Anyone want to write a story?

[Sundae]

"My dear", replied Plthjinx removing his flying goggles, "I have no idea. But be a good sort, what – don't say anything in front of the D-O-G."

Understanding completely that it was poor form to air your troubles in front of canines, Brianna dimpled a reply and set about tucking her guests into the limousine with tartan blankets and flasks of tea.

"Do help yourselves to sandwiches" she trilled, swigging on a barely concealed hipflask that winked below her thigh-skimming dress.

BusterB gagged on a tomato sandwich, "No flavour. You want decent tomatoes you better call me in future Brianna."

By this time Brianna had elegantly motioned the driver to proceed and not spare the horses, and the beautiful leather interior was pebbled with drops of tea, masticated snacks and dog drool. Despite this sacrifice to the gods of speed, a set of headlights was already illuminating moustaches from the rear, creating coat hanger shadows on the partition.

"Darn" said Brianna, wide eyed & innocent, "Perhaps I should have taken the time to wax after all…."

"Just cross your legs," replied BusterB

"You're mainlining xoxoxoBruce!" cried Pltjinx in obvious distress.

"You say that like it’s a bad thing, would you prefer Urbane Guerrilla?"

And in UT's lair, RuPaul's Supermodel of the World hit the decks…….

[Cyclefrance]

(In memory of Robert Rankin – he’s not dead yet, it’s just a long time since I’ve read any of his books!)

The limousine glided to a halt outside the chosen bar. It was an interesting establishment, multi-sided architecture from the Geometric school. From one angle it seemed to have five sides yet from another you could definitely count seven. Viewed from above, however, as Plthjinx could testify, it clearly had six sides. Hence the name the locals gave this establishment: The Dead Parrot (more correctly the Polygon).

Five figures and a d-o-g emerged and entered the bar, just as a darkened-windowed Hummer throbbed slowly past.

The place was almost empty, save for the temporary barman who was polishing a few glasses - holding one up to the rather poor light, deciding there was still a speck of dirt somewhere on it (even if he couldn’t see it, there was certainly one, it was just a matter of degree of magnification) and taking to further application of his tired looking tea-towel (as that cloth is so called, he very well knew, in the merry country of England) - and a spotty looking youth who was entranced by an old–fashioned Wurlitzer Juke Box, which now sat in the corner of the bar, the corner that had been Brianna’s favourite place to relax….

Brianna approached the bar: ‘Still here then?!’ it was both a question and an exclamation.

‘Of course.’ Clodfobble carried on polishing.

‘How long exactly have you been here?’

‘Five years, seven weeks, three days, four hours and……' he stopped polishing and looked at his watch, '...twenty three minutes’

‘That’s some temporary job!’

Clodfobble had heard it all before: ‘What can I get you?’

‘Six Jagermeisters – large ones’

‘I can count only five’

‘Sheila likes a Jagermeister too. So what’s with the Wurlitzer. That wasn’t here last week.’

‘I came in Monday and there it was. I guess the brewery decided we needed something to liven the place up. Not sure the selection of records is going to achieve that mind you. There’s actually only one record. A hundred of them but all the same record. You’ve arrived when it’s stopped playing it. Fair driving me round the bend it is. Plays it automatically every five minutes, non-stop. I’ve tried pulling the plug out but it makes no difference, it keeps on playing. Must have one hell of a back-up battery is all I can say. I’ll bring your drinks over.’

Brianna joined the other four plus d-o-g at the table by the door.

‘Buster, you mentioned a lady driver in a Hummer. Did you get to see her face at all?

‘Briefly, just as the floodlight hit. Looked kind of familiar. Like someone I know or have seen somewhere, but I can’t put a name to her.’

‘I think I might be able to help there.That person, her name, it wouldn’t be Monica Lewinsky would it?’

‘That’s it, that‘s who she looks like. Monica Lewinsky. Spot on. Hey, wait a minute how did you know?’

‘I can tell you that…’ another woman’s voice. The five turned agog to look at Sheila. Surely this wasn’t to be one of those talking animals in the bar jokes….?

BusterB broke the stunned silence. ‘Err, Sheila, did you just talk?’

‘I did.’ Sheila sat at the table, paws extended looking at the surrounding people she already knew so well, making individual eye contact like all the best speakers do. ‘I’m sorry Buster. It’s all a bit complicated. I’ll try to explain as best I can. You see, I’m not a dog – quaint the way you spell the word rather than say it, I’ve always thought – in fact I’m not from this planet. If you saw me in my true form then doubtless you would find me quite repulsive. I took the identity of a dog because they seem to be so well accepted by you earth humans. And being so well accepted, I could go about my business without creating any concern…’

‘And your business is?' from Elspode

‘Your drinks, gentleman. I say Buster. When did you teach Sheila to sit like that? Amazing trick, I must say.’ Sheila wagged her tail and barked.

‘Yes, she ‘s full of surprises.’ Said Buster ‘’Put it on the tab will you?’

‘Sure!’, said Clodfobble and went back to clean his glasses (this time the ones he should have been wearing when he delivered the drinks – he might have seen and learned more if he had!)

‘Sorry about that,’ Sheila continued, ‘I’m not sure who I can trust outside of our little group just yet. My business. Yes, well it might take some explaining. A stiff drink beforehand might not go amiss.’

To a man (well, four men and one woman – Sheila declined to participate) each simultaneously raised their jug of Jagermeister and downed it in one, Then, wiping froth from their lips in unison they gazed as one again back at Sheila.

Sheila’s voice dropped an octave and became rather powerful and low: ’My name is Phtrethnog, of the race of Drarth that dwells upon the planet Snagell 3 in the constellation Kryngax. We are a cultured, hmmm… I’ll use the word… people. Our task is to preserve inter-galactic peace and harmony. This we have done for many millions of your Earth years.

‘I am here because your planet is in danger. Brianna, you are right about the lady – or rather creature – resembling, Monica Lewnisky. The earth is being invaded, or about to be invaded. That juke box is not what it seems. It is sending a homing signal to the Klarnak fleet, to the mother ship where the commander is waiting for the coded message to attack. It is not going to happen yet, but it will happen. There is still time. The Klarnak are a foul race who suffer from perpetual flatulence. They wish to take over the earth because their own planet is now uninhabitable – the smell is even too much for them. They have sent ahead scouts who have taken over the form of Monica Lewisnky. They acquire new bodies from you earth folk, but only the men. The women are of no interest to them at this time.They don’t seem to have much trouble, either. The Lewinsky approach does it you see. When it comes to body transfer you don’t need much imagination to guess what part of the body she latches her mouth to, sucking out human life and implanting that of the Klarnak.

Four men went ‘ooooooooh’, their hands moving simultaneously and protectively between their legs.

Suddenly the juke box whirred into life. And the mechanical arm stretched across the line of records, carefully selecting one about five in from the left and placing it on the turntable, which began to turn at the prescribed 45 revolutions per minute. The needle dropped to the record’s edge, a few second’s hissing and then….

The distinctive voice of David Bowie:
’Ground control to Major Tom, Ground control to Major Tom:
Take your protein pills and put your helmet on….’

UT looked up glassy eyed after reading TW's latest contribution to the Current Events Forum. Time for a little comic relief! He glanced at the second monitor which showed him the activities of his following of Dwellers. All seemed well. The Dwellers were mostly hunched over their computers studying the Image of the Day and trying to look busy in case the boss walked by. Then UT panned to Busterb, Ptlhjinx, Brianna, and Patrick (Elspode) and the D O G. WTF!?

This was definitely a job for xoxoxoBruce! UT picked up the phone and dialed...

Meanwhile, back at the bar, Brianna stretched out a silk encased leg provocatively, and drummed her high heel on the floor impatiently. "Clodfobble!" she called imperatively. "How many times do we have to tell you that this cross-dressing thing confuses everybody! Please get your hand out of that pickle jar and bring Busterb a shot of Cuervo. We are trying to fend off an invasion of Klarnaks here!"

Clodfobble pouted and said, "Well, if those six dudes who were in here earlier dressed as Monica Lewinsky can cross dress, I don't see why I can't." She brought over a bottle of Jose Cuervo and set it in front of Busterb who promptly poured himself and Sheila doubles.

Sheila finished off her Cuervo with a single lap of her pink tongue and snarled, "Will somebody please shut up that damn juke box?"

As if on cue, Bruce stepped through the door with his phazer and aimed it at the juke box, causing it to dissolve into a hipcupping mass of neon plastic and hissing wires. Davie Bowie whined once and then his voice faded away.

The others stared at Bruce in surprise. "No time for explanations," he told them as he stepped over the pool of coalescing gunk that had once been a Klarnak mind control device and joined them at their table.

"We need to get out of the steaming armpit of Ohio, NOW!" Bruce informed them. "Plthjinx, how good are you at evading enemy alien space craft?"

"Funny you should ask," responded the intrepid pilot. "I just got my EEASC certification yesterday."

"Well, lets get the hell out of Dodge," said Patrick. "I have a strange feeling that the key to all this is that cat that's been shredding black plastic objects."

"I never liked cats much," commented Sheila, aka Phtrethnog. Busterb grinned and poured Sheila another double shot of Cuervo which Sheila caused to vanish as quickly as the first.

"To the airport!" shouted Clodfobble and the group sprinted out the door to the waiting limo where the CD player had just begun to issue forth the sound of "Rocketman" by Elton John...

[Cyclefrance]

'That's not fair, you sucked the last one'
'I did not!'
'Did'
'Didn't'
'Oooh, you lying bitch...'

Monica1 (aka Harnog) glared at Monica2 (aka Bondriz), his handbag twitching at the end of his arm, ready to swing it at Bondriz's head, if necessary.'

'Now, now, you two, do, do calm down, goodness, goodness me, what WILL the commander think, if he finds out. Oooh, these heels are killing me!'

Monica3 (aka Playtah) stumbled slightly, righted himself, and brushed down his skirt.

'Well I reckon Harnog's got a point you know'. Monica4 (aka Arnax, Harnog's twin brother, although in their present guises this was hardly obvious or even mattered, and none of the remaining four had a clue about this anyway, but it explains why Arnax might want to support Harnog on this one). 'I saw who did the last one, and it was definitely Bondriz, so there.'

'How could you, Arnax, that's just so mean. After I let you go first yesterday as well. You've, you've really upset me, you really have.' Bondriz burst into tears, and mascara lines began to trail down his cheeks. It was all getting too much for Bondriz, he'd given up his hairdressing job to come to this god-forsaken planet. All those promises of handsome men with fine scultured bodies... well, what a load of old rubbish that had turned out to be. And now he was stuck with this bunch of catty individuals. What had he got himself into?? He searched anxiously through his handbag, trying to find his hankie...

'Come on girls (hic), no need to fight over me, there's plenty to go around...'

At this moment Capnhowdy couldn't believe his luck - six of them! and all fighting over HIM!

'Shut up you!' Monica5 (aka Slarvos) was getting tired of this. He looked over to the Hummer where the driver, Qarvop (Monica6) was seated checking his make-up in the mirror. The other four were still arguing amongst themselves, and to top it all he could no longer pick up the signal from the juke box, which meant that, if he couldn't, the ship couldn't. This wasn't looking good at all. This wasn't the way they'd planned it. He had to find out why the signal had stopped. If he didn't then the invasion would start right away, and they weren't really ready for that. He broke wind violently. His nose picked up the ripe odour of ten day old rotting cabbage - God they weren't getting any better. He needed a cigarette - about the only thing he'd found worthwhile here as far as he was concerned. Where had he put them. Couldn't find them in the handbag. Don't say he'd left them in the bar. He suddenly remembered putting the packet down when they'd been speaking to that nicely dressed Clodfobble fellow. Oh, well, he didn't suppose it would hurt to go back and get them, the others seemed well occupied, and he quite liked the idea of seeing Clodfobble again.

Slarvos looked over to the strange-shaped building that was the bar (he was sure it had had seven sides last time he looked) just in time to see six figures and a dog climbing back into the limousine, and the limousine start to move away...

Slarvos shrieked loudly: 'Stoppit, stoppit, STOP.. IT!!!' It was so loud and so urgent that the other four Monicas stopped talking immediately and looked at Slarvos. 'Look, look over there. Phtrethnog and his friends are getting AWAY!!'

Five pairs of stillettos rushed towards the Hummer. In that short distance to the waiting Hummer at least four stiletto heels broke. Slarvos, the first to arrive opened the door. A foul stench emerged, filling his nostrils.

'Really, Qarvop. How could you?' Slarvos flapped his hand trying to disperse the hideous odour invading his nose, but regretably without success: 'You know the rules. No farting inside the vehicle! God, open the windows, please!'

The five Monicas scrambled into the Hummer, Fingers clasping their noses, all of them.

'Night, Narvop. Norwow nat nimoutheen!' Qarvop looked back totally bewildered. Slarvos saw it wasn't working. Bravery was called for. He removed his fingers, and quickly: 'RightQarvopfollowthatlimousine' and just as quickly covered his nose again.

Well, they say you can't smell your own, which is a good job really as it at least meant that Qarvop could drive the Hummer. They sped off in pursuit of the limousine, whose tailights were still just visible in the distance...

'No, please, don't go. I'm sorry if I said something to upset you. Please come back...' Capnhowdy looked totally forlorn. It had been a dead cert. He coudn't believe they'd gone. Only two minutes ago they'd all been tearing his trousers off. Now? He just couldn't undertstand it....

Automatically, in his current slightly inebriated state, he put his Walkman earphones back in his ears and clicked play. The Nelson Riddle orchestra struck up, and Frank Sinatra burst forth: 'That's life...-' Capnhowdy pulled out the phones: 'Oh fuck off, Frank, that's the last thing I need now!!'

If only he knew how lucky he had been.....