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(electric tomato)
06/29/01 02:17 AM
Pop Goes The God - A story with Bowie in it (kept) new  

Pop Goes the God - inspired by the random thread


In his home on the Sun he sat and he schemed. It was all falling into place.

It wasn't easy living on the Sun. For one thing you needed mighty good sunglasses. Another was that at this time of year it was particularly hot and stuffy, and for some strange reason the nights were a little chilly for him meaning he had to stay outdoors. He tried to run a bath the day before last and found that the water instantly vaporised and screamed into the atmosphere, so much for staying clean.

Nevertheless, he was used to living the hard life, being an evil genius alien usually means you have to forgoe some luxuries.

His name was Pop, Mr Pop to those who were not well aquainted with him. Others called him Iggy, much to his chagrin. His name was Iggy Pop, and he was all aboard for Funtime on what he hoped would be the last day that the human race would infest his future home, Earth. Still he sat and schemed, for he found it rather relaxing.

Who needs to scheme really when you have the meaning of life printed on 14 A4 sheets in a shoebox? He kept the shoebox close to him always, and occasionally put it out when it caught on fire.


Bowie was on the run.

For some reason, while taking this night drive with Iman and little Alex, he couldn't get his song Too Dizzy out of his head. There was way too much talking going on for a night drive, and the windshield kept on misting up. Going around a corner at 80mph he nearly lost control.

David was being chased. It seemed like the whole world was after him. It made a pleasant change.

The paparazzi, the press, The President of the United States, they were all chasing him. It was like some sort of wierd slapstick comedy, except one that wasn't even remotely funny.

"The Airport dear, we must get to the Airport", Iman chimed in, "We have a plane ready to go"

Funny, David thought, How did Iman get a plane ready on such short notice?

"Here dear, take these", Iman handed David an assortment of pills, which he obediantly gulped down. She'd been acting awful strange lately. Perhaps it was motherhood, perhaps it was the possible end of the world. You never could tell with Iman.


Father McKenzie, writing the words to a sermon that no-one would here, no-one would come near. His bass guitar leaned against the wall in his small room. A room that contained only his desk, some stationary, half a dozen crucifixes, his guitar, and his water tank.

The Fathers socks needed darning, but that was the least of his worries. Today could be the end of it all. He was ready to die, but he wasn't ready to let the Pop man win.

"Evil Pop, evil Pop, evil Pop", he muttered to himself, "If only I'd never met you"

He left his sermon, and plugged his guitar into it's amp. "Funny", he thought as he stared at the amp, "that wasn't here before". A lot of funny things were happening, and not ha-ha funny either.

The Father filled his tank and hopped in.

Father McKenzie had learned the art of playing bass guitar underwater at a monostary many years ago. It was a secret the monks had known of for centuries, even long before bass guitars were invented which was rather odd to say the least. The first song he learned was Love Me Do because it was quite easy to play.

Playing bass underwater may look easy... and it is...deceptively so. That is why it is the greatest meditation technique known to man, and why McKenzie was one of the few who knew the truth, but also one of the few who was bound by the dark one. Not Pop. This dark one had an agenda of his own.

To be continued...

One sees great things from the valley,
only small things from the peak.

G.K. Chesterton

Edited by Sysiyo on 06/23/04 06:47 AM (server time).

(crash course raver)
06/29/01 07:19 AM
Re: Pop Goes The God - A story with Bowie in it new [re: PHOENIX]  

Good job, Phoenix! I love the fact that you bothered to make a story out of that random (but funny) mess...

This is actually quite Hitchhiker's Guide'ish (high praise, this)!

I am against systems, the most acceptable of systems is that of having none on principle - Tzara

06/29/01 07:33 AM
Re: Pop Goes The God - A story with Bowie in it new [re: PHOENIX]  

Ha! I love it! Very, very cool, Phoenix. Write more!

Bridget ^_____^

"If something's missing it exploded...Or I ate it..."

(crash course raver)
06/29/01 08:02 AM
Re: Pop Goes The God - A story with Bowie in it new [re: glitter0330]  

Ha ha ha ha hee hee hee heeeee....

This is so cool! So damn cool!
And so Douglas Adams -ish, or should it be called Hitchhiker-esque? Also a lot like those weird detective novels of his.

The stuff about the priest is totally hilarious, and I also love the title you've given to the story.

Do go on! We want more!!

Pälä, pälä, pälä, pam. Pälä, pälä, pälä.

Edited by SugarPlumFairy on 06/29/01 08:03 AM (server time).

06/30/01 02:55 PM
Re: Pop Goes The God - A story with Bowie in it new [re: PHOENIX]  

I almost forgot to ask this:

Can other people add on to this too? I'd love to write a chapter! I haven't written something that ISN'T a script for months!


"If something's missing it exploded...Or I ate it..."

Edited by glitter0330 on 06/30/01 03:01 PM (server time).

(electric tomato)
07/01/01 05:20 AM
Re: Pop Goes The God - A story with Bowie in it new [re: glitter0330]  


Nyartholep. A guy, or more accurately, a thing, that thought he (or it, if you like) was not only the bees knees, but the entire bee, and a good portion of the hive to boot.

He also thought of himself as a man (thing) that needed no introduction, which wasn't quite true at all for he quite often needed to be introduced as hardly anyone knew who the hell he was. Still, he knew who the hell he was and that was the main thing.

He was more than an evil man/thing, he was pure evil. As if to prove this he snatched a fly from the air and did that rolling thing that is often used to kill flies. The rolling thing where the fly is rolled to death with the thumb and forefinger and then flicked. This man/thing rolled it with pleasure.

It was around the time when mankind started setting up complicated cave networks that the big ITS decided that they'd open a branch of evil of Earth, and they have since been overjoyed at how the business of evil thrived. Over a billion served. From the start Nyartholep had been there, in one guise or another.

A visit from his butler interrupted his rolling and flicking.

"What is it Gus?" the man/thing enquired.

"A reverse the charges call...from the sun", his inappropriately named butler wincingly replied. Collect calls from Sol at this time of the day were particularly pricey.

"Evil Pop!", chimed Nyartholep, "I'll take it in den...MWAHAHAHAHAAAA!"

"Very good sir", Gus sighed, "Here you go". He handed the man/thing the mobile in his right hand.

"Mobile? Where there goes my $5 of free calls" Nyar grumbled, and disappeared into the den.


At this time in the Earth's history children everywhere were getting more and more wary of strangers brandishing candy. Adults were getting more and more wary of strangers brandishing pamphlets. And David Bowie was getting more and more wary of strangers with strange earlobes giving him advice.

It's not as if it was a lesson in life his mother had given him, god rest her soul. It was just that lately he had been approached in the strangest places by curly earlobed happy people with all sorts of advice and information.

"It's not the side effects of the cocaine." The happy curly earlobed lady told him. "Or the drugs Iman gave you this evening"

David had made it safely to a train station that would take him to the airport where his plane awaited him. A plane that would take him to Paraguay. All of this had been arranged by Iman which made David ponder whether or not it would be adviseable if he took more control of things he did in his life, including talking to happy curly earlobed people.

His car chase had ended on a luckily good note in the end. He was driving his shiny BMW, which at first he thought was ominous because he had had quite a few accidents in that car to this date. He was always crashing in the same car. Did it mean something? Maybe it did for during a momentary episode of hallicination (what brought that on?) he crashed down an embankment just as a bus for Oxford Train Station rolled up.

Everything seemed to be falling into place.


Frustration. That word was on Nyar's mind at the moment. That and a few other F words.

Iggy's call had been a fruitless exercise in shouting "WHAT WAS THAT?" and "REPEAT PLEASE!". It was well known to scientists that solar storms would interfere with our mobiles and electrical equipment, but when you actually lived on the sun it made things touchy to say the least.

Now Nyar, the man/thing had a decision to make. A big decision. He thought that Iggy had told him to assassinate Father McKenzie, but it could most easily have been assist The Great Blaather MbBlenzy. What to do? Another call to the Sun was out of the question, after all, he had his car repayments and internet provider bills to think about.

He made the snap decision. Picking up the phone he made a reverse the charges call to a man he knew most well. His good friend, his close compadre, Don Giacomo Micardo.

"Hello, who is this?", the Don enquired apon accepting the charges.

"Nyartholep, the evil one", Nyartholep, the evil one answered.


"The man thing, You know...The Eeeevil one!"

"I'm sorry, can you refresh my memory?"

"The source of all evil, the destroyer of man's spirit!"

"Oh, errr, ok, what do you want?"

"Father McKenzie must die"

"Friday good for you?"

"Father McKenzie must die today"

"That'll incur a same day charge y'know?"

"That's ok, I have a coupon"

To be continued...

One sees great things from the valley,
only small things from the peak.

G.K. Chesterton

(electric tomato)
07/02/01 11:02 PM
Re: Pop Goes The God - A story with Bowie in it new [re: PHOENIX]  


The Great Blaather MbBlenzy needed help, and he wondered when on Earth it would arrive.

He could see David clearly now. In a literal visual sense anyway.

Blaather was only 3 feet tall. So he often needed help. He was also quite a nice guy, just often confused and melancholy. So he often needed emotional support. He often found it hard to make decisions. So he often needed someone around to tell him what to do.

He also had a special gift.

Some people can play piano. Blaather could suck people's creativity out through their tongue.

It was ironic that such small people attract so much attention, especially while sucking on famous rock star's tongues. You'd think small people would go unnoticed because of their size, and that rock star's antics would go unnoticed because, well, they were rock stars. But the human race has always been the peculiar child of the universe, and so it goes.

So Blaather waited for his help to arrive, all the while he sucked on his lollypop, which, considering he was in a train station bar, attracted much attention.

David was talking to a lady with the strangest earlobes he'd ever seen, and god knew, he'd seen some strange earlobes. He once tried sucking on them but found no inspiration flowing forth from them. Pity.

He found himself sitting...waiting... in a situation many of us have probably been in at many times in our lives. He needed (and wanted mind you) to suck on David Bowie's tongue, but didn't quite know how to accomplish this feat on his own. He needed assistance, and it was nowhere to be seen.

"Life sucks", he thought to himself.


"Beware of Iman", she told him, and as she did, her earlobes blushed a deep red.

This is too much, went the dialogue in David's head, the next time Iman pressures me into taking drugs I'm just going to say NO!

"Iman is not Iman, she's not exactly normal, she's made of mindless metal"

Just smile and nod, a few more tequilas and this will all be over soon

"You must remember who you are"

David nodded.

"You will remember your journey, your home, your destiny"

"Mmmhmmm", he scratched his chin. The lady went on talking, but David's gaze started to wonder. He spotted a very small man sucking a lollypop, the man seem startled to be noticed. Then he felt something in his hand. His newly growing beard was falling out.

Now c'mon David, you can do this, just put two and two together... Iman pressuring you to do drugs, authority hounding you, strange earlobe people talking to you, lollypop sucking midgets watching you, beard falling out

"Evil Pop!", David exclamed without knowing quite where it came from.

Earlobe lady nodded. "Evil Pop", she said softly.


Father McKenzie counted the vans. A pizza delivery van, a calble TV van, a tellecommunications van, a plumbers van, an electricians van and an ice cream van. It was an unusual amount of vans.

Something that also struck the father as odd was that the driver serving the kids in the ice cream van was wearing a dark suit and dark sunglasses. He also had a violin case resting on the passenger seat of his van.

Now was the time for a decision. Finish darning his socks, or get the hell out of there?

Being the clever man he was Father McKenzie decided to do both. He's darn his socks while getting the hell out of there. It's not as if he'd have anything else to do with his hands while he ran like crap.

Now, you may think darning socks while running like crap is rather difficult...but it's not...it's deceptively easy. Father McKenzie had learned this from his Tibettan Buddhist friends who had been darning socks while running like crap for generations. It was a cleansing ritual whose origins were lost in time.

The Father put his bass guitar, amp and water tank into his knapsack, all the while thinking, "I'd like to see them try showing this on television", and he was off. Running like crap and darning, leaving just a cardboard cutout of himself at the window, a cardboard cutout that...funnily enought...had not been there before.

It had the very suspicious feeling of something falling into place.

One sees great things from the valley,
only small things from the peak.

G.K. Chesterton

(cracked actor)
07/03/01 01:28 AM
lol new [re: PHOENIX]  

I love this

-Sylvanelf edax rerum

07/03/01 04:26 AM
madamheidi new [re: Sylvanelf]  

Likewise. Nice work.

Hide it away in the saphire blink of your eyes....

(crash course raver)
07/03/01 04:46 AM
Re: Pop Goes The God - A story with Bowie in it new [re: PHOENIX]  

In reply to:

Now c'mon David, you can do this, just put two and two together... Iman pressuring you to do drugs, authority hounding you, strange earlobe people talking to you, lollypop sucking midgets watching you, beard falling out

*Rolling on the floor, laughing my ass off until I accidentally hit the table*
Gawd, was that funny or what. Imagine Bowie having to face a situation like that, in real life!

In reply to:

Now, you may think darning socks while running like crap is rather difficult...but it's not...it's deceptively easy. Father McKenzie had learned this from his Tibettan Buddhist friends who had been darning socks while running like crap for generations.

Again, reminds me of D. Adams... or maybe Terry Pratchett...or maybe Phoenix. You have amazing talent for this style of writing!!

Grumble grumble snap bite grrrr.

(electric tomato)
07/04/01 10:36 PM
Re: Pop Goes The God - A story with Bowie in it new [re: SugarPlumFairy]  


There are many important lessons to be learned about living on the Sun. One of them is to never walk around with bare feet outside. Another is that it is especially difficult to grow ferns there, there is such a thing as too much sunlight. Evil Pop didn't mind, he didn't particularly like ferns. It's one of the many signs that a person is evil if they don't like ferns.

The other day Evil Pop had learned another lesson, when you want to eat an ice-cream on the Sun, eat it quick. His ice-cream had melted in a fraction of a second leaving him with a feeling of loss which he hadn't had since he was a small alien.

This misadventure had made him reflect on his life. His reflections had eventually wound up on his old foe David Bowie.

Most people had thought they were close friends. Including Bowie himself. But there was a secret side to their relationship that was so bizzare that no one would ever have guessed it. Except for Angie, but fortunately for Pop she considered it not bizzare enough to publish and so it went untold.

When David and Pop were young, Pop used to have David's creativity sucked out of his tongue and implanted in him. Yes, he was a Parasite Pop. It is a little known fact that the man with the power to suck, The Great Blaather MbBlenzy, had actually invented a new kind of candy based on his experiences - The Lolly Pop.

Getting the job done had been no easy feat. It usually meant getting himself, David and Blaather into the same dark room together and convincing David that tongue sucking was what all the hip rock stars were doing these days. This came to Mick Jagger's surprise when David tried to do it to him. It came to Angie's surprise when she walked in on David sucking Mick's tongue.

It is a little known David Bowie trivia fact that the original lyric to "Suck baby, suck, give me your head" was "Suck baby, suck, give me your tongue" before Blaather, through Pop, interjected.

Pop cut his reminiscing short. The meaning of life was on fire. While putting it out he wondered if Blaather's assistance had arrived yet, and he wondered how his Iman android was coping.


David was on the way to the airport with Iman and the baby. He was, to tell the truth, a little shaken. He'd just been attacked by a midget that seemed very fond of him indeed.

This was very strange. Midgets in general didn't usually like him at all.

David excused himself and went to the bathroom. He had something he wanted to read in private.

When in there he checked himself in the mirror. His newly growing beard was patchy and sad looking...and now it looked even worse.

He locked himself in a stall, not to relieve himself (for we all know rock stars and famous people just don't do that sort of thing don't we? Especially not David Bowie), but to read the piece of paper Mrs Earlobes had given him before they parted. This is what it said:

beardoalbumnonfishatus - a derivative of the beardo plant of South America, it is an hallucinogenic drug whose main property is to cause amnesia in the user. The amnesia can be controlled by the dosage and time it is taken, it is especially useful in making patients unaware that they have forgotten anything important. Side effects include hallucinations, loss of apetite, thirstiness and loss of beard.

"So that's why I've been so thirsty lately", he said to himself, flushing so as not to appear suspicious or conspicuous.

He returned to his family a troubled man, ignoring the pink monkeys swinging from the handrails above him, just focussing on the psychedelic patterns flowing and moving on the carpet below him.


Bobby Malone had never seen a head explode quite like it before, and he'd seen his fair share. He could swear it almost looked like exploding cardboard, and would have dismissed it as some wierd priest thing had the cutout not fallen out of the window and fallen to the floor.

The falling cutout seemed to mock him as it swung to and fro on it's way down. He preferred the WUMP of a heavy body dropping to the floor, not this cheerful floating playful cutout display. It almost looked as if it was happily waving to him.

This made Malone very mad.

"No more ice-cream today kiddies!", he announced, but the sad, sad faces made him relent and sell a few more choc-chip covered treats before he left to find a phone to call his boss.

People would always be telling him to get a mobile, but he was one of these traditionalist hit-men that was of the opinion that style was the most important part of the job. He pulled out and turned the corner of a street two blocks down just too late to see a priest in the distance, darning his socks while running like crap, all the while carrying what looked to be a fairly hefty knapsack.

His ice-cream truck tune played it's not-so-ominous warning to all those who either feared his wrath, or felt like an ice-cream.

I am not a cockturd

(electric tomato)
07/09/01 09:35 PM
Re: Pop Goes The God - A story with Bowie in it new [re: PHOENIX]  


The instructions were explicit. Nyartholep was never to be woken while napping.

Gus tip-toed and danced around his bed, waiting, hoping for a miracle. Surely any second now he would awaken, he couldn't nap forever. That proverb was so true, a watched Nyartholep never wakes.

After a few more seconds had gone by Gus thought to himself, "That's it! I'm going to have to accidentally wake him"

Gus walked past the bed and "accidentally" tripped, thumped to the floor, and yelled bloody murder.

Nyartholep didn't stir.

Gus then decided to "accidentally" set the bed on fire. Then changed his mind, perhaps that was going too far.

It would have to be marbles. Gus grabbed the bucket of marbles lying beside Nyar's bed and slowly tipped it over his sleeping head, plonking a few marbles off his noggin and then ending with a deluge of marbles not unlike a waterfall.

"uuughhhehh.....ehem...arrr....what? What happened?", Nyartholep had awoken.

"It was an accident", Gus said, "Sorry. Oh, by the way...there is a...err...THE great Blaather MbBlenzy on the phone for you sir"

"Who the hell is Blaather?", Nyar enquired, all the while having a certain sinking feeling, he thought he had heard that name before, and that it was very important.

A few moments and a glass of milk later, Nyartholep was on the phone.

"...No No, you did fine..."

"...you are NOT an idiot..."

"....No you're not..."

"...it happens to all of us, no-ones perfect..."

"...now that's just silly..."

Meanwhile Gus had slinked off to the bathroom to read a certain letter, a letter that perhaps could save the world.


Father McKenzie had made it to the train station. Socks darned and all.

He had this strange feeling. He felt like an ice-cream. He also wanted to eat an ice-cream which was a much more normal thing to feel. Perhaps if he ate an ice-cream he would stop feeling like one, the fear of being licked by passers by and of melting was getting too much to bear, especially when people were trying to get you.

Hazily, quietly at first, like out of a dream, a jingly jangly tune wafted out of the din of the streets. A tune that is apt to send children into a borderline psychotic state, a tune that Mr Whippy, the ice-cream giant, had researched and found to be irresistable to all who would even barely tolerate ice-creams. A tune that had even ice-cream haters thinking, "hmmmm...I could just about go for an ice-cream about now"

The jingly jangly tune got louder...and louder...and all of a sudden Father McKenzie saw the ice-cream truck race past him. He took up pursuit, waving and hollering, sprinting, running for an ice-cream he could nearly taste.

Inside the truck Malony could hear someone shouting behind him, he could barely hear, but it sounded like, "iiice creeem, stoooooop", he turned his tune up to try and drown it out, he was growing more and more tired of people asking him for ice-creams.

McKenzie's world was entering a new state of consciousness. Suddenly the jingly jangly tune drowned out everything, and everything he saw or thought about was an ice-cream. His entire field of vision had turned into an ice-cream kaleidoscope and he feared that he may just have the ice-cream madness.

Malony could hear it even louder now, the man screaming, begging, pleading for an ice-cream. He stepped on the gas, turned off his tune and put on his walkman, next time he was definately going to use the sewage van, people didn't seem to bother him as much then.

When the tune stopped so did McKenzie, panting and gasping for breath. Walking ice-creams turned into normal people, and he no longer felt sweet and cool, he felt quite sour and hot.

He bent over, trying to catch his breath, and as he did he noticed he was standing outside a newsagents. Catching a glimpse of the headlines plastered outside he suddenly stopped panting and stood transfixed.

"David Bowie a nazi?"
"For sure this time?"
"We have the scoop on his
latest starring role in
Tarantino hate film"


Of all Buddha's teachings only a few were never written and lost forever. One of those was, "Never make film deals in crowded noisy nightclubs". It was never written mostly because his followers had no idea what he was talking about, neither did Buddha for that matter. The advice seemed out of place and out of time, a wrong number from above if you like.

A message that David Bowie had learned the hard way. This was the fifth deal he had made in a noisy crowded nightclub, and this time it had gotten him into real trouble.

Iman and the baby slept while the train went clickity clack, but David wasn't tired. He was full of regret and worry, he was a man with a lot of explaining to do, with a true story that sounded like a lame excuse, it's something that has happened to us all at time to time.

Of course not many of us have accidentally signed on to star in a fascist propoganda film, on the mistaken presumption that it was a film teaching us of the dangers of drugs, maybe only half a dozen at the most, but underneath the names and places, the situation remains the same.

"So what's this film called? What's it about?", David had screamed at Tarantino.

"Nazi Supermen Are Our Superiors", Tarantino had screamed back, Techno music blaring all the while.

"Pasta Supersauce and Mother Superior? Cool!", an unusual name for a movie, but that is what made it sound so interesting.

"It's about thugs and the master race!", Tarantino screamed, his voice getting hoarser.

"About drugs and Melrose Place? OK I'm in!", David had signed right then and there. The next day the world was after his blood.

"I need to be a better listener", David muttered to the back of the seat in front of him. His gaze shifted down to a book in the compartment built into the back of the seat. The title startled David, which in turn frightened quite a few of the pink monkey's away.

The title of the book was, "How to be a Better Listener, and Allow Things to Fall into Place"

To be continued...

I am not a cockturd
FENIX - 3/7/2001

(crash course raver)
07/10/01 02:14 AM
Re: Pop Goes The God - A story with Bowie in it new [re: PHOENIX]  

He he...this is getting better and better.

Do we need Terry Pratchett and Douglas Adams anymore?

Recycle your sigs!
I'm the return of the Thin White Duck

(electric tomato)
07/16/01 05:30 AM
Re: Pop Goes The God - A story with Bowie in it new [re: SugarPlumFairy]  


It started with a sprinkle as it usually does. Then a steady pitter-patter. Then a deluge from the heavens. It just wasn't The Great Blaather MbBlenzy's day, in fact, he'd already had his day a few years back and he figured that was all he was going to get, and even that day hadn't been so great.

Blaather trudged through the rain. There was no point in running, he'd probably slip over and get all muddy. Just as he thought that he slipped over anyway and got all muddy, and bit his lip to boot.

The laughter of that evening was still ringing in his ears. In the end he had seen David stand up and depart the train station bar. He had to do something quick, he had to rely on his quick thinking and speed, of which he had very little.

What he did then surprised even himself, he simply rushed over and tried to jump on to the rock star. Fortunately David seemed quite dazed after his conversation with "Mrs Big Earlobes" so he didn't react quite quick enough to stop him, but Blaathers jumping skills weren't too spectacular. Tongue sucking midgets just can't jump. So he ended up clinging to David Bowie's waist, trying to climb the man as a cat will try to climb your leg. As he got closer to his face he puckered up and accidentally made a slurping sound as he reached with his lips for the tongue his mission depended on.

He thought it was the slurping sound that shook Bowie out of his dazed state. All of the sudden the prospect of this midget crawling up him wasn't so attractive anymore.

"shoo! shoo!", David hissed as he swatted at Blaather diligently, all the while people laughed and pointed as always. Some clapped thinking it was some kind of show.

Blaather ran, he was nearly in tears. Why had he been let down? Was it his fault? Yes. Probably it was. Blaather had never been able to do anything right.

Now he walked on towards his meeting with the blasted fiend Nyartholep. He was scheduled to meet him 15 minutes ago at the "Boogaboo to you!" coffee shop to discuss a change in plans. All Blaather wanted now was a change of pants.


"The Moon?"

Constable Reale was having a hard time doing this interview. The pieces just weren't fitting together, and when they did the picture didn't match. He decided to stop doing his jigsaw puzzle and concentrate squarely on his questioning of one Q. Tarantino.

"You say you planned to shoot this movie on the moon? Why on Earth would you do that?", Reale reiterated, for some reason Tarantino was often losing focus.

"Not the Earth man...The Moon!", Tarantino said, placing extra emphasis on the word Moon.

"Why Moon?", Reale responded slowly and clearly.

"Cause it's cheap for one thing! I mean, who else films on the Moon? Can you name me one other Moon movie nigger?"

"You know Quentin, your constant use of the word nigger isn't helping you much here."

"It helps me speak to the people man! Anyway, can you imagine the slow-mo action with nazis jumping high in the air and moondust flying around as bullets hit the moonscape?"

"How the hell were you going to get to the moon anyway?"

Tarantino leaned over as if to tell a great secret, he whispered, "Iggy knows a way, and I know Iggy man!"

Reale had just about had enough, "Come Quentin, out with it, who sold you the drugs?"

"Why Iman of course man! I didn't even have to buy them, she gives them out for free man! That Iman is one groovy chick!"

As Tarantino said this Reale swivelled around in his chair, and focussed on the calender hung up on his office wall. It had a picture of Iman on it, and her face beckoned to him. It seemed to say to him that they would meet one day, fate would lead him to her. All he needed was to get rid of that blasted Bowie.


Bowie read his newly found book, a book which gave new meaning to the word serendipity. At first he had thought it was some kind of self help book, which would have been ok, he needed a lot of help himself. Then as he read further he found himself lost in a tale that sung to him as if it was him.

It was a tale of a lost civilisation from Mars. A civilisation that had their sterile environment threatened by the growing of trees and the spread of harmful oxygen. Everywhere water was becoming clean and new life forms where popping up. This just wouldn't do.

What could they do to stop this spread of life and diversity? Some of the leading Martian environmentalists thought the wise option would be a kind of planetary suicide. They figured that if a blast big enough was maintained for long enough then Mars would be knocked out of her current orbit and this would spell the end of life on Mars. The plan was roundly applauded and accepted by everyone, except for one being, a being who believed that the less control beings tried to exert over their world, the more things fell into place.

This being was locked up for a very long time. Long enough to witness the death of his beloved planet. Long enough to realise that all he knew and loved was gone. Long enough to ponder to himself, "Why the hell am I still here then?"

All the sudden little Alex cried out. She'd soiled herself, and David didn't blame her, a pink monkey was sitting awfully near.

"shoo! shoo!", David waved the book at the dastardly monkey, and accidentally threw it out the window.

"Well that's disappointing", he thought to himself, and left with Alex to change her. There was only another 20 minutes until they would be at the airport, and the good feeling he once had was not with him anymore.

Perhaps Iman had some drugs that would help with that.

Water which is too pure has no fish

(electric tomato)
07/18/01 04:28 AM
Re: Pop Goes The God - A story with Bowie in it new [re: PHOENIX]  


Father McKenzie bought a ticket to ride, he didn't care where he was going, and this was probably better, it would make his movements unpredictable. When you reached McKenzies age your it was quite easy to make your movements unpredictable, so a random train ticket ought to do the trick.

He'd dragged his knapsack to this deserted train station as darkness descended. Carrying his newly bought newspaper under one arm.

He'd pinched the newspaper since he had no money to pay for it, then asked the lord to forgive him. Untrained in the art of stealth he simply yelled to the newsagent, "LOOK OVER THERE!" and pointed as he grabbed the paper and hobbled away as quick as he could dragging his napsack. A napsack that had gotten heavier and heavier as his journey continued.

Apon opening the napsack the sight which greeted him nearly made him wet himself. He forced himself to put the bucket of water he was holding onto down and pay attention to the situation he was in.

"Nice bucket of water", Evil Pop chimed with a chesire cat grin.

"Nice suntan", McKenzie chimed back.

"Sorry to hear about Ms Rigby", Pop half whispered, replacing the grin with a pretend look of sadness.

McKenzie shrugged, he hadn't known her very well.

"Well", Pop began to look distracted and irritated, "I must be off, I have an important meeting to attend...it's all falling into place you know?"

"Don't you want to kill me?", McKenzie looked confused.

Pop shrugged his shoulders, and sauntered away with a laugh. "Too much time on the sun", McKenzie muttered to himself, and had a little giggle to himself.


Gus waited as instructed by the No 4 Bin outside the bus terminal on Bragoot Street, and was promptly clobbered over the head and kneed in the groin. He was then set on fire, put out, and set on fire again. And put out again.

He was then chained and dragged 800 yards, attacked by four angry German Shephards and clobbered once more.

Four masked heavyset men threw him into a waiting van which sped off. While in the van he was repeatedly strangled, tickled and punched.

Upon arriving at it's destination the men threw him out of the van, whereby he was attacked once again by the four German Shephards, then chained and dragged for 900 yards this time. He was set on fire once more and put out again.

Then he was left alone for a bit, to rest.

When Gus eventually came to he found himself lying outside an old run-down shack in a swampy type area. A note had been left on the door - "Ring the Bell"

He did this, the bell making a pleasent ding-dong noise which was a little out of place for a run-down shack. John Lennon answered the door.

"OH MY GOD...YOU'RE JOHN LENNON!!!!", Gus screamed. Not a second passed before someone with a camera popped up over a hedge and snapped a picture of the two of them.

"Twenty one fucking years!", John snapped, "Twenty one years and some idiot butler goes and breaks my cover, thanks a lot dimwit!"

"I thought you'd be much nicer in person", Gus said, standing his ground, affirming his right to scream when thought-to-be-dead celebrities sprung up out of shacks.

"Get in here now!", John said urgently, "and sorry about the rough treatment, we had to make sure you didn't remember which way you came, or who brought you." He grabbed Gus and pulled him inside.


At the "Boogaboo to you!" coffee shop Nyartholep looked at The Great MbBlenzy with scorn. Why was this guy so great? All covered in mud and soaking wet, with a bloody lip. All sad and teary, he had a look of guilt and failure that was unmistakeable. It was only when the tears came again that Nyar put away his scornfull look and pretended to comfort the soggy midget.

"There, there." It was all he could think of. He patted MbBlenzy on the head and wiped his hand on his waistcoat. It was alright since it was a gift from his evil brother, and he never gave very nice gifts. In fact, the mud made it look a little better.

"Nice waistcoat." MbBlenzy said, trying to get the conversation into more comfortable areas.

"Thankyou. It was a gift from my brother." Nyartholep smiled his false smile and looked at his watch.

"Would you mind buying me a lollypop?" MbBlenzy uneasily asked.

"What!?" Nyar could hardly believe his ears, but MbBlenzy had no chance to answer. In strode Evil Iggy Pop.

"Hey guys, I'm bored, lets send this race...away...far away...in space and time", Iggy had arrived. Nyartholep closed his eyes and rested his forehead on his hands. Mr Pop was also completely nude.

"What did I tell you about walking around nude in coffee shops?", Nyar daringly asked.

"Hey man, not tonight, tonight is my night, tonight I do things my way." Immediately after saying this Pop was being escorted to the door, Nyartholep had to intervene with one of his hypnotic mind spells to stop him being ejected and arrested.

"Things are a lot more easy going on the sun y'know?", Pop said sneeringly. "Anyway, I knew I could count on you Nyar, I knew you still had the right stuff. Now where's Mr MbBlenzy?"

"errr...The Great MbBlenzy actually", MbBlenzy said quietly.

Pop looked him up and down. "It's gonna be a hard days night boys."

Water which is too pure has no fish

(electric tomato)
07/20/01 04:43 AM
Re: Pop Goes The God - A story with Bowie in it new [re: PHOENIX]  


At first he thought that they'd won the cash bonanza. Lights flashed, sirens wailed out, Bowie could even swear he heard a champagne cork pop.

A word popped into his mind - "Pop"

He looked around and saw that Iman had just passed through the metal detector, and the detector was going nuts.

A phrase popped into his mind - "Made of mindless metal"

He stood back and allowed the guys with their variety of probes, sticks and spray cans to harass his wife. He also reminded himself to bring something metal next time so he'd get some attention from the probe guys. A voice inside his mind told him, "You did, you did bring something made out of metal"

He watched fascinated, and fantasised about the attention he'd get when he brought something metal to hide from Mr Probe and his probing gang of probe police. Then he saw something which made him forget about probing, and think about the state of his marriage. Iman had proceeded to take each of the airport probe men in her arms and give them a long french kiss.

The kissed men seemed cheerful, which was understandable. They also seemed to have forgot what their job was for they waved Iman on without so much as a probing, in fact they just started to wave everyone through. One of them decided to run through the terminal shouting "The Grey Ferret Gives The World a Million Reasons to Dance!!!" David thought this was slightly odd.

Alex interupted his thoughts, she was arriving through the X-ray machine which Iman had put or on, placing her on the supermarket-like conveyor belt. Perhaps it was time they had a talk.

Another thought passed through - "Strange Drugs"

Out of nowhere a beagle came running. The beagle seemed happy with his work, wagging his tail, yet not getting too distracted. Until he came to Imans bags that is. He promptly started barking and howling like a maniac dog until his airport officer came and put a hand on her shoulder. Iman then gave him a french kiss, and David was close enough to notice a strange odour coming from her mouth.

The officer immediately sat down on the floor and started playing solitaire. Iman then kissed the dog (David had to turn away from this), which began sitting next to people arriving and shaking their hands. "Maybe a psychiatrist, or at least some self-help books", David pondered. He'd bring it up later.


Malony had just hung up the payphone. No time to change vans now, he'd just found out that McKenzie was on the 7:45pm train outbound from the station down the street. Luckily his nephew Vinnie worked in the ticketing office and had called Don Micardo with the tip. Things had certainly fallen into place well.

He looked at his watch, 7:44pm. He'd never make it before the train left, but these ice-cream vans had been built to run at terrific speeds to outrun young ice-cream obsessed boys and girls. He may just be able to catch up to it, or head it off at the next station.

Malony sped away and in no time had the train in his sights, he drove by each carriage checking out the windows for a sight of that black suit with it's white collar.

Inside the train Father McKenzie was just beginning to relax. He was getting farther and farther away from the man trying to kill him, and he was convinced that Evil Pop had finally gone bonkers. He didn't know what the place was, but whatever form it came in, everthing was falling right smack bang on top of it as if fate divined that it should be so.

He let out a yawn, had a stretch, and looked out the window. What he saw caused him to spit out his false teeth and have some unpredictable movements. An ice-cream van was speeding along on line with his carriage. On it's roof a reminder of the statue of liberty was placed, a hand holding aloft to the sky a cone filled with icy cold goodness.

Malony could see the priest was shocked to see him. He waved and fumbled with his violin case. When he next looked up he could see the priest yelling something at him. It almost looked as if he was screaming "Ice Cream!!"

Then bad luck, he had to slam on the brakes as some stewards came to comfort him (with a tray of ice-creams no-less). There was too much danger in being seen. It would have to be the next station then. Malony would be ready, there was no escape for McKenzie this time.


Reports were flooding in of strange happenings at the airport. Reale had a cops instinct, and his instinct told him that he should be there as soon as possible. He didn't mind a bit of strangeness anyway, he'd once spent a whole month eating only custard as a dare.

He drove his unmarked car out of his lot, leaving his paperwork that needed doing. "Ohhh, naughty", he jumped up and down on his seat, he'd never felt so alive, never so much of a rebel cop in his life. He now considered himself a rogue cop, no-one better mess with him or they may just get some stern words and a fierce look. Reale was the precincts fierce look champion three years running so this was bad luck for the lookee.

It didn't take him long to reach the departures lounge where he was greeted by a throng of people crowding around watching something going on. He considered shooting randomly into the crowd and then remembered what his boss had repeatedly told him about that. He didn't want any more demerit points.

"Flight 239 for Paraguay now boarding" a pleasent voice imformed everyone.

His instince told him that he should be on that flight. This had also happened before many times, he'd once found himself in Beijing with no idea of what he should be doing there. At lease he had a nice buildup of frequent flier miles, only $600,000 more of tickets and he'd have himself a free clock radio. He decided to forgoe whatever nonsense was going on here and get himself on that plane.

Water which is too pure has no fish

(electric tomato)
08/08/01 10:11 PM
Re: Pop Goes The God - A story with Bowie in it new [re: PHOENIX]  


The year was 1926.

THE STRANGEST LIVING CURIOSITIES was the promise that was promised by the promising and faded sign. Inside were such oddities as "The Man With the Child in His Eyes", who was even more freaky than those people who can bug their eyes right out of their sockets. This Man had a living child floating in his grotesquely large eyeballs. He needed contact lenses as large as dinner plates.

Also there were the supermen, godlike creatures that had done everything that could be done a million times and had thought every thought a billion times. They had not only read everything that had been written, they had put to paper at some time or another every concievable combination of every concievable langauge making every concievable novel. They even wrote this when they were in a bit of a rut. All they did now was talk of suicide.

The show was a secret that only the special people on this planet knew about. Special meaning stars, presidents, kings and dastardly clever chickens disguised as kings.

Appearing as a special guest, on this the show's 3000th anniversary, was none other than a man known as David Bowie. His origins were unknown, his age was unknown. He was similar to the man who had come to the show to kill him, the man known as John Lennon.

John was feeling a bit under the weather. Hypnosis can do that to a fellow with seven brains. The real trouble was that John was so peculiar that he sweated purple sweat, and he was starting to sweat right now. He could only hope that he would be taken as one of the oddities. His hearts pounding, he continued on in his quest.

In a deserted corner a young Father McKenzie got ready to immerse himself in his tank with his trusty bass guitar. Underwater bass playing by priests hadn't really caught on yet in the Twenties. Some said he needed a gimmick, a pyrotechnics display or something. Oh how the monks would have laughed, for the word pyrotechnics in their holy language had a rude meaning.

Elsewhere an old old Quentin Tarantino licked at his ice cream.


Blaather got on the bus and pushed his fare on the counter while standing on his toes.

The bus driver leaned down and informed him that he was "only a wee lad, so tiny!"

"Thanks, I needed that", Blaather sullenly replied.

He headed down the aisle and spotted a pretty young lady with beautiful eyes looking his way. She smiled, and mouthed "Hi" at him. He smiled back.

Just then he dropped a dollar, which rolled back up the ailse. Blaather chased after it and tripped landing in an elderly woman's groceries. The woman shrieked at him and pushed him into the lap of and elderly gentlemen who screamed "OH NO! MY BRITTLE BONES!!!". Blaather then apologised, getting off him.

Then his pants fell down.

"This is why I'll never end up with a date in my life", he thought to himself. After all, first impressions were important, as were second, third and fourth ones. His calculus teacher had often told him that "n" impressions are important.

He sat down in the only spare seat left completely vacant, but was amazed when the pretty girl came and sat next to him.

"You are cursed you know." she informed him.

"Yes, by everyone I come across." he seriously replied.

"No, I mean someone has put a curse on you, you are blessed with a curse that could catapult you to the stars if you decide to come with me." She smiled at him again, and wiped the mud from his cheeks.

"Can I suck your tongue." was the unfortunate reply.

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that." was the fortunate reply to the unfortunate reply.


David cursed his damn rotten luck. The inflight movie was "Just a Gigalo". This was rotten luck indeed, what were the odds that the movie shown on an overseas flight would be "Just a Gigalo" and not "What Women Want" or "The Animal".

"We will be gods on nightflights" he crooned softly to Iman. Iman proceeded to hand him some pills.

"Here, take these" she told him.

"What if I don't want to take them?" David said sulkily.

"Then you won't get any ice-cream!" Iman scolded him.

David felt his chin. It was as if it was clean shaven. He looked for the monkeys, there was only one now, hanging on outside his window. He felt thirsty.

"Take them" Iman said, her voice lowering in pitch.

Just say No - David's mind was in conflict now. Something just wasn't right. What was it? Should he do what Iman says?

"Take them"

David thought back to his Bromley days. They had all watched a film about peer pressure.

"Take them"

He remembered all the recording studios in the early days. He remembered the media. He remembered his accountants.

"Take them"

He remembered EMI America. He remembered "Never Let Me Down".

"Take them"

He remembered the words spoken to him about offers made.

"Take them"

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!! NO MORE!!!" His scream made the last monkey flee in panic. Iman didn't flee, she grabbed him by the head and proceded to force his mouth open. If he ended up swallowing these pills he knew that something horrid would happen, something that didn't involve monkeys.

to be continued...

"Love the earth and sun and the animals, despise riches, give alms to everyone that asks, stand up for the stupid and crazy, devote your income and labor to others, hate tyrants, argue not concerning God..."
Walt Whitman

(cracked actor)
08/09/01 01:00 AM
Re: Pop Goes The God - A story with Bowie in it new [re: PHOENIX]  

Chapter 26

In reply to:

"The Man With the Child in His Eyes"

Been listening to a little Kate Bush have we?

Looking for a moment that'll never happen. - kb

(crash course raver)
08/09/01 08:49 AM
Re: Pop Goes The God - A story with Bowie in it new [re: Tristan]  

Yes, I've been decorating the story with numerous song references and as KB is one of my favourite artists you can expect a few more

"Love the earth and sun and the animals, despise riches, give alms to everyone that asks, stand up for the stupid and crazy, devote your income and labor to others, hate tyrants, argue not concerning God..."
Walt Whitman

(crash course raver)
08/13/01 03:39 AM
Re: Pop Goes The God - A story with Bowie in it new [re: PHOENIX]  


A searing sharp sudden pain drove itself into his forehead.
Father McKenzie sat bolt upright and winced like he had never winced before, instead of scrunching his facial features up he opened his eyes wide and stuck his tongue out while inhaling sharply. He was pretty sure that he should go back to his normal mode of wincing next time.

He'd eaten his ice-cold ice-cream much too quickly and now had a brain freeze. He still had not gotten ice-cream satisfaction, he had rushed the whole chocolate covered snack and it had caused him to swallow much of it whole. He had actually felt it slide down into his belly which made him feel most uncomfortable. When McKenzie ate something he liked to imagine that it just disappeared from existence, the thought of all the food he ate being mushed and dissolved inside of him seemed very offputting. He'd never fully come to terms with having a stomach. Some good advice to those who crossed him was to never ever even mention intestines.

As he slowly recovered and his brain unfroze the train he was riding in came to a slow stop. The two events almost seemed synchronised, as did the tooting of the train's horn and McKenzies shock discovery. Outside the station, (which happened to be in the town of Station, making it Station station) was an ice-cream truck. The priest greedily decided that he'd hide out in the town of Station for a while and get an ice-cream on his way out of the station from the truck that was stationed there.

He grabbed his knapsack and dragged it down the aisle bruising various passengers on his way to the exit. The train's conductor stopped him at the door.

"Sorry, you got a ticket to Exmouth lad, can't let you off yet"

"That's just silly", Father McKenzie answered incredulously.

For one of the few times in history, a man in charge actually saw sense in what a customer said and agreed. "Sorry 'bout that, I'm going to talk to the manager on Monday and see if we can't make things more flexible". McKenzie suddenly realised that the world was falling apart as he walked down the stairs.

Then he stopped realising this as splinters flew every which way around him. He started to realise some more unpredictable movements were on their way as a glass train window shattered above him. Then he really realised that he better stop realising things otherwise his realising days would be over. He was in the open, with no place to hide.

The conductor screamed "all aboard!!!!" even as the train started racing out of the station giving no-one a chance to even imagine boarding it. He felt a bullet wizz by his ear. No other place to go but into his tank, luckily for him it was bulletproof, if only Martha was still alive, after all the arguments over whether making the tank bulletproof would ever be useful he had been right! It was almost worth being shot at to win that damned argument.

McKenzie took the tank out of his bag, climbed the side, and then he was in. Then he wasn't in anymore. But he wasn't out either.


Nyartholep had always counted on Gus. He considered Gus his personal servent and slave. He punished him frequently, often only because Nyar was in a bad mood. Gus was on call 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Never had a holiday. Never even had a day off. Nyar made Gus cater to his every whim and desire. Gus bathed him, Gus read to him, and if Nyar was feeling particularly tired Gus chewed his food for him.

Now Gus was gone. It just didn't make sense.

Nyartholep wanted a cup of tea. He was pretty sure he had all the things he needed. Cup, teabag, spoon, milk, kettle.

Now what first, what first...

He eyed the meaning of life in a shoebox sitting on the counter. Like a winning lottery ticket he didn't want to lose sight of it for too long. This conquering the rule caper was more stressful then he bargained for.

Alright, he supposed that the obvious thing to do was heat up the tea-bag. He turned on the gas flame and dangled the tea-bag over it. The tea-bag burst into flames, things were already not going to plan. As the flames reached up for his hand he flung the bag away which landed on the meaning of life in a shoebox, which caught fire.

Nyartholep started running around the kitchen. "ooooh! ooooh!", he made panicked noised and flung his arms around. He had no idea what to do in such a situation. A cup of tea would calm him down, but he had neither the time or the tea making expertise to accomplish this.

In the end the problem sorted itself out, The meaning of life in a shoebox simply burnt down to ashes. A relief of sorts for Nyartholep, whose house and contents were not insured.

No time for tea now. Nyartholep had some homework to do. He sat down at his typewriter and started to type what he pretty much gathered what the meaning of life was. He was no poet or scholar, in fact he had no writing skills, he wasn't even very bright. But he was fiendishly evil, not that this helps much in writing the best thing that can ever be written.

He thought back to grade 4 English class...."never start a sentance with And"....That would have to do, he had little time, and a pair of shoes to buy.


Bowie could feel her ice cold grip unclasping his jaws. He had to think fast, and think smart. He decided that he would roll down his window therefore creating a flow of air from the pressurised inside to the outside which would suck Iman out of the plane and save the day.

Just as he reached ever so slowly for the window lever they were interupted by a neatly dressed square jawed man who was well built.

"Hands of that switch!" he said and glared at David.

"It's a lever actually" some people are just so dense said/thought David at the same time.

"You leave Iman alone!" the man upped his glaring a degree to show he wasn't bluffing, he had more glare up his sleeve.

"I wasn't going to touch her, just felt like some fresh air" he just may be dense enough to buy it said/thought the singer/songwriter.

"Mr Bowie, I've come to take my destiny in my own hands and take what is rightfully mine, let her go" said the man which was strange as Iman was sitting on top of Bowie with her hands around his neck.

Iman turned to the man, "Take these and be mine forever", she handed Reale the pills in her hand and smiled a seductive smile. Reale had an inner conflict of World War proportions before recognizing one of the drugs.

"BEARDOALBUMNONFISHATUS!!, Iman, I'm sorry my love, but you are under arrest!!" This was Reales biggest bust ever, the first seizure of this terrible narcotic. Who knows, maybe a romance would blossom between them as he led her to the straight and narrow, they would have children together, live in a house in the country with ponies and wildflowers, sit on the porch drinking ice-cold champagne as the sun set, look at the stars at night in between making love and talking about endless dreams...

Bowie opened the window and Iman proceeded to fly out into the silky ink-black darkness...

"SON OF A BITCH!!", was the understated cry of a man who has just realised how slippery a thing your future can be.

"Love the earth and sun and the animals, despise riches, give alms to everyone that asks, stand up for the stupid and crazy, devote your income and labor to others, hate tyrants, argue not concerning God..."
Walt Whitman

Echoes Of A Fairy
(cracked actor)
08/14/01 05:39 AM
Re: Pop Goes The God - A story with Bowie in it new [re: PHOENIX]  

Darn darn darn!!!
(it's so hot here I can't even think up proper swearwords. I'm sitting in a small grubby-looking internet cafe in Cyprus, in a village called Paralimni. I have no idea what I'm doing here.)

Darned be everything because I don't have time to read this! Oh well....

~I was an Artiste~

(cracked actor)
08/14/01 08:24 PM
Jetsetter. new [re: Echoes Of A Fairy]  

Stop complaining! I'm stuck here in, well, you know where I am. It must be nice to go someplace.

Looking for a moment that'll never happen. - kb

(crash course raver)
08/23/01 10:31 PM
Re: Pop Goes The God - A story with Bowie in it new [re: Echoes Of A Fairy]  


The Great Blaather MbBlenzy slowly took in his surroundings from his rather lowly vantage point. He'd never been invited into a girls house before. Actually he'd never been invited into anyone's house before. Really, the truth of the matter was that he'd never been in a house before. He lived in cardboard box.

It was a nice box. Roomy and all that. It had a lid, well, it had flaps anyway. The main problem was that it often blew away when the wind blew long and hard. The sound of cardboard scraping against concrete always reminded him about losing his cardboard dwelling and all his possessions, which consisted of bits of fluff and string mostly.

Blaather looked around in wonder.

"Ohhh a table!" He said with awe. "You must be rich!"

"Beyond your wildest dreams." Answered the girl, "I also have a bed"

Blaather froze in a moment of uncertain anxiety. The girls last statement seemed like some kind of naughty line. What should he say in return? He closed his eyes, swallowed, and did the best he could.

"Well...I have some underpants"

The girl smiled the smile of one who tolerated foolish foot in mouth replies. "I meant for you to sleep on tonight. You know, for someone who is not very confident in themselves you sure read a lot into my kind guestures"

"It's how society has taught me to be, society has taught me to associate feminine kindness with sexual permissiveness. You see it all started with..."

Then the bees came. A flood of bees from the kitchen area. This was an unexpected development. Unless people go through there whole lives expecting bees to come at them, they will no doubt be surprised when and if they do.


Pop was enjoying a nice cold bath when Iman crashed through the ceiling. Things were now quite literally falling into place.

Nothing spoils a nice relaxing bath as much as a body falling through the ceiling. It's just so hard to carry on soaking when it happens. Iggy tried. He sang a song, blew some bubbles off his hand, but it was no good, his gaze kept on returning to the mangled pile of wires and pudding.

The wires were from the robot. The pudding was his after-bath desert.

"I'm...allryyy...ooo...ok....pudding...broke....my...." were Imans last words. Her twisted, partially melted, pudding covered face burst into flames.

Evil Pop took a moment to think. He thought about Bowie, he thought about Iman, he thought about pudding. He rued the fact that an evil being could not even stop scheming for one lousy minute before everything fell apart. Yet the good guys just sit on there ass all day making wisecracks and smiling and everything just happened for them.

He got out of the bath and took his clothes off. He had some late night scheming to do, a call to make, and some pudding to scrape off the floor.


The room was blue. Electric blue. The blinds were drawn, and it was very quiet. Something told Father McKenzie that this was not his water tank. His water tank was much wetter than this, and much more.....transparent.

The room was empty except for a number of doors. He counted them. There were two.

Being the easily bored man he was he chose a door at random and went through it. Just as the door shut Malony materialized in the room and started counting the doors.

McKenzie was now in a room full of smoke. He could just make out a red statue standing in the centre, it was hard to tell exactly what it was because of all the smoke. As his eyes started to water and he began to cough and wheeze he decided to turn back and try the other door. As he returned to the previous room he saw that he hadn't returned at all, he was in a completely new room.

This room seemed a bit more comfy. It had a chair and a television set, which was showing "The Bold and The Beautiful". A poster of Mars adorned the far wall. The floor seemed to consist of sparkly sand.

All the sudden an elderly gentleman in a plaid suit materialized in the rooms centre. "Oooop wrong room! Excuse me." he uttered and disappeared again.

Something was most definately odd about all this.

Elsewhere Malony was wading through chickens in a room with light green walls. There were two doors here also, through one he could here the theme music from "The Bold and The Beautiful". He wondered to himself how Amber and Rick were going in their rocky relationship.

There was only one way to find out.


"Love the earth and sun and the animals, despise riches, give alms to everyone that asks, stand up for the stupid and crazy, devote your income and labor to others, hate tyrants, argue not concerning God..."
Walt Whitman

(crash course raver)
08/28/01 02:57 AM
Re: Pop Goes The God - A story with Bowie in it new [re: PHOENIX]  


A steward tapped Bowie on the shoulder.

"Ahh, excuse me Mr Bowie? Can I please ask you to close that window, the cabin is rapidly depressurizing, the pilot says he is losing altitude fast, in fact we are in a bit of a nose dive and the aircraft is starting to break up...plus some of the passengers are starting to complain"

"Can you wait until I've finished my smoke?" Bowie made a gesture to implicate that he was flicking the ash out the window and would do the same to the butt when he finished.

"Not a problem." The steward smiled politely and continued handing out oxygen masks.

Reale sat next to Bowie, sucking up as much oxygen as he could. Considering what had just happened, it was a rather awkward situation for the both of them.

"Nice weather lately." David said.

"Yes, quite good, lots of sunshine." Was Reale's quick-fire reply.

"Still, some cloud cover most days..."

"I've had enough of this." Reale had had enough of this. "I'm going to arrest and detain you now on charges of Murder and conspiracy to incite racism"

Bowie closed his eyes and rubbed his temple. It was a replica prayer house from Tibet which he had bought at a souvener shop. "Well, that's put a bit of a dampner on the night," he seemed like a tired man.

At that moment the two men were diverted from their thoughts when little Alex flew from the overhead compartment (where Iman had put her for the time being) towards the open window. She jammed it up nicely and the plane started to level out.

"Good girl!" Bowie exclamed and gave her a biscuit.


Nyar had finished at last. 14 pages of blood, sweat and tears (not to mention three or four other bodily fluids). Of course he had cheated a little. He had included the title page, index and bibliography in the alotted 14 pages. He had also double spaced.

The first five pages of the masterpiece went on about ducks, after that it just kind of deteriorated into mindless rambling. Still, one person's trash is another person's treasure. Just look at dung beetles for example.

He had phoned the shoe delivery guy, and he had delivered a pair of piping hot shoes direct to the door. Sans shoebox. He then rang the shoebox delivery store who promised your shoebox in 15 minutes or your money back. He placed a side order for some garlic bread.

It is at this point that one may be reminded of the five year old child who tries to glue Mother's favourite vase back together so that she may not notice that he broke it. For that five year old that broken vase seems to symbolise the end of the world. For Nyar the vase he had broken symbolised the continuation of the world, and he wanted a transfer so badly. When the big ITS had introduced Billy Ray Cyrus to Earth he was of the opinion that they were going too far. Even the most evil man/thing in the world had his limits.

Nyartholep sat sadly with his patched up vase, chewing a tea bag. The darkness settled into his house highlighting the glow of the digital clock on the kitchen counter. There was a simple, easy quietness that permeated his very soul. He wished he could stop time at this moment, and live within the moment for a while before the storm came to tear at him.


When David Bowie had first appeared at the THE STRANGEST LIVING CURIOSITIES fair in 1896 he did a bit of a sing and dance routine. Some people had complained that it hardly seemed strange at all, let alone curious. Compared with the man who had 769 fingers, Bowie's act seemed a little too non-strange.

When he next came he attached 759 extra fingers onto himself. The case was settled out of court.

In 1919 he displayed his talent for folding his middle index finger right back. It seemed people were more interested in aliens from the other side of the galaxy who had witnessed the birth of Jesus and had Genghis Khan kept alive and imprisoned in a cage. "Typical," he had thought "People only want to see things that are sensational"

This year, with the help of a friend, he had an item that he was sure would knock the socks off everyone present. An alien surgeon had suggested that he be sawn in half and have a dog's body attached to his lower half. "Boring!" David had snapped at him. Instead he had decided to read aloud a screenplay that his friend John Lennon had given him to look over.

John and David had been friends since 1432. They had shared everything together, the mumps, chicken pox, the black death, leprosy. They were so close that people often mistook them for brothers, even though they were both clearly white.

John had written a little screenplay called "Pulp Fiction". David had already explained to him that films had no talking in them yet, it was the silent age. "Then this is for their sons" John had proclaimed, "It is for the march of the generations who pick up the flag of life as it falls from the grasp of the dying" he always had a little problem of overestimating the importance of what he did, the opposite of David who underestimated his place in the scheme of things. The two were different, but like two pieces of jigsaw puzzle that fit they matched and complimented each other well.

...a voice from the loudspeakers..."and, presenting for the third time here, the one, the only.........David Bowie!!". There was muted applause and the odd boo. David hoped it was the Meenineeniumpopo's from X0-4356 for whom booing was a form of applause.

"Good evening everyone, glad you could come along..."

"GET ON WITH IT!!" a heckler cried in the distance.

"Yes..ummm...well, tonight...if I may....I'll be reciting..."

"GET ON WITH IT!!" a few more hecklers joined the chorus

"from memory...John Lennon's Pulp Fiction...in Swahili"

People started to leave even before he began. Being the trooper he is David continued on, a tear slowly inching it's way down his cheek.

Meanwhile John, who had been using the crowd as a good form of cover was getting more and more edgy. He was now as purple as a beetroot.

David stopped mid-recital and opened his eyes to see if anyone at all was still there. There was, in the middle of a thousand deserted chairs sat a fidgety purple man. It was John.

"I've failed John, and I'll always fail" David told his old friend.

"I've failed too David, I've failed you" John answered and raised the pistol he had been hiding in his jacket. He aimed for David's head and whispered "Please forgive me"


"Love the earth and sun and the animals, despise riches, give alms to everyone that asks, stand up for the stupid and crazy, devote your income and labor to others, hate tyrants, argue not concerning God..."
Walt Whitman

(crash course raver)
10/04/01 04:46 AM
Re: Pop Goes The God - A story with Bowie in it new [re: PHOENIX]  


Rick stared at Amber with a grim look of menacing menace. The camera zoomed into his face, and lazer bolts shot out of his eyes immediately setting on fire the curtains.

“NO! NO! RICK NOT THE CURTAINS!!” was the panicky reply from Amber.

It was too late. The curtains were ruined. The relationship looked shaky.

Just then a bright light lit up the room (with destroyed curtains) and a loud wailing sound made the air vibrate as sound usually does.


Then chocolate wrappers were falling from the ceiling, Rick and Amber were dancing as they fell, and Dean Martin sang “That’s Amore” dressed as a Moleman.

Father McKenzie definitely thought that the makers of “The Bold and the Beautiful” were taking a new direction this year. Brightened it up a little bit, added a bit of sparkle and shine. He turned to the man dressed in black standing beside him and watching the show and got a slight touch of surprise at who it was.

Malone was furious with himself. He’s forgotten to tape “The Bold and the Beautiful” this evening and it looked like a good one. Maybe if he killed the priest right now he’d be able to make it out of this nightmare world, back to his home, and catch the last few minutes.

He raised the gun to McKenzie’s face and squeezed…

In through the door walked Malony. “You’ve come to save me!” exclaimed McKenzie.

“No. I’ve come to kill you,” said Malony and raised his gun to McKenzie’s head.


A sparsely decorated room is never the friendliest feeling of places. You can bet your bottom dollar that most execution chambers are sparsely decorated. No posters proclaiming “Kids for Sports Day” or “Remember to Brush! It’s a must!”, no mechanical dancing fishes or tickle me Elmo’s lying around the place.

It is in such a place that Bowie found himself. Not the one with the Elmo’s, the one with the blank walls and angry looking agents. The cleaning lady came back in and wheeled away the bottles of “Mr Muscle” and “Spray ‘n’ Wipe” with their highly tasty contents. David liked “Jiff” the best but it made his throat hurt.

{Kids – If you are reading this take note. Mr Muscle, Spray ‘n’ Wipe and Jiff do not taste nice at all. Although if you drink them they will turn you into a superhero.}

This left our leading man, David Bowie in the custody of Reale. A man who was desperately trying to work his radio. Well…desperately may be too strong of a word. He was earnestly trying to work his radio at best. Perhaps even calmly and casually doing it.

Reale disinterestedly fiddled with the knobs on his radio. His problem was that he didn’t feel all that cross at the moment and he figured it was time he gave this Bowie fellow a good going over. It was hard to pretend to be mad when you feel relaxed and easy going, it was hard upholding the law.

He thought of Iman and her passing. But he was over her already.

A piece of static from his radio, and that nasal voice you hear on all police radio’s piped up. “Reale? You there?”

“I’m here Broogy”

“Where are you?”

“I’m with David Bowie.”

“He’s been vandalizing those windmill displays again hasn’t he? Well, never mind about that. We got a problem, down at the station we got word that something weird is happening at Station Station, some 78 people have already disappeared, shots were fired earlier, we sent Yibby in the wagon but he’s disappeared too!”

“You sent Yibby from the station in the station wagon to Station Station to station him at the site?” Reale didn’t even wait for the irate reply. He mumbled something to David about having some kind of a crappy day and walked out of the room, just popping his head back in to ask him if he’d mind staying there for a while.

David cleverly gave a grunt which could have been a yes or no and stifled a sneeze.


MbBlenzy sighed a sigh of relief. “Thank God we got out of that one alive!” he haltingly said to his bee escaping partner, the girl from the bus. The clung to the very top of the thing they were clinging to and laughed.

The writer of this smiled knowingly. Nothing like a good bee attack to get you out of a tight spot.

After clinging for a while they sat on the grass. The girl from the bus gave MbBlenzy a cigarette. The dwarfish thing immediately took up smoking, and his life was changed forever.

They laughed, they played, they sang to each other, fed each other ice cream and went to the cinema.

They left each other notes, gave each other presents. They searched for a connection in a crazy mixed up world.

They chased and dreamed and bled when they were hurt.

Then they went back to the house to see if the bees had cleared out, and when they saw that they had cleared out the world seemed peaceful again. MbBlenzy took a cigarette, put it in his mouth, pulled on a finger, then another finger, then his cigarette. Bad gas.

“What are you doing for the rest of the night?” The girl from the bus enquired.

“Watching 60 Minutes, having some coffee and helping to secure the demise of the human race.”

As clever as she was, she had no idea how watching 60 Minutes and having a hot drink helped to destroy the human race. Some environmentalists are a bit like that she supposed, she knew one once who tried to get a cup of coffee arrested, it was cold by the time they got it to the station.


The aim of life is to live, and to live means to be aware,
joyously, drunkenly, serenely, divinely aware.
Henry Miller

(absolute beginner)
10/13/01 10:00 PM
Re: Pop Goes The God - A story with Bowie in it new [re: PHOENIX]  

This is absolutely *cosmic*!
It's now 4am for me... I've been here all night! *L* But I don't care... blaze on! Blaze on! Yer Pratchett and Adams -- bless 'em -- and only one of them ever referenced Bowie in their books... and now that one's *dead*... So blaze on!!!!!

Manic 4am Rowena

(crash course raver)
11/23/01 10:55 PM
Re: Pop Goes The God - A story with Bowie in it [re: Lady_Rowena]  


One would make a mistake if oneself were to underplay the importance pudding has played in the major historical events of world history. Most of the details concerning the pudding's role at Waterloo, for example, are well known and need not be covered here.

Another mistake would be made, if one were to overestimate the stickiness of your average pudding. When smeared on a tiled bathroom floor it will not provide the needed friction to force ones foot forward.

Evil Pop had made a mistake.

While dancing one of his manic dances (something he did because his human-suit became itchy from time to time) he had needed the reliable friction of the bathroom floor. All he got was the fateful pudding, obscured by the bits and pieces of Iman. He had hit his head on the sink, then the bath, then Iman, then the pudding, then the floor.

The front doorbell rang. It rang again. This went on for a few minutes. Then in came Nyar, through the window, shoebox under his arm. A shoebox with most deadly contents.

Two mistakes had cancelled each other out. The first, Pop's belief that revealing the meaning of life to the world would end in the human race committing suicide under the impression that their lives were pointless. Actually it would inspire world peace and an enlightened age. The second, Nyar's destruction of the meaning of life and his substandard replacement is what would actually succeed in making people think life had no real meaning at all.

So everything was on track, so to speak.

On track especially for Nyar, who now had a golden opportunity to be rid of his rival, he raised the gun he found laying next to the brush in the bathroom cabinet, and made to pull the trigger.


KERPOW, or BANG if you prefer.


Bowie was still on the run.

His major objective was to outrun the big earlobed people who were suddenly chasing him. It had all started so suddenly that David did not remember how the chase started. It was as if he had always been in the middle of a big-earlobe-person chase.

There were at least six of them, urgent looks on their faces. Their earlobes had an almost…a ripeness to them. As if they were ready to be plucked. They swayed with the rhythmic beat of bare feet slapping against concrete.

"Ok…Ok…," David was panting like nobody's business, "…I give up…you got me"

"You dropped your book, a very unfortunate affair, but misfortune is a mortal tramp masquerading as a ghost, here it is, we found it for you." Then the usual blushing of the lobes occurred, almost expected by Bowie even though it had only happened once so far.

"Oh, thanks for that, very kind of you." These guys made him very nervous. Bowie hated to discriminate, and he wasn't even sure he was. He looked at the earlobes again. Yep, he was sure, equal rights be damned.

Watching him sprint off into the darkness Jubnig, Uyrugynux, OypOypGixy, Juuuuz, Wuggg and Berf could only hope that they wouldn't be punished too severely if everything went wrong. Of course the strategic importance of this planet meant that it's loss would mean certain extinction for most of the galaxies races, untold suffering for countless numbers of beings and another rise in the price of petrol.


Malone was furious once again. If it was up to him to kill McKenzie, what was this intruder doing here? Before allowing the guy (who looked a little like Malone) to end McKenzie's time here he asked him what the story was.

"Ah yes, the story. Good evening Mr Malone, my name is Malony, Mr Malony. You see, around Chapter 12 you were introduced to everyone as Malone. When you reappeared in Chapter 15 all of the sudden you were Malony, or at least I was. Please understand that this duality we share has been upsetting to our barely concrete existence."

The news was shocking to Malone. His whole existence boiled down to a typo.

McKenzie saw and took his chance. Whispering (a little too loudly) to Malone that he should, "Shoot that guy, he's causing problems for everyone!" the Father started to back off into the shadows conveniently occupying the corner of the room.

So Malone shot him with a minimum of fuss.

Another Malony walked into the room.

So Malone shot him.

This was followed by another Malony, who was also promptly shot.

A few reloads and 16 Malony's later something unexpected happened. The lights went up, the television went off and a knock could be heard, sure and confident, at the door opposite the one all of the Malony's had used. Before any action could be taken by any of the dead and living in the room in entered a thin tall man in an old dark suit. Hair slicked back. A pained looking man, the weight of the world on his shoulders.

To be continued...

Although the world is very full of suffering
It is also full of the overcoming of it.
Helen Keller

(crash course raver)
12/07/01 11:43 PM
Re: Pop Goes The God - A story with Bowie in it new [re: PHOENIX]  


Over a relaxing cup of coffee and a biscuit MbBlenzy outlined his new part in the plan to overthrow the human race. The girl listened intently, she was an excellent listener and had been a runner up two years running in the East Northerton Listening competition.

"...and listen to this!" Blaather added, overconfident now with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth and a drop of coffee dangling tantalizingly close to falling to the floor from his chin. "As a backup Evil Pop has arranged a rigged competition. You've heard of the "Win a Date with Bowie" competition right?"

"Hey! That was rigged?" I entered that damn competition sixty-eight times! Got a damn roomful of Coco-Pops to prove it too!" was the indignant interruption by the girl.

"Anyway...Say can I have some Coco-Pops later?...Anyway, I've been set up as the winner. All I have to do is seduce David and suck the creativity out of him. With my newfound confidence and aura of invincibility it's impossible for me to fail this time. I owe it all to you also." Blaather smiled showing his heartfelt appreciation.

The girl felt a little ill. Things that seemed to have fallen into place had actually fallen all over the place.

Blaather got up and made to leave. His date started in half an hour, and he knew, Bowie being a man of his word, that he would be there at the "Romantic Roomy Restaurant".

There were no guns in the house, and it seemed to matter little anyway. She couldn't kill Blaather, for it was her fault he was the dwarfish man he was right now.

"Have fun!" was all she could think of to say.

"Oh, I will...I will." Were Blaathers parting words as he disappeared out the door.


Reale had stabilized the situation somewhat. He had to be alert for every time he turned his back some more people would climb into the tank and disappear. Coming out of the bathroom he caught a middle aged lady in a yellow floral dress with one leg already over the top.

"Hey! Get out of it! Go on!" He ordered, running at the tank and trying to shoo her out. Too late, she hopped in and was gone. Sgt Yibby was gone also, possibly into the tank.

The lamentable fact was that if the police wanted people to climb into a water tank which contained a mysterious vortex they would have a hard time forcing people in. The moment it becomes "forbidden" everyone can't wait to check it out. It was time for a little reverse psychology.

"Ok everyone! Into the tank!" Reale shouted into Yibby's megaphone which had been lying unattended by the side of the tank.

It didn't work. He only succeeded in causing a stampede of curious onlookers to jump into the tank and disappear. At last count some 258 people had climbed in and left this world.

There was one solution left. A solution that hinged on an idea the policeman had seen in a movie once long ago. He'd need someone brave and/or stupid, plus a roll of twine. Perhaps a television tuned into static would help also. Along with a doughnut. He called in to the station from the station wagon stationed at Station Station, Broogy was still stationed there.

"You want fries with that?" Came Broogy's sarcastic reply after hearing his demands.

Reale considered. "Yes, yes I would like some fries with that, I have a feeling they may come in very handy."


Lennon had fired his gun.

His expectations had not been met however.

Bowie's head did explode. That he did expect. What he hadn't counted on was the bright burst of rainbow colors that emanated from where his head had been. All the colors of the rainbow, and some colors that human eyes had never seen in this universe before. Bright dancing colors of light that swirled and streamed around the place in a wild but coherent way.

Then the sounds, like every sound possible mixed into one in perfect harmony. Yet it was possible to make out every single sound in these trillions of intermixed sounds. A bird chirping, a child laughing, the painful cries of mothers, terrifying screams. All reminding John Lennon of the time he worked on the notorious Experiment IV.

Then came a display that is impossible to describe. Sorry readers.

All of this re-converged into a light that was as white, as bright, as it could possibly be. Like a glimpse into the life after the after-life. It shone for a long time, but was not painful to look at. It did however leave everyone watching (which was everyone there now) with an annoying spot in front of their eyes for ages.

As the light faded, Bowie was again visible. Still whole, head and all.

At first there was silence. Followed by a pattering of applause. Ending in a standing ovation and shouts of "Encore! Encore!"

But what did it mean? There was only one man there who knew what this meant. A man whose underwater bass playing had now well and truly been upstaged. Father McKenzie collapsed to his knees and tried to accept the fact that this was really happening. That he had witnessed, and was in fact in the same room as, hell, in the same universe as, what he had only glimpsed as a prophecy in a state of induced "Mega-Meditation".

One might feel daunted by the term "Mega-Meditation" and think that it is quite difficult to achieve, but this couldn?t be further from the truth. All you needed was a paper clip, some crepe paper, scissors and candle wax.

Now, at this place and time, revealed and announced, was something that had risen into place. His place. David Bowie.


"One of those howling, bleeding nights, dogs plunge into the Volga and swim desperately to the other bank. The nights of Stalingrad are a terror for them. Animals flee this hell; the hardest stone cannot bear it for long; only men endure."

(crash course raver)
12/09/01 04:08 AM
Re: Pop Goes The God - A story with Bowie in it new [re: PHOENIX]  


Nyar had fired his gun.

He did this with no expectations, his mind empty except for a nagging feeling that he'd left the gas on in his kitchen, and the darkness that followed came not as a surprise but as a break in his randomly meandering thoughts.

For when Pop's head went pop it became the center of a dark shadow that made a black hole seem rather bright in comparison. Inside the shadow Nyar felt in his evil being the ferocious hunger of the animal. The relentness distance of the material. An unsatiable appetite to consume...

This was followed by a silence that made space seem like a nightclub gone crazy. A silence that could swallow worlds in less than an instant. A silence that grew louder and louder.

Out of that silence stepped Evil Pop. Dazed but unharmed. Annoyed at being shot.

"I think it would be wise of you to leave Nyartholep, all of the sudden I'm feeling a tad cranky." Pop said calmly. It's always most frightening when someone who you know must be angry talks to you in a measured calculating way.

So Nyar fled. Expecting any moment to be attacked in some way. Mutant chickens? Turned into a cupcake through magic? Hit on the head with a brick? Could be anything. Better to flee. Better also not to make the whimpering sound he was making, but Nyar couldn't help it.

No time for plans and contemplations now. Also no time to grab the shoebox he left on the bathroom sink, it's contents metaphorically ticking like a metaphorical bomb. A big one.


The cat patrolled it's territory as per his usual schedule.

His name was Pretty Thing. He hated that name, especially being a tom cat. All his friends had cool names like Killer, Lightning, Tiger and Bob. The teasing he got from them was intolerable at the best of times.

He saw Bob off in the distance.

Stay away Bob, just keep your distance, don't mess with me, I'm busy...

Poor Bob had had the operation. He'd never been the same after that. Further off in the distance Pretty Thing could see some of those bald smelly cats that walked on their hind legs. It would seem that the bald smelly cats were the ones responsible for Bob's misfortune. What exactly was their problem?

Pretty Thing's paws led him back to his house. It was to his displeasure that a couple of bald smelly cats had taken up residence here also and would not be persuaded to leave no matter how many dead animals he lay at the door as ominous warnings.

They did come in handy though. Pretty Thing had trained his bald smelly cats to give him food when he meowed. This he did now as he found the one with the huge lips hanging around in the "Lay Around and Nap" area.

The one with the huge lips was better known to other bald smelly cats as Mick Jagger. Mick took notice of the meowing cat and worked at finding out what was wrong.

"Are you trying to tell me something Pretty Thing?"


"Someone's in trouble?"


"David Bowie? Little Alex?"


"They need my help?"


"My God! Thank you Pretty Thing, you sure are an amazing cat." No sooner had the words cat left his mammoth lips Mick was out the door in a fit of heroic duty. Pretty Thing just sat there, hungry and angry, planning some kind of suitable revenge for when Mick returned.


David had remembered his date for that evening and was on his way. His latest meeting with the earlobe people forgotten for the moment since he was contemplating what was ahead of him.

Usually he would not be paying so much mental attention to a date resulting from a contest. But now Iman was out of the picture and Mr Bowie was a free man once again, and who knew what opportunities lay at the secluded table set aside in the Romantic Roomy Restaurant.

He made a point of blowing into his hands and trying to smell his own breath as men have done through the ages. The sad thing about this was that it was a method that has never worked and led to many a smelly breathed man thinking he is in the clear. The rock star should have really known better too since for the past 40 minutes he had been sucking on his garlic lollies that he loved.

It was not going to be easy even getting into the restaurant. The media and police had surrounded the place expecting him to show at the allotted time.

What they didn't know of was David's cunning plan, which was to put a bag over his head thereby making himself virtually unrecognizable. He almost made a fatal mistake though when nearly opting for a plastic bag instead of a paper one. Twas the danger of being the man he was.

On went the paper bag (it was a brown one) as the jittery Englishman slowly made his way to the entrance and hopefully into the arms of the woman of his dreams.


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

Tao Te Ching

(crash course raver)
12/13/01 10:42 PM
Re: Pop Goes The God - A story with Bowie in it new [re: PHOENIX]  


The theme music to "The Bold and the Beautiful" provided the backdrop to the expository monologue provided by the tall, thin, troubled man. The crazy, jazzy saxaphone giving the proceedings the air of a Benny Hill sketch.

His name was Nedi Thukewhit, which he obliged in spelling when repeatedly questioned by his guests. They were his guests for, as he explained, he was the lord of the place they were in.

"You are existing in the afterlife." He told them. "An ever-growing tower that adds many rooms to itself as the days pass by. As someone passes, their desire, addiction or greatest habit becomes their gilded cage. For better or worse, they spend eternity doing what they loved."

For some poor soul, that meant watching B & B, for eternity McKenzie thought. Certainly closer to hell than heaven. What of his addiction to Venus Fly Traps? Was this what he was destined for?

For some poor soul, that meant watching B & B for eternity Malone thought. For all he knew it could be his Mother or his Sister. From the look on McKenzie's face, it certainly wasn't his father. But what of his thing for rolling around in grass clippings? Could he be satisfied with that for ever more?

Heaven! Thought Malony.

"We're having a bit of a refugee crisis." Nedi continued. "For the first time in all of time, in any universe, the borders have been opened. When you operate a hotel with some five hundred billion rooms, with no numbers, where all the halls and doors look the same, it becomes a bit of a headache. In fact, my boss is panicking. It's only a matter of time before the dead start escaping into the material world, I just hope it's not the work of the big ITS, they have been threatening to instigate PLAN 9 for a while now, and we're not ready for it..."

"Evil Pop" Croaked McKenzie.

"Evil Pop?" Questioned Malone and Malony.

Nedi simply fainted.


It was turning out to be an unusual day for Reale.

No sooner had he settled back to read a few chapters of his book, when famous dead people started crawling out of the cursed water tank.

Napoleon, Nixon, Henry VIII, Stalin, Gengis Khan, Hitler, Himmler, Elvis, Ho Chi Minh, Paul McCartney...one after the other they made their way out, shook themselves, and started wandering around.

Reale was beginning to panic. Who to shoot first? He took aim at Nixon and let off several rounds. He was not surprised to find that his bullets failed to stop him even though every one made it's mark.

A dispatch had just arrived at this moment, mouth agape, with his twine, TV, doughnut, fries and stupid man.

The stupid man, who had been hanging around the station, was none other than Quentin Tarantino.

"Hey Niggers!" He cheerfully intoned, bringing Reale that much closer to his immediate retirement. The moment of distraction this brought gave Nixon enough time to creep up behind Reale and grab him in a bear hug. Thinking quick the policeman flung some of the salty fries into his eyes taking Nixon completely unawares. He grabbed the ex-president, raised him over his head, twirled him around faster and faster, and flung him back into the tank.

It was no foul shot, this was a three pointer, and Reale took great umbrage in the fact that no-one had been watching.


Hermione worked like a sweaty ferret at the Romantic Roomy Restaurant. She had worked here for the past 30 odd years, and not a day went by when she regretted the fact that she left David. He had been her one true love, and had become rich and famous to boot.

Still nothing could lessen the resentment she felt at never once being mentioned in one of his songs. She had every album he ever made, except for "Space Oddity" (David Bowie, Man of Words, Man of Music).

Now she had to survive her toughest test. Her Longest Day. Her Bridge Too Far. Her Sarah Marie's Bum Dance Album.

For tonight was the night that David Bowie came to romance a lucky fan, and even though she had threatened suicide, to blow up the restaurant, put LSD in the water and play Micheal Bolton music all day, her boss had insisted that she be the one to serve his table.

She still hoped to avoid this, keeping herself busy, serving any wierdos who always took up ten times as much time as the regular customers. And who would of guessed, the place was full of them tonight.

There was the nervous character sitting at table 14 with the paper bag on his head, he may have to shift soon for this was the alloted Bowie table. There was the midget in drag, dragging on a cigarette, looking like a cheap prostitute with thick makeup and sleazy dress on. He was leaning against the wall, plotting something evil by the looks of it. There was the tall attractive woman, with a mustache.

No time now to ponder the what, where and when of these misguided souls. She grabbed her notebook, and made with a smile to table 14, where the guy with the paper bag on his head seemed more shaken than ever to see her approach. She didn't worry, she was wearing her steel tipped groin seeking high heel shoes tonight.


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

Tao Te Ching

(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."

11/12/03 03:22 PM
Re: Pop Goes The God - A story with Bowie in it new [re: PHOENIX]  

We can't afford to lose this story either...I think it's the best thing I've ever read. In the whole wide world. Really. Really really.

Too few people have read this so far...I'm giving you a second chance.
And Phoenix should drag his butt down here and continue the story!!!! *spanks*

It's psychosomatic. You need a lobotomy. I'll get a saw.

(stardust savant)
07/23/04 06:13 AM
Re: Pop Goes The God - A story with Bowie in it new [re: SugarPlumFairy]  


The atmosphere was cold, bright and clinical in the Oxford Town's coroners autopsy room. On the slab lay David Bowie. Several people crowded around him, prodding and probing in a way the living Bowie would have greatly appreciated.

Deputy coroner and surgeon Dr Buck Durgler suddenly froze, a look of wide-eyed stupification coming across his face.

"Gentlemen, I believe this man is...dead!"

A shocked silence fell over the group. Someone fainted. Head DA Buck Durgler (who had the same name as the Deputy coroner, it being quite a common name) shook his head in disgust. How many times did they have to go through this? They performed 12 autopsies a day here.

"Gross!" assistant surgeon Buck Durgler screamed. "Oooh Yuck! A dead body!"

Buck Durgler, head duty nurse, slowly poked at the body with a stick. Just as he did someone knocked on the door making everyone jump. A handsome lady with a mustache poked her head around the aforementioned door.

"Excuse me guys...ahem...this is rather embarrasing. You see, after checking out of my hotel room I realised I'd forgotton to pack my dead David Bowie. It was gone when I went back and checked."

A sigh of relief swept through the room like a trapped buzzard.

"Here it is." said Dirk Buggler, police chief of Oxford Town. "We found it."

"Thanks." said the lady, who promptly walked over to the body on the slab and started to drag it away.


It was not unusual for Gus to give the Heimlich maneuv....manauv...It was not unusual for Gus to grab someone from behind and squeeze the living bejesus out of him/her. He was in fact the Heimlich champion in this household.

All the more reason why Nyar would be confused at Gus refusing to grab and squeeze him from behind. The huge cookie was stuck in his throat, along with a chicken bone. His highly flammable pyjamas were also on fire.

Instead of rushing to his master's aid, Gus sat in his armchair reading Time magazine. "I don't really feel like doing any Heimlich stuff today." was his only reaction to Nyar's frantic signals.

Nyar realised that he was treading a fine line. Along with choking on various things, and being on fire, he had dropsy.

Gus pretended not to notice the dropsy. He had already gone through the house and hid all the articles laying around warning of the dangers of chicken bones. If only Nyar would just stop convulsing and stinking up the place.

Eventually Nyar did stop convulsing, although he continued to emit an unpleasant odour. Gus picked him up and stuffed him into the bin. And what better way to celebrate this victory over evil than to eat some tasty chicken bones?

Gus checked the articles attached to the fridge, found nothing about the dangers of eating chicken bones, so fixed himself a nice hot plate of chicken bones.

"Mmmm chicken bones." his watering mouth intoned. He lifted a chicken bone to his lips...as the world held it's breath.


"Uncle Arthur! The jig's up!" yelled a megaphone an instant after Reale had yelled exactly the same thing into a megaphone. Reale had knocked the jig over while finding a parking space at the Seven-Eleven, but had now experty and deftly put it back up again.

Only seconds passed before Stalin came stomping out of the convenience store and kicked the jig back over again.

"Fiends!" Reale whispered and yelled at the same time. "We are powerless against their jig-kicking boots!"

Father McKenzie meanwhile was weeping over a pile of burnt bass guitars. It was in fact a pile of all the bass guitars in the world except for his. There are approximately 76,875,949 bass guitars in the world, and sure enough when McKenzie counted the burnt guitars there were 76,875,948 of them.

McKenzie stopped crying. Then started again. Then he sniffled a bit. Then he started bawling. Then he blew his nose. Then he started laughing. Then he stifled a belch. Then he walked over to Reale with a look of sudden understanding on his face.

"There's nothing you can do that can't be done." he softly said to Reale.

"How about eating Mt Everest with a teaspoon in under two hours?" asked Reale.

"Ok, there's nothing you can do that can't be done except eat Mt Everest with a teaspoon in under two hours." answered McKenzie.

"Hang on. That implies that it's possible to eat Mt Everest with a spoon in, say, five hours."

"Exactly!" shouted McKenzie. "And if we eat Mt Everest with a spoon in five hours...that means?"

"My God!" screamed Reale at the top of his lungs. "It was so obvious!"


I hate coffee

(stardust savant)
07/23/04 06:19 AM
Re: Pop Goes The God - A story with Bowie in it new [re: PHOENIX]  


The Moon slowly orbited the Earth (from the Earth's perspective) and pondered what Iggy Pop had told it.

Pop had informed the moon that whenever Father McKenzie got upset he'd try and eat Mt Everest with a teaspoon in five hours, it being a secret dream of his since childhood. That the evil people now unleashed upon Earth would burn all musical instruments, paying particular attention to bass guitars. That this would upset McKenzie. That McKenzie would persuade anyone he was with that eating Mt Everest would solve all their problems.

The Moon's job was to "accidentally" fall on Mt Everest when McKenzie started eating it. Thereby squashing him. This would mean McKenzie would be too squashed to thwart his plans. And he'd have moondust in his eyes making it hard to see.

It would also mean that the tallest mountain on the Earth would become...the Moon. Everyone would want to climb the moon then. The moon would once again be popular!

The moon was about to fall into place.

For years scientists had believed that when the moon hit your eye like a big pizza pie, then amore would result. Unfortunately this untested theory was flawed, for when the moon hit your eye like a big pizza pie, temporary blindness was a much more likely outcome.


David Bowie's little daughter was screaming out of the sky in flames. All around her a fantastic air battle raged. Hermoine had taken down 17 fighter jets, but now she too was going down.

Truth be told, despite meeting the love of her life David Bowie, making love to Mick Jagger and being involved in a titanic battle she was bored. It seemed like her life was just a case of the same old thing day after day. She daydreamed a little, struggling to control her flaming Harrier Jet.

She remembered an advertisement she saw late last night while eating a bag of cheezles. Lonely? Alone? Looking for Friendship? Call 1200-679-054 where plenty of like-minded good-looking fun people are waiting to talk to you!

She dug out her mobile phone and dialled the number while veering out of the way of an exploding enemy plane. She saw that little Alex had nearly hit the ground and made a mental note.

After going through the motions of pressing this and that, as instructed by the prompts of the operator, she eventually got through to a good-looking like-minded individual that was waiting to talk to her.

"Listen lady! I'm burning up. I've been hit with a couple of guided missiles. I'm gonna hit the ground any moment. I can only talk for a bit."

"Alex? Is that you?"

"Yeah yeah, what a coincidence, small world and all that shit. I'm gonna hit the ground really really soon now. Any second."

"So, what've you been up to lately?"

"Oh you know. Apple Custard. Dribbling. Fouling myself. The usual baby crap."

"Yeah. Used to do quite a bit of that when I was a baby."

"Listen. If the phone cuts out, it means I hit the ground. Which is gonna happen any moment now I swear."

"Are you just saying that 'cause you don't wanna talk with me?"

"No I swear it's true. It's really close now. Really close. Gonna hit."


"This isn't a Playstation 2! This is an X-Box!"

John Lennon's plan was hanging by thread. Iggy Pop grabbed it, snapped it off it's thread and started to read it.

Everything had gone perfect up to this point. Iggy had been fooled by the glue-on beard. Nyar had departed this universe. The itch cream was soothing John's sand-fly bite. But now.

"You see John, I was nearly fooled. But you had two fatal flaws always working against you. The first was your famous inability to distinquish one game system from another. The second was your forgetting to remind Gus of the danger of chicken bones."

Lennon gasped. The beard hadn't fooled him! His sand-fly bite was once more irritating him! He'd forgotten the love Gus had for eating chicken bones!

Iggy continued to read.

"Oh and you see here where you forgot to carry the 1? And look, over here you mistook Robert Downey Jnr for Rob Lowe. On page 39 diagram 1a is mislabelled."

John slumped into his beanbag.

"Now where's my Playstation 2?" Iggy asked.

"LIES! It was all lies Iggy. I faked my own death in 1980 to work full-time on my plan to thwart your plans. But I wasted it all watching TV and playing scrabble with Yoko. You see, I always had so much time to do it, that I kept on putting it off. What you're reading...I just threw that together at the last minute."

"Also, your fake beard. You're supposed to stick it to your chin, not your forehead." mentioned the evil Pop man.


"And the itch cream. You needed to use anti-itch cream. Itch cream just makes it itch more."


"Hanging your plan by a thead just inside your front door was also a mistake."


I hate coffee

(stardust savant)
07/23/04 06:23 AM
Re: Pop Goes The God - A story with Bowie in it new [re: PHOENIX]  


The crowd was getting restless. David Bowie was due to start his Bahamas concert 10 minutes ago and still there was no sign of him. This was understandable though, as signs of David Bowie were not allowed at his concerts along with cameras and lollypops.

"WE WANT DAVID! WE WANT DAVID!" was the cry that could be heard loud and clear.

David Burnstein appeared at the microphone, and there was wild applause.

"Right!" someone in the crowd yelled. "Now that you're here David, we want to know where the other more famous David is!"

"Before I start telling lots of lies," Burnstein began, "I want to know how many of you smuggled lollypops in here."

Half the 90,000 strong audience sheepishly raised their hands.

"I'm talking about ANY flavour here."

The other half of the audience slowly raised their hands.

"How many times have we got to tell you people. Lollypops are fucking dangerous! How many more lollypop incidents is it going to take, before you all realise this?"

"Six more times?" a lady in her twenties nervously asked.

"It was a rhetorical question you nitwit!" shouted Burnstein just before being hit in the eye with a lollypop. "Aaargh! You see? Everyone, throw your lollypops away!"

Lollypops flew everywhere. People with lollypops lodged in their eye started to panic. It was only after an attack of nerve gas and much screaming that people started to calm down. The lollypops were shovelled with bulldozers into a heap near the stage.

"WE WANT THE MORE FAMOUS DAVID! WE WANT THE MORE FAMOUS DAVID!" The crowd once more grew restless.


The handsome lady with the mustache dragged the dead David Bowie along the platform. He'd picked up a fair amount of old chewing gum and dry leaves on the way, but that wasn't important to anything besides his dignity.

The lady was hoping to catch the express to the Bahamas, but her composure was struck a blow by the sign nearby :

Excercise Bikes
David Bowie's Dead Body

"Dammit!" she muttered. Quickly she licked David's entire body and rolled him around in the sand. She then tied his feet to his hands so he'd look EXACTLY like a doughnut.

"Mommy mommy! It's the sandman!" exclaimed a scared 4 year old when David's body rolled close to her.

"Don't be silly dear." said the girl's mother, "that's David Bowie's dead body."

So it appeared disguising David's body would be harder than first bargained for. The lady with the mustache quickly shaved a passing dog. Licked the sand off David's body. Then, her mouth already quite dry, she licked him a third time and stuck the dog hair to him. Dogs were not allowed on the train, but with any luck she'd be able to pass him off as an overweight cat.

There were some scary moments as she was boarding.

"Are you sure this isn't David Bowie's dead body with dog hair stuck to him?" asked the inspector.

"No! It's my pet cat Smoochy. He's awfully overweight, and by an amazing co-incidence smells like David Bowie's dead body."

"Ok then. All aboard!"


MbBlenzy was on his way to the Bahamas. Another dream about to be fulfilled.

He had always fantasised about being David Bowie for a day, and now his fantasy was about to come true. Unfortunately there was a logical flaw in his plans.

MbBlenzy was comforted by the fact that nobody had ever told him he didn't look like David Bowie, so he assumed that meant he did look like him.

Also, he couldn't sing. He didn't even know any of David Bowie's songs. He didn't sound like David Bowie, was half his size, wore different clothes, had two matching eyes, couldn't play guitar, didn't smell like David Bowie and had no sense of humour. In fact had no sense of anything much at all.

And he was scared of crowds.

But he could play the xylophone. So it was all a big mix of good and bad.

He sat and pondered. When he was sick of that he reached into his sack and got out the book he was reading. The one on letting things fall into place. He read and lost himself in the hazy red glare of Mars. Until he got to the last page, which was missing.

"Everybody! I lost the last page of my book!" shouted the little man, which instantly set off a panic in the train. People flung themselves out of the window, set themselves on fire and went mad.

"I must find that last page, it was a damn good read." thought the tiny tiny fellow to himself. "I have a feeling it holds the key to all of this."


I hate coffee

(leasing the moon)
08/03/04 05:43 PM
My brain just died of happiness new [re: PHOENIX]  

Can this be true? New chapters?!?
Name any religion, I'll convert to it right now and praise Dog.

Nobody buys matching purple suits unless they are in love.

(stardust savant)
08/27/04 02:56 AM
Re: Pop Goes The God - A story with Bowie in it new [re: PHOENIX]  


The eating of Mt Everest was running slightly behind schedule. It had taken a while to get the mountain over by the Seven-Eleven to start with. To do this McKenzie had to call Muhummed's Mountain Movers, despite the dubious spelling of Muhummed, and they charged by the gram, not the hour.

McKenzie was in fact still chewing on his first spoonful of mountain after nearly 2 hours. Reale was getting worried, the bass guitar playing priest had in fact swallowed more broken teeth than mountain so far and they were nearly half-way through their 5 hour time limit.

"Are you sure eating Mt Everest with a teaspoon in under 5 hours will solve our problems? I'm starting to think I've been duped."

"Have faith!" said Father McKenzie, spitting out another tooth. "Only 368,655,786,900,236 spoonfuls to go! I'm gonna get there!"

"Shouldn't we have cooked it first? I mean...raw mountain? I have some tabasco sauce if you need it."

The conversation was interrupted by a cry from down the mountain, "LOOK OUT! THE MOON!"

Both Reale and McKenzie looked up in unison. Sure enough the Moon was hurtling towards them at great speed, getting bigger by the second (from our point of view). It seemed to be coming straight for them.

It was at the same time terrifying and awfully romantic.


Mick Jagger had come to a depressing conclusion. Shortly after arriving at Bowie's hotel room to find him missing it dawned on him.

Mick was totally superfluous to this story.

Sure he had freakishly large lips and a freakishly large libido, which in human terms is the genetical jackpot, but as far as this story was concerned he had absolutely no purpose left.

He went home, fed the furious cat, and designed a universe destroying machine. He set the universe destroying machine to go off in 30 seconds, and then disarmed it by banging it with a hammer repeatedly.

"There you go," he thought, "saved the Universe."

It was a pretty poor attempt to outdo all the other characters, and he knew it.


"Shit! I can see the ground really clearly! At the speed I'm travelling at I'm going to hit it really really soon!"

Little Alex had broken the sound barrier, the touch barrier, the taste barrier and had now well and truly smashed the stupidity barrier. The baby was glowing white hot as she hurtled towards the ground, which could only have been inches away by now.

Meanwhile Hermoine's Harrier Jet had lost both of it's wings - which are important to jets. She stayed on the line with Alex, because she was a like-minded individual who was looking for fun times.

"Do you like sugar on your pancakes?"

"Goddam Lady! I'm a baby for Christ's Sake! I suck boobs and I eat mush. At the moment one of my fathers, who is the key to the existence of all the universes, is in trouble. I'm flying towards the ground which isn't too far away now. Iggy Pop is looking to invade our entire galaxy starting with Earth. It looks like the Moon is about to crash into our planet anyway! Evil minions from another dimension are plotting a new age of darkness. I fouled my diapers again! And you want to know if I like sugar on my pancakes?"

"I'll take that as a no."


{The Author wishes to apologise for Alexandria's potty mouth. I know the potential end of the Universe could be used as an excuse, but that easy option won't be taken. Instead the "Don't you wonder what babies are thinking?" clause will be invoked, whereby we assume that babies are so annoyed with things that they constantly swear in their head.}

"Alex. I can understand that you are under some stress, and that you are going through a tough time with teething and rashes, but that's no excuse to ask me to kiss your rosy red baby ass."

"Any second!"

"And you can cut that out too."

"I'm so close I can count individual grains of sand lady!"

"And that means you can hurt my feelings? Let me tell you something..."


I hate coffee

(stardust savant)
08/27/04 03:11 AM
Re: Pop Goes The God - A story with Bowie in it new [re: PHOENIX]  


The lady with the mustache and the overweight cat, which was actually a fake dog, which was actually David Bowie's dead body, could not help but notice the commotion going on in the compartment just in front of hers.

A conductor burst through the door leading to her compartment, leaving a mess everywhere. Just moments later another conductor, who this time actually opened the door, rushed in and screamed to all the passengers, "Some guy just lost the last page of his book!"

And so the panic spread. Most people's reaction was to set themselves on fire, which is quite understandable. As the flames spread from seat to seat, and ruined perfectly good train curtains, the mustache lady was distracted by the woman next to her. The woman had earlobes the size of watermelons and wore 4,600 ear-rings.

"Listen very carefully, for I'll be annoyed if I have to repeat myself," said the ear-lobe lady, "Doo-Bup, Doopdoopdoopdoopdoopdoopdopdoop Doo-Bup! Fashion!"

Mustache lady sighed. "Just gimme the page already."

Earlobe lady was shocked. "You understand the doo-bup langauge?"

"JoooBup! dupdupdupdupdupdupdupdup BooooBuP! Fashion!"

"My Bowie! You do!"

"Beep! Beep!"

"Turn to the left!"

Mustache lady turned to the left and noticed a field of cows. She thanked Earlobe lady, for such distractions are valuable on long boring train rides. She also noticed that Earlobe lady had shoved something that felt suspiciously like a page out of a book down the back of her jumper.

"Was that really neccesary?" She asked.

"You can't see the page, if a mere mortal looks apon the final page of the holy book the entire universe will cease to exist, and will never have existed."

Amongst the screaming, flames and soft musak they shared a knowing glance. The conductor came on by to check their tickets, his eyes widening as he noticed the page-like piece of paper sticking out the back of her jumper.

"That looks awfully like the last page of a book!"

The Mustache Lady and Earlobe Lady just looked at each other, turned to the conductor and shouted "Turn to the Right!"


Reale strained and puffed as he held the Moon up with his hands. He'd caught the Moon in the nick of time, but was finding it pretty heavy. He looked into McKenzie's eyes fiercly.

"Run you fool! I can't hold the Moon up much longer! Forget Everest and run!"

McKenzie hesitated. How many times had he fantasised about eating the Moon with only a pair of chopsticks? At least three times. What was more important? His dreams or the continued existence of existence?

"Reale, I don't know what to say." said McKenzie. "Oh Reale, you beautiful, wonderful man. You are going to give us all a chance. Reale, it's going to take weeks before I forget about you. You'll be talked about for days."

Reale was struggling. He'd just broken the hernia world record, weightlifting record, and annoyance world record all together. "Go Father! And may my sacrafice not be in vain!"

McKenzie got his socks and needle out, and started running like crap. He wasn't far down the mountain before Reale's strength gave out and the Moon squashed him. "Ow! I'm squashed!" he managed to gasp before he managed one last world shattering glare.

Now all McKenzie had to do was outrun the Moon, which was rolling down the mountain towards him. Steven Spielberg and George Lucas should not to their lawyers that the scene looked just different enough to give the author a 70% chance of winning the ensuing lawsuit.


Iggy Pop was getting more irritated by the minute.

"What do you mean the last train the the Bahamas has already left?" he asked.

"By that I mean the train actually departed at a time which is in fact earlier than the time you asked me if you'd missed the last train to the Bahamas." he was told curtly by the man at the ticket office.

"Well...what about the second-last train to the Bahamas?"

"Surprisingly, you still have time to catch that one, it's right behind you, but you'll have to put some clothes on and stop pouting."

Iggy ignored the ticket man. The person he did pay attention to however was the conductor guarding the entrance to the train.

"Is that David Bowie's dead body? Sorry, David Bowie's dead body is not allowed on this train."

"No No No," said Iggy, "this is John Lennon's dead body."

"I thought it smelled a bit more like John Lennon's dead body. Ok. And what do you have there? That isn't the meaning of life typed on 14 A4 pages in a shoebox is it? If it is, you'll have to sign this form promising not to take over this planet at the risk of destroying the universe."

"I refuse to sign this form!" said Iggy huffishly.

The conductor sighed. "Ok, this means you'll have to fill out this yellow form, and these three blue forms."

This prompted Iggy to throw a tantrum, he poked his tongue out, huffed some more, and did a childlike spastic dance.

"Right! If you do that spastic dance once more I'll be left with no option but to fill out these 8 green forms! And believe me, you don't want me to do that."

Iggy stopped his tantrum, and tried to bargain with the conductor.

"Look, how about if I sign a form promising that I might not take over Earth at the risk of destroying the universe?"

"The pink W-456X form? Sorry, we're fresh out of those ones."

There followed another 28 minutes of discussion and wrangling until Iggy just decided to bribe the conductor with some chicken bones.

"You sure these are safe to eat?" asked the conductor.

"Sure. Go for it." shouted Iggy out the window as the train pulled away. There was nothing he wouldn't stoop to now he was so close to his ultimate goal.


I hate coffee

White Prism
(crash course raver)
08/29/04 12:28 PM
Paperback writer new [re: SugarPlumFairy]  

In reply to:

Too few people have read this so far

Seconded. I read this a few weeks ago and, once you start, it's gripping reading, people!

It's great that new chapters are being added.

No never, no never no more
will I trust the elves of Dunsimore

(stardust savant)
11/01/04 10:53 PM
Re: Pop Goes The God - A story with Bowie in it new [re: PHOENIX]  


The Chicken Bone squad had arrived at Nyar's house. Someone had alerted them of a possible chicken bone incident, and the squad did not take these things lightly.

Mike eyed his good friend Bifidus nervously as they approached the door. "What's the problem now Mike?" Bifidus asked impatiently.

"Look Biffy, I just get a bit touchy sometimes. You keep on letting evil spirits take over your body when we check out chicken bone incidents, and it's hard to maintain an easygoing working relationship when you do."

This made Bifidus stop before bashing the door down. He thought for a moment, and then just as suddenly stopped thinking. "Mike, I promise you, I won't let any more evil spirits take over my body during work hours. Ok?"

"Ok Biffy, I'm sorry I brought it up," said Mike uncertainly.

The two members of the squad bashed the door down, and pushed a flowerpot over after that because they didn't cause quite as much damage as they hoped they would. When Mike saw that the ceramic flowerpot hadn't quite smashed, he picked it up and threw it forcefully to the ground sending bits and pieces flying everywhere. Bifidus giggled with the glee of someone watching something being broken.

Once inside they quickly located Gus, after stuffing their noses with flowerpot dirt due to the awful smell coming from somewhere. Gus lay on his back, and a big chicken bone protruded from his mouth.

"My God....It's a thigh bone!" shouted Mike. Bifidus knelt over Gus and opened his chicken bone identification book.

"You're right. A thigh bone, the most tasty and deadly bone of them all," Bifidus confirmed.

At that moment a wisp of wispy spiritual stuff started wisping from the bin. It made it's way to Bifidus, and found a suitable entry point. Bifidus stiffened.

"Biff? What's the matter Biff? Oh...no..."

From outside the house a scream could be heard echoing in the night. "You promised Biff! Yoooou Promised!! Damn you Biffy!"


The train slowed down, then sped up a bit, then slowed down, stopped, and fell to pieces. It had arrived in the Bahamas.

The lady with earlobes the size of watermelons was nowhere to be seen, she had jumped off and run after a squirrel close to the end of the journey. It's a little known fact that the race of people with funny earlobes, who came from who knows where, could not resist a good squirrel chase when the opportunity presented itself.

Mustache lady started dragging David Bowie's dead body around again. She ducked down and stuffed it under a rock however when she spotted Iggy Pop departing a train and dragging John Lennon's dead body behind him.

"My God," she thought to herself, "He got the earlier train, and he's going to make it before I do!"

She also spotted MbBlenzy, he was putting a funny hat on himself and had a xylophone under his arm.

"Somebody else's God, perhaps Allah," she thought to herself, "He thinks he's David Bowie, and he's going to try and perform at the concert!"

She also spotted one of the stalls selling merchandise.

"The totality of the Universe which an atheist might substitute for God," she thought to herself, "They're trying to flog poorly made T-shirts for $45!"

Everything did not appear as if it was falling into place. In fact, it seemed like it was rising and flying about with gay abandon. She got hold of her dead body of David Bowie once again and started dragging it, all the while keeping an eye on both Iggy and MbBlenzy.

Iggy seemed to know what he was up to. He headed straight for the backstage entrance. MbBlenzy however didn't have a clue what he was up to. He headed straight for the merchandise stands and shortly thereafter had squandered his life savings on a T-shirt and mug.

"I'll give you twenty bucks for that dead body of David Bowie," a concertgoer piped up after spotting Mustache Lady and David Bowie's dead body.

"Hey! It's my overweight cat, not David's dead body. And even if it was David's dead body, it wouldn't be for sale, those things are collector's items." Mustache lady snapped back. The concertgoer prodded the body with a stick, seemed unconvinced, but eventually strolled away to buy some more $80 per cup beer.

Meanwhile Mustache Lady edged her way closer and closer to the backstage entrance.


Malone, Malony and Nedi had finally patched up the hole in the afterlife and had made their way back to the original exit. They were just poking their head out of McKenzie's water tank when they saw something which mildly surprised them.

"Look out!" McKenzie yelled at all three. "It's the Moon!"

Sure enough, right behind Father McKenzie was the Moon which was gathering speed on it's roll down Mt Everest. Before any of them had time to blink it had hit them in the eye.

"This feels nothing like a pizza pie!" screamed Nedi as all three were squashed along with McKenzie's precious water tank.

"We're squashed!" shouted Malone somehow. The Moon continued to roll in it's relentless pursuit of McKenzie. He sped past the Seven-Eleven and couldn't help but notice Hitler's eyes bug out as he poked his head around the corner.

"Mein Gott! The Moon!" he shouted, somehow mixing English and German together in an unusual way. All the despotic rulers in the Seven-Eleven started to panic and run around flailing their arms. The Moon simply rolled over the Seven-Eleven and crushed the lot of them.

McKenzie could hear many cries of "We're Squashed!" coming from the Seven-Eleven as he continued running from the celestial body. He had to think of something quick, or else he'd be running from the Moon all his life just as he had from that fat girl who wanted to tickle him.

There was only one thing he could possibly try. Zen. "Why tell animals living in the water to drink!?" he yelled at the Moon. No good, it kept on rolling after him.

"Where do we come from? What are we? Where are we going!?" he tried. No good.

"What happens to the hole when the cheese is gone!?" he shouted in an overly exasperated fashion. Suddenly the Moon slowed, and then stopped.

The Moon became engrossed in the cheese question. Actually, any question to do with cheese would have fascinated it, but this one was a doozy. Lost in an everlasting spiral of meditative contemplation, the Moon became one with everything.


I like flowers, puppies and KITTENS!

(stardust savant)
11/02/04 00:45 AM
Re: Pop Goes The God - A story with Bowie in it new [re: PHOENIX]  


"WE WANT THE MORE FAMOUS DAVID! WE WANT THE MORE FAMOUS DAVID!" The crowd was getting more and more restless. After they had pierced every conceivable part of their bodies in the piercing tent they had nothing left to do other than cryptic crosswords and the hokey pokey.

David Burnstein paced nervously up and down backstage. Bowie was well over an hour late, and the search party wasn't going well at all. In fact they had eaten all the cake and finished all of the champagne after partying for so long.

Seemingly out of nowhere Iggy Pop popped up. "Oh! Iggy, thank goodness." Burnstein said after taking a peek at his goodies. "Can you keep this crowd entertained until we find the more famous David?"

"I'll try Mr Burnstein," Iggy solemnly stated in a rather sneaky way. "I've got something a little new, but I'm not sure how it will go down...Bwahahaha!"

Burnstein put the evil genius laugh out of his mind. He'd be willing to go out on a limb, which would be a problem in itself for he was scared of climbing trees.

The evil Pop man pranced up to the microphone onstage and announced to the masses, "Oh, everybody, we have a treat for you tonight! Before we give you the more famous David, it's our pleasure to present to you...the one...the only...Iggy Pop!!"

The crowd went nuts, for they had all relinquished their lollipops. This made the Peanut Allergy Emergency Response team more than a little nervous.

Iggy sauntered up to the microphone with the shoe box under his arm.

"Ladies and Gentlemen. Boys and Girls. Tonight I have a special treat for the entire world. Ever since the dawn of man, we have searched far and wide for the meaning of life. After much searching, head scratching and giving up it has finally been found. My learned audience, tonight is the night it will be revealed. Tonight is the night I present to you...The...Meaning...of......LIFE!"

There was some scattered applause. Someone off to the right yelled "Awesome!" Then silence. It mattered little to Iggy, for although he knew that they'd prefer to hear David sing The Laughing Gnome, they had no choice other than listen to him destroy their souls with the meaning of life.

He took out the typed A4 pages, cleared his throat, and began. "Once upon a time, there was a duck that..."

Suddenly a girl with absolutely everything pierced screamed, "Hey! It's David Bowie! Look!'


There was an awkward silence in the back of the cab. McKenzie stole a few glances to his right, towards the strange guy he was sharing the taxi with.

The way he kept laughing in an evil way made him nervous. "Say, don't I know you?" he asked.

"You might. Bwahaha! My name is Bifidus, of the Chicken Bone Emergency squad. Bwahaha!"

"Bifidus! You pulled that chicken drumstick out of my mouth that morning in Kentucky Fried Chicken! I thought I knew you from somewhere."

"Bwahaha! Yes. Bwaha!"

McKenzie kept his disquieting doubts to himself. It looked like Bifidus, but something was amiss. This guy had hailed the cab while McKenzie was on his way to the concert in the Bahamas, and since this is where he wanted to go also he agreed to share his cab with him.

"What's that funny smell?" he asked.

"Bwahahaha! I don't know."

"And why have your eyes suddenly changed color?"

"BWAHAHAHA! I don't know that either."

McKenzie pondered. After being rescued by Bifidus that day, Biffy had related to him that he had a fear of going to Bowie concerts after a horrible merchandising stand accident had left him broke. Now this guy wanted to go to one of his concerts in the Bahamas? It wasn't only the man sat next to him that smelled funny.

"What's that you're carrying anyway?" McKenzie asked, tired of being the one who had to make all of the conversation.

"This? Bwahahaha! Oh, this is a God Destroying Gun, I picked it up at K-Mart before getting in this cab here. Bwahahaha! There's a special on them."

A God Destroying Gun! It was all slowly beginning to make sense. It looked like McKenzie's presence was going to be needed at the concert in more ways than one.


The crowd went bezerk as MbBlenzy, all tarted up under caked-on makeup, and wearing a funny hat, waddled onto the stage with a xylophone under his arm. Iggy's reading was drowned out by the cheers and clapping that this small person, mistaken for David Bowie, got.

This prompted Iggy to do another one of his spastic dances, but nobody was paying any attention. MbBlenzy plonked his xylophone down near one of the many microphones littering the stage, got out his xylophone ploncker, and drew a deep breath.

The crowd grew more and more silent, waiting in expectation of what their mistaken hero was going to play first. Shouts turned to whistles, whistles turned to claps, claps turned to mumbles and finally mumbles turned to the silence of listening.

MbBlenzy, starting to sweat now, started ploncking the xylophone. The only song he really knew was Pop Goes The Weasle, so off he went. Bomp-bomp Bomp-bomp bombombombombomp....Bomp-bomp Bomp-brink! He was nervous, and as such one of the xylophone pieces of metal went flying.

He decided to cut right to the chase, and finish the song quickly. BOMP bomp bombom Bomp!

Shocked silence. A couple of people slowly clapped, to be polite. Someone off to the right yelled "Awesome!"

Iggy grabbed a microphone, having regained his composure. "You see! You see the depths to which your supposed idol has plunged? Forget this Bowie guy, he's all washed up! Listen to the meaning of life, and any disappointment you now feel will surely be washed away!"

He cleared his throat, and started to read again. "Once upon a time, there was a duck that..."

Suddenly, as everything appeared to be happening suddenly at this time, someone in the crowd once again yelled "Oh my God! It's David Bowie!" Someone off to the right yelled "Awesome!"


I like flowers, puppies and KITTENS!

(stardust savant)
11/02/04 03:23 AM
Re: Pop Goes The God - A story with Bowie in it new [re: PHOENIX]  


Far far backstage, a janitor swept up stuff like broken bottles and used condoms. He tried hard to ignore the ruckus on-stage, even though he was a big David Bowie fan.

For the first time in his life, he'd been close to him. He'd always thought Bowie would be a lot taller, and a lot less clumsy. Being a big fan of xylophone music however, he was outrageously happy to see David carrying a xylophone under his arm. When he heard his favourite song, Pop Goes The Weasel, being played on-stage, it took all of his might not to race to the wings to witness what must have been quite a spectacle.

The janitor, whose parents had never given a name to, opened the janitor's closet. Out flopped John Lennon's dead body which came as a big surprise, right between the eyes.

"John Lennon's dead body! That's a collector's item!" he exclaimed to himself.

"Psst!" pssted someone from behind a large pile of refuse. "Over here!"

The janitor was loathe to take his eyes off his big find. But he did eventually, and very reluctantly followed the Psst to it's origin. Behind the refuse was the hunkered down figure of a very alive John Lennon.

"John Lennon!" he shouted, and at that very moment a photographer poked his head over the pile of rubbish and snapped a photograph.

"Oh Great!" John Lennon snapped. "I spend 20 fucking years fixing up a double of myself in case Iggy Pop killed me, and some bozo janitor ruins it all in a second."

"You know, I always thought you'd be much nicer," the janitor intoned, clearly hurt. "What the hell is going on here."

"Something important. Listen, I need you to take this metal rod on-stage. Go up to David Bowie, he's actually the one who looks a lot like an overweight cat, and jam it in the orifice of your choice. It doesn't matter which one. For the sake of mankind, go do it now!"

The janitor always knew he'd have an important part to play in the history of all reality, and it made him wish all the more that his parent's had given him a name.


The crowd was going absolutely bananas, as they'd run out of nuts. "BOWIE! BOWIE!" they chanted as the Mustache Lady dragged his dead body on-stage. The Lady grabbed yet another microphone and pleaded with the audience to be quiet.

After they'd settled down a bit she shouted "These two are imposters! The little one isn't David Bowie at all!"

"We figured that out already!" shouted back someone with a half-eaten banana in his hand.

"Oh. Well, Iggy Pop over here wants to tell you the meaning of life to destroy the human race and start taking over the galaxy!" shouted the Mustache Lady.

"Ooooh, we hadn't figured that out yet..." said another member of the audience.

At that very exact moment, the janitor came racing out and shoved the metal rod into the nearest handy orifice of David Bowie. The crowed collectively gasped. A thundery crack split open the heavens and a blinding light lit up the stage. Lightning drove down with an almighty electric force and went down the rod into David's silent, motionless body.

Pop's eyes widened as he saw Bowie start to stir. Blaather MbBlenzy took this opportunity to try and grab the meaning of life from out of his hands, and started wrestling with him when he wouldn't let go of them. "You're gonna rip them!" and "Let go you rascal!" echoed through the stadium.

Bowie sat up slowly, he was perplexed as to why he was covered in dog hair, but overall he thought it was quite a good look. "Does this mean I'm a zombie now?" he thought to himself. He didn't feel the need to eat brains, at least anymore than he usually did. He slowly stood up amongst the turmoil and staggered over to the microphone.

"Hello Bahamas!" he said, and the crowd once again went wild. Someone off to the right yelled "Awesome!"


Mustache Lady remembered the last page of the book. It was still stuffed down the back of her jumper. She took it out, yelled to Bowie "David! Catch!", and threw it to him. The page flew through the air in slow motion, tumbling over and over.

David reached out for it as it came closer, his heart starting to beat faster. It came nearer, in slow motion, as Iggy and MbBlenzy wrestled on the floor close to him. He reached, it struck his hand, he grasped at it, and dropped it. So he just leant over and picked it up.

Bowie opened up the crumpled piece of paper, and started reading it. It was then that it all came back to him.

Ziggy Stardust lived a lonely life on Mars until he hooked up with Lady Stardust, the only other survivor of their ancient Martian race. They protected and guided the increasing population of seven legged spiders.

After searching for many years they finally located the spider source, a gigantic mother spider which lived in a truly stupendous tower it had built for itself. The remains of their Martian brothers were used for decorations.

The water on Mars became more and more depleted, the spiders more and more plentiful. By mutual agreement, the gigantic spider agreed to help them get to Earth. The mother spider wanted to provide water for her young, Ziggy Stardust wanted to figure out why he and Lady Stardust never grew old.

One cold Martian day, the mother spider simply blasted off, taking Ziggy and Lady with her. Once on Earth the mother spider settled down in Tibet, her children left for dead. Ziggy found similar people on Earth, and they banded together to try and find a solution. Lady Stardust became more and more distant.

Ziggy changed his name to David Bowie, and Lady to Pop. They drifted through the centuries, until this moment brought them to the climax of their lives.

He knew what he had to do, and what he had to say for it to happen, but before he could he heard a voice beside him calmly say, "Don't even think about it, I have a lollipop and I'm not afraid to use it."

David looked over, MbBlenzy was unconscious on the ground and Iggy Pop was menacing him with a lollipop. The crowd screamed in unison. David froze in fear.


I like flowers, puppies and KITTENS!

(stardust savant)
11/08/04 01:45 AM
Re: Pop Goes The God - A story with Bowie in it new [re: PHOENIX]  


Bifidus had arrived. He'd shared the cab fare with McKenzie, bid him goodbye and was now waiting in the wings. 'What a good time to make an entrance...' he thought to himself. He cocked his God Destroying Gun and walked on-stage.

"Mr Bowie, you're in trouble I'd say," said Bifidus. Pop was shocked, he could sense that Bifidus was really Nyartholep, but nodded his approval. He'd call a truce for now if it meant defeating Bowie.

"I'll save you Dad!" came a screaming cry from above. Alexandria burst onto the scene and straight into the dirt by the front of the stage. Pretty unclimactic, but not everything can fall into place. Considering everything that's happened, it was pretty close. It was exciting too, several concertgoers messed themselves.

"Bowie, my love! I'll save you!" A parachute could be seen slowly floating to the ground far off in the distance. It could be seen snagging itself on a tree miles away and slowly swinging to and fro. Hermoine could be heard yelling "Sorry!" Several concertgoers, now on edge and easily frightened, messed themselves.

McKenzie meanwhile was caught up at a merchandise stall and was negotiating a loan with his bank on the phone so he could pick up some Bowie stickers and a substandard T-shirt. The caps and mugs were way out of his league.

"It looks like your done for David," said Iggy. He held the lollipop as if he were to throw it. David shook.

"You certainly are, nothing can save you now!" said Bifidus.

MbBlenzy roused himself from his unconscious state. He looked around, and decided to take the side of the bad guys because they were winning.

Bowie looked one way, and then the other, he was surrounded. The Mustache Lady simply shrugged. Any sudden move would mean a lollipop would be hurled at him, and the God Destroying Gun would go off. There was no way out. No possible way to get through this impossible situation.




Bowie now held the God Destroying Gun. Iggy was writhing on the floor, his lollipop stuck in his eye.

"You didn't count on THAT happening did you?" Bowie said. He was proud of coming up with such a stunningly clever plan of action.

"That's not fair!" said Bifidus, "You can't do that!"

"I can do anything, there's nothing I can do that can't be done!" retorted Bowie. He aimed the God Destroying Gun at Bifidus, and pulled the trigger. A rather disappointing pop came from the gun, and Bifidus started melting. Several concertgoers messed themselves. Someone's head exploded in sheer excitement.

"I'm melting...Ooooh....I'm melting....Lord help us all, for I'm sure I'm doing something that will infringe on a certain film's copyright! Ooooh...I'm melting...I'm nearly melted....Just a bit to go now....That's it, I've melted."

MbBlenzy looked worried. He'd picked the losing side. Just then the Mustache Lady jumped on him and they started rolling around and wresting. "Hey! I wasn't even doing anything!" MbBlenzy screamed, and he did have a point.

"Never mind that, this is the part of the story that needs lots of action!" was the Mustache Lady's reply. In the grappling and rolling around MbBlenzy reached out for the mustache and pulled it off. "Hey it's you!"

Without the mustache it was clear to MbBlenzy that the lady with the mustache was actually the girl he had met on the bus. "You look a lot older with a mustache," he said. "Also, don't you think it was a bit obvious, I mean, you disappeared around the same time the Mustache Lady came into the story. It doesn't take a genius to...OOoof!" MbBlenzy got kneed in a sensitive part of his body as soon as he brought up something which should just be left as it is.


McKenzie raced onto the stage panting. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Not really," replied Bowie, "I'm afraid you would have been more useful a few minutes ago."

"Ohh," said McKenzie, looking more than a little disappointed. "Then I guess we're off to Mars then..."

"No," Bowie intoned in all seriousness, he was full of surprises today. "Mars is going to come for us."

The rock star once again walked up to the microphone, looked at the expectant audience, and said the following words - "I can't remember what I was going to say."

McKenzie crept up to Bowie, and whispered into his ear.

"Oh Yeah, that's right." He put his lips close to the microphone and used it to bellow the following - "GORT! KLAATU BARADA NIKTOH!"

Thousands of eyes scanned the night sky. Suddenly a red pinpoint of light grew brighter and brighter until it took on a red disclike appearance. "Oh my God! Look out, it's Mars!" came a cry from the audience. Someone off to the right yelled "Awesome!"

Mars came crashing down at a location conveniently close by, but far enough away that it only squashed a few non-concertgoers. "Bag that midget," ordered Bowie, "I think I'm going to need him." He then walked up to Mars and stepped on it's surface for the first time in many years.

The girl who disappeared at about the same time the mustache lady came into the story, because she WAS the mustache lady, shoved MbBlenzy into a sack and followed. McKenzie took up the rear. He then raced to the front. Then Bowie raced to the front. Not to be outdone, the girl who disappeared at about the same time the mustache lady came into the story, because she WAS the mustache lady put on a burst of speed and made it to the lead.

All three of them started pushing, falling over and trying to get to the front. "This is silly!" Bowie yelled. "Lets all just walk in a line and make this equal." So they arranged themselves into a line and walked in unison.

Suddenly McKenzie put on an unexpected burst of speed and got to the front again. "Last one to the mighty temple of the glass spider is a rotten egg!" he shouted in between fits of giggles. As immature as the whole thing was, it was handy because McKenzie was the only one who knew where the temple was.


I like flowers, puppies and KITTENS!

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