and with fatal effects. Fatal on their side, Loud on my ears.
On Saturday, we arrived in Fethiye. ‘Twas on this excursion that we met new characters. Murphy, a tour guide safari/entertainer who had a bit of a depression later on/driver/NOT A PROFESSOR OF ANNOYANCE/COULD SPEAK ENGLISH PROPERLY/ and Russian lady. Russian Lady was ugly. Her nose was disproportionately large and flat, she had too much makeup on, and she was completely red in her face due to sunburn. This excursion involved walking a 18km gorge with a river in it , white water rafting, viewing an abandoned town and waiting at a beach. Our first stop was the gorge, in which we donned wetshoes, and proceeded to walk 2km up a gorge. The first part had a very cold, very fast flowing river. It was very, very, very ,fgnargy, very, cold. Then we had to go through it again. After the walk, we had the white water rafting. This required little work on our part, as we were powered by the very cold very fast flowing aforementioned river. On our way to a beach, we stopped off at a service station to have the Jeeps cleaned and to allow them to cool down, having been driving for 2 hours in 41 degree Celsius heat. However, this service station was different. This service station had a pool. I am not kidding. It had a rather large pool in it, about 50 m by 20m. After our break at the service station, and a brief swim, we went to a beach. Here we had an option to go the National Park lagoon, or to go to the normal beach. We went to the lagoon. It was a complete and utter disappointment – we’ve done Blackpool , so people know what can go wrong with a beach. So why do it again? However, the worse was still to come. We had a timeline of 30 minutes. The Brits, being myself, Matthew, Gwen and Graham showed up on time. Russian Lady did not. She took another 30 minutes to arrive, only after Murphy had got running all around looking for her. Things took a sour turn after this. Murphy had lost his sense of humour. We arrived at the abandoned Greek town, left behind after the Greeks and Turks swapped people in the 1920s, semi-refoulementing (new advb. of refoulement) the expats. We then hurriedly went back to the harbour, and back to the boats. The last few days were dredged in dullery, until we arrived back in harbour. And then. The Second Coming. She came. Again. We cowered, simply nodding to She. She asked questions about how the trips had been. She interrogated us. She drilled a hole into our minds. She finally left. We had dinner, which like all the food, was good. Then we slept. Finally, peace at last. That would be the last time. However, her prelegation had let to Her master coming. The Manager. The One. He who is prelegated to. However, he wasn’t so bad.
And, neither was the holiday
She who has no name – The Stupid Turkish Tour Manager of Death, Gloom and Destruction.
Typhun – A member of the crew
Jimmy – The cook
Cap’n Nameless – The Captain, whose name I never discovered.
A recently married couple
Murphy the tour guide with a typo on his back
Strangers From Distant Lands, Friends of Old
Some italian family
Dodgy Russian Woman Who Looks Like A Hag and has too much make up.