Swerve

There's no way to look dignified whilst eating a baguette. Especially if it's full of plasticine cocks.

That was my opening gambit. I hope you enjoyed it. I'm feeling self-conscious today, so will need to swerve erratically between different topics and writing styles to escape my own disappointment.

This Isn't a Popularity Contest

by

Mick Stmedia

Chapter One

Kriss was in denial. And a popularity contest.

Chapter Two

As the votes were tabulated, he tried to make small talk with the other contestants. They were tight-lipped.

Chapter Three

"...and the winner is..." Kriss took a deep breath.

Chapter Four

"Winning isn't everything," said Kriss's dad on the way home, full of a service station fry-up and pride.

The End

Do you ever do that thing where you're waiting at a pedestrian crossing and you see a cyclist? I do sometimes.

But at other times, either I'm not at a pedestrian crossing, or there aren't any cyclists nearby, or both.

I live a varied life.

Seriously though, things have been difficult ever since I lost my leg in a pair of trousers. You'd think that would be impossible. I'd just have to search the left leg hole, followed by the right (or vice versa). It's hardly the hunt for Bin Laden. But it took some time.

Eventually, I realised my leg was poking out of the flies (or "fly" if you're American), confusing everyone at the International Urinal Expo (IUE) 2009.

That's enough moving around. I'm going to stick to a topic now.

I've just seen a link to Captain Beefheart's Ten Commandments of Guitar Playing on the Lists of Note website.

They're excellent - you can read them here.

My favourite is number three:

3. Practice in front of a bush.

Wait until the moon is out, then go outside, eat a multi-grained bread and play your guitar to a bush. If the bush doesn't shake, eat another piece of bread.

I will follow that advice.

I can't really stick to that topic, so I'll move on. I'm like The Littlest Hobo, except instead of helping people, I'm making tenuous comparisons to The Littlest Hobo. And I'm gone again.

It's a shame that perverts have tainted the wink.

The wink used to be an important part of one's facial arsenal. It's a useful cue: a signal of a shared secret, a prompt to read between the lines. The lowering of both eyelids is a mechanical function. The lowering of one is an excited whisper: "...there's more to this than meets the eye". More than the lid, my friends. Much more.

Society needs the wink. That need is made clear by the high usage of the winky emoticon.

;-)

It's everywhere. The saviour of the inarticulate typist.

But nowadays, a wink is too closely linked to the sleazebag, the knowing dandy, the creepy uncle. What if I want to wink at a friend? I can't. They'd take it the wrong way.

"I've been working hard," I might say, and then wink.

In years gone by, they would understand that gesture. It would signify: "I haven't been working hard. Disregard my verbal communication. The eye flap is mightier than the mouth flap. Spoken language is a doddering old fool. An anachronism. An analogue tool in a digital world. Intention is better conveyed through a flicker than a phrase."

It would say all of that. All of it, with only a ;-).

But now, it doesn't signify that. Not at all.

"I've been working hard," I might say, and then wink.

And it would signify: "I would like the two of us to engage in sexual intercourse."

I'd be thrown out of the orphanage. (My friend might work in an orphanage)

Once again, the sexual predators have robbed us of a valuable resource. Just as they did with the kiss-on-the-hand, the shoulder massage and the Lynx body spray.

Maybe we can come up with some kind of wink replacement. One devoid of predatory connotations. How about three sudden claps in quick succession?

"I've been working hard," I might say, and then CLAPCLAPCLAP.

It would signify all the things that the wink used to signify, but with no references to eyelids and more references to clapping.

Try this at home or at work. Let me know how it goes.

Of course, I know I'm exaggerating. There was no golden age of the wink. I'm sure there were just as many sleazebags around in the olden days. More, probably, because they didn't have the stabilising influences of feminism and Botox. 

But still... but still...

I wish I could wink and have people judge me for what I am: a nuanced physical communicator.


***

What's that? You were expecting a punchline? You wanted me to say "it would probably help if I took my hands out of my trousers"?

Or "this also applies if you replace the word 'wink' with 'grope'"?

Well, I'm not going to. I'm making a serious point here. I don't want to jeopardise my credibility.

;-)

BAFTA Track

I'm going to write a sitcom. Here's an extract:

TREVOR

You WHAT?!

Pretty good, right? It's just a first draft, but you've got to start somewhere. The important thing about writing situation comedy is to ensure that the situation and the comedy both exist. If you don't include them, the whole thing is hypothetical. And you can't spell 'hypothetical' without 'pothetic'.

Some quick sitcom rules:
1) You must feel ambivalent about the characters
2) The comedy should come from puns and edgy Michael Jackson impersonations
3) High stakes are important, especially if it's a parachuting vampire comedy
4) NO FEMALE CHARACTERS. No-one likes hearing about women. If you have to include a female character to make the plot work (eg. a nurse), have her played by a man
5) Kill of one character per episode - minimum. Don't give your viewers a chance to catch their breath or wind of the situation.

So, let's go through the process!

First: name your sitcom. This is the most important part of the whole thing. The title of your programme will be your calling card. People will look at you in the Radio Times. If it doesn't catch their eye, you might as well become a playwright.

What shall we call our show? We can't base the name on the content of the show - we don't know what that is yet. Cover all the bases.

Pigs in Blankets.

We'll call it that. It could mean anything. We could write about homeless policemen.

Or maybe, to give it a cutting edge twist, we should add a hashtag. That's what people do nowadays, right? No-one's ever put a hashtag in the TITLE of their show before! This is proper modern 2010 comedy.

Productio Ad Absurdum and Mick Stmedia 

presents:

#PIGSINBLANKETS

by

Paul Fung

There. That'll do.

Next, you need a setting. Where will your action take place? Keep in mind: situation comedies have extremely high budgets. They're the televisual equivalent of one of those brilliant Michael Bay films. People will tune out if it's just people in a room. You want to make them want to gouge out their eyes out of sheer joy.

INT. PETROL STATION - DAY

Next, you need to decide on your characters. This is one of the least important parts of writing comedy. Who are these people? Who cares?

No-one. If you could just have your hilarious words appear on screen, you would. But you can't. That's teletext. And teletext is a mystery.

Make sure all of your characters sound the same. Individuality is the enemy of the big laugh.

Let's come up with our characters. One of them is TREVOR. You can tell that from my extract.

TREVOR is white, male, heterosexual, in his mid-twenties, is from England, and has the normal amount of limbs (four). He loves going out on the lash, pulling birds, footie, cars, and mocking the disabled.

You might think that's enough. But for dialogue, you need another character.

CROIG is just like Trevor, but a bit stupider.

They've probably got a Chinese boss called PUNG.

Done. Phew. Characters are exhausting.

You'll need some stage directions. These should be as long as possible. Everyone needs to know what to do, where to do it and exactly how long to do it for. But we'll do that at the end. They're boring.

So, what have we got so far?

Productio Ad Absurdum and Mick Stmedia 

presents:

#PIGSINBLANKETS

by

Paul Fung

INT. PETROL STATION - DAY

Let's get cracking on dialogue. This is up to you. Trust your comedy instincts. Remember: this is a television show. People on TV don't talk like people in real life. Make them explain things. Tell, don't show.

TREVOR and CROIG are drinking lager on the forecourt (in the future). [more to follow]

TREVOR

Croig?

CROIG

Yes, Trevor?

TREVOR

You know we're good friends, and 

have been working here together 

at the petrol station since we 

graduated from university with 

degrees in German and Film Studies 

respectively, and we're both in love 

with the same nurse?

CROIG

Yes, Trevor. I do know that.

TREVOR

You WHAT?!

PUNG

Get back to work, you two. 

I start to ruse patience. 

Me chop you with rong stick!

You'll need some sort of plot. Usually some sort of misunderstanding to do with tickets for the 2012 Olympics. Some sort of swimming event.

CROIG

By the way, Trevor, I have tickets 

for the 500 metres butterfly in 2012.

TREVOR

Oh that's good.

CROIG goes off stage into a bush or something.

TREVOR (TO SELF/AUDIENCE)

Excellent. I've always wanted to 

see a giant butterfly. I one saw 

a ten foot moth, but it turned out 

to be a roundabout. I'm glad it's 

nothing to do with swimming. I hate 

swimmers and am terrified of chlorine. 

If I was to go near a swimming pool, 

I'd probably faint or kill someone.

CUT TO:

INT. BUSH - DAY

CROIG takes the tickets - tickets for the 500 metres butterfly SWIMMING competition at the 2012 Olympics - out of his other hand.

CROIG

These are swimming tickets.

(BEAT)

Thriller!

He moonwalks over to a bin.

You see where the tension will emerge?

I can't write the whole thing here, obviously, but it will probably end with Trevor fainting and the nurse (played by Russell Kane) giving him mouth to mouth, whilst everyone else is attacked by a moth.

Also, Pung will die.

It's as simple as that! 

Why not try writing your own sitcom?

But don't steal this idea. I already have a development deal, and my first draft is due at the Sky comedy department first thing on Tuesday.

***

If anyone needs a script editor, I'm only a short phone call away. I won't charge much. I just want to be appreciated.

***

(I'll be playing Pung)

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.

-

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

-

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!

Whodunnit

I've never written a murder mystery blog post before. Which is surprising. I've covered most genres. Kitchen-sink drama, off-beat black comedy, bathroom-sink drama, costume drama (difficult to indicate in text alone), dinosaur redemption epic, rom-com, sonnet, spoof news article, com-rom, Kevin Spacey.

But I've never written a murder mystery.

I've written about murder mysteries. Especially in this well thought-out exploration of the fetishization of murder. Sadly, it's two and a half years later and my Paedophile Mystery Weekend business venture has yet to come to fruition.

But I've never written a murder mystery.

UNTIL NOW!

(Well, not now. I haven't written it yet. I'm writing this bit. I haven't even decided if I will write one or just skirt around the issue.)

A good way to write a compelling mystery is to start at the end and work backwards. Well, I'm going to use a similar technique. I'll start at the beginning and work forwards. But at the end I'll have all of the characters travel back in time. There's more than one way to cook a potato.

The most important thing to remember when writing a murder mystery are:
1) Someone must be murdered
2) There must be some kind of mystery
3) The victim must not be a fish (people don't care about fish)
4) You must have more than one plausible suspect
5) Always leave your reader guessing about whether numbers 1-3 are true
6) Motives are like denim jackets: everyone must have one
7) If in doubt, GOOD

I've never written a murder mystery before.

But I feel qualified to impart seven rules on how to write them. And I also feel qualified to annotate my murder mystery as I write it, to let you know which techniques I'm using (behind the magician's rabbit curtain, if you will) and why they combine to create the BEST MURDER MYSTERY EVER.

I've never written a murder mystery before. I haven't even thought about what this will be about. I may not even follow through on this introduction. But I'm still confident that this will be the BEST MURDER MYSTERY EVER.

Also, it will be in French.

***

I've just come back to this blog post after some time away from the computer (I was waxing an orphanage).

This last section seems to include quite a bit of me (the old me, from a while ago) goading me (the current me). I've hilariously raised expectations, challenging myself to meet the preposterous requirements outlined in the above brief.

The trouble is that you're (presumably) reading this all in one go. It won't have the desired effect. A person stitching up their future self is quite funny. But as far as you're concerned, my past self and my current self are the same person.

For goading to be effective, the goader must elicit some frustration in the goadee. But if both goader and goadee are the same person, the goading turns out to not be goading at all. It's just stupidity. Or self-harm.

And self-harm isn't funny. Unless it comes from a clown. Even then, there's a pathos to the whole thing - balloon razorblades, deliberately-scalding pies - which tempers the chuckles with yuckles (the laughter of disgust).

I've challenged myself to write the best murder mystery ever. I think I will struggle to do so.

I've challenged myself to write it in French. I think this will be extremely difficult. I know about eight French words, and am shaky on grammar. At the very least, my poor French would further hinder the quality of the finished piece.

But I'm always game for a challenge. So I'll write the mystery. It will probably be short, badly written and will certainly be in English.

***

Like a Knife Through Butter

an Inspector Lammb Mystery 

by

Mick Stmedia

CHAPTER ONE

On a Saturday afternoon, a car with three passengers bore a hole into the countryside. On the dashboard of the car was an invitation. On the invitation was a signature. The signature was a forgery.

"I've been counting bushes," said Higgy, one of the three. "But it's difficult to tell where one bush ends and another begins."

Dav squashed a fly with the tip of his index finger, opened a crack in the electric window and rubbed the fly parts into their slipstream. "There's only one bush," he said.

Lo drove. They had come from London.

And so Higgy (potential murderer), Dav (potential murderer) and Lo (?) were carpooling, even though they'd only met each other a few times, and all of those times had been costume parties. That morning was the first time they'd seen each other's real faces, uncovered by eye patches, surgical masks or the beak of "a toucan that's also a milliner". The latter was worn by Dav, who had been annoyed that his creative genius didn't win some kind of prize. None were awarded that night.

"What do you think it's going to be like?" asked Higgy, sitting on her hands and wiggling to the poorly-sequenced music in her own head. 

Dav opened a book that was lying on the back seat. He didn't pick it up, but opened it where it lay, all prone and unreadable.

"Party going be killer, man," Lo's English was not good. "No costume, no problem. Gone get LASHED."

"Yeah. Yeah!" Higgy straightened up in her seat, buoyed by her initial "yeah".

"Should be right near," said Lo. She picked up the invitation and propped it up on a Dalek figurine. "Number five... two... two... two..."

Higgy looked at the house numbers on her side. Dav closed the book and looked through the window, eyebrows first. "There," he said. "By the bush."

A big cloud blocked out the sun and the other clouds, as Higgy, Dav and Lo got out of the vehicle. Lo had parked in a parking space. It seemed like the thing to do. 

Near the parking space was a gate. Behind the gate was a long gravel driveway. Beyond the long gravel driveway was a large house.

On the gate was a sign. It said 'Avenbaden Manor'.

The three passengers started to walk.

***

At one o'clock in the morning, a phone rang in the dark. On the fourth ring, the phone was answered.

"Lammb here. ... Right. Let me find a pen."

At quarter past one in the morning, Inspector Lammb climbed into his impressive car and turned on his SatNav. It took three tries to spell Avenbaden correctly.

END OF CHAPTER ONE.

***

This will be continued. Possibly. I don't normally continue pieces of writing, but the characters are so well drawn in this one that I might have no choice.

The challenge was a worthy one. The goading was rewarded. It's good to push yourself. Especially if you push yourself into a cupboard full of naked people.

I'll let this all sink in.

I may be the new Colin Dexter, but it's probably too early to tell.

!!~~POST #600 - BULGING COMMEMORATIVE SUPERNOVA~~!!

Well, well, well. Who knew? Hoon you?

600 blog posts. One for every letter of the alphabet. 600. More blog posts than there have been Planet of the Apes movies. More blog posts that a penguin has had hot dinners.

It has become a custom round these parts to celebrate each of these milestones with a long blog post, an embarrassing picture, and a spiral of shame.

If you'd like to see my previous anniversary posts, there are links below this very sentence.

Post #100
Post #200
Post #300
Post #400
Post #500

I've re-read these and, boy...

Boy.

Boy, boy, boy.

Boy is a strange word if you write it six times in succession.

I was a boy when I began this blog. I was a boy at 100 posts. I was a boy at 200 posts. At 300 posts, I was a girl. At 400, I was a pteranodon. At 500, I was a boy again.

And at 600, I am a MAN.

A LIAR and a MAN.

I don't know what's going to happen in this celebratory bag of sweet, sweet fun. But I do know this: PEOPLE IN GLASS HOUSES SHOULDN'T THROW SHOT-PUT PARTIES.

***

I like mixed media. In fact, I might legally change my name to Mick Stmedia. I can claim it's Czech. Too much of one thing is a bad thing (even if the original thing was a good thing), as the old saying goes.

So, let's boogie.

As you can probably tell, I like implying that there is some significance to this "anniversary", when clearly there is not. Even for me, this is of marginal importance. But you know what they say: "Be quiet, Paul".

On the plus side, I like that I look away right at the end of this video. It looks like I've seen a ghost. On Youtube.


***


For the last few of these, I have been conversing with my future self/ve(s). We seem to click. I think it's because we have the same DNA and postcode.

In Post #500, I wrote:

Post #600 Paul - what did you have for dinner last night? Also, do you have a Blu-Ray player yet?

(I'm a brilliant conversationalist - I can't wait to see my response in 100 posts' time)

Well, Paul. Thank you for the compliment. I can tell you that last night we had vegetarian sausage stew. It was delicious. And we do indeed have a Blu-Ray player! It is rather good. A wise purchase.

You're unable to answer me now (as you no longer exist), but I'd very much like to continue this fascinating chat.

Post #700 Paul - what are you wearing? (I don't mean that in a sleazy way) Also, who is the most famous person that has died since I wrote this? (I hope it's not Obama. Or me. Although, it will be nice to be famous.)

***

Mick Stmedia Presents:

ORGAN LE FAY

a play in half-an-act

by

Dimante Bajér

Cast:

Noola Nine - explorer, ex-plorer

Chiff - merchant

Ada Fader - musician

Butler

Peppercorn

ACT 1/2

SCENE 1

A table in a room with all of them people/things what is up there.

NOOLA: It's not easy, you know.

CHIFF: What?

NOOLA: Giving up ploring.

CHIFF: Oh. No. No, I'm sure it must be very difficult.

NOOLA: It is.

CHIFF: When was the last time you plored?

NOOLA: Ages ago. University.

CHIFF: A lot of people start ploring at university. Because you're free of responsibility.

ADA: In ten minutes, we're all going to die. Also, I'm a figment of your imaginations. Also, I'm a cipher, used to explore fundamentalist Islam. Also, this is a play.

NOOLA: I don't believe you. Chiff?

CHIFF: I have mixed feelings. Like sappiness. Or angrenvy.

ENTER BUTLER

The BUTLER enters the room, sees that this isn't going anywhere and leaves.

EXIT BUTLER

ADA: Spirituality. SPIRITUALITY!

PEPPERCORN: This is the kind of thing that should be discouraged. Extracts like this. I mean, what is the author trying to do here?

ADA: Islam?

PEPPERCORN: No. I mean, the blog author. There isn't even anything funny in here. What's this for? The hilarious character names? The unlikeliness of it all? Even this speech is overwritten.

NOOLA: He must be shameless. The blog writer, I mean. Unembarrassable.

PEPPERCORN: He's done a picture of himself, and a weak video. Clearly shame is not on his (or her) agenda.

CHIFF: Let's stop now. 

END SCENE

***

That didn't go as well as I'd planned.

To be honest, I'm struggling to write this. I haven't got any ideas. I don't really want to do it. But I have to. I have to do this anniversary post before I can move on. I could just do a short one, but that would set a dangerous precedent.

Hey! I know! Louie!

We've recently been watching a comedy programme called Louie. It's made by a stand-up comedian called Louis CK, who is reasonably famous. I saw some of his stand-up before and liked it, but wasn't blown away. But this show is really great.

He writes it all himself (uncommon for a US comedy). It's sort of a mix of stand-up, sketch comedy and sitcom, but is always interesting and frequently hilarious. It's also occasionally dark and disturbing.

This is the programme I would like to make. It's ambitious and unique.

This clip might not be funny out of context, but it made me laugh and laugh and laugh when I first saw it:

His stand-up is great on the show too. I think of him as a bit like Daniel Kitson. Neither of them do anything obviously revolutionary, but have a really interesting take on the world. The difference is that Kitson looks at the world and, underneath it all, sees the wonder and beauty of existence. Louis CK looks at the world and sees a fundamental layer of shit.

***

Here are some quick jokes, to fill up the space between two lots of asterisk triplets:

Q: What's red and white and brown all over?
A: A Communist bakery

Q: How many light bulbs does it take to change a nappy?
A: 3. One to illuminate the affected area, one to use its filament as a safety pin, and one to burn away the effluence.

Q: Why did the tomato blush?
A: Because it saw the salad masturbating.

An Englishman, an Irishman and a Scotsman walk in two-by-two. WHAT WAS NOAH THINKING?

Q: What do you call a man with a spade on his cliff?
A: Liam.

Q: What do you get if you cross a tiger with a piece of farming equipment?
A: A combine harvestiger.

Q: What did one cloud say to the other?
A: I've lost my wallet.

***

I'm terrible at talking to people. I had this confirmed recently by a serious of awful conversations. The awfulness was all my fault. Part of it was people sensing my awfulness and feeling uneasy, and part of it was just me being awful.

I stand out like an inarticulate bear with a sore thumb. I try a joke. It fails. (I know it must be difficult to imagine any of my jokes failing)

I try to seem interested. I just seem creepy.

I try to join in a surreal dialogue. People look at me like I've just knitted a scrotum.

There's an awkward aura around me. I can knock things off shelves just by being uncomfortable next to them.

I rarely finish a conversation without wishing I could erase everything I've said. I want to be a mute. But in the moment, it all seems like such a good idea.

"Hey, I know!" I'll think. "Why don't I make a clever remark about Judaism or introduce a hypothetical discussion about which animal we'd most like to squeeze between our thighs?"

And then I say it. And then I wish I hadn't.

I should live in a sound-proof box. My thoughts sound better in my head. As do my songs and my Caribbean accents.

I probably don't need to get any more insular or solipsistic. But to be honest, the damage is already done. I'm 28. It's all downhill from here, on an uncomfortable sledge, in the middle of summer, on a level dirt track.

Only joking!

Life is great. I'm happy to be who, where and if I am.

This blog is a conversation. And I never regret what I've written here! Nope! Not even that play thing up there.

No regrets. They don't work. No regrets. They only hurt.

A wise man once said that. His name was Robbie Williams. And if we can't take heart from his profound words, we might as well give up eating.

***

I'm on fire now! I can't believe I had a lull earlier!

This is the anti-lull. The llul.

Welcome to the llul.

I think I should probably stop now. Always go out on a llul.

At least now people will walk away from this knowing that I'm a man of dignity.

Here's to 600 more posts. 600 better posts than this.