“Press this button to terminate your existence. The red one. The flashing red one. Press it. Why would you request termination when you do not wish to complete the operation? Our services are highly sought after and if you wish to waste our time so be it. Your suicide bill will be posted whether you do the act or not. Frankly, you might as well.”
I tried to grab the handle on the door behind me. It was sealed. Behind it I could hear the clamours of others waiting to enter the booth. Were they as ignorant as me? I doubt it. Only a few decades ago you would never have seen suicide booths in shopping malls. It was always a very private affair, it seems a little bastardised these days. To think of it, you never saw them at all.
“Releasing sarin gas, your body will be processed and reanimated within fourteen days. Thank you for using Mark Antony.”
I started rattling the handle harder and harder. It wouldn’t give. The shouts beyond it had grown louder now, mostly seeming dissatisfied at the wait. Maybe they were blaming my age for indecision. I wish I actually bothered to look at signs, I could swear this is where the men’s was last week.
I felt my head grow heavy and my hand slip in to darkness.
Monday 30 April 2012
The Price of fame
Earth is a dying planet, almost completely expunged of all of its natural resources; it is over massively overpopulated and its inhabitants are slowly suffocating themselves. So why the hell would you want to invade it?
It’s simple really. Hurry the process along a little.
Disguised as many figures, all within the public eye they have been worming away at the planet for years, steadily eroding away the planet’s resources and crippling the environment. It’s unfortunate for humanity that the only person who is actually aware of the invasion is Katie Price.
She first discovered us during her time on ‘Celebrity Get Me Out Of Here’ when she saw Ant and Dec merge in to a single being that looked a little like a mixture of them and Phil from Time Team. When he noticed her it pointed a gun at her and seemed confused when nothing happened. She later learned that it used this gun to wipe people’s memories and concluded that the silicon in her breasts must block our weaponry for some reason.
Over the next few years we set up a series of magazines in order to ridicule Katie. She sold her soul, in exchange for fame. She even married one of us to make sure we felt appeased.
Katie well was aware of our swift indiscriminate justice. We had no problem recruiting for their ranks. Even if previous experiments had had disastrous results. Lee Harvey Oswald didn’t get what he wanted, look what happened there. So, irrelevant of how smart she actually was, she allowed herself to be typecast as a vacuous moron. It was better that than allow them to torture her like they did Gary Busey.
But despite her best efforts we steadily grew bored of her and her antics. Like any kind of toy or star that we had fashioned, she had grown tiresome. Soon we and her readers steadily began to progress on to other reality stars. Katie knew that she couldn’t let this happen. Drastic action was needed.
Her recent divorce hadn’t exactly helped matters. Although she didn’t think she was considered a threat she used her ex-husband’s contacts to learn who was in charge of the alien menace. Unfortunately for her Hello magazine hit back.
Scandal after scandal hit Katie. Peter, her ex, was in the news following their divorce and gaining sympathy. While the menace Cheryl Cole was pressing with more and more distressing stories of her own failed marriage. A sceptic might wonder why the media’s eye was so focussed on the whole concept of wedlock and, by extension, perceived adultery. Maybe they lacked imagination, but it is possible that they were fuelling a growing demand for divorcees within high flying wholly gossip-based circles. Katy could do nothing but contemplate this. She had thought her and her ex had split amicably, the media told it different.
She found herself pushed by more and more men arriving at her door. She could never tell whether they were humans or aliens. It was pretty difficult to discern the difference. They looked like us you see. Well not just any of us. Most famous people had definitely been replaced by them. It’s fair to say that Katie had been spared because no one really cared for her, or would listen to her. I guess that politicians must have been the first to go, then the media.
We have been an ever present part in politics for centuries. It is only now, in last three decades, that we have started making a push for complete control. Our first port of call was to invade Margaret Thatcher’s brain and overtake her cabinet. What we didn’t realise is that she would hit back in her own way and undermine us in turn. We realised that we had become a laughing stock and need to rethink our tactics. John Major back peddled some of their previous errors while Blair deconstructed the last bastion of leftist Britain. This ensured that those at the top would always be at the top.
Katie didn’t understand this though. As far as she knew we just controlled a small collection of trashy magazines and ITV; nothing that anyone would, or rather should, actually care about. It is important to add that Katie did, they were her living after all. She must have found herself at odds when she realised that she literally couldn’t live with these magazines; and that she couldn’t live without them. Maybe, in hindsight, I was bound to be captured.
It’s simple really. Hurry the process along a little.
Disguised as many figures, all within the public eye they have been worming away at the planet for years, steadily eroding away the planet’s resources and crippling the environment. It’s unfortunate for humanity that the only person who is actually aware of the invasion is Katie Price.
She first discovered us during her time on ‘Celebrity Get Me Out Of Here’ when she saw Ant and Dec merge in to a single being that looked a little like a mixture of them and Phil from Time Team. When he noticed her it pointed a gun at her and seemed confused when nothing happened. She later learned that it used this gun to wipe people’s memories and concluded that the silicon in her breasts must block our weaponry for some reason.
Over the next few years we set up a series of magazines in order to ridicule Katie. She sold her soul, in exchange for fame. She even married one of us to make sure we felt appeased.
Katie well was aware of our swift indiscriminate justice. We had no problem recruiting for their ranks. Even if previous experiments had had disastrous results. Lee Harvey Oswald didn’t get what he wanted, look what happened there. So, irrelevant of how smart she actually was, she allowed herself to be typecast as a vacuous moron. It was better that than allow them to torture her like they did Gary Busey.
But despite her best efforts we steadily grew bored of her and her antics. Like any kind of toy or star that we had fashioned, she had grown tiresome. Soon we and her readers steadily began to progress on to other reality stars. Katie knew that she couldn’t let this happen. Drastic action was needed.
Her recent divorce hadn’t exactly helped matters. Although she didn’t think she was considered a threat she used her ex-husband’s contacts to learn who was in charge of the alien menace. Unfortunately for her Hello magazine hit back.
Scandal after scandal hit Katie. Peter, her ex, was in the news following their divorce and gaining sympathy. While the menace Cheryl Cole was pressing with more and more distressing stories of her own failed marriage. A sceptic might wonder why the media’s eye was so focussed on the whole concept of wedlock and, by extension, perceived adultery. Maybe they lacked imagination, but it is possible that they were fuelling a growing demand for divorcees within high flying wholly gossip-based circles. Katy could do nothing but contemplate this. She had thought her and her ex had split amicably, the media told it different.
She found herself pushed by more and more men arriving at her door. She could never tell whether they were humans or aliens. It was pretty difficult to discern the difference. They looked like us you see. Well not just any of us. Most famous people had definitely been replaced by them. It’s fair to say that Katie had been spared because no one really cared for her, or would listen to her. I guess that politicians must have been the first to go, then the media.
We have been an ever present part in politics for centuries. It is only now, in last three decades, that we have started making a push for complete control. Our first port of call was to invade Margaret Thatcher’s brain and overtake her cabinet. What we didn’t realise is that she would hit back in her own way and undermine us in turn. We realised that we had become a laughing stock and need to rethink our tactics. John Major back peddled some of their previous errors while Blair deconstructed the last bastion of leftist Britain. This ensured that those at the top would always be at the top.
Katie didn’t understand this though. As far as she knew we just controlled a small collection of trashy magazines and ITV; nothing that anyone would, or rather should, actually care about. It is important to add that Katie did, they were her living after all. She must have found herself at odds when she realised that she literally couldn’t live with these magazines; and that she couldn’t live without them. Maybe, in hindsight, I was bound to be captured.
The Race
‘It’s easy Brian, you have to use a mixture of balance and speed. Here.’
Dad passed me the spoon with an egg glued firmly on its business end. Our eyes locked with mine in the way that only a father and son can.
‘Now son, a Murphy is expected to win this race every year, it’s in your blood.’
As he did this I started checking my pockets, I’m not really sure what for though. I could feel his eyes pressing on me, and my head sinking, as I tried avoiding eye contact.
I looked to my right toward my friend Danny having a very similar conversation with his father. Well except for the fact that they were smiling and actually looked happy to be here.
‘I know that the egg is glued on, but you have to make sure to sell it properly. Brian, pay attention!’
Dad had now gotten a little frustrated. I don’t really see what’s so important about a hundred yard dash. I know I’m expected to do well; Murphy’s always do well.
The announcer called all the participants up to the starting grid. Just as I was leaving Dad grabbed my shoulder.
‘Remember son, sell the lie.’
As I lined up on the starting grid I eyed up the other contestants. I could see Danny at the other end of it, when he saw me he gave me a quick smile before steadying his egg. I thought I should do the same, follow dad’s advice and all that.
At the sidelines I saw dad standing with Uncle Philip, both of them didn’t seem very excited and seemed to be counting money, not actually looking at the race. Maybe I saw them at a bad moment.
The announcer came up to the starting grid.
‘Ready. Get set. Go!’
Dad passed me the spoon with an egg glued firmly on its business end. Our eyes locked with mine in the way that only a father and son can.
‘Now son, a Murphy is expected to win this race every year, it’s in your blood.’
As he did this I started checking my pockets, I’m not really sure what for though. I could feel his eyes pressing on me, and my head sinking, as I tried avoiding eye contact.
I looked to my right toward my friend Danny having a very similar conversation with his father. Well except for the fact that they were smiling and actually looked happy to be here.
‘I know that the egg is glued on, but you have to make sure to sell it properly. Brian, pay attention!’
Dad had now gotten a little frustrated. I don’t really see what’s so important about a hundred yard dash. I know I’m expected to do well; Murphy’s always do well.
The announcer called all the participants up to the starting grid. Just as I was leaving Dad grabbed my shoulder.
‘Remember son, sell the lie.’
As I lined up on the starting grid I eyed up the other contestants. I could see Danny at the other end of it, when he saw me he gave me a quick smile before steadying his egg. I thought I should do the same, follow dad’s advice and all that.
At the sidelines I saw dad standing with Uncle Philip, both of them didn’t seem very excited and seemed to be counting money, not actually looking at the race. Maybe I saw them at a bad moment.
The announcer came up to the starting grid.
‘Ready. Get set. Go!’
The System.
I feel like the man is keeping his eyes on me. The day I mention getting my girlfriend a dog for her birthday I find a series of targeted adverts on my Facebook page. Fancy some pet insurance? Why not take a trip to Crufts to make yourself feel insecure about your athletically redundant pet? Admittedly I’d much rather a Great Dane or a Labrador over a Pug or a toy dog. The idea of those animals living, eating and shitting inside handbags is disgusting. I suppose there is a back up purse just in case they make a mess or even a colostomy bag attached to the mutt’s arse.
Maybe I’m thinking a little too much about the logistics of owning an animal. It won’t be my handbag after all.
The government is definitely spying on me though. My ownership will affect the economy. I know I’m nothing more than a Tesco club-card statistic, but who the fuck cares, it’s my own business if I want to own a pet; not a tight-lipped businessman who probably came to fame through media gauntlets such as the apprentice.
I’ve decided to start messing with the system, so I can see what attention I can get with the media’s critical eye. Cat resurrections here I come.
Stella
“See my friend Stella over there, she’s bubbly, you’d love her.”
“She looks a bit orange to me.”
“That’s just a result of modern day brewing man. Preservatives and that.”
“Sure I won’t get cholera or nothing?”
“No, she’s clean, not so sure about the pipes though, can’t guarantee that you won’t catch anything.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Well you don’t know where they’ve been these days do you? I’m sure I saw some Rattler creeping in there the other week.”
“So why should I get her then?”
“Well I hear that she’ll bring her fruity mate along later.
“Oh now I get it.”
“But you should, she’s your type, dry and forgettable.”
“Well if you’re sure I’ll have a taste, a tipple if you will.”
“Yeah mate, course, go get her.”
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