S01.E10 Season Finale ‘Fasten your seat belts. It's going to be a bumpy night.’

 The Parade was well planned. The route would take it along the creek past auntie Koh’s Paddle Warehouse where an uncharacteristic and previously unmentioned stash of napalm was stored. Past the neatly trimmed hedges behind which Beige had dug a series of tunnels and burrows extending underneath the derelict factory. Past the helicopter pad with a perfect line of sight to Jackson’s Gatehouse.   Past the derelict factory itself. Past the grassy knoll. And past the brownstone building, the old book depository, where the The Disorderly Sisterhood of Those that have Less than Average to do on Friday Afternoons were polishing their silencers. 

It was going to be a magnificent parade. A parade to celebrate the Big T’s victory. To celebrate the likeness of his power. The length of his personality. The width of his mind. And the essence of his mirrored image. Also, to show the gathered world how much he loved his derelict factory and his public. And how much they could love him. If only they would give him a chance.  And he would celebrate the amazing things he had already done. And also the coming changes. Like how he was going to make everything different from how it was before. Different from how it would have been if anyone else had got their grubby hands on it. And most of all, different from how those on the other side of the creek wanted it to be. They would no longer be a threat. None of them. Especially the ones that had threatened never to cross the Bridge. They were the worst.

Of course, the 'gathered world' was an unfairly relative concept this grey misty morning. What with everyone having been locked up the day before. Or at least, almost everyone....

Vladjek Mislovic had finally shuffled the last 650 metres to the top of the grassy knoll where the XM2010 Enhanced Sniper Rifle was handily laid out ready for use. Vladjek shuffled to a stop. Shuffled to a lying position behind the rifle and aimed the sights at the book depository.

The plan was unbelievably simple. Vladjek just had to shoot Polonium. He could shoot her anywhere really but just as long as she couldn't run away too fast or do any muttering it would be fine.  So that was the plan. Vladjek was to shoot Polonium to frame her for trying to eliminate the Sisterhood who had been plotting for months to instigate terror tactics against the security agencies and the fund managers which were sympathetic to T-Stripe's opponents and hedges and insurers who wanted T-Stripe to self-destruct by supporting the Right Bank's disinformational destabilisation strategy. Or to put it simply. Shoot the shooter who is about to stop the bankers pay-rolling the shooters supply chain to subvert the shootability of the bankers shootout scenario. It was a win win win situation. Or possibly lose lose. Depending largely on the small detail of who shot who first. And when.  But in any case there would be a great deal of excellent confusion. Nobody would know who had done what to whom or why and if we were really lucky, when. And best of all there would be a fantastically great deal of brains splattered across the tarmac. That was the plan. It was a lot better than just blowing the bloody doors off.

Delete, alter and control.....

A single shot sound rang out through the echo chamber that was Alternative Catland. The shot sound clattered past the gatehouse, along the left bank, past The Bridge, over the creek, around the napalm stash, onward and over the grassy knoll, through the secret tunnels, around the derelict factory, through the book depository, settling finally in a soft damp warm place where bullets find their rest.

There was no excellent confusion. Except about why there was no excellent confusion. 

When the dust settled and the lack of confusion cleared, fifteen key individuals lay reasonably motionless on the ground. Another two were twitching impolitely on the pavement. Two virgins had been allegedly arrested. One was apparently missing his mother. And there were absolutely more brains than was historically necessary splattered on the tarmac. 

Tarmac-wise, it was good day to be alive.

Auntie Koh-wise, it was just another great day.  Job done. 

Oh yes. And now what?

“Grab a paddle, boys and girls. There’s an after-party, with your name on it.”

S01.E09 ’I’ll have what she’s having.’

T-Stripe hadn't ever called a press conference before. 

Largely because he didn't exactly know what a conference was. 

Or indeed the 'press.'

More inclined towards whacking fellow derelict factory dwellers around the head verbally and manually it seemed a strange concept to actually want to engage in conversation with them.

But Brown had woken to hardly remember anything about the old 'I have a speech dream'. A pity, because he felt sure he could use it someplace.

So when T-Stripe approached Brown for some semi playful verbal abuse a  strange thing happened.

Brown came up with two ideas at once.

The first idea involved lots of desperate people all getting together in a big place and singing (possibly even cooking) but generally hurling abuse at each other until only one of them was still alive. 

And the second involved lots of desperate people all getting together in a big place and having abuse hurled at them by someone theoretically quite famous until they were all either no longer alive or at least less clever than the theoretically quite famous person.

Brown was prepared to pitch both ideas to T-Stripe but he ultimately went for the second one because there was less singing and cooking and it could be called 'The Great Press Whack Off' or possibly 'Press Me, I'm a Sucker' or just 'Press Con'. ('Press Con-fer-ence' had been mooted but basically contained too many syllables. And no one wanted to have to explain what a syllable was.)

And so, without forethought, afterthought or pretty much any thought at all, the very first Press Con was held.

Representatives from all over the place were invited, and quite a few were let in on the condition they would only ask polite and fair questions. A few others got in by lying about their age.

When, just a few hours later, The Big T appeared on stage and addressed the crowd, even the most unsurprisable hacks in Catsville were more surprised than they had ever been before. And even the most cynical age-lying purveyors of extra virgin innocence and confusion removed their pants voluntarily and were stripped of their virginity, right there and then, on the Ikea sponsored front row seats.  It was a sight to behold. A sight that turned Spunmedia upside down with page views and thumbs-up. Indeed at one point more watchers were upping their thumbs every second than actually inhabit the entire planet. Amazing!

"You're all liars and bad people. Bad people.  Even you good ones who I totally like. The best.  You'rall crooked. Crooked and bad.  But we’re gonna fix it. We’re gonna fix it so good. We're gonna help you. Because you’re great. We're gonna put you somewhere safe. Where you be can great forever. And nobody can get to you. We're gonna lock all of you up. Lock you right up. No more bad dudes. Anywhere. Anywhere at all. And best of all you’re allowed to pay for it yourself.”

"It'll be a smooth operation. Very smooth. Everyone gets to go to jail. And we're gonna roll it out starting now."

At that point the doors opened almost simultaneously around the whole of Alternative Catland and individuals in dubious looking uniforms marched in to arrest absolutely everybody.

"It's for your safety. Because you’re great. And also bad. Safety first. Safety first!"

And even as they filed out of the building having witnessed the very first and last episode of Press Con, the chants of "safety first, safety first" could be heard ringing from the back of the large white van as it drove towards the hastily erected Swedish flat pack prison where the sign at the entrance warned optimistically, “may contain genetically modified nuts”.

to be continued…...

S01.E08 ‘Open the pod bay doors, HAL.’

The Disorderly Sisterhood of Those that have Less than Average to do on Friday Afternoons were one Red short of a bridge four. Doubles tennis was also a non-starter. As was performing in a Beatles tribute band.  Red was missing in action in the sense that he was missing and there was no action. All things considered, a great deal of bad stuff had 'gone down', something that had the  remaining members of The Disorderly Sisterhood well and truly flabbergasted. Or at least, Grey was truly flabbergasted. Dark Grey was well and truly flabbergasted. And Light Grey was just a bit flabbered. And yet they all had to admit it was a good deal of bad stuff, a great deal, the best deal ever.   And it wasn’t the lack of cross court back hand volleys or the opening riff of 'Get Back' that made the deal great because, in truth, bridge, tennis or Beatles songs had never been a meaningful activity in the book depository.  But to have the possibility removed from their book of choices was rude at the least and downright unconstitutional at best. They demanded the right to wear short shirts at Wimbledon and lose in the third set to two less attractive Russians.  They fought for the right to do same sex karaoke to 'Back in the USSR' and 'Yellow Submarine'.

It was the thought that would have counted if counting had indeed been thought of.

Obviously the balance needed to be re-dressed.

Within 45 seconds of the vacancy light being lit above the old depository door, Polonium Stripe walked in and declared herself completely competent for fulfilling the requirements of the unique and taxing position that was on offer at the Sisterhood. Expert in none of the above mentioned activities requiring 4 individuals, her outstanding qualifications, indeed the thing that made her stand out as the major candidate for this unique opportunity was the combination of 3 award winning qualities. In no particular order, that of: being alive, the capacity to re-dress as often as was required and having more followers on Mutter than Fidel Castro. Obviously, no contest then.

 Close to where the helicopter had landed the day before, auntie Koh was rearranging a new batch of titanium tipped paddles  on her front decking.  She had a different air about her.  She’d finally finished reading ‘Delete Alt and Control’ by Doris Mutter. The chapter about the Friendly Fire and the Leaky Wick was especially entertaining. And now there was a hint of a Vietnamese smile. A subtle skip in her Vietnamese gait. 

Auntie Koh did so very much like it when a plan came together.

to be continued......

S01.E07 ‘Truth? You can’t handle the truth.’

Vladjek Mislovic wasn't completely sure whether or not it was best practice to be talking about his schlapta in the middle of the road on the middle of The Bridge in daylight hours with a perfect stranger. Vladjec already considered it a feat of mind-over-matter that he had reached this point at all. This point in his life. This point in the road……on The Bridge. This point in a pointless world. Where it turned out that being pointless was perhaps the most point-full thing he had achieved. And yet none of this had been discussed at immigrant integration class. No side notes about schlaptas or the pointlessness of being perfect. No road map to disillusion. No GPS for the befuddled mind.

So whilst Vladjek was still seeking his most recent position he felt inclined to humour this Polonium because she seemed quite keen and had something to offer. A unique opportunity perhaps. 

And yet, what to do about his other soulless impulse, to shuffle quietly if not symmetrically to the other side, to fire up the strategically placed weapon. And perform his patriotic duty.

He was drawn to Polonium. 

And yet he was also drawn to the grassy knoll. 

And then, in a unique and bizarre display of extraordinary physiological aberration, his left leg and his right leg chose different paths of action.

And had it not been for the direct CCTV feed to Spunmedia, the world might never have witnessed what happened next. 

What happened next didn't of course actually happen next. Firstly there were quite few occurrences of people taking too many prescription drugs in lifts. Also quite a few occurrences of people in lifts taking too many selfies. And one specific occurrence where one individual tried all three at the same time. All of these things didn't only actually happen before the thing that happened next but they also did actually happen. 

Fact.

And yet when the face recognition re-alignment software kicked in because the CCTV camera had, for the first time in 14 months, finally found someone it didn't recognise, there was no way to stop the impossible from becoming the probable from becoming the inevitable to finally settling down as the comfortably factual. And all of that in about 22 milliseconds. 

So when that less developed splitside personality trait manifested itself physically, albeit ever so temporarily, the Spunmedia version of Vladjek Mislovic, quite literally split in two. One half remaining with Polonium. The other half driven towards the grassy knoll. And although his clothes were rent biblically asunder from top to toe, the screen area which might have given insight into which destination his schlapta had chosen, was of course thoroughly de-pixelated as per health and safety rule 540.16.C which stipulates that "offensive material cannot be uploaded to Spunmedia".

Somewhat curiously and visa-vie nothing much at all, there was currently a court case pending which debated the validity of this rule. Specifically it centred around the fact that offensive material actually can be uploaded, but someone somewhere at Spunmedia just probably didn't want us to do it. In several other court cases similar semantic discussions were taking place debating whether classing a schlapta as offensive was somehow unconstitutional and discriminating on the basis of race, religion and sex and finally whether or not Spunmedia had deliberately worded their rules ambiguously to provoke court cases, articles and all the associated free publicity it could generate. 

So what really really really did happen next, is something that won't be traceable in any report feed at all and indeed may never find it's way to history channels anywhere.  Polonium and Vladjec part-exchanged mobile phone numbers. This was quite similar to wholly exchanging phone numbers except for the part where Vladjec gave Polonium his number. Which he didn’t. Because he didn't have one. Instead he said just six words to Polonium. Six words that made Polonium smile like she'd never smiled before. Six words that would change everything. For ever.

“Kill your husband. Save the world.”

to be continued.........

S01.E06 ‘I'm as mad as hell, and I'm not going to take this anymore!’

T-Stripe’s ‘wife’ hadn’t been seen anywhere in public for a while.

But Polonium Stripe, as she was formally known, or somewhat skittishly ‘210’ to her face-to-face friends, and ‘P.S.’ to the unfollowed was definitely somewhere. 

But Polonium, wherever somewhere was, was not happy with T-Stripe. The 'Big T' (as she’d once called him) had not been himself recently.

She suspected he had another significant interest. Indeed the Big T hadn’t been that big at all recently. Quite small. In fact.

The Big T was underperforming.

Polonium Stripe, ex-worker, clothes horse, magnate magnet, was looking for a new thing in her life. But would she be getting her goody goods today?  The jury was quite literally and also quite figuratively still out on that one.

Polonium Stripe was almost the last thing on the Big T’s mind at that moment.

Polonium was way past her half-life.

Polonium was failing.

Polonium was well in need of something that he wasn’t about to give.

And with so many others from the other side in need of that thing he really did want to give, who needed Polonium?

There wasn’t just ‘another’. There was a whole bus full of others. Ready and waiting for his Big T.

And The Big T was ripe for action. 

The Big T was El Supremo. 

King of the Castle. 

The Head Honcho. 

The Dominant Dude.

The Great Groper.

The Triumphant Tripe.

Yes. All of the above. But then still with a tiny wee little schlapta as well.

To be the first and possibly last traveller to cross The Bridge had not been a lifelong ambition of Vladjek Mislovic. 

Taking part in the 1988 Winter Olympics. That had been his lifelong ambition. An ambition which Vladjek had to admit seemed, for the last 29 years or so,  to be slowly but unmistakably slipping further and further through his fingers.  Resigned to an existence of perpetual disappointment then, the last thing he had allowed for was meeting a Polonium. And the last thing on a long list of all the last things he had allowed for was meeting a Polonium on The Bridge.

But there she was. Just a girl. Standing in front of boy. Asking him to......

To be continued........

S01.E05 ‘Yippie-ki-yay, mother f**ker!’

That BluPink was almost certainly related to T-Stripe in some way or other was not in doubt.

And how many diaphanous layers of first or second cousin were interwoven by underage Asian children for a few cents an hour was not really the issue.

The only issue was could it be monetised? And preferably before next Tuesday.

1200 meters in the other direction stands a brown stone coloured outbuilding. Previously used for depositing something called ‘books’ when people still knew what ‘books’ were, but also knew they no longer needed them. The depository is the meeting place of The Disorderly Sisterhood of Those that have Less than Average to do on Friday Afternoons or  'Dishcloth' for short, they meet every Tuesday evening. Ostensibly for Pilates and political book club. They talk about important things in the same way others talk about football. And they talk about the price of leggings and casual sportswear in general in the same way others don't.

Only four members past the extremely time consuming selection ritual before the extremely time consuming selection ritual passed it's expiry date. There was Grey. Dark Grey. Light Grey. And Red. “There’s a red one in every family," joculated Grey at their first meeting. Although Dark Grey claimed it was most definitely more than one. Whilst Light Grey maintained everyone was exaggerating wildly.  Red, about whom everyone was quite possibly exaggerating wildly or not, didn’t care one way or another. Red was on top of his game. Even though he wasn’t completely sure which game he was on top of. In any case he was most definitely on top. Even when there was nothing underneath. 

But he was Red. He was The One. Even if he wasn't.

It was a match made in the hell hole that is home-made Spunmedia.

The Red versus The BluPink.

Head to head. Face to Face. Back to back. Fist to fist. 

Til’ death us do part.

3 rounds.

The improbable versus the impolitic.

Shite club and unruly. About which no-one was talking.

Halftime entertainment by T-Stripe's groupies. 

Reporting by Mutter.

(Not to be confused with Doris Mutter of

Doris Mutter and the Holy Brothels fame. Author of 'Extreme Petting For Dummies' and 'Show me a man telling the truth and I'll show you a way to make him look stupid '. And the reality show 'Lie back and mutter for England').

All of which is why "Not completely accurate" would be a not completely accurate way of describing what pretty much happened next.

Whilst Red centred himself in the only way he knew. Playing to the crowd. Chin up. Neck exposed.

BluPink slid unnoticed to his side. And with an amiable souciance of HBO inspired G.O.T. he aimed the sharpness of his tongue and slit the neck from 'ere to 'ere with cannily placed verbosity.

Red sank. Red all over. Redder than ever.

Red through and through. 

Until there was no red left. 

No bullets. No knives. No bad dudes. No red. No more.

It was all over in less than 30 seconds.

With no need for the halftime entertainment either.

The crowd shrugged. The crowd applauded. The crowd muttered their way home.

There was silence everywhere. Except in T-Stripe’s head.

Where there raged a wild war of attrition.

to be continued….

S01.E04 ‘It’s a great day to tell lies’

The creek behind the derelict factory has two banks. As creeks are wont to do. A Left Bank. And a Right Bank.

One is well maintained with adequate funding for fences, hedges, grassy knolls and dykes. The other one isn’t. 

The primary advantage the Left Bank has over the Right Bank is that it actually is on the left bank. By which surreptitious means it cleverly circumvented all legal efforts to desist it’s monopolistic activities.

But the Right Bank had a swamp, re-wilded with cheap labour and government grants. And a man called Jackson in a gatehouse which doubled as an information centre and guard post. Jackson was allowed (and expected) to carry a gun. He had a license and everything. Although he wasn’t actually planning to do any shooty shooty anytime soon. Not because he hadn’t yet worked himself into a politically correct borderline schizophrenic neo-populistical frenzied state of mind. He had. (With a very high score from the Mexican judge). But he had no bullets. And no budget to buy them.

Some years back a bridge had been proposed. And built - to the great consternation of the Left (and Right) Bank. Rumours abounded. Gentle ordinary rumours. Innocent and soft to the touch. Spread without malice but real, nonetheless.

Would purveyors of known and or unknown things take it in their mind to cross to the other Bank? Would there be forced or, heaven forbid, voluntary mingling?

As it happened the bridge remained completely unused to this day. No-one was prepared to be the first one to break the tradition of not using The Bridge.

“Nothing but trouble on the other side.” Jackson would mutter late into the early hours.  “Nothing good ever came across that bridge. In either direction.” 

Writ large on the front of the gatehouse. Ingrained in local culture.

Tiger Stripe regarded the crowd before him with disdain. 

But disdainful or not, it was his crowd. His great unwashed. His plebs. His very own private public.

There was Black and White. Not worth the biased views they refuted.

And Ginger and Beige. Dumb and dumber. And bad.

Spot and Double Spot.  A smattering of crooked potential perhaps. Ugly!

Brown. Over-rated. Could be useful.

And BluPink. New kid on the block. Amazing.

BluPink was the star pick. 

Semi-finalist in Derelict Factories Got Talent.

Sang ‘Hallelujah’ and everything.

Maybe there's a God above

All I've ever learned from love

Was how to shoot somebody who outdrew you etc etc

The Next Fat Cat on the Train.

Fantastic!

And the award for most persistently obnoxious tan-head goes to…...'BP''......The BluePink.

Clear then. For T-Stripe.

When his balls just ached this much for action. 

And when BluPink was the perfect answer.  

No one would give a monkey’s fartface deal about the question.

to be continued….

S01.E03 ‘You’re gonna need a bigger boat’

When the helicopter lands on the other side of the creek auntie Koh tends to fall over. Despite the paddles.

Auntie Koh also tends to fall over when her nephew trades stocks. Makes a fortune. And announces he's buying a helicopter.

But Auntie Koh is sympathetic to Oscar nominated actors of every racial and sexual persuasion especially when they have good manners and a way with words. This much she knows to be true.

Brown, having decided it was time to stand up and be counted, stood up. And waited. But with no-one around who knew how to count, he thought better of it. Sat down again. Went to sleep. And had a dream. And in the dream he was on a podium. The biggest podium ever. Before a crowd. The largest biggest hugest crowd ever. And then Brown started to speak.

“I have a speech today”, Brown started hesitantly, somehow feeling that something wasn't quite right.

“I have a speech today…..that…. one day I will have something awesome to say. 

“I have a speech today. 

“That alternative Cats will live side by side with other alternative Cats who are exactly the same. I have a speech today.

"That our glorious derelict factory will one day rise from the ashes and become great again. I have a speech today”. Brown was getting well into his stride by now. Rapid eye movement abounding.

"I have a speech that one day I will tell you I thought I heard you laughing, and I thought I heard you sing. I think I thought I saw you try”. There was no stopping Brown now.

"I have a speech....that the light will show us the way. And down in the sun drenched ghettos and tenement buildings we will together go into the light and create a brave new world where Alternative Cats will mutter and also matter. Where Alternative Cats’ hedge funds will matter. Where Alternative Cats’ wives matter. I made a speech today."

At which point the rapid eye movement ceased. And there was nothing left but a spent Brown, lying there in the corner, in the spotlight, losing his.....

And that was that. 

Or at least it would have been.

But unfortunately nobody wasn’t listening. 

And as if by uncanny coincidence, on the other side of the creek, and at the very same moment that nobody wasn't listening, there was commotion preparing itself for action.

Vladjek Mislovic was shuffling, in a long, slower than usual zig-zag patten, towards The Bridge. No banner. No protest. Just Vladjek, out walking, with his left leg. 

From her rightful place under the helicopter, auntie Koh felt the same wind of change and insolence that ruffled Tiger Stripe's balls. And then, something else too. The barely perceptible sound of bullets looking. Bullets looking for a soft damp warm place to hide.

"There's a storm coming." Auntie Koh whispered. And as usual. She wasn't wrong. 

to be continued.....

S01.E02 ’Just put your lips together, and blow’

Tiger Stripe's balls were not just stirring. There was something new going on down there. Something wonderful. Fiendish. And beautifully destructable. Something huge.

Behind the derelict factory is a creek where no-one sells paddles save a Vietnamese immigrant and his auntie Koh. Business is slow. But auntie Koh doesn't mind. Paddles are not really her thing. Noodles are her thing. Poodles are also okay. But not paddles. 

Meetings were few and far between in the derelict factory. There had been the occasion when Spot caught a rat. 

Beige, being particularly hungerful at that time, proposed they all got together and shared the rat equally amongst the group. 

Spot and Double Spot attacked Beige and removed half an ear. There had been no talk of sharing since. No mention of a group either. 

More the surprising then when Tiger Stripe announced his succession to the title of honorary group leader. 

Spot and Double Spot postured and readied their arsenal.

But Tiger Stripe's balls were getting bigger by the quadrant. 

The nuclear option. 

"It's a new day." Tiger Stripe offered. And not even Beige could argue with that. 

Black and White sat, diametrically opposed to each other, across the derelict factory floor.

"It's a totally new day. Totally.“ Tiger Stripe embellished. 

"It's a day of totally big things.” Tiger Stripe explained. “Huge!" And with that he turned. And walked away.

The others were dumbfounded. Especially Ginger. Who was also dumb.

It was time to visit auntie Koh. 

She had a handle on life. 

She had paddles.

to be continued.....

S01.E01 ‘You’ve got to ask yourself one question’

Somewhere close to nowhere in particular there's a dismal place inhabited by a collection of singularly minded individuals.

Black. White. Brown. Ginger. And Beige. And a few who couldn't make up their mind. Spot.  Double Spot. And Tiger Stripe.

Tiger Stripe has the biggest balls. Useful for settling arguments. And apparently the ladies like it. He presumes. 

They inhabit a derelict factory where (almost) nobody else goes.

They share a common language. A funny handshake.  And a hidden secret.

Not two kilometres away in a grey misty diesel smelly truck-stop, Vladjek Mislovic shuffles in ever decreasing circles around a large white van. Protest banner held low: "the end is nigh / the end is high"

Drug addict. Dyslexic. And dystopian. But not necessarily in that order. Vladjek looks to the sky where the sun isn't shining.

The white van, with it's barrels of genetically modified peanut butter, pulls out of the lay-by, narrowly missing Vladjek's left leg. 

His right leg isn't so lucky.

The mist clears. Vladjek lies motionless between the massacre of tarmac and potholes.

Tiger Stripe's balls start to stir.

Things were about to change.

For ever.

To be continued....