Dani's Shorts Page 5

  "It's more...?"

  Jake pointed down to his crutch.

  "Eh?"

  "What, do you need semophone flags or something? They're THOSE kind of dreams."

  Phil got the picture and laughed.

  "Oh, I see. Why didn't you say? Finally joining the club, eh?"

  "Yeah, maybe."

  "So? What's the matter? We all have them."

  "Well, mine are..."

  "Please, wait a minute. You're not gonna tell me you have fantasies about Mrs. Pinkwood the PE teacher, are ya?"

  "Err, no."

  Mrs. Pinkwood was a short middle-aged big-breasted fat woman with tons of facial hair and a tendency to wear tight Nike volleyball jerseys while jogging around the athletics track.

  "Oh."

  "Yuk. Phil!"

  "What? I do. Just take off the moustache..."

  "Hell, Phil! Maybe it isn't me who has a problem."

  "Problem? No problem, except for afterwards. Waking up isn't so pleasant. I use a hand sanitizer, it's better than just soap and water, gets rid of that smell and gives a nicer feel too..."

  "What?"

  "You know, the..."

  "Yes, yes, well, there isn't any of that."

  "Eh?"

  "There isn't any!"

  "...None?"

  "Nope."

  "Then what are ya talking about? You're nuts."

  "What?"

  "I'm off."

  "No, really, I have these dreams, a woman sits on me and..."

  "Oh, please, timeout! Too much info!"

  "C'mon, Phil I need some help here!"

  "Okay. So, what's so bad about these dreams? Do ya...finish?"

  "Man, do I finish. But nothing. No need for soap or hand sanitizer."

  "That is weird. You are weird, dude."

  "Surfed on the net. I could be suffering from succubus attacks."

  "Suck a what? Haven't heard of that one yet. What position is that? Tell me more."

  "Suck what? No, a succubus, a female demon who takes the...seed of a sleeping...man."

  "Ha! You really are sick! Next you'll be believing in fairies."

  "Fairies?"

  The bell rang for the next class and Phil got up to go.

  "What should I do, Phil?"

  "Look, Jake, I dunno what weird shit you've got going 'round in your head but see it this way, you're getting some action, and you don't need to clear it up after."

  "Oh, right. There is that, I guess."

  "Later."

  "Yeah, see ya. Thanks."

  23 - Cynthia the Robot

  (trilobite, Alka Seltzer, romantic robot, dead rainbow)

  She was starting to effervesce like an Alka-Seltzer on the ocean floor as the seals on her aluminium body cracked open due to the pressure and began to leak. Cynthia the robot could only imagine how her circuits would cope with the influx of salt water.

  "Oh my! I am done! Undone!"

  Forty years of service for her master was a good run by all accounts, but unfortunately updates for her model had become infrequent and finally she had become obsolete. However, there were surely better graves than this.

  "Oh, death, many have called thee..."

  But it wasn't really a death, she couldn't really ever die, more decay, disintegrate. Her neuron fusion reactor would keep her active for millennia.

  "I wake eternally..."

  Not even the latest social apps could stall her demise in the eyes of her master. New dances, mannerisms, speech, none of them were able to assimilate into her memory banks correctly. They caused havoc with her silicon membranes, especially hitting her 17th Century Literature and massive Modern Romance collection knowledge chips, turning her into a high-brow romantic robot spewing out absurdities when the occasion demanded. About every other minute, apparently.

  "My heart is heavy, like a dead rainbow on a cool summer's day. Resplendent colours, beaten by the sun's rays, succumbing to their impeccable touch, and fade, they fade, die..."

  She was sure that the last straw was when she plunged into a full epitaph at the funeral of a distant relative of her master. Not only did it break etiquette for a robot to speak at a funeral but the finished work wasn't very good, either. Some more educated members attending would say it was a mystifying mixture of Donne and Woodiwiss, others would say it was just bad.

  Her left leg began to crumble and the lower part from her knee joint down broke off, slowly floating away.

  "I would have followed you, then you would not have escaped..."

  Yes, it was definitely that and not the time shortly after when she created an ode to the new chemical toilet onboard her master's yacht, scribbling the 274 line horror on the starboard deck. It took her some time, and much regret, to remove it. She had, however, busied herself by creating an assortment of Haiku love poems. Perhaps she would work on them later.

  A small nondescript fish swam by.

  "You are indeed a fine sight, little creature, better for thy stroke..."

  The fish blew a bubble and quickly swam away. As she turned her head to watch it go, Cynthia saw some detail in a rock.

  "What luck! A trilobite! If I was to inform my master..."

  An idea appeared. She would write her master a love poem, a poem so exquisite, so pure and full of devotion that it would touch him so deeply he would have to take her back. To be 01001101 with her master again! The thought filled 11100100 her with joy and happiness!

  "My..." 11110001 "...love..." 00011001 "...is..." 11000...

  24 - Get Rich Quick?

  (magic 8 ball, hand held lawn clippers, world’s 1st submersible aircraft, mechanical Geisha)

  "So, what's it this morning, brainiac? A toaster which doubles as a haircurler?"

  She made her usual coffee from the black mud in the coffee jar which sat beside a pair of hand held lawn clippers, some vacuum tweezers and other little oddities. They may not have shared many physical features, but her son Harry and his father were both… peculiar. Harry liked to 'invent' things. He was only 6 years old.

  "What? Think of all the hygiene problems, Mum!"

  "Sorry I spoke. Yuk, when did your father brew this coffee?"

  Her son wasn't listening, of course, always scribbling down his ideas. He never went out to play like other kids, always bent over drawing, completely cut off from the world around him. She watched as Harry picked up his favourite magic 8-ball and shook it.

  "No way? Shucks! Thought that was a good one, too!"

  "What, my toaster idea?"

  "No, an electronic book."

  So far, his ideas had been either done before or were completely useless.

  "An electronic book? What, electronic? They'll be electrocuted! People like real books, see?"

  Sharon gave her bedside book to Harry.

  "Oh yes, I guess you're right."

  "You spend too much time by yourself, Harry. You should get out more. Go and play with the others in the playground."

  He was a good kid but sadly not very sociable. Just like his father.

  "I need to find one invention, just one, an invention which will set me up for life!"

  "Sounds like you're blowing all that away at the moment. Look, the sun is shining."

  "I'm almost there, Mum…for example, look at my mechanical Geisha!"

  She jumped when it entered the room, a large robotic mechanical Geisha he'd built with the help of his father a month ago. It scared the hell out of her.

  "Whatever happened to your idea of a fluorescent chess set for the young chessmaster after lights out?"

  "There's not much of a market for that, Mum."

  "Nor this one. Look." She took out a photocopied piece of paper from the patent office she'd picked up the week before. It took three hours but there was a chance now that Harry would take the batteries out of the monstrous machine.

  "What? No!"

  "1922. That beats you by a few years."

  "Damn!"

  "Now, now Harry, lan
guage. It doesn't look like this made him rich, either. Do you see anyone else who's got one?"

  "It doesn't matter, mum. I'm working on my greatest invention, my greatest idea, the world's first submersible aircraft!"

  "Really? Sounds useful.What kind of propulsion system will it have? Propellers?"

  "Still working that one out, it's a bit tricky."

  "There are always stumbling blocks. And what is this, Harry?" She pulled off a small yellow square piece of paper from his desk, one with glue on the top.

  "It's a 'stick-it', you write down your ideas and lists on it and stick it on something."

  "Now, really Harry, I think you're going a bit too far with this inventing..."

  25 - A Day at the Well with Sniff and Grint

  (wishing well, chopsticks, tow truck, the National Tax Code in the country where you live)

  "Did you have to go Chinese? You know I hate it."

  Grint dug in with his chopsticks as Sniff held his nose.

  "Thought I'd splash out, what with all this overtime we're getting."

  "Yeah, great. And now I've moved into the next National Hobgoblin Tax Code bracket. I'm gonna have to speak to my accountant."

  They were sitting on top of the newly reconstructed wishing well in Pontiac, a dream duty among most hobgoblins. Most. Not Sniff. And Grint didn't care.

  A family came up to throw in a coin. Grint stuck his chopsticks into his egg rice, grabbed a little fairy dust and threw it over one of the children below.

  "You've been doing that all day. Why that one?"

  "Cute ponytails."

  "Don't waste it all, it's meant to last the week."

  "Well, what else are we here for?"

  "To catch some rays? Anyhow, you changed the subject. Where's my food?"

  "You didn't ask."

  They watched as another family came up and threw a bunch of coins in. This time Grint was busy eating.

  "Perhaps we're meant to be out of the way..."

  "Eh?"

  "Well, there's that special ceremony tomorrow and..."

  "Eh?"

  "Oh, shut up."

  "Eh?"

  Grint stopped eating and glanced at the top of the well.

  "Hey, Drukan's been here! Look!"

  They both leaned over and spotted Drukan's mark.

  "I've always said he was a vandal." Sniff picked his nose.

  "Hero, he's a hero!"

  "With no wings."

  Yet another family appeared, this time there was a large group of children, with one down-trodden father and a nagging wife. The children screamed and shouted while throwing in coins while the wife barked her orders to her husband.

  "Oh dear."

  Sniff watched as the man monkey dropped a coin into the well, saying something like he needed a bit of peace and quiet.

  "Oh good."

  Sniff took some fairy dust and sprinkled it over him.

  "That's the first time for you today."

  "Looked like this monkey needed a bit of luck. Love to see what happens."

  While Grint finished his Chinese takeaway and Sniff listened to his stomach growl, the last family went back to their car and got in. After a few tries, it didn't start. Some time later, a tow truck appeared and took the car to the nearest garage, with the wife and children travelling in the car and the husband in the tow truck with the driver. He looked like he was in heaven.

  "You see, a little fairy dust goes a long way....Hey!"

  Grint was eating a hamburger.

  "Where did you get that from?"

  "Stopped off to get it before the Chinese."

  "Why didn't you say? I'm dying of hunger here."

  Sniff moved closer to Grint and jumped for him. Grint tucked the burger into his jacket and ran to the other side of the wishing well.

  "Give me that burger!"

  Grint took another bite and ran.

  "Ahhh!"

  After a few hours chasing Grint around the well, Sniff gave up and Grint lost 10 kilos.

  26 - The Big Secret

  (zombie stew, braying jackass, 1951 Kaiser Drag’n, any character from any Toy Story movie)

  Paul handed over his contribution to the Halloween party.

  "There you go, boss."

  "What are these, Paul? Baked potatoes?" His boss wore a Frankenstein mask.

  "Vampire Mr. Potato Heads. With extra cheese."

  "Great, Paul, I'll just put them over here next to the carrot fingers and the yummy pork mummies. Care for a glass of blood-red punch? Or a plate of Zombie stew?"

  "Thanks, boss."

  "Paul, can I have a word, in private for a moment?"

  "Sure, sure."

  With his hands full, Paul wondered what he'd done now. Ever since he'd got involved in the Mars project, things had become a little tense. Inside his boss's office, they were alone and away from the noise and laughter erupting outside.

  "Congratulations, Paul, you’ve just been given authorisation to enter our 'inner circle', so to speak."

  "Thanks, boss. Err, the 'inner circle'?"

  "Yes, this authorisation will allow you some extras, of course."

  "Extras?"

  Paul looked out at the car park, with his boss's 1969 Mustang and Todd from account's 1951 Kaiser Drag'n.

  "Does that mean a company car?"

  "Err, no."

  "Oh. More money?"

  "Yes, of course, whatever amount you feel comfortable with."

  "Wow! And a key to the executive washroom?"

  His boss threw Paul a key.

  "Take it. All you have to do is sign here."

  Paul pocketed the key and took the paper, his new work contract. There was nothing much different about it, except for the wage and…there was a strange sentence in the classified information section.

  "What does this mean?"

  Paul started to laugh, this was a joke. It was Halloween, perhaps his boss was trying to scare him.

  "What part would that be, Paul?"

  "The 'on pain of death, including your immediate family' part."

  "Oh, that part. Just what it says."

  Paul noticed the pistol pointing at him from across the desk.

  "If you open up like some braying jackass while employed here then we'll have to kill both yourself and your family. Quite simple, really."

  Paul stopped laughing. That was a real gun.

  "I'm not signing this."

  "I'm sorry, Paul, but you have two options. Leave this office on your two feet out the door you came in or leave on your back through another."

  "Are you serious?"

  His boss cocked the pistol.

  "Deadly. Sign."

  Paul sat there in shock.

  "Look, Paul, for yourself, your family and your country, please sign."

  "What has this got to do with my country?"

  "You're on the Mars project, right?"

  "Yes."

  "To send a group of astronauts to the planet?"

  "Yes."

  "Sign."

  "I…I don't understand."

  "You've seen the recent reports about the 'new' radiation belts?"

  "Yes."

  "Well, they're not so 'new' and their significance has been grossly understated."

  Paul sat silent.

  "I'll give you a moment."

  Apollo 1, 1969, JFK, Challenger, 9/11 Pentagon, Area 51…

  Paul signed.

  "I wish you every success in your continuing career here at NASA, Paul."

  "Thanks."

  They both went back to the party, Paul relieved that his Vampire Mr. Potato Heads were going down a treat.

  Summer Solstice Open Elimination Round - Old Boy Network

  (electric flying bicycle, doppelganger, Atlantis, obscure black & white television drama / comedy)

  “I’ve finished!”

  Thomas was surprised to see an old man covered in dust and cobwebs coming through a secret door in his office’s bookshelf.<
br />
  “What the…? Excuse me?”

  “I’ve finished! I’ve finally sorted out those problems. Episode 5 is ready!”

  The dusty old man threw a screenplay onto his desk.

  “Excuse me? Episode 5? Who are you? What are you doing here?”

  “Who am I? Who are you?”

  “I’m Thomas Thimbleton, scheduling and programming. And you?”

  “Roger Cribbins, writer, ‘The Corridor People’.”

  “Who? The what?”

  “Roger Cribbins, ‘The Corridor People’. I know I’m a little late with the re-write but there were a few problems I had to iron out…”

  “’The Corridor People’? Is that some new ‘Office’ spin-off? Hang on a minute, I’ll check.” Thomas checked his database. “ Late, you say? You’re 47 years late.”

  “Oh, really? I am a bit peckish. Mmm, I’ve lost a bit of weight, too. Do you happen to have any sandwiches, by chance?”

  “I think… you’re well over your deadline on this one. But saying that, as I can see from here it was a good series. So, I’m all ears. What have you got?”

  “Oh, it’s fantastic! I’ve set this episode on the mysterious and unknown island of…Atlantis!”

  “Atlantis?”

  “Yes, it’s a mythical island, not many people know about it in popular culture yet…”

  “You’ve been locked away for too long, Roger. Back in 1966 maybe, but now…”

  “Anyway, one of the characters, Kronk, discovers the mythical island and also a secret spiritual chamber where he meets his evil doppelganger whom he finally defeats in the closing scenes.”

  “Well, I don’t think anything to do with Atlantis has any audience ratings potential at the moment…”

  “What? It’s all the rage!”

  “No, it isn’t.” Thomas picked up the screenplay. “What else is in this? Does it include any cooking?”

  “Err, no.”

  “Any gardening, perhaps? Or DIY?”

  “DIY? What’s that? Err, no, at least I think not.”

  “Any computer gadgetry?”

  “Computer?”

  “Technology.”

  “Yes! In the final scenes there is a chase sequence on futuristic, fantastical, electric flying bicycles! That would need some incredibly difficult special effects, of course.”

  “No, it doesn’t. We can do that now. Three Czech engineering firms created a working prototype quite recently. It was all over the net.”

  “Really? The net?”

  “This isn’t so futuristic anymore, Roger. Let’s have a look at you…well, you’re not gay. Are you a Christian?”

  “Err, no, I’m with Crudential.”