The Cornucopia Radio Ebook

Edited By Peter Beeston

With Additional Editing by Nick Draper

Published By Cornucopia Radio

This work is created under a ‘Creative Commons Attribution Non Commercial No Derivatives 3.0’ license. This means you are free to download this work and share with others as long as authors are fully credited, and that the work is not changed in any way or used for commercial purposes. For more information visit: http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/

www.cornucopia-radio.co.uk

If you’re affected by any of the issues raised in this ebook, then you should...you know, try and get out more.

CONTENTS

ROCK BEATS ALL By Peter Beeston

BUTTONS ARE MEANT TO BE PRESSED By Peter Beeston

CARE OF THE ELDERLEY By Graham Marshall

COMMANDER AWESOME: & LIBERTY LAD By Phil Mason

GREAT SCOTT! By Charles Gosden

HOLMES IN LOVE By Chris Bellamy

DOBBIN By Peter Beeston

ROMEO & JULIET, THE LATER YEARS By Charles Gosden

SHIT STALKER By Peter Beeston

ALL THE KINGFISHERS ARE DEAD By Graham Marshall

XMAS MESSAGE FROM KING HENRY By Andrew Callow

THE ZOMBIE LETTER By Peter Beeston

FLATPACK WORLD By Peter Beeston

SNOW JOKE By Peter Beeston

HOLMES GOES ON HOLIDAY By Chris Bellamy

GODZILLA VS DEPRESSION By Peter Beeston

LAST PERSON IN THIS PLACE By Peter Beeston

SOMETHING I ALWAYS WANTED By Peter Beeston

THE SCARY MIRROR By Peter Beeston

A THYME TO THINK By Peter Beeston

DINNER PARTY AT ESCHERS By Peter Beeston

INTRODUCTION

It seemed like such a good idea at the start. After all, the radio show had been a tremendous success, and their monthly podcast had been downloaded over a hundred thousand times in total. So surely it would make perfect sense that an ebook of their most popular scripts would be the next logical step. Wouldn’t it?

However, as Peter sat in front of the warm glow of his monitor, doubts began to rapidly flick across his mind. After all, the scripts were written to be performed, not to be read on a computer screen. They relied on performers creating funny, believable charactertures using nothing but the power of their voices; in turn elevating the material into something that people genuinely wanted to hear. But in script form? Were they really good enough?

Oh, and the spelling errors? Peter felt his head drop on the keyboard as the mere thought entered his mind. His team of performers had already gotten used to his unique method of chucking random letters on the page in the vain hope they might articulate the words which formed in his own head. But he knew that the general public would never stand for such unprofessionalism; even if he was giving the book away for free. Okay, he’d had the book spallchecked by numerous colleagues, but what if some error had slipped through unnoticed?

And then he started to think about the introduction. He’d already decided that the only interesting thing he could write was some meta-textual bullshit about how he didn’t have anything useful to write. It’d probably contain a line like:

“The reader read a line about how they had just read the same line, which Peter knew they would, because he had just finished typing that exact line on his computer screen.”

Hell, even Charlie Kaufman would baulk at that level of pretentiousness!

No, all he could do was hope that somebody, somewhere would find something enjoyable within this book, no matter how small it was. Even if it didn’t pass their own ‘enjoyability’ threshold, he hoped at least their interest would be piqued enough for them to visit the ‘Cornucopia Radio’ website, where they could listen to the finished audio productions as they were meant to be appreciated. Actually to help someone find the website in question, he decided this would be a good place to insert a hyperlink:

http://www.cornucopia-radio.co.uk

‘Oh well’, he thought as he came to the end of the page. Even if they don’t like the ebook, they can still access the hardcore pornography he’d hidden within the metadata of this file by pressing ↑ ↑ ↓ ↓ ← → ← → B A.

At least that was something....

In this first section of the ‘Cornucopia Radio Ebook’ you will…

All be asked to talk about your hopes, fears and ambitions. We’ll all try a number of trust exercises, and end with a big group hug.

Discover first hand, what the term “inappropriate touching” means.

Realise why the ability to self-publish your own book can only ever end in broken dreams.

ROCK BEATS ALL

WE OPEN WITH SOME STRONG POWERFUL MUSIC AS THREE OBJECTS MEET ON A WINDY HILLTOP TO DECIDE WHO IS THE STRONGEST

ROCK: So finally, on this day. We gather here, to decide once and for all, who is the strongest, the wisest and best fit for battle.

SCISSORS: At last the true champion shall be crowned!

ROCK: You all know me. For I am Rock. I am made of this very earth. My strength is legend.

SCISSORS: I am Scissors. I’m quick; I’m sharp, and I am Deadly! Nobody can match my blade.

PAPER: And I am paper, I’m flat! (Awkward Pause) That’s my thing, flatness.

ROCK: We shall each challenge one another, every battle taking into account our unique skills and weaknesses. Scissors first I will challenge you.

SCISSORS: And I will accept your challenge. You see how I move around you, like a blur. I thrust; I parry and I cut deep into your skin of stone.

ROCK: But you barely scratch me. Although many have fallen by your sword, I do not fear you. You have no way to harm me. But I can bring my full force upon you if I so wish. Your steel will bend and break. You will be defeated. So on this day let it be said. Rock beats Scissors!

SCISSORS: I can see I’ve been beaten by a greater foe. I shall yield and feel no disgrace. Now, I turn and challenge you paper.

PAPER: Do we actually have to fight to decide this? I was hoping we could work it out with a nice simple game of ‘Canasta’ or ‘Gin Rummy’

SCISSORS: See how the sunlight glistens and sparkles off my blade. The momentary distraction is brief and fleeting, but is all I need. I sweep around you like a gentle wind and close my blades around your flatness. You only feel pain for a moment.

THE SOUND OF SCISSORS CUTTING THROUGH PAPER.

PAPER: (irritated) Oi! Come on, there was no need for that! You’ve cut me in two! Literately straight down the middle. Couldn’t you have proved your point by snipping off a small corner? I’ve got four to spare. Where’s that sellotape?

THE SOUND OF TAPE BEING DISPENSED

SCISSORS: So do you yield?

PAPER: Yeah, I yield. But you can bet I’ll be putting in an official protest.

ROCK: So, let it be forever said that Scissors beats Paper! Now we come to the last great battle of our times. Paper, do you accept my challenge?

PAPER: Ah-ha! This is where I come good. Paper will have his moment in the sun, with a move so powerful not even the great Rock will be able to defeat me.

ROCK: Have about you! What action shall you take?

PAPER: I cover you!

ROCK: Pardon?

PAPER: I cover you! Once you are unable to move or defend yourself this game will be over and so; let it be said on this day that Paper beats....

ROCK: (interrupting) Sorry, how does ‘covering’ me work?

PAPER: Well, I cover you with my whole body. Wrapping my flatness around you. There’s no way you can counter that; so by definition I win. Ipso de facto. Err...Spirit of de Punto. Okay?

SCISSORS: You win by covering him? Are you sure there’s no counter move?

PAPER: There is no counter to my type of covering. So let’s just move on

ROCK: I would like to try your covering. Come about at me and we shall see Paper, we shall see.

PAPER: You know; we’ve got some real trust issues here in this group. Fine, let’s do this. I’ll try not to hurt you.

THE SOUND OF PAPER COVERING ROCK

PAPER: Paper covers rock. What do you say now?

ROCK: (muffled) I can think of only one counter move which may prove effective in this situation.

PAPER: You have no options left, Rock.

THE SOUND OF ROCK TEARING THROUGH PAPER

PAPER: Arghhhh. What? Look at me; I’ve been ripped into three pieces! How come I’m the only one getting hurt here? I’m starting to run out of tape. This stuff isn’t cheap you know!

THE SOUND OF TAPE BEING DISPENSED

ROCK: And so, Paper covers Rock but Rock smashes through Paper. Because I am Rock and strong and you are Paper and dumb.

SCISSORS: I’ll be honest Paper; you do seem to be a little out of your depth here.

ROCK: Do you have anything else to give to this battle?

PAPER: Have you ever heard of origami?

ROCK: Origami?

PAPER: Yep, I can fold myself into a swan.

ROCK: A swan? Is that all you’ve got left?

PAPER: Well, a swan can get quite angry if provoked.

ROCK: (ignoring) And so let it be said by all people that follow from this day forth, that Rock beats Paper. Therefore Rock is always invincible!

SCISSORS: We all salute your bravery!

PAPER: I don’t. This just a bloody popularity contest. I’m going home.

THUNDER. IT STARTS RAINING.

PAPER: (Fading Out) Oh great, now it’s raining. My only weakness. Apart of course from fire, strong gusts of winds, sharp objects, severe crunching, tearing, punching, obtuse folding...

FADE OUT

BUTTONS ARE MEANT TO BE PRESSED

THE PHONE RINGS. SOMEONE ANSWERS.

JEFF: Hello?

MYSTERY MAN: Mr Richards. How are you today?

JEFF: Err, fine thank you.

MYSTERY MAN: Good. Good.

JEFF: Err, sorry who are you?

MYSTERY MAN: Did you receive a package in the mail today, Mr Richards?

JEFF: Yes, it was some kind of box, it’s next to me right now. Did you send it? What’s going on?

MYSTERY MAN: I also understand you’re having some financial problems at the moment? Six months behind with your rent? Credit cards unpaid? Bailiffs at the door? It isn’t looking good Mr Richards.

JEFF: How do you know all that? Look if you don’t tell me what's going, I’m going to call the police. It’s been a long day and I don’t have time for this crap, okay?

MYSTERY MAN: I’m sorry, please forgive my theatrical nature; It comes with the job. No, I am ringing you today with an offer of cash. Enough money to solve all your debt problems and secure your financial future.

JEFF: Look, sorry I’m not interested. I don’t know who you are and I’m certainly not interested in whatever you’re selling.

MYSTERY MAN: All I ask of you is that you hear my offer.

JEFF: Okay, you’ve got one minute. What do you want?

MYSTERY MAN: The package you received in the mail this morning. As you will have already noticed, it is but a simple box; which when opened reveals a button. A single, solitary button.

JEFF: What does it do? I haven’t pressed anything yet. I wasn’t even sure if it was meant for me.

MYSTERY MAN: Oh Mr Richards, be under no doubt the box was meant for you. If you press this button; the one you see before you right now, then one million pounds will be deposited in your bank account. Everything will be legal and it will be yours to do as you like.

JEFF: What’s the catch?

MYSTERY MAN: Ah, you are a smart man Mr Richards. You understand nothing is without consequence and that every action has an opposite and equal reaction. I like that. So let me cut straight to the chase. If you press that button, it will also cause one person somewhere in the world to drop dead at the exact same time. You will not know this person and you will never have to face punishment for the crime.

JEFF: Oh

THE MYSTERY MAN EVILLY LAUGHS AT THE SITUATION

MYSTERY MAN: Now you see the delightful conundrum which faces you. You can have more money than you ever dreamed of; but at what cost?

JEFF: (sighs) Yeah, that’s a tricky one.

HE PRESSES THE BUTTON

MYSTERY MAN: The weight of a single life versus the... (pause) Hold on; what was that sound?

JEFF: What?

MYSTERY MAN: Did you just press the button?

JEFF: Well, yeah. You said it yourself, I need the money. I’ve got debts to pay.

MYSTERY MAN: What? You pressed it just like that?

JEFF: (concerned) Why? Did I do something wrong?

HE STARTS PRESSING THE BUTTON AGAIN

MYSTERY MAN: No, it’s just most people normally take a little longer to think about it. They agonise over it for weeks, it eventually drives them crazy. That’s half the fun. You do realise somebody has just dropped dead? I did make that clear didn’t I? They are no longer alive because of something you’ve done. Didn’t you even consider it for one second....? Hold on are you still pressing the button?

JEFF: Well, you said every time I press the button, I get a million pounds. I just thought I’d press it a few more times; build up a bit of wealth you know? I mean a million pounds isn’t that much is it? It’ll barely buy you a nice house these days.

MYSTERY MAN: You can’t just keep pressing the button; that isn’t part of the deal.

JEFF: You said every time I press the button I get a million pounds!

MYSTERY MAN: Once! You press the button once and you get a million pounds. Once! Also somebody will die! You keep forgetting that bit.

JEFF: No. I clearly remember you saying ‘every time’ I press this button I get a million pounds. You made a verbal contract. I’ve already pressed it like 50 times. Besides, I can use a lot of this money to build hospitals in Africa or fund a cure for cancer. I might have killed 50 people, but offset that against the millions of lives I can save with this money. Besides, I’ll still have enough left over for a penthouse in Malibu.

MYSTERY MAN: It doesn’t work like that. Haven’t you ever seen that episode of Twilight Zone? It doesn’t work like that!

THE SOUND OF SOMETHING BREAKING. HE HAS PRESSED THE BUTTON SO MANY TIMES THAT HE HAS BROKEN IT.

MYSTERY MAN: Oh great! Do you know what you’ve done? You’ve broken it. That’s what you’ve done. You’ve broken it. Do you know how long it took to setup this thing? A wireless button system which kills a random person and deposits large cash sums in a commercial bank account? Do you know how difficult it is to administrate? The paperwork involved?

JEFF: I still get the money right?

MYSTERY MAN: What? Are you crazy? You’ve broken it.

JEFF: Well it’s not my fault.

MYSTERY MAN: Just hold on a minute.

THE MYSTERY MAN TURNS AWAY FROM THE PHONE. WE HEAR HIM TALKING TO SOMEONE IN THE BACKGROUND

MYSTERY MAN: I’m on the phone with Jeff Richards, which one of you added him to the list? Well he isn’t suitable. He’s a prat! He just keeps pushing the button. We’ll that’s what I said, you don’t get a million pounds every time you press it.

HE RETURNS TO THE PHONE

MYSTERY MAN: Hello sir. There has been a little confusion I’m afraid, we sadly aren’t able to pay you the initial amount of money we originally agreed on.

JEFF: (quoting) If you press this button, then one million pounds will be deposited in your bank account straight away. That’s what you said.

MYSTERY MAN: Look, let me just see if I can find my supervisor. Are you sure you haven’t seen that Twilight Zone episode?

JEFF: Is that the show that began, ‘Do not adjust your set, we control the....”

MYSTERY MAN: No. No, that was ‘The Outer Limits’...

JEFF: Was there any difference?

MYSTERY MAN: (defeated) No, not really...

CARE OF THE ELDERLEY

AN OLD MAN LIES DOZING IN A HOSPITAL BED FOLLOWING AN UNSPECIFIED TREATMENT. HIS WELL SPOKEN SON GENTLY WAKES HIM.

SON: Wake up dad, we’re here to take you home.

FATHER: (groggy) Oh, hello son.

SON: Hello dad. Janice and I are here to take you home. Everything’s sorted and we’ve just had a long chat with Mr Smith about what you need to do when you get home.

FATHER: Mr. Smith?

SON: (condescendingly) Yes, Mr. Smith, you know, Mr Smith…your specialist. He says we’ve got to find you plenty to do once you get home. You know, pastimes, hobbies, anything to keep you active. You’ve given us all a bit fright. Finding you on the floor like that.

FATHER: On t’ floor?

SON: Yes, at the side of your computer. In a way, it was slightly amusing, the way your trousers had fallen down as well. You must have snagged them on the desk as you fell. Anyway, you seem to be OK now so that’s how we want things to stay. You need to get out more. Spending all that time on the internet checking your shares and so on. It’s not good for you at your age. It really isn’t.

FATHER: Aye, I think you’re right son. Laying ‘ere, it’s given me time to think about what I really want to do.

SON: That’s great dad. Janice has picked up a couple of cassette tapes for you. You like Perry Como and Flanders and Swann don’t you. You could get back in touch with your old wartime buddies again couldn’t you? That would be nice wouldn’t it? You stopped meeting them once you got that blasted computer didn’t you?

FATHER: They were all right I suppose, old ‘Biffy’ Morris is a nice bloke. I just got a bit fed up with ‘em all. I suggested we all go on a sight seeing trip to Thailand last year but they just wanted to stick to Mablethorpe again.

SON: What would you like to do? This weekend say. It should be a good 2 days for pottering around the old garden again. That’s something else you’ve allowed to get a bit ‘out of hand’ shall we say, since you got on the internet. I honestly don’t know how you can pass the time like that. It must be frightfully boring.

FATHER: Yes, I do need to get out and about again. Live it up a bit. I think what I’d really like to do is get back into a hobby I let slide way back when mum became ill.

SON: What’s that? The old plastic modelling? You used to have a great collection at one time didn’t you dad.

FATHER: No, not plastic models again. I’m on about ‘having it off’.

SON: Having what off?

FATHER: It…. You know. Makin’ ‘Woopee’. Horizontal ballroom dancin’, playin’ hide the policeman’s helmet… Yes, it’ll be nice to get back into it. I haven’t had a go since 1972 but I dare say I’ll soon get back into the swing.

SON: (Shocked) You want to start doing it again? But dad, you’re 87 years old. You can’t start having it off again, now.

FATHER: Why not? It’s about time I saw some action again.

SON: What on earth will mum think of the idea? She’s not in the best of health these days.

FATHER: What’s it got to do with her?

SON: She’s mum. I don’t think she’s really up to it and ….even if she was, I mean really, you’re both a bit old for that sort of carry on aren’t you?

FATHER: Good grief, I won’t be having a crack at mum. She’s old. I was thinking more someone mid to late 20s. A young Melinda Messenger type, you know…but perhaps a bit bigger on top if you follow.

SON: Have you gone completely mad? I mean… even if this plan was remotely decent, how on earth do you think you are going to ‘liaise’ with someone like Melinda Messenger? How would you meet such a woman in the first place?

FATHER: Are there any decent lookin’ lasses at your place?

SON: There are lots of nice members of the opposite sex at Jones, Franklin and Masters Financial Services, but unfortunately for you dad, NONE of them would be interested in an old duffer like you… I mean…this is outrageous.

FATHER: Look son, I know you have my best interests in mind and I know you want me to get a hobby or interest that will keep me active but I am definitely NOT going to be playing crown green bowls, skittles, or any other hobby that involves being surrounded by wrinklies. No. I’m going to start having it off and that’s that.

SON: Look dad, I’m not going to sit back and let you make a fool of yourself so forget about having it off as you so crudely put it. Look dad I think you’re perhaps not ‘fully’ recovered from the fall. Perhaps you should have a lot of rest. You sound as though you need a nice holiday to help you build up your strength and get all these daft ideas out of your mind. Where would you like to go dad. Don’t worry about the cost. We just want you to get better. What do you think? Italy is lovely this time of year. Or how about a Rhine cruise?

FATHER: (tentatively) Bangkok sounds nice. Nice beaches Lovely relaxing scenery. Dave, one of my internet friends says the locals are very friendly. They love English people out there…Can’t do enough for you... Yes… Bangkok.

SON: (relieved) That sounds more like it dad. You’re such a joker. I never know when to take you seriously. I knew you would see sense eventually. Hopefully, it’ll give you time to think about the ridiculous things you’ve just been saying. What are we going to do with you dad eh?

FATHER: Aye, a nice relaxing holiday in Bangkok. Pity mum won’t be able to go with her heart problem and the like, but I’ll make the best of it on my own. Just go and grab yourselves a drink while I get my stuff together for the trip home.

SON LEAVES THE ROOM AND YOU CAN HEAR THE FATHER USING A TELEPHONE. HE DIALS AND A MOMENT LATER SAYS:

FATHER: Hello Dave. Yes, the plan worked perfectly. ‘Chitty Titty Bangkok’ here we come.

COMMANDER AWESOME & LIBERTY LAD

DYNAMIC SUPERHERO MUSIC

THE ANNOUNCER: It’s time once again justice fans for the adventures of Commander Awesome, and his faithful sidekick, Liberty Lad…

MUSIC STOPS, BEEPING COMPUTERS, MONITORS

THE ANNOUNCER: We join our intrepid heroes in their secret hideout, The Fortress of Justice, as Commander Awesome mans the crime-monitor, seeking out signs of wrongdoings. Ever watchful, ever vigilant, ever...

COMMANDER AWESOME: Bored bored bored bored bored…

LIBERTY LAD WALKING TO CONSOLE, PUTS DOWN HEAVY BUCKET OF WATER

LIBERTY LAD: (panting) Right, I’ve finished cleaning the Awesome-Mobile, and mopping the floors in the Kitchen of Integrity.

COMMANDER AWESOME: Oh, very good Liberty Lad. Can you make a start on the Toilet of Temperance?

LIBERTY LAD: Look, this isn’t exactly in my job description! And besides it’s not like your busy just sat there, can’t you do it?

COMMANDER AWESOME: I am busy; I am monitoring the crime-monitor, looking for signs of super powered crime and injustice.

LIBERTY LAD: Anything happening then?

COMMANDER AWESOME: No. But in these dark times we must remain ever watchful and alert, in a constant state of cat-like readiness, ready to act without a moment’s haste, whenever evildoers raise their heads. And besides, you are my sidekick. It’s your job to aid your superhero at all times.

LIBERTY LAD: Yes, but that’s more in line with helping find your Silver Crossbow of Galmeria, or warning you of impending ninja attack, not scrubbing out the toilet and general household maintenance. And besides I thought we had a guy for all this stuff.

COMMANDER AWESOME: You mean Alec, our intrepid butler? Oh yes, yes I had to let him go. It seems in the current socio-economic climate I can’t really afford to keep him in our employ. Unfortunate really, been with the family for years, very sad. So in the meantime we’ll have to make do.

LIBERTY LAD: Well, couldn’t we find some petty crimes to fight to pass the time? There seems to be a lot of them these days.

COMMANDER AWESOME: Hmmmmm…no, I don’t think so. Our abilities are best reserved for villains with magic swords and killer robots, that kind of thing. And one of those could strike at any minute, so my place is here, by the Crime-monitor.

LIBERTY LAD: Fine, I’ll go get the bleach…

A LOUD BLEEPING ALARM

COMMANDER AWESOME: The toilet will have to wait chum, looks like someone needs our assistance!

PRESSING OF KEYS AND BUTTONS

COMMANDER AWESOME: It looks like our nemesis Doctor Mortistein is robbing the bank on the High Street, there’s not a moment to waste!

LIBERTY LAD: Go go Awesome-Mobile!!!

COMMANDER AWESOME: Errr, no we’re not taking the Awesome-Mobile, have you seen the fuel prices these days?

LIBERTY LAD: But I just finished cleaning it!

COMMANDER AWESOME: Well we don’t want it getting dirty again do we? Water rationing!

LIBERTY LAD: Well what about the Awesome-Bike?

COMMANDER AWESOME: Needs servicing

LIBERTY LAD: Go go Awesome-Boat?

COMMANDER AWESOME: Hold up in dry-dock and currently on Ebay

LIBERTY LAD: Awesome-Copter?

COMMANDER AWESOME: Alec took it as part of his severance pay

LIBERTY LAD: Well how are we going to get to the crime zone then?

CUT TO THE PAIR OF THEM ON A BUS

LIBERTY LAD: Go go Awesome-mass public transit system!!!

COMMANDER AWESOME: Shut up!

THE ANNOUNCER: Meanwhile, in the High Street, a dastardly bank robbery is underway by non other than, that evil fiend, Doctor Mortistein!!!

BANK ALARM GOING OFF, GENERAL DESTRUCTION

DR MORTISTEIN: Behold, it is I, Doctor Mortistein, and this is a robbery. Don’t move or I shall be forced to disintegrate you where you stand. (evil laughter) Now…hand over the money, or else!!!

BANK TELLER: We haven’t got any

DR MORTISTEIN: Wait, what?

BANK TELLER: This is a bank sir, we haven’t got any money

DR MORTISTEIN: Oh.

BANK TELLER: Yep, sorry

DR MORTISTEIN: Right…well, what do you have then?

BANK TELLER: We’ve got a coupe of bags of coppers, some leaflets on ISA’s and mortgage repayments…

DR MORTISTEIN: Alright then, hand them over…and your name badge, and that clock on the wall over there…and those pens, with the unchewed lids!!!!

BANK TELLER: Yes sir

DR MORTISTEIN: None can match the evil genius of Doctor Mortistein!!!

A BUS PULLS UP. THE BANK DOOR OPENS.

COMMANDER AWESOME: Not so fast Doctor Mortistein!!!

LIBERTY LAD: Yeah, your days of injustice and threatening the public are over!!!

BANK TELLER: Oh he’s not bothering us really, no more than any other customer

DR MORTISTEIN: Silence!!! You won’t stop me this time Commander Awesome and Liberty Lad, not when you face the combined might of me and my newest assistant. Come forth, Match-Head Mark!!!

MATCH-HEAD MARK: (Giggling)

COMMANDER AWESOME: Match-Head Mark? Hold on, what happened to that other fellow you had, the one with the huge spiky robotic arm, really gravely voice? Mechanikill, thats it!!!

DR MORTISTEIN: Yeah, well he was a brilliant assistant but I had to terminate his contract. I’m a little short of cash these days, what with the economy how it is and everything. Hence this robbery really…

COMMANDER AWESOME: Oh tell me about it, I had to let my butler go the other day, been in our employ for years

DR MORTISTEIN: Oh that is a shame. Anyway, so what I did was fired Mechanikill, gave him his redundancy, and hired another evil sidekick on a lower pay grade. Saves me a packet in the long term.

COMMANDER AWESOME: Really? Hmmm…maybe I should consider doing the same…

LIBERTY LAD: Hey!!!

COMMANDER AWESOME: Errr, I mean…enough of this, let us do battle evildoer!!!

DR MORTISTEIN: Fine, face the power of my DISINTEGRATING DEATH BEAM!!! (Evil laughter)

LASER BEAM, EXPLOSION

LIBERTY LAD: Whoa!!!

COMMANDER AWESOME: Take cover Liberty Lad!!!

LASER BEAM, EXPLOSION

DR MORTISTEIN: Run heroes, run and face your doom! (More evil laughter)

LASER BEAM, EXPLOSION, SOUND OF DEVICE POWERING DOWN, RAPID CLICKING OF TRIGGER

DR MORTISTEIN: What!?! Damn blasted cheap ass market batteries. Work damn you!!! Honestly you try to make a saving, maybe if I rub them…

LIBERTY LAD: You should have bought the named brand Doctor! Quick, while he’s disarmed…

MATCH-HEAD MARK: Not so fast super-losers!

LIBERTY LAD: Oh no, it’s Match-Head Mark!

COMMANDER AWESOME: Right then lets do this, what are your super powers evil fiend?

MATCH-HEAD MARK: None can withstand the fury of Match-Head Mark, I posses the super human ability to set my head on FIRE!!!

LIBERTY LAD: What?

MATCH-HEAD MARK: I can explode my head into a fiery inferno of death!

COMMANDER AWESOME: Really?

MATCH-HEAD MARK: YES! (evil laughter) Do you tremble before my power!?!

LIBERTY LAD: Not really no, normal people can set their head on fire and it’s not that super. In fact it’s quite fatal!

MATCH-HEAD MARK: Fatal to you perhaps!!!

COMMANDER AWESOME: Really!?! Doctor is this the best you could do?

DR MORTISTEIN: It’s not the worse one I could have hired believe me, just give him a chance. Ah ha! I’ve found another battery in the clock from the wall, just hang on, I shall destroy you momentarily. Get them Match-Head Mark!!!

COMMANDER AWESOME: All right then, defensive positions Liberty Lad, do your worst!

MATCH-HEAD MARK: Very well…

RUMMAGING, PULLING OUT LARGE PIECE OF CARDBOARD, MATCH STRIKING SURFACE & FAILING TO LIGHT

LIBERTY LAD: What is that?

MATCH-HEAD MARK: It’s my striking surface, you know like on a matchbox? That’s how my powers work, I can’t self ignite so I have to rub my head very rapidly against this… bit awkward though. Don’t worry, soon my head will be a torrent of flame and then you’ll be sorry!!! If I can just…damn it, light damn you…

LIBERTY LAD: Ok you know what? Just stop, Commander this is ridiculous!

COMMANDER AWESOME: I’m afraid I have to agree with you chum, this will hardly go down in the grand chronicles of our battles against the forces of injustice.

DR MORTISTEIN: I hate to agree with you Commander; I’d be lying if I said my heart was in this. I mean look at me! I’m Doctor Mortistein! Evil genius…

LIBERTY LAD: Not much of a genius to be robbing a bank…

COMMANDER AWESOME: Quiet Awesome Lad, don’t interrupt him while he’s monologuing.

DR MORTISTEIN: Master of robotics, destroyer of, of…of stuff! And now look at me…my robotic horde has had to be shut down, I’ve got bailiffs knocking down the door of my secret volcano lair, have had to start selling my decent doomsday devices on ebay, and worse of all…HIM!!!

MATCH-HEAD MARK: Excuse me could you…could you help me by holding this?

COMMANDER AWESOME: What now?

MATCH-HEAD MARK: Could you just hold this while I rub my head against it?

COMMANDER AWESOME: What? (shouting) I’m not helping you set your head on fire!

MATCH-HEAD MARK: Oh ok then, well I guess I could put in down on the floor and do kind of a handstand, don’t worry I’ll be killing you in minutes.

COMMANDER AWESOME: Yeah sure that’s great…

LIBERTY LAD: So much for the super hero industry being recession proof!

COMMANDER AWESOME: True Amazing Lad, it’s certainly an eye opener.

DR MORTISTEIN: Indeed.

LIBERTY LAD: Sooooo…what do we do now?

DR MORTISTEIN: I might just go, brood a little, plot stuff, you know the usual.

COMMANDER AWESOME: Yeah I think we’ll be off too, call in the shops on the way back to the Fortress. Oh speaking of plotting, you got any other crimes planned soon?

DR MORTISTEIN: Well I’ve maybe got an attack against the city power grid coming up, what days you free next week?

COMMANDER AWESOME: Oh I’m free most days don’t worry about that.

LIBERTY LAD: Definitely.

DR MORTISTEIN: Great stuff, well I’ll see if I can’t arrange something for next week.

SPARK, ROAR OF IGNITION, FIRE, GASPS OF ASTONISHMENT

MATCH-HEAD MARK: Behold the awesome power of Match-Head Mark!

LIBERTY LAD: Bloody hell!

MATCH-HEAD MARK: Now prepare to die! As I turn you into a raging burning inferno of pain, burning… burning… burning? BURNING! (Screams) I’m burning, my head is on fire, oh my god!

SCREAMING PAIN, PANIC, RUSHING ABOUT, FIRE EXSTINGUISHER, FIRE GOING OUT, SIZZLING

MATCH-HEAD MARK: (in pain) Beware…my…power?

COMMANDER AWESOME: Quick thinking there Liberty Lad, you’ve…saved him?

LIBERTY LAD: Thanks, I think we should be off now

DR MORTISTEIN: Yeah I think I better be off too

COMMANDER AWESOME: But what about Mark there?

DR MORTISTEIN: Oh I’m sure he’ll be fine, see you later super losers!

ROCKET BOOTS FIRING, FLYING OFF AS DR MORTISTEIN CRASHES HEAD FIRST THROUGH A SKYLIGHT

COMMANDER AWESOME: Ok, remember next week!

LIBERTY LAD: Wait, so what just happened? Did we save the day or what?

COMMANDER AWESOME: I think we can rest knowing that something was foiled, even if it was Match-Head Marks head (laughs) You know, like a jacket potato, in the oven? He’s all burnt? And…lets, lets just go shall we?

THEY BOTH LEAVE THROUGH THE FRONT DOOR

BANK TELLER: So…doesn’t anyone want to open an ISA today? Anyone? Better clean up this mess I guess...bloody superheroes…

MATCH-HEAD MARK: (moan of pain)

DYNAMIC SUPERHERO MUSIC

THE ANNOUNCER: Tune in next time justice fans, for more super powered adventures of…Commander Awesome and Liberty Lad!

GREAT SCOTT!

SNOW SOUND: WIND BLOWING AND FOOTSTEPS IN SNOW

SCOTT: Halt! It’s no good men, we’re not making adequate time! At this rate we’ll never reach the supply depot before the weather turns! We need to lighten the sledge!

EVANS: What about the spare tent, Sir?

SCOTT: I understand your thinking Taff, but if anything happened to our main tent we’d be dead within minutes in these conditions.

BOWERS: What about the cocktail shaker, Sir?

EVANS: But how will we ever make our pre-dinner martinis?

SCOTT: We could have sherry!

EVANS: Have we any, Birdy?

BOWERS: Yes! There are two bottles in the drinks cabinet.

SCOTT: Okay, lose the cocktail shaker!

BOWERS: Yes, Sir!

SCOTT: And Birdy,...

BOWERS: Yes, Sir?

SCOTT: Get rid of the ice-bucket!

BOWERS: Yes, Sir!

SCOTT: I don’t know what possessed you to bring it in the first place!

BOWERS: Sorry Sir!

SCOTT: Anything else?

EVANS: We could maybe lose the trampoline, sir?

SCOTT: Hmmmn, I think not. It might yet still prove useful.

EVANS: Okay...How about the Grand Piano?

BOWERS: Oh but Titus plays so beautifully after dinner Sir!

SCOTT: In this wilderness Birdy, if you can’t eat it or bounce up and down on it, then it’s nothing but matchwood and scrap iron.

EVANS: And besides, we still have the gramophone player!

SCOTT: That’s decided then! Leave the piano and let’s press on. Come on, it’s too cold to stand around talking.

THEY WALK AWAY

SOUND: SOMEBODY PLAYING A PIANO

SCOTT: (shouting back) I said leave it Birdy!

BOWERS: Sorry Sir.

In this second section of the ‘Cornucopia Radio Ebook’ you will…

Disprove Fermat’s last theorem, because if an integer n is greater than 2, then the equation a + b = c has no solutions in non-zero integers a, b, and c. Which is just silly when you think about it.

Discover that a pinch is less than a sprinkle, but more than soupcon and about the same as smidgen. Although seeing as we are talking Anthrax, the argument is mute.

Be framed for a crime you didn’t commit.

HOLMES IN LOVE

Sherlock Holmes was fiddling with his pipe when he received a female visitor. She announced herself as Miss Ella Mentry and surprised Holmes by deducing that he needed a good shag.

“It’s the way you’re fumbling in your tobacco pouch,” she explained, then went on to say that she had come to offer herself as his assistant.

“I’m not sure I need one,” stammered Holmes.

“Nevertheless,” she replied, handing him her résumé, “I’d like you to read this. I shall return tomorrow for your answer.”

The following morning, having read Miss Mentry’s impressive résumé, he answered the door excitedly, but found it was a postal delivery operative.

“I was expecting a woman,” he said, trying to hide his palpable disappointment.

“You should get out more,” the postal delivery operative replied gruffly.

Then, in one seamless movement, off came the hat and the uniform, the bag of letters fell to the floor, and Holmes beheld: “Miss Mentry!”

“I’m a mistress of disguise,” she announced, to which Holmes replied that indeed she was, except for two rather obvious points: her brogues were not GPO standard issue. She conceded this, then accepted Holmes’ invitation to enter his rooms.

Once inside she gave him a letter from his amanuensis, Dr. Watson.

Holmes explained that he and Inspector Lestrade were on holiday in the Cornish seaside resort of Five Bays.

“I know it well,” said Miss Mentry. “As the name suggests, it consists of five bays: BeeBay where they keep hives; Double D Bay where they make large brassieres.” She could see from Holmes’ expression that this was not his area of expertise, so she continued, “In Pea Bay they grow peas; in TeaBay they produce the nation’s favourite beverage; and then there’s the place where they hold auctions.”

“Ee Bay,” Holmes deduced.

He read Watson’s letter aloud to her.

“‘There’s nothing like watching a row of buoys bobbing about in the water as yachts weave in and out of them. Lestrade and I have found an excellent hostelry: the Seamen’s Arms where local seamen can be seen to gather, and an eatery: Mick Stein’s where fine, if somewhat overpriced, seafood is served.’ He goes on to say that the town band contains a surprising number of German cooks.”

“Kaiser Chefs,” said Miss Mentry. “They’re appearing all over Europe. There are rumours that they plan to conquer the world.”

“Starting with Cornwall,” said Holmes. “What a devilish plan.”

He decided that he must go to Five Bays without delay and asked Miss Mentry to accompany him. She agreed with alacrity. He would reserve a couchette on that evening’s Cornish Sleeper. To avoid suspicion they would travel as Mr. and Mrs. Columbo. He told himself that her deductive prowess and her local knowledge were the reasons for his interest in her, but, in truth, something was stirring within him that an hour alone with his pipe couldn’t satisfy.

Aboard the Cornish Sleeper Holmes took the upper berth, hoping not to disturb Miss Mentry should he toss and turn. It had been a long time since he’d entered a tunnel at the dead of night. The last occasion had been with Watson, who had been a reluctant participant, but Miss Mentry was determined to enjoy herself below him in the lower berth and chortled into the early hours.

Arriving at Five Bays they made for the Bay View Hotel where Holmes had booked them a room.

“It’s enormous,” said Miss Mentry, gazing out of the window across the bay.

“It’s the largest in the West Country” said Holmes. “You could float a battleship in it. And I think you’ll find this pleasantly firm.” He indicated the double-bed that, in order to maintain their subterfuge, the room possessed. Then he suggested that they have a fine, if over-priced, lunch at Mick Stein’s, after which he would meet Watson and Lestrade in the Seamen’s Arms while Miss Mentry reconnoitred Five Bays. She would have liked to have joined them in the Seamen’s Arms, but Holmes felt that she would stand-out too much.

“I could dress as a cabin-boy,” she said.

Holmes found the offer appealing, but decided not to mix work and pleasure.

At the Seamen’s Arms Watson was drinking alone. To Holmes’ enquiry about Lestrade, he replied that a hole had appeared in the promenade and he was looking into it.

Holmes then revealed that he was accompanied by a female.

“What’s her name?” asked Watson.

“Ella Mentry, my dear Watson,” replied Holmes.

“Wise not to bring her here,” said Watson: “women and seamen don’t mix.”

Meanwhile, in a hitherto insignificant German principality the Count was asking his Minister for World Domination about his latest invasion plan.

“It will take place this evening at the Cornish seaside resort of Five Bays,” the Minister declared.

“That is where Mick Stein serves fine, if over-priced, seafood, is it not?” asked the Count, to which the Minister replied that it was and that, if anything, prices had gone up.

“And yet people still go there,” said the Count. “Never will I understand the English.”

“However,” the Minister continued, “my spy informs me that bargains can still be had in Ee Bay.”

“In that case,” said the Count, “be careful who you slaughter. Who is our man in Five Bays, by the way?”

The Minister replied that he was a certain professor by the name of Professor Moriarty.

“Professor Professor Moriarty,” said the Count. “I hope that he lives up to his name.”

That evening Holmes had his binoculars trained on the bay when a flashing light appeared from Mick Stein’s.

“It’s Morse,” said Miss Mentry.

“What’s he doing here?” asked Holmes.

“Morse Code,” she elaborated. “It says, ‘Invasion tonight confirmed’”.

Realising that there was no time to lose Holmes was almost through the door before Miss Mentry grabbed his Webley and suggested that he take it. He spurned the suggestion, asking, rhetorically, what could befall him on a balmy evening in a sleepy Cornish seaside resort.

“You might be jostled by locals angered by the rise in house prices caused by the influx of second-home owners,” said Miss Mentry.

Holmes paused, admitting that there was something in what she said.

“Or,” she continued, “they might vent their frustration at the demise of the fishing industry by removing your deerstalker and trampling it underfoot.”

Holmes was sorely tempted. Their fingers touched along the steely hardness of the Webley’s barrel, but he withdrew his hand at the last moment, saying that he would go unarmed.

Reaching the bay Holmes became aware of eerie sounds and strange shadows among the boats that were moored there. Watson and Lestrade had been on their way back from the Seamen’s Arms when they’d succumbed to the soporific effect of their special brew and had fallen asleep on the esplanade.

Holmes woke them and told them about the flashing light coming from Mick Stein’s.

“What’s that got to do with the price of fish?” asked Lestrade, who had slipped easily into a nautical persona.

“Nothing,” came an unexpected voice from the Saucy Sue.

It was Moriarty. The Saucy Sue had been converted into a pocket battleship and he was pointing a six-pounder at them.

“You’ll never get away with it!” Holmes exclaimed.

“On the contrary,” said Moriarty. “An invasion fleet is already on its way.”

“But it will never reach these shores,” came another unexpected voice from the Saucy Sue. Miss Mentry had climbed aboard, dripping wet and dressed as a cabin-boy and cradling a huge mackerel. “How would you like a slap in the face with a wet fish?” she continued, indicating the mackerel.

“I’ve already had one at Mick Stein’s,” Moriarty replied, “and it wasn’t to my taste.”

“Perhaps this will be more to your taste,” she said, producing Holmes’ Webley and squeezing the trigger.

Moriarty disappeared in the smoke from the discharge. A moment later they heard a splash from the far side of the Saucy Sue.

“He’s fallen in the water,” observed Watson.

“Yes,” said Miss Mentry, throwing the mackerel after him, “tonight he’ll sleep with the fish. Now all that remains for us to do here is to send a message in Morse Code cancelling the invasion.”

“Tell me,” said Holmes to Miss Mentry as they all waited for the train back to Paddington, “what made you suspicious?”

“Well,” said Miss Mentry, “it was partly the stench of putrefying cod coming from Mick Stein’s.”

“I thought it always smelt that way,” Watson interjected.

“No,” said Miss Mentry, “it usually smells of putrefying haddock. And it was partly the way the herring formed an orderly queue at the fish-canning factory, but mainly it was something I discovered at the Tourist Information Centre,” – and here she produced a brochure from her capacious handbag – “Professor Moriarty’s Rough Guide to Five Bays and World Domination.”

That evening Holmes asked Watson if he’d ever been in love.

“There was this filly out in India,” said Watson, his eyes becoming dewy.

“How did you approach her?” asked Holmes.

“In the usual way. Put my foot in the stirrup and swung my leg over.”

“Miss Mentry is a bit lacking in the stirrup department,” said Holmes.

Watson concurred, then said, “Splendid fetlocks, though.”

“Yes,” said Holmes. “Splendid.”

DOBBIN

There’s nothing worse than employment discrimination. A person should always be judged on the ability to do the job they’ve applied for, nothing else! Sex, race, disability; these issues should never, ever be a consideration. Which is why during the interview process for our new ‘Finance Director’, I did my very best to make sure I viewed everybody on an equal and fair playing field.

So when Dobbin came in, I viewed him in the same way I would any other potential employee. I mean yes, he was a pantomime horse; that was obvious, but he arrived early for the interview and presented an impressive CV. He wore a sign around his neck saying “One clip-clop for yes” “Two clip-clops for no” and I have to be honest and say I was quite taken aback by those big ole’ comedy eyes with the fluttery lashes.

The interview went incredibly well and I was very impressed by all the ‘clip-clops’ he gave and so obviously I offered him the job on the spot. So, when he was fired five months later for embezzling company funds I was incredibly disappointed and disheartened to say the least.

How could I have gotten it so wrong?

I’ll tell you; I’m never going to make that mistake again.

Bloody pantomime horses! Nothing but trouble!

ROMEO AND JULIET, THE LATER YEARS?

Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou, Romeo?

I know wherefore! Down the tavern with is mates, that’s wherefore! ’Did you see the game last night’! Quoits this, quoits that! Pro-celebrity bloody quoits! He knows exactly what he can do with his sodding quoits. I suppose he’s playing the big man and buying everyone flagons of ale. Never buys me anything! Probably forgotten it’s our wedding anniversary next week, as usual. He’ll be sorry! And he’d better not be dallying around with that barmaid again, all tits and hair! If he comes home stinking of lilac water they’ll both be sorry! Mind you, if he wakes up our neighbour again, Mister Bacon, then I won’t need to deal with him! I suppose he’ll have the urge when he gets home! That’s all it ever is, an urge! Two minutes of fumbling and even if he manages to get it up, he falls asleep before he can put it to any use.

Typical man, bloody useless! I should have married Benvolio instead, at least he’s got a proper job! I bet he wouldn’t just mope around the house all day complaining and getting under my feet. And if I ask him to do a simple job like fetch some water or go to the market, oh no! He’s just too busy or he’s got a headache. Hangover more like! I’ll give him a bloody headache when he gets back! And God help him if he’s covered in that cheap tart’s lipstick! I could have had a career, made something of myself, instead of ending up as a glorified skivvy. I’m still an attractive woman, I could do a lot better for myself. The local squire is always giving me the eye, he’s a bit old but he’s got plenty of money. I think I deserve a better life, a few little luxuries now and again...

To live in a palace and have servants to do every thing for me, satisfy my every whim. Aaaah, if only! He used to bring me flowers when we were courting, and serenade me on the balcony! Oh to be star-crossed lovers again. He’ll be seeing stars if he comes crawling in at two-o’clock in the morning, stinking of beer! Waking me up and drooling all over me, snoring and farting all night long! He’s worse than a dog. I expect he’ll try and convince me that he’s got some important work to do tomorrow being a bodyguard or rescuing someone of great importance. But if I should happen by the royal oak tavern, I’m sure I would find him holding court, guarding his drink with his life!

Hero, pah! Bar stool hero! He shows that blonde harlot more affection than he does me. And that better be all he’s showing her, trollop! I bet she wouldn’t cook his meals, wash his clothes and clean the house. Oh no! Well somebody’s going to get too much starch in their codpiece tomorrow, maybe that will curb his urge! I can’t remember the last time he took me out anywhere, yet he’s out every night! It would be nice to go for a meal once in a while, or perhaps the theatre. I understand that Shakespeare fellow has got a new play on in the city and it’s only an hour away by the new stagecoach service. Whatever will they invent next. I bet he would take miss big tits as quick as you like!

I don’t know why I stay, I should go home to mother, she said he would never amount to anything! Why oh why didn’t I listen! Because, back then, we loved each other, and nothing else mattered! We were all consumed within our passion and the outside World became a distant place. I wonder if we could recapture that youth, if there is any of that passion left. Alas, no! I do not think that anyone can travel back to a point in time. What is done is done, what is said is said and what has gone has gone. There can be no return. One can only go forward. Yes, tomorrow I shall leave, early in the morning, before he wakes. I will leave him a note. Yes! I have little to take, just some memories, and they are not a burden. Everything else can remain.

SHIT STALKER

THE SOUND OF A BUSY OUTDOOR CAFÉ

STALKER: Hi, look I know we’ve never meet face to face before but thanks for coming here.

SOUND OF A CHAIR BEING PULLED UP

STALKER: It’s a lovely place you’ve chosen

STALKEE: Well, I thought it best done somewhere public. Lots of witnesses in case you do something crazy (laughs)

STALKER: Yes,

STALKEE: What’s wrong? You mentioned on the phone you had something to tell me

STALKER: Yeah, I kind’a do.

STALKEE: Well, what is it? Is this about us?

STALKER: Look, there’s no easy way to say this, but I just don’t think ‘we’ are working.

STALKEE: What are you saying? How can “we” not be working?

STALKER: Things change, people grow apart, and eventually you lose interest.

STALKEE: You’re breaking up with me?

STALKER MUMBLES

STALKEE: How can “you” be breaking up with me? You’re my stalker!!

STALKER: Look, you’ve just become, you’ve become to clingy, okay?

STALKEE: Oh, I’ve become to clingy have I? Well excuse me for taking an active interest in the man whose been manically stalking me for the past 10 months.

STALKER: But, that’s the whole point isn’t it? You’re not meant to take an interest in me. You meant to be scarred of me, I’m meant to make your life hell. If I decide to take a night off from standing outside your window in the rain holding a knife. You’re not meant to ring me up and ask me where I am!

STALKEE: And were where you?

STALKER: I’ve already told you, Monday is my night off. That’s when I go play darts with the lads at the stalkers union. Do you know how embarrassing it is to have you ringing me up in front of them? They’re never going to let me live this down. My nickname use to be silent stalker. Do you know what it is now? It’s shit stalker. Yeah, that’s right, shit stalker!!

STALKEE: I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I’ve just felt you slipping away from me recently. I just wanted to get back to how we used to be. Remember when you first started stalking me?

STALKER: Yeah, I remember. When I first saw you on the bus, I can recall thinking; I want to follow this women home and hide in her rhododendrons.

STALKEE: See, that’s what I mean. The silent phone calls in the middle of the night. The secret video cameras you placed in my home and office. The envelopes full of faeces you would post to my boyfriend. The time I came back and found you’d killed my dog and left in on the doorstep. I knew you cared (pause) It was a full time job to you back then, wasn’t it?

STALKER: Yeah it was, they were good times.

STALKEE: I remember the first time I was driving along in my car and I put down my foot down only to find you had cut the breaks. I felt such a wonderful mixture of fear, excitement, elation and terror. As I evacuated my bowels and crashed headfirst into a tree; I remember thinking “I really am the most important thing in that man’s life, aren’t I?” The next few weeks in hospital were some of the happiest of my life.

STALKER: Funny story, did I ever get around to telling you about that male nurse who was flirting with you while you were on the ward.

STALKEE: What, that one that disappeared?

STALKER: Yeah, It was me that killed him.

STALKEE: (playfully) Oh you! See? This is what it could be like again.

STALKER: No, it can’t be. I only ever want what I can’t have. You have no idea how much my heart sank when I first discovered you had reduced the restraining order to just thirty feet. I’ve always needed at least hundred foot, otherwise I start feeling trapped in. I guess I just can’t commit.

STALKEE: Is there somebody else?

STALKER: You stopped changing the locks. You started performing for the hidden cameras and you even tried to add me as a friend on Facebook. It just wasn’t the same, you’d changed.

STALKEE: You heard me. Is there somebody else?

STALKER: You knew when I first started. You knew that I found it difficult to limit myself to stalking just one person.

STALKEE: Who is she?

STALKER: She’s nobody

STALKEE: Who is she?

STALKER: Look, you’re making a scene

STALKEE: I don’t care, who is she!!

STALKER: She works at the local gym. I’ve been casually following her around for the past few weeks.

STALKEE: Just tell me, have you started going through her rubbish? (pause) Look at me! (pause) Have you been going through her rubbish?

STALKER: Yes okay, I’ve been going through her rubbish. Is that what you want to hear? And before you ask, yes! I’ve already made a little voodoo doll using bits of her hair and painted with my own blood. Is that enough for you? Is it really?

STALKEE: I knew that’s what you were doing, I knew it!!

STALKER: Hold on, how you do you know?

STALKEE MUMBLES

STALKER: Have you been following me? Have you been stalking your stalker? Look at me!

STALKEE: I’m sorry I had to know.

STALKER: My friends warned me about people like you. But I didn’t believe them. I didn’t want to believe them. I guess what they say they say is true, craziness is blind.

STALKEE: Go then, just go. There are lots of other people out there would love to stalk me. I meet a crazy man in the park who I bet has already carved my name into his arm with a rusty compass. I wouldn’t be surprised if my cat was already dead by the time I got home.

STALKER GETS UP

STALKER: Look don’t try and call me, and if I see you outside my house. I’ll call the police.

STALKER WALKS AWAY, STALKEE SHOUTS AFTER HIM

STALKEE: We’re still Facebook friends right? I’ll poke you when I get home. Okay, Okay? See you soon.

ALL THE KINGFISHERS ARE DEAD

I was sitting in the park, the other day. Minding my own business. When a tall man in a grey trench coat and Trilby, came up and sat next to me. Not so close as to leave a person feeling uncomfortable you understand; but close enough to gain my attention.

“All the Kingfishers are dead” he said in a low voice. I pretended I hadn’t heard him and shuffled uncomfortably on the bench. “All the Kingfishers are dead” he repeated, whilst looking from side to side in a suspicious way.

I assumed he was some sort of spy and I had been wrongly identified as his park contact. Perhaps I had been giving out some sort of signal. Legs crossed at just the right pre-arranged angle? Yellow cravat? Today’s copy of ‘The Times’ under my arm?

Maybe it was the fact that I had sat down on that particular bench, at a certain time on a certain day. A bench named in loving memory of Dennis Burkinshaw, loving husband of Dorris and caring father to Janet and David.

Perhaps it was the tin of ‘Ogden’s Ready Rubbed’ I had been fingering a minute earlier whilst deciding whether to enjoy another peaceful puff on the old Mershaum to pass the time.

I turned to face him head on, and simply enquired, “What are you? Some kind of spy or something?” But this didn’t faze him one bit. He simply pointed at the litter bin opposite and emitted what could only be described as a sort of high pitch wine which lasted around 30 seconds or so.

It was at this point that I realised this enigmatic, bird and litter obsessed stranger was no spy. He was no spy at all.

Everything suddenly became crystal clear.

He was just an idiot...

CHRISTMAS MESSAGE FROM KING HENRY VIII

Over the Christmas / New Year period, work has been progressing at ManorCastle. The ceilings have all been artexed and the old wallpaper from Elizabethan times has been stripped off and replaced with modern flock wallpaper. While removing the old stiff, it was found that the original paperers had used some old documents as lining paper. One of these was one of the first Christmas addresses to the country; in this case one given by Henry VIII. The script is presented below in its entirety.

My People,

Far be it for me to have the reputation of a monarch out of touch with the people, which is why I am making this broadcast to you this Christmas Day. This is just one of many ideas I have had whilst sitting on the throne. Other ideas include new uses for puppy dogs. I also have this vision of a mighty ship able to travel underwater.

We have, here at court, had an excellent lunch of turkey provided by Lord Matthews of Norfolk with Wolsey providing the ale for the meal. He hath produced what he calls a six-pack of ales of different sorts. Who knows, I may even get my own six-pack one of these days.

The Lady Anne was hoping to be with me this afternoon, but she has gone off to join the queue outside Ye Olde Harrodes’ where there is a sale starting tomorrow. The Lady Anne hath purchased for me a leather satchel which she says will verily be a good place to keep the Royal Wii or the Christmas Number One. This year I have, after much practicing on a virginal, composed a little piece called Blue Sleeves which I think will be well remembered.

We have a soothsayer here at court who hath predicted a popular entertainment to be known as Physician Who. Personally, I think he’s been indulging too much of Wolsey’s ales.

In the kitchen we have a new cook from Athens. On St Stephen’s Day he intends to cook us a traditional Greek Dish. Personally, I don’t see the attraction of a Boxing Day Moussaka. Give me Roast Beef anyday.

The past year hath seen many foreigners coming to court. We have had some from the Duchy of Warsaw who often entertain the men with their Pole Dancing. Also from the East is a fireplace designer from Smolensk, known as Peter the Grate.

I know that for some of you in the distant parts of the Kingdom, Christmas is that very special time of year where families get together for bath night. For others it is a time of great mystery as you sit in your homes looking at the Radio Times, wishing it were in English as you wonder just why you have to purchase a television licence when no television has been invented yet.

My advisors tell me that they are planning a tunnel under the English Channel through which sedan chairs will be able to travel at high speed. Personally, I think this is just a pipe dream. However it must be said that there are major problems with sedan chairs in our cities. That is why I am introducing stone cushions in the roads to slow them down. You too may have noticed that the bearers are frequently hot and sweaty in their work which can only contribute to global warming. I have noticed a good score of bearers who are quite unable to work owing to the effects of colds, flu and the Plague. The Lady Anne was so moved by the sight of these sufferers standing by the roadside coughing and spluttering that I am introducing a congestion charge to provide for them in times of sickness.

The Christmas decorations this year are much improved on previous years. Cranmer’s idea of hanging a few heretics didn’t seem very popular last year, but this year the butchers in the city hath festooned their shop fronts with inflated pig bladders. In fact a few hath hung lights outside their shops.

Spare a thought, of your charity, for young Master Harry of Crosbye who slipped yesterday while carrying a rundlet of molten lard which cascaded on to the carpet in the palace. He spent all night and most of the morning removing fat from the carpet. He was not downhearted; in fact I heard him singing as he worked:

“I’m cleaning off a white grease mess.”

So it only remains for me to wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. For those of you who are going to catch the January Sales at Groatland, remember to wrap up warm.

THE ZOMBIE LETTER

To Samantha Lavalamp

Co-Assistant Manager of Re-Interpersonal Work Issues

Dear Mrs. Lavalamp,

I am writing to you regarding our recent meeting, in which I logged a formal complaint against our employers, the Industrial Account Merchant Facilitators of “Mark, Mark, Markason & Mark plc”. You suggested that I write this letter, as a better way to structure the events and as a formal record of my complaint.

I joined the firm in the summer of last year. The interview process went well, and I was relieved to see they had no problem with the fact I was a zombie. I explained that my flesh was slowly decomposing, that my movement was severely limited to a slow perambulation, and that on particularly bad days my speech was restricted somewhat to “mwwwwharrrggggggg!!” They said this did not matter as that they liked my “get up, and stagger” attitude. In fact we all had a little joke when I lurched forward to try and bite through the neck of one of the interviewers, and taste their sweet, sweet flesh.

It was only a month or so latter that I began to realize that the firm was not at all zombie friendly. I was given a formal complaint for devouring and eating three young work experience students. Jeffery the person who sits across from me (and who I suspect doesn’t like me), is always asking if I was in the “Thriller” video, despite my repeated denial. He then normally remarks that all zombies look the same to him anyway. Which I think is unbelievable zombeist in this day and age.

I thought things couldn’t get much worse. But during the Christmas Party I meet Nicholas Staplegun, who as I’m sure you know, is the vampire who works in the “Pro Active Real World Devaluation” department. After a rather heated argument, I woke up the next day with a painful headache, two bite marks on my neck, and a newfound fondness for ‘Bela Lugosi’

As a fresh Zombie-Vampire; I’m even more looked down upon by society; and made my work even more unbearable. I now have to stagger my way into work in the middle of the night and leave before sunset (jest, I be turned to dust!) and also, let’s be honest the canteen really should re-think its main menu of slow roasted garlic, with garlic trimmings, garlic sauce and Garlic Crème Brule.

Also why has Jeffery suddenly taken up whittling? Especially as everything he whittles, looks like a stake! And yes, although the coffee machine does serve blood, it’s served cold; when surely every sane person knows it should always be dispensed at room temperature!

As well, I suspect our firm is unaware that the Scalable Content-Free Night Caretaker Karl Cheeseburger, has a secret. As I worked through the night, trying to finish the idiom-contract paradigm account and drinking another steaming cold cup of blood, I was confronted by the snarling, grizzly and, feral Mr. Cheeseburger, in full werewolf mode. I woke up the next day with a painful headache, covered in bite marks, my left arm and right leg missing and a newfound predilection to Pedigree chum.

Now, Zombie-Vampires-Werewolves have never had it easy in this world, and I’m no different. My flesh is still rotting, I’ve got precious few limbs left, I’m always having to get off the couch, nobody in the office scratches my belly when I roll over and I’m currently having to shave twelve times a day. Also despite how much he protests, I know it was Jeffery who sent the email around the office about having your pets neutered!!

Sadly, things have gotten a lot worse since our last meeting. My frustration and anger at the treatment I have received, lead to me taking my own life. However, I failed to take into account the evil gypsy curse that was put on me shortly before the radioactive cloud which caused my original zombification. Because of this it means I am never able to leave this earthly plane, so now because of my unfortunate suicide I have to contend with being a Zombie-Vampire-Werewolf-Ghost for all of eternity.

My ghostly corporeal nature has solved some problems; I am now able to move through objects much more freely. But my lack of a physical presence means, I can no longer do things, such as wear a hat, smoke a pipe or play the bagpipes (three things I used to so love doing). Combine this with my current aversion to sunlight, crosses, silver bullets, garlic, crossing the streams, wooden stakes, Peter Cushing, chainsaws, Ouija-boards, Michael Jackson, pitchforks, Yvette Fielding and strange gypsy ladies; and you see why I have to regrettable resign my post. I hope the next Cursed-Radioactive-Zombie-Vampire-Werewolf-Ghost you employ will have more luck than me.

And besides I just saw Jeffery in the corridor and when he saw I’d become a ghost, he began chasing me with a vacuum cleaner.

Yours sincerely

Harold Necronomicon

FLATPACK WORLD

SECTION 1: To build this wardrobe you will need an allen key, an adapter post, a small saw, tape measure, some superglue, 10mm ball end hex key set, a ratchet, spirit level, a blowtorch, a large bottle of ether, a pagan ceremonial knife, a flux capacitor, and the arms of small child which bend at a reverse 72 degree angle.

SECTION 2: To prepare lay out all the pieces in front of you and judging by the amount of wood panels you’ve unpacked for the wardrobe, briefly consider building a full size replica of a Noah’s ark instead.

SECTION 3: Realise you can’t find where you’ve put the superglue

SECTION 4: Realise you’re sat on the superglue

SECTION 5: Begin by attaching piece a to piece d, use piece g to level across piece F. Piece B should fit into piece c via the dowels which should now be visible from piece D. Hinge 1, which is perpendicular to hinge 3, should be lined up with the two runners on piece G. Bracket x which is connected to pole c, should now be facing magnetic north, while sprocket a and b, should now be vertical in a way which directly violates Newton’s first law of physics. Thankfully, for your benefit we have not labelled any of these identical looking pieces.

SECTION 6: After this, pin the hinge, cork the pin, nail the tack, skewer and staple the rivet and clamp the ratchet bolted unbolted hook anchor. Wonder if the Mandarin instructions on the other side make more sense.

SECTION 7: You should decide to take a five minute break at this point ideally while opening a can of beer with index finger four and looking at the picture on the front of the box while lazily trying to screw part K into section P, using just your feet. After looking at the picture on the box and then looking at the pieces on the floor, realize they’ve sent you the pine version instead of the mahogany one you asked for. You may wish to kick and break, piece f which is connected to piece E via bracket 3. The only section you’re pretty sure you’ve actually done correctly.

SECTION 8: Give up and continue to hang your clothes on the back of a chair.

In this third and final section of the ‘Cornucopia Radio Ebook’ we will all…

Feed a Mogwai after midnight.

Feel ashamed that we all once trusted Rolf Harris so much.

Try standing in front of a mirror and saying “Candyman, Candyman, Candyman”

Clean up, put our clothes back on, go home, shower and never ever speak about this evening again.

SNOW JOKE

A UNION MEETING IS ABOUT TO START. A NUMBER OF PEOPLE ARE GATHERED AROUND A TABLE.

UNION LEADER: Thank you ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to this; the 31st meeting of the amalgamated union of scarf makers, hat makers, carrot farmers, twig collectors and coal miners. But first I’m pleased to announce joining us for the first time, Miss Splatchey Brown, representing the corncob pipe makers society. I’m sure you’ll all join me in welcoming her into our ever expanding union. (applause) Now, if we can just get onto the first item on the agenda.

MISS SPLATCHEY: Sorry, I still don’t understand

UNION LEADER: Yes Miss Splatchey? Do you have a point to raise?

MISS SPLATCHEY: Look I appreciate that you’ve offered me this seat in your union, but I still don’t understand what you all have in common.

UNION LEADER: Well, I’ll admit it has been quiet these past 18 years and some might have even forgotten why this union was formed in the first place, but still; we’ll continue to meet here every year until we are called upon again.

MISS SPLATCHEY: (unsure) Hmmmn, okay

UNION LEADER: Now, onto the first item on our agenda.

JONES: Sir, you better have a look at this.

UNION LEADER: What is it Jones? This better be good, we’re in the middle of something here.

JONES: This information just came in through the wire. You're gonna want to see it.

UNION LEADER: Give it here. No, this can’t be right, 8 to 10 inches? Check it again.

JONES: I’ve already checked it a hundred times sir.

UNION LEADER: Oh my god. Do you know if the national union of gritters and snow shovel makers have gotten hold of this same info.

JONES: I don’t think so sir.

UNION LEADER: Good, and that’s the way I want it to stay, okay?

UNION LEADER: Ladies and Gentleman, it looks like we have a new agenda. Some of you said this day would never come. But this report from the Met office says otherwise. We’re looking at 10 inches of ground coverage across the UK.

TIM: 10 inches? But they would have to close the schools for something that. Public transport would come to a crashing halt, so much unexpected leisure time; they’re bound to go into the back garden and while they’re there; they’re sure to build a.....

UNION LEADER: Yes, that’s exactly what they’re gonna do!

OFFICE EXPLODES INTO LIFE

UNION LEADER: Okay, people listen up. We’re gonna have to increase production of all our stock tenfold. Tom, I want every spare piece of coal in the UK on my desk by lunch time. Those men need eyes goddamit! Johnson how many carrots can you get me by the end of the day.

TIM: If I pull a few strings, then I can have twenty thousand by the end of the day.

UNION LEADER: NO! NO! NO! That’s nowhere near enough. That’ll barely cover the numbers in Kent

TIM: Maybe we can supplement the numbers with parsnips?

UNION LEADER: Parsnips! Parsnips! Have you ever heard of a parsnip nose? What are you thinking of man.

TIM: Sorry, sorry I just thought....

UNION LEADER: My snowman’s got no nose. How does he smell?

TIM: How sir?

UNION LEADER: He doesn’t, he has no nose!!!

UNION LEADER: Okay you, I’m going to need all the twigs you’ve got. Chop down Sherwood Forest if you need to. You, get me at least half a million hats. Top hats are best, but we’ll get by with flat caps if need be. Now you; talk to me about pipes and just give me the facts don’t bore me with details...

HOLMES GOES ON HOLIDAY

Sherlock Holmes was studying some travel brochures from the recently-established firm of Thomas Cook when there was a knock at the door.

“Forgotten your key again?” he asked, opening the door to his friend Dr. Watson.

“How did you deduce that?” asked Watson.

To Holmes it was simple. “It’s partly the way a flock of geese adopted a distinctive V-formation as they over-flew the cemetery and partly the sound of leather on willow coming from behind one of the larger sarcophagi, but mainly it’s the nature of your face.”

“Mobile, Holmes?” asked Watson, to which Holmes replied that, on the contrary, it was more like a caravan – slow and hard to get around.

Watson entered and, noticing the travel brochures, asked, “Holiday, Holmes?”

Holmes replied that he was, indeed, planning a holiday but that he couldn’t decide what form it should take. Some years previously he’d visited Europe’s major cities by train, but it had been most unsatisfactory.

“Accommodation unsuitable?” asked Watson, to which Holmes replied that, on the contrary, he’d had a most commodious compartment with every modern convenience, but a murder occurred on the train and he’d remained aboard to solve it while his fellow-passengers disported themselves in the Venice Lido and the steambaths of Budapest.

He’d also tried cruising, but that had led to an unfortunate incident with an elderly widow and he was lucky not to have found himself in an Egyptian prison.

“Ever thought of camping?” asked Watson.

Holmes conceded that he hadn’t, at least, not as a form of relaxation.

Watson urged him to consider it. “You just pack your gear and the world’s your lobster.”

“Oyster,” said Holmes.

“Not at the moment,” said Watson, “but I’ll take one for Lord Smallpiece. He had an All Night Sitting followed by an Early Day Motion. Said I’d see him at the Pudding Club this evening, help him keep his pecker up. An oyster and a helping of Spotted Dick should do the trick.”

Watson could see that Holmes remained unenthusiastic about camping, so offered to show him the ropes. “I’ll dig-out my old Army tent,” he said, “and my shorts. It’ll be a bit of a squeeze, mind.”

“In that case,” said Holmes, “I’ll bring my own shorts. Where do you propose we go?”

“South of France,” Watson replied without hesitation.

Holmes baulked at the thought of the expense involved.

“It won’t be expensive if we use one of these no-frills rail lines. ‘easyTrain’ will take us all the way from Victoria to Dotte-sur-la-Mappe.”

“Dotte-sur-la-Mappe?” asked Holmes. This was a place of which even he hadn’t heard.

“Probably in the middle of nowhere,” said Watson, “but I expect we’ll be able to catch one of these new-fangled charabancs to the campsite.”

Their journey was rather noisy, the train being full of stag-“does” and hen parties. But it was cheap.

As Watson had predicted, Dotte-sur-la-Mappe was in the middle of nowhere, its main feature a war memorial commemorating a battle that had been fought there. Not even Watson with his military background could understand why anyone would want to fight a battle over it.

“Perhaps they were fighting to get out,” said Holmes.

They found a charabanc-stop and the timetable told them that they were in luck – there would be a charabanc to the campsite the following day, so they pitched their tent beside the stop.

Hammering-in their tent-pegs was so difficult that Watson wondered at the nature of the rock.

“Sedimentary, my dear Watson,” said Holmes.

Next day they arrived at the campsite. It was pleasantly situated in a citrus grove.

“A lemon entry, my dear Watson,” said Holmes as they walked through the gate.

“Ideal, Holmes,” said Watson.

It was a typical late-Victorian campsite – Germans with their recently-invented Mercedes, Italians munching their freshly-baked Garibaldi biscuits, and camp reps bending over backwards to please.

They pitched their tent, then Watson went in search of coq au vin while Holmes pored over his French phrase book. By midnight both were satisfied and they fell into a deep sleep.

The following morning Holmes found himself alone at breakfast. Assuming that Watson was off on another Gallic symbol fantasy he was about to begin his coffee and croissants when a strange woman approached and wedged a note among the croissants before disappearing into a throng of Russians who were having their morning vodka with a splash of tea.

The note read: “If you want to see your friend alive again meet me by the spring that provides the source for the two million-year-old water that they bottle and sell at extortionate prices.”

Two million-year-old water, thought Holmes. That must be well past its sell-by date. I wouldn’t pay a centime for it

Unwilling to meet a strange woman on an empty stomach Holmes finished his breakfast, then made for the spring that the note had mentioned.

When he reached the spring he found Watson spread eagled on the ground, the jackbooted foot of the strange woman on his chest.

“I see old habits die hard,” he said to Watson.

But before Watson could reply, in one seamless action the strange woman discarded her hat, then her bodice and was about to remove the first of her six petticoats when Holmes realised that “she” was none other than Professor Moriarty. “You’ll never get away with it!” he exclaimed.

“On the contrary,” Moriarty replied, “I’ve already replaced the peerless Granny Smith with a bland French apple. Next….”

Before he could finish, Inspector Lestrade emerged from a nearby tent. An easy-train express had gone missing and he was following a line of inquiry.

“Arrest this man!” Holmes called to Lestrade.

“On what grounds?” asked Moriarty.

“What man?” asked Lestrade, who was still under the impression that Moriarty was a woman and to whom he’d taken something of a shine.

Moriarty insisted that his question be answered first.

“The grounds of Dotte-sur-la-Mappe,” Watson told him.

“The man with his jackbooted foot on Watson’s chest,” Holmes said to Lestrade.

Without replying, Lestrade drew his Webley from his shorts and levelled it at Moriarty.

A loud crack split the morning air.

No-one was sure if it was the report of Lestrade’s Webley or one of the recently invented Mercedes being started. All they knew was that, when the smoke had cleared, Moriarty had vanished and the Schmidt family were off on a jaunt.

That evening, sitting outside their tent with a bottle of Armagnac, Holmes asked Lestrade what had made him suspect that the strange woman was, in fact, Professor Moriarty. “Was it your innate ability to sense when and where a crime is about to be committed?” he asked, to which Lestrade shook his head.

“Your Metropolitan Police training?” asked Watson.

Lestrade shook his head again.

“A deep understanding of the criminal mind, perhaps?” said Holmes.

Once again Lestrade shook his head, drained his glass, then said, “Sheer luck, Holmes.”

GODZILLA VS DEPRESSION

WE FADE INTO A MONTAGE OF VARIOUS GODZILLA BATTLES

GODZILLA: So with one hand I picked up ‘Rodan’, and threw him against a building and then using my other arm I spun ‘King Ghidorah’ above my head and then drop kicked him towards ‘Mecha-Godzilla’ who was still all like burning and stuff after I’d attacked him with my atomic breath.

GODZILLA PAUSES FOR A SECOND AND REVEALS THE NATURE OF THIS FIGHT

GODZILLA: Like I said; I’m not sure if they were actually the ones who’d been calling me names behind my back, but you know, I wouldn’t put it past any of them.

WE FADE INTO THE SOUND OF A PHYSIATRISTS OFFICE

DOCTOR: (tutting) Hmmmmmn. So I see we still have a lot of anger issues to work through.

GODZILLA: Hey, they started it doc. You know, don’t bring a knife to a gunfight. Or in Ghidorah’s case you know, three heads.

DOCTOR: (sigh) I really believed we had made a breakthrough in your last session; we had finally begun to dig beneath the surface; getting down to the real inner you. We were slowly starting to link your self esteem issues to these violent outbursts. We were making progress, Mr Godzilla. But I’m afraid this latest trail of destruction leaves me greatly concerned. I’m afraid if you’re not going to take these sessions seriously, then maybe we should begin to question if psycho-therapy really is right for you.

GODZILLA: Okay. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. It was just a one off incident. I’m sorry. I’m always like that when I visit Tokyo; I think it’s all that sake. I really should stop drinking that stuff. Look, I do think these sessions are helping. I do.

DOCTOR: I’m glad you feel that way. Did you also take my advice about getting out there and meeting new people?

GODZILLA: Yes, I went along to a speed dating night a friend had recommended to me.

DOCTOR: Excellent, excellent and how did it go?

GODZILLA: It went okay. I think some of the girls were a little put off by the sight of a 300 foot fire breathing Mutant Godzillasaurus, but I do have a good sense of humour and many of them said that was much more important quality to them.

DOCTOR: See, see? It’s like I said. If you let people see the real you, then you won’t have to use violence as a tool to hide your inner feelings. Do you think you’ll see any of them again?

GODZILLA: Well, there was this 200 foot acid spitting mutant hedgehog with 8 arms. I think we got on really well.

DOCTOR: Good, good...

GODZILLA: But then we started talking and somehow we got onto politics. I stated that I thought American imperial policy still had an important part to play in a stable middle east. (pause) She disagreed. Then she spat acid at me, I then ripped of her arms and burnt everybody with my atomic breath.

DOCTOR: The atomic breath. Again?

GODZILLA: She might still call back (pause) Maybe

DOCTOR: Okay, we’ll just call that another slight blip, but you made the effort, that’s the main thing. So for the rest of this session I thought we could return to the subject we started talking about yesterday.

GODZILLA: (angry) Look, doc. I’ve already told you. I’m just not comfortable talking about my parents.

DOCTOR: But I think they are the key to unlocking your personality.

GODZILLA: I don’t care. They left me alone, they left me alone!!!

DOCTOR: And tell me, where did they leave you?

GODZILLA: They left me on...MonsterIsland.

DOCTOR: And how did that make you feel?

GODZILLA: They lied to me. They told me ‘MonsterIsland’ was a theme park. Not an abandoned island in the middle of the Pacific

DOCTOR: Yes....?

GODZILLA: Which must mean....

DOCTOR: Go on....

GODZILLA: (breaking down) They think I’m a monster!!

DOCTOR: You never wanted to be a Monster did you? What did you want to be when you were younger?

GODZILLA: I had a dream, when I was a kid; just 40 foot tall. I remember. I wanted to be. An Architect! Those big desks that they have, along with those lovely rulers and protractors, it was all so (pause) officious.

DOCTOR: Of course, that’s it!! So instead of designing cites; you instead destroy them. I think this is a real breakthrough. I really do.

GODZILLA STARTS CRYING

GODZILLA: Yes, yes!!

GODZILLA STARTS CRYING MORE HEAVILY

DOCTOR: That’s okay, that’s okay, just let it out.

GODZILLA’S CRYING TURNS INTO AN ATOMIC-BREATH ROAR. FOLLOWED BY AN EXPLOSION AND THE SOUND OF A WALL COLLAPSING AND RUBBLE FALLING

GODZILLA: Whoops. Okay, that tends to happen if I cry too heavily. It’s okay, I’ll pay to have that wall replaced (pause), and the building behind it.

DOCTOR: Hmmmn, you do know your last two cheques bounced?

GODZILLA: Well, I am kind’a between jobs at the moment.

LAST PERSON IN THIS PLACE

WIND WHISTLES ALONG A BROKEN AND DESERTED CITY. TALL BUILDINGS LAY IN RUIN AND LITTER COVERS THE ROAD. A YOUNG WOMEN WALKS NERVOUSLY DOWN THE STREET, LOOKING LOST AND CONFUSED.

BETH: Hello? Is anybody still here? Can anyone see my status? Hello?

SHE TURNS A CORNER

BETH: Look at this place. It’s deserted. Ruined. Falling down. (she shakes her head) This is stupid; I’m not going to find anything here.

SOMETHING CATCHES HER ATTENTION.

BETH: Wait, what’s that?

SHE CLIMBS OVER ROCKS AND DEBRIS, TOWARDS A PILE OF PHOTOGRAPHS.

BETH: Photographs. A family. A night out with friends, but... they haven’t been tagged. How am I supposed to know who they are? Who could live like this?

THE SOUND OF A SHOTGUN BEING COCKED DIRECTLY BEHIND HER. SHE FREEZES.

STRANGER: Don’t move. Put your hands where I can see them and turn around slowly. Very slowly.

SHE TURNS AROUND

BETH: Please you have to help; I’m looking for…

STRANGER: Read this!

THE STRANGER HOLDS UP A SIGN

BETH: (confused) What? Look you have to...

STRANGER: (angry, forceful) READ THIS! WHAT DOES IT SAY?

BETH: (panicking) Err, Capital A. Capital K. Lower Case F. Number 5. Err, Number 2. Lower Case T.

STRANGER: Good enough.

HE STRANGER LOWERS HIS GUN.

STRANGER: You’re the first real person I’ve come across in six weeks. I was beginning to think there was nobody left. (pause) You shouldn’t travel alone like this, spambots & camwhores patrol the area; they’ll rip you apart if they catch you. Come on, I know a safe band profile we can hide behind; they posted some album demos around three months ago. We can listen to them while we plan our next move.

BETH: What happened here? What happened to Myspace? I need to know. It’s important.

STRANGER: You know what happened! They died. They left! This world burnt itself down to the ground as I watched. But that’s in the past. (pause) Come on, we have to go.

THE STRANGER TURNS TO LEAVE

BETH: You don’t understand. I’ve come here to find answers. I don’t belong here. (awkward pause) I’ve come here... from Facebook.

STRANGER:(disappointed sigh) You’re a long way from home.

BETH: It’s started. It’s started happening to us.

STRANGER: You’ll be okay. You’ve got the numbers, you’ve got the people. You’ll find a way to fight it.

BETH: That’s what Mark keeps telling me. He says it’s nothing to worry about. But I’m seeing it happen all around me. People are already leaving, the spam is increasing and I think, the cool people...

BETH HAS TROUBLE SAYING IT, AS SHE KNOWS WHAT IT INDICATES

BETH: I think the cool people have already gone. We just woke up one morning, and they weren’t there anymore.

STRANGER: That’s how it starts. The ‘Cool People’ are always the first to go.

BETH: Please you have to help us. There has to be a cure.

STRANGER: (dismissive, angry) Ha, a cure! Don’t you think I’ve tried that? I’ve spent years in my bunker trying to halt the decline across this land. I’ve tried redesign after redesign. I’ve added applications, I’ve added customisations. Nothing has worked. All I’ve done is kill more people. I’ve sacrificed good users for nothing. Now the only good I can do, is hunt the evil that infests this accursed place.

BETH: (pleading) But this morning I woke up to find I only had 187 friends left, you must have some advice to give us. Please, give me something...

STRANGER: 187? I have nobody left. Nobody.

BETH: But why? You could have moved. The great MySpace refuge exodus of 2009. You could have come to Facebook. We had room in our kingdom. We needed people like you, whoever you are.

STRANGER: No, you can’t rebuild a castle like the one I created. I thought I mattered to every friend; because every friend mattered to me. But now I realise that ‘friend’ is just another word, and when everybody left, the meaning of that word became clear to me. You can’t put everything that’s important to you in one single place, the risk is too great. If it matters to you, then you keep it everywhere. You have to understand, your profile is the life you live and the people you touch.

BETH: What are you saying?

STRANGER: I’m saying, you have to start listening, but more importantly...

A MONSTER SLOWLY APPEARS BEHIND HER SHOULDER. GROWLING.

STRANGER: You have to get down!

BETH JUMPS TO THE GROUND AS THE STRANGER LIFTS HIS GUN AND SHOOTS A SPAM MONSTER DIRECTLY BEHIND HER. HE SWINGS AROUND AND SHOOTS ONE TO THE LEFT, BEFORE TURNING AROUND 180 DEGREES AND SHOOTING A MONSTER THAT IS ALMOST UPON HIM. STANDING HEROICALLY FOR A FEW MOMENTS, HE BLOWS AWAY THE SMOKE FROM HIS SHOTGUN BEFORE OFFERING HIS HAND TO BETH AND HELPING HER UP.

STRANGER: Are you okay?

BETH: You saved me, what were they...?

STRANGER: Herbal Viagra Spam Monsters. I’ve been tracking them for days. We should be safe for a while.

BETH: Thank you.

STRANGER: You came here looking for a cure. Hoping to make sure that what happened to MySpace never happens to Facebook. But maybe you don’t need a cure, because maybe; we’re the disease. Maybe this world is better off without these places we walk. Because ultimately all we’ve done, is give the monsters more power.

BETH: But how will I define my life?

STRANGER: Like people used to. One day at a time. (pause) Follow that road and don’t stop till you reach the end. It’ll lead you to safety

BETH: What about you?

STRANGER: (sigh) I have a lot of sins to pay for, and until I’ve made amends for each one. I’ll always be here. Doing what I do.

BETH: Bethany.

STRANGER: What?

BETH: That’s my name. Bethany

THE STRANGER STARTS WALKING AWAY. HE TALKS AS LEAVES

STRANGER: We’ll, it’s been good to meet you Bethany.

BETH: What about you? What do they call you?

THE STRANGER TURNS AROUND

STRANGER: Nobody has called me anything for a long time. But once, people used to call me Tom; but you, you can call me a friend.

THE MUSIC SWELLS. TOM WALKS AWAY INTO THE DISTANCE

BETH: I never saw him again. He just walked off into that desolate city, seemingly prepared to continue his never ending mission. As for myself; I followed the road to safety but I never went home to Facebook. Instead I chose a different path. I’m still not sure where it’ll lead, but then again, that’s half the fun...

SOMETHING I ALWAYS WANTED

I’d guess, I was maybe seven or eight. I do recall a friend at school saying his uncle had bought one and he’d seen it himself. Of course, kids lie; and looking back now, I suspect at that age he wouldn’t have even recognised it if it was stood next to him. But I was young and pretty much believed anything anybody ever told me.

You see, as a child, you begin to realise that there are lots of things that grown-ups have and do; that you don’t. But one day perhaps, when you’re taller, older and sadly a bit fatter, things will change. As a kid it made perfect sense to me……as almost all things do to kids.

Then of course; as you enter your teens, you begin to question things more. You want to know the 'why' as much as the 'how'. I remember, it seeming odd that everybody talked about this thing, yet nobody could tell me what it looked like. People were always vague when they talked about it. Never really making it clear if they did actually own it, or had once had it, or secretly longed for it. But it quickly became obvious to me, that if anybody did have it, they were keeping it very secret.

Also, I had always assumed that it was something you had to buy. How else would you get it? But the stories I had heard or read, seemed to suggest that some people had been given it, some people had found it, but most worryingly of all; a lot of people had stole it. Once I knew this, I of course realised why everybody was always so mysterious about whether they had it or not. To admit you have it, or to show it to other people was almost like asking somebody to take it from you.

So, as I left my teenage years and strode into adulthood. I found myself living in a world obsessed by it. Despite the fact, that its image has never been worse. After all, as an object it is often faulty, and looks out of place no matter where you keep it. As a service it is often slow and rarely up to the task at hand, and as an idea? Well, perhaps it’s time has simply...passed.

Still, maybe I’m wrong. Many will tell you it’s the greatest thing humanity has ever held in its grasp. It saves many more lives than it kills. It’s brought so many of us together who would otherwise be alone, and the amazing advancements in production, means it’s now small enough to hold in your hand.

But ultimately, I guess I’m still none more the wiser than my eight year old friend was all those years ago. I’m not even sure if I’ve ever really wanted it, was it just the fact that everybody else had it that drove me on?

I don’t have it, in case any of you are thinking that. I’ve never been able to save up enough money. I just don’t know the right people, and a life of crime seems...too much like hard work. Besides, I don’t know what it looks like, so how would I ever know if I did have it? Maybe I already do.

I suspect one of you may have it, you strike me as the type of people that would. That’s not to comment on any of you though. You are who you are.

But maybe this is just what I want you to think. If I did have it, wouldn’t this be the perfect way to hide it from you? Talk as if I have no clue or desire. Maybe, it’s sat across from me now as I talk to you.

Maybe...

Whether you think I have it or not. Whether anybody has it, or whether something you’ve never really seen, can ever really exist. There are millions of things you can have, so why limit yourself to just one. I guess ultimately you’ve just got to learn think for yourself and not follow...

...a macguffin

THE SCARY MIRROR

THE OFFICE OF A MANUFACTORING COMPANY. A KNOCK AT THE DOOR AND SOMEBODY ENTERS

MANAGER: Good evening Johnson. How goes the research? I hope you’ve got something exciting to show us. The world of bathroom fixtures and fittings has been without true innovation for far too long. That’s why we need to come up with a new concept. Something that can ‘wow’ them at this year's trade show.

JOHNSON: Well, it’s a lot of pressure sir. But I think I’ve come up with something.

MANAGR: Excellent, excellent. What is it?

JOHNSON: It’s a bathroom cabinet mirror.

MANAGER: And...?

JOHNSON: Oh? Oh of course! Okay, now what does a normal trip to the bathroom involve? Reliving yourself of waste products? Brushing your teeth? A shower before work? Yes, I’d think we’d all agree, these are all good bathroom activities. Infact I’d call them fine bathroom activities. But what is the one thing they all lack?

MANAGER: I’m not sure. Some kind of advertising synergy opportunity?

JOHNSON: Close, but way off. What they all lack is pant-shreddingly-fearful situations, and this is where my new bathroom cabinet comes in!

MANAGER: Okay, now you’ve got me intrigued; tell me more.

JOHNSON: We’ll, we’ve created a special type of mirror, one which uses patented refraction technologies. Meaning, it can completely mask the appearance of any secondary object in a given room.

MANAGER: And so how would that lead to a fearful situation?

JOHNSON: Ah, the real genius of the technology is that when it’s turned off. Boom, you see somebody stood behind you. It freaks you out a bit. You quickly turn around, it turns back on, and the object is gone, and boom; that freaks you out a little bit more!

MANAGER: Hmmm. Can you give me some examples?

JOHNSON: We’ve already run a few test scenarios. Check these out. You’re stood at the mirror, thinking about a long day at work yet to come, you open the cabinet to retrieve your prescription medication; you close the mirror and then DUM DUM DUUMN! There’s a crazy old women stood behind you in the reflection.

MANAGER: Well, I’m not really sure how that...

JOHNSON: Okay, Okay. You don’t like that. I can see it. We have lots of other situations though. You’re an innocent girl who’s planning on losing her virginity to a mysterious but softly spoken young boy, but when you close the mirror, DUM DUM DUUMN! It’s a psychopath holding a knife and wearing a mask made of human flesh. Or DUM DUM DUUMN! It’s small waif like Japanese child with hollow dead eyes, or DUM DUM DUUMN! It’s a repulsive demon come to take your soul straight to hell. The possibilities of this are less then endless.

MANAGER: The ‘Dum Dum Duumn’ sound; is it really necessary?

JOHNSON: What, the DUM DUM DUUMN! sound? No, that’s all part of the package. You need that to complete the freak out. It’s vital!

MANAGER: So, are we going to get some kind of composer to score that for us?

JOHNSON: No, no. It’ll be me doing the sound.

MANAGER: So you’re going to record yourself making that sound?

JOHNSON: No, I’ll be there, live in person, making that noise.

MANAGER: You’ll be there in person?

JOHNSON: Yeah, I mean I have to be there anyway. Pretending to be the crazy old lady, knife welding psychopath, freaky Japanese child or avenging demon. That’s the only real problem you see. None of these things actually exist. So somebody has to fill in for them. It’s okay though; I’m going to let my hair grow long and greasy. I should be able to pass for any of them on a dark night

MANAGER: Okay, I am beginning to suspect you’ve wandered away from the original brief a little. Besides; how will you know who owns one of the mirrors?

JOHNSON: I’ll just follow them home from the store. Then when they’re not looking, I’ll sneak into their house and hide behind their shower curtain.

MANAGER: You’ll hide behind their shower curtain?

JOHNSON: Well that special mirror refraction tech doesn’t work as well as we’d hoped. So it’s mainly just me popping out when they’re not looking, and then hiding again before they notice. (beat) Oh and the DUM DUM DUUMN! sound of course.

MANAGER: So it’s not a special mirror at all?

JOHNSON: No, it’s just a job lot we bought from IKEA.

MANAGER: And what if they don’t have a shower curtain?

JOHNSON: We’ll maybe I could hide in their laundry basket. Look, we haven’t finished the final specs of this thing yet, stuff might change.

MANAGER: But why would anybody want something like this? It doesn’t really fit into any of our product range.

JOHNSON: Yeah, I was hoping the marketing department could figure that kind of thing out. I just invent the stuff. It’s like that time Mark created the bidet. Nobody had a clue what to do with it until those spods at marketing suggested hovering your poop chute over it for a quick spit and polish.

MANAGER: Yeah, I think I might pass on this one.

JOHNSON: You do this to me every time! Do you know how long I worked on coming up with the perfect DUM DUM DUUMN! sound. You reacted the exact same way when I showed you that mobile phone that can’t pick up a signal when you’re being stalked by a chainsaw wielding maniac. Also you totally disregarded those cats I trained from birth; you know, the ones who jump out and scare people when they least expect it, and those self-hiding car keys that disappear when people need to make a quick escape? You didn’t even give them a second thought!

MANAGER: That’s it. I’ve had enough of you and you’re crazy ideas. You’re fired. Get out of this damn office. Right now!

JOHNSON: Oh trust me, I’m going. ‘Cause if you ever see me again; it’ll be too soon!!

JOHNSON OPENS THE DOOR AND LEAVES

MANAGER: (sighs) I don’t know where we find these people. We’ve really got to start hiring from a better pool of graduates. (pause)

JOHNSON: (whispering) Turn around. I’m right behind you.

MANAGER: (Turns around, freaked out) What, arrgghh!

JOHNSON: DUM DUM DUMMN!

JOHNSON STANDS THERE WITH A PLEASED LOOK ON HIS FACE

JOHNSON: See! How freaked out where you just then? See! It works!

MANAGER: (shouting) Get out of my office!

JOHNSON: Yeah, you were still freaked out though. I could tell.

JOHNSON OPENS THE DOOR AND LEAVES, AGAIN.

A THYME TO THINK

A WELL RESPECTED GETS READY TO TELL US ABOUT HIS WORLD FAMOUS INVENTION.

SCIENTIST: Err, Sorry I’ve, err, forgotten what I was going to talk about. (pause) I’m sure I wanted to tell you something important, but...

HIS MOBILE PHONE RINGS

SCIENTIST: Hold on, let me just get this.

HE ANSWERS HIS PHONE. WE DON’T HEAR THE OTHER SIDE OF THE CONVERSATION.

SCIENTIST: Hello?

SCIENTIST: Well, you’re the last person I expected to hear from.

PAUSE

SCIENTIST: Gesundheit!

PAUSE

SCIENTIST: Of course! I don’t know how I could have ever forgotten. I’ll tell them the full story as soon as we’ve finished talking.

PAUSE

SCIENTIST: Bye.

HE HANGS UP THE MOBILE PHONE AND STARTS TELLING HIS STORY.

SCIENTIST: Okay, well you see I was quietly sitting at home 15 years ago when I was 10 years younger than I am right now; when a sudden bright flash of light appeared in front of me. As the smoke cleared, a familiar looking figure stepped forward. He explained that I was a version of myself from the future who had come back to the past to give me a time machine.

SCIENTIST: I then proceeded to lecture myself about not causing a time paradox, handed over the winning lottery numbers for the next two months and recommended I get a mole on my left butt-cheek removed. I then disappeared just as suddenly as I’d arrived.

SCIENTIST: I looked at the bright shinny time machine I’d left for myself and considered the warning I had been given about time paradoxes. I continued pondering this advice as I made my very first trip back in time to assassinate my own grandfather.

SCIENTIST: So anyway, that’s how I discovered time travel. In-fact thinking about it, I must remember to go back in time at some point and give my past self a copy of the time machine. Although to be truthful, I’m not really that keen on making the journey. Come on, if I can’t be bothered to invent time travel all by myself, then why does it fall to me to make the effort to go back in time and give it to myself in the first place?

SCIENTIST: Oh, hold on a second. I just need to make a quick phone call to myself.

HE RINGS UP HIS EARLIER SELF. AGAIN WE ONLY HEAR ONE SIDE OF THE CONVERSATION

SCIENTIST: Hi me, it’s yourself calling.

PAUSE

SCIENTIST: Well, it won’t seem so unexpected in a few minutes.

THE SCIENTIST SNEEZES

SCIENTIST: Thank You. So I just wanted to remind you what you’re going to talk about. You wanted to explain to everybody listening how you first discovered time travel.

PAUSE

SCIENTIST: Okay. Hope it goes okay; even though I already know it does. Bye.

THE SCIENTIST HANGS UP.

SCIENTIST: Loser. (pause) Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m late for an appointment I’m due to have next week.

THE SCIENTIST DISAPPEARS IN A BRIGHT FLASH OF LIGHT

DINNER PARTY AT ESCHERS

THE SOUND OF CHATTING, ENJOYMENT AND FRIVOLITY AT A DINNER PARTY. SOMEBODY GETS UP TO LEAVE.

GUEST: Once again Mr Escher I must congratulate on a fine, fine soiree. Delightful as ever, and I am most intrigued by these new pieces of art that you saying you are working on, they sound fascinating, I can’t even begin to guess where you get your inspiration.

ESCHER: (nonplussed) Oh you know, everyday life and all that.

GUEST: Well, indeed. Now if you’ll just forgive me, but I need to use your bathroom.

ESCHER: Of course, just head on down this corridor, then up the stairs then take a left, then up the stairs then take a left, then up the stairs then take a left, then up the stairs then take a left, then up the stairs then take a left, then up the stairs then take a left, then up the stairs then take a left, then up the stairs then take a left

GUEST: (interrupting) Errr, it’s okay I think I can hold it in....

ESCHER: (offended) No; I won’t hear of it! Now, where was I? Oh yes, just head down this corridor, then up the stairs then take a left, then up the stairs then take a left, then up the stairs then take a left, then up the stairs then take a left, then up the stairs then take a left, then up the stairs then take a left, then up the stairs then take a left, then up the stairs then take a left, then up the stairs then take a left, then up the stairs then take a left, then up the stairs then take a left, then up the stairs then take a left, then up the stairs then take a left, then up the stairs then take a left, then up the stairs then take a left, then up the stairs then take a left, then up the stairs then take a left, then up the stairs then take a left, then up the stairs then take a left, then up the stairs then take a left, then up the stairs then take a left, then up the stairs then take a left, then up the stairs then take a left, then up the stairs then take a left, then up the stairs then take a left, then up the stairs then take a left, then up the stairs then take a left, then up the stairs then take a left, then up the stairs then take a left, then up the stairs then take a left, then up the stairs then take a left, then up the stairs then take a left, then up the stairs then take a left, then up the stairs then take a left, then up the stairs then take a left, then up the stairs then take a left, then up the stairs then take a left, then up the stairs then take a left, then up the stairs then take a left, then up the stairs then take a left, then up the stairs then take a left, then up the stairs then take a left, then up the stairs then take a left, then up the stairs then take a left, then up the stairs then take a left, then up the stairs then take a left, then up the stairs then take a left, then up the stairs then take a left, then up the stairs then take a left, then up the stairs then take a left, then up the stairs then take a left, then up the stairs then take a left, then up the stairs then take a left, then up the stairs then take a left, then up the stairs then take a left, then up the stairs then take a left, then up the stairs then take a left, then up the stairs then take a left, then up the stairs then take a left, then up the stairs then take a left, then up the stairs then take a left, then up the stairs then take a left, then up the stairs then take a left....

FADE OUT

The Cornucopia Radio Ebook

Edited By Peter Beeston

With Additional Editing by Nick Draper

Published By Cornucopia Radio

This work is created under a ‘Creative Commons Attribution Non Commercial No Derivatives 3.0’ license. This means you are free to download this work and share with others as long as authors are fully credited, and that the work is not changed in any way or used for commercial purposes. For more information visit: http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/

www.cornucopia-radio.co.uk

If you’re still reading at this point, then you have no life...

OFFICAL AMENDMENT TO THIS EBOOK

‘Cornucopia Radio’ has today reached an agreement with the ‘United Nations’ for the passing of Resolution-616; stating that anything which has happened during the time you have spent reading this ebook will now no longer be considered ‘canon’. This resolution affects all countries, corporations and people on planet Earth.

Henceforth, every single action, thought, death or birth from within this period will be wiped from our collective narrative and never spoken of again.

No reason is to be given for this action; other than that it involved a magical crystal, a rogue time traveller or some kind of reality altering deal with the devil .

Instead, the time you spent reading this ebook is to be reclassified as a ‘spin-off reality’ and all events that happened during this time, such as wars, natural disasters or economic collapses will be allowed to continue in their own separate ongoing reality.

You’ll be pleased to hear that this different dimension will have no affect whatsoever on the plane of existence you are currently experiencing; apart maybe from the occasional crossover, special event or Saturday morning kids cartoon show.

Thank you for reading this ebook. We now return you to your ongoing scheduled life.