Kid_Eternity
Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?
Eh?
I can just imagine lletsa doing that across the pub from nigel irritable looking glum over his copy of the socialist
If he will insist on trying to read it, then it's his own fault.
If I wrote it, he'd be on the train on the way to meet Beyonce where he'd make eye contact with a drunken squaddie. Anyway, the squaddie'd get up and head off towards the bogs but not before giving an almost imperceptible head gesture to our eponymous hero who, against his better judgement, follows the squaddie into the bogs. Anyway, our hero enters the bogs to find the squaddie smearing that pink squirty soap onto the head of his proud purple manhood before unceremoniously gripping our hero's shoulders, turning him round and ramming his face up against the mirror over the sink where he's confronted with the image of the agonised contortions of his own red & panting face and the thrusting khaki shillhouette behind him as he's brutally sodomised beyond his wildest imaginings of neither pleasure nor pain.
Later on, as he gets off the train, he's confronted by the horrified shriek of Beyonce who goes "What's that dribbling out of the bottom of your trousers onto your shoes? Is that spunk? Don't you know that's really bad for shoe leather?".
That's how my script'd go.
interesting that so many people (fallaciously) interpreted my posts about ejaculation in the context of masturbation. I can only assume it's because you're all a load of wankers., articul8's weird stuff about wanking to a picture of someone's face or whatever it was,
Well that just goes to show why you're not a successful writer; your plotting is all over the place. Following the opening quoted previously, it's pretty clear that the squaddie would have attracted our hero's attention to reveal a vital secret which moves the narrative on in a far more dynamic and altogether less prurient and squalid manner. Said squaddie has come across information which reveals that a small elite of neocon corporate overlords are preparing humanity for the final stage of capitalist domination. Now, having stripped away all but the last vestiges of effective democracy, personal liberty, employment rights and recourse to justice and equality, they're about to effect the last stage of he plan: the move to neofeudalism and the wholesale indenture of humanity.
To test whether mankind was ready to be enslaved in this manner, they've conducted various 'experiments' to determine the likely scale of resistance. Intelligence reports have led them to suppose that any opposition is likely to initially manifest itself online. To counter this they've spent years ensuring that all traditional outlets of dissent are dominated by colour supplement lifestyle-porn, tin-hat fanatics or whiny public schoolgirls playing at being radical. Humanity is doomed. Up steps Ronnie R, socialist icon, pisshead and all-round fuck-up to save the day.
He starts badly by being thrown into jail following a 'misunderstanding' in Greggs over the precise ownership of a corned beef pasty. There he is viciously bundled into a cell with a gibbering wreck of a man who turns out to be an ex member of KLF. Night after night, Ronnie, is forced to endure the deluded rantings of this wretched creature but, gradually, a strange tale emerges...
It seems KLF were secretly tasked with creating an 'installation piece', designed to reveal the depths of society's apathy, cynicism, decadence and credulity. To this end, they'd programmed a prosperous young Oxbridge graduate to believe she was actually a sort of messiah to the downtrodden and victimised, destined to lead us all to the bright uplands of...erm..some vaguely idealised world as channelled by a sixth-form wannabe politico who's smoked too much skunk and is sitting on the wall, expounding his 'theories' while he waits for his mum to pick up...cos 2miles is a long way...and it's dark. Too late, Ronnie's lunatic cell-mate realised that this was no art work...it was part of a secret....etc
Ronnie, after several showdowns with C wing's Mr Big, gains access to a secret laptop and discovers to his horror that our 'installation' has become the Voice of a Generation and vast swathes of mankind hang on her every word. Ronnie notes with horror that as we are drawn ever tighter into the vice of lifelong servitude, rather than resist, we are distracted by random whimsical musings about shite television shows, Top Shop and precise rules of etiquette for the 21st century 'activist-journalist'.
Ronnie must act....and fast...
That's how he plot SHOULD go...then: escape; close call as Ronnie-who's managed to get hold of a case of vodka-is nearly pulverised by Beyonce's tour bus; Beyonce's fierce and demented seduction of Ronnie; then, the 'fight-back' as Ronnie restores the will and belief of a broken people...
Write it. I would definitely read that.
Yep, I was just biting at the obvious set up you made.i didn't see that response coming
And we don't want to think about you coming either, but you had to raise the topic.i didn't see that response coming
Thanks for saying so. I'm currently at that tricky stage in the process where the actual production of the novel has to take a back seat while I decide who'll play me in the film...and decide on the exact details of how the spontaneous 'word of mouth' viral marketing campaign will play out. Always best to get the basics sorted first.
I want Ronnie to embody old-fashioned proletarian values, so obviously I'm thinking of Hugh Grant for the role. I've always found that a public school and Oxbridge background allows an actor to fully and convincingly inhabit a working class aesthetic and world-view. I'm just a bit worried there'd be no real chemistry between him and Beyonce. What d'ya reckon?
...after reading the stuff from mental health professionals I'm not so sure).
What's been said?
Relax, it's the weekend - radical downtime!By the way, Laura still hasn't done a tweet since she posted the link to that letter to a suicidal disabled benefit claimant (which I thought was pretty good tbh but after reading the stuff from mental health professionals I'm not so sure). That's a full day without twatting - has that ever happened before? I'm wondering if we might have broken her or her internet
Apparently she was advised not to publish anything on it because it could affect the individual concerned and that she should instead get in touch with Samaritans and so on. But she went ahead and published anyway - we've only got the bloke's word for it who she apparently asked for advice so there might be more to it but it doesn't look good.
Wrong thread? Or even, wrong thread?Tom Hanks, as Ronnie Rubashov (aka, LLETSA) and, Meg Ryan, as downtrodden, Penny Red.
Getting started in journalism: the essential guide.
1)Make sure you say hello to mummy's cleaner now and again. This is known as "a youth spent transgressing traditional social demarcations and engaging in radical discourse with the dispossessed and downtrodden".
2)Make sure you get to Oxbridge.
3) If anyone finds out you had a pony, tell them you only kept it ironically and that your special secret nick name for him was Gramsci.
4)Pretty much make shit up. That way you can even write it before the event. If anyone calls you on it, blame it on misogyny, sectarianism or jealousy.
5) Remember there are literally billions of human beings; and they're always saying stuff to each other. It's entirely possible that as you travel the globe in search of a story, unnamed and unidentified stereotypical 'characters' will pop up at fortunate moments with the perfect apposite quote. And, as we all know, 'entirely possible' is tantamount to reality.
ronnie isn't lletsa.Tom Hanks, as Ronnie Rubashov (aka, LLETSA) and, Meg Ryan, as downtrodden, Penny Red.
ali said:"Had a lovely weekend spitting on posh people".