Monthly Archives: May 2012

That Talky Laughy Random Fing Episode 2

To read That Talky Laughy Random Fing from the beginning, click here.

LAST TIME: Howard Richy bigs up Producer Friday’s award. Howard Richy falls in love with the… Erm… fit Linda Maizen. James Mattinson has a throat condition, possibly caused by moaning too much, but…

And we’re back in 5… 4… 3… 2… 1…

HOWARD: Welcome back to That Talky Laughy Random Fing. Today we are here with the beautiful, amazing, gorgous, wonderful…
LEFTY: Howard!
HOWARD: It’s Linda Maizen!
STUDIO AUDIENCE CONTROL: Clap! Louder!
HOWARD: Thanks for coming.
JAMES: Thanks for not drinking my water.
LINDA: You’re welcome, I think.
HOWARD: Ok, I’m going to dive straight in with some questions. What’s your phone number?
LINDA: laughing You’re so funny.
HOWARD: No, I wasn’t kidding. Linda, you are beautiful and I want to make beautiful love to you.
LEFTY: We did warn you.
HOWARD: So, you’re a singer, right? Did nobody tell you that you were beautiful when you started out?
LINDA: I have been told once or twice.
HOWARD: You started out on YouTube, right?
LINDA: Yeah.
HOWARD: Oh, wow. That’s another thing we have in common. Because I was found on the internet too.
LINDA: Really?
LEFTY: Really?
HOWARD: Yeah! I made some of the best porn movies on the web. It’s the only way James gets through every day… Wait! I’m not allowed to say that! That’s not true. Well, it might be, but I have no evidence that it is true.
LINDA: Why aren’t you allowed to say that?
HOWARD: Oh, James is on some break from relationships or something like that.
JAMES: No, it’s just from girls.
HOWARD: So, you wouldn’t mind if me and you had a quick… You know, later.
JAMES: No, Howard, I am not going to fill your sex needs, Howard.
LEFTY: Anyway, getting back to Linda. You started off on YouTube and then what? Did, like, Justin Timberlake offer you a recording contract or what? Sorry, I’ve no idea how this works.
JAMES: Clearly.
LINDA: No, what happened was a recording company spotted me on YouTube and suggeste that I made an album. They didn’t offer me a contract or anything, but they said I would be good. I had to pay, or more Daddy had to pay for the first album.
LEFTY: But you more than made your money back. It’s a best seller now, isn’t it?
LINDA: With a littl endorsement, yeah.
JAMES: You’re welcome.
HOWARD: Was it your mum or your dad?
LINDA: What?
HOWARD: Which one was the model? Or were they both models? They had to be to make something that looks as good as you.
LINDA: Aw, thank you.
LEFTY: Don’t be fooled. He’s not really this sweet in real life.
LINDA: Actually, my mum was a model. I thought I was going to go down the same career path, until I discovered I could sing.
HOWARD: Do you have any model photos or something?
LINDA: Yes.
HOWARD: Can I have them?
LEFTY: Are you sure you’re ok with this? Because we can lock him up or something if you feel unsafe…
LINDA: No, it’s fine.
HOWARD: Because you are very sexy, Linda. Are you doing any sexy moves in your performance later? Because I wouldn’t mind watching that.
LINDA: What? With James?
HOWARD: With James?
LINDA: Yeah, we’re doing a collaberation thing. My lyrics, his music.
HOWARD: Well, that’s just ruined it.
LEFTY: Well, we’ll be continuing this meaningful discussion right after the break.

The claxon sounds. Friday hurries down the stairs with a polystyrene cup of water which she hands to Linda. Linda snatches the cup and gulps down the water.
“This is disgusting,” Linda snaps, “It tastes as if you fished it out of a toilet.”
“Hey, you can’t talk to her like that,” James calls from across the stage, marching over, “That’s Friday Eiffle.”
“I don’t care if it’s the Queen,” Linda says, snatching the bottle from James. He goes to grab it but she takes it out of his reach. “To me, you’re just a little kid with a stupid name who can’t get the right kind of water.” She takes a sip from the bottle and smiles. “This is actually quite nice. Where do you get this from?”
“Germany.” James says weakly, “Can I have it back?”
“No.”
“Leave it James.” Friday says, “I’ll get your other one for.you. There’s more coming tommorow, ain’t there?”
On the other side of the stage, Howard and Lefty are sat. Lefty is trying to distract Howard from Linda, but it’s not working, until Howard remembers he had some questions he had to ask.
“Why’s there so much stuff I can’t talk about?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, James and his relationship thing,” Howard began, but Lefty starts to explain before he’s finished.
“That’s just James being stupid,” he says, “That’s not that much, is it, Howard? I’m sure you can cope with that much, can’t you?”
“But what about Friday and that Lee bloke?” Howard asks.
“Shh…” Lefty hisses, “How did you find out about that?”
“James told me,” Howard says simply, “He said I.couldn’t tell anyone.”
“Well you can’t. And you can’t let Friday know you know. She’s got some plan or something, but you can’t say anything. Howard, this is important.”
“Yeah, fine, whatever.”

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That Talky Laughy Random Fing : Episode 1

Hello, and welcome to That Talky Laughy Random Fing, the Friday night show with a big difference. Some mega-magic genius decided to mangle together fine pop culture, pure comedy and, a more questionable feature, Howard Richy, to crash your television sets every week. Introducing your hosts: it’s the biggest comedy star the world has ever seen, Mr Lefty Nightingale. And to the right is music legend and general genius, it’s James Mattinson. And, of course, the man only he’s been waiting for, the one and only, Howard Richy!

STUDIO AUDIENCE CONTROL: Applause! Not that it’s needed.
HOWARD: Oh, God I missed this.
LEFTY: Missed… Howard? Howard, it’s only been a week.
HOWARD: Yeah, but what a week. Hey, hey! Who saw those film award things on Wednesday? Come on! Hands up, who saw them?
LEFTY: Were you looking for more of a response than three, Howard?
JAMES: Oh! Oh! I know what one you’re on about! I saw that.
LEFTY: What are you on about, James? You were there, weren’t you?
HOWARD: He was. And so was our very own Friday Eiffle. Yeah. I know. We got talent besides me on this show. Give a round of applause to our producer, Friday. How much did Friday win on Wednesday, James?
JAMES: Well, it wasn’t just Friday – it was her work. She had two films nominated for about three awards each.
HOWARD: Come on, James, and answer the question.
JAMES: I was on stage with her five times altogether.
LEFTY: I actually think that’s the longest time we’ve spent not talking about Howard.
HOWARD: Yeah, we should get back to me now. So, I actually missed that. I’m sorry, Friday, but you know how I feel about watching James on TV. Elseware in my magic, amazing life, guess who I saw, or at least how many of them I saw.
LEFTY: So, that’s why it’s been a long week…
HOWARD: There were a lot of them. A lot.
JAMES: Ok, so can we stop talking about Howard’s rather overly stretched night life. We have a show.
HOWARD: Tell them what we’ve got today, my minions, whilst I go get my chocolate.
JAMES: Howard? Howard, we’re not…
LEFTY: Let him go. We’re safer without him. Ok, tonight, freakishly lonely people who watch this show-
JAMES: And my mum.
LEFTY: And his mum. And all the normal people who watch this show, tonight we have on the show emerging new star Linda Maizen, who will be merging her new music with James’ music at the end of the show.
JAMES: Linda’s in our green room right now. Linda? You ok? Howard hasn’t eaten your face has he?
LINDA: I’m fine, James. Thanks for caring.
LEFTY: Are you looking forward to your interview with the one and only Howard Richy?
LINDA: I’m looking… Ok…
JAMES: Also on the show tonight we have science genius Steven Maxom, who will be answering some questions tonight.
LEFTY: Most of which will be asked by me as I am the only one with a brain.
JAMES: And finally, we’ll be talking to the journalism gem who has taken the internet by storm with his opinions.
LEFTY: Ok, we’re going on a quick break, see you in a minuet.

The claxon sounds and the paid studio audience leave to use the rest rooms. Howard, accompanied by Friday Eiffle, the fifteen year old producer of the show, hurry down the steps, grinning. Friday bouces across the stage to James, snatching his water from him and taking a sip.
“No, no Friday, you can’t,” he snatches the water away from Friday before she can drink too much, “I have a throat condition. You know that! That water is the only thing that sooths it. It’s imported all the way from Germany! There are only three bottles in this country!”
Friday frowns, wipes a drop from her chin and leaves James to his bottled water.
“Howard, you didn’t have to shout out the awards,” she says, “It was a little awkward to sit through.”
“I’ve got to, Friday, you’re amazing!” Howard cries, “James, tell the prodigy to stop being so modest.”
“Hey, maybe Friday, you can get the show an award some time,” Lefty says, trying to sneak a sip of James’ water.
Madison, the show’s director, hops onto the stage with Linda from the green room. Linda catches Howard’s eye immediatly and her uncovered flesh and slender build holds it. Had Lefty not been married and James not been on a ‘break from relationships’, they would probably have been in a similar state as Howard.
“Hi,” Linda says with a little wave to the boys.
Whilst Madison is explaining a few last minuet details to Linda, Howard dives across the stage to Friday.
“You never told me she was fit,” he hisses.
“She’s a singer,” Friday replies, “I thought that was a requirement of singers.”
“Ha, not James,” Lefty laughs.
“I’m not a singer,” James insists as Madison hops off stage, “I’m a musician.”
“Erm, excuse me,” Linda says sweetly, “Could I get a little water, please? There was a water cooler in the green room, but no cups.”
“Of course!” Howard cries, grabbing James’ water and offering it to Linda. Before she can drink any, James grabs the bottle from her.
Howard,” he snaps, “Imported water. Throat condition. Howard!”
“I’ll get you some water,” Friday offers, disappearing back stage.

Bryson (working title)

The silence was only interupted by the crack of Mr Bryson’s footsteps. The waves of people parted as he walked, none really noticing the strange man in the dark overlord costume. None but the Cretshure, who sat in her bubble at the end of the room, snickering.
Around Mr Bryson’s bubble of silence, the party continued. They moved in slow motion to his unhuman eyes, and to them he was nothing but a hazy blur, a trick of the strobe lighting. The only one who noticed the personification of doom who occupied the room was the Cretshure, but she was utterly insane and no one really trusted her.
She was rolling in her laughter when Mr Bryson reached her. He stood over her, waiting for her to greet him. When she did nothing but laugh, he prodded the creature with the very edge of his pointed, black boot. Still laughing, the Cretshure looked up, then giggled to a stop, falling quiet.
“Good morning, Mr Bryson.” She said, still rocking back and forth.
“Morning?” Mr Bryson asked, “It’s eleven at night.”
“Still morning, sir,” the Cretshure giggled, “Always morning, sir.”
Mr Bryson chose to ignore the girl’s nonsense talk. It wasn’t supposed to make any sense. He grabbed her arm and pulled her up from the floor, but her legs couldn’t hold her and the Cretshure fell back to the floor, shaking with laughter.
“Stop this.” Mr Bryson ordered, angrily, “Do you not know who I am?”
“Yessir, I know whose you are,” the Cretshure asked, “But my legs are funny. They don’t want to work.” She started laughing again.
Mr Bryson frowned, looking at the Cretshur’s legs. She wore a short, black dress and tights that were ripped to pieces. The bare, grey skin that was showing was bruised and cut. The legs bent in the wrong places.
“Who did this?” he asked, emotionless.
He did,” the Cretshure sang, pointing over to a balcony, where the DJ bounced over his sound system.
Mr Bryson frowned. The DJ looked human. Not only human. Dopey, infact. There was no way this human could even see the Cretshure, let alone do this kind of damage. Not unless she let him.
“Who is he?” Mr Bryson asked.
“I don’t know,” the Cretshure said, slipping into an unusual state of thoughtfulness, “Maybe you should ask him, sir.”
Mr Bryson didn’t even acknowledge the fact the Cretshure had spoken. He was watching the DJ. The way he bounced was odd, but Mr Bryson couldn’t quite point out what it was. He grinned, completly involved with his work, until a young, thin, human woman slid up behind him. He slowed down suddenly to kiss the girl, then sped back up to normal speed as soon as he let her go. Mr Bryson smiled, that was it.
“He’s in a bubble,” he said, quietly, “Cretshure, who is he.”
“I don’t know, Mr Bryson, sir,” the Cretshure laughed, “But I know who he isn’t. He isn’t who he thinks he is.”
Mr Bryson nodded. He knew that would be the most sense he got out of the Cretshure.
Without saying another word, Mr Bryson left the Cretshure. He crossed the room, glaring at the people who could not see him. He found a door marked ‘Staff only’ and entered.
The room was painted a deep, sickly purple and opened onto the stairs up to the balcony. It was completly empty, so Mr Bryson took a long, claw like finger nail and popped his bubble.
Immediatly, the ‘music’ flooded around him, bashing his eardrums an making his entire head bang. Mr Bryson stopped in his tracks, outstanded by the alarming noise that crashed through his brain.
“Wow.”
With a small adjustment to his robes, Mr Bryson marched up the stairs. Two human women passed him, but niether of them seemed to notice him. He watched them stumble down the stairs, intoxicate out of their brains. Satisfied that he would not be disturbed, he continued to the end of the stairs and burst through the door at the end.
It was louder here than anywhere else, the music. It practically exploded his head. The DJ had his back to Mr Bryson. He bounced quickly, a belt of keyrings clashing together. It wasn’t a normal bubble.
Mr Bryson leaned forward, close to the DJ so he was invading the bubble.
“I know you can hear me,” he whispered, “Would you like to tell me what’s going on here or would you like me to work it out for myself?”
The DJ stopped bouncing. Slowly, he stepped away from the desk.
“Stop time?” he asked, “Please? I have a reputation to protect.”
With a click from Mr Bryson’s fingers , everything stopped. The music crashed into silence. The dancers froze in awkward positions. The whole world stood still.
The DJ turned to face Mr Bryson, but immediatly turned away again. No human could willingly look at an underlord’s face. Mr Bryson smiled.
“Look at me.” he instructed.
Slowly, the DJ forced himself to look at him. He winced and almost turned away, but didn’t. Mr Bryson’s smile grew wider.
“Who are you?” he asked.
The DJ backed into his equiptment again.
“My name’s Stouffer.” he stuttered, “You must have, must have heard of me. I’m kind of… Kind of world famous.”
“I asked you who you are,” Mr Bryson said, “Answer me properly.”
“I don’t know,” Stouffer said, “All I know is that I can do weird things, and not just wih music. And I know that witch wants me dead.”
Mr Bryson loomed past Stouffer to where the Cretshure sat, cackling.
“She’s not a witch,” Mr Bryson said, “What weird things?”

Evo fails

The first chapter of something I wrote at new year, kind of based on a walk I did

I had never walked this far before. I had never walked half this far before. Normally, I thought up a thousand excuses to turn around and walk away: it’s too hot, too cold; I’m hungry or thirsty; I need the toilet. Today I couldn’t even moan that my feet hurt. I’d walked a few miles but it only felt a few meters from home. I had been walking forever.
Today just felt different. Like there was something pulling me on, but I was probably imagening that. I did a lot of imagening now.
The canal twisted around a corner. The water had grown thinner, into a narrow stream, overgrown stingers climbing well off of the bank on the opposite side of the water.
I glanced behind me to check, again, if I was being followed. There was never over-caution on the canal, although I do believe there was paranoa, which I definatly had. I had this over whelming fear of being stabbed and thrown into the canal. But there was no one there.
I continued cautiously around the corner. A huge bridge stretched across the canal, which widened suddenly at it’s mouth. The bridge was, as all the others before it had been, covered in graffiti. As I got closer, I noticed the plaq placed by the council – Aon New Bridge, 1994 – and then, underneath, a hand made plaq with the words “Wipeout Bridge, 1995” sprawled in white paint which hadn’t quite dried when they hung it.
Graffiti fasinated me, even ‘Girl A loves Boy B xoxoxo’ in black marker. The ‘art’ was a sign of modern ‘respect’, the clear lack of respect for anything the council had paid for and the respect for youth in the area. I could always tell who had the most respect. It was the sprayers who covered a huge amount of space and yet no one dared spray over. I could also tell who were the gang in the area. O.G.S was sprayed on just about everything in our neighbourhood, everything ‘chrome’ hadn’t touched alrady.
The Wipeout seemed to have been completly covered by one gang – Evo Fails. Even the blackmarker tags were written by them. Their tags had covered the entire inside of the bridge on the half I was walking under. Across the bridge was mostly bare. There were six dim blocks of light, each with initials on. One, near the middle with the letters ‘C.B’ on, had been smashed. Above each light, except C.B, was a goofy cartoon character. It all looked quite effective.
I leaned against the railings alongside the canal, gazing at the paintings. I grinned.
“I bet there’s a story or two to be told here.” I whispered to myself.
“Oh’ there is.”
I spun around. At the entrance to the bridge, a tall, thin man leaned over the railings. He looked ill, his head dropping and his eyes on the water. He looked up at me, tired eyes gleaming, and grinned.
“I’m fine, by the way.”
I stood dead still. He didn’t look fine. I had only ever seen one high person in my life, so I couldn’t be sure, but he definatly wasn’t in his own mind. His hair was greasy and dripped down his shallow face. Instinctivly, I slid my new phone into the rip in my pocket, just in case.
“I used to come here all the time,” he said, as if to himself, “With the boys. A story or two? Ha! The things we got up to here. Beat sparkly vampire romance rubbish.”
“You’re one of the Evo Fails?” I asked, quietly.
“Evo Fails,” the man said, “Evolution’s Failures. Yeah, I was one. A long time ago.”
I was edging away from the Evo Fail. He seemed weird – a weird I hadn’t really seen before. But who was I to talk? I had three voices in my head, and none of them were mine.
The man pointed across the canal to C.B’s light and smiled.
“That was me,” he sighed, “Backwards.”
“Backwards?” I asked, still shuffling away.
He laughed, waving me away. He grinned, sadly, turning back to the dirty, black waters. I shuffled faster, watching Backwards all the while, but he wasn’t moving.
The railing ended, but I gripped for it. It was too late to pull away by the time I realised there was no railing and I fell straight through. Backwards grabbed my failing arm inches away from the water, but did not pull me up. I stayed there, hanging off of a complete stranger, while Backwards grinned down at me.
“I fell down there enough times,” he said, “Don’t worry about it.”
I looked down at the water and held onto Backwards tighter. Backwards laughed, pulling me up.
“We cut out the railings,” he said, “So we could get across the canal on polystyrene.”
“That’s stupid,” he muttered, looking back at the gap uncertainly.
“That’s what Rain said,” Backwards said, “But who listens to reason? Do you trust me now?”
I looked between Backwards and the gap and nodded. He accepted the lie as truth. Backwards nodded, silently, and looked down at the water. He stepped back, his face a pale grey and growing paler.
“Are you ok?” I asked quietly.
Backwards shook his head, “I need to go.”
“Backwards?”
Backwards turned to me and gave a sheepish smile, then disappeared back the way I had come. I watched him go, not sure what I should do.
Without saying anything, I turned around and carried on walking, ignoring the shouts to turn around and go after him. At the next exit, One, Two and Three joined the argument.
“Backwards?” One asked, “What kind of a name is that?”
“Maybe it’s a nickname,” Two suggested, “Maybe he was a little – you know – backwards.”
“He didn’t look backwards, thoilugh, did he?” Three observed.
“So what do you reckon the ‘C’ stands for then?” Two asked.
“What do you mean?” One asked.
“C?” Two repeated, “C.B. B obviously stands for Backwards. So what’s ‘C’ for?”
“His real name?” Three suggested, “How am I supposed to know?”
“I’m not going back, ok.” I snapped, stopping them dead.
We walked on in silence. It was only a few meters but I could tell it was killing them not to keep on. Talking, it was the only thing the three of them were good at.
Someone took a breath and I jumped in.
“I’ll go back in a minuet, ok?” I said, “He said he wasn’t ok and went. He obviously don’t want to talk.”
“But…”
“No.”
I walked faster, waiting for them to start complaining and loose interest in Backwards.
“Four, stop!” Two called.
I wouldn’t answer to Four. I ignored it. I wasn’t quiet sure if they knew my real name. They insisted on calling me Four.
“No, Four, stop,” One snapped.
I spun around. All three of them had hung back, halfway up the path. They looked scared to death, but they were pretty good actors.
“What?”
“Four, don’t freak out.” Three said quietly.
“Turn around.” Two whispered.

Going back and facing up – told by Davey Hertz

Im not sure what I had been expecting. I was hoping dad had changed. People get better, don’t they, when you take away the problem. The thing was, I was never dad’s problem, not really. I probably didn’t help but I was never the problem. No, dad was dad’s problem and no one could change that, definatly not me. They put up a front, obviously, when I first came back. All smiley and happy like there never was a problem. Mum was the weak link. She always let her guard down when she thought I wasn’t there, and I could see the tears behind her smile. Eventually, we were back to the same old routine. Dad was angry and blaiming everyone but himself and mainly me. I was suprised mum had lasted this long, the beatings he gave her. It must have been worse when I wasn’t there. They’d had another kid, a normal kid, and that had helped a bit, but he was gone now.
It was just us. Like it was before…