Bats

OooOOOooooh!

It's time for a scaretacular, spooktastic, bone-chilling, Halloween Tweet Compilation!

The scariest thing about this compilation is that it's just like my normal tweet compilations, and doesn't contain much specific Halloween content! Isn't that unsettling?


OooOOOooooh!

The eerie normality of the whole thing will make your blood turn colder than it normally is, unless you're a snowman or an ice rabbit.

Do you dare step inside the parade of sentences? Will you take your life in your hands by navigating the dingy corridors of whimsy?

Will your heart withstand the fall through several feet of poorly-formatted sentences?

(I try to format these better each time, but Blogger won't let me. It's annoying. OooOOh, etc)

Also, it's not technically Halloween yet. It's temporally compromised. Bwahahaha!

I'm wearing a sheet as I write this. And am sharpening my fangs. And am sharpening my sheet.

OooOoo... oh forget it.

Let's get rolling. I know what you want - a thousand pounds. I'm afraid I don't have that kind (or any kind) of money. So instead you'll have to make do with another edition of

Frankingstein's Twonster

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There's a sensor on our water cooler that makes it dispense liquid at a tenth of normal speed whenever someone else is waiting.

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Nearly fell off my chair. Tried to play it off as a Newtonian trust exercise.

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I made the following notes during my work meeting this afternoon:

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Cakes have got such stupid names. Like Victoria Sponge. What's her deal?

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When you're parading a corpse through the streets are you supposed to go with traffic or against it?

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When I roll up my sleeves, it doesn't mean I'm going to get down to work. I just want to smoke my sleeves.

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"Tarzan backwards is Nazrat. Marzipan is an anagram of Nazi ramp." - Work at the think tank was hard, but rewarding.

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My favourite thing about the band Another Level was they really captured the frustration of playing a video game that's too long.

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One of the hardest things to eat with chopsticks is a knife and fork.

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It's really difficult to sleep in our bath. We've locked the door. You'd have to shin up the drainpipe.

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I want nothing more than to have my own weekly column. I'd have a Parthenon in no time!

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Documentary Pitch: OVER THE RAINBOW - We follow several people who used to really like rainbows, but now find them a bit 'meh'.

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Sitcom Pitch: MY EIGHTEEN-THOUSAND UNCLES - A hapless college drop-out is forced to live with an unrealistic number of wacky relatives.

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Quiz Show Pitch: WHISK - a mix of card game 'whist', board game 'Risk' and kitchen utensil 'whisk'. The stakes are high, as is the meringue.

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My nose always hits the ground running.

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How do you think they test sneeze guards? I don't think you can replicate the unique magic of a sneeze under laboratory conditions.

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I've thought about learning how to juggle. I don't remember exactly when. Probably 2003/4.

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I'd like to wear one of those gloves with no fingers or thumb, made of paper instead of wool. You know: napkins. One of those napkin gloves.

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But who delivers stork babies?

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I'm dancing as I write this. zldijjp;oj (I just fell)

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Where there's sasmoke there's sapphire.

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Blue Peter once made an underwhelming attempt to find a left ventricle and atrium for a dying boy. It was a bit of half-hearted appeal.

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Children were less keen to earn a Blew Peter badge.

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I once offered a sheriff an apéritif. I didn't draw his attention to it, but I could tell he respected me.

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I'm going to name my first child. (After that, I'll get a bit more laissez-faire about the whole thing)

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You can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear. Not when your hands are shaking like that.

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It's common for young botanists to have an imaginary frond.

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You don't need to read to your children. Just tattoo the full text of The Wind in the Willows on their abdomen and buy them a mirror.

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You shouldn't cut off your nose to spite your nose-knife.

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I dreamt about bees last night, and when I woke up I was covered in stripes.

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Should I make a to-do list? I know they're useful, but I just don't like the idea of my day's activities being dictated by a .txt file.

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Could do it in Paint, I suppose.

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Written out, it's not so bad:

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Pitch black on a late October evening, and the unmistakable sounds of an ice-cream van ring out through Summertown. Ice-cream is perennial.

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A true Scotsman never wears anything under his glass kilt.

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Smoking a pipe makes you look like a very sophisticated plumber.

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You don't need to achieve anything on a Sunday, right? It would be blasphemous. I'm just going to sit here, pious and slovenly.

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Our hob has the ring of authenticity.

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"How do you like your eggs?" "With all my heart!" - extract from hen melodrama I'm working on.

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I pointed out a big apple lying on the street. Lucy said "It's New York!". But she was wrong. It wasn't New York, it was just an apple.

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Fans of the England Moisturiser Team are known as "The Balmy Army".

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You may think I'm above jokes like that last tweet. Well I'm not. I'm below them.

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I'm never reckless. In fact, I'm positively bursting with reck. Does anyone want any? I leave my reck in a box outside, like windfall pears.

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Scaly baguette fakery; a double-take at a snake in a bakery.

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Cutting people in half is passé. I'd like to see a magician mince his volunteer and bake them whole again.

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When I go to pick my kids up from school, the teachers always tell me there needs to be some kind of genetic/legal basis of child ownership.

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Pigs view spoons as portable mini-troughs. "How do they do it?" they think, seething.

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If the internet ever cashes all of my spell cheques, I'll be bankrupt many times over.

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There isn't time for thi

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I can never identify with blues singers, because they always seem to get up in the morning.

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I'm feeling foggy-headed today. But luckily I've installed tiny lighthouses all over the flat, which warn me off the corners of tables etc.

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The best way to save-up all your spare pigs is by stuffing them into a giant coin.

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I spend too much time worrying about how little time I spend worrying about what I'm going to do with my life.

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40% of all landfill is composed of the little bits of metal/plastic they remove to make the holes in colanders. #fact

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I spent £5.49 on a bottle of fake fake tan. Turned out to be water.

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It's legally acceptable to buy fake tan with counterfeit money. "Like for like," you say to the shop owner. "Like for like".

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And you can brush false teeth with hypothetiColgate. DON'T TELL ANYONE.

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I've only ever worn an odd number of hats.

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I've got a life-sized skull tattooed on my skull.

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Sitcom Pitch: BELLE OF THE BALL - Amateur campanologist forced to perform vasectomy, mishap = sentient testicle. Vindictive witch(?)

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Quiz Show Pitch: WIN YOUR WIFE BACK - Have you lost your wife? No? Oh. Well never mind then.

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Film Pitch: COURT JESTER - Jack Black is a tennis player who can only win by amusing his opponents. Is sued by an umpire. Finds love (0).

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Film Pitch: FIXED ARROW - Remake of John Woo's Broken Arrow, but with everything going quite smoothly. Christian Slater learns to juggle.

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Reality Show Pitch: SEVEN YEAR ITCH - Following the seven-year mission of an itching powder factory. Starting from scratch.

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I clip my toenails round the ear.

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My Halloween costume is going to be terrifying this year: a slightly older me.

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Too many Cook Islands spoil the Broth Islands.

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A Red Kite circles our neighbourhood. I've taped photos of mice to the heads of the more annoying children in our street. Now we wait.

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My thumb is bleeding. I'm hitchhiking to Transylvania later, so it might turn out for the best.

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I couldn't fight my way out of a wet paper bag because I'm a paper pacifist.

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You can teach a parrot to talk out of the other side of its beak. Takes ages, though.

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You can't spell Thursday without... ur...

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I'M TWEETING TO DROWN OUT THE SUCCINCT VOICES IN MY HEAD.

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You can tell how old a tin of pineapple is by counting the rings.

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That might have been the ugliest sentence I've ever written. It's given me a weird sense of pride. Like having a really ugly child.

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I forgot to own my watch this morning.

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I must have loaded my head with too many imps, because it's imploded. Ahaha. No, SERIOUSLY.

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You can stuff less stuff in a puffin than you can a toucan. #birdcapacitymnemonics

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I'd like to stack loads of paddling pools on top of each other to make a giant paddling wedding cake. But I probably won't get around to it.

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If you stick a flag in it, it's yours, right? I just stuck my flag into the flag of the United States. Now I own LOADS of stuff by proxy.

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"I claim this flag in the name of my flag! I will also cover it in my bunting, just so there are no misunderstandings!"

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The rarest celebratory beast is the Confetti-Yeti (second place goes to the Och Yes! Monster).

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This Halloween, I will be carving a tiny pump.

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Are you not thinking what I'm not thinking? Some of it, surely.

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Pudsey Bear's whereabouts are on a Children in Need-to-know basis.

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If I die before I finish this tweet - and I easily could - that Pudsey thing could be my goodbye. Tragic. I should have said 'bearabouts'.

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Sometimes I get so freaked out that I go all the way through and freak my way back in.

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I put my money where my mouth is. (I'm licking my wallet)

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I've lost the Friday feeling in my legs.

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I'd like to see someone shot out of a cannon into another cannon, then into some kind of photocopier.

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Do you put the clotted cream or the jam on first? I'm rubbish at changing nappies.

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How many people in the world have got a dog called Spaniel Day-Lewis? Too many. That's how many.

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Supermarkets like indecisive shoppers because they cross-pollinate the shelves.

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I'm drinking out of my lucky mug. All of my other drinking vessels are magpies, which make the tea taste all beaky.

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Congratulations. You have completed the 'reading some tweets' game. Please enter your initials below.

I'm going to drink some coffee now. Not all of it. I wouldn't want to rob the whole world of coffee. Just some coffee.

I like my coffee like I like my "I like my coffee like I like my women..."-style jokes: BLACK.

And plagiarised.

Bits

I'm doing some stand-up in a couple of weeks. I think I know roughly what I'm going to do: a long new bit, a medium sized old bit and a few short bits of indeterminate vintage.

But it can't hurt to come up with some more material. Especially as my last couple of entries haven't been laughfests.

You know me, I don't like to plan these things out, so I'm just going to think of a random word and riff on it. That's right: riff. I know all the comedy language. E.g. the "mic" is the raised platform upon which the comedian (or "heckler") performs.

I still haven't thought of my random word yet. I'm waiting for the right time. You don't know that, of course. I might have a ready made bit of material based on a certain topic that I'm eager to share. But I don't. And the quality of the material will demonstrate this perfectly.

I've just tried to think of something, but my mind went blank. Lucy suggested I use a random word generator, so that's what I'll do. I'll use this one. You can choose the word type and the complexity. I think I'll go for an average noun. I've always thought of myself as an average noun of some sort, so it will suit me down to the ground. My random topics will be in bold. That's my exciting system. Excited? Of course you are.

My first topic is...

Midnight

[compere introduces me] [muted applause]


I was up until midnight last night. Not the middle of the night. Midnight. I'm not an animal. The middle of the night is, what, 3am? Of course, it depends on how we define the middle. Are we doing averages? Is it the mean? Is it the median? (I don't remember what those words mean, but I'm sure they're relevant).

3am might be halfway through the night, but it's not necessarily the pivot point. Because night gets thicker as it goes on. Between 4am and 6am, night is like a dense slice of chocolate cake. From 11pm to 2am it's more like an After Eight.

The middle of the night seems like it should be the most difficult place to extricate yourself from. Like the middle of a Justin Bieber concert. Surrounded by screaming girls, not even enough room to tear your ears off.

[one stifled laugh]

The middle of the night is the time where the day seems most distant. The middle of night is hidden, deep in the jungle. The contrast between night and blinding morning is at its sharpest.

Which of course means that the middle of the night is... just before my alarm goes off.

[audience shouts: "TELL US A JOKE!"]

OK, OK. I've got other material. I've got a great bit about...

Duplication

Do you ever worry that there are an infinite number duplicate realities? An infinite number of dimensions? An infinite number of alternate, duplicate yous? And that you're the worst one?

Out of all of them, you're the most boring, the most out of shape, the worst cook, the worst pool player.

They'd get together. All of the other yous. They'd hold a meeting. "Well, Paul. We've got good news and we've got bad news. The good news is that you're unique in the universe."

"Ooh, brilliant!"

"Yeah... yeah. But the bad news is that your uniquely shit. You've come bottom of the league table of possible yous."

"Right... but I am unique?"

"Yes, you're unique. In the same way that a snowflake is unique. But where we're snowflakes, you're a shitflake. You are uniquely shit. There's no-one that's shit in the same way as you, and with the same intensity as you."

"Oh. But hang on. If there's an infinite number of mes, surely there can be no bottom to the table? There must be an infinite chain of mes, of an infinite variety of shittiness?"

Then the Council of Interdimensional Einsteins would come out and explain it to me.

"Infinity has to end somewhere. And it ends with you, you shit."

Then one of the Einsteins knocks my hat off, and when I bend over to pick it up, a duplicate Newton kicks me in the arse.

[an audience member's phone rings] [the compere signals that my time is nearly up, even though I've only been on for five minutes and was guaranteed fifteen]

That's nearly all from me. I just have one more thing to tell you on the subject of...

Seven

I always think seven is the coolest of the numbers. The most futuristic, anyway. So streamlined and asymmetrical. I bet the fusty old eight and the doofus six get really annoyed with her.

That's right - seven is female. She doesn't make a big thing of it. She wants to be judged on her own merits.

Seven is always on the move. It's going right. You can tell that just by looking at it. It's pointing that way > 7.

Seven is making its way up the pecking order. It used to be between three and four, you know. But she's making waves. Like an entrepreneuse. Smashing the glass ceiling of numbers, getting covered in shattered fractions, suing that pervy three for sexual harassment.

Don't refer to seven as lucky. It's patronising. But she is magnificent.

She'll be heading further up the number ranks before you know it. She'll be above the twelve. Marshalling an increasing number of dwarves and samurai, kicking that impostor Se7en in its nonsensical alphanumeric face.

[the compere gives me another frantic signal]

I'll just end on a quick joke about my final topic, which is...

Ride

What's the most nauseating ride at the theme park?

The schmaltzer!

Thanks everybody, you've been great!

[one woman claps]

***

Well. There we go.

It's good to stay polished, isn't it?

I wouldn't say any of that was usable stand-up material.

Or stand-up material of any kind.

Or even material. It wasn't material. It was immaterial.

But at least we've all had some laughs.

Some of us have. Some of me. Part of me. A small part of me.

A small part of me laughed.

I think it was my self-doubt. It was a laugh of vindication.

Thursday

I've been downbeat today, so I'm going to try to write myself happier.

I don't know if that's possible. I hope it is. Maybe I'll find some magical combination of words that can inject a bit of joy into my brain. It wouldn't necessarily be the meaning that did it. Otherwise I could just write "puppies" or "Jeremy Kyle punched forever" and it would do the trick.

I think it might just be the sound of the words that does it. Like a note of a certain pitch that can thaw ice. I'm only writing words, so I'll have to hear the sound in my own head. And the acoustics in here are rubbish. I can barely hear myself think, and even when I do, it's all reverb-y.

So maybe it won't be the meaning of the words, and it won't be the sound of the words. Maybe my mood will be improved by the look of the words. The way they appear on the screen. Maybe the right combination of peaks and troughs and dots and crosses will be aesthetically pleasing. Like a painting. Maybe I'll stumble upon a golden ratio of text configuration. Probably not with this font, but still...

If I put the letters in the right order, it might conjure something up. The same way the word 'bed' looks like a bed.

I haven't found it yet. I haven't found the meaning, sound or look that will cheer me up. And I don't want to start messing around with colours or italics. Anyone who gets cheered up by something slanty and pink has serious psychological problems.

But I am starting to feel better. I think it's because of those paragraphs you've just read (unless you've started the blog post here for some reason - your eyes were drawn to the pink perhaps). I am happier because I've written some words and sentences and so on. So maybe the cheering power of writing is not about content or form, but about quantity.

Girth breeds mirth. We all know that. That was my school motto. It's a truism. And it's stuck with me. Whereas dozens of falsisms have fallen by the wayside (which is nearly full, by the way).

That principle probably sums up this blog. My self-esteem is directly proportional to the word count. It doesn't matter how poorly thought-out the entries are; if the text be there, the mood be fair.

We all know that. It's a truism. Or a half-truism at least.

I'm listening to some depressing music, which probably isn't helping matters. Though it is imbuing my prose with a depth and profundity that probably isn't there for you.

Why don't you re-read this entry whilst listing to it?

 

It's from that film Synecdoche, New York, which is a bit downbeat too.

I quite like bleak films every now and then. I get a bit bored with uplifting Hollywood. Sometimes I don't want to be uplifted. Sometimes I'm high enough already. Not now, but sometimes. If you're on top of the Empire State Building, you don't want to be lifted up. You want someone to tie a piano to your wife and throw her off the top of it (the building, not the piano). Sometimes you want that.

Yes you do.

Listening to film scores always makes your life seem more exciting. Even if you're on the bus. Jon Brion didn't know that his song would have a special resonance for me, having dropped my ticket onto my own shoe. But it fits perfectly. Even boredom can be beautiful if couched in the right melody.

You can't spell downbeat without 'beat'. The fundamental building block of music.

Or 'own'. You can't spell downbeat without 'own'. You really can't.

I feel a lot better now, though. So perhaps my soundtrack should change. Sad music does make writing seem better, but happy music can probably do something too.

Maybe it will make me funnier. I know that's difficult to imagine.

So, what's the most upbeat song I can think of?

How about this?

Bertha was basically the televisual forerunner to Synecdoche, New York. I've always said that. Both comment on art vs commerce; individuality vs conformity; the nature of life, death and forklift trucks.

And whilst the first song might give my writing an air of poignancy, the Bertha theme is sure to bring my words to life in a different way. Even that last sentence is better with Bertha in the background.

I feel much better now. Thanks for listening. Or reading. Or just looking.

Laughter is one of the best medicines. I've always said that.

Milk

When I was fourteen, nothing interesting happened.

I didn't realise at the time. My base level of interesting was all screwed up. Because nothing interesting had happened when I was twelve or thirteen. So I thought some of the things that happened when I was fourteen were interesting. But they weren't interesting.

I bought some shoes. Probably. And I probably thought that was interesting. I might have told people about it at the time. I might have told the anecdote with verve and creative flourishes. What was the salesperson like? What kind of socks was I wearing? Did I have any second thoughts?

But that's not interesting.

I was fourteen on December 13 1996. You probably don't remember what you were doing on that day, because nothing interesting happened.

It was my birthday. I found it interesting at the time; all the cake and bows and cards. But it wasn't interesting.

I'd have to wait until fifteen before anything interesting happened (I entered a pact with a milkman).

***

When I was fifteen, something interesting happened.

I realised it at the time. My base level of interesting was still all screwed up. Because nothing interesting had happened when I was twelve, thirteen or fourteen. But even so, I could tell that this particular thing was interesting. By anyone's standards (except perhaps Batman's or Roy Keane's).

I opened the front door to bring in the milk, which was in a white polystyrene box with a numbered dial on the front.

The polystyrene was (I assume) to keep the milk cold, no matter how hot the ambient temperature was. On this particular day, it was quite chilly. But there was no point in having a separate non-polystyrene milk container for cold days. No point at all. It would have been an annoyance.

The numbered dial could be moved around to indicate how many pints of milk we needed. Quite clever, really. No need to write a note every time. The late 90s was an exciting time for milk pint request indicator technology.

I opened the front door to bring in the milk (or bring the milk in, depending on your persuasion).

But the milk and its polystyrene container weren't the only things on our doorstep. There was also a man there. He was wearing an apron, and white overalls. He was the milkman. He had a beard. He might still have a beard for all I know.

He was sitting on the doorstep, and as I opened the door he looked up as though he'd been expecting me.

"Finally," he said.

"I'm sorry?" I said. (I don't think I actually said that. I was inarticulate and impolite as a fifteen year old. I probably said "What?")

"I've been waiting for ages. It's freezing out here."

In retrospect, I should have suggested he construct a man-sized white polystyrene storage box. That would keep the heat in. But I only thought of that later.

"I need your help," he said.

"Oh right. What do need?" I asked.

"Someone who can keep a secret."

"Oh. Right." I didn't know if I could keep a secret. But I didn't voice these doubts, which suggested I probably could.

"I need to tell you something."

"Why me?"

"You've got something about you."

This unnerved me, because 1) I didn't think he knew anything about me, and 2) he had a beard, which I had been conditioned to associate with sex offenders.

"I think you can understand," he continued. "I need someone I can trust."

"Oh." I didn't know if I was someone he could trust. But I'm writing about it now, which suggests I wasn't.

"You see these numbers?" he asked. "On the dial?"

I did see the numbers on the dial, on the white polystyrene milk bottle box, so I nodded.

"You see they go from one to four?"

"Yes," I said. I'd noticed that before. I'd wondered what would happen if you needed more than four pints of milk. If you were having a party or something.

"There's a secret number. No-one else knows about it. Just me. And in a minute: you."

"Oh," I said again. As I said, I wasn't very articulate as a teenager.

"Look," he said. He turned the wheel.

The mechanics of the wheel were like this: There was one white plastic circle with numbers printed on it. In front of this was an opaque blue plastic circle, blocking all of the white circle, except for a hole cut in it. As you turned the blue circle, the hole would reveal, and highlight, a specific number.

If you turned the blue circle until the hole was over the '3', for example, the milkman would be able to see the '3' and would leave three pints of milk. Simple, but ingenious.

So, as I said, he turned the wheel. It was over the '2', but he rotated it, revealing the '3' and then the '4'.

"You see?"

"Yeah." I had seen that before. I wasn't impressed.

But he continued to turn the wheel. The hole in the blue circle now revealed nothing but plain white plastic beneath. I felt a bit disappointed. I could have done this myself. But then, as the wheel had turned three quarters of a complete circle, a new number appeared.

"You see?"

"Yeah," I said - this time impressed.

I can't remember exactly what the number looked like. I think it was something like a funky 'H', but with some extra bits.

I looked up at the milkman, hoping for some more explanation. But something was different. He was... flickering.

I don't know how to describe it exactly, but his whole body was disappearing and reappearing at speed. A bit like a Star Trek effect. He was smiling. I wasn't.

I quickly turned the wheel back to '4', and the flickering stopped. "Are you OK?" I asked.

"Yes. I'm fine."

"What was that?"

"I think... I don't know, but I think... that the secret number transports milkmen to another dimension."

"Oh."

"I tried it before, and the same thing happened. I think it's some kind of magic. Or just science that seems like magic."

"Right."

"But I always turn the wheel back after a few seconds. I get scared."

"Yeah, I suppose you would."

"Can I trust you?"

"I think so."

"I want to go all the way to this new dimension. But I need someone here to man the number wheel. I just want fifteen minutes there. In that other world."


"But why me?"

"I told you. You've got something about you."

"I don't know what that means," I said, thinking about closing the door. "Haven't you got any friends or family that can help you?"

"I haven't got any friends. I haven't got any family. That's why I want to go to a new dimension."

"You think there's going to be friends in this new dimension?"

"I don't see why not."

I fiddled with the handle of the front door, thinking.

"So will you help me?" he said.

I was getting scared and bored, so I said "Yeah, OK".

"Just give me fifteen minutes," he said. "Then turn it back to 4 and I'll come back." He reached out his hand to shake mine.

I didn't move.

"Come on," he said. "It's a pact."

I shook his hand.

He steadied himself, dusted off his apron, and gave me the nod.

I rotated the wheel once more, to the strange new 'H'-ish number, and he began to flicker. Seconds passed and the flickering became faster. Strange particle ripples swept up and down his body, brightly coloured, faster and faster, until at last, with a smile on his face, he disappeared.

I checked my wrist (I wasn't wearing a watch) and went back inside.

But suddenly I remembered, and opened the door again.

I took the lid off the polystyrene box, and picked up the two pints of milk inside. I put the box lid back on and went back inside. My dad had been waiting ages for his Fruit 'n Fibre.

***

When I was sixteen, nothing interesting happened.

The Portfolio

I've always considered myself an ideas man. 

Ideas come quickly to me. That's not arrogance. It's not even a conscious thing. I'm just a conduit - a lightning conductor for genius. It's not talent, just a natural phenomenon. Like a really tall man, or someone born with feet ideally suited to raking leaves.

Admittedly, I'm not so good when it comes to the execution of said ideas. I don't even try. I have no practical skills, no drive, no contacts, no track record. But the ideas are there.

On Twitter, I'm particularly fond of pitching ideas for films, sitcoms, quiz shows, reality shows.  I could be the new Endemol. Or Baby Cow. Or one of the other production companies that exist, which I've definitely heard of.

I think I might form my own production company. Of course, someone else will have to take care of the "production" side of things. As I said, products are not my forte. But there's one thing I can produce: POSSIBILITIES.

I just need to decide on a name. I've used Mick Stmedia Productions on here before. I like that. Mick Stmedia isn't my real name. But Steve Coogan's real name isn't Baby Cow. To the best of my knowledge.

The other company name I like is Productio Ad Absurdum. It might be a bit too clever, though. My target audience will almost certainly be idiots.

Maybe I should use both. It would imply there was some kind of glorious merger. I could be a conglomerate. I don't know the technical definition of a conglomerate, but I like the word. Especially "glom".

So this entry will document the ideas I've put forward so far. We'll be able to identify themes, capture any lost gems and stuff all the brilliance into one handy lump. I can send executives a link to this entry, and they'll probably offer me work immediately.

I imagine 80% of these will have aired by the end of the year.

Mick Stmedia Productions/Productio Ad Absurdum

Presents

Films

Film Pitch: CIGARFIELD - Sarcastic cat franchise reboot. Garfield (voiced by Andrew Garfield) is slowly smoked by a lasagna magnate.

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Film Pitch: KARAOKE KARADOKE - Carrie O'Quay is forced to carry a dough key, to open some sort of bread lock. A musical.

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Film Pitch: BOOM AND BUST - Road movie featuring Basil Brush and a buxom actress breaking the sound barrier and declaring bankruptcy.

-

Film Pitch: DRIVING MYTH DAISY - A cow tells increasingly dubious motoring anecdotes (e.g. traffic lights don't apply to the Norse).

-

Film Pitch: HERE'S LOOKING AT YOU, KID - Adam Sandler plays his own son who's also a goat. Bogart is digitally added as laconic sheep.

-

Film Pitch: MONEY TALKS - Amy Adams plays Honey "Money" Tunney, a green-faced mute, taught diction by Ben Franklin.

-

Film Pitch: I'LL HUFF AND I'LL PUFF - Arianna Huffington, Puff Daddy (circa 1997) and a magic dragon get shirty when confronted by a wolf.

-

Film Pitch: VENTRILOSCHISM - Ventriloquist creates a wacky new character whose mouth is a tear in the Earth's crust. Learns to be himself.

-

Film Pitch: GARY - Gareth 'Gary' Garner is an average Joe, but an above-average Gary. Romance subplot - ghosts?

-

Film Pitch: SMARTPHONE - A new smartphone is invented that's TOO smart. Misunderstandings, subway chase, Ryan Reynolds. (Ghosts?)

-

Film Pitch: THE ENGLISHMAN WHO WENT UP A HILL BUT CAME DOWN A MOUNTAIN 2: DUBIOUS HILLOCK - self-explanatory.

-

Film Pitch: THE FRAGRANT VAGRANT. A homeless man overcomes prejudice and forms his own organic perfume company. Ryan Reynolds to star.

-

Film Pitch: WELL, DUH! - Mel De Gelder becomes a sarcastic welder. Obviously.

-

Film Pitch: OPEN MIKE - Michael 'Mike' Rophone is an aspiring comedian. Doctors are unable to sew him up after surgery. His gigs improve.

-

Film Pitch: CON-FUSION - Two convicted criminals are stuck together due to radiation or something, and struggle to fill out forms.

-

Film Pitch: HORSE - a moving drama about a horse, includes other horses, horses running, hooves, manes, an arrogant horse character(?). 

-

Notes:

Lots to get your teeth into there. I would say most of these have commercial appeal. Maybe not the welding one. The important thing is that I'm able to suggest ideas for a number of genres. I don't want to be pigeon-holed. 'SMARTPHONE' seems the most boring, and thus has the most chance of being a success.

--

Horror

Horror Film Pitch: OMEGABITES. People get killed whilst eating letter-based potatoes. Whatever you do, don't spell d-e-a-t-h.

-

Horror Movie Dialogue Pitch: "I'm not crazy, I'm just axey dent prone! AHAHAHAHA!" (The killer has an axe. Which makes dents in things)

-

Horror Movie Dialogue Pitch: "I'm not crazy, I'm just working on some DIEalogue! AHAHAHAHA!" (The killer is a screenwriter. A bad one.)

-

Horror Movie Dialogue Pitch: "I hope.. grr.. something really.. awful happens to you. I hope you get injured." (The killer is unimaginative)

-

Notes:

An off-shoot of the film division here. The top pitch is based on popular 80s frozen letter-shaped potato products Alphabites. I'm not sure if this has a broad enough appeal, to be honest. But the dialogue speaks for itself (as all dialogue should). These lines could be inserted into any film or family conversation.

-- 

Quiz Shows

Quiz Show Pitch: THE QUARRY - 10 contestants, 1 quarry, and some kind of jeopardy. I don't know, maybe there could be some kind of bomb?

-

Quiz Show Pitch: FENCE - Contestants try to force their faces through a wire mesh fence whilst I ask them about the Crimea.

-

Quiz Show Pitch: ACORNS AND PAINCORNS - War of squirrel attrition, jeering public places bets, they lose homes/families. Host = giant nut.

-

Quiz Show Pitch: EXHUME ROBERT MITCHUM - two teams are given spades and withering looks in the Arizona sun.

-

Quiz Show Pitch: WHICH WITCH WATCH? - Contestants attempt to identify occult timepieces, and avoid burning in Hell for all eternity.

-

Quiz Show Pitch: PASS THE PARCEL - Everyone's favourite party game - but with a twist. Every parcel is an onion. AN ONION!

-

Quiz Show Pitch: METAQUIZ - Join contestants in betting on who will win other - more successful - quiz shows.

-

Quiz Show Pitch: BONEMARROW WHEELBARROW - A bit like It's a Knockout, but with serious consequences for expectant patients.

-

Quiz Show Pitch: COUNT YOUR FINGERS AND TOES WHILST WE THREATEN YOUR CHILDREN - Alexander Armstrong to host.

-

Quiz Show Pitch: WHISK - a mix of card game 'whist', board game 'Risk' and kitchen utensil 'whisk'. The stakes are high, as is the meringue.

-

Quiz Show Pitch: WHAT'S THAT? Seven contestants of different nationalities try to determine what a particular thing is.

-  

Notes:

Very strong selection here. In fact, I'd go so far to say that every single one of these is better than every single quiz show on television.

--

Sitcoms

Sitcom Pitch: SOME MOTHERS DON'T 'AVE 'EM - Madcap slapstick set in a poorly-run fertility clinic. A foetus Michael Crawford sings the theme

-

Sitcom Pitch: HAROLD RAMIS: SEAMSTRESS - Harold Ramis (playing himself) becomes a seamstress. No laughter track.

-

Sitcom Pitch: LUNG AT HEART - A human heart (played by Chris Klein) discovers he's adopted, and must live with his lung-lost twin brother!

-

Sitcom Pitch: OOH, GET HERCULES! An offensive, homophobic, 70s-style laugh-fest, where Gay Herc undergoes many tasks (fixing boiler etc).

-

Sitcom Pitch: MY EIGHTEEN-THOUSAND UNCLES - A hapless college drop-out is forced to live with an unrealistic number of wacky relatives.

-

Notes:

I'm surprised I haven't come up with more of these. Some of these seem a bit dated, but LUNG AT HEART has Emmy written all over it.

--

Reality Shows

Reality TV Pitch: PELICAN CROSSING - The day-to-day workings of a Pelican crossing. Meet regular crossers and discover their button secrets.

-

Reality Show Pitch: MAN-TO-MAN MAR-KING - Down-on-his-luck footballer Marlon King makes gay porn, with the results offensive to everyone.

-

Reality Show Pitch: INSIDE BRITAIN'S A - What goes on inside the 'A' of Britain (upper-case). Are there people in there? Weird if there was.

-

Not-Exploitative Sensitive Reality TV Documentary Pitch: THE MAN WHOSE FOOT LOOKS LIKE A BAT - probably the animal, but I dunno.

-

Reality TV Pitch: ORKNEYS OR BUST (speaks for itself)

-

Notes:

I don't really like reality television. But I know that they are fashionable right now (or at least, they were the last time I checked - 2002). 

-- 

Detective/Crime

Detective Show Pitch: LAMPSHADE - Uriah Lampshade is a detective who plays by his own rules. Is a lampshade. Solves crimes, mainly glare and moths.

-

Detective Show Pitch: DIAGNOSIS: GIRDER - A bit like House, but the answer always relates to girders. Dick Van Dyke wears a helmet.

-

Detective Novel Pitch: CLUES TO A CRIME - A detective (private) analyses clues and incidents to solve crime. Wears hat. Romance subplot.

-

Notes:

I threw in the novel pitch in this section, as it can easily be adapted for TV. I can picture all of these in my head already. But that's no use for the public at large. These must be made!

--

Prank Shows

Prank Show Pitch: CANDIDE CAMERA - Voltaire films members of the public being hopelessly naive.

-

Prank Show Pitch: NET LOSS - Justin Lee Collins steals a fisherman's equipment, clothes and boat, and laughs and laughs and laughs.

-

Notes:

This section includes my most high-brow and most low-brow ideas. I don't like prank shows either. But people love to watch the anguish of others.

--

Other Television 

TV Show Pitch: HOLMES UNDER THE HAMMER - The famous detective is pinned under the parachute-pants of... Oh, you get the idea.

-

Drama Series Pitch: BREAKING BABS - A bald Barbara Windsor learns how to make crystal meth.

-

Cookery Show Pitch: SORBET OF PIGS - a refreshing pork-based dessert is cooked by animatronic JFK/Castro puppets. Cold war? You bet!

-

Documentary Pitch: OVER THE RAINBOW - We follow several people who used to really like rainbows, but now find them a bit 'meh'.

-

New Documentary Sub-Genre Ideas: FLOCKUMENTARY (birds), TICKTOCKUMENTARY (pendulums), BAROQUMENTARY (Caravaggio), DOCUMENTARY (doctors).

-

Notes:

These ones don't fit into any of the other categories. I don't know... are they... maybe a bit too specific? I'm probably just being overly-critical. I'd like to see Werner Herzog make OVER THE RAINBOW. And the puppet one.

--

Products

Product Pitch: CRABSINTHE - Bohemian shellfish liqueur.

-

Medical Equipment Pitch: STEPHOSCOPE - Listen to the internal noises of all Stephanies or Stephens. But not Stevens. Let them die.

-

Kitchenware Pitch: THATCHULA - a thatched spatula, for a rustic food-serving experience. Comes with free fire blanket.

-

Kitchenware Pitch: SIEVE TYLER - A sieve in the shape of Liv Tyler. For specific baking.

-

New Product Idea: A concrete block you can use to save your place when in line at the supermarket. I call it the STANLEY QUEUE BRICK.

-

New Product Idea: CERANADE - A romantic soft drink, flavoured with extract of actor Michael Cera. Gawky and delicious!

-

Product idea: DOUBLE-UNICYCLE - Two unicycles connected with a frame for added stability.

-

Notes:

I'm not just about media. I also have great ideas for household products, as you can see. I'm sure I came up with spin-off of the STANLEY QUEUE BRICK - a sleeping bag for when you're in line to use the toilet. I called it JOHN CUSACK'S JOHN QUEUE SACK. But I can't find any record of it. Maybe I imagined it...

--

Miscellaneous

New Character Pitch: MEL ODIOUS. Stinking opera singer.

-

New Superhero Idea: AD INFINITUM. Adam Infinitum constantly travels back in time to grant his past self the power of time travel.

-

New Charity Idea - Race for Life offshoot: SCARRED FOR LIFE. Just me in a tent with a money-box and a scalpel. Colour scheme: bandages.

-

One-Man Play Pitch: SÉAMUS LAST WORDS - Séamus Last is about to die (mountain lion?) & must decide who to phone to say goodbye (low battery)

-

Animal Pitch: COG - a cross between a cat and a cog.

-

Notes:

A few extra ideas here. Could possibly be workshopped into something. Not sure who to send the new animal idea to. Has anyone got God's email address?

***

Well, I think that's pretty much it. If anyone would like to offer me a job, please do so. I'll be keeping an eye out in case any of these are stolen. Remember, this blog is a binding copyright.

I think.

I asked someone who looked like a lawyer, and he didn't give me a strong no.

If you'd like to help me develop these further, I'll be more than happy to consider offers.

Seeing these all written down in one place... it's quite inspiring, I have to say. I hope you've found the experience just as invigorating.

Cheerio.

Strange Orange Stains

I don't have to do this. It's not the end of the world if I don't. I'm not addicted or anything.

It's just... if I do it now, I won't have to do it later. It's prudence, if anything. I'm being mature and practical. I'm saving the Later Me from having to do it.

When you're building a house, you start with the foundation. Not because there's something intrinsically "first" about it. There's no inherent primacy to a foundation. The foundation is like any other part of the house. You could just as easily finish the rest of the house and then conclude with the foundation. Like icing the base of a cake.

But you start with the foundation because it would be annoying to have to do it later, after all the rooves and light fittings and such.

Why have a headache tomorrow when you can have a headache today? If you have a headache today, it's just a headache. But if you have a headache tomorrow, you've got a headache plus the worry. That's why you have your headache today. That's why you build the foundation first. And that's why it's time for another selection of recent tweets!

I don't know if I've been particularly prolific lately, but maybe writing this in the cold light of day (maybe I did leave the fridge open), I'll realise that I've actually been on fire. Maybe the light of day is hotter than I imagine. Light temperatures are difficult to measure. It depends on whether the photon has got his coat on.

THE PHOTON HAS GOT HIS COAT ON!

I'M BACK, BABY!!

Here it is. The latest edition of:

Exorcise In Futility

***

I've always considered myself

***

It's windy today. Someone's outside our office squeegeeing paragliders off the windows.

***

It's windy today. A nearby weathervane has drilled into the earth's core. I've had to put on my magma wellies.

***

It's windy today. I've had to upgrade my windmill to a windmillion.

***

My friend Wendy wants everyone to talk in a New Zealand accent. It's Windy today.

***

Beating a dead horse is much better (and safer) than beating a live one.

***

I'll always remember where I was the first time I went to Chessington World of Adventures. I was at Chessington World of Adventures.

***

"The more things change, the less they don't change." - Jean-Baptiste Alphonse Karr (my translation)

***

I know how to boil the perfect egg. But why would I want to? It's perfect. Leave it as it is. If it ain't broke...

***

I've become so adept at shrugging that I've created something new. It's called "the shrog". You'll need to put down sawdust afterwards.

***

I'm testing a machine that can transform people into composers. If I'm not Bach in fifteen minutes...

***

I tried to follow my own advice, but it lead me up an alley and now I'm in some sort of bear trap.

***

If I had wings, I'd probably sleep on my side.

***

The first mouthful of tea is always an extraneous topic in AS-level history.

***

I find it depressing that there are people starving in the world, so I'm trying to raise enough money to shoot them into space.

***

If you store a Thermos inside a larger Thermos, it retains its original temperature.

***

I used to work in a lie factory. I got fired because I didn't really.

***

I'm going to read some of a book now. I know which bits to read because they're highlighted in ink.

***

I noticed a suspicious package at the train station, in the shape of a train station. The staff searched it and found themselves inside.

***

Unconsciousness is my Hawaii.

***

Someone is listed on a work contacts list as "Publicity ass". It's one way to get the word out, I suppose...

***

I'm like a bull, asleep, in a china shop. An obstacle for others, but causing no serious damage.

***

If I owned a china shop, I'd install a mechanical bull in there. People would respect me for that, I fancy.

***

9 out of 10 slugs prefer sweet popcorn.

***

I sent myself a suicide note. When I opened it, it had become a death threat. So I called the police, who in turn confiscated my noose.

***

Always remember, before you cross the road: Stop, Drop and Roll. #redcrosscode

***

If you eat Popeye, your muscles get all spinachy. Trust me on this one.

***

Film Pitch: CIGARFIELD - Sarcastic cat franchise reboot. Garfield (voiced by Andrew Garfield) is slowly smoked by a lasagna magnate.

***

Detective Show Pitch: DIAGNOSIS: GIRDER - A bit like House, but the answer always relates to girders. Dick Van Dyke wears a helmet.

***

Reality Show Pitch: INSIDE BRITAIN'S A - What goes on inside the 'A' of Britain (upper-case). Are there people in there? Weird if there was.

***

Quiz Show Pitch: COUNT YOUR FINGERS AND TOES WHILST WE THREATEN YOUR CHILDREN - Alexander Armstrong to host.

***

All of those are currently under development at Productio Ad Absurdum in partnership with Mick Stmedia.

***

Bad news: funding has just been pulled for all of them except for the thing with the fingers.

***

There's a Macbeth-style theatre superstition that you can only refer to tartan toilet paper as "The Scottish Ply".

***

I think they should redraw all county lines into dozens of tessellating penises, but my therapist INSISTS that he just works at the Co-Op.

***

I had my hair cut today, so will be wearing progressively smaller bags of flour on my head until I'm used to the weight change.

***

Like Goethe off a duck's back...

***

I belong to a fan fan club, a club fan club, a flan fan club, a cub fan club and a fan club fan club. I have too many badges.

***

I will not be held responsible or up by wires.

***

I'm going to tackle today head-on. And yesterday feet-first. And tomorrow? I don't know. Maybe forearms.

***

You can kill a debonairwolf by staging a silver ballet.

***

That didn't make sense. But sense is a fence that makes everyone tense.

***

You see a lot of trolls in tanning salons, because they don't get a lot of natural sunlight.

***

I have strange orange stains on the back of my shirt. I just hope to God I haven't been Tangoed. #strangeorangestains

***

Possible emergence of latent Dutch. #strangeorangestains

***

Insidious mobile phone marketing. #strangeorangestains

***

A wronged woman in Ancient Greece would often kick her man to the Cerberus.

***

Like "kick him to the curb"! That makes sense! The original pronunciation with with a hard 'c', so it makes sense!

***

If Robert Graves was alive, he'd be retweeting that shit dawn to dusk.

***

Reality Show Pitch: MAN-TO-MAN MAR-KING - Down-on-his-luck footballer Marlon King makes gay porn, with the results offensive to everyone.

***

Quiz Show Pitch: METAQUIZ - Join contestants in betting on who will win other - more successful - quiz shows.

***

Quiz Show Pitch: PASS THE PARCEL - Everyone's favourite party game - but with a twist. Every parcel is an onion. AN ONION!

***

I went to the School of Hard Knock-Knock Jokes.

***

It's funny to think that inside everyone's skeleton there's an infinite number of smaller skeletons, all different colours. So think it.

***

The worst breach of trust is when you discover someone else has been WRITING your diary.

***

Degrees of irony can be subtle, but you can work them out with an Alanis Morissette-square.

***

Still worried about the orange stains. I haven't checked them for a while, and am worried I might have grown some kind of satsuma backpack.

***

My brain activity has disappeared, leaving a vacuum inside my head. My skull is imploding. At least I'll be able to find a hat that fits.

***

I always crumple on a Friday.

***

You've never seen a dentist eat a ham sandwich. Even if it looked like ham, it wasn't. And if it WAS ham, it wasn't a sandwich.

***

If Prince Charles becomes King, he'll change his name because of the bad associations. That's also why there will never be a King Hitler.

***

On closer inspection, I'm wearing an orange shirt. #strangeorangestains #solved

***

When you break a mirror, the seven years bad luck is comprised of three-and-a-half years for you, and three-and-a-half for the 'mirror you'.

***

When cycling at night, always make sure your skull is on fire.

***

You can carve yourself into any shape you want, but you can't carve your carving hand.

***

I don't drink, so to drown my sorrows I have to put weights in their pockets.

***

Immortality breeds prolonged contempt.

***

So if this is suburbia, where's urbia? In the sky?

***

I know Perturbia is in the Land of the Disconcerted. And Herbia is in Monte Carlo. And Blurbia is in Marketing World. And Serbia? Fictional.

***

Stroking your beard makes you look thoughtful. Stroking your bear makes you look less thoughtful. And don't try stroking Bea.

***

If you put all the corner flags in the country end-to-end, you'd bamboozle Tim Cahill.

***

There's nothing more romantic than a baker's dozen red roses. Or just a regular dozen roses and a Chelsea bun.

***

My hair is very short. My comb is lumbering about, trying to help, but is utterly redundant. Take a holiday, mate. You've earned it.

***

I stubbed my toe yesterday. Today I'm starting a campaign to have all coffee tables be made out of flour.

***

It was my middle toe, which means I can no longer swear at shoe salesmen.

***

If you x-ray an x-ray, you can tell if the patient has broken their promises.

***

My nose is cold. Setting fire to my moustache seems like a practical solution.

***

I can't believe the Queen voices her own automated phoneline! "If you would like to make organic monarch juice, press one now."

***

I think I exceed my recommended yearly allowance of coleslaw every day.

***

When I die, I want to not have done.

***

I feel over-appreciated at work.

***

The most embarrassing thing about nude modelling is when you forget your kit and have to do it in your underwear.

***

What's not brown and not sticky? A non-stick pan. You can have that one.

***

The weird thing is, Rapunzel had spent the previous night weaving her pubes into a rope-ladder, but completely forgot about it the next day.

***

When the time comes, I don't want Uncle Ben to suffer, so I'm going to smother him with a pilau.

***

My parents never thought I'd be able to go through life constantly blinding people. Well, I wish they could see me now!

***

Do you notice how you never see anyone in the same room as everyone else? Do you really think that's a coincidence?

***

RATZINGER: Pope, KFC burger, or rodent comedian?

***

The best way to assess the validity of a psychic is to just think about it for a couple of seconds.

***

You can always tell if someone's wearing a wig that you bought them.

***

I just ate all the strawberries off this French cake. Sorry, let me re-fraise that...

***

I need to learn when to "no" say.

***

Ordering a double espresso is the best way to show your hatred for sleep, hydration, and England.

***

The man in front of me took the last pain au chocolat. I thought about shouting "It's poisoned!". But, as far as I know, it wasn't.

***

I've spent too much time on my best behaviour - it's all trampled and limp. My worst behaviour is all buoyant and plump like a plum tomato.

***

I keep forgetting where I put my glasses. Then I remember: in the cupboard with the mugs. I don't believe in receptacle segregation.

***

Some days, you can see Danny Glover wandering through playgrounds and petting zoos saying "I'm too old for this shit!". Sad. So sad.

***

NASA are supposed to be so professional, but they always leave their countdowns until the last minute.

***

If I had a time machine, I'd travel to the present so I could borrow my own clothes.

***

It's annoying when people say jovially "How are you? Keeping out of trouble?" whilst I'm plummeting towards a beehive.

***

When people start a sentence "Can I just suggest...", they rarely wait for assent before making the suggestion. That's why kids join gangs.

***

Without exception, everyone who likes all the things I like is an idiot.

***

Instead of keeping my knives in one of those wooden blocks, I just stab a rocking horse. It's the same! It's the same!

***

My doctor is trying to convince me to stop drinking. He needs subjects to test his "dehydration is a myth" theory.

***

I ate a clementine earlier. Peeling it was extremely difficult, but that might be because I was also carving a pumpkin between my thighs.

***

I think I left the fridge door open, but I'm too lazy to check. Maybe I'll just wait until tomorrow and see if I'm fresher than usual.

***

Just excitedly saw I had a new email, forgetting that I had sent it to myself literally seconds before.

***

I'm not typing well today. My keys are Söze. I blame the Spacey-bar.

***

That was fine, wasn't it? A couple of good ones there, right?

I shouldn't give myself such a hard time. I should give myself a soft time. Like a marzipan sundial. That would be delicious.

See you next time I see you!