Teenage Wildlife

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(wild eyed peoploid)
12/16/01 04:30 AM
Re: Pop Goes The God - A story with Bowie in it new [re: PHOENIX]  

This is frickin' amazing. Nothing else I can really say. Phoenix, you rule. Have you written anything else?

Sysiyo's Evil Twin
"We are all crazy: some of us are just better at it than others."

(crash course raver)
12/17/01 00:00 AM
Very Much Appreciated new [re: Starlight696]  

Big thankyou to Starlight696 and those who I may not have PMed. Like the old cliche goes, I hope those who have read the story so far are finding it as interesting and/or amusing to read as it is to write.

To answer your question, I have written two plays based on Bowie songs, but mostly while away my writing time with poetry. This is the first novel-type writing that I will undoubtable finish, mostly because I have the story planned out already.

Thanks again

"We shape clay into a pot,
but it is the emptiness inside
that holds whatever we want."

Tao Te Ching

(crash course raver)
12/17/01 00:07 AM
Re: Pop Goes The God - A story with Bowie in it new [re: PHOENIX]  


Little Alex had been circling on the luggage conveyor belt for hours now. Fairly soon she would be joined by the luggage from the crowded plane bringing the throng of people headed to the international anvil convention, so little did she know how much danger she was in.

It would not come to that however. After growing more and more impatient, and doubting more and more whether David would clear his mind enough to remember the important fact that he'd left his child as unclaimed luggage, she decided it was time to end the whole charade and take matters into her own hands.

She opened one eye, to make sure she wasn't being watched, and attempted to stand up and make her way off the belt. She had to act fast because she was about to go through the damn annoying part of the continual journey where the heavy plastic flaps guarding the entry to the luggage loading part of the concourse would repeatedly thump and scrape her.

It wasn't easy. It was a wonder, she thought, that the human race had evolved this way. She was wobbling all over the place, falling, bumping into umbrellas and briefcases. Eventually she accidentally succeeded in her mission by simply falling off the belt. The only thing that had fallen into place for her so far.

Getting more of a hang of things she tottered over to the airport exit and out into the night.

It would be fair to say Alex was not what she seemed, she seemed to be an ordinary baby girl. Doubts about her authentic babyhood would be raised if one where to know that her little stunt on the plane, sealing the window and saving the day, had been completely her doing. All for no reward except for one foul tasting cookie.

Her first port of call would be the nearest seven-eleven, where some urgently needed diapers could be obtained.


Pop was beginning to see little wisdom in involving Nyartholep in his plans for the occupation of the planet and eventually the galaxy. His first sign of this had come the very first day they met where he noticed a tiny bit of snot clinging to the outside of his left nostril. The sign of someone who will not be a great help in conquering worlds.

Not that the evil Pop guy particularly believed in wisdom. He remembered a time when he'd caught a fine looking woodpecker and was holding on to it for dear life. Upon seeing a further two peckers in a nearby bush he mentally laughed at the suggestion that they were of equal worth to the rather distressed one he was clutching and simply caught them as well. Giving him a total of three birds which was worth both more than the one in his hand and the two unsuspecting free ones meandering in the shady bush. Wisdom be damned.

At least he had the meaning of life in his safe possession again.

Nyar had been counted on the play a major part in his plans, not only that but with him being in charge of most things evil on this planet he was a powerful (if unreliable) ally. With his participation uncertain at best it was time to go over his head, for all the trouble that might cause. Pop was going to have to travel to the moon to do this, as corny as that sounds.

Normally, in the usual course of things in the primitive material world, for Pop to get to the moon would take 20 years of planning, some billions of dollars, the participation of NASA and some 48,000 scientists and other employees and a good probing. But Pop didn't know the meaning of the word normally, which was strange in itself.

He stepped outside, causing a drunk hobo wandering past to yell at him to "For gods sake, put some clothes on." Pop ignored the hobo's rage and took the lid off the bin sitting beside the mailbox. Before doing what he had to do he noticed he had some mail, so he decided to take it with him and read it later. He put the mail away (don't ask) and stepped into the trash can which was filled with water and some chicken scraps that someone had deposited in there on their way past.

The hobo, feeling apologetic after seeing Pop climb into the bin, wandered over to console him and tell him that things weren't that bad, he just needed help. Much to his surprise the nude man was no longer their, but as luck would have it their was some tasty chicken scraps that would do for dinner.

"Where'd he go??" Asked the hobo to no-one in particular. He looked at his wine bottle in a funny way, flung it into the night, and was promptly arrested by the cliché police.


Jagger was racing like the wind to the Romantic Roomy Restaurant, his lips flapping in the breeze.

He was praying that David and his child, little Alex, was at least safe for now. Thank god for Pretty Thing, that multitalented cat. He remembered once getting a nasty scratch to the eye one morning while in bed, and realized instantly that PT was trying to tell him the house was on fire. Jagger had raced out in his underwear and called the fire brigade, who ended up fining him for a false report. It wasn't until the next day that Jagger had worked out after much pondering that PT had warned him before the fire started, thereby saving him and the house. What a cat.

Now the cat had alerted him to a present danger that could have far-reaching consequences. Little Alex, the offspring of Jagger and Bowie, was the babe with the power. What power? The power of voodoo. Whodo? Never mind.

By startling co-incidence the Romantic Roomy Restaurant was just a few blocks down the street from where Jagger lived. He stopped short of the entrance, knowing that if he was recognized it would make it difficult for him not to stop and sign autographs. He knew David was here for he ate coco-pops, and had entered the Date With Bowie competition a few times himself.

Suddenly he had a cunning plan and fished a paper bag out of his front pocket. After cutting holes for his eyes and gigantic lips he made his way inside a restaurant that was less and less living up to it's name.

A few blocks away an angry MEOW could be heard through the dark night that had descended.


"We shape clay into a pot,
but it is the emptiness inside
that holds whatever we want."

Tao Te Ching

(crash course raver)
12/20/01 10:10 PM
Re: Pop Goes The God - A story with Bowie in it new [re: PHOENIX]  


John Lennon opened his eyes, removing himself from the past he was relating to Gus. He shifted his gaze to the armchair Gus was sitting him and heard the snoring at the same time he saw Gus sprawled out with his eyes closed.

"Hey! This is important! I'm telling you about one of the most significant events in all of history!"

"Wha whaa whaa? what? Oh, I was listening, I just fell asleep right then. So tell me, what happened next?"

"There was a massive custard pie fight."

"I'm sorry I asked." croaked Gus, wiping the sleep out of his eyes.

"After that 1926 show David became a main attraction, people lined up for miles to shoot him in the head. Fifty bucks a shot. He also ended up getting that operation, having the lower part of a dogs body attached to his upper torso. Unfortunately he was banned for three years after humping Mrs Dooley's leg."

"Quite understandable, he was half dog wasn't he?"

"No, unfortunately this was after he was changed back."

"Listen John, something I just don't get, David was born in 1947, there are pictures, anecdotes, how could he have existed for over 500 years? Time travel?"

"No, not in this instance. David WAS born in 1947. David Jones that is. When we discovered this guy after he released his debut album on the Decca label our luck couldn't have been better. Jones was a dead ringer for Bowie, giving us the chance to slip Bowie into the public eye for the first time. Our only problem was, and increasingly is, trying to hide the fact that he doesn't seem to have aged at all in 30 years."

"And Jones? You killed him?"

"No, not at all, in fact he's sitting just over there..."


David was looking at the sign on the far wall that Hermoine was pointing to with her pencil.


Things could get a little nasty if he didn't play his cards right. So David scooped up the game of solitaire he had started and decided to concentrate fully on the game being played out between him and his former love.

"Hermoine?" He began, pronouncing it Aye-Moe-Eee, and giving himself away before the bag issue could even be resolved. For David had been the only man to pronounce her name in such a way.

"David, oh David it's you, I..." Tears welled in her eyes, and she let fly with a few groin seeking stabs from her steel tipped shoe. Now tears were welling up in David's eyes also, for a whole different reason. He thought of asking her to check his Medic Alert bracelet, but saw the cliché police lingering nearby and decided that he had enough to deal with as it was.

"I tear my soul to cease the pain." David wheezed. He took of the bag and proceeded to use it in a manner that people eating near him found rather offputting.

Buzzers and bells once again, not just in David's head, the interior of the restaurant was flashing bright colors and streamers, confetti and dusty cobwebs fell from the ceiling. A band struck up a tune while a wide eyed cabaret singer belted out, "Yoooou, Yes youuuu, You won a date with Bowie! Say thanks to coco-pops!"

Hermoine was shoved aside in the commotion as the dwarf that looked like a prostitute was led to his table, rose petals thrown before his every step.

All thoughts of the mind numbing pain he was in receded, the world sank away, David lay eyes on the diminutive, make-up caked figure before him in a trance. For the first time in his life, David Bowie felt the power of true love.


Reale made haste in tying the twine to his wrist. The other end was around Quentin's waist, and the television had been plugged in and tuned to static. The doughnut had been very tasty.

"Right, when I give the word Quentin, you climb in that tank and find someone that knows what the hell is going on, right?"

"Right nigger!" Replied Mr Tarantino, not quite knowing how far he was pushing his luck.

Reale tested the strength of the twine by putting it around Quentin's neck and pulling hard. "You say that N word one more time and I'll give you a glare you will never forget!"

"Hey man, ease on down, I'm just hip that's all"

"No time for debating the status obtained by such trivial nonsense, Go! Get in the tank!" The policeman double checked the TV set and saw to his horror that someone had tuned it into the Oprah Winfrey Show. "Dipladoo! Get that damn TV back to static now!"

"But it's Dr Phil day!" Dipladoo had just arrived and had still no grasp on the seriousness of the situation.

"Just do it!"

"I won't have you controlling me like this Reale! Phil says when one person tries to control the relationship it can lead to bitter resentment and a lack of communication."

A splash signified that Quentin had jumped the gun, and was no longer part of our dimension. Meanwhile reports were flooding in of famous dead people disturbing the peace, which would no doubt escalate into disturbing the peace of our time if left for too much longer. Not only that, but Nixon had snuck back out of the water tank while Reale was busy repairing his relationship with Dipladoo, he held a pair of opened scissors and was making a beeline for the taught string that connected Quentin and the other world to ours.


"We shape clay into a pot,
but it is the emptiness inside
that holds whatever we want."

Tao Te Ching

(grinning soul)
12/21/01 04:03 PM
Re: Pop Goes The God - A story with Bowie in it new [re: PHOENIX]  

I really love your story !!
Keep on writing !!!

"Why Can't People Go Through life without Comparing their own to anyone elses ?"

(crash course raver)
01/01/02 07:46 AM
Re: Pop Goes The God - A story with Bowie in it new [re: Cisite]  


It wasn't easy being the moon. Drearily, continuously orbiting the Earth (as seen from a most common point of view). Being regarded as an ugly chunk of rock, marked and scarred, cold and dead.

Not even being regarded as part of a double planet system no less! Just a silly old moon, bit of leftover garbage from the creation of Earth. One day the universe would finally see things the way the moon did - namely that every body in the universe revolved around it.

Earth! Oh that precious blue jewel...giver of life and all that crap...

The Earthpeople came and what did they do? Grabbed some rocks, drove around in a buggy for a while, and went home. And never came back...

Yes. A bitter, tired, lonely old moon crossed the sky (as seen from a most common point of view). Best able to try and reach out when it shone from light reflected from the sun, (Bloody Sun, Mr Giver of Light and Energy, Bright shining freakin light...) but then the people he tried to befriend just went nuts.

Easier to talk when a living being was on the surface. The moon talked to the astronaughts, who refused to talk about their conversations outside of their inner circle. The talk mainly consisted of cheese, the price of bread and the weather anyway.

Talking to Iggy Pop wasn't too bad. He used colorful language and had interesting anecdotes. Plus he wanted to make a few certain changes as far as the Earth was concerned, changes the moon liked one hell of a lot.

For Pop's arrival the moon had prepared a glass case. With the current lack of water of this moon (or planet) the Moon had no choice but to fill the tank with blessed moon dust. This was no easy feat considering the Moon was an inanimate conglomeration of particles adrift in space. The Moon did have political power though, more so than any living being as was outlined in the principles of the galactic constitution.


McKenzie, Malone and Maloney had banded together as people will in unusual situations. Assassination and the sorting out of the whole "double" issue could wait until they were in a world where these things were not hindered by ethereal laws.

They followed Nedi through endless corridors. Past doors labeled only with names, names in no discernable order. Not alphabetic, not by date of death, it was a very feebly constructed system of afterlife soul storage.

McKenzie noticed a door with the name "David Jones" stenciled on it and wondered. He peeked inside on his way past on noticed it was the blue room he had arrived in. Knowing all about a particular habit of falling into place things did, he could not resist the urge to take the passing of this room as some kind of sign and slipped inside and away from the entourage headed god knew where (and even he probably had no idea)

Ask a man on the street, and he would probably be unable to tell you about the importance of deeply reflecting on the color blue. Done in the right way it leads to a state of Super Heightened Cosmic Oneness that is often fairly amusing.

Here McKenzie sat right down and waited. For what he didn't know.

He reflected on green, yellow, magenta and finally settled on blue when he got his act together. He achieved Oneness, then Cosmic Oneness, next Heightened Cosmic Oneness, and finally Super Heightened Cosmic Oneness just when he was beginning to lose patience.

When there he found himself on a Cosmic Voyage. It only took him as far as mars so it didn't last too long. On the red planet he stood before a gigantic temple made of glass. It was surely macabre because skeletal remains were hung from the floors of this temple, perhaps in warning, perhaps for decoration.

Then McKenzie was inside the temple. A dazzling maze of glass spires, columns and knick knacks. Moving again, the Father was racing upwards at great speed, until he was floating serenely above this temple, miles above the ground. He felt a great pain emanating from this place, a sense of something close to completion yet lost forever. It was choking him all up inside and McKenzie only usually wept during those manipulative tissue commercials.

A tear that had dangled for a while from his chin while he just hung there. This tear broke away from the aforementioned chin like a child leaving it's mother on it's first day at school. The tear fell, changing shape as it made it's way through the thin atmosphere, then splashed on the temple in an almost noble swansong.

Then McKenzie was having a new and novel experience. Suddenly he could hear and see everything that was happening. Everything. Not just a lot of things. Not nearly everything. Not everything on Earth or nearby. Absolutely every song and play of light came to him and presented itself without a care in the universe.


John Tucker ran the Seven-Eleven on Battle Street. Rest assured he had seem some weird things in his day. He?d seen weird boys, weird toys, strange electric irons and a television set he'd never forget as long as he was alive.

He'd never seen talking babies however. Now he had.

The child, could have only been one year of age, demanded diapers as if talking that young was just about the most natural thing on Gods green Earth. When asked for payment the babe just slammed down his used diaper on the counter and contended that this was all he had. Being impressed by a talking baby, as one is sure to be, John saw this as a fair trade. Although how to enter this into his accounts book for his taxes was something to be pondered.

He'd neither had either Hitler nor Stalin in his store before. Now they were both here browsing, keeping a distance from each other, so it was fair to assume that they weren't on talking terms.

In walked Napoleon. Tucker threw his apron on the counter and walked out, perhaps a normal job at Area 51 or something would be more easy on the mind.

If he'd known how important it was to keep a close eye on dictators and war-mongers maybe he would have stayed a while longer, one eye on the convex mirrors, the other on the news broadcast that was interesting him at the time. Some kind of toxic spill around the Station Station area, with the public asked to evacuate.

It was all dreadfully and despairingly falling into place at the seven-eleven. Genghis had already noticed the cheerfully ambient coffee shop located at the rear right of the store and had settled there, Napoleon not far behind. A coffee conversation was about to begin that would unleash fury untold on the world.


Another thing, where is this all going?


(crash course raver)
01/27/02 08:24 AM
Re: Pop Goes The God - A story with Bowie in it new [re: PHOENIX]  


David looked into her(his) eyes. He was suddenly all too aware of how unprepared he was for this encounter with love. He had no chocolates or flowers, but he did have garlic lollies and a healthy sized piece of lint. This woman though, certainly deserved more.

"This is for you" the rockstar chimed and handed MbBlenzy the book, the very book that had been retrieved for him. Sitting in a far secluded corner, a large earlobed watcher sighed. "Such a beautiful creature deserves no less" Daved added, his eyes never leaving MbBlenzy.

Meanwhile, elsewhere in the crowded restaurant, Jagger had followed Hermoine into the kitchen. He had recognized her from "those days" and was forming a plan of action that involved her. Not because it was particularly cunning or clever, just because Mick had always had quite a crush on Hermoine.

Hermoine shrieked when she saw the mammoth lipped intruder in the "employees only" area and let loose once again with the steel tipped shoe.

Somewhere else, other than where Bowie sat and Jagger kneeled in pain, another interloper was shuffling around trying not to be noticed. A young girl with a paper bag on her head who had nothing better to do than try and save the world.

In yet another part of the place the tall attractive woman with the mustache stood, just trying to keep out of everyone's way.


"Can I go home yet?" The voice was David Jones' own. He seemed irritated to be held up for over 30 years.

"Soon Dave, soon." Lennon told him soothingly. "If there is a home to go back to after this is all over." He added, none too reassuringly. "It all depends on Gus."

"WHAT?" said Gus.

"Why the hell do you think I dragged you here!!?? You have to help us!"

"I thought it was just, you know, exposition. We gotta inform the readers about the story so far don't we?"

"Look." Lennon was becoming touchy. "One more outburst like that from you..." he simply pointed to the German Shephards outside and that was enough to give Gus the message.

"Ok ok, so what do you need from me?"

"You Gus, are one of the few who has access and the trust of the one known as Nyartholep. This man, or thing, is the key to us being able to fulfill David's true destiny. Nyartholep must be destroyed. A pill in his tea should do it, I'll provide the pill, you provide the tea, and presto! Were done." At that John pulled a pill the size of a cookie out of his pocket.

Of course it would have to be a massive bloody pill Gus though dejectedly.

"Of course it has to be a massive pill." Lennon said. "You can't kill evil with just a normal sized pill you know"

"I didn't know that" replied Gus.


Little Alex didn't realise she could fly.

Not just fly as in buy an American Airlines ticket and get your passport stamped. What is meant here is fly like Superman. What "fly" is alluding to in this instance is the physics-defying flight of just holding your arms out in front of you and taking off.

She had just thought of flying, and taken off, as if it was quite natural to do so. Could all human babies do this? Doubtful.

So off she went soaring through the sky, a baby hurtling like a rocket.

All this had little to do with the funny old crib David had bought Alex, even though the fumes from the paint that wouldn't dry had caused swelling in her eyes and some brain hemorrhaging. This had more to do with a secret experiment performed with the assistance of one Mick Jagger.

Little Alex was not Iman's child. She was Mick and David's child. The offspring of a power that is boundless. The daughter of David.

This daughter of David was in danger. Station Air Force Base had spotted her on their radar and had scrambled 12 jets to intercept.


"Do not, I beg you, look for anything behind phenomena. They are themselves their own lesson."

(crash course raver)
03/05/02 04:07 AM
Re: Pop Goes The God - A story with Bowie in it new [re: PHOENIX]  


The guy swept the floor of the now genuinly roomy restaurant. He wondered why his parents had never given him a name.

What a scene had transpired here. He stepped over the a-bomb that had been disarmed just in the nick of time, and started to clean up the shards of wood from Jesus' genuine crucifixion cross that had descended from the sky and exploded.

He wondered why. Why was he in the story.

Was it for no other reason than to fill in a gap? Is that all his life amounted to?

Then he reflected on the fact that once this chapter was over, he would be erased from existence. So he sat on the floor and refused to do the job allotted to him, namely provide some exposition on what had happened and where all the characters where.

Just as he was reconsidering, (the author threatened a most horrid fate), a baby flew in through the window.

"You're too late, they've all gone" the guy told the baby, surprisingly because he had no reason to know why the baby had flown in through the window, or that the 1 year old even knew how to speak English (as opposed to German or French, which of course all babies speak quite fluently)

"awwwww FUCK!" said the baby, revealing another, rather foul-mouthed side to her personality.


"NIIIIIXOOOON NOOOO!" came the scream. Then a ninja star took off the ex-president's head.

The scream came from McKenzie, dripping and hanging over the side of his very own water tank.

Reale had only ever seen a wet priest decapitate an ex-president once before, and he had sworn he'd never let it happen again. He glared at McKenzie.

McKenzie forgave the glare and plopped totally out of the tank.

"There is going to be two Bowie concerts withing the next 5 hours..." he hurridly told Reale. "One in the Bahamas, and one on Mars. If he doesn't make it to both all of the universes are doomed."

"That makes sense" said Reale and radioed the information to HQ. He'd forgotton all about Quentin, letting him plop into the far reaches of eternity without holding onto the twine. "So I'm guessing here that Bowie escaped from where I left him...."

"That's one hell of a good guess"

"Inside information"


The moon was going on again about breeding emus. Pop felt like grabbing two handfuls of the chalky residue around him and cramming them into his ears, but it would all be for naught, the moon was talking to him telepathically.

"ummm...Mr Moon? Time is of the essence..."

The moon was stunned by the interruption, but felt powerless to do anything about it. Strange, as if Pop had some hidden power greater than him.

"If you could just orbit over there tonight, instead of here, this could solve all our problems"

"Just orbit over there huh? Like it's no big deal hmm? Like there are no laws of physics to be broken in doing so ah? Why don't you just ask me to flash all the colors of the rainbow while you're at it yah? Anything else jub?"

Pop, fed up with the moon's temper tantrums took out his letter (you could hear the moon gasp all the way from the Earth when he saw Pop do this) and started reading :

Dear Evil Pop

You are the winner of a brand new Playstation 2 after your name was picked out randomly from a bunch of rock stars.

To pick up your prize, just go to 200 Railway Parade, West Leederville and knock three times on the door. Congratulations.

Yours sincerely

Competition Guy

"gotta go"! Pop said to the moon excitedly and dove in the moondust making sure it covered him completely. He'd been waiting until the PS2 had fallen dramatically in price, but it seemed today was a lucky day for evil.


"Another misconception is that flying brains will get tangled in your hair.

(crash course raver)
03/08/02 03:39 AM
Re: Pop Goes The God - A story with Bowie in it new [re: PHOENIX]  


David Bowie often found it hard to tell if somebody wanted something he wanted too. Not this time. As he lay in his King Sized Bed he smoked a cigar, for a cigarette would just not be worthy of the bout of love-making he had just experienced with the dwarf-sized, prostitute looking gal he'd fallen in love with.

{An aside - readers may by now be questioning how all the events in this story could possibly have occured on the same night. Here the Santa Claus theory (otherwise known as the Father Christmas theory) is invoked whereapon our character's adventures have taken them across various time zones where they stay ahead of the oncoming day. Please continue if you bought that...}

It was the tongue sucking that had made it special.

Meanwhile, Blaather, smoking one of his Malboroughs, had rather gotten into his copy of, "How To Be A Better Listener, and Allow Things To Fall Into Place";

A story detailing the plight of a Martian who, imprisoned on his dead planet, found he was immortal. This being the case he had to wait a nice even 4000 years for his prison to fall into enough of a state of disrepair before he could escape.

If that didn't suck mightily enough, his home planet had become infested with spiders. Not just your ordinary kind of spiders, no-siree. THESE spiders had seven legs. Other than that they were quite normal.

The Marian's name, for those who haven't already guessed, was Ziggy Stardust


Nyar moped and fiddled with the things on his desk. Unfortunately one of those things was a deadly scorpion which stung him. It was almost as if someone was determined to write him out of the story.

Even with his evil powers the scorpion's sting had made him lose his appetite and had given him slight nausea. Then of all things the doorbell rang, and on his way to answer it he trod on some rusty nails.

It was Gus.

"You don't need to ring the doorbell you fool! You're the butler!" Nyar tersely said, skipping any formal greeting.

"But it's been so many Chapters since I was here" Gus replied

"What? Chapters? What the heaven are you talking about?"

"Never mind. You seem upset, here have a cookie." Gus presented the cookie sized pill to Nyar, all the while trying hard to remember - "was I supposed to give this to Evil Pop or Nyar?" Anyway, at least he would have given the pill to someone.

"That doesn't look like a cookie, it looks like an Evil Destroying Pill. Here, it even says on it - "WARNING - DEADLY EVIL GUY KILLING PILL", and it's pink for crying out loud! With one of those lines down the middle!"

"It's a cookie! I swear!" Gus convincingly replied.

Nyar looked at him suspiciously. "If you say so....now can you get me a large glass of milk so I can swallow my cookie?"

As he finished the word cookie he accidentally cut his wrists. Bleeding and woozy he motioned for Gus to hurry up with the milk.


A sign was being erected outside the Seven-Eleven. It read :

"NEW WORLD ORDER - a non profit organisation"

It had seemed for a while that the ten or so evil tyrants from history would never come to an agreement over who would be the number one leader of this organisation. Then it was settled, the leadership would be rostered.

Then came the obligatory argument over who would be first. Hitler did a lot of yelling, Stalin organised to have his competitors arrested and shot, Khan started setting fire to and destroying everything - then this too was settled. Alphabetical order.

UNCLE ARTHUR - A tyrant SO evil that the human race had blocked him out from their memory. SO evil that it was rumoured :

# He had insulted the cooking of every woman he married.

# Had mooched off his mother for most of his life.

# Was too cheap to drive a car.

Even Hitler shook in his boots around UNCLE ARTHUR. And rightly so, he had the biggest mustache of all the tyrants there. A foot long no less! Stiffly waxed and all.

What had led to such a tyrant being created? And what were his plans?

The answer to the first question - a sad event to do with love. Answer to the second question - destroy music on the face of this planet.


"Another misconception is that flying brains will get tangled in your hair."

(crash course raver)
03/09/02 07:45 PM
Re: Pop Goes The God - A story with Bowie in it new [re: PHOENIX]  


David Bowie was dead.

It had all started with him attempting to write a new song in bed, as Blaather continued reading his book. He had penned a few lines already;

the clouds in the sky are white; the sun is really bright; the trees in the ground are green; the critics are really mean...

when the realisation came to him, "This is really crap! Where did my creativity go!?"

Blaather, in a bit of a panic, decided to distract him with more lovemaking.

"David honey, they said our kind of love was no fun, but our love comes from above...lets make love....{boooiiiing}"

This time, with his new found creativity sucked directly from David's tongue, the love-making was cosmic. So cosmic in fact that when it was over David lay still and quite, no breath coming from his clenched lips. We can skip the portion where Blaather shook him and screamed at him to wake up, it's in every second movie out there so readers are just encouraged to pop one into the VCR and picture David Bowie and a transvestite midget in the place of Jeremy Irons and Sigourney Weaver.

"uh-oh" Blaather whispered. "I don't think Iggy will be pleased with this".

No he wouldn't. When you kill the god of all universes there's bound to be someone a little upset with you however, so after a few tears Blaather found he was quite cheerful again. No point in letting these small things get you down. He went to the phone to call Nyartholep.

Nyar seemed distracted on the other end of the line, and he mentioned to Blaather that there was a thunder storm happening over on his end, then Blaather heard a powerful ZAPPPPP!!!!! noise and a scream of agony. He hung up, convinced that fate wanted him to keep Bowie's death a secret.

Perhaps....he could live out his dream....and BE Bowie.


Mick and Hermoine were making love. (Yes, it's the really sexy part of the story isn't it). To anyone who finds this hot, please remember that both of them are near 60, their moans were more to do with arthritis than pleasure.

"Ohhhhh David!" Hermoine shouted, reminding Mick of something important he'd temporarily forgotten. The concert in the Bahamas.

He knew that David would have become a little distracted by the events surrounding him, as he often did, and that it was up to Mick to get this guy out of the mess he was in and on a plane to his concert in the Bahamas, which was very important. In fact, the fate of all the universes depended apon it.

Of course, Mick had gotten a little distracted himself. There is just no justifying the death of every living being ever created, even when the attempted justification is casual sex. Hermoine, after tasting the fruits of Micks tongue would have disagreed however.

"Herm, can you fly a plane? More specifically a Harrier Jet?"

"No Mick, but how long can it take to learn really?"

"You have just a small amount of time really. Look, in the basement you'll find the laundry, there in the corner there is a Harrier Jet simulator, it takes three quarters. Learn how to fly this baby and take mine which is parked on top of the building. You see, I expect that by now Alex has learned about her ability to fly, and that means the air force will have scrambled some jets to intercept her. Herm, you have to destroy these jets!"

"What are you going to do?"

"I have to get David to his concert in the Bahamas, something wonderful is about to happen"


The police car hurtled down the highway at high speed, reletively speaking. If you compared the speed of the car with the speed of light, then - The police car hurtled down the highway at a dramatically low speed, hardly seeming to move at all.

On the top was strapped a water tank. A few people still tried to crawl out of it, and met with a rather unfortunate fate.

Inside were Reale and Father McKenzie. They were on their way to Bowie's mansion, but had decided to take a detour when they heard over the radio what was happening at the nearest Seven-Eleven. Apparently some kind of rally. A guitar burning.

"Oh no....." the Father shakily breathed, "Please don't let it be bass guitars as well as all the others.

"There seems to be especially a lot of bass guitars in the burning pile." The crackly voice over the radio observed.

"We're doomed, doooooomed I tell you" McKenzie cried out. With no bass guitars on this planet, how could anyone become enlightened?

Reale had something other than bass guitars on his mind. To nab UNCLE ARTHUR. It was something that was the ultimate in law enforcement. The equivalent of a film winning 20 academy awards, the equivalent of a soccer team winning 123-0, the equivalent of Michael Jackson bringing out a No 1 single ever again.

He stepped a little more on the gas, people flew out of the smokestack like appendage on top of the car one after the other.

On their way they passed a nude guy crawling out of a rubbish bin filled with water. Not an uncommon sight, but this one was Evil Pop, and he saw the significance of the smokestack like appendage. And saw where the police car was headed.

It looked like he'd be taking a small detour on his way to the Bahamas.


"Another misconception is that flying brains will get tangled in your hair."

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