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Truth in Lies 5


[Updated 13/03]
New characters:
Melvin Hagg: art critic, TV personality.
John Wusso: better known as the director of Horror film Nighttime of the Dead. He is Derek's manager.
Neil O'Neil: Shady Irish thug. An enforcer for Okra and Wusso.
More to come. emoticon
............................

In a darkened room, the only light within comes from TV in the far corner. In front of the TV is a couch, the only thing really revealed by the light coming from the Television. On the couch lies a familiar figure with his eyes widened at an Arts TV channel. As the light flickers from the TV, the familiar figure slowly closes his eyes, drifting in to sleep....

“Welcome to 9/11 Collapse! On the Discovery Network” Beams a young, wacky looking presenter named Fred. “We're back having tested two of the theories as to how those famous landmarks fell.”

A video of the experiment plays. First we see a trade tower hit by a plane, and then the building on fire. The video is uncannily like 9/11, although when the camera pulls back we can see the towers in the experiment are a tenth of the size of the original buildings. A second video plays of another copy of a world trade centre building, but this time there some weird firework type explosion where the plane hit. In the foreground, a old man hoists a walking stick and points at where the miniture jumbo jet has just struck. Bits of debris comes crashing to the ground. Everyone is seen running away.
“Oh !@#$!” A terrified woman screams.
“Keep a safe distance, dammit!” A voice bellows loudly on a megaphone.
Both of the towers from the videos are shown side by side. Both are burning. A third 'twin tower' stands untouched. Despite being so much smaller than the original buildings, they still hold an immense presence and are at least 10 stories high. Amazingly, actors dressed as firefighters are seen milling about in the lobbies of all three buildings, adding to the realism. Then a few 'survivors' come streaming out of the buildings.
“It was horrible. I was just sitting there and then out of nowhere this massive airplane crashes into the side of the building.” A bad actor tells the cameraman.
Another male actor yelps and has his bloodied head in his hands. “Why?! Why!? Why!?”
The old man with walking stick and a visibly bad limp wanders of towards one these actors and puts his arms around the man's shoulders. The camera follows him. “I know. I saw it that day. It is hard. We're all survivors, mate. All survivors.” The old man says to comfort the acting actor.

Fred, the presenter comes onto the screen. “And now our final test. The one we've all been waiting. In our final tower our friend and hero, David Pike. ”
David is revealed to be the old man with walking stick. He waves, now dressed as awkward looking New York city cop, for the purposes of realism
Fred continues, wandering towards David at the bottom of the untouched 'Twin tower' “82 years ago, David saw the second plane hit the building. Like many, he was shocked and appalled. Yet, David believes something else brought down those towers. Here David Pike, explains. Cut to a video of an old, haggard looking, 130-year-old, Dave.
“I was 48 years old, I'll never, never forget it. Everything changed. Everything. And I know it was no jet fuel that brought down those tower, or this silly new theory of fireworks factory being located in the building. Military grade Nano-thermite was used to cut the central core of the building, all the corners of the structure [sign in to see URL]!!”
Fred is in the lobby of the final tower, standing next to Dave.
“This is how it happened. They flew the planes in and then brought down this building using controlled demolition explosives and thermite. I'd stake my life on it.” Old Dave blurts.
“We're gonna bring this building down then, Dave! We've rigged it up. It's ready to come down, if it did this.” Fred says excitedly. “We need to get out of here [sign in to see URL] the..”
Suddenly a roaring sound is heard, that builds up momentum with each passing second. Somehow the rigged explosives have gone off and the building is coming down.
The camera pans to a shocked looking Dave.
As the camera man and the rest of the TV crew and actors exit the building, we see a lone figure still in the lobby. DAVE. He is seen falling to his knees, his arms flailing dramatically, and almost silhouette-like as the building crashes down on top of him.
“I was right!” Dave screams. “I was right, damn you!”


“A dream, a horrible, nasty dream.”
Dave flails on the couch as if he still has the building coming down on top of him.

“It's [sign in to see URL] my.”

In the corner of the room on the TV, an obscene act.

My friend Derek. What happened to you? Why are you doing this? Why? What did I do to make you lose yourself with the freaks of the art world? And him! That Wusso, your creator. Yes, him. A failed horror director-cum-artist, quite literally. What did he do to your mind, my friend? Didn't I brainwash you enough?

I can't help but think what went wrong. Everything was good, [sign in to see URL].

I despair as I see more of you on the idiot box.

A TV show called 'Arty Pants' is on. A member is seen. A male member. A manhood. A penis. An erect penis. A canvas. Paint. An easel. A man with an slr camera taking photos.. Wusso! The TV camera pans up from the erect member. DEREK. He smiles down on his latest creation. A smiley face on a canvas, with a green tongue and purple hair. All painted with his penis. A crowd gathers behind Derek. They cheers his latest creation and clap.
A narrators voice comes on. “Some of these works fetch hundreds of thousands of pounds and are sought after by the rich and the famous, statesman, kings and Saudi sheiks, but it doesn't come without risks. Several bladder infections and also several attempts on Derek's life during public shows are common.”
A clip plays of a grainy looking video.
The Narrator continues. “This attempted severing happened in Duisberg, Germany.”
Derek is doing his cock-art. A elderly woman comes out of nowhere and attacks Derek with a samurai sword. Wusso rushes to protect his art prodigy and punches the elderly woman in this face. Derek is luckily unscathed, yet runs off in tears.
“My art is a expression of life in its boldest and most beautiful form.” Derek explains, now clothed, sitting next to Mr Wusso. An interviewer, Melvin Hagg, sits across from then.
“What of your life before? Derek Okra, the spirit medium and spiritualist-” Hagg asks.
“-Derek belongs to me, you hear me Hagg.” Wusso cuts in.
“I wouldn't go that far, John!” Derek replies angrily.
“Are you not my lover?” Wusso asks,
“Oh !@#$ off!” Derek screams. He then storms off, pushing Wusso to the ground.
Melvin Hagg gets up and helps Wusso up from on the floor.
“I suppose we won't get a live demonstration of Derek's artistic talents now, eh?”
“What do you think!?” Wusso storms off too.

Above the telly in the darkened barely lit room, one of Derek's cock-art paintings. A painting of Dave, with 'To my friend, forever. Love Derek. Peace, love & Light' below.
 
--Log in or sign up to see linked image content--

Dave gets up and turns the TV off.

A KNOCK AT THE DOOR.





Last edited by knights, 3/14/2013, 12:14 am


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Re: Truth in Lies 5


The Art of Derek Okra. The Masterworks #1
By Melvin Hagg

--Log in or sign up to see linked image content--
Life Art, 2010. Censored. A self portrait by Derek Okra featuring acclaimed film-maker John Wusso. Owned by wrestler 'Stone Cold Steve Austin'. Sold at Christies London for $[sign in to see URL]

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The Dot, 2011. Called his Mona Lisa by critics, Derek Okra downplayed this by saying “It took less than a minute to paint and I despise it.” Owned by Sean Penn, who calls it “My favourite painting of all time”. Sold privately for an undisclosed figure.

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Penis by-line, 2011. Awed art-critics on its first showing at his 'Penile' show in 2011, this was an unusual art turn for Derek Okra, not known for his abstract pieces. Owned by Barry Manilow. Sold at Sotherby's London for $[sign in to see URL]

--Log in or sign up to see linked image content--
Christians Vs Jews, 2012. A most controversial piece that was destroyed in an arson attack on the work of Derek Okra by a mad monk. At the show, following the fire bombing Okra's manager John Wusso critically injured the monk and he later died of his injuries. The relationship between Okra and Wusso has been difficult ever since. The catholic church lambasted the painting “A blasphemy against God.” A book released written by Jeffrey Archer, entitled 'Money Talks – How Wusso got away with Murder' was released on the controversy in early 2013. Wusso vehemently denies killing the monk, 54-year-old Sebastian Gash.

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Ooohhh, 2009. An early but most poignant work. The story of how Derek came up with his most usual method of painting is unknown but this early effort show genius behind the tears of a sad clown. Owned by Pritz Herry of the British Royal Family. Sold at Art Exchange, NY, for $5,000 (2009) to Roger Moore. Resold in 2012 for $8M.

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An elderly Samurai, 2010. A piece depicting the moment Derek nearly died for his art. Owned by Daniel Day-Lewis, he says “I often weep uncontrollably when I see it, sometime for hours. I'm glad I own it.” Sold at the Louvre, Paris for $[sign in to see URL].

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Austin Defeated, 2011. The wrestler Stone Cold Steve Austin's first and only Okra commissioned painting depicting the moment Vince Mcmahon fired Austin from the WWF in 1998. Austin was so unhappy with the painting he 'stunned' both Okra and Wusso. Austin maintains this is mostly lies however. The painting was later sold to wrestler 'Rikishi'.


Last edited by knights, 3/11/2013, 7:37 pm


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Re: Truth in Lies 5


Arts Hole Magazine. July 2011. Rough – needs proofreading / send to editor also - Mel.

OKRA
The mind of a genius
THE NEW DA VINCI

Melvin Hagg, 2011.


Not much is known of Derek Okra, bar the obvious knowledge of his time as a spirit medium. A private man, I have arranged to meet him at his secret location by unconventional means. His manager John Wusso, told me before my meeting that he will arrange for me to be picked up but there was no set date for the interview. “It could this month or next [sign in to see URL] won't know when. We'll just pick you up.” Wusso said. This left me rather bemused, I must admit.
Today
On leaving my house in Kensington, London I was held at gunpoint, had a cloth bag thrown over my head and was bundled in the back of van by a rather angry Irishman. This is the unconventional means, I speak of. For a second, I honestly though I'd upset the IRA. “You're to see OKRA!” The Irishman piped up. Now I knew where I was going. I'd heard Wusso and Okra were weird, but this was unnecessary. Anyhow, for what seemed like an eternity I was stuck in that van with a farting Irishman and the still unknown driver. I suspect the driver may have been Wusso, but can't say for sure.
The Studio
When the cloth bag was taken from off my head, I saw the Okra studio. Then from out of nowhere, Okra himself – completely nude with a semi hard-on that was covered in red paint. I didn't know which way to look, as I can't say I ever seen another man's erect penis before and didn't know how to respond. Being sat down and trying not to look, I never saw it coming at me – Derek barged at me to introduce himself and his penis smacked my chin. It will forever be the most awkward moment of my life, as also John Wusso, seeing the discomfort I was in immediately started taking pictures with his camera.
Portrait
“I'm going to paint him” Okra demanded Wusso. He means me, by the way. I'm shocked and surprised. The artist called the new Leonardo Da Vinci wants to paint me. Wusso nodded. I am thrilled - now I couldn't care if there is a man with a now raging stiffy in front of me, for it is Okra. A genius. A legend of the fine arts world. To make it you must be unique, and he is certainly that.
I sat quiet at first, visibly shaken. Forever it seemed I was rubbing this horrible red paint off my chin. I eventually composed myself. “Would you mind if I interview you, Mr Okra?” I chimed as he was setting up a fresh canvas for his special lowered easel. “Yes, of course, dear boy! Call me Derek though, please.” he replied.
Next to his paints a jar of viagra for obvious reasons. Derek took several of these. One every five minutes, I recall. I remember thinking that it was rather dangerous to do that, but he seemed in control. He painted me, dabbing his willy into the paint as I asked the first pivotal question...

MH: Who is Dave Pike?
Derek's penis immediately went flaccid, I kid you not. He took another viagra, stroked his member and carried on painting though. He shirked the question. I ask another.
MH: What made you begin painting in this unusual fashion?
DO: I do not answer that question. It is a secret, which I and only one other person know the answer to.
MH: [sign in to see URL] does it feel like?
DO: Uh, interesting. Sometimes it's like dipping your manhood in ice and then rubbing it up against sandpaper. It really varies on the materials, the paint and such like.
MH: What are your fears when painting?
DO: Assassins! Especially elderly women with Samurai swords. That old bint haunts me.
MH: Perhaps and I [sign in to see URL] what of your ability to maintain an erection for so long? I understand you work often 10 hours a day. Is that true? How can a man keep an erection for so long? Eventually your manhood may wither up and die.. Or you may die.
Derek rushes to his jar of Viagra. He takes another. In the far corner of the room, John Wusso sits on a stool holding his camera. He seems bothered by my question however. He gets up and mumbles something in Derek's ear. Derek nods. It is a very tense moment.
DO: Why do you ask such questions? Do you know who I am?
Derek continues to paint, but he is angry now.
MH: I'm sorry, Mr Okra.
DO: Derek, you mean!
MH: Yes.. Derek.
This interview is going nowhere. I change tact.
MH: Answer these in one word please. Mother?
DO: Breasts.
MH: Father?
DO: Cinderella.
MH: Family?
DO: Spirits.
MH: Art?
DO: Lies.
MH: Dave?
Derek pauses. I swear at this moment, Derek Okra and John Wusso will kill me. Weird they may be, but killers? Derek continues to paint and then something strange occurs. Derek holds his member, focusing on the canvas and then his eyes roll into the back of his head. He then collapses to the floor and starts having a seizure. I am in no doubt that he has taken an overdose of viagra.
Suddenly, I feel a very hard and painful knock to the back of my head. When I awake, I find myself on a empty construction site at 3am. A most curious moment, let me tell you. A piece of paper sticks out from my pocket, something written on it.

“Sorry we had to leave you.”
-W

Several hours back on the train, I get home. The portrait of me sits on the doorstep. A piece of art worth thousands just sits there. I am flabbergasted, in shock. When I look at this artwork, I truly understand why he is a giant in the arts world. It is beautiful. Derek Okra is a genius. I love him.

--Log in or sign up to see linked image content--

Melvin Hagg, 2011 © Arts Hole Magazine

---------------------------
MEMO to Melvin Hagg:
Editor: Art Hole Magazine, Prunella Ivey-Bowles
Your article.
On the insistence of a Irishman holding a gun to my head, I have been asked politely but with force to pull your Okra article/interview from this months magazine.
---------------------------
MEMO to Editor
Melvin Hagg, writer and art critic.
RE: Your article.
You wrinkly old coco-shunter! I am not happy about this! Look in your desk when you get back in your office and take a look at that big turd.
---------------------------
MEMO to Melvin Hagg:
Editor: Art Hole Magazine, Prunella Ivey-Bowles
RE:Your article.
Your services here are no longer required. Just spoken to head office. Management is not happy. Not only did you leave excrement in my desk drawer, you smeared it all over my kashmir rug. Please collect your things from the office and leave immediately. Security is waiting.
---------------------------
MEMO to Editor
Melvin Hagg, writer and art critic.
RE: Your article.
Is that all you have, !@#$. Are you forgetting that my great-uncle Sir Charles Laudat (iii)(the forth earl of the duchy of Cambridge) owns the publishing company that prints your god awful magazine. Yes, agreed - The article will not run! Sorry about the silly bother, Pru. It will not happen again. I will have my man servant, Sabdie Backtu clean up the poo.

Last edited by knights, 3/13/2013, 1:28 am


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Re: Truth in Lies 5


Arts Hole Magazine (c) November 2011.

A SPECIAL REPORT
By Melvin Hagg

Did Okra steal his unique style of painting?

The year is 2016. A devastating shock can be felt reverberating throughout the art world. Derek Okra, the founder of the cock art movement and inspiration to millions has been exposed as a fraud. His paintings now worthless, his art studio is located and protesters gather. Several celebrities who have bought his paintings are there. They want answers. They and a hundred other protesters break down security barricades and confront both Derek Okra and John Wusso. Anthony Hopkins, who has just spent 13 million dollars on Okra's latest but now worthless masterpiece 'Egg' and the wrestler 'Stone Cold' Steve Austin, along with whole host of others crucify John Wusso.
Okra, nude and covered with paint is seen begging for his life as his manager John Wusso utters his dying lasts words “!@#$ you, Romero! !@#$ you!” A bearded elderly man thrusts a spears into the torso of Wusso. His body slumps on the makeshift cross. Dead. Okra looks up. Around him a circle of angry faces. Okra is helpless. “I will explain!” He screams. A gunshot is heard. A figure is later seen exiting the building holding a gun. It is Whoopi Goldberg. Derek Okra is dead. His corpse at rest in a destroyed arts studio. Above him on the cross, John Wusso, also lifeless and very dead.
Of course, this is just a 'What if'. Yet many are posing this question - What if? Is Derek Okra a fraud? Is he the true originator of cock art? What role does his manager play in all this? And more importantly, did Derek Okra steal his idea from someone else?
Many have now come forward as the potential creators of the art form that Derek Okra and John Wusso has now earned millions off of.

Michael Morris, SC, USA – Amateur Art Historian / Conspiracy Theorist
“I make no bones about who I believe the original creator of this movement is. There is documented evidence to suggest it was he who calls himself the second son of godhead, ***** ****. During my time as a captive at the **** **** cult I often saw he unzip his pants and start painting with his penis. Derek was there. Derek stole ****'* idea. I'd stake my life on it.”

***** ****?

Helmut Hesshesmitd, Düsseldorf, Germany – Artist
“I am the creator of the cock art movement. Ask anyone? I have been doodling with my tadger on lavatory walls for years in the backstreet’s of many a German town. I insist he pay me my cut of money for stealing my idea.”

Helmut?

....

Early rough / proofread/ send to editor
---------------------------
MEMO to Melvin Hagg
Editor: Arts Hole Magazine, Prunella Ivey-Bowles
This will not be printed!
Are you trying to get us all killed, you maniac!?
 ---------------------------
MEMO to Editor
Melvin Hagg, writer and art critic.
RE: This will not be printed!
On the contrary, I believe this is very relevant. I believe through my contact with Michael Morris, that Orka is a fraud. I have put forward a genuine and true to life scenario of what may happen if he is exposed as a fraud in the first couple of paragraphs. Then given my sources space of the page below to reveal what they know. This is worth printing, Pru.
---------------------------
MEMO to Melvin Hagg
Editor: Arts Hole Magazine, Prunella Ivey-Bowles
RE: This will not be printed!
You have systematically failed to understand English and obviously weren't able to read what I said in my memo. ARE YOU TRYING TO GET US ALL KILLED, YOU MANIAC!?
 ---------------------------
MEMO to Editor
Melvin Hagg, writer and art critic.
RE: This will not be printed!
You asked for a 3k word essay on the possible state of the arts world in five years time. I was providing you with something relevant to that brief and you come back at me all arsey, once again.
---------------------------
MEMO to Melvin Hagg
Editor: Arts Hole Magazine, Prunella Ivey-Bowles
RE: This will not be printed!
Congratulations. You must now provide me with either a forty thousand word essay on Tracey Emin's 'My Bed' or a fifty thousand word essay detailing why Damien Hirst is the greatest artist of all time. It will be in next weeks magazine. The dead-line is in two days.
 ---------------------------
MEMO to Editor
Melvin Hagg, writer and art critic.
RE: This will not be printed!
You know how I feel about both of these artists and their ilk, yet you torture me with having to write pleasant things about them. You will forever languish in hell for this torture. Hail Jesus. You have created an enemy in me. I will have my revenge.
---------------------------

Gone too soon
TRAGIC DEATH OF A MUCH LOVED ARTS CRITIC
Editor of Arts Hole Magazine dies in MYSTERIOUS PARAGLIDING CRASH/ACCIDENTAL SHOOTING
Prunella Ivey-Bowles
12-07-1948 - 10-12-11
At her funeral today, Melvin Hagg gave an emotional eulogy today of a friend and colleague “who brought light where there was darkness and smile whenever her presence was felt.” He went on to describe her as an “Unimaginably talented arts editor and a gifted artist, in her own right”. Melvin who replaces her as editor of Arts Hole magazine, also shared the shock of learning of her death. “I was frozen. I couldn't believe she was gone. I imagined she'd be heading our wonderful magazine for decades to come.” Her widowed husband Roger Ivey-Bowles also spoke, telling of “A marriage of tranquillity”. One of her eight children said “My life will never be complete without her ever guiding wisdom.” On hearing this, Melvin Hagg burst into tears and had to leave the church, screaming “NO!!!” as he exited.

What is unknown is how she met her end. Her husband said his wife had decided to go out for a walk. She was later discovered dead in harness attached to a paraglider, hundreds of metres up Mount Gaskill, but was also riddled with bullets entry wounds. It is believed she was shot by a mad poacher with a handgun, who mistook her for a Quetzalcoatlus, a flying dinosaur that has been extinct for several million years. The poucher, Gordon William Betts was later found with a single self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head. In a note left by his body, he apologised for the mistake, but honestly thought Prunella Ivey-Bowles was a flying dinosaur that was out to kill him.

For the foreseeable future, the entire art world is in shock. Tributes in the form of art work such as the 'Grave' installation from Tracey Emin, which features an empty paraglider, several bullets and a grave have been called masterpieces by Melvin Hagg.
Derek Okra also played on the Paraglider theme. His painting 'Prunella in Heaven' depicts her on her way to heaven in her paraglider. His other paintings in the tribute trilogy series are 'Prunella', a portrait of Ivey-Bowles, as well 'Gordon', a historical rendering of the moment Gordon William Betts shot Prunella.

--Log in or sign up to see linked image content--
Prunella in Heaven, Derek Okra, 2011.
Sold to Sheik Omar Al Mohamady of Saudi Arabia for an undisclosed figure.
--Log in or sign up to see linked image content--
Prunella, Derek Okra, 2011.
Sold to Simon Cowell for an undisclosed figure.
--Log in or sign up to see linked image content--
Gordon, Derek Okra, 2011.
Sold to 'Stone Cold' Steve Austin for an undisclosed figure.

In his last words in his eulogy, Melvin said “We will miss you, Pru”

The whole arts world agree, Melvin.

Last edited by knights, 3/14/2013, 12:26 am


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Re: Truth in Lies 5


Will he open the door? Who or what awaits? Is it Bulderberg Group stooges sent to silence Dave? If anything he or Cones ever said was anything near the truth, wouldn't the evil overlords try to make him disappear? Or better yet, is there a Raptillian behind the door, waiting to plant it's eggs in his face? Sweet revenge from the Royles-the house of Wenser nee planet Ziod?

Dave opens the door and sees the face of Wusso.

"Get lost, loser." says Dave. "This isn't the Rokkie Harror revival."

"Where is Derek?!" says Wusso, walking into my room.

"I wouldn't know and you can turn around and let yourself out!" says Dave.

"You don't understand, Mr. Pike." says Wusso. "We've got to keep the cock-art flowing. Cock-art is the people's opiate!"

Dave picks up a reading lamp. He intends something bad here. Wusso doesn't notice; he's only worried about finding the man that earns his income for him.

"One question, before I pee on your torch, Wusso: Was Yhon Wusso's Midnaght some kind of allegory?" says Dave.

"It was all about making films in the armpit of the East Coast" says Wusso. "I'm the concerned father of the narrative. Romero and company are the drifters that pick up the daughter. The bloodthirsty deity the family serviced was, of course, the greenback!"

"Did you even watch the film?" says Dave.

"That's an unnecessary waste of time" says Wusso. Dave takes a step towards him with the lamp. He raises it, intended to take a swing at Wusso: just like squashing a bug, but decidedly more just. "Sing the theme song with me: 'Midnaght at your door!!!"

Dave takes another step: "I am sick of you would-be Hollyweird types. You sit around Pittsbargh worrying about how many people will see your latest piece of arrgt. Be honest about it. It bothers you that you never made a big film, a good film, or anything that anyone could ever care about. You never got to put your name on a talented person's work. Not even good enough to sit in the bathroom near a film production, much less fart a screenplay. Now, it's time to put you in the spare parts bin, Wusso!"

Then Derek enters and is shocked! "Ach!" he says.

In Eastern thought, they put forth that the end is just a beginning, but is it so? Just fantasy?(these posts will improve, i give my solemn promise, i swear to verbally rupture the innards of Wusso....)
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I heard his voice. That cackling “Ach!”. I turned around to look him in the face. It was him. My old friend and trusted confidant. My history with this man went back decades. I had not seen him for four plus years. He looks strained, maybe appalingly aged as to how I remember him last too, as if his life had been one stressful event after another. Cock art had destroyed my friend. I knew it was a bad idea to begin with. I only had myself to blame for this.

Bizarrely, Derek was dressed as Superman. They were an odd looking pair, Okra and Wusso, I must admit. There Derek was in his tight lycra superman costume and Wusso, a man of at least sixty-five, dressed in just a pair of denim dungarees, a pair of flimsly £1 plimsolls and oddly wearing somekind of red hankerchief around his neck. He looked a bit like a scary gypsy, just sort who pop up on your door every so often to ask if you need your drive tarmacked or your gutters cleaned. Wusso was an odd looking fellow, that's for sure, thick rimmed glasses and scraggy unkempt hair to boot. Whilst I wanted to crack him round the face I knew it would cause me a lot of trouble where I am, so I slowly put down the lamp and stood crossed armed, staring them both down.
Derek was also carrying a vintage boom-box. He pressed play to a cassette that was in the tape deck. A song to go with costume; the theme from superman the movie. Never would I have expected this. The music played as we talked.
“Hipperto-ho, Mr David sir,” Derek wallowed. “We are here in peace.”
I held my finger to my lips as if to gesture silence.
“Do you know how much trouble you could put me in, being here?” I said quietly “Peace isn't the word. The pair of you can !@#$ right off as far as I'm concerned. They'll have you in here with me! Do you want that Derek?!”
“Who's that, eh?” Derek mumbled awkwardly. “Your wife?”
“Ah, don't you worry about a thing,” Wusso said to reassure me. “Neil O'Neil is here going over some things while we [sign in to see URL]'s our friend. He like to sort these things out. No harm will come to anyone [sign in to see URL] must admit, you look a lot different to how I imagined. The way Derek spoke of you, he made me picture some brooding great hunk.”
“Oh, you are polite Mr Wusso! You really are a charmer, you know that. Right?” I said, wagging my finger to his face. Then it occurred to me what I had done all those years before.
“Do you remember, Derek?” I asked him.
“Remember what?” He replied, still bobbing his head to the superman theme.
“I, uh, I hypnotised [sign in to see URL] never knew about about.”
“You what!?” He replied angrily.
“When we were at Pike Town, I used to hypnotise you whilst you slept. I did it for weeks. I even made you believe in you subconscious mind that I was the sexiest man alive. Then...”
“What?!” Both Derek and Wusso chimed at the same time.
“Well, I sort of led you on the path of greatness in the arena of [sign in to see URL] gave you your gift, Derek. It was me.”
“I knew it!” Wusso yelled. “I tell you now Derek, if you weren't dosed up on MR V (viagra) and speed, you'd be ever so slightly pissed right now.”
Wusso points to Derek. “He's off his face.”
“Oh” I reply.
“That doesn't mean I am not pissed though,” Wusso continued “This man earns me a fortune. He's the reason, I came to this stinking pit of a place. He seems to think you may be able to help us.”
“Help how? With what” I asked.
“He's stuck!” Wusso barked. “He can't paint all too well, and when he can't paint, we lose money. It's causing us problems. He seems to think in his semi-conscious, drug addled mind you hold the key to unlocking his potential again, which given that you gave it to him in the first place should be a given. You must do this! A very angry man is currently looking for us. He's angry 'cause he gave Derek money to paint him again, then Derek ran off on one of his drug binges.”
“Drug binges!?” I screamed. “Derek never touched even a drop of alcohol when I knew him. He once got bummed by some Nazis in prison and tried to kill himself by drinking 30 cups of tea, but real [sign in to see URL]? Drugs? The two don't go.”

Derek still bobs his head to Superman theme which has begun playing again from the beginning. He starts to mumble the theme: “Naaah nah nah nah naaaah, nah nah naaah..”
Wusso reacts to this by pulling a small cane out of his dungarees. He whacks Derek violently, in time with music, almost spurred on by it. I don't know how to react. Derek falls to floor. The boombox smashed against floor with him. The superman theme ceases to play. Derek sobs like a toddler. Wusso continues to hit him.
“Baby must behave! Baby must behave!!” Wusso yells at Derek.
It is a strange sight.
I'm determined to do something. This man Wusso is using my old friend and has now got him mixed up with drugs. I know what I must do. The only thing that would really ever solve this is to take Derek artistic prowess away from him for good. A knife in that drawer might do it, I think. Cut off his manhood, then stab out Wusso's [sign in to see URL].. No! No! No.. Not thinking straight. De-hypnotise him. That is the only way. Wusso will be even more pissed off, when he finds out but what the hell.. it makes my stay here that much more entertaining watching Derek and Wusso fall out of favour with the art world and all the entertainment I'll get from their subsequent ruin.
“Baby must behave!” Wusso yells as he whacks Derek again, then kicking him in the legs.
“Stop it!” I bellow at Wusso.
He stops. Beads of sweat trickle down his forehead. The beating has tired him out. Derek lies on the floor in a foetal position, he continues to sob.
“Do you know what this stupid, stupid man has done to me!” Wusso screams. “He's ruining me!
Debt... Drugs... Gambling. ”
“Gambling too?” I ask.
Wusso leans up against the wall. He looks down on a pathetic looking Derek.
“Yes.. He's a compulsive gambler. He just bets and bets. But not any old bet, silly bets. He once put 3 million on the world ending the next day. It lost.”
“My god.. his mind just isn't with it.” I reply.
“His mind and his artistic genius, when its on the go, can cover the drugs and the gambling expenses, but once he falters like this we get !@#$. We're slowly becoming broke. We owe the taxman about 40 million pounds. And our so-called clients aren't happy about payin' for !@#$ they haven't received. The stress of it will kill me. ”
“My [sign in to see URL] there anything else?”
“Yes. Rent boys.”
“Derek isn't gay though,” I retort. “Derek is straight.”
“Is he now?” Wusso says doubting me as he looks down on Derek. Again.
I kneel down, I face Derek. I know what I must now do. Mysteriously, the theme from superman the movie starts playing again on the boom-box.
“Derek...” I say quietly, almost whispering so Wusso won't hear “Atomised brain becomes normal again. Atomised brain becomes normal again. Atomised brain becomes normal again.”
Should what I have said reach his [sign in to see URL] may [sign in to see URL]!.Something is happening.
Derek comes to. The old Derek. I see the glint in his eye. It is Derek Okra. The affect of any drugs gone almost instantaneously. We both stand up.
He walk up towards Wusso. He headbutts him. He walks towards me, I put my arms out to hug him. He headbutts me. He storms off, his red superman cape fluttering in the air as he leaves the room.
As Derek exits, a Burly man walks in. Neil O'Neil.
“Let's roll boss, we have to go now.” He tells Wusso.
“Okay, Okay!” Wusso yelps, regaining his footing and making for the door. “Are you coming or not?” Wusso asks me.
“I can'[sign in to see URL]'m sorry but-” I try to explain more.
“-You can and you are! Come with us!” Wusso cuts in.
I nod, then follow them both into the long hallway. At the end of the hallway, Derek waits. On seeing us, he walks away. His cape flutters again as he makes his exit.

Outside in car, I wave goodbye to the place I called home for two years. A man's face is pressed up to one of the windows. I wave at him too. He pulls down his pyjama bottoms and presses his bare bottom to the glass. I turn away in disgusts as he starts !@#$ against the window pane.

A siren is heard sounding out. An alarm of some kind, it is ominous.

Driving away we pass a sign: 'Broadmoor Hospital for the Criminally Insane'.

As we leave, several doctors come running out in white coats through the main doors. A few guards come running out also.
Moments later, hundreds of patients come streaming out. It is a scene of absolute chaos. The doctors and guards soon find themselves being ganged up on by murderers, rapists and other creeps. Most of the patients just run out and away though, screaming with joy.

“I deactivated all the doors. Those doctors are fucked!” The Irishman says, laughing. “They'll have their hands full for weeks capturing all those crazy bastards.”

We drive on, speeding as we exit out of the hospital grounds.

“How did you end up in there?” Wusso asks.
 “Derek knows.” I reply.
Derek sits in silence. A single tear drops from his eye. He is deep in thought. God only knows what he is thinking. He probably wants to kill me for putting him through all he has put up with over the last few years.


Last edited by knights, 3/17/2013, 11:45 pm


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Re: Truth in Lies 5


A little while later while the Irishman drives, Wusso's phone buzzes. He lifts it to his head, a look of horror as the person speaks.
“It's him,” Wusso mouths to me. “The bad man.”
I snatch the phone from Wusso.
A mad, husky voiced American man screams, “You son of !@#$, I want my paintings, or my money back now! You damn son of a !@#$! I paid you four months ago for those painting and you don't come up with the goods. You want to fight this thing out, Wusso! I might just come find your asses and we can clear this up, right now! Hey?!You know Wusso, I wouldn't mind kicking your ass, you stupid god-damn [sign in to see URL]. . Nobody screws me! Wusso doesn't. Okra doesn't. What I'll do is I'll find you, then I'll kick this living crap out of yah! What I do ain't none of your business... Expect me. I'm Coming for yah.”
“Who are you?” I ask politely.
“Who in the hell are YOU! This is the Texas rattlesnake. Put Wusso back on, now goddammit, or I'll kick your ass too!” The caller replies.
I hang the call up. I hand the phone back to Wusso.
“Who was that man?” I ask Wusso.
“His name is Austin, 'Stone Cold' Steve Austin. And he is why you need to help us. He is a very dangerous man. He's a an ex-wrestler. He along with a few others are after our blood and would see us killed for what we have done with their money. Sean Penn, sent us a bullet last week. What do you think that was supposed to mean, eh? For other reasons too- Patrick Stewart, Martin Short, Glenn Close, and also Joss [sign in to see URL] owe these people serious money. Millions. Patrick Stewart and Martin Short regularly stands outside my house at night dressed all in black, like ninjas. I fear, they mean to me harm alone for what I have done, but Derek's life is in as much danger. This is why Derek needs his head screwed on and needs to be painting. If not we're in some seriously hot water, and ultimately, our deaths with come it.”

As the car drives along a roaring sound coming behind is heard. A man on a quad bike is seen. The man has a bald head, denim shorts and a black biker jacket with '3:16' written on.

“My god, it's him!” Wusso screams.
“Who?” I cry back, frightened.
“Steve Austin!” Derek barks, terrified.

The Irishman hits the brakes on the car. Austin's quad bike smashes into back of it with an almighty bang. Steve Austin flies through the air like a rag doll as the force of the crash sends his body over the top and in front of the car, hitting the concrete with a thud. The Irishman continues driving. He runs the car over Austin's motionless body, then reverses and goes over the top of him again.

The car stops.

Whilst we sit inside, Derek exits the car. He gestures to Irishman something and then the Irishman passes him a gun.

On the outside of the car, Derek looks in at me, Wusso and the Irishman. I can't think what must be running through his mind. He then walked out towards Steve Austin and shoots at him. He was probably already dead. This Austin fellow had obviously caused a lot of grief for Okra and Wusso though.
As Derek walked back towards the car, he looked ever so camp in his superman costume. He tried to give off an air of bravado, by looking back at Austin's corpse and holding the gun out again, gangster style. He mouthed word “MOFO” repeatedly at the corpse like some Blood or Crip member also, which was strange. It just looked odd. Derek tried bless him, but he looked a total knob. Maybe it was what he wearing, I don't know.
Derek got back in the car, the Irishman continued driving.
“Check this out, Dave!” Wusso said, extending his mobile phone in my direction.
“What is it?” I enquire.
“It's my movie about Derek and me. Well, the trailer.” Wusso explained. “I made it in co-opperation with a well known movie studio. It's coming out soon.. Just watch. Here goes...”

The trailer plays on the mobile phone. I will watch it with my nodding, serious and happy face so that Mr Wusso will not be upset if it's utter garbage.

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

TRAILER:

Melancholic piano and violin music is heard.
WUSSO FILMS logo flashes up and fades away.

FADE IN:

[Arts studio][INT][DAY]
A man is seen from behind in a grim looking arts studio. Derek Okra. His bare bottom exposed as he works on another masterpiece on his special lowered easel. Okra turns around, his manhood censored.
He stares at the camera for 30 seconds, unblinking.
Then he cries out Shakespearean-like to the camera:

OKRA:
Is this not art!?

NARRATOR:
Patrick Stewart as Derek Okra.

FADE IN:

[Central London Street] [EXT] [NIGHT]
Derek Okra and John Wusso walk together down a busy central London street. They stop just outside a busy restaurant. The street is bustling with people milling past.

WUSSO:
Don't you give up, Derek! Don't you ever give up!

NARRATOR:
Martin Short As John Wusso.

CUT TO:

[Tate Modern Art Gallery] [INT] [ DAY]
Two men examine an Okra painting.
ART EXPERT:
Never in all my life have I seen such genius.


ART EXPERT #2:
Believe me, I was thinking [sign in to see URL] the method.

CUT TO:

Dramatic action music plays.
[Duisberg Okra Public show] [EXT] [DAY]
Derek paints with his Penis. Censored close-ups are shown. The camera pans out. An elderly woman (Glenn Close) comes rushing out with a Samurai Sword. John Wusso smashes the woman in the face with his camera. Derek Okra runs away crying.

NARRATOR:
He thought he could cope.
CUT TO:

[Drug dealers den][INT][NIGHT]
Derek is shown buying drugs from two black gang members.

DEREK:
I need some pills.

One gang member points to a sheet of old newspaper on the floor. 'Derek Okra: World's greatest artist proclaims TATE modern'

GANG MEMBER:
DON'T I KNOW YOU!?

GANG MEMBER #2:
Let's do him in-

GANG MEMBER:
-Give us your money, give us your dough. NOW!!

Gang member #2 pulls out a sawn-off shotgun and holds it to Derek's head. Derek faints. The camera focuses on the body as in slow motion it drops to floor.

NARRATOR:
A man plagued by his demons. A man plagued by his Genius. A shocking true story.

CUT TO:

[Betting shop] [DAY] [INT]
Derek rushes in holding his credit card. He holds it out to a pretty female cashier.

DEREK:
What kind of odds would I get on a Monkey, uh, an ape, finishing the tour de france, this year?

FEMALE CASHIER:
Is this a joke, mister?

The camera pans on Derek's desperate looking face.

DEREK:
No, I'm quite serious. I want two millions pounds on that bet.

NARRATOR:
Driven to self destruction. A mind lost. His art his only saviour.

FADE IN:

[The Vatican] [NIGHT][INT]
A shadowy group of Jesuit priests and monks dressed in black cloaks gather in a circle and whisper to each other.

JESUIT PRIEST
That so called piece of art must be destroyed. Who here among will give his life to end this evil and see that these two worlocks of satan never besmirch the holy see again?

A cloaked monk steps forward.

JESUIT MONK
I will do thy bidding, me lord!

NARRATOR:
Murder... [sign in to see URL].

CUT TO:

[Public Arts show] [DAY] [INT]
A monk (Joss Acklund) throws a molotov cocktail at the artwork 'Christian VS Jews'. The piece of art goes up in flames.
MONK:
This art is a blasphemy! Burn!! Burn!!! Yes!!! Burn!!!

Scared Arts patrons run away.
John Wusso challenges the monk.
WUSSO:
Now that wasn't very nice, sir.

Wusso slaps him gently on the hand.

MONK:
AAARRGGHHHH!!

The monk clutches his chest and drops dead.

CUT TO:

Inspiration feel good music plays:
[Art Studio] [INT] [DAY]
Derek is shown working away on his cock art like a maniac. Several cuts of him working on different pieces are shown.

NARRATOR:
Art was his saviour. Art became his passion. Art, his life.

[Auction Christies London][INT][EVENING]
An Okra painting is on display on a large screen in a jam packed auction room.

AUCTONEER:
 For sale, Lot number 201. A fine painting of the cock art movement. 'Dot #2' by Derek Okra. 2010. Can we start the bidding at twenty thousand pounds, please. Any bids?

CUT TO:
AUCTIONEER:
Eight-hundred thousand pounds to the gentleman at front. Any more bids?
CUT TO:
AUCTIONEER:
Two million pounds!
CUT TO:
AUCTIONEER:
Three million!
CUT TO:
AUCTIONEER:
Six Million pounds!
CUT TO:
AUCTIONEER:
SOLD!

The whole auction house sounds into a rapturous applause at the sale. The camera pans in on Okra and Wusso.

WUSSO:
We did it.

Derek turns to face Wusso, dramatically.

DEREK:
Yes we did.

NARRATOR:
A story of hope.

CUT TO:

[Art School] [INT][DAY]
About thirty male art students follow Derek's directions. All that is seen is their heads.

DEREK:
Just waggle it about a bit. You'll soon get the hang of it.

The camera pans down. All the male art students are nude. They are all working of special lowered easels and work on their own cock art. A naked Derek wanders the room examining the work of the students. He stops at one student's work and points at it. A painting of a little stick man with a smiley face is seen.

DEREK:
Look here, now! This is art! THIS IS ART!!

FADE IN:
TITLE CARD & NARRATOR: 'THE PASSION OF OKRA. A TRUE STORY'

NARRATOR:
Directed by JOHN WUSSO, The acclaimed director of NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD 2: BEN'S REVENGE.
 
FADE TO BLACK:
A lone voice is heard.
DEREK:
IS THIS NOT ART?!

NARRATOR:
Coming soon to the hallmark channel.
------------------

The trailer ends. I just sit back. I can't decide if it's good or not. I nod to Wusso.
“It's very good, Mr Wusso” I lie.

Derek in the front passenger seat of the car turns his head in my direction.
“Patrick Stewart,” Derek says shaking his head. “Patrick Stewart.”

Moments later I fall asleep.

When I awakened we had arrived somewhere. Derek explained...

Last edited by knights, 3/17/2013, 11:38 pm


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3/17/2013, 11:36 pm Link to this post Send Email to knights   Send PM to knights
 
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Re: Truth in Lies 5


(Bonus post)
On a TV somewhere in Suburban America, the following plays out whilst a fat dorky guy sits and watches it, eating his burger and fries.

A TV show about guns is on.
“We're here with Michael Morris,” The handsome male presenter explains “He's a keen gun-owner and heads up a religious community just South of here. Why are guns so important to you and your people?”
“Isn't it obvious. They help us protect us from tyrannical government!” Morris yells at the presenter.
“Oh, of course” The presenter says.
“The shotguns also scare away dogs a night.”
“How so?”
“Well if you blow their damn faces off they are no longer a threat.”
The presenter walks up to a table, Morris follows him. On the table sits a uzi machine gun.
“Why do you need that one?” The presenter asks.
“It's one I carry and conceal-”

The screen cuts out. The fat dork sits up, annoyed at his gun program being interrupted...

ABC NEWS NEWSFLASH
A pretty female anchor with serious face looks out to camera and begins to speak:
“The wrestling superstar, Steve Williams, better known as Steve Austin, has been murdered. A man walking his dog, near Colbey Wells, on the south coast of England discovered the wrestler's body this afternoon by the side of a busy road in the rural British countryside. Police believe he was run over and then shot dead. Reaction to news has been almost instantaneous on twitter and social media sites. 'Sad news about Steve Austin. RIP' Said Bill Cosby' and Vince Mcmahon, Austin's former boss said 'I can't believe my cuddly, bald headed, friend has died. I am in total shock.'
In other news and possibly related: The UK's largest maximum security hospital Broadmoor for the Criminally Insane has has its own security compromised. It's unknown what happened, but around six hundred dangerous prisoners escaped today and most of them remain at large. Police are [sign in to see URL]. That breaking news: Wrestler Steve Austin, beloved by wrestling fans as a heel and known for his WWF championship victories has been murdered in England, today. It is understood, though this is unconfirmed, that Austin was in England to audition for a role in Kevin Spacey's new theatre production of 'The Golden Girls'. Steve Austin is dead, murdered today. He was 48 years old.”

The fat dork runs over to the television and turns it off. He exits his living room, goes down a hallway and into a bedroom.
 
In the bedroom, it is full of wrestling memorabilia, in particularly of Steve Austin related memorabilia . There are posters of him covering the walls, cups, a lunchbox, a life-size cardboard cut-out, action figures, dvds, videos, practically anything you could buy relating to Austin. On one part of the bedroom is about thirty different photos of the fat dork and his hero.

The fat dork falls to the floor like Willem Dafoe in Plattoon and his arms flail as if he too has been shot and is dying. He looks around him. He tries to contain his emotion like his hero, Steve Austin. But he can't. Looking at the memorabilia and staring up at his life-size cut out is too much.

“WHY!?....WHY!?” Fat Dork cries as loud as he can.

Outside in her Garden, an elderly woman named Doris tends to her flowers but is stirred by the noise of fat dork coming from the house next door.
She's looks up at the window from where the sound is coming from. Again, the dork cries out. Seconds later, the glass in the window shatters as the fat dorks throws himself out and falls painfully to the ground.

Doris rushes over to assist and aide him. He is seriously injured but conscious. Doris lifts his now bloody head as he lies on the floor.

“What is the problem, my boy?” Doris asks sweetly.
“I want to be with Steve Austin.” Fat dork replies.
“What do you mean?” Doris asks, a curious look forming on her face.
“Stone Cold Steve Austin is DEAD!” Fat dork answers.

Doris gets up, leaving fat dork on the ground to die. She runs out intentionally into the road crying “No!”. An 18-wheeler truck runs her down, as instantly she is crushed and killed.

The driver with a cowboy hat stops his truck. He jumps out and looks to see what he hit.
He sees the fat dork, completely not realising it was a woman he hit with truck, not fat dork.

“Boy, did I just hit you?” Cowboy driver asks.
“No, you hit her.” Fat dork replies, pointing to a decapitated head sticking out from a flower bed.
“Oh !@#$!” Cowboy driver yelps as he sees the head. “Well, what the !@#$ happened to you, boy!?”
“Stone Cold Steve Austin is DEAD!” Fat dork answers.

Cowboy driver silently stands and walks away from Fat Dork. He walks towards his truck and then enters the cabin. He closes the truck door. A gunshot rings out, then blood splatters the windows of the truck.

Moments later, the police arrive. Seconds after speaking to Fat Dork, they all shoot themselves.

Within an hour, Fat Dork lies on the ground with around 300 bodies surrounding him. A cacophony of terrifying noises can be heard. Gunshots. Cars crashing. Fires. Screams. Glass breaking. Etc.

In his dazed state he looks up and sees a bright white ethereal light.

“A miracle.” Fat Dork says weakly.

From the light he sees Steve Austin appear in robes and sandals.

“What is it, my child?” Austin asks.
“You died.”

The heavenly Austin apparition pulls a magnum revolver from his robes and kills himself.

Fat Dork's head drops back, his eyes close and he has seemingly died.

(Do not follow up this post)

Last edited by knights, 3/19/2013, 2:34 am


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Re: Truth in Lies 5


(Bonus post 2)
On a stage in London's West End, the theme to The Phantom of the Opera plays.
The stage in set for a practice run it appears as the seats in the theatre are empty, bar one.

The theme in its first minute, a nervous Patrick Stewart stands by the stage in the wings to the right waiting for his cue. Another man is there, Martin Short. He is dressed much differently to Stewart as will be revealed.

Patrick Stewart appears from the stage wings and walks fancily in time to the music onto the stage.

“The Phantom of the Opera is Here” Stewart sings in full Phantom dress including mask. “The Phantom of the Opera is heeerrrrreeee!”

Stewart dances as the orchestra practices the theme. He is an awkward dancer but that doesn't stop him from giving it a go.

“Na Nah Na [sign in to see URL] Nah!!! The Phantom of the Opera is Heerrreeee!” Stewart bellows.

An ever so camp gay man, gives instructions and offers praise to Stewart, from a Seat in the front of the theatre. “Very good, Patrick. Super stuff, Darling. [sign in to see URL]...” He says effeminately.
“The Phantom of the Opera is heeerrrreeeee!!!” Stewart pipes up.

The camp theatre man stands up. He points an instruction to someone above the stage. The two gives thumbs up to each other as theme is in full swing.

“And cue Martin!” The camp man screams.

From the back, a gondola floats in on a now smoke ridden stage. Emerging from the smoke, dressed as the female lead, Martin Short. He has a dodgy looking curly, brunette wig, embarrassing white make-up with bright red lip-stick and is wearing a Victorian-style, white dress.

To match Patrick Stewart's terrible dancing, Martin's voice.

“Uh, Aaaaahhhhh!...The Phantom of the Opera is heeerrrreeeee, aaaahaahhhhhh.” Short sings Opera style, awfully of out of tune and time with the orchestra.

The Orchestra halts. The two would-be Phantom of the Opera stars are stunned.

“What the hell is this!” Short rages, exiting the gondola and standing next to Patrick Stewart.

 The effeminate theatre man gets up from his seat, walks up the stage steps and talks face-to-face with the two stars.

“What is this? What was wrong with that!?” Short says continuing in his stage rage. He takes off his with wig and throws it at the camp theatre man.
“Now behave, deary.. It was very good, [sign in to see URL] you need to work on your timing, darling” The camp theatre guys says to calm him down.

All the members of the orchestra in the pit, in front of the stage immediately stand up and watch.

Stewart stands silently watching, as Martin Short kicks the theatre man in the leg. He shakes his head.

“You fired!” The camp theatre man screams at Short.
 Martin Short face looks drained. Saddened, he bursts into tears. Patrick Stewart goes to comfort his friend. Stewart hugs Short.
“Go backstage.. I'll sort this out, Shorty.” Patrick whispers.
Martin Short wanders off stage. As he exits, several other actors go to offer him support. He brushes them off and continues a sad journey, wanting alone time.

“You cannot fire, my good friend, Martin Short. He is irreplaceable. We have signed contracts.” Stewart says angrily, frowning at the theatre man.
 “Yes, I can. And I have, so deal with it, Darling.”
“This is a travesty, he kicked you, so you fire him. Please, please, think very carefully about this. He is a solid female lead!”
“He is NOT a female!.. On your insistence, you asked us to consider him for the part. We did just that. Yet, this will not work.”
“It will !@#$ work, you cock-sucking, !@#$-stabbing, !@#$!”

Everyone is silenced by Stewart's vulgar outburst. The camp theatre man stands open mouthed. Stewart automatically has a look of regret on his face.

“I'm sorry,” Stewart says extending his hand as a sign of peace. “You've upset me, though. Shorty is a very good of mine and I hate to see him out of work. He needs this!”
“YOU'RE FIRED!!!!” The theatre man screams, dramatically.
“WHAT?!” Stewart screams back.

Stewart removes his Phantom mask. He steps towards the theatre man.
“Ever been in an orchestra?” Stewart asks the theatre man, handing him his phantom mask.
“No.” The theatre man replies.
Patrick Stewart grabs the theatre man by the scruff of the neck and tosses him down into the orchestra pits from the stage with a painful thud. Patrick Stewart runs away cowardly.

Sometime later outside the theatre.
Two figures dressed in black ninja outfits stand, one very taller than the other. They look up as a giant poster for 'The Phantom of the Opera – Starring Patrick Stewart and Martin Short' is taken down.

“This is our predicament, Shorty. We seem to be stuck here. We need money and work to return to Los Angeles.” The taller Ninja says, obviously Patrick Stewart.
“Well if that dastardly John Wusso and his film wouldn't have brought us here in the first place-” Says the second smaller ninja, Martin Short.
“-I vow on my mother's life, I will have his heart.” Stewart says.
“I will kill Wusso, you can kill Derek Okra.”
“A grand idea. We play them in that tawdry little film, now we kill them in real life.”
“I hear Glenn Close has already got a contract killer out on Wusso, so we must act fast.”
“I agree, Shorty. Quick, dead, a bullet to the head.. Cut them up, feed them to pigs, our problem gone forever. Yet we must get our money back somehow in the process. I must a apologise, Shorty. I have caused us financial and career ruination because of all this. They won't even let me do the trek conventions any more, because of that film. Doing that film was a bad as making a pornographic feature with animals. I am sorry, Shorty.”
“We must find that arts studio. Wusso has seen us outside his house, already. He isn't likely to be there any more.”
“Good thinking, Shorty. To the arts studio. We will find it. We will get out money back and then !@#$ cut their throats.”
“..and shoot them in the head.”
“Yes, of course.”
“How are we for money, Patrick? I have 10 pence.”
“I have 50p.. That is all the money I have in the world.”
“Who needs money, Patrick? Can't we just do what any good ninja does well?”
“What's that, Shorty?”
“Why don't we go shoplifting, Patrick. That is how we'll get some money. We sell what we steal.”
“Steal?”
“Don't worry, Pat. We'll only be borrowing stuff. We can pay them back later.”
“Ah, I see. A fantastic idea!. They won't even see us will they?”
“No, they'll never even see us... We are the 'Ninja Shoplifters!'”
“Let's go to work!”

---

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Re: Truth in Lies 5


There's fog. And dwarves in vests. Some crazy music is playing in the distance: it sounds like nothing ever heard before; it must be some kind of mistake.

Dave says to Derek: "Where are we?"

Derek turns and gets really close to Dave-uncomfortably close-Riptillian skinbumping close-and says: "We're in your brain Dave."

Ham laughs and his white flannel suit changes to a robe like the Ghost of Christmas Present.

Derek smiles coldly and says "let's remember Ethelred and Calpurnea Wubbley. They were your friends, once upon a time. You would sit with them and discuss current events before they shunned you. They used to call you Bumpface and go on and on about the celebrities, the constantly annoyed Mid-East, and all the other daily nonsense. Remember why they pushed you away, Dave?"

Dave: "THEY WERE ASSHOLES!! THEY WERE ALWAYS ASSHOLES!! Possible Illiterati agents, right under my nose! It just took me some time to realize it."

"That's not what I was told, Dave" says Derek. "Wasn't there a scene in which you returned from the bathroom in the nude with your pecker pointing at Ethelred?"

Dave: "That never happened!"

"Were you expecting something with one or both of them, David?" asks Derek. "Were you not madly in love with Calpurnea(that boring little sweater girl), and also, though disgusted about it within yourself, in total heat for her husband Ethelred? Did you not daydream about making him 'tired like he had felled great trees'?"

Dave: "This is garbage, Derek. Where do you get such untrue filth?"

Derek: "No, Dave! I submit to you that those two crushed your dreams, David, and that, my friend, made you the hell-bent lunatic that you are! The nerve to brainwash me! Ham and I should make you wax my toilet!"

Last edited by abaddon1215, 3/20/2013, 3:11 pm
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