Vol-au-vents in heaven with the Christmases

 

AMWAT: stinky cheese

 I bought some marked-down camembert and it's lovely, but it stinks. It's really not a nice smell at all and I might have to chuck it away.

There's been no footy for a year and I miss it a lot. When it starts again, the terraces will be short of more than a few people. Permanently. It's sad and it's inevitable and it's unfair and it's just how things are.

Here's a prediction: when travel opens up again, the Nantporth Squatters will suddenly sign a ton of players for a ton of cash they've suddenly accessed.

It's so tiresome. And it's going to continue.

Requirements

 

I have two requirements:

THEE FURST Requirement:

    To become functionally immortal

THE SECKUND Requirement 

    To always cascade through higher planes

THESE ARE NOT NEGOTIABLE

Your voice is animalistic

Coming down the ethereal wires

Coming in the grrrrreyskale skies

You DOPEY fiend

And let IT always be known:

    That I am Impressively Hip To The Beat.

    I will NOT be a follower of passion anymore

    I am the WORST OPPORTUNIST OF THE MALL

Holy, Holy, Holy

And Never Again (TM) Hold Me

Above all:

    Keep your Mo-BILEe HANDY

    And we shall NOT SPEAK OF THIS AGAIN

I got a weird message on my Zoom today. Not sure what to make of it tbh

 

UPDATE: IT HAPPENED AGAIN!!!!

OMG I NEED NEW FIREWALL!!

SHIT THE BED I MUST BE COMPLETELY BUGGERED!!!

Don't tell me it wasn't yesterday

It was only a year or two ago, wasn’t it?

Running around a cabin on a campsite in Denmark

Shouting ‘wooooooooooo scary ghosts’

And annoying the shit out of Sam?

 

Wasn’t it? We all had our tops off.

You never needed an excuse for that.

Working on a building site one summer

And showing everyone your biceps.

 

Yeah alright. That was a while back.

Beckham and you had the same hair.

Kinda. And the more drunk women got

The more you could stand in for him.

 

Hung over on minibuses through Wales.

Drinking through the hangovers toward footy.

Calibration is everything. Just find that sweet spot

Between merry and fighty and happy and sleepy.

 

Well. That was a few years ago I guess.

But how do you reconcile it

When it feels so raw and real and recent?

Maybe that’s the key to carrying on.

 

I saw you online the other day

Alongside loads of others, twatting about.

I could have messaged you about fuck all

But didn’t. That’s how it is, isn’t it?

 

Last time we talked I didn’t know

That it would be the last time that we talked.

It’s inevitable, but it’s too early,

And it’s beyond unfair, and tragic and all

 

Those words that are hollow.

I wonder, when you put on your Bangor shirt,

Last time, that you knew

It would be the last time. Maybe you did.

 

There are always people left behind.

And we wonder why you and not us.

Why us and not you. But no answers

Come and we shout silently into the void.

 

So. Mate. If you can. If there is a way,

A liminal crossing for an eternity or a moment,

Try and tell us about the ghosts, because

It is scarier to think there are none.

 

It fails. Language. It fails.

There is too much to process.

The world is tangled like a mind, like a life;

Strange, frayed and fraught

 

Then gone.

He has risen....?

 Click for a performance

Alleluia

 

You write it without irony

 

He is risen. He is risen indeed.

 

You, named for the son of Isaac and father of Israel

 

You are not worthy of the name

 

Do you think Jesus would approve 

Of you?

Really?

 

When you vote against feeding kids

 

Kids going hungry cause of your policies?

 

And you call it ‘cheap politics’,

 

or when you call food bank use ‘rather uplifting’?

 

Did you not think that the only reason

 

Food banks exist

 

Was cause of your policies?

 

Good luck getting into heaven.

You’ll need it.

 

 

Happy Easter,

 

You write.

 

A time of new hope, you say,

 

of brighter days ahead.

 

You, named for the glory of battle?

 

Get those words out of your mouth.

 

Happy is it, for the 126,000 of the country who’ve died of a virus

 

You allowed to spread?

 

Happy for the £126,000 of our money that you gave to a lover

 

Whose legs you spread?

 

Did you forget about the moneylenders in the temple?

 

Do you think Jesus approves of that?

 

Of you leaving your cancer-ridden wife?

 

Of your indetermined number of kids?

 

I’m not sure Saint Peter would be overly impressed.

 

Are you?

 

 

Aye, though,

 

Underneath all this

 

The facts are that people, people who love their families

 

And teach their kids to share their sweets

 

And that magic is real

 

And that you can be

 

Anything you want to be

 

These same people hate immigrants and Europe and other people

 

Other people who live a little bit too far away

 

Or whose melanin pigmentation is different

 

These same people

 

Lift up their hands

 

And draw a cross

 And draw

a cross

 

 

 

 

 

The Battle of Kalaraka VII: A short film.

 It is the Feast on the Eve of Battle of KALARAKA VII. Long, oak tables are laden with exotic foodstuffs that are at once unfamiliar and yet also clearly the food of warriors (tentacles twitch in soups, roasted meats are slavered with green gravy, knobbly vegetables etc). It’s a bit dark in there, with columns and shadows and all sort of evil-ish corners looming.

 

RAMA III WARRIORS attack the meal with ferocity. There are no niceties here - eat or be eaten - and the place is a riot of guzzling. It is a badge of honour to rip meat from the bone with your teeth. The bigger the bite, the better. Flagons and chalices of mind-smashing drinks are sloshed around everywhere. There are sounds of singing, arguing, fighting, snarling, raucous laughter etc. It is a time of excitement and fatalism.

 

 

A robed, bejewelled individual enters the room, with great ceremony and surrounded by beautiful women warriors. He is at least 7ft tall, with the most pasty-like skull and the most sunken, fiercest eyes. The room falls silent. It is the IMPERIAL WARRIOR KORB yak-F’ANGAK. The leader of all RAMA. Battle-scarred and noble, he has never lost a fight, and has sacrificed much to reach his position. Trumpets hail his arrival at the head of the table, where his throne awaits.

 

There is great cheering and energetic shouting as he stands to address the assembled hoardes.

 

KORB: Thank you my brethren. Mighty are your voices on this glorious evening.

 

(cheers)

 

KORB: And mighty will they be on the morrow, for we fight for the glory of RAMA!

(cheers, stamping, etc)

 

KORB: And we fight against a grievous, ghastly foe. The baby-eating insectoids of KALARAKA VII.

 

(boos, hisses)

 

KORB: For too long this stain on the galaxy has been allowed to fester. Their foul antennae look to pollute the Inner Planets with their hideous hives. This cannot continue. And it will not!

 

(cheers)

 

KORB: Are we not RAMA? Do we not have the gnarled hands of soldiers? Have we not scrapped and smited and smashed our way from the rubble of our humble beginnings? Our hearts and souls are hardened and ready to take on allcomers! We are...

 

COLIN (interrupting): Um, sorry KORB The Mighty, um, can I..

 

KORB: WHAT?

COLIN: I mean yeah HAIL KORB! Can I just...

 

KORB(cut off in mid flow and thrown): Yes Colin, spit it out.

 

COLIN: It’s just that I had a little bit too much, y’know. Madness Mead. And I could do with a [whispers] toilet.

 

KORB[whispers]: Did you not go before we started. Every time. I swear to the Dark Lord Kang...

 

COLIN: Sorry boss. I’m bustin.

 

KORB: Well off you go then. [recovers himself] AND ON THIS EVE OF... hang on, before I carry on, does anyone else need to go?

 

(silence)

 

KORB: Look, if you need to, then go now. This is your last chance.

 

(quite a few other WARRIORS get up, rather noisily but also sheepishly, and sidle outside. We hear various streams and sighs of release).

 

KORB: Honestly. Where was I now? Anyone?

 

VOICE of FANG THE BASTARD: Baby-eating insectoids.

 

KORB: Ah yes thank you FANG THE BASTARD. How’s your mother? Still got that suppurating wart of doom on her face?

 

FANG: No, it’s gone now.

 

KORB: Ah well pass on my regards, she and I go back a long way.

 

FANG: No, I mean, her head's gone. I sort of... decapitated her. A bit. 

 

KORB: Oh. Well. Er. Well done. Excellent. Yes. The weak shall not hold back the strong and all that. So. Baby-eaters. Right. NEVER shall the name of those evil, ugly galaxy-stealing thorax-vibrating monsters be in the mouth of our descendents! Ours shall be the last and final genera...

 

(commotion as the warriors sidle back to their places. Lots of sotto-voce apologies etc.)

 

KORB: Ours shall be the last and final generation to know of the foulness we have vanquished! For we will vanquish! Our battle cannons are ready! They are primed! They are loaded!

(COLIN has his hand up)

 

KORB: They are... oh for the love of.. what is it Colin?

 

COLIN: HAIL KORB! MAY THY SEED DESTROY THINE ENEMIES!

 

KORB: Yes, yes, what do you want?

 

COLIN: It’s just.. is it really... necessary to bring the cannons?

 

KORB (astonished): Is it...?

 

COLIN: I mean, I love their destructive force and the way their sacred ammo flays away the very skin of our enemies, and all. It’s just that I’ve got little KAL-ZA tomorrow. It’s my weekend, see. And his mother’s off gallavanting with that prick GA-REE from Zumba.

 

KORB: I fail to see the problem. Is KAL-ZA not a warrior in training? Has he not been vested with the swordsmanship of generations? This can be his greatest hour - the one he becomes... a WARRIOR!

 

(cheers)

 

COLIN: Um. Yeah, that’s true. But er, he’s got, um. An ear infection.

 

KORB: An ear infection.

 

COLIN: Yeah, so, you know. Loud noises...

 

(KORB shakes his head as if to rid himself of this bizarre turn of events. He draws himself up to his full height, takes a deep breath and begins to address the room again.)

 

KORB: AND ON THE MORROW... [to Colin] would earplugs work? Or some of those, you know, they look like headphones but they’re not plugged in.

 

VOICE: They’re called Ear Defenders O Demonic One.

 

KORB: Yes, thank you. [To a minion, offstage]: Can you pop down to B&M and see if they’ve still got those ear things... I don’t care what colour! The honour of RAMA is at stake! ... yes. Ooh and see if they’ve got those minty Dime Bars. I shouldn’t really, but they’re so moreish.

 

VOICE: You’ll burn it off in battle, Sire.

 

KORB: Good point. So. OK. Um. Tonight... TONIGHT we dine on this magnificent feast, but tomorrow we will EAT THE EYES OF THE ENEMY. And we will wash it down with their very BLOOD!

 

(Cheers)

 

KORB: And we will... Oh god. Yes Colin.

 

COLIN: Will there be a vegan option?

 

KORB: WHAT? No. WHAT?

 

COLIN: Yeah cause I mean I do love devouring the lifeblood of the fallen, and rending their flesh from their broken bones, you know that. Can’t get enough. Usually.

 

KORB: What? Usually?

 

COLIN: Yeah um, I’m trying to cut out green meat. You know? Cholestorol. I mean. I want to be a warrior for a bit longer and you don’t see many tubby RAMAns really. My doc said I was heading toward borderline diabetic and at my age you know it’s a struggle.

 

KORB: Tell me about it. One look at a MAKALIAN WOE CAKE and it goes straight on my hips. It’s a curse, it really is.

 

COLIN: So, I mean. I don’t want to make trouble, but I just thought if we could, you know, pack some salad in our battle-armour pockets, that’d be appreciated.

 

KORB: Salad?

 

COLIN: Yeah.

 

KORB [to a minion]: Can you check the BOOKS OF THE ANCESTORS about this? I can’t remember reading about salad. Gore, yes. Dancing on the still-pulsating brains of your foes. God, yeah. Loads of it. Salad, not so much. ...

 

KORB [to COLIN]: AIKA the RASCAL is going to check. OK?

 

COLIN: You truly are the wisest of all the generations. May your name be exalted amongst the stars!

 

KORB: Yes, alright, ok. Now. Anything else?

 

COLIN: ... no.

 

KORB: OK. [Addresses the room again, in speech mode]: So we will FIGHT FOR THE HONOUR OF OUR ANCESTORS and we will FIGHT FOR THE HONOUR OF RAMA. And we will WIN! We Will WIN! We Will WIN!

 

DISSOLVE

CAPTION: THE GREAT HALL OF THE INSECTOIDS OF KALARAKA VII.

Honeycomb, very different. A hive of scum and villany, etc. INSECTOIDS are assembled in front of a DIAS, at which their leader “”. ’”’’ is speaking:

 

 

“”. ’”’’: .....**.***!!!

 

(Caption: The RAMA are weak! We are as one!)

 

INSECTOIDS: *****

 

(Caption: HOORAY!)

 

 

“”. ’”’’: .*^^^^**^(^....>>>>>...!!

 

(Caption: Their ferocity shall be their downfall. Our hive’s intelligence and cunning will prevail! We are...)

 

AN INSECTOID (interrupting): .....***

(Caption: Will there be snacks?)

FIN