Anyone want to write a story?

The pilots still standing by with great impatience on the airport's runways had never heard such language from the control tower in all their lives!

"You blankety blank, expletive deleted, son of a bitch! Air traffic control did NOT authorize your take-off! Hear that, CIA? That Leer Jet was not authorized to move an inch on the runway, never mind take off! Ooooh, Snookems! Shoot the bastard in that air craft down! Nuke Canada! Just give me my ibby bibby baby back! Snookems! Hang on! I'll buy your favorite kitty treats for you!"

Ptlhjinx listened to the airwaves with astonishment and turned in surprise to Sheila who was sitting in the co-pilot's seat gnawing a Milk Bone(tm).

"What the hell is THAT about?"

"Cat's!" opined Sheila. "Can't live with them; can't live without them. Can this thing shoot down a Leer Jet?"

"We can shoot down anything that moves except that we are currently in the air space over the United Kingdom," replied Ptlhjinx. "The UK's Department of Social Scrutiny requires that anyone who shoots down a Leer Jet over British soil first fill out an anti-avionics permit request form in triplicate. The form has to be signed by both Winston Churchill and Prince Andrew. Churchill's signature is no problem. One of us can just hijack that time machine that just flew past with the 5 Lewinsky's in it. Prince Andrew is being a brat about anti-avionics permits these days, however. Something about the Queen taking away his Piper Cub because he didn't make curfew one night last month."

Sheila loked serious for moment - as serious as a D O G with its mouth full of Milk Bone(tm) can look, anyhow. Then she got an idea.

"I say old chap, Cyclefrance is British, isn't he? Perhaps he could put in a word with Prince Andrew or even the Department of Social Scutiny. He does have both a poetic and prosaic licence. I believe the Brits are impressed by such things. Let's ask him!

Busterb had strolled up to the cockpit in time to overhear this conversation. "I say just shoot the damn thing down without the permit. We could say the Welsh did it, Take 'em years to figure it out!"

"Where is Wolf with her Glock when we need her?" Sheila asked in exasperation.

The Aurora's radio suddenly began to emit Pat Benadar's song, "Hit me with your best shot! Fire away!"

[Cyclefrance]

Reader notice:

You will require ‘split brain image’ technology to fully enjoy the next instalment of this amazing story. The latest version of this imagery can be downloaded from:

'www.brain-image-implants/it-wont-hurt-at-all/oh-OK-it-will-hurt-a-bit-well-quite-a-lot-to-be-honest.com'

or else you’ll just have to use your imagination (that might be the better option if you want my opinion)


The brain image splits into three distinct scenes – so far without sound. The first scene is the bridge of the Klarnak mother ship where commander Smarjanth (who unfortunately suffers from tourette’s syndrome), is assessing the current situation. In the second scene we see Slarvos at the controls of the Lear jet, and in the third scene we see our merry Cellarites aboard the Aurora.


The first screen brightens and sound volume increases to an acceptable level:

‘First Officer Qvargist, ARSEHOLE!, I don’t like the way this is going. We haven’t had a signal from our PISSHEAD! Earth transmitter for several hours at least now, have we?

‘Er, ….no, sir,’ Qvargist, had been serving under Smarjanth for several months, but he just couldn’t get used to the commander’s problem with speaking – it was all too close to being personal….he farted quietly to himself, and replied: ‘There’s nothing to say it is a malfunction and I haven’t been able to raise any of the advance guard as yet.’

‘So I gather. Well, I’m not waiting much longer WANKER!. Tell the crew we’re going to amber alert now! What the…. SUCK MY PRICK!!’ For once Smarjanth said something that made sense – he stared through the forward window to see a blue box-like object go spinning past, a light flashing away on its top, and what seemed to be five very similar female faces pressed against the small area of glass that was set into what he could only imagine to be some sort of door.

‘It’s no good. All this invasion stuff is starting to get at me, get me my medication will you, BOLLOCK-BRAIN! Qvargist? I think I need an extra dose…! In fact , I think I’ll have a lie down… Red alert in one hour if no change – you can GO SHIT YOURSELF! take care of that can’t you?

‘Er…. Yes,sir…’


The first image and volume fades, and at the same time the second image brightens and sound is available.

‘Here we are. 30,000 feet. That should do nicely.’ Slarvos opened his handbag and took out the portable transportation device. He pressed the ‘on’ switch and the object started to hum quietly.

‘Just need to set the co-ordinates and I’ll soon be back on the mother ship….’

‘Not if I have my way you won’t!’ Slarvos turned sharply in the direction of the voice. ‘YOU!!’ he exclaimed

The man facing him (her?) was dressed in camouflage fatigues and was pointing an automatic at Slarvos.

Urbane Guerilla spoke: ‘Didn’t think you’d lost me did you. I’ve had you in my sights for a long time, ever since that incident in the alley. I was following you as you gave chase. I saw your Hummer go into the lake. I kept low. BusterB was rescued by the ‘copter, and then you re-appeared, as I thought you would. It didn’t take long before your, heh, ‘sisters’ arrived. You were so busy arguing that you didn’t see me slip into the trunk. I’ve been with you ever since. Getting into the Lear was easy after that. Now your times up, asshole! Any last…..’

UG stopped suddenly. Were his eyes playing tricks? He gazed past Slarvos to where he could see, through the cockpit window, the Aurora, some distance away. Did his eyes deceive him – the Aurora had just fired a missile and it was heading directly at them!

Slarvos, noticed UG’s hesitation, and glanced back over his shoulder Oh, Shit! Turning back to UG he saw that his attention was still averted. Slarvos quietly set the coordinates on the transporter…..

If it hadn’t been for the small light on the transporter, Urbane Guerilla wouldn’t have noticed Slarvos’ movements.

‘Good bye.’ Slarvos smiled…

‘No you don’t!’ UG leapt at Slarvos, grasping at him and grabbing his clothing.

‘Oooooh, you naughty boy…!’

And with that they both disappeared (just like that!), which was a good job really as a split second later the missile hit the Lear jet and there was a really nice explosion, with smoke, flames and bits of metal flying off in all directions, just as you’d expect in such a classy production as this.


The second image and sound now fades. The third image….. the third image…. The third image…… now what?

Hang on a minute, I seem to have lost the remote. No, wait, no I haven’t….. I think I’ve found it. Right. Let’s try this button. Oh, no, it’s the remote for the CD player. Marichiko must have nipped in and taken the other one while I wasn’t looking – well it is her story I suppose….

What IS that playing? Oh it’s Moody Blues, War of the Worlds. How appropriate:

"The chances of anything coming from Mars are a million to one," he said.
"The chances of anything coming from Mars are a million to one - but still they come!"

Originally Posted by Cyclefrance

Hang on a minute, I seem to have lost the remote. No, wait, no I haven’t….. I think I’ve found it. Right. Let’s try this button. Oh, no, it’s the remote for the CD player. Marichiko must have nipped in and taken the other one while I wasn’t looking – well it is her story I suppose….

Marichiko stares at the screen in amazement. HER story? The damn thing has definately taken on a life of its own, and she's just along for the ride! "Heh, heh!" she thinks. "Cyclefrance thinks I stole his remote when actually I got a hold of his prosaic licence. Let's see him try to write without that!"

Meanwhile back at the ranch...

It was a dark and stormy night. The neighbor's cat had just shredded LJ's trash bag for the kazillionith time when gunshots were heard coming from across the street 3 houses down. LJ leaned out his window and hollered "COCK!" - perhaps at the cat or perhaps at the sound of the gunshots which had rudely awakened him from his slumbers. Busterb emerged from a darkened alley with his faithful dog, Sheila, hopped into his car and drove off with the CD player blaring "Send Lawyers, Guns and Money"...

Yes, the 5 Lewinsky's had managed to land themselves back in time to the beginning of our story. They climbed out of the blue police call box, blinking their eyes in confusion. The smell of methane permeated the night air...

Ah, the chance to live our lives over again! Would we do things differently or being who we are, would we be forced to proceed on the same old collision course with fate? The Lewinsky's chose the same old, same old, but were now several hours behind everyone else. In fact, they were further detained by the sudden appearance of LJ toting a shotgun and ordering them to stay right where they were until the police arrived. Nothing worse than getting the chance to relive your life and messing it up even worse than the first time around, as the 5 Lewinsky's and survivers everywhere of encounters with space aliens can attest.

Slarvos and UG were feeling a bit disconcerted themselves when they suddenly appeared in two passenger seats on board the Aurora amidst a festive party of Dwellers, Cuervo and dog bisquits. Slarvos had locked on the wrong co-ordinates with his transportation device. It was minor mistakes like this which had kept him at the level of Corporal in the Klarnak Alien Invasion Army for years.

"Don't worry, everyone. I've got him covered!" announced UG to the plucky band of Cellarites who had long since stopped being surprised by anything that had happened in their lives in the past few hours.

"Good job, UG! Have a shot of tequilla!" exclaimed Patrick. "Shall we notify Sheila that we have a Klarnak aboard?"

But Sheila had already entered the cabin, her fur bristling on end and her eyes red with rage.

Slarvos farted loudly.

UT anxiously fiddled with the controls of his computer screens. Damn hackers! Or was it the "This is not porn" crowd? At any rate, the screen showing the doings on board the Klarnak Mothership remained frustratingly blank.

Maybe it was the Sony virus. Or maybe it was a stupid thing that seemed like a good idea at the time. UT quickly typed a message in the "Generic Support Group" thread, "BigV, know anything about bugs?"

BigV typed back, "I know plenty about liquid nitrogen, but I only got a "C" in entomology. How can I be of service?"

Marichiko slipped Mary Chapin Carpenter's song, "Sometimes you're the windshield; sometimes you're the bug" into her CD player and waited with baited breath...

[Cyclefrance]

Things were not going well (he’d seen that written somewhere before, he was sure). One minute he was at his PC writing furiously, then he was on board an Aurora with a load if people that although he sort of knew, he was sure he hadn’t really met before. Then there was this talking dog and what the hell was Monica Lewinsky doing there farting all the time???

To cap it all someone had stolen his prosaic licence – luckily, he always carried a spare in his back pocket. He took it out and turned it on (bet you didn't know you had to do that with it, did you...) – the mists of confusion began to part…

He could see a solution to all this. He couldn’t be in two places at once. Thank God for the prosaic licence.

‘Where are you off to CF?’ enquired Elspode.

‘Call of nature, old boy…’ and with that Cyclefrance went into the one of the Lear jet’s two loos. He chose the executive one, the one with the power socket, locked the door and opened his laptop, that he had concealed cleverly inside the bunch of onions that for some reason refused to leave his side. It was an old laptop and the battery was completely buggered (this is completely true!). He plugged it in and began to type: ‘Things were not going well….’

Anyway at least he wouldn’t be disturbed for a while. No sooner had he said that than the door handle rattled….

Slarvos didn’t like the way things were shaping – he had to do something and quick. The Cellarites seemed occupied enough, and UG was concentrating on his tequila – he’d counted five shots already that he’d downed. He quietly checked his handbag. The transporter was still there, thank God. OK this was it…

Slarvos farted three more times, as pungently as he could.

‘Jesus!’ exclaimed xoxoxoBruce, ‘can’t you do ANYTHING about that??’

‘Perhaps if I go to the toilet – it sometimes helps. Is that OK?

‘Anything that prevents that godawful smell is OK with me!’

‘ Oh, I think I can remove the smell if you give me a few minutes.’ Slarvos tried the first toilet door, the Executive one, turning the handle. Damn, it was occupied (good back-link, huh, or what?). The other toilet was free. Slarvos entered.

‘So what now?’ Sundae Girl tucked into a Walnut Whip she had been keeping for a moment just like this.

‘Hey, where did you spring from?’ queried Buster

‘Oh, I’ve been here all the time. Just had to wait for my turn to enter the script. CF said that as soon as I had reported back on the Walnut Whip situation in the UK he’d write me in.’

Buster seemed satisfied with that answer (oh, the power, the power!), and in any event he was being distracted by Sheila/Phtrethnog, who was becoming agitated and pacing up and down the aisle looking in all the seats.

‘What is it, Sheila?’

‘Where’s Slarvos?’

‘Oh, he went to the toilet,’ said Bruce

UG overheard and seemed to sober up suddenly (now downing his 10th tequila….) ‘Noooooooooooo!!!’

UG rushed to the toilet door. It was locked – he put his shoulder into it.

‘Not this one – the other one!’ UG recognised Cyclefrance’s muted tones, and turned to the door opposite. He gave one massive shove against the door and it burst open.

Slarvos had gone!

‘Damn, damn, damn’ (unusually docile language for UG). 'He’s made it to the ship this time. I knew I should have taken the transporter off him – dooohhhh!!'

‘This is no time to do your Homer Simpson impression, UG.’ ZippyT intervened and tried to galvanise everyone into Acton – no, no sorry , I mean action – Acton’s in the suburbs of West London. No one in their right mind would want to go there. Hmm, second thoughts, taking everything, and everyone, into considera-

CF’s second thoughts were interrupted by ZippyT continuing: ’Right everyone. Plan B!!’

As one cohesive unit, our gallant and ever-increasing collection of Cellarites responded in unison: ‘Yeah!… Plan B!…..!!…?? Plan B?…?? What the hell’s Plan B????’

Well not quite one cohesive unit, first there was CF who was still banging away on his laptop in the executive loo, and then, of course, there was Plthijinx who was part flying the plane and part listening to his CD, which was, coincidentally, playing the same track at that very moment as the one that CF was listening to via his laptop CD drive (haven’t gote one really – told you it was an old laptop) although neither was aware of this (well, that’s not true, I mean CF HAD to be aware, didn’t he – he was writing all this at that very self-same moment…).

Anyway, to carry on and keep inside the rules…

80’s icons Duran Duran were belting out one of their classics – the voice of lead singer Simon Le Bon as ever straining to reach the high notes: ‘If you're coming down to land is there…Anybody out there trying to get through … Bop bop bop bop bop bop bop bop this is planet earth…’


That’s it. I’m not writing any more. No, it’s no good, I won’t be swayed.

Loose ends you say? Before I end this episode, there’s the matter of loose ends? Oh, all right then. If you must. The way this story is going there are going to be quite a few, I can tell.

I suppose I can start tidying up a bit now. Let’s see. Aah, yes, over there in that corner. We can deal with that one - a bit of a loose end - there are others in a far worse state, but as you insist….


The 5 Lewinsky’s were being escorted by the police towards their cars (police cars – not the Hummers, don’t be silly, but wait aminute….). They turned the corner and as they did so 5 other Lewinskys were just getting out of their Hummer. Now this could be tricky. Was it the same 5 Lewinsky’s who were even now being escorted by the police, or some other Lewinskys? If it was the same Lewinskys and the other Lewinskys (the ones being escorted by the police) were about to meet themselves, then that could mean only one thing. As any one with even a modicum of Science Fiction reading behind them (or at least one who has seen that Jean Claude Van Damme time-travel film) will tell you – meeting up with yourself in this manner can have nasty consequences….

Harnog took hold of the situation in his nicely, fingers-crossed, manicured hands: ‘Cooeee, Harnog, is that you…?

‘‘Ooooh, it looks like my twin brother!’ The other Harnog rushed forward to embrace the first Harnog, realising all too late, that his twin brother was there with him already. They embraced (well one of them embraced a rather reluctant other). There was a strange squeaking sound followed by the largest fart you’ve ever heard, and then a very minsicule ‘plop’ and the two Harnogs disappeared, sort of into each other - gone!.

Well, as you can imagine, there was instant chaos. A melee of broken stiletto heels and unbroken stiletto heels as the remaining 8 Lewinsky’s rushed around in a complete flap, not sure which way to turn. Sadly, but in some ways fortunately, each of them chose the wrong way to turn. It was like a load of balloons going off (well sort of ) one after the other, until the final ‘plop’ as the last two Lewinskys merged and imploded, leaving two police officers bewildered and scratching their heads with the one hand, while the other was clamped soundly around the nose of each - what a smell….!!

Still, that's what life's ends up like sometimes - you know, a bit like a fart in an empty lift that someone has left. You enter, you smell it, it's not nice and it's certainly not yours - trouble is if you hang around too long and someone else turns up, you might have trouble convincing them it isn't. The two policeman conicidentally realising this about the same time, suddenly rushed to their respective cars and sped off into the night....

Oh, by the way, there is a failed logic to the final fickle fate of the farting Lewinskys. The first Cellarite to let me know what it is will get a free Walnut Whi-…… Oh…!... No, you won’t, after all. Seems that Sundae Girl’s just eaten the last one!

The problem with the Lewinsky's fate is that where-ever you go, there you are. I have proven this for myself time after time. No matter where I go, its that's same old tiresome person who looks back at me from the mirror, Can't seem to shake that woman. Oh, well.

The Lewinsky's are just like the rest of us, we have no where to go but this present moment. You can't double back on yourself in time, since your future has changed your past and now you're in one hell of a mess. Ask any sci-fi writer. Still, the bit of whimsy will be allowed since Cyclefrance did have a spare prosaic licence handy.

We turn now to LJ wildly waving his shotgun about in his backyard. Damn cat! But all cats look black in the dark, and a cat which is fond of black plastic objects lookes blacker than most and was nowhere to be seen.

LJ's attention was distracted anyhow by the landing of a large, highly classified object on his petunia beds. Dwellers began to disembark from it en mass.

"Hey! Which way to Forks, LJ?" shouted Busterb.

"We're having it at our house this year," Jinx called down from an upstairs window. "Glad you guys could make it. Nice work rounding everyone up, Plthjinx!"

The intrepid pilot bowed and smiled modestly, as everyone made a bee-line into the house to feast on Walnut Whip (whatever THAT is).

Meanwhile, the cat who started this whole thing scurried down a near-by alley and whipped a transponder out which it had hidden in its fur.

In an alien space craft hovering high above earth, Slarvos encountered it on ship's deck number 8. "Hey! No pets aboard a military vessel!" he exclaimed.

The cat looked him square in the eye and then began to morph back and forth rather like its relative from Cheshire, but not really.

"I'm Sheila's grandmother," replied the cat. "Wanna see my crochet hook?"

Happy Ever After - The End!