Upon returning to London, Renfield R. Renfield spent all his time moping around the mansion of the multi-millionaire ancient Egyptian vampire Set.
Athelstan the personal valet to Set asked Amadeus, "What seems to be Renfield's problem?".
Amadeus replied, "As soon as he got back, he was horrified to discover that David Cameron and Nick Clegg formed a coalition government without him."
"The master is getting quite upset with Renfield's attitude," Athelstan whispered.
"Maybe we should go to a movie tonight," Amadeus thought, "might take his mind off the fact that he didn't become Prime Minister of the United Kingdom."
* * *
Later that night, Renfield got back from the movie in perfectly good humour.
He was still laughing when he went and sat down in an easy chair.
"Renfield thoroughly enjoyed the film," Amadeus remarked to Athelstan, "he was laughing his head off the whole time during the movie. People kept turning around and looking at him because he was laughing so hard."
Athelstan asked, "Did you take him to see a good comedy?".
"No, the new remake of A Nightmare On Elm Street about Freddy Krueger," Amadeus replied.
To be continued.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Monday, May 10, 2010
Renfield Hosts A Game Show
After the motor on the wave-making machine went, Renfield figured it was time to head back to England rather than watching the oil slick rise on waters in the Gulf of Mexico.
"What will we do back in England?" Amadeus asked.
"Maybe I can help in putting together a coalition government for Britain," Renfield grinned.
"You?" Amadeus shuddered.
"Why not?" Renfield smiled, "I'm a pretty good negotiator if I do say so myself."
"Who would be Prime Minister?" Amadeus asked, "Brown, Cameron, Clegg?".
"Why I would be Prime Minister," Renfield flashed his pearly whites again.
"You?" Amadeus gasped, "But you've not even a Member of Parliament."
"Who says one has to be a Member of Parliament to become Prime Minister?" Renfield waved off Amadeus' remark as he inwardly wondered how the lyrics of a song called England, England Uber Alles would sound.
"Anyways, dinner time," Renfield rushed into the captain's cabin of the boat to be the first to grab a tuna fish sandwich.
Renfield as Prime Minister of the UK, Amadeus thought to himself. The immortal words from the film Apocalypse Now entered his mind, "The horror, the horror..."
While Renfield and Amadeus ate tuna fish sandwiches, Renfield explained to Amadeus this new concept he had for a new reality TV game show he came up with.
As Amadeus sat back in total shock, Renfield fell asleep and dreamed of the new TV game show he had come up with of which he would be the host.
"Welcome to the most popular TV game show in the history of the world," the announcer intoned, "Stick Out Your Neck... yes, Stick Out Your Neck... the game show where you really put your neck on the line in answering questions...
yes, your chance to win millions of dollars in prizes... but the only catch is... you answer the questions with your head in a guillotine... and if you get one wrong answer... Zoom! bang! slice! chop!... the guillotine blade comes down and cuts your head off..."
The announcer continued, "Yes... direct from the Caribbean island of El Diablos, it's time for Stick Out Your Neck... the most popular TV game show in the history of the world... with ratings 1000 times higher than a wardrobe malfunction during half-time of a Super Bowl game... yes, beautiful and lovely El Diablos... the banana republic that doesn't have an extradition treaty with any nation on earth... that's why we film the show here... in other countries, what we do here might unfortunately be considered murder..."
"And," continued the announcer, "here are the heads of our previous 3,918 contestants lovingly stuffed through help of a taxidermist provided by Uncle Frank's Taxidermy Shop in downtown Billings, Montana whose slogan is Need To Stuff It Where The Sun Don't Shine... Then Call Uncle Frank... "
(Camera pans in on the heads of the previous 3,918 contestants)
Announcer: And now here's the host of Stick Out Your Neck... everyone's favourite shapeshifting hamster/human genetically born-hybrid, full-time psychopath and last year's winner of the Rotarians' Humanitarian of the Year Award... Renfield R. Renfield..."
(The crowd goes wild. Standing ovation as Renfield R. Renfield walks out on stage)
Renfield: Thank you. Thank you very much.
Announcer: And now... here's Renniiieeee...
(Renfield pulls out a gun and shoots the announcer)
Renfield: I hate being called Rennie... Cue... 2nd announcer:
2nd Announcer: Right Mr. Renfield, sir, and here's our contestant from yesterday's show, Cicero Peters who's so far managed to accumulate over $80,000 in cash and prizes and our only contestant who so far has not parted with his head on Stick Out Your Neck...
Renfield: So you now want to go for the Lucky Million on today's show, is that right, Mr. Peters?
Cicero Peters: That's correct.
Renfield: Remember that's going to increase the difficulty of the question. And you've used up all your lifelines (which you got as a bonus when you were the first to pass the $1000 mark in answering questions)- phone a friend, poll the audience, 50/50...
Cicero Peters: That's okay. I want the million. I'm ready to put my neck on the line...
2nd Announcer: Okay... Cicero Peters... it's time for you to... (Announcer pauses)
Audience (shouts in unison): STICK OUT YOUR NECK!
(Cicero Peters puts his head under the guillotine)
Renfield: Okay, Cicero, remember you have 30 seconds to come up with an answer. If you give the incorrect answer or fail to respond within the alloted 30 second time limit, it's zoom! bang! slice! chop! time for you... what is the square root of pi?
(Cicero Peters looks nervous)
Renfield: Ha! Ha! Just kidding! (Audience laughs) What are the first 10 digits of the square root of pi?
Cicero Peters: What are the first 10 digits of the square root of pi? How am I supposed to fucking know? I just got hired as an engineer at NASA under their new downsized budget program! How am I supposed to know the first 10 digits of the square root of pi? I'm not a fucking rocket scientist...
Renfield (smiles beamingly): I'm sorry that's the wrong answer...
(A group of chorus girls in short skirts comes out and dances on stage)
Chorus girls (singing): Na na na na na na na hey hey good-bye!
(Chorus girls exit the stage)
(Renfield gestures towards the audience)
Audience (shouts in unison): ZOOM! BANG! SLICE! CHOP!
(The guillotine comes down and cuts off Cicero Peters' head)
(Audience applauds and cheers loudly)
(Renfield goes over to the basket beneath the guillotine, grabs Cicero Peters' head and throws it to a stage hand)
Renfield: Put it over there with the other 3,918 contestants' heads.
Stage hand: Yes, sir.
Renfield: Hey John, isn't it time for...
(Music starts to play)
Announcer: Yes, Renfield, it is... it's celebrity contestant time... where celebrities put their necks on the line for their favourite charity...
Renfield: Who's today's celebrity contestant?
Announcer: Paris Hilton... come on down!
(Paris Hilton shrieks and comes running down out of the audience)
Renfield (to Paris): Well, Paris, we haven't seen or heard much of you the past couple of years. Seems your place has probably fallen to some other airhead who's likewise become famous for doing virtually nothing.
Paris (confused): Huh?
Renfield: Don't worry your pretty little head about it. It will be coming off shortly enough. What charity are you playing for?
Paris: The Society To Replace Beverly Hills Mansions In the Event of An Earthquake.
Renfield: All right. Go put your head under the guillotine there.
(In her low-cut rainbow coloured mini dress, Paris Hilton puts her head under the guillotine)
(The audio then goes off on TV sets around the world as satellite transmission troubles unfold)
(The guillotine comes down on Paris Hilton's head)
(Renfield goes over to the basket, picks up Paris Hilton's head and throws it to the stage hand)
Renfield (as audio comes back on) ... and put Paris' head over there with the other 3,919 heads...
(A camera man comes up and whispers in Renfield's ear)
Renfield: I've just been informed that our audio has been off for the past couple of minutes so for the benefit of our TV viewing audience, the question Miss Hilton could not answer was... What does 2 plus 2 equal (2+2=?) ...
Announcer: Are you ready for our next contestant?
Audience (shouting): Yes!
Announcer: Paul Sapp... from Des Moines, Iowa... come on down!
(Paul Sapp from Des Moines, Iowa runs excitedly down from the audience)
Renfield: So I understand, Mr. Sapp, that you're an insurance salesman from Des Moines, Iowa?
Sapp: That is correct!
Renfield: All right! Give our wheel a spin! See what you'll be playing for with your first question...
(Sapp gives the wheel a spin. It lands on Mercedes Benz.)
(Sapp and audience go wild)
(A curtain opens and a beautiful brunette in a gold sequined evening dress and spiked heels shows off a Mercedes Benz)
Renfield: Now, do you want to play for the Mercedes Benz or see what's behind Door #2? Remember if you see what's behind Door #2, that means a more difficult question for you.
(Sapp pauses. Audience shouts Door #2)
Sapp: All right. Door #2.
Renfield: All right, John. What's behind Door #2?
(The curtain behind door #2 opens and a redhead in a gold sequined evening dress and spiked heels shows off a movie poster of a hot looking blonde)
Announcer: Paul Sapp from Des Moines, Iowa, have you ever wanted to have a one-night stand with a real live porn star? Turn your computer on-line cyberfantasies into real life fantasies? Well, Paul Sapp of Des Moines, Iowa, this is your big chance. Real life porn star Mercedes Bends the well-known porn film contortionist of various positions and star of such films as Mercedes Does Dallas and Mercedes Does The CEO of Toyota in A Non-Stop Roller Coaster Ride will do you should you successfully answer this question...
Renfield: So, what will it be, Paul? Mercedes Benz the car or Mercedes Bends the porn star and contortionist?
Sapp: I want Mercedes Bends the porn star and contortionist.
(Audience cheers)
Sapp: Gee, I hope my wife is not watching this at home.
Announcer: Paul Sapp, it's time to...
Audience (shouts in unison): STICK OUT YOUR NECK!
(Paul Sapp sticks his head under a guillotine)
Renfield: Paul, we're doing something a little different this time. That little mechanical thingy that was put on your chest when you first entered the studio... that's a lie detector. It measures your heart rate to see if you're telling the truth. If you give a dishonest answer, the lie detector will send a radio signal to the guillotine blade and zoom! bang! slice! chop! ... good-bye you!
Paul: Huh?
Renfield: Paul, the question is... did you truthfully reveal all your sources of income to the IRS on last year's tax return?
Paul: Um... yes!
(The guillotine comes down and cuts off Paul Sapp's head)
Renfield: Well, that's it for Stick Out Your Neck this week, ladies and gentlemen! Hope you enjoyed watching. And stay tuned next week for another exciting episode of...
Audience (shouts in unison): STICK OUT YOUR NECK!
(Renfield dances with the two sequined gold dress wearing hostesses and then together they stand in a line and blow kisses to the audience)
Announcer: Well, this has been Stick Out Your Neck the most watched game show in all of television history...
* * *
Amadeus looked over at Renfield sleeping in his chair and noticed the huge big smile on his face.
Amadeus wondered... Hm, what's he dreaming about?
To be continued.
"What will we do back in England?" Amadeus asked.
"Maybe I can help in putting together a coalition government for Britain," Renfield grinned.
"You?" Amadeus shuddered.
"Why not?" Renfield smiled, "I'm a pretty good negotiator if I do say so myself."
"Who would be Prime Minister?" Amadeus asked, "Brown, Cameron, Clegg?".
"Why I would be Prime Minister," Renfield flashed his pearly whites again.
"You?" Amadeus gasped, "But you've not even a Member of Parliament."
"Who says one has to be a Member of Parliament to become Prime Minister?" Renfield waved off Amadeus' remark as he inwardly wondered how the lyrics of a song called England, England Uber Alles would sound.
"Anyways, dinner time," Renfield rushed into the captain's cabin of the boat to be the first to grab a tuna fish sandwich.
Renfield as Prime Minister of the UK, Amadeus thought to himself. The immortal words from the film Apocalypse Now entered his mind, "The horror, the horror..."
While Renfield and Amadeus ate tuna fish sandwiches, Renfield explained to Amadeus this new concept he had for a new reality TV game show he came up with.
As Amadeus sat back in total shock, Renfield fell asleep and dreamed of the new TV game show he had come up with of which he would be the host.
"Welcome to the most popular TV game show in the history of the world," the announcer intoned, "Stick Out Your Neck... yes, Stick Out Your Neck... the game show where you really put your neck on the line in answering questions...
yes, your chance to win millions of dollars in prizes... but the only catch is... you answer the questions with your head in a guillotine... and if you get one wrong answer... Zoom! bang! slice! chop!... the guillotine blade comes down and cuts your head off..."
The announcer continued, "Yes... direct from the Caribbean island of El Diablos, it's time for Stick Out Your Neck... the most popular TV game show in the history of the world... with ratings 1000 times higher than a wardrobe malfunction during half-time of a Super Bowl game... yes, beautiful and lovely El Diablos... the banana republic that doesn't have an extradition treaty with any nation on earth... that's why we film the show here... in other countries, what we do here might unfortunately be considered murder..."
"And," continued the announcer, "here are the heads of our previous 3,918 contestants lovingly stuffed through help of a taxidermist provided by Uncle Frank's Taxidermy Shop in downtown Billings, Montana whose slogan is Need To Stuff It Where The Sun Don't Shine... Then Call Uncle Frank... "
(Camera pans in on the heads of the previous 3,918 contestants)
Announcer: And now here's the host of Stick Out Your Neck... everyone's favourite shapeshifting hamster/human genetically born-hybrid, full-time psychopath and last year's winner of the Rotarians' Humanitarian of the Year Award... Renfield R. Renfield..."
(The crowd goes wild. Standing ovation as Renfield R. Renfield walks out on stage)
Renfield: Thank you. Thank you very much.
Announcer: And now... here's Renniiieeee...
(Renfield pulls out a gun and shoots the announcer)
Renfield: I hate being called Rennie... Cue... 2nd announcer:
2nd Announcer: Right Mr. Renfield, sir, and here's our contestant from yesterday's show, Cicero Peters who's so far managed to accumulate over $80,000 in cash and prizes and our only contestant who so far has not parted with his head on Stick Out Your Neck...
Renfield: So you now want to go for the Lucky Million on today's show, is that right, Mr. Peters?
Cicero Peters: That's correct.
Renfield: Remember that's going to increase the difficulty of the question. And you've used up all your lifelines (which you got as a bonus when you were the first to pass the $1000 mark in answering questions)- phone a friend, poll the audience, 50/50...
Cicero Peters: That's okay. I want the million. I'm ready to put my neck on the line...
2nd Announcer: Okay... Cicero Peters... it's time for you to... (Announcer pauses)
Audience (shouts in unison): STICK OUT YOUR NECK!
(Cicero Peters puts his head under the guillotine)
Renfield: Okay, Cicero, remember you have 30 seconds to come up with an answer. If you give the incorrect answer or fail to respond within the alloted 30 second time limit, it's zoom! bang! slice! chop! time for you... what is the square root of pi?
(Cicero Peters looks nervous)
Renfield: Ha! Ha! Just kidding! (Audience laughs) What are the first 10 digits of the square root of pi?
Cicero Peters: What are the first 10 digits of the square root of pi? How am I supposed to fucking know? I just got hired as an engineer at NASA under their new downsized budget program! How am I supposed to know the first 10 digits of the square root of pi? I'm not a fucking rocket scientist...
Renfield (smiles beamingly): I'm sorry that's the wrong answer...
(A group of chorus girls in short skirts comes out and dances on stage)
Chorus girls (singing): Na na na na na na na hey hey good-bye!
(Chorus girls exit the stage)
(Renfield gestures towards the audience)
Audience (shouts in unison): ZOOM! BANG! SLICE! CHOP!
(The guillotine comes down and cuts off Cicero Peters' head)
(Audience applauds and cheers loudly)
(Renfield goes over to the basket beneath the guillotine, grabs Cicero Peters' head and throws it to a stage hand)
Renfield: Put it over there with the other 3,918 contestants' heads.
Stage hand: Yes, sir.
Renfield: Hey John, isn't it time for...
(Music starts to play)
Announcer: Yes, Renfield, it is... it's celebrity contestant time... where celebrities put their necks on the line for their favourite charity...
Renfield: Who's today's celebrity contestant?
Announcer: Paris Hilton... come on down!
(Paris Hilton shrieks and comes running down out of the audience)
Renfield (to Paris): Well, Paris, we haven't seen or heard much of you the past couple of years. Seems your place has probably fallen to some other airhead who's likewise become famous for doing virtually nothing.
Paris (confused): Huh?
Renfield: Don't worry your pretty little head about it. It will be coming off shortly enough. What charity are you playing for?
Paris: The Society To Replace Beverly Hills Mansions In the Event of An Earthquake.
Renfield: All right. Go put your head under the guillotine there.
(In her low-cut rainbow coloured mini dress, Paris Hilton puts her head under the guillotine)
(The audio then goes off on TV sets around the world as satellite transmission troubles unfold)
(The guillotine comes down on Paris Hilton's head)
(Renfield goes over to the basket, picks up Paris Hilton's head and throws it to the stage hand)
Renfield (as audio comes back on) ... and put Paris' head over there with the other 3,919 heads...
(A camera man comes up and whispers in Renfield's ear)
Renfield: I've just been informed that our audio has been off for the past couple of minutes so for the benefit of our TV viewing audience, the question Miss Hilton could not answer was... What does 2 plus 2 equal (2+2=?) ...
Announcer: Are you ready for our next contestant?
Audience (shouting): Yes!
Announcer: Paul Sapp... from Des Moines, Iowa... come on down!
(Paul Sapp from Des Moines, Iowa runs excitedly down from the audience)
Renfield: So I understand, Mr. Sapp, that you're an insurance salesman from Des Moines, Iowa?
Sapp: That is correct!
Renfield: All right! Give our wheel a spin! See what you'll be playing for with your first question...
(Sapp gives the wheel a spin. It lands on Mercedes Benz.)
(Sapp and audience go wild)
(A curtain opens and a beautiful brunette in a gold sequined evening dress and spiked heels shows off a Mercedes Benz)
Renfield: Now, do you want to play for the Mercedes Benz or see what's behind Door #2? Remember if you see what's behind Door #2, that means a more difficult question for you.
(Sapp pauses. Audience shouts Door #2)
Sapp: All right. Door #2.
Renfield: All right, John. What's behind Door #2?
(The curtain behind door #2 opens and a redhead in a gold sequined evening dress and spiked heels shows off a movie poster of a hot looking blonde)
Announcer: Paul Sapp from Des Moines, Iowa, have you ever wanted to have a one-night stand with a real live porn star? Turn your computer on-line cyberfantasies into real life fantasies? Well, Paul Sapp of Des Moines, Iowa, this is your big chance. Real life porn star Mercedes Bends the well-known porn film contortionist of various positions and star of such films as Mercedes Does Dallas and Mercedes Does The CEO of Toyota in A Non-Stop Roller Coaster Ride will do you should you successfully answer this question...
Renfield: So, what will it be, Paul? Mercedes Benz the car or Mercedes Bends the porn star and contortionist?
Sapp: I want Mercedes Bends the porn star and contortionist.
(Audience cheers)
Sapp: Gee, I hope my wife is not watching this at home.
Announcer: Paul Sapp, it's time to...
Audience (shouts in unison): STICK OUT YOUR NECK!
(Paul Sapp sticks his head under a guillotine)
Renfield: Paul, we're doing something a little different this time. That little mechanical thingy that was put on your chest when you first entered the studio... that's a lie detector. It measures your heart rate to see if you're telling the truth. If you give a dishonest answer, the lie detector will send a radio signal to the guillotine blade and zoom! bang! slice! chop! ... good-bye you!
Paul: Huh?
Renfield: Paul, the question is... did you truthfully reveal all your sources of income to the IRS on last year's tax return?
Paul: Um... yes!
(The guillotine comes down and cuts off Paul Sapp's head)
Renfield: Well, that's it for Stick Out Your Neck this week, ladies and gentlemen! Hope you enjoyed watching. And stay tuned next week for another exciting episode of...
Audience (shouts in unison): STICK OUT YOUR NECK!
(Renfield dances with the two sequined gold dress wearing hostesses and then together they stand in a line and blow kisses to the audience)
Announcer: Well, this has been Stick Out Your Neck the most watched game show in all of television history...
* * *
Amadeus looked over at Renfield sleeping in his chair and noticed the huge big smile on his face.
Amadeus wondered... Hm, what's he dreaming about?
To be continued.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Mr. Bean's Endorsement
British Prime Minister Gordon Brown was feeling depressed.
The poll numbers weren't looking so good.
Brown sighed.
Oh, if only that stupid woman hadn't asked him that question about immigrants.
Brown stopped.
He better not say more although he was only thinking inwardly.
What if someone could read his thoughts the same way someone heard what he had said about that stupid woman when he forgot his microphone was still on.
Brown looked into his dark glass of brown ale and thought to himself, "Now I see through a glass darkly..."
"Mr. Prime Minister, I have some good news for you," one of his aides approached him excitedly.
Mr. Brown looked up.
Good news?
What was that?
He hadn't really heard any good news since Tony Blair announced that he was stepping down as Prime Minister and he Gordon Brown would at last be becoming Prime Minister of Great Britain.
"What good news would this be?" Brown asked.
"Mr. Bean is going to officially endorse you and throw his support behind you," his aide beamed from ear to ear.
"Mr. Bean?" Brown stood up.
This was the endorsement he was looking for.
Everyone in Britain loved Mr. Bean.
Everyone in the world loved Mr. Bean.
"Not only Mr. Bean but his teddy bear as well," the aide's smile was as wide as the Grande Canyon.
"I've got Teddy's endorsement as well," tears streamed down Mr. Brown's cheeks.
Gordon Brown went down to his party's main campaign headquarters in London where the endorsement would officially take place.
The press was on hand.
Throngs of cheering people were on hand.
On TV screens, disappointed looking rivals Nick Clegg and David Cameron were waving off reporters' questions about Mr. Bean's impending endorsement of Mr. Brown.
Then crowds started cheering.
Mr. Bean had just arrived.
More cheers.
Mr. Bean's tiny car had just accidently demolished the front end of the Rolls-Royce of the Governor of the Bank of England.
"Uh... Bean," Bean said as he waved to the crowd while getting out of the car.
He then brought out Teddy as the crowd cheered yet again.
After it took Mr. Bean a half hour to lock the driver's side of his little tiny car with all the padlocks and combination locks he had on it, the crowd was going ballistic at this point.
"I want to have your baby," some bursting with orgasm beautiful young teen-aged girl shouted at Mr. Bean.
"Uh... no," Bean grinned rather shyly, "Mom still hasn't explained the facts of life to me yet."
David and Victoria Beckham were walking by the scene.
"Say, what's all the excitement?" David Beckham asked a by-stander.
"Mr. Bean is here," the by-stander shook with excitement then squinted at David and Victoria Beckham, "say you two look awfully familiar for some reason..."
Mr. Bean walked inside the campaign headquarters where Labour party supporters began shouting, "Bean, Bean, Bean..."
Mr. Brown walked up to Mr. Bean and extended his hand, "Mr. Bean..."
"Mr. Brown," Mr. Bean took his hand out of his pocket and extended it before stopping, turning and then addressing the crowd, "Uh.. tea pot."
Indeed Mr. Bean's right hand was stuck in a tea pot.
"Uh... British National Health Service these days," Mr. Bean shook his head, "Can't get it off."
Mr. Bean removed Teddy from his pocket using his left hand.
Mr. Bean held up Teddy to the crowd whereupon the crowd started shouting, "Teddy, Teddy, Teddy..."
Mr. Brown was about to shake Teddy's right hand when he noticed that Teddy's right hand was likewise stuck in a toy tea pot.
"Uh... tempest in a tea pot," Mr. Bean smiled at Mr. Brown.
Indeed. For inside the toy tea pot was the world's tiniest edition of William Shakespeare's play about the magician Prospero.
"Mr. Bean, the endorsement please..." Brown's aide was getting anxious.
Mr. Bean started speaking, "Teddy and I would like to formally endorse... " Suddenly Teddy started whispering in Mr. Bean's ear, "oh. Teddy would like to make the announcement."
Teddy then looked at the crowd but said nothing.
Mr. Bean whispered to Teddy.
Teddy whispered back to Mr. Bean.
Mr. Bean looked at the crowd, "Sorry. The cat's got his tongue."
A gray tabby cat emerged from the crowd and vomited a small red cloth tongue at Mr. Bean's feet.
"Uh... maybe I should do the endorsement should I?" Mr. Bean asked Teddy.
Teddy nodded his head.
Brown smiled in relief.
Mr. Bean said, "Teddy and I would like to formally endorse Gordon..."
"... get your ass off the couch while the maid is trying to vacuum in here," Mrs. Brown shouted at her husband.
The Prime Minister looked around in a daze.
It had all been a dream.
He walked dejectedly to the bathroom, grabbed his favourite rubber ducky, sat down in the bathtub and wept.
To be continued.
The poll numbers weren't looking so good.
Brown sighed.
Oh, if only that stupid woman hadn't asked him that question about immigrants.
Brown stopped.
He better not say more although he was only thinking inwardly.
What if someone could read his thoughts the same way someone heard what he had said about that stupid woman when he forgot his microphone was still on.
Brown looked into his dark glass of brown ale and thought to himself, "Now I see through a glass darkly..."
"Mr. Prime Minister, I have some good news for you," one of his aides approached him excitedly.
Mr. Brown looked up.
Good news?
What was that?
He hadn't really heard any good news since Tony Blair announced that he was stepping down as Prime Minister and he Gordon Brown would at last be becoming Prime Minister of Great Britain.
"What good news would this be?" Brown asked.
"Mr. Bean is going to officially endorse you and throw his support behind you," his aide beamed from ear to ear.
"Mr. Bean?" Brown stood up.
This was the endorsement he was looking for.
Everyone in Britain loved Mr. Bean.
Everyone in the world loved Mr. Bean.
"Not only Mr. Bean but his teddy bear as well," the aide's smile was as wide as the Grande Canyon.
"I've got Teddy's endorsement as well," tears streamed down Mr. Brown's cheeks.
Gordon Brown went down to his party's main campaign headquarters in London where the endorsement would officially take place.
The press was on hand.
Throngs of cheering people were on hand.
On TV screens, disappointed looking rivals Nick Clegg and David Cameron were waving off reporters' questions about Mr. Bean's impending endorsement of Mr. Brown.
Then crowds started cheering.
Mr. Bean had just arrived.
More cheers.
Mr. Bean's tiny car had just accidently demolished the front end of the Rolls-Royce of the Governor of the Bank of England.
"Uh... Bean," Bean said as he waved to the crowd while getting out of the car.
He then brought out Teddy as the crowd cheered yet again.
After it took Mr. Bean a half hour to lock the driver's side of his little tiny car with all the padlocks and combination locks he had on it, the crowd was going ballistic at this point.
"I want to have your baby," some bursting with orgasm beautiful young teen-aged girl shouted at Mr. Bean.
"Uh... no," Bean grinned rather shyly, "Mom still hasn't explained the facts of life to me yet."
David and Victoria Beckham were walking by the scene.
"Say, what's all the excitement?" David Beckham asked a by-stander.
"Mr. Bean is here," the by-stander shook with excitement then squinted at David and Victoria Beckham, "say you two look awfully familiar for some reason..."
Mr. Bean walked inside the campaign headquarters where Labour party supporters began shouting, "Bean, Bean, Bean..."
Mr. Brown walked up to Mr. Bean and extended his hand, "Mr. Bean..."
"Mr. Brown," Mr. Bean took his hand out of his pocket and extended it before stopping, turning and then addressing the crowd, "Uh.. tea pot."
Indeed Mr. Bean's right hand was stuck in a tea pot.
"Uh... British National Health Service these days," Mr. Bean shook his head, "Can't get it off."
Mr. Bean removed Teddy from his pocket using his left hand.
Mr. Bean held up Teddy to the crowd whereupon the crowd started shouting, "Teddy, Teddy, Teddy..."
Mr. Brown was about to shake Teddy's right hand when he noticed that Teddy's right hand was likewise stuck in a toy tea pot.
"Uh... tempest in a tea pot," Mr. Bean smiled at Mr. Brown.
Indeed. For inside the toy tea pot was the world's tiniest edition of William Shakespeare's play about the magician Prospero.
"Mr. Bean, the endorsement please..." Brown's aide was getting anxious.
Mr. Bean started speaking, "Teddy and I would like to formally endorse... " Suddenly Teddy started whispering in Mr. Bean's ear, "oh. Teddy would like to make the announcement."
Teddy then looked at the crowd but said nothing.
Mr. Bean whispered to Teddy.
Teddy whispered back to Mr. Bean.
Mr. Bean looked at the crowd, "Sorry. The cat's got his tongue."
A gray tabby cat emerged from the crowd and vomited a small red cloth tongue at Mr. Bean's feet.
"Uh... maybe I should do the endorsement should I?" Mr. Bean asked Teddy.
Teddy nodded his head.
Brown smiled in relief.
Mr. Bean said, "Teddy and I would like to formally endorse Gordon..."
"... get your ass off the couch while the maid is trying to vacuum in here," Mrs. Brown shouted at her husband.
The Prime Minister looked around in a daze.
It had all been a dream.
He walked dejectedly to the bathroom, grabbed his favourite rubber ducky, sat down in the bathtub and wept.
To be continued.
Monday, May 3, 2010
Off Louisiana Shores
Renfield R. Renfield and Amadeus Emanon are in a boat off the Louisiana coast.
"It's too bad you weren't able to track down the Greek gods Zeus and Apollo," Amadeus said while eating some Greek feta cheese.
"I'd have had an easier time if there weren't so many damn anti-IMF riots going on in the streets of Greece," Renfield noted sourly.
Amadeus handed him some sweet and sour sauce to put on his fried rice.
"Thanks," Renfield poured it all over his rice.
"So what are we doing off the Louisiana coast?" Amadeus asked.
"Well, I suppose you heard about the oil spill?" Renfield asked as he spilled his oil and vinegar salad dressing all over his rice instead of his salad.
"The one that Barack Obama says BP will have to pay the bill to clean up?" Amadeus asked.
"That's the one," Renfield smiled, "You may have noticed attached to our boat is a sophisticated wave-making machine- one of the boss' great inventions developed by Set Enterprises- it's really making waves."
"But why?" Amadeus asked.
"To hamper clean-up efforts on the oil slick," Renfield laughed.
"Is there a purpose for doing that?" Amadeus queried.
"There's always method to my madness," Renfield cackled with great relish as he put mustard on his slices of cold roast beef, "I placed a major stock market bet against the Louisiana fishing and shrimp industry. So if the oil makes it all the way to shore and goes up the Mississippi Delta and all through the bayou, I'll stand to make a fortune in my bet against the Louisiana seafood industry."
The evil shapeshifting hamster/human grinned impeccably as he bit into his cold roast beef sandwich.
"Where did you learn such an evil scheme?" Amadeus asked.
"From America's most pre-eminent global investment bank Goldman Sachs," Renfield smiled orgiastically like a recently arrested Hindu swami caught cavorting in the nude with some of his young beautiful female disciples, "who bet against the U.S. housing market just before it suspiciously collapsed in the autumn of 2008 leading to the world's vast global financial meltdown."
To be continued.
"It's too bad you weren't able to track down the Greek gods Zeus and Apollo," Amadeus said while eating some Greek feta cheese.
"I'd have had an easier time if there weren't so many damn anti-IMF riots going on in the streets of Greece," Renfield noted sourly.
Amadeus handed him some sweet and sour sauce to put on his fried rice.
"Thanks," Renfield poured it all over his rice.
"So what are we doing off the Louisiana coast?" Amadeus asked.
"Well, I suppose you heard about the oil spill?" Renfield asked as he spilled his oil and vinegar salad dressing all over his rice instead of his salad.
"The one that Barack Obama says BP will have to pay the bill to clean up?" Amadeus asked.
"That's the one," Renfield smiled, "You may have noticed attached to our boat is a sophisticated wave-making machine- one of the boss' great inventions developed by Set Enterprises- it's really making waves."
"But why?" Amadeus asked.
"To hamper clean-up efforts on the oil slick," Renfield laughed.
"Is there a purpose for doing that?" Amadeus queried.
"There's always method to my madness," Renfield cackled with great relish as he put mustard on his slices of cold roast beef, "I placed a major stock market bet against the Louisiana fishing and shrimp industry. So if the oil makes it all the way to shore and goes up the Mississippi Delta and all through the bayou, I'll stand to make a fortune in my bet against the Louisiana seafood industry."
The evil shapeshifting hamster/human grinned impeccably as he bit into his cold roast beef sandwich.
"Where did you learn such an evil scheme?" Amadeus asked.
"From America's most pre-eminent global investment bank Goldman Sachs," Renfield smiled orgiastically like a recently arrested Hindu swami caught cavorting in the nude with some of his young beautiful female disciples, "who bet against the U.S. housing market just before it suspiciously collapsed in the autumn of 2008 leading to the world's vast global financial meltdown."
To be continued.
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