GET YOUR KNIVES OUT - the 29th 2000AD Forum Short Story Competition

[Lady Festina]

Welcome to the 29th Forum Short Story Competition! Our theme this time comes from our last winner -  strontium_dog_90 - and is as follows:

What I've always loved most about 2000ad is the satire - not the political stuff, though there's plenty of that, but the stuff on the worst parts of our culture, especially movies and TV. So that's what I'd like to see for the next competition. Whether it's Slaine cutting his way through the contestants - and judging panel - of The X Factor or Dredd arresting Plan B for crimes against music and acting, give me your best satirical story featuring one of The Galaxy's Greatest roster of stars. (Extra kudos to the person who does the most fictional damage to the cast of that awful Essex show!)

So get your bitchin' shoes on and send us no more than 500 words by 23:59 on Tuesday 2 April.

And lo, this time, there be prizes, from Tharg himself......

[IAMTHESYSTEM]

Not so much satire more revenge fantasy with satirical moments. The ghastly Bankers get there cum uppence at the hands of Bill Savage. I imagined Bill Savage was masquerading as a cook merely for this story. I don't think he was in the Comic he was in some sort of Pub.



                                                                BANKERS BALLS.

The '2nd English Revolution' had  swept the Volgs away but the Leaders of the uprising then quarreled amongst themselves. Displaying typical British resolve despondency now seized the Nation.

'Perfect.' thought Montague Van Shite as adjusted his bow tie in the mirror for the Annual Bankers Ball. 'Money is the only weapon.' If only others knew that truth but ideology blinded them made them weak. Montague and his Banking associates had no such moral shortcomings.

He'd had helped the retreating Volgs shift millions off shore to secret accounts. He'd helped finance the 'Revolution' too. Best to bet on both sides in a conflict. Soon the Revolution would be sold out to the money men and normality restored.

Irritated Montague heard the Penthouse lift arriving. Inconvenient timing but it  was probably business, Volg 'Stay behind' Agents planning more outrages against the new Government.

'Comrades,' said Montague with no sense of irony 'Always good Business, Terrorism-' 

The double barreled Shotgun steadied itself before Montague's face. Shocked Montague heard something  land with a metallic thud near his feet. He looked down. A  pair of thick, Police grade handcuffs lay on the floor. Looking up he glanced a silhouette of the Man holding the gun with steady hands, confident, determined.

The man motioned towards the handcuffs with the shotgun. Montague began to speak but the gleam in the other's eye silenced him. Montague lowered himself to the floor cuffing himself against his own desk.   

The trespasser slid his Shotgun back inside his coat and produced a serrated knife tossing it between each hand. Mesmerized Montague watched the blade with horror then, kneeling swiftly down, the Man began to cut through Montague's expensive  leather belt pulling down his trousers.   

'W-wait-I'll pay anything, anything!' screamed  Monatgue as he felt  the blade slice open his Gucci underpants nicking his groin flesh.   

'Yes,.. you will.'  breathed the man. He kept on sawing...   
*                *                *                *                *                *   
The small pub served hot  food. They'd had a new cook in who didn't say much; East Ender, probably a Vet but Josie the Pub's manager knew Veterans didn't like to talk about the War. Who did?   

'Bill?' said Josie entering the cramped kitchen. The Door to the yard was open and the Dogs lazed out side waiting to thrown tit bits as Bill stood over the stove, pans sizzling the smell of cooking fat filling the air. That and something else.   

'Ooh that smells nice. ' Josie said as she hovered beside a small pan containing  two rounded lumps of meat. 'Bet it taste like the Dog's bollocks.' she grinned smiling  at her usually truculent Chef.   

Bill Savage threw back his head and roared with laughter.   
                     
 

[Eamonn Clarke]

Tale of a Fed Man

"Things are really hotting up on this week's Celebrity Mega-Chef as three showbiz personalities compete to produce a meal that can satisfy the toughest judges this side of the hall of justice.

In the blue kitchen celebrity vidcaster Enigma Smith is hoping that her dish of sauteed munce, draped in shredded creds, all topped with a foam of dessicated fish vaginas, and served on a diamond studded knee-pad will do enough to make up for last week's 'Judge Death's Livers!' disaster."

"I think this recipe has it all. It's a statement about the financial disaster and what the bankers have done to us since the day of chaos. I'm calling it 'Munce, Bunce and Cun.."

"OK! Thank you, Enigma. Let's move on to the red kitchen where well known lothario, bon viveur, and heir to the Sump fortune, Blotto Sump, is looking to dazzle with a fusion of classic Mega-City one flavours with the best of Brit-Cit cooking, but can he manage the timing right to bring his Black Atlantic mutated cod served with Umpty coated rat chips to the table before the radiation level hits critical?"

"Well, you know I'm, like, a red zone player and I always give 120%. When the going gets tough I just dig down, max out my thrusters, think outside the box and break through the blue sky thinking to reach that glass ceiling. I'm, like, totes amazo and I just wish that my dear old Grandpa was here today because, like, so many times he told me to follow my dream and never get up in the morning"

"Uh, thank you, Blotto. That was the most moving thing we've heard since you gave the same speech on Celebrity Kleggs-Factor.

Finally, in the green kitchen it's that irrepressible robotic, serial killer impersonator and one-hit wonder pop star, Call-Me-Maybe, who knows he is playing catch-up after the judges marked him down for last week's Futsie Nut Roast when they found out that his raw ingredients included Horse Chestnuts."

"I think I've cracked it this week. I'm taking a slab of the best Mega-City Lard, then I'm going to coat it in an emulsion of liquid fat, deep fry that in hot oil, and serve on a bed of bacon lardons topped with crispy, pan-fried lard shavings.

Cooking doesn't get any Larder than this!"

"So there you have it, folks. Three celebrity super chefs going all out in the hopes that their meal will be be chosen by Megz Wallace and Kanga Roux as the best of the best of the....

...wait, what? You can't come in here. We're on-air. Oh my drokking Grud. Judge Dredd?"

"This show is under arrest! There's a food crisis going on out there and you creeps are making things worse. Incitement to riot. Six months each."

"But you can't do this, Dredd.."

"Let's make it nine months. It's time you got a taste of what everyone else is eating right now. Take them to the Stock Cubes."

[Zarjazzer]

This was supposed to be a skit on religion but i just couldn't resist having a go at-hopefully it's obvious.Probably too political. Oh well.

Church of the Fat Cat

Charlie Gurtz always knew he was the chosen one. Mom always said so. She'd died but Charles had kept her body as the extra creds from her pension were always useful to buy more stimms. Charlie had survived  Chaos Day. He'd hidden in a closet whilst the horrors railed around him. 

It was when he'd run out of food that he realised his destiny.

Charlie was rifling a food store when he heard the growl of approaching lawmasters.

"Split! " yelled Spugzy his old juve gang pal from way back. Charlie heard a harsh, raised voice.

"Sentence is death, looters! Bike cannon!"

Suddenly Spugzy and the gang were falling like ninepins, red ruins as the rounds tore into them. Charlie ran. He turned the corner and down an alley.

"I think one punks over there." came a Judges voice.

Charlie panting hid behind some garbage.

It was then he saw the cat. A fat black beast, feral eyes glaring out at him. 

The circle of a  Judge surveillance light prowled back and forth along the wall. It lighted on the fat cat. Pussy hissed and disappeared.

"My mistake. Just an escaped pet." 

Harsh voices snarled. The light snapped off.

It was divine intervention Charlie told himself. Others thought it was the huge stash of stimms Charlie bought from his looting but a change definitely overcame him.

He was the chosen one. Herald of a new faith to sweep away the Judges and rule Mega-City One. Had the fat cat not intervened just at the right moment and saved him from the lousy Judges?

Charlie began to read about fat cats. In Pre Mega city days there were people who just sat around, got the cream that others laboured for and all the creds and stimms you'd ever need.

They were called fat cats.

They hated the Judges or the state as it was called back then and they could do what they liked, not contributing a cred for their upkeep whilst demanding special privileges.

Charlie liked the sound of that.

" And we will go forth and put the stinkin' Judges in the cubes!" yelled Charlie to his faithful followers.

"Them's that we don't pow pow of course!"

His followers cheered. Sure they were a rag tag bunch of old gangs and the mentally ill but that's how all religions got going.

Charlie waved again he had quite  following  now, fifty at least were there. All new members of the church of the Fat Cat. They were gonna beat the Judges to pulp.

Then he heard a sound he didn't like.


"I've heard enough. Bike cannon."

His followers were mown down. Charlie ran.

He felt a massive impact that knocked him over. He looked down. His insides were now outside.

Charlie crawled to the side of the walkway.

It couldn't be. He was the chosen one.

Charlie looked up. A large fat, black cat gazed down at him.

It looked hungry.

[mogzilla]

"t.o.w.i.t.b"

   John sat in the bar his back against the wall as usual,wulf herded women and knocked beer after beer whilst regailing them with norse legend and tales of the happy stick encouraging much dirty laughter from the entourage. Looking round the dank bar he could see the marks without using his alpha vision the mutants from the essex enclave were affected by a unique affliction making them quite hard to hide and as a result took this to extremes barely hiding their crimes. The essex mutants had a strange unearthly orange pallor and extremely white teeth ,Harve had described them as "oompa loompas" and been met with several blank looks as a result . The essex gang drank and partied hard pausing only to preen themselves in any reflective surface ,unfortunatley one used Wulf's hammer as the chosen mirror...
   "vot are you doing?" he asked the essex boy,joey according to the gcc data pad was wanted on several worlds for absolutely trifling crimes worth nothing except to the most desperate search destroy agent,Alpha thought of contacting Kid Knee but he was in rehab and it wasnt even worth the creds to call him .
By this time Wulf had  joey by the scruff of the neck when he'd tried to take one of the big viking's "freinds" away... joey called to his gang who swayed drunkenly to were wulf was ,
   John Alpha didnt need to use his powers or experience to know this would end badly and didnt want Wulf facing charges but he would if he didnt act now... "time bomb!" he shouted as he threw the weapon ,joey and his crew blinked out of existence ...
Wulf stared horrified ,"vot did you do?"  he asked " vos it really vorth a time bomb?"

alpha smiled ,"sent 'em back to the early 21st. reckon theyre someone elses problem now"

[Emp]

                                         

I hate time travel and I really hate the idea of returning to this backwater planet, Dirt.

Slipping out of the Time Suit I retrieve the Displacer unit and strap it to my wrist before activating the suits meltdown protocol.

I look around and struggle to conceive what room I am in. A bed, which you would think would be a good hint, but I'm confused by the shelves of lotions, potions, creams,pens, trowels and things that can only be called torture devices.

"Steady Jim," I whisper and take a swig of the of the old Panther Sweat. A picture catches my eye, two creatures, jowl to jowl stare out at me with vacant, dead eyes.

I've been to this rock before, but never encountered such creatures. Did Coypu screw up the co-ords. Oh, I really hope not. According to the Special Corp, in here is a book that will start a war!

A noise outside the room makes me turn from the picture, something I will be eternally grateful for.

Opening the door reveals a tall man with too much nose for face climbing the stairs and for a second I ponder if he could be related to Coypu. That's before he speaks. Now, I am no expert in the languages and dialects of Dirt, but this sounds wrong.

"Well, we've seen the kitchen and living room, but who could live in a house like this?"

Not Slippery Jim DiGriz, I can tell you that!

My options are limited, he doesn't seem to know who lives here so I decide to front it out and walk out of the room. As it happens, not one of your old friend Jim's best decisions.

"It is I, you have found my..." the sentence dies when faced with his backup.
Two men with shoulder mounted weapons and a third with what looks like a dead animal on a stick.

I toss smoke and nausea pellets onto the stairs, slap on a respirator and dive into them. We tumble down the stairs, all limbs and screams and I hear something crack but feel no pain. So a result for team Jim.

A brief struggle and I find a door, which I slam behind me. Once my vision clears I can't help but whimper! So much pink!

I can see why the Corps think there's a book of evil  here, no sane person could live like this. I push a chair against the door and rip books from the shelves. So many, and they're all the same!! Bosoms!, torn shirts!

There's only one thing to do.....douse everything in flamegel and leave.

The flames burn nicely as my pursuers burst in. A wink, a wave and I feel the time slip kick in.

"You'll never take me ...."

"...alive"

Coypu looks at me curiously, so I carry on.

"never..., Jim DiGriz is to good for you. Oh, hey...excuse me while I throw up,"

"What 's a Cartland?" I ask,wiping my mouth.

[Alski]

The Funt Factor

Welcome to Cardiff, the kind of city that other cities cross the street to avoid.

Inside the Motorpoint Arena, a seventeen year old girl was strangling a cat. Well, that was what it sounded like to Finnigan Sinister, but he couldn't work out where the cat was.

"Seriously," he said to his erstwhile amigo, Ramone Dexter. "Where's the funting cat? I can hear the poor wee thing, but I have no idea where's she's hiding it."

"There is no cat, senor," insisted Dexter, poking at his Fony implant. "She is singing."

"Is she funt!" exclaimed Finny. "That's the worst thing I've heard since me granny got her left tit caught in the mangle!"

"What's a mangle?" Asked Dex, bemused.

"It's just a sayin'," explained Finny. "Don't take it so literal, like."

They really had no idea how they had got there, but it was a fair bet that there wasn't a simple explanation. One minute they were in Downlode, the city that they tried to name twice but it told them to piss off out of it, and then they were in this Cardiff place. Our boys, being the responsible grown ups they are, soon acclimatized and used their god funting given talents to stay afloat and rid the place of some of it's less desirable citizens along the way, but they figured if they were stuck then they needed a big score. That was when the third member of their party had the worst idea since Finny opened a gunshark themed lingerie boutique.

"She's up," said Ramone, crossing himself.

With that, Billi Octavo (she of the 'third member of the party' status) strutted on stage, all attitude and very tight short shorts. Many in the crowd whistled approval, and she gave them the flirtiest of flirty smiles.

"And what's your name?" asked Simon Cowell (for it was he), returned to the UK X Factor judging panel just for this story.

"Billi," said Billi, truthfully.

"What makes you think you can win this competition?" asked Cowell, patting his hair and being smug.

"Because I'm worth it!" said Billi, using a phrase she had picked up from this place's awful television. The crowd seemed to like it, however, and she decided to say it more often.

"What will you be singing today?" smarmed Cowell.

"It's called 'Hump Em & Dump 'em' by the Clark Kent Five," replied Billi. "You won't have heard it."

"So let's hear it now." as Cowell spoke, the music faded in and Billi began.

"Jesus Funt!" Said Finny. "I think I know where that cat went... Watch it, Simon baby" he added as Cowell's hand hovered over his "X" button. Cowell heard the voice in his ear over Billi's cacophony, and mindful of the guns he knew the duo were packing he forced himself to stay his hand. How they got to him is, of course, another story.

A minute more was all he could take, however, and he smashed his hand down and ended Billi's bid for stardom.

"That was the WORST thing I have ever heard!" he ranted. "You, young lady are the most talentless....urgh"

The 'Urgh' was on account of him being shot by Ramone, all casual like, who couldn't stand a man who didn't take death threats seriously.

Simon Cowell lay bleeding on the ground, his insults fading away with his life. He had been shot, all the way to death, because he couldn't keep himself from slagging off a young girl with hopes and dreams, couldn't stop himself ruining the lives of others and all for a measly few funting bucks. As he saw the white light and the men with horns and pitchforks coming for him, he uttered his last words:

"Worth it..."

[bluemeanie]

Group Deal

"You ready?"

The Tech looked up at Alpha, then back down at his console

"Yeah" Alpha replied.

"Cool. Just a few more adjustments then you're good to go".

Alpha nodded, hoping to stop the conversation in its tracks. Right now he was all about the job and had no time for pleasantries.

"Right then" the tech continued "timestamp laid in. Planetary position calculated and locked."

He continued tapping away and adjusted a few dials in a way that appeared more for show than any actual purpose.

"Guessing you're going after someone big then? Must be to warrant a time jump like this. Not cheap. Not cheap at all. Anyone I would have heard of?"

He looked up expectantly, obviously hoping for a famous name from the history books to impress his co-workers with. Alpha paused for a few seconds then decided he wouldn't get anywhere till he'd satisfied the other mans curiosity.

"Doubtful," he growled. "It's a group warrant. Dozen or so mid-level jobs who just happen to be in the same location at the same time. Enough to justify the overhead".

"Oh," the tech responded, obviously disappointed. "Never mind."

He gave his desk one last check then looked up with a practiced smile of reassurance.

"Here we go then. Good hunting. I'll see you in a minute. Well, for me anyway".

He pulled a lever and both the tech and the room shimmered out of view to be replaced by a grey looking car park. Alpha checked the data module on his wrist. The GPS confirmed the correct location and the chronometer confirmed the date... 1979. With a button press the display changed to a countdown till his automated return. Just over an hour, he'd have to get on.

He walked up to the main building ahead and opened the door, letting out a woman in her mid 20's who grinned at him enthusiastically.

"Fab costume!" she squealed. "Let me guess.... Doctor Who?"

He shook his head and told her where he needed to be.

"Oh, no problem" she smiled. "Just keep left and look out for signs for Studio 3. Failing that just listen out for the music. You can't miss the Top of the Pops studio when they're recording".

"I never miss" Alpha replied and headed off to collect his bounties.

[strontium_dog_90]

Already thinking this is going to be a tough one to pick a favourite from . . .

Here's an effort from me!

The Mega-City Mannequin Massacre


'Hello, Justice Department? I want to report a crime.'
   
'Go ahead, citizen. What's the nature of this crime?'
   
'Um, it's my daughter.'
   
'What about your daughter?'
   
'She's just had her hear broken – by one of those horrible mannequin boys!'
   
Oh Grud, the Control Judge thought, rolling her eyes. Not another one.



Devoid of all personality and any opinions that could prove contentious, they were the perfect Mega-City stars – five lifeless mannequins that stood on a stage in designer clothes whilst music written by other people played behind them. The group was the brainchild of one Bert Scumbag – a pioneering entertainment figure once behind such hit pirate shows as Sing Well Or The Kleggs Eat You, until the Judges caught up with him. But now he was a free man, and he was making a fortune from his band.
   
None of which Judge Rico knew as he rode up to the hotel in which the entrepreneur was staying.
   
'Did you call in the assault?' Rico asked, dismounting his Lawmaster.
   
'That's right,' Scumbag said.
   
Then he pointed.
   
Rico turned.
   
Saw a demolished mannequin, men and women of various ages tearing at it, eyes crazed with lust.
   
'I want them all arrested!' Scumbag cried. 'Harry's my most popular mannequin! He's already had seven biographies written about him!'
   
Well, Rico thought, it was certainly unorthodox. But from the manic looks on their faces, it seemed the mannequin fans were definitely guilty of something.
   
Weighing in with his daystick, Rico decided he'd arrest them all.
   
Let the local Sector House figure out the offences.



A few days later, Scumbag called Control, asked for him personally.
   
Rico rode to the address given.
   
And saw a woman pointing a gun at the five mannequins.
   
'He got me pregnant,' she said, pointing the weapon at a repaired Harry. 'And now he won't return my calls!'
   
Rico disarmed the very clearly un-pregnant woman and called the Kook-Cubes.
   
They had designated a special wing for mannequin fans.



'Brit-Cit wants to loan them,' Scumbag said. 'For The Continental Song Challenge. They think this is the best chance they have of winning.'
   
From what Rico knew of Brit-Cit history, he figured they probably had a point.
   
Still, he was less than thrilled when Scumbag requested he provide security. Even less so when the Chief Judge decided that, for propaganda reasons, Scumbag's request would be granted.
   
Now he looked out as the craft landed.
   
Saw a hundred banners welcoming the mannequins.
   
'Look at that, Judge,' Scumbag said proudly. 'Mega-City One's most popular export in years.'
   
Not a good sign, Rico thought, for the city he represented.



The mannequins won by a landslide.
   
But Scumbag's happiness was fading.
   
Rico was called to an altercation at the mogul's house.
   
Found five mannequins in tatters.
   
Saw Scumbag bearing a knife.
   
'I had to do it,' he said, tears coursing down his face. 'They were planning to leave me for another manager!'
   
Rico readied his handcuffs.
   
Hoping they had room for another loon in that special wing.

[Marlowe]

Damn you, eamonn1961, for bagging the topic of cooking shows and doing such a fab job with it Oh well, here's my attempt.

...And Justice for All

He swaggered up towards the bench wearing a stained, wrinkled bedsheet and a smirk. Perched atop his head was what appeared to be half a dead cat and around his neck was a rather effeminate frilly neckpiece.

"You are the defendant?" said Judge Nicely, one eyebrow raised.

"I am the defendant's barrister, sir."

"Excuse me?"

"His counsel, sir."

"Litigants have no right to counsel," said the bailiff.

"I'll allow it," Nicely said. "Just get it over with quickly."

The lawyer gazed into the middle distance with sparkling eyes that overflowed with the justice and purity of his noble cause. He flourished his hands with maximum historinics. "Innocence... until proof of guilt... is the foundation of our justice system."

"No, it isn't," Nicely cut in. "And this is a civil claims court."

"It's relevant, sir, I assure you. I remind you of this precept, because my client was NEVER given its benefit. He treated as a CRIMINAL at the hands of EVERYONE in his ENTIRE LIFE. By the JUDGES, by the PLAINTIFF... HE is the sad, sad victim here –"

"For grud's sake, say something of relevance to the defendant's case or get out!"

The lawyer levelled a trembling index finger at Nicely, his makeshift wig slipping askew. "I put it to YOU, Judge, that you're obstructing my client's case!"

"What?" Nicely facepalmed.

"Hang on. Cocaine break." The lawyer bent down and snorted a couple of lines. "I'm a brilliant lawyer but I do drugs and gamble and screw prostitutes because that makes me edgy, see."

"You are one step away from thrown in the cubes for contempt!" shouted Nicely.

"All right, sir, I'll get to my closing address," replied the lawyer. He plunged his hand into his trousers, exposed his organ and began to masturbate in front of the block court.

"Enough! Judge Wilson, remove that man."

The lawyer struggled like blue blazes in the bailiff's grip, refusing to go quietly. "This is drokkin' injustice! I object, sir, I fervently object! I'll have you know I'll be appealing to the International Court of Justice and –"

A round from Nicely's Lawgiver cracked the air, cutting the lawyer's diatribe mercifully short.

"Grud. So this is why we did away with the system."

[darnmarr]

This is too long, doesn't fit the brief at all, and has all sorts of other things wrong with it, but I thought I'd throw it in anyway, just for jolly

Silvio looked at his dejected companion;
"Lay me one, Theo!"
Theo kept his eyes on the floor
" I cant Silvio."
"Oh you cant? huh? Shit to that, "
Silvio was grinning, standing directly in front of him now , he put his hands on Theo's shoulders and waited for him to raise his head,
"Lay me one, man" he said softly.
"There's three splats out there, Silvio, - she made stains of 'em..."
Silvio grasped his hand around the back of his friends skull and pressed him forehead-to-forehead.
A quiet, desperate whisper escaped through Silvio's half-grimace, and betrayed the jittery desperation behind his street-punk swagger;

"Lay one on me Theo, and make it a good one".

Theo squinted with concentration,
" I got... I got some Goethe maybe.."
there was a beat and then Silvio released him and giggled his nervous giggle
"You got some 'Gur-Tah?-uh?- What? Like... 'We all born in the Gur-Tah; but some of us be lookin' at the stars?' - because you laid that one on me last week! "
"That was Wilde."
"Sure was, that was a hot one, but like I said it aint gonna work-I done heard it before"
"No Wilde was the guy, and Goethe's a guy..."
Sil's impatience got the better of him
"Lissen, brain-o-the-block, You gonna lay one on me or not?"

Theo pulled in a breath and became suddenly still and solemn, almost defiant;
"Goethe said..."
Silvio's eyes seemed to bulge with expectation.
"He said.. Goethe said: 'A man should hear a little music, read a little poetry, and see a fine picture every day of his life, in order that worldly cares may not obliterate the sense of the beautiful which God has implanted in the human soul.'"

The residual hum of the block became loud for the briefest moment and Sil closed his eyes as if better to taste the flavour of this rare delicacy; they popped open again with a gleam of satisfaction.

"That's gonna do just fine...now we just need some 'mo' -wash it down with"

Sil had a point, him and Theo was just a couple of block-rats, a couple of nobodies sent out by some low-level clan with plentymany creds for Sternhammer product not two hours ago, and (like the whinging, punk-assed amateur Silvio had called him), Theo had demanded breakfast first, and (like the blustering toothless braggart Sil was), he'd complained and then conceded and that's why they had been delayed in the food-court;

delayed long enough to see their erstwhile task-masters skinned and thrown down from the top.

If the clan had known they were runnin' product for those guys, Silvio had reasoned, then Theo and Sil would be already dead.
But Theo and Sil weren't dead. They still had the creds and they weren't dead.
But now they had to play it right, it was the last thing either of them wanted to do, but it was the only way to throw off suspicion. They were gonna have to go up-front and defenceless to the clan, they were gonna have to ride it out; Sil was right, hiding from the clan right now was dumb, but Sil's solution: to go score some Mo' off Kay right now,- just to be sure, made Theo blanch when he thought of it. He tried not to. He tried not to think of the way the city bites you all day long. He tried to think of Goethe. The sound of some ancient 21st century track thumped through the door as they approached the den: was that 'Poison Lips' by Vitalic?

[darnmarr]

editfunctionmuttergrumble: The title of the above thing is 'Poison lips'.

[DrQ]

Here goes...



Larry and Mick Stumble Upon Mega City Justice

"That was a long sleep," said Larry.

"Indeed," said Mick.

Larry opened the curtains. "Oh crikey!"

"What?"

"A futuristic city appears to have been built around our flat!"

"Oh crikey!" concurred Mick.

***

"What was in that hot chocolate?"

"Dunno, but my bladder feels like a puffa fish!"

When they had both released streams of urine that would shame Niagara, they sat at the kitchen table, drinking tea and eating Hob Nobs.

"If," said Larry, "we have slept through over a century, how come the Hob Nobs and tea are still fresh?"

"I fear," said Mick, "that is an unanswerable question."

Larry peered at Mick's iPad. "What have you deduced?"

"We are in Mega City One in the year 2135."

"Where's that?"

"The Eastern Seaboard of North America."

"North America?"

"Don't ask."

***

Larry and Mick went for a post-Hob Nob stroll. Immediately upon exiting their flat (which was on the ground floor, thus avoiding the palaver of descending 200 flights of stairs, on account of the lift being blown to bits in the recent block war), they were assailed by a flying surfer, a very fat man with a wheel under his belly and three giggling teenagers in bouncing bubbles, pursued by three uniformed personages on flying bikes.

"Let's find a cafe," said Larry.

"Rightey-ho," said Mick.

***

"What can I get you boys?" asked the waitress, who was ugly in a way that was clearly a fashion statement.

"It's a day for a Frappuccino," said Larry.

"Tea," said Mick. "Three sugars."

The phenomenally un-comely waitress gasped.

"What?" said Mick.

"NO SUGAR HERE!" said the waitress. Then under her breath: "(There's a judge outside...)"

"A ju-?"

"TEA WITH THREE TABS OF SWEETO COMING RIGHT UP!"

"And a Frappuccino," said Larry.

***

He stood there, by the window. Looking... awesome. Not in an "awesome, dude!" way, but properly awesome. Scary, confident. His uniform was dark. His helmet was... also dark. Everything about him was dark. Except the light which glinted off his visor - which just accentuated the overall darkness. He held a weapon - some kind of gun. He sneered. He had a bit of stubble. Some would say he had the look of Stallone, some would say Eastwood - but really he looked like no one except...

"I can't see his badge," said Larry.

"It starts with a 'D'..." said Mick.

"What next?"

"Hang on, I'm trying to..."

The judge turned.

"'R'... 'E'..."

He lifted his weapon.

"'D'... another 'D'..."

He mouthed a word and slowly squeezed the trigger.

"Dredd! It's Judge Dre-!"

Judge Dredd fired.

***

Shattered glass... blood... tea... Frappuccino...

Larry and Mick groaned, as they attempted to rise.

"Don't move, creeps," said the powerful, but strangely quiet voice.

As the smoke cleared, they first saw the barrel of the Lawgiver... then the badge... then the chin.

"Six months for staring at a judge," said the owner of the chin.

"Bugger," said Mick.

"Another six months for swearing."

Larry and Mick said no more.

[ fin ]



For more 'Larry and Mick' and other stories, please click here...

http://www.abctales.com/user/pepsoid

[clavell]

Had a burst of inspiration, and knocked this one out. missus 

Mega City Idol

After the pre show show, the lights dimmed for a moment. Then Anton Dec appeared on stage flooded with multiple high beams. "This is it, folks !" He announced. "This is the final lineup ! One of these amazing contestants will be the next Mega City Idol !" And the crowd were at fever pitch. Over one hundred thousand in the studio, and an estimated billion watching the vid feeds. "Let's bring them out !" And they filed out for the final judgement.

First was Susan Sore. Middle aged and overweight, but with a comforting, motherly tone. Paul Weeds followed, head bowed, feet shuffling. His powerful baritone concealed. And prancing along behind them, little Britney Lance. Ten years old. Made of sugar and spice. Her grandmother died that week - or was it the week before - and that's what was inspiring her. They stood before the competition judges, who would make or break their dreams of fame, fortune and celebrity.

Myron Towell - the media tycoon who ran the event - was his usual self. "Only one of you will win today, because only one of you is worth it."

Pierce Moron waited for the crowds to quieten, "I think you're all amazing, and I look forward to interviewing you all on my new show next year. If you all follow my example, and remember to think of others and not just yourselves. I mean I'm not perfect, but I just can't stand all those celebs that never seem to do anything but talk about themselves."

Cheryl Gas - the android campaigning for android rights - was more thoughtful. Or so it seemed. "Youse all ahh lieeke thee bess theer is in mega city one. Youse ahhll should be prouwwed of youse sellfs."

And then Anton shushed everyone. "And there's a special, surprise judge today, folks." The silence was deafening. "Did you get it, folks ? A surprise JUDGE ? D'you get it ? Eh ?" A curtain slides to reveal the ultimate judge. Dredd himself. He strode out to the three finalists, standing in front of Paul Weeds first.

"Paul Weeds is not Paul Weeds. He's international assassin Killey mcMurder. wanted in multiple states for multiple murders and serious woundings." He gestured to the other judges now filing into the studio. "He's under arrest." To Susan Sore, "You're a classic black widow, Ms. Sore. You're under arrest for the murders of your eleven former husbands." And then he bent to look little Britney Lance in the eyes. "And you're the worst of the worst. Britney Lance - also known as the High Queen of the Kepler Union Colonies - you're under arrest for the genocide of two million of your subjects."

"But I didn't do anything wrong !" She cried. "My grandmother died this week ! And the week before !"

"And the week before that too, right ?" Dredd said, dragging her away. "You're still doing time."

"But, but, you can't do this to me. They were my subjects ! They were annoying me !"

And so ended the Mega City Idol sting operation.

[strontium_dog_90]

Good to see this one inspired so many people!

Here's another!

Ever Had A Scream Come True?

Dredd was cuffing a perp called Henry when it happened.
   
His body started to fade from the scene.
   
'Stay where you are,' Dredd warned Henry. 'I'll be back for you!'
   
Then he was gone.



Dredd disappearing halfway through an arrest was not an unusual occurrence. Normally he was summoned to distant universes to fight omnipotent gods, or taken to an alien arena. Whatever the reason this time, though, Henry just thanked Grud and ran off.
   
But then a shadow stepped before him.
   
And said, 'you should come with me.'



Meanwhile, Dredd appeared in a nightmare.
   
Six media personalities were strapped to chairs, metal helmets attached to their heads. The helmets were linked to a big computer, and when the personalities saw Dredd they began to scream.
   
'It's him!' said a guy who had scored a hit song two decades ago.
   
'Oh no!' said a woman whose body was ninety six per cent plastic.
   
And a voice behind Dredd said, 'why-aye, Judge! Welcome to the show!'



Henry entered a packed building in which some kind of meeting was taking place.
   
The man who had brought him said, 'my name is Barnes. Welcome.'



Dredd turned.
   
Before him, Rant and Wreck, two charmless robots programmed to speak in a rare Mega-City dialect in lieu of possessing actual personalities, spoke into a camera.
   
One of them – it was hard to tell which – said, 'in this latest edition of hit reality torture show Ever Had A Scream Come True, we have hooked up six famous – sort of – contestants to a machine than simulates their worst fear.'
   
The other one added, 'they'll face their fear, and you guys at home can vote for whichever one is traumatised in the most entertaining way!'
   
Drawing his Lawgiver, Dredd said, 'think again, creeps.'



'What is this place?' Henry asked. 'Who are all these people?'
   
'They're people like you,' Barnes said. 'Like us. They've all escaped when Dredd disappeared whilst arresting them.'
   
'You made a club for that?'
   
'This is Mega-City One,' Barnes said. 'What else are we going to do?'



Rant – maybe – said, 'why-aye, like, is he supposed to talk to us, like?'

'Don't worry,' the other one reassured him. 'He's not real. The contestants are just imagining him.'

'You mean we tapped into their worst fears, and all of them are most scared of Dredd?'

'Judge Dredd,' the lawman stressed, coming up behind them. 'Let me show you what they're scared of.'



Explaining it later, Tek-Department and PSI-Division would say the contestants fear was so great, it sucked the real Dredd into their show.
   
For now, though, Dredd crashed back to reality. Covered in robot remnants with six sort-of personalities handcuffed behind him, under arrest for conspiracy to kidnap a Judge.
   
Seeing his return, Henry groaned.
   
'I told you not to move,' Dredd said.
   
But as he began to make arrests, he vanished once again.
   
Henry looked at Dredd's six newest prisoners.
   
'Welcome to the club,' he said to one of them. 'Don't I know you from somewhere?'