BLOCKING PEOPLE

 

 

JACK’S STOLEN PHONE

PHONE BUZZES :

 

LUCY: 

Where did you go?

Are you sulking?

Just cos I got engaged?

Jack, don't sulk.

 

DRACULA :

Um, Jack's not here at the moment.

Who shall I say called?

 

Oh, sorry.

Tell him it's Lucy.

Lucy Westenra.

Who's this?

 

DRACULA :

Hello, Lucy Westenra.

I'm Count Dracula.

 

WIND HOWLS

 

FLASHBACK-DRACULA : 

Agatha Van Helsing :

You'll be Part of Me.

You'll travel to The New World

in my veins.

 

FLASHBACK-Sister Van Helsing :

( Baring Her Exposed Nun-neck)

Come, boy — Suckle.

 

HE GROWLS

 

GUSHING

 

SHE GASPS

 

TRAFFIC SOUNDS OVERLAP

 

DANCE MUSIC BLARES

 

CAMERA SHUTTER CLICKS

 

LAUGHTER

CAMERA SHUTTER CLICKS

 

I can't do two more days of this.

 

What?

I feel bloody terrible already.

 

Lightweight!

 

Stick your head out the window.

It's the Jagerbombs.

 

That last one tasted like furniture polish.

 

Where are the crisps? 

I can't get the taste out of my mouth.

 

LUCY :

Somebody said they were getting

crisps.

 

They only had plain ones.

 

LUCY :

Plain? Oh, Jesus.

What's good about no flavour?

 

 

FRANK RENFIELD : 

What was wrong with the

physicist?

 

HE SIGHS

 

No flavour.

 

And the tennis player?

 

Stringy.

 

Master, I am trying to provide you with precisely the skill sets

you're hoping to acquire.

 

Listen, for 500 years, I have not had to exercise, but these days everything is done for you, and everything is being delivered,

even food.

 

PHONE DINGS

 

SAM: 

Are we nearly there?

 

ZEV: 

Another 20 minutes.

Ugh!

 

What? 

Just texting.

 

I know that face. 

What face?

 

Yours.

 

Master, you came to me with a programme, a plan, some genuinely fresh initiatives

for... well, let's call it what it is...

....world domination.

 

May I ask, as your lawyer, 

What are you doing with your time?

 

You can't afford to feed on just,

uh, anyone.

 

ZEV: 

Oh, dot-dot-dot.

There's a reply coming!

 

Give it back.

Are you not eating with us?

 

She's drinking with us.

 

Give it here!

 

Uh, uh, uh - reply's in.

 

HE READS OUT LOUD

 

Lucy Westenra, you're getting

married.

 

Yeah, final days as a free woman.

Give it here.

 

SAM RETCHES

How should I reply?

 

Yes. Just say yes.

 

"Ms Westenra is available

for a late dinner."

 

I'm saying, though,

we've got karaoke!

 

So who's this one, then?

 

D?

SAM GROANS

 

Who's D?

 

What about this one?

 

"Staying locally.

Double first from Oxford.

 

"Martial arts expert. Non-drinker."

 

PHONE BEEPS

Ah. Sorry. Already have dinner

plans.

 

HE SIGHS

I am trying, Dark Lord.

I do sometimes wonder — what it is that you actually want.

 

MESSAGE SENDS

 

HE SIGHS

 

PHONE BEEPS

 

LAUGHTER

 

DANCE MUSIC PLAYS

 

What about the Harker Foundation?

Are they still taking an interest?

 

There is some activity.

However, your lady friend has left their employ...

 

My lady friend?

 

Dr Helsing.

 

I'm unclear exactly what's happened, but I'm assuming...

 

PHONE DINGS

 

...she'll take no further interest

in you.

 

Mm.

 

YAWNS

What's the time?

 

Half two.

HE GIGGLES

 

You know what?

 

I think there's blood in my alcohol stream.

 

Yeah.

 

Did you hear what I said? I did.

 

There's blood...in your

alcohol stream. 

It was hilarious.

 

It's the wrong way round, you see?

 

Stop, you're killing me.

 

Are you even drunk?

Were you even drinking properly?

 

Maybe I'm saving myself.

 

For dinner? Mm!

 

For D?

MESSAGE SENDS

 

Don't.

 

Who's hungry at this time of night?

 

Are you sure about all this?

 

About what?

 

Marrying Quincey.

 

I like him.

 

You're supposed to love him.

 

OK, I love him, then.

 

‘Cos he loves you.

And Jack loves you.

Everybody Loves You.

 

Yeah, I'm pretty, that happens.

 

Woo! Listen to her.

 

Do you know what it's like

when you're pretty? 

 

Yes!

 

Everybody smiles.

You never see The World without a big, stupid smile on its face.

 

HE GROANS

 

The thing you don't get...

HE SIGHS

..Marriage is for Life.

 

Yeah —

But Life isn't Forever.

 

PHONE DINGS

 

CAWING

 

DISTANT SIRENS

 

PHONE DINGS

 

Ah!

Tart.

 

Hungry.

 

You could've waited.

 

I need to feed on someone, Lucy.

You don't always give your consent.

 

I bet this one didn't.

 

Fast food.

 

So why does my consent matter?

 

It doesn't, but it's delicious.

I'm a gourmet, not a glutton.

 

Why always a graveyard?

 

I like to spend time with people my own age.

 

SHE LAUGHS

 

Yeah, funny guy.

Very funny.

 

Where will you be buried?

 

Why?

 

Because I might want to visit.

 

That's next-level clingy.

Thank God I'm being cremated. No.

 

Shut up.

 

Everyone is.

It's a waste of space, all this.

 

DRACULA :

Listen to me :

Do not let them burn you.

 

Why not?

 

DRACULA :

It hurts.

 

SHE LAUGHS

 

I've never heard anyone. complain.

 

DRACULA :

Well, I have.

I'd say there are...

..nine here.

Yes, nine.

 

Nine what?

 

 

DRACULA :

Sufferers.

Come here.

Give me your hand.

 

SHE GIGGLES

 

What am I doing?

 

DRACULA :

Listening.

 

FAINT THUDS

 

What's that?

 

DRACULA :

What does it sound like?

 

THUDS GROW LOUDER

 

Knocking.

 

DRACULA :

Knocking, yes.

On a coffin lid.

From the inside.

 

MAN: 

Turn on the lights, please.

 

WOMAN: 

100 million...

 

Someone turn on the lights!

 

245,000...

 

WOMAN 2: 

I can't...I can't feel it!

 

Help me! Help me!

 

HE CHUCKLES

 

Are they vampires?

 

DRACULA :

Nothing so evolved.

They're just undead.

 

The unfortunate few who remain sentient as they rot.

 

Ah!

 

The Children of The Night —

what music they make.

 

BANGING

Help me!

 

VOICES OVERLAP

 

Ahh!

 

HE CHUCKLES

 

DEAD BABY :

Bloofer lady. Bloofer lady.

 

Bloofer lady.

 

Bloofer?

 

DRACULA :

“Beautiful.”

He means you.

 

DEAD BABY :

Bloofer lady.

 

LUCY :

How does he know I'm here?

 

DRACULA :

Because he's looking at you.

Right there.

 

DEAD BABY :

Bloofer lady.

Bloofer lady play peekaboo.

Peekaboo!

 

DRACULA :

Some of the little ones wriggle their way to the surface.

I think they can smell the worms.

 

DEAD BABY :

Can you see me yet?

 

DRACULA :

No, no, no! 

No, no!

 

SHE LAUGHS

 

DRACULA :

Don't play with him.

He'll follow you home.

 

LUCY :

(fascinated)

Would he really?

 

DRACULA :

You know, in a very, very long life, 

I don't think I've ever met anyone quite like you —

 

You really don't care, do you?

 

The Perfect Food.

 

ZEV GROANS

 

HE SIGHS

 

Lucy?

Shit.

 

COUNT DRACULA: 

Dying is the only remaining novelty.

 

Every other human experience

is catalogued somewhere in your 

endless chattering libraries.

 

Nothing comes fresh.

 

Every living instant is shop-soiled 

and second-hand except that one moment in life

that no-one can report back on.

 

In a world of travelled roads...

Death is the last unprinted snow.

 

LUCY: 

…you don't half talk 

a lot of shit...!

 

DRACULA :

...You Know, 

People Don’t usually 

Say That to Me….

 

LUCY: 

Yeah, you kill them 

before they can —

Basically, You're blocking people.

 

….Do You Love Me? 

 

DRACULA :

No.

 

LUCY: 

Will you ever love me? 

 

DRACULA :

No.

 

LUCY: 

Well, that's one less thing 

to worry about….

 

DRACULA :

Aren't you even a little scared of me?

Aren't you afraid of anything?

Even Dying?

 

LUCY: 

Everybody Dies.

DRACULA :

Lucy, you're a very special flavour.

 

LUCY: 

Two minutes —

if you've still got the appetite.

 

DRACULA :

Three. 

LUCY: 

Five. Special Treat.

 

DRACULA :

What do you want to dream about tonight?

 

LUCY: 

Put me Somewhere Beautiful...

..where no-one can see me... 

..where I don't have to smile.

 

BLOOD GUSHING

 

Frank Renfield, 

Dracula’s Lawyer & Servant

is waiting in The Car for His Lord

outside The Cemetery Gates, 

doing The Times Cryptic Crossword —

Frank :

"Unscrupulous Doctor deployed

tanner's knife," 12 letters.

 

FLY BUZZES

 

Frank :

Ah!

He snatches it out of The Air, and scoffs it (as usual)

 

Frank :

Dracula...

..is...

HE SLURPS

..My

...Lord.

 

ZEV: 

Lucy?

 

Lucy!

 

Lucy?

 

Luce?

 

What the hell?

 

ZEV ON PHONE:

Jack, please, you've got to see her.

 

She won't see doctors,

but she might see you.

 

SHE MUMBLES

 

HE CHUCKLES

 

PHONE RINGS

 

Could I speak to Dr Helsing, please?

 

No.

 

No, I didn't know that.

 

Dr. Zöe Helsing is asleep 

in the Terminal Cancer Ward.

She is Dying. Badly.

Waking, SHE GASPS —

There is a mysterious Blue Nun 

in The Corner of Her Room, 

with her back turned —

 

Van Helsing :

Hello —

Did somebody Send You?

 

Sorry, no offence, but 

I'm really not A Believer.

 

Zoe?

 

DOOR OPENS

 

Sorry, I didn't mean to...

 

Van Helsing :

Oh, Jack. Hello.

Sorry, I was...

I was dreaming.

Please, come in.

 

Thanks.

Sorry if I startled you.

 

Van Helsing :

No, no, you didn't. Ugh.

Try again, 

I'm incredibly bored.

 

HE CHUCKLES

 

I didn't bring any grapes or

anything.

 

Van Helsing :

I hate grapes.

In that case, you're welcome.

 

SHE LAUGHS

 

It's very kind of you

to come and see your old mentor.

 

Is it, Jack…?

…Is it kind?

 

Van Helsing :

Oh, Jack…

You were My Star Pupil —

 

I only suggested you 

for the donor programme 

so you could get some easy money, 

get you through college.

 

I never thought Dracula would actually come back.

 

Nobody did.

 

So...

 

What do you think...

..about Lucy?

 

Van Helsing :

It's possible.

Could be him.

 

Dracula chooses His Victims 

for A Reason.

 

Is there anything...

special about her?

 

I love her —

But she's a perfectly ordinary girl.

 

Van Helsing :

She can't be.

Because if it is Dracula...

..what keeps him coming back for more?

 

SHE TYPES

 

LUCY: 

Hello?

Who's down there?

Is that you?

 

CHILD: 

Peekaboo.

 

SHE GASPS

 

Peekaboo.

 

Bloofer lady.

Peekaboo.

 

May I come in?

 

Peekaboo.

 

Please avert your eyes - I, um...

..I have to murder a child.

As we used to say in Vladivostok.

 

BLOOD SPATTERING

 

CHILD SCREAMS

 

I'm ill.

 

Well, not ill, precisely.

 

Look at my face.

 

So, so beautiful.

 

I'm as white as a sheet.

 

As the last unprinted snow.

 

Am I dying?

 

You're mortal.

 

You've been dying since the day you were born.

 

SHE SIGHS

 

My people have a saying,

 

"One should always speed a parting guest."

 

BLOOD GUSHING

 

KNOCK ON DOOR

MEG: How are you feeling, love?

 

FLY BUZZES

 

Just going to make some

tea. Want some?

 

I'll bring you a cuppa.

 

You stay there!

You need to keep your strength up.

 

FLY BUZZING

 

Help me!

 

Help me!

 

Help me!

 

Help me!

 

Shh.

 

Hush, Lucy, you're mine now.

 

You've nothing left to fear.

 

You won't be long in your grave.

 

Your mind screams aloud, but for now, your body must be silent.

 

In the midst of life, we are in death.

 

Of whom may we seek for succour but of Thee, O Lord, who for our sins art justly

displeased?

 

Yet, O Lord, God most holy...

 

MUFFLED SCREAMS

 

..deliver us not into the bitter

pains of eternal death.

 

MUSIC: 

Angels by Robbie Williams

 

He That Breaks a Thing to Find Out What it is Has Left The Path of Wisdom.

  

 

‘Late one evening I came to the gate, like a great arch in the wall of rock; and it was strongly guarded. But the keepers of the gate were on the watch for me and told me that Saruman awaited me. I rode under the arch, and the gate closed silently behind me, and suddenly I was afraid, though I knew no reason for it. 

 

‘But I rode to the foot of Orthanc, and came to the stair of Saruman; and there he met me and led me up to his high chamber. He wore a ring on his finger. 

 

‘“So you have come, Gandalf,” he said to me gravely; but in his eyes there seemed to be a white light, as if a cold laughter was in his heart. 

 

‘“Yes, I have come,” I said. “I have come for your aid, Saruman the White.”

 

And that title seemed to anger him. 

 

‘“Have you indeed, Gandalf the Grey!” he scoffed. “For aid? It has seldom been heard of that Gandalf the Grey sought for aid, one so cunning and so wise, wandering about the lands, and concerning himself in every business, whether it belongs to him or not.” 

 

‘I looked at him and wondered. 

 

“But if I am not deceived,” said I, “things are now moving which will require the union of all our strength.” 

 

‘“That may be so,” he said, “but the thought is late in coming to you. How long, I wonder, have you concealed from me, the head of the Council, a matter of greatest import? What brings you now from your lurking-place in the Shire?” 

 

‘“The Nine have come forth again,” I answered. “They have crossed the River. So Radagast said to me.” 

 

‘“Radagast the Brown!” laughed Saruman, and he no longer concealed his scorn. 

 

“Radagast the Bird-tamer! Radagast the Simple! Radagast the Fool!

Yet he had just the wit to play the part that I set him. For you have come, and that was all the purpose of my message.

 

And here you will stay, Gandalf the Grey, and rest from journeys.

For I am Saruman The Wise, Saruman Ring-maker, Saruman of Many Colours!” 

 

‘I looked then and saw that his robes, which had seemed white, were not so, but were woven of all colours, and if he moved they shimmered and changed hue so that the eye was bewildered. 

 

‘“I liked white better,” I said. 

 

‘“White!” he sneered. “It serves as a beginning. White cloth may be dyed. The white page can be overwritten; and the white light can be broken.” 

 

‘“In which case it is no longer white,” said I. 

 

“And he that breaks a thing to find out what it is has left the path of wisdom.” 

 

 

The Price

 

GUNN:

I'll only say this once --

The guys you send to create those diversions will die. 

PRICE :

Yes, they are. 

You try not to get anybody killed, you wind up getting everybody killed. 

Get ready to move out. 

ANGEL :

What should I do? 

PRICE :

Go to the village, call out the Groosalugg and kill him. 

ANGEL :

Kill their undefeated champion? 

I can't, I'll turn into The Beast. 

PRICE :

I know. 

ANGEL :

When I fired you guys, the reason I.... 

The Darkness was coming out of me. 

I didn't want you near it. 

The Thing that comes out here is 

TEN times worse. 

I do this, you know I won't come back from it. 

PRICE :

Yes, you will. 

I know you. 

We know you. 

We know you're A Man with a Demon inside, 

not the other way around. 

You have the strength to do what's needed, 

and you'll come back to us. 

FRED :

I could go with you. 

I know how to prepare the Challenge Torch. 

PRICE :

You'll come back. 

GUNN :

You really think he'll come back? 

PRICE :

I need him to think it.

The Grandson thought about it for a minute 

and then asked His Grandfather : 

"Which wolf wins?"

The Old Cherokee simply replied, 

"The one you feed."

Why Does He Talk in Such an Extraordinary Way?

DOCTOR :

Are you absolutely positive? 

GULLIVER: 

I would not impose any falsities upon you. 

I adhere strictly to truth. 

DOCTOR: 

Of course. 

This, er, this person who controls this place, The Master? 

GULLIVER: 

The Master, yes. 

DOCTOR: 

Have you seen him? 

GULLIVER: 

Upon occasion he has been pleased to grant me an audience. 

DOCTOR: 

Where might I find him? 

GULLIVER: 

The Master's palace is no ordinary edifice, but a citadel, 

a walled town at the top of a hill or cliff, which is reckoned the highest in the kingdom. 

DOCTOR: 

Yes, now I think I understand. 

May I ask, sir, where you come from? 

Would it not be Nottingham? 

GULLIVER: 

[Smiling]

My father had a small estate in Nottingham, sir. 

I was the third of five sons. 

He sent me to Emmanuel College in Cambridge at fourteen years old, where I applied myself close to my studies, learning navigation and other parts of the mathematics 

DOCTOR: 

Useful for those who intend to travel 

DOCTOR + GULLIVER: 

As I always believed it would someday or other, my fortune to do,

DOCTOR: 

Now I know who you are, sir. 

Your name is Lemuel Gulliver. 

GULLIVER: 

Your servant. 

ZOE: 

Gulliver? 

DOCTOR: 

Yes, yes. 

Oh, I'm looking forward to a long talk with you one of these days.

GULLIVER: 

I should like that above all things, but it would not be proper at this juncture to trouble you with the particulars of my adventures. 

DOCTOR: 

Oh, I wouldn't dream of detaining you. 

GULLIVER: 

Having been condemned by nature and fortune to a restless and active life, I must take my leave of you. Farewell. 

DOCTOR: 

Farewell. 

(Gulliver leaves.) 

ZOE: 

Why does he talk in such an extraordinary way? 

DOCTOR: 

Well, he can only speak the words that Dean Swift 

gave him to say. 

ZOE: 

But that's ridiculous. 

I mean, there never was such a person as Gulliver. 

He's a fictional character. 

DOCTOR: 

Of course he is. Don't you understand? 

This World that we've tumbled into is a World of Fiction. 

Unicorns, minotaur, Gulliver's Travels, they're all alive here. 

ZOE: 

Then what are we doing here? 

What do they want with us? 

The GELF Wars

 

"The thing about human beings was this: human beings couldn't agree. They couldn't agree about anything. Right from the moment their ancestors first slimed out of the oceans, and one group of sludge thought it was better to live in trees while the other thought it blatantly obvious that the ground was the hip place to be. And they'd disagreed about pretty well everything else ever since.

They disagreed about politics, religion, philosophy - everything.

And the reason was this: basically, all human beings believed all other human beings were insane, in varying degrees.

This was largely due to a defective gene, isolated by a group of Danish scientists at the Copenhagen Institute in the late 1960s. This was a discovery which had the potential for curing all humankind's ills, and the scientists, naturally ecstatic, decided to celebrate by going out for a meal. Two of them wanted to go for a smorgasbord, one wanted Chinese cuisine, another preferred French, while the last was on a diet and just wanted to stay in the lab and type up the report. The disagreement blew up out of all proportion, the scientists fell to squabbling and the paper was never completed. Which was just as well in a way, because if it had been presented, no one would have agreed with it, anyway.

Small wonder, then, that homo sapiens spent most of their short time on Earth waging war against each other.

For their first few thousand years on the planet they did little else, and they discovered two things that were rather curious: the first was that when they were at war, they agreed more. Whole nations agreed that other nations were insane, and they agreed that the mutually beneficial solution was to band together to eliminate the loonies. For many people, it was the most agreeable period of their lives, because, apart from a brief period on New Year's Eve (which, incidentally, no one could agree the date of), the only time human beings lived happily side by side was when they were trying to kill each other.

Then, in the middle of the twentieth century, the human race hit a major problem.

It got so good at war, it couldn't have one anymore.

It had spent so much time practising and perfecting the art of genocide, developing more and more lethal devices for mass destruction, that conducting a war without totally obliterating the planet and everything on it became an impossibility.

This didn't make human beings happy at all. They talked about how maybe it was still possible to have a small, contained war. A little war. If you like, a warette.

They spoke of conventional wars, limited wars, and this insane option might even have worked, if only people could have agreed on a new set of rules. But, people being people, they couldn't.

War was out. War was a no-no.

And like a small child suddenly deprived of its very favourite toy, the human race mourned and sulked and twiddled its collective thumbs, wondering what to do next.

Towards the conclusion of the twenty-first century, a solution was found. The solution was sport.

Sporting events were, in their way, little wars, and with war gone people started taking their sport ever more seriously. Scientists and theoreticians channelled their energies away from weaponry and into the new arena of battle.

And since the weapons of sport were human beings themselves, scientists set about improving them.

When chemical enhancements had gone as far as they could go, the scientists turned to genetic engineering.

Super sportsmen and women were grown, literally grown, in laboratory test-tubes around the planet.

The world's official sports bodies banned the new mutants from competing in events against normal athletes, and so a new, alternative sports body was formed, and set up in competition.

The GAS (Genetic Alternative Sports) finished 'normal' sport within two years. Sports fans were no longer interested in seeing a conventional boxing match, when they could witness two genetically engineered pugilists - who were created with their brains in their shorts, and all their other major organs crammed into their legs and feet, leaving their heads solid blocks of unthinking muscle - knock hell out of one another for hours on end in a way that normal boxers could only manage for minutes.

Basketball players were grown twenty feet tall.

Swimmers were equipped with gills and fins.

Soccer players were bred with five legs and no mouths, making after-match interviews infinitely more interesting. However, not all breeds of genetic athletes were accepted by the GAS and new rules had to be created after the 2224 World Cup, when Scotland fielded a goalkeeper who was a human oblong of flesh, measuring eight feet high by sixteen across, thereby filling the entire goal. Somehow they still failed to qualify for the second round.

American football provided the greatest variety of mutant athletes, each one specifically designed for its position. The Nose Tackle, for instance, was an enormous nose - a huge wedge of boneless flesh that was hammered into the scrimmage line at every play. Wide receivers were huge Xs - four long arms that tapered to the tiny waist perched on top of legs capable of ten-yard strides. The defensive line were even larger, specifically bred to secrete noxious chemicals whenever the ball was in play.

Genetic Alternative Sports were a huge hit, and the technological advancements spilled into other avenues of human life.

Cars were suddenly coming off the production line made from human mutations. Bone on the outside, soft supple flesh in the interior, and engines made from mutated internal organs - living cars, that drove themselves, parked themselves and never crashed. More importantly than that, they didn't rely on fossil fuels to run. All they required was carfood - a special mulch made from pig offal. Cars in the twenty-third century ran on sausages.

The trend spread. GELFs, Genetically Engineered Life Forms, were everywhere, and soon virtually every consumer product was made of living tissue. Gelf armchairs, which could sense your mood, and massage your shoulders when you were feeling tense, became a part of everyday life. Gelf vacuum cleaners, which were half kitchen appliance, half family pet, waddled around on their squat little legs, doing the household chores and amusing the children.

Finally, the bubble burst. The Gelfs rebelled, just as the Mechanoids had rebelled before them.

The unrest had been festering for half a century. The dichotomy was that, although Gelfs were created from human chromosomes, and therefore technically qualified as human, they had no rights whatsoever. Quite simply, they wanted to vote. And normal humans were damned if they were going to file into polling stations alongside walking furniture and twenty-feet tall athletic freaks.

The rebellion started in the Austrian town of Salzburg, when a vacuum cleaner and Gelf Volkswagen Beetle robbed a high street bank. They took the manager and a security guard hostage, agreeing to release them only if Valter Holman was brought to justice for murder.

Valter Holman had killed his armchair, and the whole of the Gelf community was up in arms, those that had arms, because the law courts refused to accept that a crime had been committed.

The facts in the case were undisputed. It was a crime of passion. Holman had returned home from work unexpectedly one afternoon to discover his armchair sitting on his naked wife. He immediately leapt to the right conclusion, and shot the chair as it hurriedly tried to wriggle back into its upholstery.

Finally the establishment capitulated, and Holman was brought to trial. After the two-day hearing the court ruled that since Holman would have to live out the rest of his life being known as the man who was cuckolded by his own furniture, he had suffered enough, and was given a six-month suspended sentence.

And so the Gelf War started.

And for a short time, humankind indulged in its favourite pastime. Humans versus man-made humans.

Armchairs and vacuum cleaners fought side by side with bizarrely shaped genetically engineered sports stars and living, breathing motor cars.

The Gelfs didn't stand a chance, and most of them were wiped out or captured. The few remaining went to ground, becoming experts in urban guerrilla warfare. For a short time, Gelf-hunters proliferated, and a rebel vacuum cleaner waddling frantically down a crowded street, pursued by a Gelf runner, became a common sight.

But it wasn't the Gelf resistance fighters who caused the problem. The problem was what to do with those who'd surrendered. Legally, killing them constituted murder, but equally, the authorities could hardly send them back into docile human service.

Fortunately the problem coincided with the nomination of Earth as Garbage World. All the captured Gelfs were dumped like refuse on the island of Zanzibar and left to die.

Most of them did. But not all. Some survived. Not the brightest, not even the biggest, just those best equipped to cope with the harsh rigours of living on a planet swamped in toxic waste and choking poisons. The ones who could endure the endless winter as Earth soared through the universe looking for its new sun. And gradually, a new strain of Gelf evolved.

A creature who could live anywhere. Even in the revolting conditions on Earth. A creature with a sixth sense - telepathy. A creature who was able to read its prey's mind, even through hundreds of feet of compacted ice. A creature with no shape of its own: whose form was dictated by the requirements of survival.

These were the polymorphs.

The shape-changers.

They didn't need food for survival.

They fed on other creatures' emotions. Their diet was fear, jealousy, anger ...

And when no other creatures were left on the island of Zanzibar, they began to feed off each other.

Until finally, there were only a handful left."

The Spectre

“Why can’t I TOUCH Them?

Why can’t I DO ANYTHING?”

“The Spectre, after listening for a moment, joined in the mournful dirge; and floated out upon the bleak, dark night.

Scrooge followed to the window : desperate in his curiosity. He looked out.

The air was filled with phantoms, wandering hither and thither in restless haste, and moaning as they went. 

Every one of them wore chains like Marley’s Ghost; some few (they might be guilty governments) were linked together; none were free. 

Many had been personally known to Scrooge in their lives. He had been quite familiar with one old ghost, in a white waistcoat, with a monstrous iron safe attached to its ankle, who cried piteously at being unable to assist a wretched woman with an infant, whom it saw below, upon a door-step. 

The misery with them all was, clearly, that they sought to interfere, for good, in human matters, 

and had lost the power 

for ever.”

Shit. What are Friends For?

Fuck! You've gone completely •sideways•, man.

That'll blast you right through the wall.

You'll be stone dead in 10 seconds.

Fuck, they'll make me explain things. Shit.

Bullshit.

[Brandishing a Harpoon] 

Don't fuck with me now, man.

I am AHAB.

Jesus Christ.

All right, you weird fucker!

Sit down! Back in the tub!

I'll plunge this into your fucking throat.

Don't make me use this, man.

All right, man.

Probably the only solution.

Let me make sure I've got this all lined up :

You want me to, uh … 

Throw this  [electrical tape recorder] into the tub [WITH YOU] when “White Rabbit" peaks, is that it?

“Oh, fuck.

I was beginning to think....

I was gonna have to go outside …

and get one of

the goddamn •maids• to do it.”

Oh, no. I'll do it.

Shit. What are friends for?

The Utility of the Fool

   

Use The Force, Luke..!!

LET GO, Luke..!!

 

The Utility of the Fool

“It is useful to take your place at the bottom of a hierarchy. It can aid in the development of gratitude and humility. 

Gratitude: There are people whose expertise exceeds your own, and you should be wisely pleased about that. 

There are many valuable niches to fill, given the many complex and serious problems we must solve. 

The fact that there are people who fill those niches with trustworthy skill and experience is something for which to be truly thankful. 

Humility: It is better to presume ignorance and invite learning than to assume sufficient knowledge and risk the consequent blindness. It is much better to make friends with what you do not know than with what you do know, as there is an infinite supply of the former but a finite stock of the latter. 

When you are tightly boxed in or cornered — all too often by your own stubborn and fixed adherence to some unconsciously worshipped assumptions — all there is to help you is what you have not yet learned.

It is necessary and helpful to be, and in some ways to remain, a beginner. 

For this reason, the Tarot deck beloved by intuitives, romantics, fortune-tellers, and scoundrels alike contains within it the Fool as a positive card, an illustrated variant of which opens this chapter. 

The Fool is a young, handsome man, eyes lifted upward, journeying in the mountains, sun shining brightly upon him—about to carelessly step over a cliff (or is he?). 

His strength, however, is precisely his willingness to risk such a drop; to risk being once again at the bottom. 

No one unwilling to be a foolish beginner can learn. 

It was for this reason, among others, that Carl Jung regarded the Fool as the archetypal precursor to the figure of the equally archetypal Redeemer, the perfected individual.

The beginner, the fool, is continually required to be patient and tolerant—with himself and, equally, with others. His displays of ignorance, inexperience, and lack of skill may still sometimes be rightly attributed to irresponsibility and condemned, justly, by others. But the insufficiency of the fool is often better regarded as an inevitable consequence of each individual’s essential vulnerability, rather than as a true moral failing. Much that is great starts small, ignorant, and useless. 

This lesson permeates popular as well as classical or traditional culture. 

Consider, for example, the Disney heroes Pinocchio and Simba, as well as J. K. Rowling’s magical Harry Potter. 

Pinocchio begins as a wooden-headed marionette, the puppet of everyone’s decisions but his own. 

The Lion King has his origin as a naive cub, the unwitting pawn of a treacherous and malevolent uncle. 

The student of wizarding is an unloved orphan, with a dusty cupboard for a bedroom, and Voldemort — who might as well be Satan himself — for his archenemy. 

Great mythologized heroes often come into the world, likewise, in the most meager of circumstances (as the child of an Israelite slave, for example, or newborn in a lowly manger) and in great danger (consider the Pharaoh’s decision to slay all the firstborn male babies of the Israelites, and Herod’s comparable edict, much later). 

But today’s beginner is tomorrow’s master. Thus, it is necessary even for the most accomplished (but who wishes to accomplish still more) to retain identification with the as yet unsuccessful; to appreciate the striving toward competence; to carefully and with true humility subordinate him or herself to the current game; and to develop the knowledge, self-control, and discipline necessary to make the next move.

I visited a restaurant in Toronto with my wife, son, and daughter while writing this. As I made my way to my party’s table, a young waiter asked if he might say a few words to me. He told me that he had been watching my videos, listening to my podcasts, and reading my book, and that he had, in consequence, changed his attitude toward his comparatively lower-status (but still useful and necessary) job. He had ceased criticizing what he was doing or himself for doing it, deciding instead to be grateful and seek out whatever opportunities presented themselves right there before him. He made up his mind to become more diligent and reliable and to see what would happen if he worked as hard at it as he could. He told me, with an uncontrived smile, that he had been promoted three times in six months.

The young man had come to realize that every place he might find himself in had more potential than he might first see (particularly when his vision was impaired by the resentment and cynicism he felt from being near the bottom). After all, it is not as if a restaurant is a simple place—and this was part of an extensive national organization, a large, high-quality chain. To do a good job in such a place, servers must get along with the cooks, who are by universal recognition a formidably troublesome and tricky lot. They must also be polite and engaging with customers. They have to pay attention constantly. They must adjust to highly varying workloads—the rushes and dead times that inevitably accompany the life of a server. They have to show up on time, sober and awake. They must treat their superiors with the proper respect and do the same for those—such as the dishwashers—below them in the structure of authority. And if they do all these things, and happen to be working in a functional institution, they will soon render themselves difficult to replace. Customers, colleagues, and superiors alike will begin to react to them in an increasingly positive manner. Doors that would otherwise remain closed to them—even invisible—will be opened. Furthermore, the skills they acquire will prove eminently portable, whether they continue to rise in the hierarchy of restaurateurs, decide instead to further their education, or change their career trajectory completely (in which case they will leave with laudatory praise from their previous employers and vastly increased chances of discovering the next opportunity).

As might be expected, the young man who had something to say to me was thrilled with what had happened to him. His status concerns had been solidly and realistically addressed by his rapid career advance, and the additional money he was making did not hurt, either. He had accepted, and therefore transcended, his role as a beginner. He had ceased being casually cynical about the place he occupied in the world and the people who surrounded him, and accepted the structure and the position he was offered. He started to see possibility and opportunity, where before he was blinded, essentially, by His Pride. 

He stopped denigrating the Social Institution he found himself part of and began to play his part properly. 

And that increment in Humility paid off in spades. "

And “Doom” Spelt Backwards, is “mooD”

“ The  Magician  wishing  for  a  manifestation  of  Doctor Doom  will  not  only  invoke  Doom  directly  and verbally,  create  Doom-like  conditions  in  his  temple,  reinforce  Doom  associations  in  every gesture  and  every  article  of  furniture,  use  the  colors  and  perfumes  associated  with  Doom, etc.;  

He  will  also  banish  other  gods  verbally,  banish  them  by  removing  their  associated furnitures  and  colors  and  perfumes,  and  banish  them  in  every  other  way.”

I Love The Corps

So, This is UltraWar.

Me...

...against ME!

Thing is...

I'm not at war with my contradictions.

My Mistakes.

My "Discarded Selves"...

I worked all that OUT!

And there's an 

EASIER Way 

to Do This.

You Need to 

UNDERSTAND.

All The People I've BEEN, 

all The Roles I've Played....

I'm not DIVIDED.

I'm A CORPS.

Jon Ronson On... Ambition

Guise will be Guise

April Becomes Leslie Knope - Parks and Recreation

April (Aubrey Plaza) channels her inner Leslie Knope (Amy Poehler) when she's tasked with speaking to the public about a new Parks and Recreation project.

Guise will be Guise....