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Re: Truth in Lies 5

In London, outside of the famous Harrod's department store, two familiar figures stand with their hands up and surrounded by police.
“Take of your masks!” Yells a tubby British bobby.

The two men take off their masks to a gasps from the police and onlookers.
“We were going to pay!” Shouts Patrick Stewart.
“What on earth are you two doing shoplifting? Surely you could afford anything in there you'd like; Wait, pull that out now!” The tubby bobby says pointing to Martin Short's ninja pants.
“It's a French stick, officer.” Short replies, pulling it out.
“Well done, Martin,” Patrick Stewart says in a patronising tone.”Very rich [sign in to see URL] french stick. I told you that was a bad idea, Shorty.”
“Empty your pockets, Mr Stewart, please.. And whatever that is inside your top there.” Tubby demands.

Patrick Stewart empties his pockets of stolen goods. Amongst several bottles of expensive aftershave, a copy of season four of 'Star Trek: TNG' is revealed underneath his ninja top.
“Why steal something like that Patrick?” says Martin.
“A bit of the old nostalgia heals a wounded heart,” replies Patrick “I don't know why, Martin. I just grabbed it and stuffed it up my top.”
“I understand,” reassures Martin pulling something from underneath his top too. “...Inner Space.”

From the front of the department stores, its owner the equally famous Mohamed Al-Fayed storms towards the two shoplifters. He runs towards the pair of them with a slipper in his hand, which his waves wildly, while screaming something in Arabic. He slaps Martin Short over the head with slipper. The police intervene.

“You bastards!” Mohamed says, “Look!”
Muhammed points to a sign 'Shoplifters will be prosecuted.' He tosses the slipper at Patrick Stewart, who flinches like a small child. Mohamed then crosses his arms and stands proudly.
“I will sue you both for this! No bastard steals from Harrod's!”
Patrick Stewart sighs. Martin Short shakes his head.

The sound of speeding car roars near in the distance. Two coppers move in to handcuff both Patrick Stewart and Martin Short. Suddenly, a speeding yellow sports car screeches and side on smacks into Mohamed A-Fayed sending him flying painfully through the air. Everyone is stunned. A strange accident has occurred, it is thought. The police go to the aide of the injured Al-Fayed, who moans in agony.

“[sign in to see URL] sue you bastard too!” Al-Fayed yells at the sports car.

The car has blacked out windows and sits motionless. Everyone stares at the car. The driver side window opens. Another ninja mask peers out.

“What the...” Tubby bobby says.
“IT'S RICK, PATTY!” Martin cries to Patrick.

A gas cannister of some description is thrown out of the window of the car.

“Gas! Get down!!!” shouts Patrick.

The person in the car quickly puts a gas mask on. All those outside the car fall down to the ground affected by the gas which clouds the air in a thick grey fog. The car door opens, the figures exits to do something.

Sometime later in a car park far away, a small man standing by the yellow sports car, grimaces and lights up a cigar.
“My name is Rick Moranis, professional bad ass.” he says, then coughing on the cigar smoke.

Inside the car, Patrick and Martin lie asleep.


In suburban America. A street littered with a thousand corpses, amidst a blackened night sky, with the only light coming fires raging through dozens of houses.
“What have I done. What did I do to deserve this.” Dork says aloud, no soul to hear him speak.
Fat Dork gets to his feet, limping painfully over corpse after corpse.
“I have to leave this place. I have to start anew. I must never speak of Steve Austin's name again. My god, what have I done to deserve this?”

In the sky, a strange flash appears and a meteor rages down, causing Fat Dork to make a run and jump. Fat Dork looks up in the air, the light of the meteor gets closer by the millisecond, knowing his life will soon end. Boom!A strange red laser beam captures the meteor and breaks it into dust. Over head, not a meteor coming down, bust a cloud of meteor dust. Dork sighs with relief and even manages a smile.
“Thank you, Mr Laser [sign in to see URL] you.”

As the dust settles Fat Dork hears a moan, he instantly gathers himself, gets up and wanders towards the groaning survivor of his Steve Austin plague. As he get closer, he discovers an old man by an abandoned truck. Fat Dork goes to help the old man.
“Hey mister, uh, it's alright.”
The old man just groans.
“Do you want any help, sir?”
The old man shuffles his weight trying to stand.
“Let me help.”
The old man gets to his feet and then stumbles awkwardly to the ground.
 “Careful mister. Here, let me help.”
Fat dork goes to help the old man steady himself to stay upright. Fat Dork grabs the man's arm and instantly jumps back.
“Cold? What the--”
From behind him, another person is heard groaning.
Another person groaning.
“Okay, I should have figured.. Where is the camera?”
Fat Dork stares down the old man.
“You in on this? Very funny; Candid camera. Hmm. I'm not scared”
The old man just groans and he tries in vain to get to his feet. More people start groaning. A woman stands to her feet. She has an arm severed which hangs down loosely by the tendons.
“Oh [sign in to see URL] should be !@#$ dead.”
It is the woman he saw earlier, who unsuccessfully used shears to cut off her arms in a painful yet successful suicide attempt.
The woman lets out an agonizing and animal-like shriek and goes to attack Fat Dork.
“Oh, !@#$ you, !@#$!”
 Fat Dork runs like the wind pushing aside the woman as the adrenaline of fright kicks in.
Fat Dork stops at the top of his street. He looks back.. In the distance about twenty or so corpses now stand. He catches his breathe. The living dead follow him; slowly.
“What the hell did I do now.” He says as he hastily exits the scene of carnage. “!@#$ this !@#$; I'm out of here.”

Fat Dork stops to regain his breathe one more time as he gasps for air.
“Damn, I should've exercised more.”
The living dead make up more ground and get closer.

From a far distance up the street where the living dead wander and the mass of bodies lay, the silhouette of a large vehicle is seen. It is a mammoth beast of a thing; a monster truck. A hum is heard, which causes Fat Dork to look back again.
“Jesus H--”
The car revs up and zooms down the street crushing a horde of the undead as it approaches Fat Dork. Fat Dork leaps to one side, fearing he'll be hit, but the monster truck stops however and a man looks out at him. The monster truck driver opens his door.

“You better get in,” the driver says in broken English, calling down to Fat Dork “It's started.”
“What's started?”
“Das Ende, mein Freund, das Ende.”
“The end times is here, fatty!”
“Hey!..What do you mean the end times?”
“Look, you idiot.” The driver says, gesturing to another horde of the approaching undead.
“Get in, if you want to survive, fatty.”
“Enough of the 'fatty'.” Fat dork says as the driver holds out his hand and pulls him into the truck.
“What is your name, young man.” The driver asks.
“Dubois... Danny Dubois.”
“A Fat Dork, hey. That's is your true name, young man; Fat Dork.”
“My name is Danny Dubois, not Fat [sign in to see URL], let's go already.”

Outside the monster truck, a horde of the undead encircle. One even tries to climb up the side of the vehicle, which leads to the driver opening his door up to send it whizzing down to the ground. The driver starts the engine.

“This is everywhere, or soon to [sign in to see URL] should commandeer an aircraft and fly straight to Europe” The driver says to Fat Dork.
“Yes. Or England. America is done for. There are thousands of those creatures out there. Soon, millions.”
“What are they?” Fat Dork says looking out at the ever growing encircling horde.
“They are the living dead, Fat Dork; Zombies!”
“Get moving then, [sign in to see URL] name?”

The driver turns to face Fat Dork: “Mein Name ist Uwe Boll. Ich bin der größte deutsche Filmemacher in der Geschichte!”
“In English.”
“My name is Bloodsteve Rockyourface.”
“Okay, Steve. Let's get going.”
“Ah [sign in to see URL] Heimatland erwartet!”

Bloodsteve RYF hits the pedal and they begin moving swiftly. More of the undead are crushed and they speedily move away from the rest of the horde. As the truck turns a corner, a sign reads 'Welcome To Cheraw, South Carolina.'
Nearby, a man is seen in a carpark, pushing a shopping trolley filled with guns of all types. Fat Dork catches his gaze for a second, it is the man from the TV gun show, Michael Morris. Morris waves as if for Bloodsteve to stop, but the monster truck keeps on rolling.
“Hey, you !@#$!” Morris calls out.



3/25/2013, 6:05 pm Link to this post Send Email to knights   Send PM to knights
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Re: Truth in Lies 5

The Democratic People's Republic of Korea, Pyongyang

On a huge screen above some pictures of maps and aerial photographs, several pieces of A4 paper have been printed out with a letter on each, together they read 'Operation of actions against USA'.

In the room in a specially 'Dear Leader' tailored suit, an out of place westerner and two North Korean generals in full military garb. They are all seated at one end of a large conference table. Two double doors open with a bang. The men at the table turn and see a troubled looking Kim Jong-un, who pants, sweats heavily and rushes to sit at the other end of the table. Kim Jong-Un lights a cigarette and drags on it deeply in an anxious manner.

“Do you know what you have started, Mr America!” Kim Jong-un screams at the westerner.
“My leader Kim Jong-un. I, uh, I just thought it would be a good idea to finally get revenge on my country of birth.” replies the westerner.
“[sign in to see URL] great idea it was too, Mr Lopez. A biological weapon to bring back the dead, so they can eat the American's alive. Great idea, I thought myself.”

Kim Jong-un gets up and looks out onto the city from a colossal panoramic window. He stubs out his cigarette under his boot and then proceeds to light up another.
The scene outside the window is much like that surburban street in American. Hordes of the undead wander carelessly and attack the living. The sound of gun fire abounds too, as the North korean Army do the best to shoot the problem away.

“Position number 1! I want this cleared up!”
“Understood, sir!” A general says standing in salute.
“Ah, I too, understand, my dear leader.” Says the second general, standing to attention and giving salute.
“Well, get on then. Look at this...” Kim says gesturing with the two generals with his hand to come over to the window. “See, this is awful business. Must be cleared up and dealt with at once.”
As the three men survey the city from the window, they watch helplessly as a child and an old lady are torn to pieces by a pack of the undead. The westerner sits playing with an Ipad. He logs on to dead rekindled forum, types in his username 'abaddon1215' and his password 'secretcommunist'. He proceeds to respond to a post in the forum 'Role playing stories'.
'Bit busy at the moment. Cleaning the cellar, then polishing my trumpet. Caught up with things Sorr-'
The North Korean leader turns his head to see Morris typing away on the ipad.
“What is this!?” Say Kim Jong-un grabbing the ipad. “Ah.. A liar, a concealer, a conceited deceiver sent by the imperialists, no doubt!”
“You're confused, dear leader” Begs Mr Lopez.
One of the generals walks up to Kim Jung-un, whispering something in his ear as a desperate Mr Lopez looks on.
“Exposed,” Kim Jong-un continues “You honestly thought you'd get away alive in destroying my [sign in to see URL] MICHAEL MORRIS.”
“Mr communist alias is Lopez. No deceit was-” Morris pleads.
“DECIET! YOU ARE A EXPOSED LIAR! [sign in to see URL] UNDRESSED!” Kim Jong-un bellows.
“But Kim-” Morris is stopped by a gasp from the two generals.
“How dare you call me, Kim! I'm your 'General' or 'Dear Leader'!”
“Don't send me to the secret prison camps!” Morris cries aloud and scared.
Kim Jong-Un throws the ipad at Morris, who jumps up and quickly makes for an escape through the double doors. As he opens the doors, a line of troops stop him in his tracks. Kim Jong-Un laughs and the two generals follow his lead, laughing too. Then the line of troops start laughing. Morris stands uneasy and falls into a heap on the floor. The two generals go to pick up his limp body. As they bring him to his feet, they undress him down to his underwear.
“Going somewhere, Mr 'Lopez'.” One general says laughing in Morris' face.
Morris stands looking like a frightened sheep. To make matters worse, the fear of what may come makes him wet himself. All but Michael Morris laugh as urine trickles down his leg to the floor. Morris tries to fall limply down again but is held by his arms by the two generals.
Kim Jong-Un stands over the desperate naked heap that is Michael Morris.
“I want him executed, this morning. Hang his body from a lamp post in Kim Il Song square, as a warning to other traitors and western imperialist scum.”
He spits in Morris' face. Michael instinctively kicks out at the dictator, which is followed by gasps from generals and soldiers. A soldier with a serious look about him, moves in to defend the dear leader and smashes a rifle butt into Morris' head. Michael Morris is knocked out by the blow.
Outside in a secured government block, a bloodied Morris stands wearing all but his underpants tied to a wooden post. A firing squad lines up and then one the generals gives the signal to fire. They all shoot. Morris falls down dead.

“Noooo!!!!” A man screams awakening from an afternoon nap. It is the man from the previous scene. A dream it would turn out but what awaits him equally terrifying. The zombiefied corpse of the woman with the badly severed arms moves in to pounce on Morris as his lies back on his couch. Jumping up as if he's a toothbrush jammed up his arse, bristle ended, Morris runs for the opened front door. For a second, he can't believe his eyes. The carnage out there is real though. A horde of zombies approach on seeing him, but he can't move. He's stuck, his body paralysed by fear.
In his mind, as if hearing it as if it were playing, the music from the opening few minutes of the Day of the Dead plays as the zombies approach him.
“This must still be a dream.” Morris says he picks up a piece of 2x4 and runs at the undead. He smacks one round the head and it seems hopeless, as the zombie barely flinches despite being walloped round the head.
“What the heck-”
Out of the corner his eye, a tall, oddly dressed, black man approaches pushing a shopping trolley filled with guns, ammunition and some other blunt weapons. On seeing Michael's peril, the black man goes in to help. He hoists a shotgun up in the faces of the zombies and one-by-one he obliterates any threat. Morris goes into help, smacking several of the fallen zombies over their broken up heads with his 2x4, which is unnecessary but he feels he needs to make an effort.
The black man stands about 6 foot 8, is bare chested, bar a large wooden crucifix and wears Bermuda shorts along with flip flops. Morris stares him down, unsure what to make of his saviour.
“I came here to kill the Fat Dork!” The black man shouts.
“Who is Fat Dork?” Morris replies.
“He started a plague. This plague. I have to believe, he is responsible for all of this. If we kill the Fat dork, Christ will return and all will be well. Fat Dork is the devil. ”
“Jesus will return?”
“Yes.. So say the prophet Michael Morris of the Blessed Black Jesus Church of [sign in to see URL].”
“I'm Michael Morris.” Micheal Morris replies, confused by the preacher who shares his name.
“There are many, so sayeth the scripture. They will bind together and rid the world of evil. Michael Morris, a pleasure. Michael Morris is my name.”Says the preacher.
“You mean it is some fate that has brought you here?”
“[sign in to see URL] Jesus and god himself. The scripture tells of me and my brethren, my brothers that bare my name.”
“It's in the bible!?”
“I never saw my name in there.. along with the surname anyway.”
“It's in code, my brother Michael. If you jumble the letters up you find it and a lot of other secret stuff that's been 'coded' in there. Seek and you shall find.”
The preacher pulls out a leaflet from pocket and hands it to his 'brother'. The leaflet is headed 'The Sacred name Michael Morris in The Holy Bible',features a picture of the preacher smiling with a host of cultish worshippers gazing up at his tall frame admiringly. The sub-heading reads ' Michael Morris, a holy prophet sent by God to heal the world.'
“Interesting.” Michael tells the preacher. “But how do you read the code?”
The preacher pulls out a leather bound bible from his shopping trolley and begins decipher meaning from a page. He reads aloud as something comes to him: “Morris.. son of a god.. meet, met brother.. ....this [sign in to see URL] about [sign in to see URL] need to [sign in to see URL] the [sign in to see URL] forum...”
Michael has a doubting look on his face, but nods, as the preacher continues: “[sign in to see URL] of [sign in to see URL] brother in light!..[sign in to see URL] [sign in to see URL] [sign in to see URL] of [sign in to see URL] to [sign in to see URL] [sign in to see URL].”
The preacher stops. “It's hard work. It tires you out. My apologies.”
Michael wants to critique the preachers unusual methods of getting the 'code' and tries.
“I don't believe-”
“-Whoa! Watch out! Look out behind you!” screams the preacher, as a zombie in a business suit comes out of nowhere and grabs Michael Morris from behind. Morris shakes the zombie off. The preacher grabs his shotgun and spares little mercy on it, blowing its head apart, close range. Michael Morris shrieks, shocked by the head explosion, he faints and falls to the ground.
The preacher lifts him up and puts him in the shopping trolley.
“We gotta get outta here, my brother.”
The preacher, pushing Michael off in the shopping trolley, gets a move on and has been given a reason to leave the rest of the zombie pack well alone.
About 5 hours later Michael finds himself laying on the alter in a chapel, the preacher looming over him. The only light comes from about 30 people holding candles.

Last edited by knights, 4/1/2013, 6:20 pm


4/1/2013, 6:12 pm Link to this post Send Email to knights   Send PM to knights
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Re: Truth in Lies 5

Blessed Black Jesus Church of America, SC.
The preacher walks up to a pulpit and points to one of his parishioners; an old black man, of about 105-year-old, who gets up from a pew and walks cane in hand and delicately over to the corner of the chapel and up a spiral staircase.
“Candles out now, my brethren” The preacher tells his flock
The chapel is plunged into darkness.
From above, the old man pulls a record from a sleeve marked '2001' in marker pen. He places the record in place and presses play. He then gets up and wanders towards huge spotlight and hold it in place, but doesn't turn it on. The faint sound of the record playing is heard from speakers, 'also sprach zarathustra fanfare' AKA the opening music from 2001 A Space Odessey AKA Ric Flair's entrance music.
The flocks cheers as a spotlight shines on the preacher.
The preacher soaks up the applause.
“Michael Morris! Michael Morris! Michael Morris!” They chant in unison.
A lone woman screams, “I love you Michael!” and then faints.
Several more cry out to their prophet, whilst screaming as if the preacher was The Beatles.
“Michael! Michael! Michael! Michael!” They chant together.
The music fades out into another from track from the '2001' record – The Blue Danube.
With the spotlight fixed in place on the preachers, the old man turns on a second spotlight and focuses down on the altar that Michael Morris find himself on. He is bound and gagged. A strap across his waist holds him down tightly to the table. A manic Michael Morris tries to free himself.
The preacher points at his namesake on the altar.
“You see him, a brother. The code doth tell of my brother as written in secret by God himself. There will be many Michael Morris' for all times and they will be the chosen sons. A selective chosen few will be aware, but no man will know unless he hath found his [sign in to see URL] man, I saved. His name is Michael Morris!”
“Hallelujah!” The parishioners yell.
The Preacher continues, again pointing towards Michael Morris.“He doesn't doubt his brother. This man will be free. He knows it. You know it. He has the devil still in him. Pulled from the deathly Fat Dork plague, he is filled with the darkness that the code speaks off.”
The preacher picks up his bible and begins to decipher more of the code.
“[sign in to see URL] [sign in to see URL] [sign in to see URL] brother will free [sign in to see URL] [sign in to see URL] [sign in to see URL] prophet of [sign in to see URL] the [sign in to see URL] [sign in to see URL] with hot poker.. ”
On the altar, Michael Morris tries to shake himself free, but it's impossible. The mere mention of a hot poker makes him sweat profusely.
“...IN THE ASS!” The preacher continues, putting the bible down. “...Leroy, get the hot poker”
“All ready, boss.” The old man above waves a hot poker, its red glow distinct in the darkness.
“We will get the devil out of this poor brother, the same way the way pricks at his servants of hell, with the prongs of a hot poker in the ass. The devil will flee from his spirit and this man will join us in our blessed crusade. I am in no doubt to this, brother and sisters. ”
On the alter, Michael spits out his cloth gag. “You can't stick a hot poker up my ass!”
The preacher steps down from the pulpit, moves over to Michael and places the gag back in.
“Now I need your help, my brethren. Hold this man down!”
Some of the preachers flock wander over towards the altar, they pull away the strap holding Michael down and turn his body over. Not knowing how he will get out of this situation, Morris repeatedly bangs his head against the altar until one of the flock places a pillow underneath his head to stop him.
“You won't feel a thing, my brother.” The preacher reassures Michael, failing.
Michael turns his head, as some of the flock pull his trousers down and reveal his bare bottom; In the distance, a red glowing orb can be seen descending the spiral staircase. It is the old man, Leroy, carrying what will soon rid Michael of the devil in the most painful way imaginable.
The old man slowly steps forward and passes the poker to the preacher. To make the scene even more uncomfortable an eerie echo of sounds and voices come through the speakers as the track 'Stargate' plays on the '2001' record. Michael bites his tongue and his eyes roll back into his head in shock, even though poker hasn't touched him yet. About 20 people surround him. Many holding him down. The light crashing down from the spotlight. It is all too much. He heart pounds as if it'll shoot out of his chest at any second. He shakes his body violently, but it seems hopeless. Any second, a pain will pass through his nerves and shoot to his brain that will have him scream like a young girl.


4/5/2013, 5:55 pm Link to this post Send Email to knights   Send PM to knights
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Re: Truth in Lies 5

A pause in time. A moment stopped. A monumental pain averted.
“It's okay, my friend.” say a man in a German accent “We have saved you.”
A weary-eyed Michael Morris is stunned. How, he thinks to himself. He was about to have a hot poker jammed up his bum at any second, now he lies comfortably in the back seat of a monster truck.
“What the hell, happened?” Michael asks “Was it a dream?”
“No. It was quite real, my friend” Responds the German.
“You were lucky, if we hadn't have gotten there, you wouldn't have made it. The shock would have killed [sign in to see URL] is Bloodsteve Rockyourface. And my name is Danny Dubois.”
“But [sign in to see URL] was happening to me. It felt real. [sign in to see URL] I find myself here.”
Bloodsteve Rockyourface looks angrily at 'Danny Dubois'.
“You name is not Danny Dubois, it is Fat Dork! Fat Dork!” Steve yells.
“Fat Dork?” Michael murmurs to himself anxiously.
“Yes.” Fat Dork says turning his head, creepily.
“Oh nothing.” Michael replies. “It's just-”
“-Yes” Fat Dork says, his voice deepened.
“Forget [sign in to see URL] the hell though, did you guys rescue me?”
“Ah...” Steve bellows aloud “A master of the universe never gives his trade secrets.”
“WE FROZE TIME.” Fat Dork says, much to the annoyance of Steve.
“You can't freeze time! C'mon. How?”
“We froze [sign in to see URL] solved.” Steve says.
“But I don't understand how? It'[sign in to see URL]'s impossible!”
“To you, sir, yes.” Says Fat Dork.
“We froze time, pulled you out of that place and in that frozen space time in that chapel we replace you with petrol.” Explains Steve.
“Huh?” A bemused Michael replies.
“We dosed the place in petrol in the frozen time and got out of there. When time resumed, it was Barbecue time in [sign in to see URL] watched from outside. The whole place went up. It was somewhat amusing, I must admit.”
Michael sighs to himself, unsure what to believe of any of it. It must have been a dream, he thinks. Though, that name Fat Dork rings bells. The preacher talked of Fat Dork being an anti-christ. What do you do when you don't know what you've done, or know if nothing that will come seems remotely real. Perhaps, Michael is still dreaming.
“Wake up!” Commands the German, Bloodsteve.
The monster has truck stopped in the middle of nowhere, a bunch of empty, untended farm fields all around.
“You must leave.” Fat Dork orders, Michael.
“Why save me, then let me go?” Michael asks, confused.
“Our work here is done. I don't like this man, Michael Morris. He must leave.” Fat Dork whispers to Bloodsteve , who nods.
“Yes, master.” Bloodsteve replies. “...Please leave the vehicle Mr Morris.”
Bloodsteve holds out a luger pistol and gestures with it for Michael to get out.
“Okay.. Okay.” Michael concedes, exiting the monster track and jumping down onto a patch of overgrown grass. When Michael looks up at Fat Dork, his thoughts again run back to the preacher. The prophecy. Fat Dork stares Michael down, frowning in such a devilish way that Michael bows his head to avoid looking at his. Something in Michael's pocket grabs his attention. As if by some paranormal force a piece of paper or something, ruffles around, and moves by itself.
Michael pulls out whatever it [sign in to see URL] preachers leaflet. He never bothered to read it or look inside.
Michael turns his back on the monster truck which still sits motionless on the empty road. What is it about this leaflet that commands his attention. Michael opens it up and is stunned.
Telephoto lens pictures of Fat Dork sprawled all over two pages and text that reads 'The anti-christ, known by the name of Fat Dork is ultimate deceiver playing a victim to his own demonic crimes. He will bring hell upon the earth and bring its ultimate destruction, unless stopped. My brethren and I, know the end time is approaching fast. Soon unless he is stopped, Fat Dork will create a living hell on Earth. A band of Michael Morris' have formed in each state, preparing to meet the devil and wish him a farewell to whence he came. As leader of all Michael Morris' I warn those who doubt to look over there shoulders and walk carefully in the dark, as he will be there. We must join forces to rid the world of this evil tyrant...'
Michael throws the leaflet down, uncertain of what to do. He turns towards to the monster truck. Fat Dork stares him down again, but this time his eyes are completely black and his face morphs, swirling as if changing into another. Suddenly his face does indeed change. It is Steve Austin's face on Fat Dork. Michael pisses himself. Terrified, he runs down the road. The monster truck follows.
“Goodbye, Michael Morris! Steve Austin is dead!” Yells Fat Dork, as the monster truck drives off and past Michael.

30 Minutes later, at the bottom of a ravine, the lifeless body of Michael Morris lays atop a giant jagged rock. It would appear he jumped from a cliff top and fell into the ravine. He is very, very dead.

Long Live Michael Morris.


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Re: Truth in Lies 5

Derek Okra Cock Art Studio

Derek sits back on a deck chair cradling a small Orangutan in his arms, holding a babies milk bottle to its lips. The ape is content, drinking the milk while Derek strokes its head.
In hallway leading to another room, John Wusso dances with two midgets. The dwarfs have their bodies fully painted for whatever reason; one is bright pink and the other is dark red, and they each protect their modesty with little leopard-print posing pouches. Wusso puts a techno tune on the hi-fi and they continue to dance away. For a man past retirement, Wusso is quite a dancer, though as he dances he pops funny colored pills into his mouth. He then passes some pills to the midgets.
All around are examples of cock art that hasn't been sold yet. The art studio is a reasonable size, but it isn't clean at all. Paint and graffiti is daubed everywhere.
On a small coffee table in front of Derek, an empty milk carton sits. On the side of the milk carton 'Missing: Michael Morris, Aged 13, last seen tending to cattle....'. On a dresser table a TV plays out silently; a news report. The side graphic on the news report reads 'Mikail Morisky, Murdered'.
I am unsure what to make of any it. Why am I here, god knows. I should be in Broadmoor prison, but oh well. In a way it's good to be free. I thank Derek for this.
I turn my gaze again at John Wusso. He holds camera out and take pictures of the dwarfs dancing and then bending over in erotic poses. I am disturbed by this Wusso. The two midgets must be about 17 or 18, which makes it even more icky for my eyes. I turn away and pose a question for Derek, who I believe had traversed into my mind whilst I was asleep, where I now lie awake.
“What the !@#$ did you do to me, you !@#$?!”
My question leaves the room and the hallway motionless. The two dwarfs and Wusso stand gawping at me, as I'm not allowed to raise my voice in this place. Derek drops the milk bottle on the floor, possibly in shock at being discovered.
“I did nothing, David.” He replies.
“C'mon, Derek, I know you much better than you think. You're lying, aren't you?”
“What makes you think I know anything of anything, eh?” Derek protests.
“Ethelred, the hippy and his wife, my old lover – Calpurnea!”
“Was it not him who you loved?” Derek asks.
“I am not a homosexual,” I reply “I was curious, but I am not in any way a bum lover. I like the female form. I [sign in to see URL]. She was the only one for me, not him. He ruined it and my life unravelled-”
“-Why bring this up, Dave.” Derek cuts in.
“Because you have violated me!”
“How so?”
“You used that psychic !@#$ on my mind, didn't you? You were trying make go lala again, weren't you?”
“No, I was not!” Derek rages, tossing the Orangutan violently against the wall.
“Derek!” I cry back at his mindless cruelty. I get up and got to pick up the Orangutan which lies still on the floor. “[sign in to see URL] think you killed it.” I continue, feeling for a pulse, but not finding one.
“Domingo! Antonio!” Derek shouts, “Come here at once! Give my ape the kiss of life, my boys. He has died again.”
“Again?” I reply, shocked, as the two dwarfs give the ape the kiss of life.
“It has died once before, but my sons saved it.”
“Your sons? I reply, equally shocked.
“Yes,” Derek says pointing at the two dwarfs giving the ape, the kiss of life. “I adopted them. They bring me great Joy, Dave. It is a good thing to be a father to two fine young sons, as these.”
“Adoption.. You?” I say, bemused.
“Antonio came from a San Marino orphanage, and Domingo I found in a shanty town while holidaying in India.”
“Why not? They are my protégées in training. The are both fine artists in the making, I tell you now.”
One of the dwarfs pulls back from the dying Orangutan.
“He's dead, poppa.” The bright pink dwarf says in a whiny foreign voice, in a state of near depression.
“Nooooo!” Derek shouts madly.
I try to comfort him, but it's impossible. He paces about, his hands clasping his head in despair.
“It's okay, Derek.” I say sympathetically.
“No it isn't.. Michael is dead!”
“My Orangutan, Michael No. No. What Have I [sign in to see URL] have I done!”
“It was accident, Derek.” I said.
“Accident!?” Derek replies angrily, picking up the dark red, painted dwarf. “..I'll show you accident.”
Without morals or conscience, Derek throws the little dwarf against the wall too. The little red dwarf yelps in agony.
The whole time, John Wusso lurked over us with his camera, silently snapping away. In the end, as he started taking pictures of the hurt dwarf, I decided decisive action was needed, so I grabbed the nearest thing to hand and threw it at him. It happened to be a rather expensive vase, as Derek's further distress would tell me.
Wusso fell to the floor, flat-out KO'd.
“You must ring the 999, Derek” I begged.
“For whom, you!?” he replied, angrily and sarcastic.
I fell back into the chair I'd been sitting on. Derek held the lifeless corpse of the Orangutan and began to sob: “My [sign in to see URL] [sign in to see URL] killed my baby.”
Just as I for second time went aide my unwell friend, he stumbled on his feet and fell to floor. I'd seen this before. Many times. Derek was becoming possessed by something or someone. In their hazes, the injured dwarf and Wusso both looked on. Myself and the Pink dwarf stood looking down too. Suddenly a noise. An ape-like grunt. Derek was possessed by the spirit of....

Secret Catacombs location, somewhere in England
Candle lit and eerie, about a hundred or so people stand encircling Fat Dork and BloodSteve RYF. The people come from all walks of life. There are policemen, postmen, nurses, bin collectors, old women from charity shops, office types, teachers, hairdressers, bankers, nerds, hippies, the unemployed, vagrants, priests etc– people from every spectrum of society.
“You know why I have called you here today.” Fat dork announces in deep, authoritative voice. “We have a problem. Whilst it's being dealt with now the world over, I call upon, you, my servants in this great land to help us achieve victory here also.”
BloodSteve RYF claps for his master, Fat Dork, whom now bears the face of a pissed off Steve Austin, but still has a rather weak, nerdy voice.
“What is thy problem, master?” Calls out an ignorant, small child.
“The problem is Michael Morris. Any child, adult or thing that bares that name could bring on us destruction, so therefore we must destroy those who bare that name first. Our current estimates tell us there are likely a couple of hundred or so left in this land. Many already have been killed by my Invisible flying Imps, but I call on you to help us do away with the rest. No man or child with that name must survive, I command it!”

Last edited by knights, 4/6/2013, 9:13 pm


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Re: Truth in Lies 5

Derek is possessed by some dark spirit. I pull back, as Wusso and Derek's two midget sons veer nearer as Derek let's out a horrifying, shrieking, scream.
“Derek?” Wusso calls down.
Derek's face becomes animated by some ugly spirit and he spits out at Wusso, who immediately steps back, rubbing shoulders next to me.
“Do you know I am!?” Derek yells at me.
“No. Who are you?” I ask, inquisitively.
“I used to live here, but they killed me.”
“Someone died [sign in to see URL] died, here?” Wusso ask the spirit taking hold of Derek's body.
“They !@#$ killed me.” Derek says, his body writhing, but unable to get up from floor. He moves like a cockroach that is trapped on its back. His arms and legs violently moving, trying desperately to stand upright.
“Who killed you?” I ask.
“They did. They cut me up into little pieces.”
“And who are they then, eh?.” Wusso chimes, sarcastically.
“Who? I say they were you! You killed me, didn't you?” Derek cries, his face more alive with the spirit, looking up at us.

Derek's two adopted sons, grab Derek by the arms. They get him onto his feet clumsily, but after a few seconds Derek steadies himself on his own. He stares around at the art studio. Though it isn't him looking out through the eyes of Derek Okra, but the spirit.

“What is this filth?!” The possessed Derek shouts, grabbing a cock-art painting from the wall.
“It's one of your paintings, Derek.” Wusso says.
“I am not Derek. I am Elma Thorne.. This is my house. You killed me.”
“I didn't kill anyone.” Wusso turns to me and says.
“This is filth.. Filth!”
“Expensive filth.” I tell the spirit.
“Here's what I think of this filth!” The possessed Derek cries, tosses the painting to floor. He then grabs more of the paintings that hang all around the art studio. Wusso tries to grab Derek, but the spirit inside of Derek, just pushes Wusso away with great strength. Wusso flops down to the floor. He has a concerned look on his face, as Derek grabs more of the paintings and piles them up on the floor.
“What the hell are you doing!” Wusso shouts madly at Derek.
Derek, or the Spirit in Derek remains silent. He picks up even more paintings, until there are no more up and around the art studio but those in the heap he has created on the floor. He then grabs all manner of art materials; the specially lowered easels, tubes of paints, tins of paints, brushes, boxed of unpainted canvasses, a massive paper-mache penis sculpture, a multitude of awards Derek has won for his art. They are all on the heap.
The possessed Derek stands silent, proudly looking down at the heap.
“Derek!?” Wusso screams like a girl.
Derek head lifts up, almost robotically. Still silent, he continues. A huge 5 gallon tin of paint sits in the corner of the studio. Derek wanders towards it and picks it up. He cracks the tin open and then walks back towards the heap.
“I've seen what you did in my house. The man and his member. His paintings. FILTH! FILTH, FILTH, FILTH! D'YOU HEAR ME – FILTH!” The possessed Derek says, pouring the contents of the massive tin of paint over heap.
Wusso bangs his head on the floor intentionally, mumbling crazily to himself, some indistinguishable words.
 “You filth! IN MY HOUSE!!!”The possessed Derek cackles, as he finished pouring 5 gallons of paint over the heap. The two midgets run away, scared. I stand shocked as Derek pulls a matchbox from his pocket.
“[sign in to see URL] IS WHAT YOU WANT!!!” The possessed Derek yells, almost deafeningly. He lights a match. I grab for Wusso's shoulder on the floor, but he isn't there. He instead is flying through the air to stop Derek from destroying the artwork, but it is hopeless. Wusso and Derek scuffle, but Wusso is again knocked to the floor by Derek's increased strength.
 The match has already fallen. The heap of Derek's art goes up in flames. The possessed Derek makes for the exit, and I follow, knowing the house itself will soon be a burnt out wreck. I briefly turn back as I leave. I see Wusso trying to put out the burning heap, grabbing for the expensive art work too, but again its hopeless. He himself is overcome by the flames. Shockingly, he falls into the burning heap. He looks up, his eyes meet mine, and then they close. Burning to death, Wusso is no more. I am confident, he is dead. The look his eyes gave me, was both anguished and sorrowful. I will never see another like it.

Last edited by knights, 4/17/2013, 7:13 pm


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Re: Truth in Lies 5

Outside the house, is a deserted, dusty, desert-like landscape. Derek still appears to be possessed. This spirit in him looks up and laughs as the timber on the old house quickly catches fire. I move away from him fast, heading instead to towards the two dwarfs, who hide behind some long dead trees.
“What is happening to our father,” The bright pink dwarf says, “he's never done anything like this before.”
“He's possessed.” I tell them, not really believing it myself “You father was once a great psychic medium, who could channel the dead. Some spirits, like this, take complete control over Derek's body and mind. He is not your father. He's a puppet to the spirit.”
“Ah, I [sign in to see URL] god.” The dark red dwarf points out, as Derek is hurled through the air.
I am speechless. Derek really is possessed, it would seem. He is thrown through the air like a toy. The spirit is somehow attacking him. His body is lifted high up in the air and then thrown down hard to the ground. Soon, Derek starts to bleed from his head and his body appears lifeless, as the force attacking him, lifts him up and continuously throws his to the ground. He is definitely unconscious. Is he dead?
“Don't look boys.” I say as the spirit attacks Derek's lifeless. The two dwarfs turned away. They console each other, hugging and crying. I take one more [sign in to see URL] I just see that?
As I looked, a pair of eyes, red in colour. All that is visible were two, very striking, red eyes. The spirit has eyes? I look again at the force attacking Derek. Derek's body floats lifeless in the air, some invisible power holding him up. Is it the spirit? Two eyes peer out, but the rest of it, its body, is invisible. The eyes don't even look human; they're squinty, animal-like, or devilish. I shudder as I stare the two eyes out. What did Derek do to bring this on himself?
The force drops Derek's body to the dusty ground. Whatever the force was, spirit or not, I will never forget this moment. I want to run out to help my friend, but what if it attacks me too.
I hear a whooshing sound, as if something has flown off, from above where Derek's body lay. Then I hear the engine to a powerful car. I duck and remain hidden under the brow of hill, behind the trees.
I listen in.
The car has pulled up. Two doors open on the car. Derek is still alive! I hear him groaning.
I peer up, doing my best not to be seen. A yellow sports car, three men in ninja outfits. One very tall and two very short. They pick Derek up and haphazardly throw him into the boot.
I want to get up and ask these ninjas what they think they're doing, but at the same time I fear being attacked by the spirit or whatever it was.
The car revs up and drives away. Derek for whatever reason has been taken by ninjas.

Myself and the two dwarfs sit down hidden by the trees for the next half hour. I then decide its safe to come out. Right where Derek was being attacked by the unknown, invisible, red-eyed force I spot something. It must have came out of Derek's pocket, while he was being jostled in the air. It's a drivers license. His picture alright. The name though. The name isn't Derek Okra. The name is Michael Morris. For all these years, he'd lied. His name wasn't Derek Okra, but bland old Michael Eric Morris, born 1955. Another lie. He said he was born in 1965. The lying arse!

I remember back to the house. The milk carton. Michael Morris. The TV. Mikhail Morisky. This couldn't be a coincidence. Perhaps all Michael Morris' must be disappearing, or being killed. Maybe the three ninjas saved his life, by showing up to abduct him. Whatever was attacking him, was out to kill, I'm sure of it. It was a demon. Perhaps Derek was possessed but by this demon. Or was possessed and then got attacked by this demon. Or was faking being possessed and then got attacked by this demon. Oh, the theories. They run through my mind, but I just don't know.
Derek is gone that is a certainty, a fact. And what I saw was fact. He was attacked by some otherworldly force. A demon.

The house continues to burn away. The dwarfs come and stand by me. We watch as part of the timber and slate roof crumples down, and part of the house caves in. The heat is overwhelming. The door to the house still remains open, and although the house has been ravaged by the fire this door and the hallway, bar a few embers and a little bit of smoke looks untouched. A foot. A leg. A body. A man. It can't be. This house is [sign in to see URL]. It's impossible. John Wusso. I saw him die. Yet, he stands there. No burns. Cloths intact. He stand in the doorway. The house around him, aflame.
He steps out and walks towards us slowly, a wry smile. Is he a ghost or what? This man could not have survived. I saw him perish.
“Where's that bastard, Derek? Eh?”
“I saw you die, Mr Wusso.” I say, unbelieving of the presence before me.
“Flames can't kill me, Pike.”
“Flames and smoke, will kill anyone, if you do what you did. I saw you. You were on fire. You died. This, [sign in to see URL] is not real. Wake me up, please.”
“It's very real, Mr Pike. You are not asleep or dreaming. I am here and you are there.”
“How?” I ask.

In all my years, I never expected it to be true. John Wusso, acclaimed filmmaker, art manager and reptilian. His form shape-shifted in seconds. The two dwarfs ran away. His green scale skin, slits for eyes, sharp pointy teeth, razor sharp nails. A real reptilian.
“You've known all along that we exist.” Wusso says, changing back into his human form.
“I thought I was making it up at the time” I [sign in to see URL] of course.

My first major thought was the title for my next book, 'Interview with a reptilian', until Wusso slapped me and told me he could read minds too.


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Re: Truth in Lies 5


“The past is merely prologue”


The Royal Albert Music Hall, London.


Red, white and blue colours abound outside the music hall. The colours of union jack, perhaps. No. A giant electronic display reads 'The American Tragedy: A charity concert TONIGHT. Just below a live monitor feed of the events inside. A shabby looking Barry Gibb caresses Bob Dylan on the cheek, almost erotic-like, as they sing 'Islands in the stream.' It is awkward.
Dolly Parton is dead, so cannot sing her part in the song as she once did. So are most Americans, we are led to believe; wiped out in a new plague that spread in a matter of days and weeks. Canada holds on, even Mexico, but the United States of America is utterly defeated. The plague spreads far and wide, but Britannia holds firm.
The lucky few Americans that survived number about under at just under 100,000, many of whom came to Britain in the first two critical days. The rich more so than the poor. A ticket to the highest bidder to 'Fortress Britannia' as it has been called in recent days. Despite a few incidents, the island nation stands firm in the fight against the undead. Yes, undead. Zombies, the living dead, filthy rotters, and other stupid names that the Brits don't care for, being the only nation free of the problem. No sod can come in. 'Britain is closed. GO AWAY!' cried a headline a week into the American Tragedy. Life carries on the same for most. Work, play, and certainly no panic over the undead. Well, a front perhaps. Most Brits are terrified, of course. The news media propagandises it all; Chin up, old boy, no need to be frightened, everything is fine. Britain is safe! No many believe it, yet no one can stand up to an authoritarian dictatorship either and say otherwise. It's only a matter of time, most believe. Despite appearances and propaganda, Britain itself is in anarchy. The dictatorship of Tony Blair and his friend the American, George W. Bush hold Britain safe with a gun pointed at everyone, living or living-dead. It's unknown how many are dead, but everyone can hear the gunshots and the boots of soldiers. People go missing. Massacres of left-wing and right-wing radicals have been talked of. An ongoing battle between the soldiers of the government and the anarchists is an everyday occurrence. Bombs have gone off. Hundred have been killed. Whispers of this spread and panic erupts, but control over all is evident. The whispers are quieted by bullets and on and on and on. Panic over. For now, at least.

The charity concert is another of the fronts put on to reassure the public and maintain calm. 'The American Tragedy,' a name chosen by a Tavistock think-tank to distance the 'incidents' from these shores. A charity concert designed to pull in money for the last survivors and the re-homing in settlements in Ireland we are led to believe, but the true reasons are not told of. The country watches. A television event of massive proportions it has been designed a fitting tribute to fall of American and the world. The slogan 'We are all Americans' is banded about by Tony Blair, but most see-through the talk. The concert is a celebration of ruse. America is dead and Britain has Survived.

Once again I been proven right. The events are staged. The fake zombie holocaust was a false-flag to bring on this tyranny.

I am here tonight. I will make a stand and end this mockery.

With justice in my heart and dagger, I stand boldly in the face of this downright conspiracy and will do my damnedest to end it.

If I die tonight, have no fear, I am in better place. My wife will be there and we will meet again. As will I and you the reader.

Remember me as I was.


Your friend,


-David Pike
November 8th 2013. [sign in to see URL].


Last edited by knights, 11/14/2013, 6:41 pm


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Re: Truth in Lies 5

Outside the Royal Albert Hall, the unmistakable figure of David Pike can be seen. He finishes penning his online journal entry in tablet. He wanders amongst the many thousands outside and heads toward a guarded entrance to the Royal Albert Hall.
By now, a crowd of angry Americans has amassed outside, among those watching on a giant screen. Hundreds of them throw wood and timber onto a massive bonfire. A giant, larger-than-life effigy of 'Stone Cold' Steve Austin is at the top of it. They goad and spit at it, cursing this man they believe caused the tragedy, as they throw their wood onto the bonfire. Soldiers stop them putting any more onto to it for fear of creating problems with the concert. Nevertheless, the bonfire is at least 60 feet in height as it is lit by a small child. The bonfire erupts into flames and the baying mob are satisfied as the effigy burns. Many folk cry in jubilation with annoying screams of “WOO-YEAH!!” and “BURN! BURN!” in their whiny American dialects.
In the background, as the fire burns, the popular American singer and entertainer Meat Loaf can be heard singing a rendition of 'My Heart will go on' to the cheers of a loving crowd. The mob stops as the last of the effigy burns away and turn their attentions back to screen of the concert. A brief subliminal of 'Stone Cold' Steve Austin's face flashes on the screen. It is not seen by most, but some react to it by flying into uncontrollable rages. Some throw themselves into the bonfire and their screams of agony immediately sound out. As more of the American fly into the mad rages, British soldiers immediately move in and shoot randomly at the crowd of mostly Americans.

A strange looking man and odd-looking woman laugh at the carnage atop of Balcony at the Royal Albert Hall. They stand alone, looking down as the crowd goes into chaos. They sip wine and casually rest their arms on the safety rail in front of them.
“I knew that one would work.” Says the strange looking man with a British accent, dressed as Abraham Lincoln.
“Sure did, Patty.” say a male voice, from the odd-looking woman clearly dressed as Marilyn Monroe with facial-hair.
“-Mr Stewart!” A screechy voice interrupts.
A young, Pakistani boy comes onto the balcony, dressed smartly in a tuxedo. He has a nervous appearance and an dodgy 'boy-mustache'.
“What is it, Boy?” Asks the man dressed as Lincoln.
“I am your biggest [sign in to see URL]'ve seen the next-gen over and over, please. Please, can I have you sign this for me, please. Thank you, Mr Patrick, sir.”
“Yes, of course, young man.” Patrick Stewart says, signing a scrap of paper.
“Thank you, Captain. I will treasure this always.” The man-boy says wandering off, a spring in his step.
“So much for disguises, then.” Says Patrick Stewart, taking off his 1800's Lincoln-esque hat.
The other man removes his Blonde Marilyn Monroe wig. It is Martin Short.
Another man joins them dressed as John F Kennedy.
“I have more wine.” Says Rick Moranis, dressed as JFK, passing the bottle to Patrick.
“Ah.. 1865, how apt for me. A vintage red, I would guess.” Stewart says, popping the cork.
“Plunder from the ruins Paris.” Moranis pipes up. “It's mad over the channel. The world is ruined-”
“-and is ours for the taking!” Stewart cuts in.
“The British war machine rises again.” muses Short.
“A secret war for the best that money can buy.” Stewart laughs.“Soon enough, we will have complete power. Tony backs us,..and with good ole Georgie Boy dead, we'll have a route to our coup. Derek won't let us down. That we can be quite sure of.”
“Today the whole of Britain watches.” Short cackles, madly, his wig falling off.
“Television and terror are the best tools for achieving our take-over step-by-step.” Stewart announces, throwing his wine glass over the balcony. “Today is Alpha!”
“ALPHA!” The three rejoice together.

The panic down below in the streets outside the Royal Albert Hall has simmered, but the crowd is much less than before. An elderly match screams as blood pores from his head. He holds the shard of a wine glass in his hand and throws it back up in the air, hoping in vain it will hit whoever threw it down. It does not. The shard of glass comes straight back down to earth, along with a wine bottle that has been throw down also. The old man is struck by wine bottle and is knocked to ground with a thud. A group of people circle him to help, but the British Army drag him away. As they drag him a way, he sees the culprit of the bottle incident.
“L-L-Lincoln!” He utters in pain, being dragged away and then falling into unconsciousness.

Patrick Stewart laughs with his cronies at the plight of the old man.
“Death to America!” Rick Moranis screams at the top of his lungs, prompting Patrick Stewart to slap him hard across the back of the head.
“Not now, Rick. That will come later.” Stewart says angrily.
“I hate Americans. They pour scorn on Canadians such I and Martin. I danced with each terror attack against her and tonight I will dance again-” Rick counters.
“I, also. This will be the death knell though. The final attack. After this and our rise to power , I say we intern and exterminate every single one of those rats.” says Martin Short as he spits over the balcony.
Patrick Stewart pauses the two of them. “Wait.” he says looking down at his watch. “Now.” he continues, pointing up.
The three of them look up at the giant screen above as David Bowie dances with Annie Lennox, while singing 'America, the beautiful' on it. Bruce Springsteen stands in the background, holding his guitar, biting his fingernails. A giant American flag unfurls, filling the stage area.
“Wait for it..” Stewart continues. “Any second..”
Another subliminal 'Stone cold' Steve Austin flashes on the screen briefly. The brief flashing subliminal showed Steve Austin (circa 1997), the two middle fingers up in with an angry scowl.
“Another one, there you go!” Stewart buzzes, amused.
They all laugh merrily.
Martin Short again spits over the balcony. This time he aims his flob. The globule of spit strikes an elderly American woman holding a placard that reads 'USA will rise again.' After it hits, she feels for her face, screams, clutches her chest and collapses. Martin Short cackles while pointing at the scene below.
Meanwhile the subliminal sends the crowd below on the streets watching into a frenzy, more so than before. A nervous soldier throws a grenade into the crazed crowd, then bullets go flying. First into the air, then into crowd. The grenade explodes, followed an eerie silence then a mass of anger at the soldiers. They shoot more. A hundred soldiers maybe more, fire round after round into crowd, then flee as a crowd of ten times there size runs at them with careless abandon and for want of revenge.
“Oh, Patty, you devil.”Rick laughs.


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The street below is empty of the living. The crowd long gone, the space littered with bodies, the moaning wounded and the red, white and blue of American flags, is all that is left behind. Minutes before, a thousand people or more. The affect 'Stone Cold' Steve Austin effect has had down there is overwhelming.
The giant screen continues, as inside the Royal Albert Hall, all is calm, the sound of the carnage outside drowned by the music. Bruce Springsteen falls to his knees while singing 'Born in the USA'. He clutches the American flag and whimpers the lyrics to his songs before rushing off stage in an uncontrollable sulk. Meatloaf rushes back on stage to continue Springsteen hit. He mumbles his words and murmurs the lyrics, repeating just the lyrics 'Born in the USA' over and over, looking a confused buffoon trying his best to help the show go on. As the songs ends, Meatloaf is given a rapturous applause for his efforts. American flags fill the Royal Albert Hall, patriotism still alive, however phoney it still looks.
Meat Loaf is passed an American flag and kisses it. “I love you and I love my country.” He cries, walking off the stage, visibly shaken and sweating profusely.
Inside the historic building, smiles and cheers fill the hall as an Instrumental number of the US national anthem is played momentarily, before sighs fill the air as its cut short as Tina Turner wanders on stage to the beat of 'Simply the best'. Behind her as she sings her hit a screen shows great moments from American history.
Bizarrely, a dwarf wearing all Turquoise madly runs towards the stage. As he runs a small miniature revolver falls out of his turquoise jacket pocket, completely unknown to him. He attempts haul himself up on the stage, which makes Tina Turner jump momentarily. The dwarf feels for his pocket but the revolver is gone. He panics and his eyes widen as he looks into the eyes of the she-beast, Tina Turner. She eyes him briefly again as she sings, then kicks him at full force in the face from the side of the stage. The dwarf's efforts are fruitless, he makes another attempt at climbing onto the stage but he gets dragged off by British soldiers.
 As Tina Turner continues her song, David Pike sits on his arse in the crowd and he face-palms the dwarf's failed attempt at storming the stage. “Damn fool. My one chance to end this...” he mumbles to himself.
A gunshot rings out like a balloon has popped.. In a corner of the building unseen to all, the turquoised dwarf has been executed by the soldiers. Justice is quick for people who want to cause problems here. The gunshot is loud and might grab someone’s attention but only for a brief moment as Tina Turner continues her song and clips of Jesse Owen, the scene of New York at night, WW2 soldiers, the White House and JFK play out behind her. In between a clip of Mount Rushmore and John Wayne, another 'Stone Cold' Steve Austin subliminal is shown, albeit so briefly only one person reacts to it. A man rages in a aisle, so mad it creates a disturbance within the whole of the seated area. The gaze of Tina Turner even falls onto the man, but she carries on singing and focuses back onto the crowd as a whole. Five or so Army soldiers rush out and grab the disturbed man, who cries out as he lifted off his knees and out pulled out of the music hall.
“Didn't you see him, dammit!” The disturbed, New york voice cried out. “It was Austin!!”
Moments later another popping sound. A gunshot. The soldiers have killed this man too, but the show goes on the same.
As Tina Turner finishes her song, she passes Matt Damon and Samuel L Jackson on leaving the stage.
The two actors walk on, microphones in hand, with serious and glum expressions on their faces. 'The Liberty Bell march' music by Sousa plays in the background as they stagger forward. It fades out soon after.
“Little over five months ago, the United States and world suffered a tragedy on epic and biblical proportions.” Matt Damon says starting, moving his arms a lot, a bit like a puppet.
“Some say we are a defeated people.” Samuel L. Jackson chimes in. “Yet whilst that great country may be no more, we celebrate the spirit-”
“-And the dream.” Matt Damon cuts in. “The American Dream”
Applause and cheers ring out in the hall. American flags are raised in celebration.
“America is not just a country, it is people.” Jackson calls out to the audience, his voice wavering in emotion.
“America is a people!!” Matt Damon repeats madly to crowd approval.
Samuel L. Jackson calms the crowd with hands and continues: “You know, we are who came before us. George Washington, Abraham Lincoln, John Fitzerald [sign in to see URL] Obama-” Jackson wipes away a tear, knowing his idol is dead, before continuing. “...Michael Jackson, Bob Hope, David Copperfield, Marilyn Monroe, Mickey Mouse and Bill Cosby-”
Matt Damon cuts “-And a whole host [sign in to see URL] us. A musical celebration of the people who have come before us. Their legacy lives on! America lives on! Featuring an all-star on stage performance from the stars of screen and stage: THE DREAM!”
The Royal Albert Hall's orchestra plays 'Star and Stripes forever' as Matt Damon and Samuel L. Jackson leave the stage, arm-in-arm, comforting each other.
Huge, red, white and blues banners unfurl onto the stage and figures emerge from the stage wings. On each side, a famous person prances out fancifully and dancing to orchestra that are located in 'the pit'.
The famous are dressed as iconic figures from Americas past. Whoopi Goldberg as statue of Liberty bounds onto the stage, followed by Ted Danson as George Washington. On the other side emerges Martin Short as JFK, followed by Rick Moranis as Marilyn Monroe. More and more come out. The stage is filled with dancing celebrities, some well known ones, such as Eddie Murphy as Martin Luther King, others are small names like Judge Judy as Judy Garland. It is quite a sight to see. They dance in choreograph and the crowd laps it up, enjoying the scene before them. TV cameras zoom in and capture the moment. Johnny Depp wanders pretentiously towards the cameras dressed as Elvis, desperate for attention, only to be edged out of the screen by Charlie Sheen as Superman, with a similar desperation of the limelight. There are maybe 30-40 celebrities up there, all in outfits and as American icons.
The dance carries on and on, but after a minute or so ends.
All lights on the stage fade to black. Movement stops. The music stops dead.
A spotlight sets its beam down on the back of the stage. An impressive stage set rises to the back of the stage into the air, the figure of a tall man standing a top a large-scale model of Mount Rushmore. The tall figure is Patrick Stewart as Abraham Lincoln.
“Four score and seven years ago!” Cries Stewart as Lincoln, encapsulated by beams of more light for all to see. Lincoln clasps at his chest, artistically and dramatic, then continues: “our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that-.”
A blank screen above him comes alive, but it is not part of the show and Stewart knows it, acting surprised and shrugging.
“What the...” Patrick gasps, for all to hear.


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