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THE SUBMARINE

ACT ONE

In the submarine there are two people. These people are playing a game of chess.

PERSON ONE: So, what is your next move?

PERSON TWO: F1, Team 9, Seventy, Fawn.

PO: Well, I never saw a move so good.

PT: B. Fischer creates moves vastly when he plays in olympic heats.

PO: I have heard of this person. But I don’t agree with your angle on that person. 

PT: Well, eff off because he’s my sister. A really nice beautiful sensational person who can play a mean game of bins.

PO: Sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. However, there are smells coming from the bins. It’s always your day to remove them. 

PT: But you should have come and smell the bushes in the laboratory where I work when I work at science jobs. 

PO: Never talk about work other than chess. 

PT: Okay. I will never ever touch the bins without consulting you first. I am very sorry. 

PO: That’s my problem. I never realised that you communicate incorrectly and I will treasure your fond sentiment to the watery grave. 

PT: Oh my god. This is bananas. 

END OF ACT ONE

ACT TWO

The men in the submarine chopped onions many years later together. They have chopped about ten onions together in different paths of life. 

(audience laughs)

PO: Oh, hahaha, chopping onions again is probably only the real mccoy. 

PT: Sure, I love chopping onions. This universe would create many problems if my onions had wilted severely whilst I chopped them.

PO: Have you got a sharp knife? 

Audience: No, I don’t have one!

PT: Err yeah. However I lent it to Mary who likes onions about the world. 

PO: Gee, who is mary? And she could rock my world. 

PT: Hey! Leave it alone, brother. 

PO: Sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I would just leave her my sssssss words on paper so it could be read discreetly for her intimate pleasure. 

PT: Really? I want this to be the truth. 

PO: Ha ha ha, ho ho ho, he he he

Audience: That’s a Beatles song!

PO: Well, listen. I’m going to rock your frigging minds. Because this is my only onion left and I’m going to chop it before you chop yours. 

PT: No you’re not too fast. I think you might get better at chopping onions if you stopped chopping onions. 

PO: How? That could not be true.

PT: Well, I will kill you if you continue to chop that onion. Because it’s actually mine. 

PO: Listen you silly chump! I’m the boss and you’re the queen. And I’m going to chop your onion. 

PT: You can chop that onion if you want me to punch you in the leg.

PO: Try to do that and I will retaliate with my counter-destructive attack.

PT: No. Because I have a sword.

END OF ACT TWO

ACT THREE

Enter the two men, who have recently gained a lot of beard hair, on and around their chinny chin chins.

PT: How have we grown such lovely lustrious beards?

PO: It’s all so salty and wet. 

PT: I don’t think that we can carry this beard any longer. 

PO: Well come and let’s shave your beard, but leave mine alone. 

PT: UGHH! I’m not too sure. I think you look a cool guy, but I don’t really know if we can go around in friendship with two beards. 

PO: Well, like I said, let’s shave yours off.

PT: Well I have a beard theory. Mary, my auntie, said when you have two beards in a kitchen then you both spoil the stew. 

PO: So you’re saying that I should shave off my beard too?

PT: No. But that’s not really what I’m saying, because trimming a beard can finalise many stews.

PO: I really think we’re going away from each other, conversationally, and I don’t really know what you are anymore. 

PT: COME ON EFFER. WE HAVE EFFING BEAN CURRY EFFING ON. IT’S EFFING MY TEES OFF. 

PO: Seriously, you have got to get off this whacky submarine and never come back to this embrace of you and me. 

PT: Oh, just let me jump ship and let me swim round your boat one last effing time. 

PO: Please be less dramatic when we talk about things like beards and chess and onions and etcetera. 

PT: Yeah, okay. I think that I’ve been a bit silly with my bean. I have several beans in my bean collection. Some of my beans remind me of you because they really have smells. 

PO: Uuugh. I wish you just wouldn’t talk about beans. You should think about other beans when you know my least favourite pulse is a fricking split bean. 

PT: Woah, brother, come on. You will regret saying ess about my bean when you see this fantastic bean.

PO: Woah. What is this stalk doing upon my submarine? Please tell me and show me what the thing is. 

PT: That, big friend, is my Louisiana beanstalk, so get used to that bean thang being here permanently. 

PO: I’m going to climb that bean thang and call your Mary right at the top. 

PT: Oh, come on. No. If you do that I will chop your head off swift and shrill. 

PO: I’d really like you to try. I’m carrying a shield, and you will suck the metal out of your sword. 

PT: My sword, you arse, has several molten blades. 

PO: Nevertheless, you can not swing with it because you are a submarine pansy.

END OF ACT THREE

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headbutt

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The Chick

One day, Mel Handel arose without a care in the world. No longer did he have any pain in his heart and in the darkness of his bedroom the objects of his life shone with a positive, white light. Sitting upright in bed, he looked over at his sleeping wife. She was still as beautiful and as excellent as the day he had met her and Mel felt lucky to have been the man she had chosen to spend her life with. Mel left his bed and crept downstairs. He had given himself the task of preparing a gorgeous and hearty breakfast for his deserved loved one and by the time he had reached the bottom step, he had already decided to make his wife scrambled eggs on wholegrain toast with a pot of fresh coffee. In the near dark living room, Mel once again marvelled at the objects   shining magnificently there within. The living room table glowed with an unnatural light and the screen of the 32” TV radiated a whiteness so blinding that Mel felt overcome with pure, unadulterated joy. By far the most powerful object in the living room was the framed wedding photo of Mel and his wife which sat upon the mantlepiece and Mel, transfixed, went and caressed the frame with the tip of his finger. Connecting with the photo Mel Handel - who was not a religious man - experienced something akin to rapture. He entered a trance like state where he heard the whispered teachings of an ancient clan. These teachings, he understood subconsciously through a sensation that he would later describe to his work colleagues as a sort of linguistic deja-vu. Still touching the photo frame, Mel then witnessed his wife’s birth and her childhood and then her adolescence and on and on she developed until the present day and, though he did not like everything he saw, he felt his love for her grow. Then he remembered the task at hand. Bolting into the kitchen, he switched on the light. He filled the cafetiere with ground coffee and set the kettle boiling. He went to the fridge and pulled out the eggs, the butter and the milk. He fetched a mixing bowl from the cupboard and then set about making his wife perfect scrambled eggs. But when Mel split the first egg against the side of the mixing bowl what fell out was not what he expected. He looked into the bowl. It took a while for him to realise what he was looking at and before he knew it the thing had begun moving, righting itself in the bowl. The part formed chick stood featherless and pink and though it only had one leg it was perfectly stable. A translucent fluid collected at it’s half foot. The chick looked up at Mel, it’s small beak opening and closing, as though yawning, and Mel felt a sort of parental concern for the chick. As such, he gently scooped the bird out from the centre of the bowl and helped it to right itself once again, this time in the palm of his hand. The bird was slimy and cold but Mel Handel didn’t mind holding the chick because he felt what he was doing was fundamentally right. “Thanks”, the chick said, standing on Mel’s palm. “No problem”, Mel said. “No. I mean it. Really. Thanks for breaking the egg. You’ve really helped me out. My tooth hasn’t come through properly. Everyone else had no problem hatching. But my tooth didn’t want to know. It’s pretty embarrassing actually.” The chick was talking about it’s egg tooth, the small, sharp protuberance on the tip of the beak that it should have grown and then used to break through the egg. Mel felt bad for the chick. It wasn’t nice to fall short of what was required. He thought of all the times he had fallen short. There was that time with his second girlfriend and then the fourth and the fifth. But then he had met his wife who he had never fallen short with. He really did want to make her the best possible breakfast. He loved her so much. The chick shivered. “Are you cold?” Mel asked. “I guess my feathers won’t be coming through either.” Mel placed the chick down on the work surface. Then he ripped off a square of kitchen roll and folded it into a rectangle. He wrapped the rectangle around the chick, fashioning a sort of robe, and hoped it would keep the bird warm. “Any better?” He asked. “Lovely thanks. You’ve been so kind. I must repay you somehow.” “Is it crass to ask your advice on eggs?” “How do you mean?” “Well my wife, June, she’s amazing and I want to make her breakfast. I was going to make her scrambled eggs. But I wonder if there are any better… Oh  listen to me. I’m being insensitive. Forget about it. Sorry if I’ve offended you.” “No. No. Come on. You want my advice?” “Really. I do. Please. What’s best?” “Scrambled’s ok.” “Something better?” “Drinking them is good.” “Drinking them?” “The eggs. You can drink them.” “Really?” “Trust me.” Mel didn’t know what to think. He had heard of body builders drinking raw eggs and of certain health benefits from doing so but then he had also heard of death and salmonella and warts. But then here was a chick advising him on the best possible egg based breakfast, a chick who was no doubt an innate expert on such topics, and so Mel thought he should at least try what he was being told. “Just eggs?” Mel asked. “Just eggs”, the chick answered. “And how many per glass?” “How many do you have?” “Seven.” “Good. Good. Three per person is good.” Mel fetched two glasses from the cupboard. In each glass he cracked three eggs. From the comfort of it’s kitchen roll robe, the chick watched Mel intently, advising him like an old friend. “Am I mixing them?” Mel wanted to know. “No,” the chick said. “You’d break the eggs that way which is something you don’t want to do.” Stepping back, Mel looked at the filled glasses and the three orange yolks floating in each. If asked, he would’ve admitted he wasn’t so keen  on the idea of drinking eggs and he worried his wife might feel the same way. He told himself they were open minded people… “Well you best go serve them there drinks whilst they’re still fresh good sir”, the chick said. “You think so?” “I know so.” “Well thank you. Will you being staying the night?” “No. I’ll getting out of your way now.” “Really? You’re welcome to stay” “Thank you but I best be on my way. Could you just help me down?” Mel held out his hand and the chick jumped in. He held the chick level with his face. “Where will you go?” He asked. “Home”, the chick said. “Is it far?” “No.” “Will you need help?” “If you could open the front door for me”, the chick said, “then that would be great.”

After Mel let the chick out, he took the glasses upstairs. In the bedroom, he placed the glasses on the bed side table, sat down next to his still sleeping wife and then gave her gentle nudge. “Morning beautiful”, he said. “Morning”, June replied. “I’ve made you breakfast”, he said and then he offered June one of the glasses. June sat up in bed and inspected what her husband had offered her. She sniffed at the liquid and then held the glass up in the morning light. She looked at her husband and then looked again at the glass. She was waiting for a signal. Mel stood up from the bed, took his glass and began drinking heartily. The eggs didn’t taste of much and so Mel was able to get them down quick enough. The yolks he swallowed whole. Soon June was drinking the eggs too. They were both drinking the eggs. They were drinking and enjoying the eggs. As Mel came up for air noticed a tightness below. He looked down and realised he had an erection. He wondered how long his penis had been erect. Standing there, he felt proud. The erection showed mightily under his PJ bottoms. “Mel,” June said. “Your protuberance!” Mel began to laugh. “It’s the eggs June”, Mel said. “I think it must be the eggs.” He looked at the radio clock. Today was a work day. They did not have much time but at the same time Mel knew they had enough time. He leapt upon the bed and muscled his way in between June’s thighs. He lay on top of her, laughing. He began to nuzzle her neck. “Ow. Ow. Stop it Mel!” She pushed him up off of her. “What? What is it June?” Mel said. “You caught me with something”, she said. “What do you mean?” Mel said. “You caught me with something!” June took Mel’s face in her hands. She looked at him and noticed a tiny bump sticking out from the end of his nose. June touched the bump and what she felt was hard and sharp - but not too sharp. The skin was so stretched and taut that it was white. Something was trying to break out from under there. June could see it growing.

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Drones II

Marshmallow’s testicles tickled as he felt the wind from one of the camera drones strafing his behind for the perfect action shot. The sensation itself was not unpleasant and he did not fear the whirring blades of the credit card sized drone colliding with his intimate parts. After all it had reactions faster than a house fly and he knew well that it could have been programmed to close shave a man, even whilst ‘on the job’ as it were, if so desired.

It was more the knowledge that this particular angle had been chosen and was always maintained throughout a viewing session by a particularly high rolling user.

DSH_7402 Liked to look hard at Marshmallows shaft and sometimes bumhole. Most users liked to see the shaft, after all it was fair, he was well put together. Substantial in size but not threateningly so. A good fantasy substitute for ones own Marshmallow mused. But unlike other users DSH_7402 never deviated from this one close angle no matter what the couple was doing.

DSH_7402 was becoming quite the ardent fan logging in at least twice a week now. Marshmallow had noticed his avatar popping up in their statistical breakdown quite a bit. DSH_7402’s avatar was of a crying pirate and now that image was strong in Marshmallows mind. things where beginning to wilt. He tried to focus his attention on his wife.

Below him Emily seemed unaware. It was hard to tell through the second skins. Marshmallow and Emily were both (almost) entirely covered in skin tight stretchy fabric impregnated with micro LED’s. The suits could display all Perfect-Def, colorful, vivid moving images. Any viewer, for a fee, could decide what image it was that they wanted displayed on the suits. They had turned down only a few requests from fans. Things like monsters or celebrities, they found off-putting. After all they were in love, they had agreed and what their fans got to see was an act of love and love is neither scary nor off-putting they agreed.

It was usually just textures however: Shiny, wet looking, nobbly, leopard print, fun stuff mostly. If the fee for this particular feature was not payed for a given show then Marshmallows default setting was pearlescent white-pink, making him look, he thought, like his eponymous candy dipped in oil. Emily went for a bright blue sky with rolling clouds or if she felt particularly intense, a storm with lightening strikes was quite effective.

The suits had been a good investment. When they had started out on the cam sites they had restricted their visibility to Chinese and Russian servers only.  But now with the suits they no longer had to worry about being recognised.

Although they had got by comfortably on what the Chinese and Russians had offered for their services both had to admit that their new global audience was affording them a much superior lifestyle. As one of the top rated couples, in their genre, they had earned enough to move into a new apartment of over 50m2. But they had been humble also and invested in toys and props for the enjoyment of the fans, to whom they owed their livelihood. And in return the fans had bought them gifts from their wish lists. A liquid centered dildo that really ejaculated, his and hers joined up butt plugs as well as assorted creams, lubricants and moisturisers and some less explicit nicknacks which decorated the apartment.

The only uncovered portion was the genitals. It was perfectly possible to buy contraceptives with the same functions as the rest of the suit but this, they had been told by the distribution company, was likely to ‘damage their appeal’ so Emily had begun taking the pill. The irony of this was not lost on the couple both of whom were graduates, Marshmallow in modern history Emily in digital arts. They had met at university when both taking an optional gender studies module. They both felt that this module had been formative in their career paths and held the professor who had taken it in high regard.

They were grateful to their professor, after all they were earning significantly more than the majority of their peers who had not found work easily. It was an amazing job as well when you thought about it: Payed to distribute love. Infinite love, ‘Enough for every lonely inhabitant of an ever more loveless world’ marshmallow had said on their honeymoon which they had filmed in an Egyptian themed Las-Vegas hotel room.

But that had been 8 years ago now. Emily and Marshmallow had been in their new apartment for 4 years or so, enough that it was feeling very small again. Emily covertly squeezed a small bottle of lubricant onto her bits, recognising this as a sign that she was running our of stamina, Marshmallow bit down on his Ejaculade tablet, It would kick in soon and everyone would enjoy a thrilling display of perfect unattainable love.

No longer needing to maintain focus, the chemicals in his bloodstream took over the process, he thought between thrusts about how to broaden their appeal even further.

They were conscious users and although they had been willing and even enthusiastic to try new things, to pander to the kinks of the fan base, Marshmallow had made it clear from the outset, that he would not be violent or even fain violence towards his wife. The distribution company had told them at the AGM that some ‘rough play’ could broaden their appeal but Marshmallow stood his ground. Emily had remained silent but he felt sure that she was proud of his commitment to egalitarian lovemaking. Cut out of the ‘rough play’ end of the market they would have to be content with being the top couple in the 5th tear genre in terms of profit. Unfortunately the wage bracket which this put them on had left them unable to afford a 2 bed and they knew that they could not afford a child. Especially as the last 2 years had seen infant tax more than double. But emily didn’t want a child, Marshmallow knew that. Timers appeared on marshmallows face counting down to climax. Emily screamed loudly. She was faking. She knew that this wasn’t love. It could not be love every time, sometimes it was work, it had been work for a while. She wanted him off her, she looked at the timer. Still 10 minutes. Less than 100k viewers. No money really. Beneath her mask she began to cry softly and then harder. Marshmallow, feeling her vibrate suddenly but unable to see her face, took this as encouragement and began thrusting harder and faster. A cluster of drones closed in circling the couple in a humming ball. She screamed again but once again he mistook her chagrin for delight. She could bare it no longer she reached out her hand finding the liquid centered dildo she grasped it and struck him hard across the face spraying faux cum, parting the ball of drones in a ripple and streaking the headboard. he stopped sharply but was unable to hold back a powerful chemically induced ejaculation which splattered Emily’s, stormy, tear sodden mask. He slumped backward and fell from the bed striking his head yet again on a bust of Tutankhamen. Emily saw blood begin to soak through his second skin.

The drones divided.

The room thundered with the sound of twinkling transactions and from inside their suits the couple where aware of a dull pink light, just below their eyes as their virtual cheeks glowed with rosy gratitude.

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Drones

Of coarse it was a lot easier then. If you wanted some vegetables in the city, you’d just call your mate and he’d turn up.

The white lad, you would have to meet down the road because he couldn’t be fucked to come all the way. He’d get off his ped in the open air and you’d walk a bit out of your way making small talk whilst he put the veggies in his helmet and handed it to you and you swapped it for money and gave it back.

Now there wasn’t even any money because you just had it on your watch or your belt or whatever and you just pressed that up against the reader. And the lad wouldn’t get in the open air because the drones would have stopped him because everyone is being filmed by a drone or cctv at all times if they go outside.

So he started to have to come in the flats, like the arabic lad and his brother or the whispering black lad had had to even before. But the the drones would learn to smell and you wouldn’t be able to do anything the easy way. Even ‘Bryan the best baker in Paris’ as the black lad had referred to himself would not be able to sneak one past them. Bryan had always turned up in a suit in a perfectly clean car so the cops wouldn’t stop him. It suited him, he was the same as all the other salesmen. He wrote texts in code. Baguette was €100, demi baguette €50 he came to your door and spoke in whispers.

Drones can hear whispers even, so you have to get smart. Everything is flown on these undetectable drones these days, to drop-offs and spread to the dens where everyone goes to not be filmed.

The ground would be so surveilled that you would have to have the grows and labs up on huge floating drone platforms hidden in nutrient clouds at high altitudes. Even these were eventually detectable.

And the drones got so good at holding us to our own laws and everything was neat and tidy.

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Mr. Jazz

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Hummer Fun

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Tannoy

“Fat man. Put down the pickles,” said David Davis over the supermarket tannoy system. On the security monitor David Davis watched the fat man place the jar of pickles back on the shelf. “Tall woman. Put down the mustard,” he said, again over the supermarket tannoy system. He watched the woman place the jar of mustard back on the shelf. There was a knock on the office door. It was Susan. “David. We know it���s you in there. Unlock the door please.” Susan was Davis David’s ex-manager. She was a real stick in the mud. She probably had Mel and Tariq with her and they’d be really fired up too, if she’d been on at them enough. In fairness, Mel and Tariq were good guys. But big guys. They were doing their jobs, thought Davis David. And Susan was doing hers too.

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Two Surgeons

a\ “Hannah Barry have given Joel a solo show.” b\ “What? Really? Fucking hell.” a\ “Saw it on twitter last night.” b\ “Hannah Barry’s twitter?” a\ “No. On Joel’s twitter.” b\ “What? Even before Hannah Barry twittered about it?” a\ “Yeah. Nothing on their website though. Checked this morning.” b\ “Shouldn’t do that. Should wait until they’ve confirmed. They might even change their minds.” a\ “They should change their minds.” b\ “Jealous?” a\ “Jealous of whom?” b\ “Joel.” a\ “No. Not really. We’re two very different artists. And I  don’t like Hannah Barry’s shows anyway. Too sterile.” b\ “You wouldn’t turn them down though.” a\ “Actually, I would turn them down. I could never show in Peckham. Could you pass the scalpel?” b\ “Sure.” a\ “Thanks.” b\ “How do you mean? Have you got something against Peckham?” a\ “I haven’t got anything against Peckham. I actually like Peckham. I especially like Peckham in the summer. But I couldn’t show there.  By showing in Peckham, I’d be condoning that which I am railing against.” b\ “Only on a superficial level.” a\ “In my mind, there is only ever the superficial level. Oh. Oh.” b\ “What? Want some help?” a\ “No I got it. I thought he flinched for a second.” b\ “They do that sometimes.” a\ “It can’t be helped.” b\ “He’s okay now.” a\ “What work is Joel showing?” b\ “Those kitchen stools with the towels stitched to them.” a\ “He was making those back in third year.” b\ “They’ve become quite popular.” a\ “Can’t see why.” b\ “I like them.” a\ “Facile comes to mind.” b\ “How so?” a\ “Should be tea towels.” b\ “Whats the difference?” a\ “There’s a big difference. Towels are only ever used for the body for a start. Think about it.” b\ “You’re probably right.” a\ “You should read Barthes.” b\ “I will, some day.” a\ “Could you pass the clamps?” b\ “Okay.” a\ “Thanks.” b\ “I’ve never seen it done like this before. When did you start going through the chest to remove the spleen?” a\ “We’re fitting a new valve not removing his spleen.” b\ “I thought we were removing his spleen.” a\ “What? Why didn’t you say so earlier on?” b\ “I thought you knew. You’re the one in charge.” c\ “Ugh.”

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Song Lyrics New

Shaved my body bald

Now I’m sugar free

Zooming

Zooming

Shaved my body bald

Now I’m rocket fuel

Shooting

Shooting

Shooting