Anyone notice it's cold?

What's up with that?

Anyway, we are entering the end of the third week of term. But we don't care about that do we?
No, Jancis
Too right we don't.
What we DO care about is the fact I've been here for a month. A whole month without wireless. (Until this moment when I'm sitting on a bench in one of the lecture buildings).
Everyone tell how me how amazing me I am for learning things.
You're amazing Jancis
Okay, I'm surely insane. And very egotistical. And handsome if I may say so.

So we have to do a performance based on us from year Dot to Twenty. So that means I've had a week of "I'm a baby. See how I do not know how to walk. Or talk. I am simply a big lump of lumpy meat."
You do not want to see my shins.
Really, if I have to be a tree then I'm...hiding in the cupboard until I don't have to be a tree anymore. (People gave me werid looks when I laughed at that last thought).

So term has began well. Of course everyone feels mistreated and unloved. But is that not part of becoming a grownup?

So with this quick blog, writing in four layers of clothes and sitting near an automatic door, I wish you a good day.

Good day.

This is a test of the "Jancis = AWESOME!" alert,

Repeat.
This is a test.


Not really.
Just a heads up to say that my Super episode of "Buffy Between the Lines" is two episodes away.

In the mean time, if you just happened to go to HERE and you happened to listen around the 29.58 mark maybe you'd hear something mildly awesome.

Not enough awesome to warrant the alert but still...

NOW I MUST GET SOME SLEEP FOR I HAVE PRESSUPS IN THE MORNING!

The "I have joined a cult" post. (Who had the bet for three weeks?)

So this is my “last two weeks” blog to ensure I do not fall on to the “LIST OF DOOOOOOM”.

What has happened to me in the last couple of weeks? I am in the process of starting my Uni life. Ah yes, the joys of a reclusive non-drinking non-smoker. I am truly living the highlife.
That said, I do enjoy going to bars and nightclubs and just watching people. At the Freshers ball I watched a man walk into a door and apologize very politely. The following is a dramatization of the moments as I and my friend leave the party (This is a girl who I just appeared next to at the Welcome BBQ. She seems to have soured on my craziness though as you will get from her reaction. Such is me.)
Me: I just saw a drunk guy apologize to a door.
Friend: Oh that is so fucking interesting, you pussy.
Me:….MY GIRLFRIEND WAS DECAPITED IN A CARCRASH!!!
Other Guy: Is that true?
Me:…YES!
OG: That is the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.
My brain: Score!

A Note to Jancis' Future Girlfriend(s)
Hey there future honeybunny. Firstly, thanks for checking my blog to see what sort of guy I am. I can assure you that the whole Faith thing is way behind me. I don’t even return her calls. Second, you maybe worried that I spend a lot of time threatening to kill off previous paramours. I just want you to calm down. If I wanted you dead, I would have killed you while you were drunk after the party. You know which one. You wore the black thing. Funny story, I did stand over you with a butcher’s knife for four hours while you were crashed out on the couch. Bet you’re glad you didn’t wake up, eh?
Hugs and kisses
TJ

Lessons haven’t really started yet. I have been set work to write and learn a monologue. Yes, it’s full of my usual love of life and belief in mankind. Simply it is the monologue from a play I will never write. So expect a mention of it in some of my other work. I am nothing if not a plagiarist. (Note to journalists of the future looking for a quote to use for a story on me and using that quote: I stick my penis inside your wife AND your mother.)

So today I started my brand spanking new regime. With added spanking. You know when you get a hankering for a spankering you slams hand in drawer . Okay I’m back. So when we were given our reading list it had an entry for “The Artist’s Way” by Julia Cameron. After tricking me with not only having a book but a textbook I was told I needed to write “three pages” everyday. But three pages of what? Well, anything I liked but it needs to be free hand and as soon as I wake up. Supposedly it would inspire me to be a better artist. Though the examples they gave were lawyers remembering they love the dance and so become ballet dancers. Maybe doing this would insure I never fall off my chosen path. Thanks book. You’ve made me a better me!
That said it does say I have to basically thank God for my talent and make sure to pray.
Uh.
No.

Of course, the book says, it doesn’t HAVE to be God. No, just some overruling being that controls and moulds me into a better person.
With that in mind I am now a follower of Pallas Athena/Minerva. I call her Pam.
I’m now sad as I imagine a dusty goddess awaking in a cave somewhere in Greece thinking that she is once again loved and needed. Well come to me, oh Athena. I shall keep you with me. We can have a sitcom full of misunderstandings and you setting your owl upon noisy drinkers who wake you up. (Please post any ideas for a title or plotlines of my magnus.)

Speaking of my new patron here she is. The second part of the “Artist’s Way” was once a week I had to go on an “Artist’s Date”. The way she describes it is that my artist is like a moody lover so take her to an art museum or clothing shop. Then she will love you again and you can have a good week! (For more on treating your muse as a lover: see Simon & Garfunkel’s “Cecilia”. )
Anyway Pam and I went on a walk and decided to visit the Southampton Art Gallery. There they had a collection of Burne-Jones’ portraits of Perseus. So I spent some time remembering my love of the Greek myths and why I got involved in this stupid game of acting/writing anyway. (It’s for the money and the woman)
This was my favourite picture because it made me go “Hmm. Medusa. Oh yes. I have a short story collection I was supposed to finish.” In an ideal world, every story would have a picture that was a redoing of a famous piece. If only I had an artist as a friend. Oh Kieran why did you have to go so cold on me? What of our love? Our love for ART? (Seriously, call me. I miss you.) [Yes we are aware how gay it all seems. You don’t need to tell us. K THX BYE]
(PS. When seen on canvas, the picture doesn’t look as if someone has scribbled notes on it. The writing is less….extreme when five foot tall.)
Afterwards I had a rice lunch and looked in the local library then wandered the streets like the homeless man I will be in a few years. So basically it has been a nice day. One I will never have the like of again once they make us do things. Oh well.

I’m not sure if Mrs Cameron would be happy that I have taken her way of finding inner piece as an excuse to have yet another woman haunt my sleep. Because the best women are the ones who sit at the end of your bed and tell you you’re going to die cold and alone with 19 imaginary cats and drawers full of three pages of your pointless life.

(Oh lord. I know this is all going to come back to bite me if I ever have a drug problem “I’m not depressed!” “Well, your blog says you’re haunted by a Greek goddess.” “Who isn’t?”)

That’s the thing with the morning pages. It says to write whatever we feel or want to say, never mind how disjointed the thought. I’m like “Hellllo! Have you ever met me? I don’t do disjointed!”

Speaking of the Panama Cannel, they finally fixed the TV so I can watch Heroes. How sad it is to watch people getting excited over it and you know that people are hating it over the pond. That said, look out for the answer to whether dear ol’ Sylar is a zombie or not.
Oh Sylar. Large Eyebrow Crew, Rep-re-sent!
Of course channels 1-5 run 66, 68, 67, 69, 65. Stupid dyscalculiac television. Just joking. You mean I get to watch House when it comes back. For that I still like you. But only as a friend.

On that bizarre note I’m calling this a blog post.
You are a blog post.

Goodbye!

T' traditional “TLAP” Day blog post (run through a pirate translator because I be too lazy t' do it meself).

Oh for goodness sake. Why was I not informed today was “Talk Like A Pirate” Day. All that sittin' around havin' t' be told “Hey, counsellin'. It’s a good thin'” and I could have been threatenin' people with a cutlass. Got t' Councillor though. She was sayin' “Anythin' you say will be completely confident” so I said “What if I claimed t' be wanting to dance the hangman’s jig?” Why, then they can have me taken away in irons without me say so. Stupid lyin' councillors. They be triksy landlubbers.
Strangely enough t' two thin's they could report be “Doin' harm t' meself or others” and “Terrorism”. Who confesses t' terrorism t' t' University Councillor? They be not priests! She seemed so sad that I was sayin' “If I’m plannin' t' top meself, I’m not comin' t' you, you big old blabbermouth.”
That all said, once again I got free grub. Which is something. Really should have brought some vitals back for tonight. Have to avoid cooking food for as long as I can.

Tomorrow, people begin to move in. I intend to sit in the kitchen and glare at them. Also when they go for the fridge go “AH!” and then shake my head.
I have to make my own fun.

The first Uni post

So here I am. In halls. Writing at a table. I know, table eh. Pretty swish.

I don’t really have anything to say due to the fact that there only appears to be me and the staff in halls. Oh that’s not true. There is some….thing in the halls that’s playing music. BUT I DON’T KNOW WHAT!? (Answers that this may be another student shall be ignored.)

They haven’t set the televison signal up yet so I have a useless box. Not even working in the common room. I’m going to miss….well nothing’s on. And I don’t know if the halls get Sky. Oh well.

Other students move in on Saturday which means I have two full days of disability training to look forward to.

On Friday, Special Guest Speaker…THE LIBRARY LOANS SUPERVISOR! Whooooo!

As well as a fun talk on “Helping you to help yourself”.

Please say this experience is going to get fun at some point. No, really. I love not being able to use Skype and having to download podcast by hand. Yes literal hand. I have to go to the podcasters and say “Please might I have your podcasts?” And they say “You wantsz poddycasts”. So I run away crying like a girl.

True story!

So yeah. Nothing is happening.

Yeah.

So.

Good Lord I can’t stop.

Anyway, I shall write when something happens.

The Slander Free Blog Post

The week at Chichester went well and the performance was well received.

Okay, see you next time.

Half Hearted Post

Right! Lets make this bitch my bitch.

What’s happened over the last month?
I finished the Fitcher File and I stopped being haunted by Faith.

See. No snarky comments!
I’ll show you!

Tiny penis!

There you are! Nothing. Oh the quiet. I did promise not to kill her and I didn’t. Hell she’s a recurring character possibly maybe!
Okay she’s just there to racchet up the angst and be a deus ex machina later on. What do I mean by that. Let me explain it to you in a way you’d understand.
I know. Sam freed her from a bear trap then when he fights El Gigante she’ll leap on its back and distract the monster!
I know that was a joke. But I am SO going to write that! There you go! A sneak peak into a future file!
What did happen to the dog anyway? I hope it was alright.

Moving on I’m writing this on a brand new laptop. It’s big and new and powerful. When I asked the guy in the shop if I could play games he said “Oh no. You’ll need an add on and that will cost money.” Now I can walk back and say “See! See how Sawyer out of Lost tells me to destroy. And how Cameron out of House doesn’t seem to know what she’s saying!” Then I would nod my head and flounce off. In a totally manly macho way though!

Thanks to the new laptop we’ve finally sorted out wireless internet which allows me to proctrasnate anywhere in the house. Oh the freedom, the wireless freedom.
This has also allowed me to finally get my Wii online and show Germans how I can make Snake kick REALLLLY high. And then he goes WHHHOSH and flies and everything and AWESOME!
Just be glad they don’t do voice chat. I don’t want to call people fags. I really don’t!

While writing this the Opening Ceremony is playing. There sure is a lot of walking around with flags! (Jancis: Cutting edge commentary. Come back soon for “People run really fast and get given presents!”)

Anyway, next week I’m off to take part in a weeklong workshop in Chichester based on “Six Characters in Search of an Author”. Will it be worth it? Will I have to take my trousers off? I’ll have to find out!

I Am Reviewing The play/the last year/the chance to make bad Oliver! puns.

It’s the morning of the first of July and young T. Jancis is hard at work writing what he hopes will be his next story. Or at least he hopes it will be. Let’s watch as he types away.

T.J: So...how to kill a werewolf. I could have it even 10p coins…No. That’s a stupid idea. What if I threw off a realllly big hill.
FAITH: Oh look who’s back.
TJ: Hi Faith. Bye Faith. Writing. Go.
FAITH: Writing my story if I remember. So you can spend a little time with me.
TJ: No.
FAITH: Why?
TJ: You are a figment of my imagination that has the annoying tendency to talk to me.
FAITH: And to touch you while you’re sleeping.
TJ: I’m not touching that one.
FAITH: But I am on a nightly basis.
TJ: Look. I’m at least six months tardy on this story. I have at least three people if not waiting on tender hooks at least getting ready to sit down with a cold drink and peruse it while listening to the radio on a summer afternoon.
FAITH: You’ve got strange ideas of your friends.
TJ: Anyway I might have a handful added readers thanks to the play.
FAITH: Ah yes. The play. The wonderful play that has left us as ill formed constructs. Tell us allll about it.
TJ: I will. And you can go back into the ether that is my imagination.
FAITH: Fine. But I’m giving you memories of Bob the Builder porn.
TJ: Okay. My memories of OLIVER! over a week later.

I’ve been slow to write this for a few reasons. I’ve never been one to name names in this blog as I don’t really want them coming up to me and saying “What ya mean I’ve got wonky breasts?” (I never wrote a blogstory with a person I knew as a demon. Never. Retconed. Gone. I also have no plans to use the character again in the Fitcher Files. Nope. Not me.) So that’s why I’ve let the dust settle and perspective to settle in. (I did in fact tell a girl she had wonky breasts but like most girls, she ignored me. Oh what a life I live.)


As I have stated in an earlier blog back when I left school I sent off for membership of Stage ’65, the youth theatre of the Salisbury Playhouse. They turned me down saying there was no room but hey, thanks for playing and I’ll be on file. So I kind of moved on until I got a phonecall saying that men were needed so of I went. Now I know there was a rehearsal and remember certain people who made an impact. I know Ben, our director, turned up at the end and was…well Ben. But I seems I’m an incredibly selfish person and my mind said “If you get this, you’ll have time to learn names and faces. But as you might not don’t bother.” So I’m looking back and going So and So must have been there and POOF that’s them in the corner. Then I say they didn’t have that haircut then and they lose their heads and it’s all rather sad and tragic. Sadgic if you will.
We won’t.
So off I go to a callback and there I meet for what I’d count as the first time the other main characters. You could argue that I was the fifth most important character, which is nice.
So here I break my no-names rule and give a summation of these fine folk over the months of the play.

OLIVER
This fine chappy was played by an Oliver as was Fagin. But, as the Salisbury Journal so helpfully said “That’s where the similarities end”. Well yes, one is playing a thirteen year old boy and the other an old Jew. Silly, silly Journal.
He restored my belief in young years he did. And all the girls loved him and his pseduogay ways.
Yes, we had a whole “Gay/Straight/Bi” check for the whole run. For the record I’m Omnisexual and I have to say that is a lovely tablelamp you have there.
So we tried to make sure he went along the path of happiness and relished it when he promised someone in their yearbook he’d turn for them before too long and then watched him panic.
On Saturday, he lost his voice and he got warm lemon and honey. Before long we were just making him drink lemon juice. Oh the jitters he had.
There was also a part in the funeral home where Oliver is stuffed in a coffin but in rehearsal it was broken so they stuffed him in the “cellar” (the understage via trapdoors). From there he shouts at Mr Bumble, the head of the workhouse. Well on Saturday it seems Oliver goes down a hole and then his voice broke only to be restored on re-entry. It seems the backstage guy took the shouting job instead. This also killed Ben who had no idea this would happen and was trapped in the orchestra pit with an accordion (to play, not as some romantic interlude. That said…)

NANCY
Ah Obee/Obi/Holly/Hobby. Sweet innocent all of the above names. Yes this is one Obee (I’m sticking with this name for sanity’s sake) our Nancy. Why Obee? Because she joined up they said “You can have a stage name” and she said “Okay, I’ll be Obadiah” but she spelt it wrong and so it’s all very confusing. Of course I said the reason was she really was a OB-B due to the fact she was an Organic Bioform robot and OB-A was killed in a tragic accident and now we have her. I think she got the joke (see girls misunderstanding me. Also the hardness of my existence.) Of course I then had a dream that mixed that and Battlestar Galactica where we had OB-C but my Obee remained in my head basically annoyed I killed her and going out of the way to ruin the play for me. How? Um…lovely weather we’re having! (Phew, dodged a bullet I shot at myself!)
On the first night she appeared to have food poisoning and so felt ill. So when she left before the curtain call, guess who’s fault that was. Did I break her neck? Not that time. No justice!
Of course, that night was the one when the gunshot didn’t go and I almost passed out thanks to the drop. But no one seemed to car- that’s a lie. All the grownups didn’t want me to die.

FAGIN
This is our Ollie V.1. Was he playing Jewish, Italian or South African? Anywichway, he did a good job. Many was the night he rushed backstage to grey his hair and eyebrows and rub black on his teeth. Sure it looked strange and sure it all rubbed off but he tried didn’t he?
It was also fun to watch him prepare “Reviewing the Situation” by singing at the mirrors in our dressing room.
It may seem I have little to say on him. That’s not true. Of the four people I’m talking about, I probally spent the most time with him. It’s just it appears there aren’t so many wacky stories. It just a lot of talking with someone with the annoying habit of knowing a lot of what I was talking about. The swine. How dare he be well-versed in both literature and film!
And now he’s a pro with a play on in September. While I’m here by lonesome.
You’ve got me.

A fun way to pass the time was to notice that Mr Brownlow, Oliver’s grandfather never got a song. So we wrote one. (Well I wrote it. He just made me sing it for everyone)
And it goes a little something like this:

ACT TWO

Scene 2.1

Oliver and Mr Brownlow enter Brownlow’s Home. Oliver stands in the hall, looking amazed. Above the stairs there is a large picture of what looks like Oliver in a blonde curly wig and a huge pink dress.

MR BROWNLOW

Well young man this is my home. I mean your home. You would like that wouldn’t you?

OLIVER

Very much sir.

MR BROWNLOW

Excellent. Now I better show you round. Let you get the feel of the place.

Oliver is pushed into a chair.

“YOU’RE MY GRANDSON”

MR BROWNLOW

I’m Mr Brownlow

Welcome to my mansion

I shall protect you from the smog

First you get a tour of my house.

This is where I keep my logs.

(SPOKEN) I like logs. They never talk back.

Chorus
You’re my
You’re my grandson
Never stray away from me
You’re so
You’re so handsome
A happy family we shall be

MR BROWNLOW
This is where I keep my books
Most of them I’ve never read.
This is where we keep my dead.
(SPOKEN) NEVER GO IN THERE! The music stops at once as Brownlow glowers at Oliver for around five seconds. Suddenly he sings again.
Your breakfast will be made by cooks.

Chorus

Mrs Bedwin appears from inside of a cupboard. She is carrying a box that appears to ooze…stuff. As she puts it down she sees Oliver and walks towards in a shuffled dance.

BEDWIN
I’m Mrs Bedwin
I’ll be your nanny
Now young man, it’s time for bed.
I shall read you a bed time story
While I smell you sweet washed head
She begins to sniff him.

Oliver gets up and begins to back towards the door.

OLIVER
Though I appreciate the offer
I would hate to be a bother.
I really should go now.
He runs.

MR BROWNLOW
Catch him, you daft old cow.

Oliver is caught.

Chorus X2

Oliver collapses.

BEDWIN
Oh lord. We’ve killed another one.

MR BROWNLOW
No. No. It appears that he’s just fainted with the excitement of being here. Did I mention he might maybe possibly could be my grandson?

BEDWIN
I believe so sir.

MR BROWNLOW
Oh well. Begins to leave. I’m going to go stand by the duckpond and watch the children. Don’t wait up.

BEDWIN
What about the boy?

MR BROWNLOW
If anyone asks, say he has a fever. Get Grimwig to look at him. The man couldn’t tell his oral cavities from his glatimus maximus. Laughes then suddenly stops. That was a medical joke.

BEDWIN
Yes sir.

MR BROWNLOW
You didn’t laugh.

BEDWIN
I’m laughing on the inside, sir.

MR BROWNLOW
You do think I’m funny, don’t you Mrs Bedwin?

BEDWIN
Yes sir.

MR BROWNLOW
And you do like my logs?

BEDWIN
They’re very fine in my humble opinion.

MR BROWNLOW
Good. Good. Walks off humming.

Bedwin waits until he is gone. She looks down at Oliver.

BEDWIN
Sleeping away. So like a doll. Aren’t you a doll? A sweet, innocent doll? You won’t be leaving Mumsy will you? You’re going to stay with Mumsy,aren't you baby doll?

She kneels and places Oliver’s head to her chest and gently rocks him. He moans a little.

BEDWIN
Sush, sush Baby. No more crying. Mumsy will care for you. But first you need a bath. A nice sponge bath with Mumsy

She carry-drags Oliver off stage.

SCENE

I think I’ve scared myself a little. My mind is a worrying place.

DODGER
Our crossdressing Dodger. Well of course we never made that clear. It just happened that our Dodger was a girl. Nothing unusual about that. All though it did make Fagin’s line “She’s going to be a regular little Bill Sikes” a little strange. She is? She’s going to grow nine inches, sprout stubble and bitch slap her girlfiend? Oh, good for her.
On our first night, Charlie was very sad because no one had bought her a single flower. “What ho” thinks I “a chance to both be nice and give mixed messages. Those are my favourite form of message.” So she got cut flowers and Obee? Well she got a nice pot plant which I thought would last longer. See, mixed ain’t it? Of course people were aggressive when I appeared so I dumped them on the floor and legged it down the corridor.
In my card I called her a “blonde drag-king” so that got me some notice.
I appear to be a strong holder of the belief of keeping them keen by treating them mean.
She also learnt she had large eyes and these could be used to scare and worry people and doesn’t everyone need to see it and doesn’t she need to go to every dressing room and show it off? Answer: yes.

Ah yes. All those, dare I say it, friends of mine. Too bad they were all drug related hallucinations.

BILL SIKES
And so we reach the most important part of all. Sit back gentle readers as I tell you of the struggle that was my life. Thrill as I talk of my stunts. Gasp as children become impossible for me.

So the first few months were deadly dull. See Ben thought a Bill who was evil then burst into song would ruin the menace. So I was cut from the songs. So I just sat around, wallowing in despair. Eventualy we got onto my bit and we realised how bad my lines were so they got cut. I mean cut. Mute. Yeah I know. But eventually we solved it.
I mean look at this.
SCRIPT
Nancy: Why are you looking at me like that Bill?
Bill: It’s a dark night, my girl, but it’s light enough for what I’ve got to do.
He kills her.
PERFOMANCE
Nancy: Why are you looking at me like that Bill?
There is a pause as he stares her down. Suddenly his hands snap around her neck and she begins to choke.

Wasn’t that much better?

Thus we get to the big piece. The hanging.
Now at the beginning they said “We’re going to hang you.” I thought “Yeah, right.” Little did I know I would have to wear a harness under my coat and waistcoat, hook myself, wrap the rope around me, wait for the girl to go “BILL SIKES!” climb over a railing and then get “shot”. I leant back, let go with my hands then my feet. Where I dangled ten or nine feet off the ground while we had a quick reprise of “Reviewing the Situation”.
Was it scary? Not after the first few times. Hurt? Like hell but I’m used to been bruised. (Did I mention I have a hard life?)

I have great pictures on my phone of the bruising to show at my next cheese and wine party.
(If I took one thing away from Mr Craig’s Ethics lessons it is that…How sad.)
The sad thing is I’m now really good at hanging yet I may never use the wires again. The tech guy said my dead dangle was one of the best he’s even seen. This is the man I had to take my trousers off to allow him to check the harness. It changes a man you know.

So I was ready and then on the Monday there was bad commutation with the sound guy and the tech so the gunshot never happened so I kind of jumped. This fanagled my gun- oh what the hell I crushed my bollocks and smacked my back.
After that I thought shouting would alleviate the stress.
TUES: “OH GOD DAMMINT”
WED: “OH BLOODY HELL!”
THUR: “SON OF A BIT-”
At this point one of the kids told me my shouting was “ruining the play” and “You can’t shout when you’ve been shot”. So after I yelled her (how dare you say that and the fall killed him not the shot) I resulted to just making sex noises. Like you do.



The Many Smackdowns of Nancy Nancyson, A Lady of the Night and Nice Singer.
1. When refusing to go get back one Oliver Twist, her boyfriend, one William Sikes (a man of excessive hair and owner of one cunning hat) grabbed her by her rather large hair and threw her to the ground.
2. While she lay prostate, Sikes decided to scare her by stamping close to her head which moved her into a position to sing her song.
3. When returning with the boy, Nancy decidedes to intercede on a belt whipping is thrown to the ground for her troubles.
4. She then points with a dramatic finger which results in an arm twisting.
5. Later in the same scene, she has to be forcibly removed from the room for punishment and possible raping.
6. In the final part of her life, she once again gets in the way of an Oliver beating and is chocked, swung around, slammed against a wall then thrown to the floor. At which point she dies. OR DOES SHE?
7. Yes, yes she does.

Back to how hard my life is. I seem to have terrible luck with photos. I just don’t get into them. That’s why I don’t have one on Facebook (that and it was done to annoy Sarah. Back to keen via mean.) Every time they took photos it was Act One, which I’m just not in. Which is kind of disheartening but I maintain they’re going to struggle when I make it big and they have nothing to put on the wall to say I was there. (I am in the back of one rehearsal photo but I am removed for the internet version).

Now I want to make it clear I enjoyed myself. I’m a position that it was so well done that I can pick up on the small things that rubbed slightly.
It was just nice to not have to buy costumes or props for once. And of course, it’s back to no budget for me in September.

NEWSPAPER (BEFORE SHOW)
NEWSPAPER (AFTER SHOW)
PLAYHOUSE


So that was Oliver! This final point leads me nicely into the rest of the post.
More? Good God, man.
The sooner I do this, the sooner I can get around to killing you.
Sorry. What?
So as I was saying, people asked me what else I was up to apart from the play.
You’re going to kill me?
Now I could tell them about the podcast or the Fitcher Files.
People like me.
But I didn’t.
At least I like me.
Did I not think they were good enough? Was I embarrassed? Or was it easier to just say “Doing? This. Normally I don’t go outside for weeks.”
Don’t kill me.
Either way, those three things have in my mind been the things that have stuck. Okay maybe I told people the reason for my gap year was that I was going on a tour of the world then my girlfriend got decapitated in a carcrash and I couldn’t find the energy to go. Then when challenged I’d say “You’ll never know”. Oh mystery!
QUOTE OF THE PARAGRAPH:
Young boy (aghast at my tragedy): Did she die?
Me (Annoyed): No, she was just fine with no head!
Young boy: Oh. Yeah.

Now I’m ready for people to say that “You shouldn’t say such things. If it happened you’d feel awful.” No I’ll be amazed if it does. I’d feel awful because MY GIRLFRIEND WOULD BE DEAD!
(Note to self: This is going to come and bite you in the arse one day. PS. Girlfriend of the future: I love you. Please don’t get your head cut off.)
At least I didn’t go with “And I also lost my best friend in the crash. Yeah, she really shouldn’t have been blowing him while he was driving.” Because that would be too much.
(NOTE: Thomas is once again stealing plots from books to make his life more interesting. Points to anyone who can name the two books.)
YOU’RE GOING TO DECAPATE ME?
Why would I?
I’M A FICTIONAL GIRL.
I promise not to chop your head off.

Do I feel like I’ve wasted my year? No. I’ve matured and gained more stamina. Hopefully this will help me for the next year.
If I could change anything I would try to get more done with the writing. I know I keep whining about no one reading it but that shouldn’t be a problem. What I needed to do was just get on with it. Then again, I remember the fact Kieran destroyed his Media Studies as he would rather hand in something he was happy with then leap through hoops.

Which reminds me: None of you came to my play and only Sarah wished me well! I thought you loved me.
Apologies and kisses in the comments!

Consider Yourself a clichéd pun that I refuse to make.

So here we are. Eggs in the basket are hatching and I’m hoping that they become swans rather then lizards.
What I’m trying to say is a small portion of my life is coming to an end.
The Buffy recording was done weeks ago and tonight I begin the first night of a seven show run of Oliver! in front of an audience of over five hundred people.
Am I scared? Well, the director Ben has banned me from getting nervous so I’m tingly.
Oh, and my legs are covered in bruising from general bashing and my death scene. How do I die? Well you have to see that for yourself. (Yes, even the Buffy people. Get on a play to see someone you don’t know. Make an effort people!)
Once again I ask for your love and well wishes and maybe I’ll post pictures of the atrophying flesh that is my legs.

My Birthday

I haven't had this yet. But when I do OH WHAT A POST THERE SHALL BE.

All I'm saying is leave your love here.

WHY IS THIS NEWS!?

WHY!?

My lack of planning is, in itself, a plan. Just not a very good one.

See, I have trouble with these. I’m stuck in what can be called a daily grind of nothing. Get up and fill the day until you collapse in a heap at four in the morning. Not blog worthy. I took this year so I could write and I found out that the major problem is I have a very short att


So I’ve had development on the two pieces of “acting”. First up, I got into the Buffy podcast and have roles. Beautiful roles that use both my tongue AND my lips (That came out weird…er) What roles can never be told because…you know, I would do the normal “They work on a demon-filled podcast and funnily enough have creatures to eat your kidneys” spiel but I think you’re smart enough to work through all that. No I don’t, I think you’re all idiots paling before my brilliance. Wait I don’t mean that, come back! Fine leave me, I don’t need you anyway. I DON’T HAVE A PROBLEM, YOU HAVE THE PROBLEM. YOU’RE NOT MY REAL MOTHER!

Glad we sorted that out then. So yes, expect more on that when it drops. Suffice to say I’m doing small foot-wiggling dances over the excitement.

Second piece is “Oliver!” which I succeeded in getting the Bill Sykes role. Good. Then they told me “You know having you being scary and then bursting into song would ruin the mood. No singing for you!” This has made the rehearsals slightly less…fun what with the sitting on the floor for hours on end as you have to hear “Food, Glorious Food” for the sixth time. Now with harmonies. What larks! Yet I remain sure that things will soon turn around and I’ll beating woman to death in the not too distant future. (Boy that’s going to come back to bite me in a Google search.)

See what I meant? Nearly a month of my life reduced to nearly two hundred and fifty words. I’m getting magazines through and going “Hmm, I just got that four weeks ago.” Sand through my fingers. Sand through my fingers.

Speaking of all that, loans have been signed and papers are awaited. That’s right. I’m going to uni definitely and surely (Which you’d think would have warranted its own posting had it not being for the crippling ennui [Oh, I’m changing my mind; Ennui is the reason nothing gets done. Put that on a mug and I’ll have the monocle off the King of Spain’s very eyeball. Then WORLD DOMANTION {This is a lot of brackets}])

I’m going to Southampton Solent for one really good reason and many decent reasons. But one really good one, which is as follows: Every other place went “You have a beard and the ability to string basic sentences togther. Come on in.” And I fell for it. But then Southampton wanted a proper audition and said “You have too much facial hair and talk too much but we’re willing to risk you.” So they got me for being passively mean which makes me a strange masochist . “Yeah tie me up but only enough so it slightly stings and gently stroke me with the whip!” (And may that image stay with you for the rest of the day. My gift to you.)

And on to Fitcher. I’m going to keep kicking and whining over that. Love it if you love me. DO IT! DO IT OR I’LL STOP DOING THAT THING YOU LIKE WITH THE CUSTARD AND THE BUDGY! Harsh but fair.
Why as there been such a break? Say it with me. E! “E” N! “N” N! “N” U! “U” I! “I”. What’s that spell? “The reason you haven’t written a decent third part which doesn’t make you cry in a corner sobbing ‘I’m a hack. I’m a hack’!!!” Close enough! That and losing a place to work what with having to move things when the fridge decided that keeping things cold was passé. Then again it’s the dining room table. If I use the study I’d use the internet and then nothing would be done. Nothing! I’M WEAK WILLED! (Chalk up third reason for continued FAIL!)

What else have I done recently? Ah, went to see the second half of “His Dark Materials” performed at Bath. Why the second? Because my sister gave my the 24 hour flu which knocked me out on that day. I had tried to read all three books before I went and was a hundred pages into “The Amber Spyglass”. Saw the play then kept reading. One question though: WHY THE HELL WERE THERE ROLLERSKATING ELEPHANTS!? THERE WERE NONE IN THE PLAY AND IT DID FINE. OKAY THE SPYGLASS BECAME A NON-PLOT. BUT WHY THE HELL WERE THEY THERE? I ACCEPT THE POLAR BEARS IN ARMOUR AND THE FACT YOUR SOUL IS AN ANIMAL BUT ELEPHANTS! ON SKATES? (Elephants on Roller-Skates was to become the title of Jancis autobiography)
Which makes me wonder if the play was better. Yes, Lee just disappeared never to be seen or heard of again. Yes the angels were just people in long dresses on wires which made them seem like bad Peter Pans. Oh and what sort of name is “Glorious Wings” anyway? I would have preferred “NoName” to sounding like a hair metal band.

So that was my month more or less. I’m promising myself I’m going to get an early night and sit and work on the next File. My public demands it in a blasé read-if-it’s-there manner!
(You’d never guess I write this as train of thoughts would you?)




Edit: Complete your "HDM" experience with one of these bad boys. No comment.

Jancis becomes Lower Lower Lower Upper Middleclass

So I was just finishing off my audition parts when I came up to send them off and to my horror I found I had been blacklisted!
Shock! For the first time I have some news and this happened. BUT NO MORE!

Okay so you know how you wait around for a play and or podcast to want you and then two come along.
Well that happened.
Okay, see you next month.

More? Well okay.

Way, way back many centuries ago, not very long after the Bible began (Late’07 for those out of the know) I sent out a form to join Stage ’65, the youth theatre group of Salisbury. You know, fill up the Gap Year.
I promptly received a letter saying “DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY PEOPLE WANT TO JOIN US? DO YOOOOOOOU?” So I thought no more of it.
I joined the Yeovil group and the play they wanted to do was Michael Frayn’s “Democracy” a play about German politics. So I stepped away and laughed when they sent out letters saying “We only had three people turn up”.

Now I listen to a lot of podcasts. A lot. If I’m on the laptop I’m listening. So when a favourite “Buffy Between The Lines” put out a casting call I thought “Why not? I’m not doing anything on the eighth onwards” while ignoring the fact I had only got to Season Four in my Christmas “Angel and Buffy for less then £150” gift. Did I mention that the current season of BBTL was after 5? Buffy dies and Willow is a lesbian? Who knew? (Me because I won’t allow myself the joy of finding things out for myself…I’m really ruining my jokes tonight.)

Anyhoo, the 15th, I was playing Super Mario Gal-working on the next Fitcher File and not procrastinating. I also was fully dressed and had washed that morning. Yep. Clean me.
So I’m sitting there when the phone rings. Now I can hear the message being left and it’s Salisbury saying “You’re a manly man. We don’t have manly men. We’re sorry we turned you away. Be our friend! Auditions Sunday. Okay love you byebyebyebye.” No really. They wanted men.

And that’s how a woman named Victoria made me her booty call.

So Sunday comes and I go and it turns out it’s “Oliver!” and I work the Jancis magic on them. And what do you know they say they want to give me a part! So I went back last night and I’m still as confused as ever. But at least they saw me and I can on Monday for the readthrough. It looks like I’m probably going to be Sykes. Hurrah for beating up woman and children.

Right that’s that.

So on the 12th I’m thinking what of the podcast? Then I remember I have the rest of the day! Who needs sleep? (If the BBTL crew are checking up on me, I am very capable without sleep and dedicated to you 540% [If the Oliver people are reading this, I’m young and stupid. Ignore me.]) So I print off a few scripts, knock off the forms and audition pieces and just sent it when Mum tells me the house is falling down. Rocks everywhere.
So that more of less is where I am. Two pieces of acting.
I’m going up in the world.Soon it’ll be dinner at the Little Chef and clothes from Marks and Spencers! Oh for that day!

Update with Guest Star Faith Lehane

Good day to you all on this warm February day. I’m writing this in my room where you either boil to death or freeze depending on the window is closed or opened. Of course the people across from the window have decided to teach the kid to play basketball and so I have to master the KAMPUMPT of the ball as the kid hits the garage.

So what have I am up to, I hear you cry.
Well, the university has…actually I have a better idea.

FAITH!
“What?”
I need you.
“Bet you do big boy. So what we doing?”
I’m telling my friends what happened with universities.
“Cool.”
So when I give you the signal, say your catchphrase.
“Sure.”
So I went to the final interview and so lucky me I’m (now)
…
“I have a catchphrase?”
Yeah. You know-
“I like chains?”
No.
“Eat me big boys?”
Nooo. The one which people don’t really know what it means.
“Nope. Not getting ya.”
Five by five.
“Oh that catchphrase.”
...
“…?”
Well?
“What?”
You not going to say it?
“You just did.”
I want you to say it.
“Why?”
It’s your line.
“You ruined it!”
Look, I don’t think anyone cares about the joke. It was a mistake. Just go back into my mind.
“Fine. Catch you later T.”
See you in another lifetime, sister.
Faith everyone. One of the only people to become less trampy when she became evil.
“I’m still here!”

Ignore her. So yeah. I’ve got unconditional offers for all five universities. The world is my bitch.
“I thought I was your-”
Faith, I’m not joking. I’m trying to tell people about my life and I can’t have you innuendoing everything.
“But I’m bored. All the pool cues broke and we don’t have the change for the arcade.”
Look I’m struggling enough with the little git bang around outside. I just need to do this. What must I do to make you leave alone for half an hour?
“Put me in a story.”
Fine. You’re the attractive dark haired girl with the leather jacket in the third case.
“But I-”
GO!

Jeez. Don’t you hate it when fictional characters pester you for work? Worse then actors.

Right. Yeah. I’ve got to go on a few “make up your mind days” and choose before the end of March.
But of course try to explain to them that the reason you’re not pulling triple backflips is that the Chaos theory haunts you in your sleep.
If I go to A I don’t meet B when she falls from a second story window. Thus I don’t take her out to get a drink and I don’t meet C. And C and me go on to make a comedy troop that makes the Pope award us with knighthoods.
Like he does.
So they say ‘You’re quite a character aren’t you?’ and ‘you do realise you’re never going to be a traditional leading man don’t you?’ To which I say, don’t I make a change from all the pretty boys and anyway my mum likes me so there! And we all sit there in silence.

I think they wanted more “If I don’t act I would have to eat my testicles” then “I’m getting so lonely I’m having to talk to myself and I’m talking back”.
…
No eating jokes or something about my balls?
…
Neat.

Right. That’s the big thing.

Just
Keep reading the Fitcher Files and maybe leave a comment to show me that Kieran isn’t my only fan.
Brush your hair and always thank strangers for the sweets.

“I would come in now and say something to annoy T but I promised I wouldn’t.”

How I got off the Black List.

Oh my golly gosh. I’ve been Shame Blogged. But at least that wonderful mopeblog has gone meaning I’m back in the Top Three. Oh Toast, I was so looking forward to the time you got alcohol poisoning and wondered if you got raped on the pumping table.
So what I have been up to then?
Holidays were fine and I’ve finally got enough money to buy my way into good society. Which spoils the starving artist ideal but I also got a scarf so I can stand on rooftops and mope.
At the present I’m in the process of Uni interviews. So far I’ve had two say yes unconditionally. My charisma shines from the paper and the psycho killer photo they wanted.
Simply the three who wanted to see all have different criteria which run from:
1) Turn up on this day
2) Prepare a 30 second mime entitled “The first picture of you”
3) Learn 2 two-minute monologues, one oldy, one twentieth centaury.

I went to the Mime one on Monday. Sadly the mime which I almost killed myself planning was used to be mashed up into a combo-mime with a partner. So I just went along with what ever they wanted.
This ended up with me having my photo taken while a girl did the whole “I IZ A TREE. NOWE I IZ A TREE. ME TEH LUVLY” version of mime.
I have become comfortably numb over the whole thing.
Ah but then we had to do the “Count to ten without stepping over each other.” My team won thanks to my great plan. I just didn’t say anything and just grinned at the interviewer. He liked me. So I have that going for me. Which is nice.
But then we had to think of five sentences that were unconnected. So while everyone thought zany was “The sign said left!” I dug out a slither of my insanity to give:
“That won’t bring the cat back.”
“If you had ate the banana you’d be dead by now.”
“It’s not blood I’m afraid, it’s ketchup.”
“I’m sorry to hear about your eyes.”
“Chocolate icecream” (just to mix things up.)

Put that with the combomime and we had a madness that I hope shook people to their cores. People tried impressionist dance, I went with blood and cats.

Ah, there was also the lovely run-in with the young man who said he’s “heard of Dorset but had no idea where it was.” He was from London which I said I too had heard rumours of.


So all the uni visits end this month so I can get back to the writing aka. the reason I’m on the Gap Year. Hey did I mention that there was a story on http://fitcherfiles.blogspot.com/ ? Well there is. Why not go over and leave a comment such as “Yeeees, I think I can see where you’re going but, um, you know I’m busy with getting drunk and groping people so I’ll come back when you’ve done more.” ?
Yes, all two of you have read this bugger.

So that’s my post to save myself from the list. What larks.

Coming soon.

For my latest fiction see: http://fitcherfiles.blogspot.com/

Happy One Year.

Oh blog. How you've grown.
Back when I started I was so young and innocent.
Now I'm old and hairy.

But you will not be left behind. Nay I shall carry you in my heart forever. Which I...Teechers? Christ this IS a old blog.

Come one, let's go get hammered. My treat.

In which Jancis works towards a deadline

Well, it’s that time of the year. The time to go on Amazon and order DVDs and books for other people. The time when people ask “If you don’t believe in Jesus, YOU DON’T GET THE HOLIDAY!”
As people might know, I’ve been banned from Christmas by my sister, who, a couple of years ago said “If you don’t let Christmas into your heart, you don’t get the holiday”. Me being me, Of course I took this a step further and told everyone that it meant I had to buy my presents just to feel included. I think Bobbi still believes me about that. I should call her and apologize for A LOT!
By the way, the murderer was Roland who was being paid to wean us out as demon fighters or something. I’m still amused by Roxanne apologizing to Charles for pushing of a balcony who had no idea what was happening.

Speaking of me being free and easy with the truth, there’s a guy I met in Chichester who I’m going to apologize to here.
Short blonde guy I met on the open day, I lied to you. I do not have toes missing, my eyes are not different colours, I am not an albino with dyed hair and contacts, I did not spend the night in a ditch neither did I spend it at my girlfriend, neither did I hide in the closet when the boyfriend came back, neither when she said “Oh Jesus” did I leap out the closet shouting “HERE I AM!” and finally I am not clinically insane and do NOT want to wear your skin. It was all greasy and as you know, it puts the lotion on the skin ‘else it gets the hose!

Point? *scans up quickly* Ah. The holidays. So today I received all the packages to give to mon famillie. And yes I have an advent calendar before you ask. It cost two pounds from Tesco. Remember when you got happy about 5p worth of chocolate back before you realised you could buy chocolate yourself. Or condoms.

Jesus, I’m really distracted today. I’ll knock it out quickly. Speaking of my masturbation habits NONOSTOPNO!
Quick before I start again. I wrote my holiday card. Remember those? The 100 word stories. Well there’s a new one. And this year I’m giving it to the relatives. And if it works out, I’ll have a PDF to email you all. Won’t that be super?

Okay. Holiday. Tick. Apologies. Tick. Talk of my penis. Yep.
Okay.
AH. Now Sarah’s been saying “Jancis, why you know have photos on the Facebooks?” And I say “Sarah, you rube! Learn to speak good! You sound like a LOL cat and I don’t want anyone near my cheeseburgers! Also I am a mix of races*, all of which come from cold wet places. I think I’ve been outside six times this month. Basically a photo of me at the moment would scare people.” Then Sarah ate my cheeseburger.
Or something like that. Maybe I don’t have a camera? I’ve gone so far even I can’t tell what’s real or not.

So there you go. My November post!
Happy Mark? I’m up there with Sarah and…something to do with toast. I got lost when they used “monologue” in a post-break up post. IT’S A POST. OF COURSE IT’S MONO. IF IT WAS MORE YOU’D BE WRITING A PLAY.
Speaking of plays, where was the great BigSal movie I so gallantly recorded lines for? Hmm? Hmm? Do you want to go on MY wall of shame?
I thought not.


*Wales, England, Latvia. (It means I’m 2/3 good at singing and 3/3 bad at football. OH SNAP!…he said in text…I’m going to crawl into my cupboard now.)

My Halloween (Jancis File Number 1)

At eleven hundred hours, my pockets full of assorted religious memorabilia, vials of water and a packet of softmints, I strolled into the police station of the small town of Gillingham. This is the place I claimed as my home for the last six years and now this would be the last year I patrol the streets.
I thought it would only be polite to call in and tell them what I was planning.
Using my mad ninja skills I walked through the door, crawled past the empty desk and entered the police chief’s office.
The chief looked at me over her hornrimmed glasses.
“Yes?” she said, sounding slightly bored.
“Hey Chief.” I said dropping into the chair before her desk.
She placed her papers into a drawer
“Do I know you?”
“Chief. It’s me.” I cried, butter-won’t-melt look at full power.
She looked blank.
“Jancis.” I said slightly begging. So I thought the poor dear’s going a bit doo-lally so I’ll help along.
“I deal with the things the police find too supernatural.”
She blinked a couple of times. I pulled out my highlight of the year.
“I was in the Western Gazette in June” says I. Yes, that seems to have been my brightest moment. So sue me.
You see, a picture of me had appeared on page 67 of the Gazette. It was me, hair slicked back with the blood of the lesser demon Blue Canary who had begun to eat people outside Waitrose. Anyway, I approached it and tore it’s arm off and beat it to death. So I’m grinning like a madman, my left eye is swollen up in its socket and the road behind me is on fire.
The Gazette placed a large cartoon arrow over my left shoulder pointing to the back of an old man. The caption below asked “ARE YOU THIS MAN? IF YOU ARE, YOU LEFT YOUR WALLET OUTSIDE WAITROSE”
Yes, the local paper really doesn’t have anything better to do then help people find their wallets.

Back to the police station.
I tried many reminders of my job which I hoped would jog her mind. These including me wearing a dress to catch a lamia who was eating competitors of the Mrs Gillingham contest, turning a dark wizard (he skinning children) into a parrot, stopping the invasion of wolves during the Mrs Winter contest and driving back the attack of vampires in the middle of the Miss Give Blood contest. I did win something at the last one. The “Most Likely to Ruin a Contest” Prize as I killed all the vampires, completely negating the whole point and if I can’t play along why can’t I just stay home?
The chief sat as I ranted before clearing her throat.
“I DO remember us dealing with a parrot” she said as if talking to a five year old.
Sighing I played my Ace.
“I’m the one who did the EXPERIMENTAL FILM graffiti in the surgery’s carpark.”
At which point, the chief tackled me, shouted “We’ve got him boys” and smashed my head against the wall.
So I was done for, and I quote “wasting police time and being an all round knob”. I was made to pay a twenty pound fine and I’m also banned from talking to any member of the police again. I was warned if they catch me again it would stretch to being any member of the emergency services.
“Even doctors?”
“Especially doctors!”

So I decided to go back to being a lone wolf. Police help is overrated so I resorted to hiding in the graveyard and wait for trouble to come to me instead.
“What ya supposed to be?”
I peered over a gravestone to see Spiderman.
“Aren’t you a little short to be a superhero?” I asked, completely reasonably.
He didn’t pull off his mask to tell me he had come to rescue me but just glared as best as one can through a cheep latex mask.
“Ya didn’t answer me. What’s your costume.”
I glanced down at my long coat, dark trouser, dark shirt and trainers.
“I’m the fifth Cylon.”
“The what?”
“Oh yes. There are many copies.”
I leered conspiratorially at him.
“And we have a plan.”
He seemed unimpressed.
“You a pedo?”
I raised one surprised eyebrow.
“Pedos hang around in churchyards.” Spidey said matter of fact.
“No. Necrophiliacs hang around in churchyards.” I said as matter of fact.
I realised what I was calling myself here and decided to win back the fight with a witty comeback.
“Go ask your mommy why her kisses taste so salty.”
Did I say witty? I meant crude. I needed to finish this fast.
“Did you get some candy?” I asked trying not sound too molesty.
He did a small twirl.
“Yeah. This is a shit-hot costume.”
“Goodie-gumdrops.” I said
So I pepper sprayed him and then ate his little Mars bars.

As I munched away I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around slowly.
“You appear to be sitting on my grave.” Moaned a man with no eyes or nose.
“Oh sorry.” I said moving to a bench.
“Happy Halloween” I said.
“Brains” replied the zombie..
“What a polite zombie.” Thought I as I started on the Skittles.

As I sat on the bench I watched the passing parade of cheep costumes and supposedly sexy costumes. For the record I saw twenty seven Playboy bunnies.
There was one moment of excitement when I heard someone say they wanted to suck someone’s blood. Now the penis doesn’t have that much blood in it at the best of times so I don’t think she really was a vampire. I shot her with a crossbow anyway. Then he got all disgruntled that she hadn’t finished so I shot him too.

I wandered down the highstreet for a little while when I spied another zombie. This one was trying to break into the charity shop. Maybe she wanted the knitted sweaters her family had cruelly given to charity? Maybe she just wanted a second hand Agatha Christie. Anyway, it was my job to stop her.
“Excuse me ma’m?”
She let out a small moan I took as “How can I help you young man?”
“I was just wondering are you Chinese, Japanese, Haitian or Mexican?”
A second moan that could be “What a peculiar question. Might I enquire why the intrest?”
“Well they seem to be happy with their ancestors crawling out of their graves. Asian culture has families laying out meals for those who enter their homes!”
“BRAAAAAINS?” she said hopefully.
“Mainly rice I’m afraid.” I had to shrug.
Happy to have an audience I began to talk.
“Mexico has the Day of the Dead which is based on the popular game Grim Fandango. The people of the island of Tahiti call up Baron Samedi in a large festival involving drums and rum. Once done he goes on a mad killing spree and tries to kill James Bond. I suspect things would be quite dull without him. Not that I’m calling them dull, it’s just- No. Bad. That’s my arm. You can’t have it.”
I began to batter at her. Clearly she was a bad bitey kind so I stuck a penknife in her spinal column. As she dropped I began to get to work on removing the head.

Just as I got the head separated from the body I remembered that odd year Halloweens are when the demons and ghouls take a well deserved break from trying to end mankind. How could I have forgotten last year and the hellmouth which had consumed Mere. Not that anyone notices the fact the sheep now have wings and eat each other.
Rolling my eyes at my stupidity I hoisted the dead undead woman and flung her into the river. Sure it would cause pollution and would spread the virus and-Why the fuck DID I throw her in? Oh well. Let the police deal with it.

I walked back to the graveyard. The boy was slowly being dragged down the road by a ball of dark. Sitting back on the bench I admired the town. How was this place going to manage without me and my demonfighting skills? Maybe I would just stay?
I passed a large woman who was coming up to people and shouting in their faces.
“Has anyone seem my son? He’s about eight and dressed like Spiderman.”
“He got taken by a big ball of nothingness.”
She glared at me.
“Piss off.”

Oh well. Can’t hold back the march of time and all things must change. Hands in my pockets I whistled as the ball caught the woman and began to break her into base chemicals.
You have to love the holidays.

Motherfraking Snakes on a Motherfraking Plane! (This joke was bought to you by 2006)

I was watching a video young Mark had on his blog about Zach Braff and it had a clip from Garden State where he imagines the plane crash. This brought back 2 thoughts. One, Bah Fight Club did it soooo much better. Two, I guess that means it can’t be shown on planes.

So here is Jancis’ list of films you can’t show on a plane and why.
Fight Club (mid-air plane decompression)
Garden State (Ditto)
Goldeneye (Plane Crash)
Lost (Not a film but still)
Die Hard II (Planes crashing and going BOOOM! Bruce Willis in a vest)
The Twilight Zone Movie (“There’s a Gremlin on the plane!”)
United 93 (9/11)
Hitman (as above)
A Series of Unfortunate Events (for advising those who don’t like the film to leave the “room or cinema or plane”)
Snakes On A Plane (…*one eyebrow raised in a quizzical style*)
Pearl Harbour (it’s shite…and there’s dive bombing.)

Honourable Mention
Airplane (I guess it’s funny enough to avoid panic)

Can anyone think anymore?