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The Truth In Lies 2: 7/7 The Great Yorkshire Patsies


Enjoy. I hope.

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Months after their great journey which was ended abruptly by Doctor Who, Dave and Derik are back. This time finding the truth within the lies of the official 7/7 bombing story. Both Dave and Derik are in London, preciding on a journey into the heart of the 7/7 attacks; the london underground. Beneath the man-made tunnels they hope to blow the truth with Dave as the truth-finder general, and Derik who is in a desperate battle to get into contact with the alleged bombers through his new spirit guide Margot, a 13th Century French prostitute.

On the day they enter the so-called TUBES a problem occurs, Dave and Derik become wanted men. Tony Blair has been critically injured by a Pike fanatic whom wanted to expose Tony Blair as a 12ft reptile. During the attack, frenchman Jean-Carl Henge wounds Blair with a rather sharp axe, leaving Blair on life-support in hospital.

On the run, Pike and Okra will meet friend and foes alike, in the miles and miles of the man-made underground city that is the london underground tubes. Trains have been stopped and the only people who dare wonder the tubes are the undesirables, and Spirit medium John Edward who is seeking to destroy Derik Okra, claiming cases of lost business due Derik's success on TV. The police of course are down there too, wanting to question Pike over the Blair axe incident.

---

The tubes are empty. No trains.
Emergency lights are turned on throughout the track network.

On the tracks Dave and Derrik are now on their journey.

'Bloody Hell, you fu**ing prick! Moron, utter moron. 12ft reptiles! You need to be treated in a secure hospital or something man.'
'[sign in to see URL] say it to shift books. I do need money like anyone else yah know, everything else is true though Derik. Blair deserved it anyway.'
'[sign in to see URL]'
Dave cuts in. 'Yeah, but nothing. Hey I don't hear voices from supposed dead people'
Angrily, Derik stops. 'I do hear voices, and sounds too. Real people. People who live on the astral plane'

Ahead in the dark, far beyond the light of tracks the muffled sound of distant voice can be heard. Derik and Dave continue onwards, both curiously following the voices. Suddenly they both stop.

Dave speaks, 'People live down here yah know. Some say the mutant kinds.'
'This is a city of which holds many people, Margot just told me that.'

To their right a door opens. Derik and Dave are both shocked by what comes out before them both.

'This may be good for the book Derik. I think this thing may know something about the 7/7 attacks.'

Stepping out of the door a man in a trenchcoat appears, he has long flowing hair and a goatee beard. More frighteningly though is the fact that the man appears to be carrying a single barrel shotgun.

Speaking in a southern american accent the man chews on some tobbaco, then spits it out onto Dave.

'who are you?' he questions. 'What are you's wanting in these parts. It private land yah know, ' he continues.

'Okay. OKAY!' Derik replies.

With both hands up, Dave and Derik will do as they're told. The trenchcoat man turns his gun towards the two unwelcome guests.

'I'll ask again, who are you's and what is you want?

'We're writing a book.' Dave replies.

'Reading and writing types hey. I never liked you lot that much but I suppose you aint doing any harm. There's people you need to stay away from down here. I work for railtrack, I guard these parts.'

From behind the gun wielding man the sound of ruffling cages can be heard in the man's underground guard station. It's quickly followed by screams of LET ME OUT, and LET US OUT.

Dave and Derik look at one another, possibly hoping the man doesn't want to catch the two now wanted men he has a gun pointed at. They are also shocked by the noises coming from the American's guard station.

Thankfully the man turns the gun away from Dave and Derik, then turns himself and goes back into the room closing the door behind him.

'That was weird'
'Your tellin me' Derik replies.

Dave and Derik continue onwards walking a straight line of track.

The sound of the cages however doesn't stop. Getting louder and louder, it seems as if the American may be in trouble as his prisoners try to break out. Suddenly the American declares wailing 'I can't take it anymore,' Followed the sound of the shotgun going off.
The cage doors are heard opening and his prisoners are now free.

As Dave and Derik are paused on the tracks wondering the fait of American, the guard stations creaky rotting wooden door opens.

Two figures emerge.



Last edited by knights, 9/10/2005, 10:43 am


---


9/9/2005, 10:58 pm Link to this post Send Email to knights   Send PM to knights
 
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Re: The Truth In Lies 2: 7/7 The Great Yorkshire Patsies


(Way to get the ball rolling, Alex. And with no content restrictions, I jump into the fray on the day of America's big anniversary.)

Two figures stepped out of the booth, and they seemed quite upset. Both were male and well-dressed.

A twelve-foot reptile. That's what started this present nonsense. If only Dave and I could find Godzilla, he could certainly put a squashing on these unhuman Napoleon thugs. I dared not mention Godzilla to my friend, because he would surely have some sort of explanation as to how the film, Godzilla, was actually a documentary, and Raymond Burr was actually a Japanese journalist.

It's the story of my life. Always Pike versus the Truth and no matter who wins, my sanity loses. But mind that I'm not perfect, either. I have lied on occasion. No one believes that ghosts exist everywhere, but oh do we want to believe. I sell belief, not truth.

The first male spoke: "Who in all of bullcrap are you two sadsacks?"

"I'm Chuck", said Dave, "Chuck Lindburg, and the gentleman beside me is Helmet Cole." My stomach wrenched as Dave spewed these lies. I certainly did not(and still don't) want to be responsible for Germany.

"Well, Mister Lindburg. Mister Cole. You boys need to vacate these premises."

An awkward moment then arose. Then the second man nudged the other with his elbow.

"Ah. By order of the FBI. Get out of here."

"Yes, of course," spewed Dave, "but is there a problem, officer?"

"First, we're not officers-we're agents," responded the second FBI agent. "Secondly-" he paused. "-don't make us angry. You wouldn't like us when we're angry."

All the while, I'm thinking. Why is the FBI here? And trapped, at that, in a guardpost along the tubes. Held captive by a fellow American. Was that American the one called Abaddon1215? When last we heard of him, he was being set up as a terrorist by the Reptillian hordes at Foks Amusement Interstitial. The bombings may have been some sort of checkmate attempt, but how to confirm that? I vaguely remember a report that the terrorist was imprisoned in the American resort city of Las Vegas.... Nevertheless, the FBI is here on the case, or some case. MI5 couldn't be far behind, and pity to those that stand behind the FBI without a shovel in hand.

"All apologies, offi-ahem-agents, we'll move along now" I said, with hopes of evading these agents. You see, Dave and I had bigger fish to fry, namely to trace the roots of 7/7. And, honestly, no one sweats the FBI. Ask Al Queda.

Dave and I were off.

Moments later, Dave stopped and said, "Call your friend at the Daily Mirror. Right now."

"David," I said, "she won't believe us."

Dave quickly retorted: "She will believe you." He began to smile in a way that I have never liked. I had been expecting revenge for the Bucketsville Distraction Technique of the past year and Dave was known to hold a grudge. Poor Dave had not walked quite the same sense then. Worse still, I was afraid to mention the possibility of a sexually-transmitted disease. Luckily, Dave didn't believe in diseases, but, still, I could not say that he possessed the same resistance to STD that UN Peacekeepers had(or so they thought..). "This would be too hot a news item for your friend to ignore" added Dave.

"Derik, friend," said Dave staring at something far away and perhaps imaginary, "you and I could become heroes. We can change nothing, no matter what we find ahead, if people burst into giggles at the very mention of our names as they do now. Respect is what we need. And press. Lots of it."

I turned as I activated my mobile phone. Dialing my source at the Mirror, I suddenly began to feel very heavy.

"Not another book, Dave" I whispered. "Why I'm Not Allowed To Use Public Transportation by Dave Pike, with an introduction by Derik Okra."

"What did you say, Derik?"

"Nothing" I responded as my source picked up on the other end.

CONTINUE OR WE'LL SEND A HURRICANE!!

---
You see-there are two kinds of people in this world: those with loaded guns and those who dig. You dig.
9/12/2005, 4:19 am Link to this post Send Email to abaddon1215   Send PM to abaddon1215 MSN Yahoo Blog
 
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Derik seemed agitated as the number began ringing on the mobile phone. I'd hope it wouldn't happen anytime soon, though I just didn't know. Margot, his new spirit guide had ways of getting Derik out of tricky situations like this one with the mobile phone. As the number began ringing furthermore Derik began going into what he calls a trance, his body and mind were being taken over by a random spirit who had wandered into his astral plane. With his body and mind possessed I had no choice but to take the mobile off him and speak to the source myself. The spirit now controlling Derik had made him a zombie of a man. Derik's possessed machine began dribbling, and then down the side of his trousers a wet patch appeared, soon followed by the brown ball which rolled down and out of the right trousers leg onto his brand new Nike pumps, then sliding majestically on the floor.

Suddenly I got through.
Hello, this is Helen Williams. yes?
'Yeah.. Hi. Nice to speak to you this is Dave Pike. We spoke before when you did the damaging story on me about 2 years ago for your main Sunday paper.'
Helen cuts in. 'It is you, right?'
'Yes it is me.'
'I'm sorry to say that you lying BS has finally caught up with you. Your a wanted man. In fact, you and Mr Okra are 'the' wanted men right now. Every news channel in the country, as well as many others has your faces on their screens right now. Jean-Carl Henge may have done us all a favour by nearly killing the PM. For a start you two charlatans are now terrorists, wanted ones at that, and you also have your own evil ideology according to the every media source right now. Is there anything you'd like to add?'
'Yeah, there is. Jean-Carl Henge, whoever the hell he is, Frenchman or not is a member of the masons, and probably the shining torch too. And I don't believe much of what you’re saying right now either.'
'Really,'
'Yes, really.'

I hung the phone up.

Derik was now on the floor, huddled to the side of the tracks. Tears were streaming down his face, sweat patches were showing under his arms.

'Are you okay Derik?'
THERE WAS NO RESPONSE.

To get Derik out of the comatose state I picked him from the floor, attempting to clean him up as I had always done before. With mere ease I picked away at his clothing, tearing it off bit-by-bit.

Derik didn't care, he wasn't here, according to him this was a state in which he'd left his body and had gone to play drinking games with Margot back in 13th century, Paris. I didn't know whether to believe him or not, apparently Margot had ways of transporting his soul back in time. He said she'd place him into the body of another prostitute called Hairy Heather, known in her time for being the only one-legged, bearded lady to grace the streets of Paris.

Delving in my rucksack I pulled out what I needed to bring Derik back. It wasn't much. Derik stated that only I was the port who could bring him back. Firstly I cleaned him up with baby wipes, then on his instructions ‘Pull the excess ectoplasm from the genital area.' In doing that I could see that Derik was frequenting his body once more, huffing and moaning as he'd always done when I did this. When the ectoplasm came out, he came out too, back from the drinking games with Margot.

Knelt down, with Derik standing upright what came next may have seemed rather embarrassing.

To the left of my eye a figure emerged, raggedly moving as though he'd been attacked by wild thugs of the night.

Wear dodgy glasses and sporting a handle bar moustache he burst forward without a care in the world, but only seeking our help. He too like Derik was naked. As he approached I got down to my rucksak once more to dress these both troubled men. Turquoise tracksuits were all I had, Derik wouldn't be best pleased.


'Stavros' The moustached man uttered.

Then.. 'Fergal , names Fergal, Fergal Stott.'










---


9/13/2005, 3:40 pm Link to this post Send Email to knights   Send PM to knights
 
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Re: The Truth In Lies 2: 7/7 The Great Yorkshire Patsies


Tonight's Episode Directed By OhCrapOnMe Award-Winning Director Abaddonius Balonius and Sponsored By: Steven Expelturd's latest feature film Muhammad Ali VS Predator. No matter who wins, I just saved a bunch of money on my car insurance by switching to Geico. Geico has hired actual insurance agents for your convenience during this time of hurricane destruction, so that now your damage claims can be denied by real persons, face to face.

One moment, I am with Dave as he plots the masterpiece that would mean his public re-acceptance. Then Margot has taken me away to France. As my eyes adjusted to this new environment, I prayed that Pikey wouldn't touch my phone whilst I conversed with my new spirit guide.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

An Interlude: It's 1892 On The Astral Plane And Derek Okra Becomes John Wayne.

From the private journal of Derik Okra:

"Welcome, Okra, to my beloved France" says Margot. "You and I have much to discuss before the powers that be have your head on a Pike." I must say that I usually don't appreciate jokes about Pike(et al), however ominous or foretelling, and this occasion was clearly no different.

I notice that Margot and I are actually standing in nineteenth century France. It's nighttime, a few people are about, and the weather is gorgeous. I find this atmosphere unsettling for unknown reasons. An aroma of pungent spice hangs in the air. Oddly, I liken this aroma to the practice of eating Italian food in a bath tub.

Margot continues: "I know that you want answers about 7/7. What happened hurt you, and you will likely never forget it. Presently there is a lot of division in the world. There is destruction and chaos at levels that none in my time could imagine. We can be certain that more people will die, but how many depends on the action of concerned people like you." Was I indeed concerned or had Pike lead me into yet another tunnel o'madness? Perhaps there is truth in either scenario. After all, I make a living by finding ghosts, so is it strange that I now help Pike uncover the ghosts that he seeks?

I confess to the world that I don't care about the victims of 7/7, nor did I care about 9/11, Madrid, or soccer riots. What I care about is my talent, and how it is best applied. If the capacity to see ghosts is something that one day saves the world, then let it be my eyes doing the job. Maybe I follow Dave too often, but his mind is open. Open to what, I do not know, but at least I feel that we could find some never-before-seen truth. We probably will not see reptiles. (pause for Geico lizard flashback..)

"I think your friend has lead you down the wrong path. You seek a smoking gun, but I don't think you'll find it. Instead, you're putting your neck on the line and you're too late to accomplish anything."

"Something must be done" I said. My anger had been rising over what Margot was telling me. I totally agree with anyone that believes Pike to be insane. I will never claim to understand my friend. We have been acquainted for so long that I no longer remember the circumstances of our meeting. Here in the tubes, Dave's fate would be either the glory of having his work proven before the eyes of the world, or, after being found, he would be thrown in prison as a suspected terrorist. I think it would be helpful for Dave if he were to have some sort of reckoning, and sooner would not mean worse.

What causes me serious offense is that Margot seems to think that I'm wrong for only wanting to find out what happened and who may be the culprit.

Suddenly, a flute begans to play in the distance. The sound reminds me of a child's music box and Pink Floyd, if there had been an unplugged album(Dark Side of the Acoustic Guitar?).

"I like the music of this period." I was ready for Margot to tell me how I'd gone wrong, and where I might get back on the path. In anticipation, I leaned against one of the frog-eater hovels that lined the tiny street.

"I'm glad" said Margot "that you want to listen, sweet Okra." She sat back onto a rickety wooden chair which looked like the sort some starving expatriate artist(or perhaps several) may have once coveted for purpose of comfort as he produced some meager effort of the artistic sort. "I would hate to see your effort wasted, because I believe that in a world of conflicted motives, you genuinely want to help. I also promise not to speak ill of Pikey, because I know he's your friend. But now, I hope you're ready to see the reptiles. They are out there, and they are very big. With no humanity whatsoever, and ugly past the limits of human tolerance."

Oh hell. Margot believes this crud about reptiles! I've never understood the massive amount of fascination that people harbor for those creatures. However, I do think this makes a great horror story. This time I think that we should bring out the teen-aged couple already and let them fight the killer, because it's quite late in the film. Myself, as audience member number two, possessess not the will to see much more of the killer's chaotic self-expressions.

"Let me ask you a few questions. You consider them, and then I will provide some answers. Have you not noticed that we never converse in your time? We always share these little chats in my time period."

"Yes, Margot. Of course, we do this because you are comfortable here."

"No, no" she says, "I was never comfortable here. Who do you think I am? How do you suppose I spend my days?" She pauses, with a look of frustrated wonder. "Have you not also noticed that I speak English? I lived here as a poor girl of the streets! A foreign language is my last interest."

I was stunned. None of these facts had occurred to me before.

"You've never seen a ghost, nor have you communicated with them. You've not played chess with them in a park, either."

"I wonder who I've been talking to" I said. Surely, I had no idea at this point.

Margot continues: "You speak to beings that are caught between dimensions. Beings like me. Your capacity for this has nothing to do with genetics. It has more to do with the fact that you are caught up in the boundaries of reason." Is she saying that I've lost my mind? Obviously, I know exactly where my mind is, but as to what it is doing may be quite another question. "Your good friend Pike is trapped in his own madness, but he could be some help to you. The world is odd in the fact that sometimes an amount of madness helps the entire world, but quite often it merely thins the neighborhood. Though there is time for you Okra, it's midnight on-what you call-the Astral Plane.

---
You see-there are two kinds of people in this world: those with loaded guns and those who dig. You dig.
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Tonight's Episode Sponsored by Clockwork Orange Redux Part Three-starring Will Ferrell, Jim Carrey and Robert Duvall, a production by the Wachowsky Brothers. Additional Promotions Considerations Paid For By: Buy US Treasury Bonds at historically low rates!!! You sleep, we live!!!

Interlude Part Two: Out of the Dark, Into the Night.

Continued from the journal of Derik Okra:

Suddenly France and it's nightlife begins to fade away, leaving only Margot and I to witness the scene change.

The frog-laden street became a plush building of sort, much like a castle or some sort of royal estate. Apparently, Margot and I were safely tucked at the end of a service corridor. We saw no one else, though we heard a strange loud breathing noise.

"Welcome to the American royal palace-the White House" said Margot. "Feel free to check it out, particularly the last door on the right." She placed a small key in my hand, then she rather stylishly stepped into a knook that disguised a serving cart and other assorted items.

It seemed to me that there must be some sort of resolution behind the last door on the right. So, I proceeded towards this door, but slowly. I felt not at all ready for this, and I was certainly not interested in American politics. Was this expedition aside from my 7/7 investigation? Clearly Margot was steering me towards something, but it seemed to be a perspective rather than a clear answer. Someone might have sent Pike on a journey like this all those years ago before he sealed his own fate in the Green Party.

The sound of breathing continued. It sounded slightly labored, as one's breathing might seem when asleep, but it kept not a regular pace. It's pitch was quite low and not without some rasping. I imagined that if I touched the wall, I would perhaps feel a slight vibration in rhythm with this respiration. Where the US government an animal, this was it's lair. And this noise, it's breath.

This place looks much like a plush Baroque mental institution. Everything is pleasantly white, not too bright, but certainly maintained. In matters of wealth and madness, pigment is always kept to a standard and carpet is no good if not appearing to invite guests to trample it. Such was this carpet. And I thought, before I reached the door, that I could be mad here. I would pretend, perhaps, if asked.

When I reached the door, I inserted the key and turned it. There was no hesitation on my part and no resistance from the hardware.

The door smoothly swung open, and briefly I thought that it's hinges must have been the best mortal man could muster.

Behold, the doorway beckons, the oval office. Oh my, was it a vision! Not entirely grand, for it was and is the office of a lowly elected official. But I think a soul could be happy here for four years.

My eyes noticed a large mural opposite the office's sprawling view of the city and the Chief Executive's official desk. The artwork depicted something I've seen on American paper money: a pyramid, with it's top detached and hovering above, and from it, a giant eye radiating something. This must have been homage to ancient culture, though I can't fathom why Americans honor ancient Egyptian culture so. Though, I can't argue that it doesn't look official, but I don't know wh-

Then the breathing noise sharply halted, and I sensed something move from the area between the presidential desk and the windows. That quickly, I alerted myself that all was not well. I could not be sure of the authenticity of this White House, nor had I met it's forces yet. I had heard something, but that was quite all. Margot might have sent to me to the Planet of the Apes.

The figure, Something That Moved, then stretched to over six feet in height and at least half in width. I suddenly found that I could not look at the whole of it, because my eyes were averted by some unknown instinct. I saw a dark green color. A business man's suit of clothes. And a mouth large enough to dine on a copy of each of Pike's books in only one bite. I could neither bear to consider the creature's teeth.

Clearly I was not unprepared for this. You see, I have confronted the possiblity of extreme nastiness and evil. Several times, in fact, I have entered supposedly haunted homes and expected such creatures to be at work in the basements. Something so inhuman could cause any sort of mischief, and in the imagination murder would not come quickly. A creature such as this one might want other things from it's victims before the inevitable murder.

This has occurred to me several times before I've descened the stairs of some basement. Always, there were television cameras, and behind that an audience, to help anchor my mind to some adrift glacier of reality. So I did not turn and run from this gross desecration of the president's office. I came to this place seeking either the truth or the people responsible for 7/7, and I would not be denied by this creature.

I briefly imagined the monster's skin sliding across the presidential desk, it's feet dripping beads of mire from an otherwordly swamp onto carpet bought by the dollars taken from (what the creature might call) a lower class of being. Looking at this being in such limited fashion, there was an apparent disparity between What Good Men Intended and What Ruled The Day. Unknown and without cause for respect were it's devotion to ancient Egyptian deities and the very lie of it's own existance. I also doubted, beyond all party rhetoric, this thing had been elected.

At once, the reptile leapt forward, stopping only inches away from me. I suddenly remember seeing a television program about crocodiles, and how these things were fast. And oh so easily angered. A smell eminated from the beast that seemed to belie a lake of thick, green, membranous water sprinkled with small dead animals. This thing, this president, I could imagine, swallowing rabbits whole during his daily briefings, and then smacking his jaws in mute satisfaction.

I turned and ran, because he so physically outmatched me. It's not proper that he should dine on Okra, when Okra seeks only answers. If he had been in office for several years(my memory seems to confirm this suspicion), he had clearly not volunteered answers during that time. My questions would bear no importance if uttered only while I'm impelled towards the beast's stomach.

As I entered the hallway, Margot stepped out of the knook and said "Away we go, Okra!"

But before we escaped, the monster's voice came from the office as if from through a truckload of dank alien mud: "Derik, I know you. Oh yes I do. Tell Pike that he won't go far, either!"

Then the White House scenary rather mercifully dissipated.

As the welcomed horror of the tubes began to appear, Margot said "Good luck."

End Of Interlude

Once again, my friend never failed to amaze me. He seemed to have taken a turn towards the strange during my absence.

"I don't want to wear one of your Idiot Militia tracksuits, Pike!"

"Oh! Good to have you back, chum," said Pike, "but you want to wander naked then? Your clothes were soiled."

"I don't care" I responded. "I'd rather wear a bucked of dog feces than one of these suits." And how I would regret those words....

CONTINUE OR THE TRUTH MAY NEVER BE KNOWN!!!

---
You see-there are two kinds of people in this world: those with loaded guns and those who dig. You dig.
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And so Fergal was member of the team. True, he was what I term a vulnerable, but most of the readers of my books were this way too. As he first spoke I knew there was something horribly wrong, something I had once claimed was caused bottled baby milk, though later retracted as a DNA fault. Fergal had downs, but it wasn't so much an issue to me. Downs, unlike the Jews are a harmful race, and that’s what they are, a race. Notice how they all look-alike?
He had been manipulated into a way of thinking and feeling; he was a nobody, a retard. I would change that.

"How the shell-suit for yah Fergal, mate?"
Fergal seemed amused by the question, but the truth was he didn't understand. Like many of his kind he was manipulated into a silly behavioural pattern of what I call the goofy giggles. After a brief pause in thought he replied in his own way with the old thumbs up.
--
Daydreaming
Maybe I could change him! I could adopt him. Have him as my own, raise him like a son. Then write books on him and go on Oprah. Those shows always like a soppy story.
 Found in the underground, a poor naked downs man beaten to a pulp by his slave master named Stavros finds a miracle, that miracle is Pike, Dave Pike.
 I could envisage they money I could bathe in, the celebrities I'd meet, and then the films with Brad Pitt playing me. Then I'd see the trailer for the film, hear the deep voice narrating, and the thriller style music -
'Based on a true story: A man seeks the truth, only he can find it.'
Stationmaster, 7/7 2005. 'Yeah, that's right 4 explosions all at once.
News Channel, 7/7 2005. 'This is breaking news as we hear reports that 4 Terrorists have blown themselves up on the tube.'
'Oh my god, oh my god!' screams a woman on the blown up train.
Narrator- He knows the truth, he is Dave Pike
Text intertwined with the text visualised -
HE IS DAVID PIKE. AFTER MI5 AGENTS TRY TO KILL THE PM THEY BLAME PIKE. PIKE BECOMES WANTED. PIKE ESCAPES TO THE UNDERGROUD, MEETING A DELULDED PSYCHIC AND A 50-YEAR MAN WITH DOWNS SYNDROME. TOGETHER THE TRUTH WILL SET THEM FREE.
Starring Brad Pitt as Dave Pike. Coming Summer 2006.
--
"Dave wake the hell up, we got trouble here" calls the naked Okra.
The dream and the reality of the current situation dawned. Slumped down of the tracks was my ticket to my fortune. He was dead. Somehow, while in the midst of better things to come in the daydream he'd been hit by a spear. The spear-chuckers were gone and all they left us with was a body and the spear. The spear itself hit poor Stott in the neck. He must have died a painful death. Deeply saddened by this, I too slumped, down to the side of Fergal as he gasped his last bloody breath.
In a fit of anger I stood up and then ran ahead, leaving the naked Okra to tend to Stott's body. Seeing the daydream as I ran made my blood boil, knowing that they had no reason for killing the poor defenceless weasel named Fergal Stott. I'm sure Oprah and her studio audience would have loved him and me too.
Finally after running at least 200 yards I realised that I was going to get anywhere. I stopped and massaged the pain caused by my arthritis. Goalies don't do the running I told myself.
By chance the next station was not far ahead so I walked it, the pain not being as bad now.
It was the Kings Cross station platform, and on the platform were the senseless yobs that I sensed had perpetrated the evil on Stott.

I ran forward, sneaking up behind them. They all dressed in black and were wearing white make-up, even the males. Realising my chance I grabbed one and the others just pegged it up the stairs. They hurled abuse at me and left me with a fat one I captured. With the anger came adrenalin. I picked him up and through him from the platform onto the tracks.

"Derik, come on! Its safe now mate! I got one!"
From the tunnel came the blurred response of “Allllrrrriggghhttt!"
Shouting one last time I said "Bring Stott's body…. And the spear, we'll need that for fatty Arbuckle here"

Looking down at fatty I felt fury and anger would culminate in revenge. His demise would be a ritual one. I'd !@#$ do it.


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9/15/2005, 7:56 pm Link to this post Send Email to knights   Send PM to knights
 
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Re: The Truth In Lies 2: 7/7 The Great Yorkshire Patsies


Tonight's Episode Sponsored By: Quittin Cigarillo's epic film of urban destruction and one man's fixation with Oprah. Fellowship Of The Dumba**es. Starring Alex Knights as David Icky, Micheal Morris as Derik Okra, Rosie ODonnell as Fergal Stott and Will Ferrell as John Russo. See it, or homosexual intercourse will be forced upon you-San Juan style without orange crayons. And no one wants that. Right?

Mere minutes ago, Pike crossed an important threshold. He had once been a leftist, and later he blossomed into a Jew-hating conspiracist. His latest turn was towards complete racism, including the handicable as their own seperate race. As he departed to avenge Fergal, he blamed the fact that he's not been recognized by Oprah squarely on spearchuckers. His heart is in the right place, but his mind is, as always, a**backwards.

Someone in the Green Party must surely be kicking himself right now.

Despite my friend's sudden racism, he had seemed to develop a sense of attachment with the late Fergal Stott with equal suddenness. How much torment would Dave's mind bring him before his soul collapses under the strain? Though a huge fashion faux pas, the shell suits always seemed to be Pike's only expression of positive feelings.

I heard Pike's voice in the distance. It sounded as if he were having some sort of trouble, but that much is par for Pike's course.

All the while, I'm acutely aware of being naked here in the tubes, mostly because my penis seems to mock poor Fergal. I can't be much help to Dave anyway, without clothing. Therefore I being to undress Fergal, whose body was clad in one of the [sign in to see URL] suits.

So at long last I join Pike entirely on this side quest of revenge, within a bigger quest of revenge, aside from our main quest which is that for truth, the truth in lies. Dave would probably add my name to a list that he keeps hidden somewhere. And into the Idiot Militia I would be inducted, as Major Okra, leading what troops I managed to cull to cross Pike's Bridge Of Weird.

Poor Fergal, now naked, is the most meager of victims. Middle-aged. White. Smited by God in his very DNA. At least science had defined the genetic anamoly that stripped of his humanity. I would help Dave avenge this man, whose only crime was to exist near a spearchucker.

And what dirty inhumans are spearchuckers!

With an amount of guilt and sympathy, I pulled the spear from Fegal Stott's neck.

As I set off to help my friend, I nodded to Fergal, for perhaps I would see him again.

I ran, because I could see now sign of Dave ahead. Surely he had ran also, though he has managed to hang on to the possibility of having arthritis for the past several years. As I began to pant heavily, I thought of kicking Dave in his sickly legs sometime soon.

Ahead in the tunnel, there was light. I was surpised more and more as I grew closer, there was no lessening of this mystery. Dave stood over a fat male body that lay on the tracks.

When my friend saw me, he extended his hand and said, "give me that so as I can put this spearchucker out of his misery."

I complied, but slowly as my sense of wonder hadn't quite worn off yet. Dave apparently identified this man as Fergal's killer, but why had this fellow killed Fergal anyway? This Fatty Arbuckle, dressed as if celebrating Druid Goatfarming Day, seemed pathetically amusing. I wondered if the maintenance bloke at some local mental institution wasn't searching for a missing couch cover and some surplus paint.

However, Fergal was still dead and as suddenly as he had died would Dave kill the fat clown.

"Go ahead, Dave," I said, "there'll be one less fu**ing spearchucker in the world."

---
You see-there are two kinds of people in this world: those with loaded guns and those who dig. You dig.
9/17/2005, 5:45 pm Link to this post Send Email to abaddon1215   Send PM to abaddon1215 MSN Yahoo Blog
 
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Re: The Truth In Lies 2: 7/7 The Great Yorkshire Patsies


With Derik egging me on my actions would come into fruition. Of course I thought about what I was then about to do but reason came in the form of the ye olde conspiracy theory.

"Pass me the spear Derik" I said.
Derik now seemed hesitant. "No," he replied.
"He's a member of the illuminati, how the hell can't you realise that. Just look mate. Look, he and his satan worshiping friends were sent down here to kill us so the reptoids could get their heroin, our blood Derik."
"Okay, have your damned spear. I had no part in this though, just remember that will yah. No part in this murder!"
"Murder?" I replied in amazement, "This is not murder he's just a pawn, a pawn controlled and manipulated by the big men. He's a puppet, and so now I will cut his strings. Soon he will enter the 4th demension of reality, then realise he everything is illusion, nothing really exists, bar love that is. Yah know Derik, I love you so much but you'll never know how much. I sometimes think you feel the same. That stupid thing you make me [sign in to see URL], pulling the ectoplasm from the genital area. I sense it gives you a thrill of some kind. Are you a sexual wanderer, not happy with a nice female, eh. A fascivious pervert?"
"Certainly not. Now Dave, just stop. Stop thinking so strangely and get on with the killing already. Do it!"
"Yeah, okay. However, like I said this would be a ritual killing. So piss on him, urinate. Let your own water come down on thee reptoid fancier. He has sinned."

Derik moved foward pulling down Fergal's old shell-suit bottoms and pissed all over fatty Arbuckle, the gothic horror now whining like a babe to slaughter.

With his hands trying to shield the blow he failed. I aimed at where the spearchucker had hit poor Fergal. Straight in the neck with the spear that killed Fergal.

The gothic horror, Mr Fatty Arbuckle now laid dead, with only spasms and blood shooting from neck showing signs of his fading energy.

The only thing that kept me from thinking guilty about what Derik had called murder was what could have been, with the daydream of me on the Oprah show, tagged along by Fergal in one of their soppy miracle type stories. I can only hope that one day I'll meet another of the vulnerable race like Fergal's downs kind. Books and DVD's will follow an then I'll be even richer.

"Come on Dave, we should move on"
"[sign in to see URL] !@#$, look who it is!

From the side of us now on the platform, a figure emerges, walking down the stairs at the Kings Cross Station. We have seen this person somewhere before.

---


9/18/2005, 4:45 pm Link to this post Send Email to knights   Send PM to knights
 
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Re: The Truth In Lies 2: 7/7 The Great Yorkshire Patsies


With all that being said, John Edward was upon us. A famed medium was/is Mr. Edward, having hosted television series' and other such nonsense. Indeed, he was almost as famous as me, Derik Okra.

At once, I realized something, and I could not let Dave get it away with his strangeness-

"What the **** did you say about 'ectoplasm around the genital area'?"

"You know" said Dave, "how I have to pull the ectoplasm away from your-wait just a minute-you don't know about it, do you?"

"No I don't" I responded. "And I think your making all this up. I don't want to talk about it anymore, not in front of John Edward. And furthermore, when speaking to my colleagues, you'd best mind your manners, Dave."

John Edward seemed dissappointed when he saw us standing by still-warm corpse of Fatty Arbuckle.

---
You see-there are two kinds of people in this world: those with loaded guns and those who dig. You dig.
9/23/2005, 3:23 am Link to this post Send Email to abaddon1215   Send PM to abaddon1215 MSN Yahoo Blog
 
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Re: The Truth In Lies 2: 7/7 The Great Yorkshire Patsies


Derik was frozen in shock, whereas I was delighted. Behind another well-known con artist was a face I recognized from a film. He wasn't a Hollywood face but he could be the answer to a theory surrounding a film that came about during the late 80's.

Most of my theories or ideas are inspired by films, they live, the matrix etc. These are films where the general public is unawares to a conspiracy that holds them enslaved or manipulated. Life on this stealth of reality is very much like that.

It was in 1996, the year I released my 12th book 'Fear everything it might kill you - be paranoid!' that I was approached by a fan after a lecture. He told me of a film that the illuminated top guys in the establishment had tried to stop. These two people were ruthless thugs and walked the set and streets looking for cast in crew, hoping in vain to stop the film from finishing its production in NEW YORK. From the sounds of the two they were probably Masons, bilderbergers and ranking high in the echelons of the global illuminati. Essentially though they were assassins, sent to do away with the films cast and crew to end the film entirely. After watching the film for myself I realised why they wanted to stop the film. It was obvious really, it showed the truth. The truth being that all New York Cabbies are blood drinking reptiles, even the Indian ones.

Although the assassins failed they did cause havoc in the films production when they ‘suicided’ Lawrence Bockner, a leading man, second only to Silvio Olivero. On release the controversy surrounding the happenings on the set balanced the production cost. In fact it became the blockbuster surprise of the year. Netting 500m worldwide the illuminated ones plans to stop the film had made things worse for the higher elements of the reptillian elite, New York Cab drivers especially. Soon after the big success of the film the stars began to mysteriously die. The year Graveyard Shift won best picture at the Oscars, five members of the cast had already been murdered. Silvio did a poignant speech on the tribute to the stars segment then picked up the best actor gong. Two days later, while on the shoot for his latest gay art-house feature with young boys he was taken out too. It was revenge for failure, so over a fifteen year period they were all to be eliminated. All the cast and crew were killed, bar one. He was the unbreakable one, Cortland Elliot, whom in the film played the role of the Nightwatchmen, for which he picked up the best-supporting actor gong at the Oscars. Although alive he had survived attempt after attempt be taken out by the big boys his time could be up soon. Even in London they're following him. Cort had nowhere to hide, yet he had minders that protected him that were probably close by.

Knowing it was me he approached gracefully and shook my hand. Meanwhile John walked over to derik menacingly.

Cort paused, pondered then spoke. "Dave, just so you know the film Graveyard Shift was really about vampires, not your so-called reptoid people. We need to clear that up. However, there are people who want me dead. Just last week they killed the last of Bockner’s, Mickey, while he was directing Graveyard Shift 7: Back in the cab. They killed him because the whole graveyard shift story was going back to the cab situation where a character rides around New York.."
I Cut in. "Yeah. He rides around New York picking-up and sucking the blood from the innocent vulnerables, bit like the reptiles, hey. Cort, Cort, Cort. You have a mind manipulated by commonsense, one which is neurotic to the mere suggestion that the leaders who rule this world sit at dinner and eat children, then move on to plans for global destruction. You are afraid and pathetic. Open your mind."
"Dave, no offence but these theories are mad. It's crazy thinking, that's why I don't believe it. You offer an entertaining false view, however people actually believe your views and you become dangerous. You sit in your mansion watching Hollywood films, take things from them and create fictitious crap."

Realising that I wouldn't get through to him in this dimension I only had one more choice- Mind expanding drugs from my Shamanic guru Wabu Undaisu. These were the sh*t.
I pulled my rucksack to one side, delved in and pulled out the magical plant leaves. I offered Cort a sandwich and he said 'Yes'.
Biting into the sandwich he had no idea that I secretly placed the leaves inside it. Opting for maximum dosage I put a whole bagful in. Within seconds of first biting into it he had changed. Seconds later he went mad picked the spear up and struck John Edwards in the chest while screaming "Demon, Demon, your a demon! Your face is melting! Hahahaha"

John Edwards was finished, and fearing this bad trip would end in our deaths too we ran further up the tracks, leaving Cort to deal with his melting demon.

We ran until we were sure everything would be okay and had a safe distance. Derik looked more jubilant than shocked, possibly realising that now Edwards was dead he'd get more TV work.

Just a few feet forward was one of Cort's minders. Wearing Camo clothing I knew his was one of his minder's, and then noticing the sewn-on name badge was sure. Abbadon1215 and us had close connections and stories more shocking than Cathy O'brien's.






   
  

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9/26/2005, 5:37 pm Link to this post Send Email to knights   Send PM to knights
 


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