Friday, April 23, 2010

The Amazing Story of Dark Vader in the Alternate Universe 7

Supreme Jeli Knight, Dark Vader, once a power for good but turned instead into the universe’s eleventh most dangerous bad-guy by the power of the dark side, huffed and puffed and wondered why it was that they could build something as big and unimaginably destructive as the Darth Star, yet couldn’t provide him with a lung transplant.

Yes, they could blow up a planet – no problem. But find a cure for bad asthma? Forget it. It was the same with that nasty itch he had developed in his groin. Talking androids that could speak one thousand and forty-two different languages Sir? No problem. Jet across the galaxy in one parsec flicking in and out of hyperspace? Of course, Sir, right away Sir. But cure a simple case of thrush and they just scratch their heads and reach for a bottle of nanobiotics.

Dark Vader stood by the Darth Star death ray console. He couldn’t sit – the piles were especially bad today. The cream that the so-called medical officer had provided him with was useless. Firstly, it was almost impossible to put on himself and absolutely impossible to get anyone else to put on for him. And then, when he finally thought he’d done it right, he’d discovered that he’d used the toothpaste instead. Exctachloroform stipes all the way up his ass. Brilliant. He tried not to think about the unusual grittiness of this mornings toothpaste.....

“The time (huff, puff, huff, snort, huff) has come” he said menacingly. “Let us (huff, puff, puff, puff, huff, snort, snort, huff) test the full power of the Death Star Darth Ray” he growled. Or tried to growl.

“You mean the Darth Star Death Ray” corrected a little man with a big hat who suddenly found that his esophagus had completely disappeared into his intestines.

“(Huff, puff, huff, sigh, huff…..) whatever” said Dark Vader.

A replacement little man with a big hat moved two large levers, adjusted a neutron throttle control, slid back a large panel and pressed a big red button with an X on it. He then opened a twin-token logic gate, slid thirty-two slide gauges from zero to maximum, pressed seventeen light switches and looked at the large computer monitor.

“Are you sure you want to Delete Alderaan?” The display prompted.

The little man with the big hat clicked the ‘OK’ button.

There was a brief silence.
Followed by a brief hum.
Punctuated by (huff, puff, huff, snort, huff, snort, puff, huff, huff)
And then a short beep.

“Delete of Alderaan failed due to undisclosed error” said the display.

Dark Vader sighed. They couldn’t even get a simple destructor beam working successfully. Bugger!

Monday, April 19, 2010

Food for Thought

White jacket and straight jacket sat opposite each other. It could have been two business executives meeting for coffee. But it wasn't. It was psychopath meeting psychologist.

"Our first meeting" said straight jacket in a low, level voice.

"Yes" answered white jacket in a not-so-dissimilar voice.

"Our getting to know each other time." said straight jacket. "A time to get to know each other a little better".

"Yes" said white jacket. "A time to pick each others brains perhaps".

"Indeed" said straight jacket. "A little consideration of what each has to offer".

White jacket and straight jacket both leant forward and regarded the other.

"If" said white jacket, "If my arms were not tied behind my back, I would be pleased to pick your brain" and he licked his lips.

Straight jacket shifted uneasily and his jacket took on a lopsided look.

White jacket, whose hands were secured safely behind him in the arms of his jacket, licked his lips again.

Saturday, April 10, 2010

The Psychopath

The psychopath said nothing. What was there to say? Speech was simply communication and communication implied interchange of thoughts and observations between two individuals of comparative mind state. But who on this planet had a mind state like him? No one, of course. He was unique.

Of course, he did speak sometimes. It was impossible to get by in the world without some level of communications. But it was only ever as-required - intercourse based on necessity. You might snarl at a dog to indicate displeasure but you didn't bark, whine and pant to them about the weather or what was on television last night.

Dogs. That was a rather good analogy he thought. The world was populated by two-legged dogs. Except that dogs had tails. And loyalty. And love. Characteristics sadly missing from the two-legged dogs that squatted about the Eden that should have belonged to him alone.

The psychopath watched. He liked watching. Although his faced showed little if any trace of emotion, internally he would smile to himself as he watched them scurrying about the street with their self-importance and tiny minded obsessions. Stupid, pathetic creatures - entangled in their own pointlessness.

He would watch the antics of the young as they frolicked and sexed each other up. He'd observe the old ones as they shuffled along like broken robots with all their gears seized up. He'd see the thieves and muggers hit their victims, the religious freaks peddling their gods, and the business men parading about in their suits like marionettes from some absurd children's puppet show.

The psychopath killed. Every one of them he killed. It would take time to get them all, of course, but he would manage it. Every one a death. And not just a death - there would be beauty in their deaths - perhaps almost Art. Yes, every one would succumb and die.

Death, the great leveler of inequities, the great despoiler of ego - this was his speciality and his gift. He would get around to all of them, sooner or later, bringing finality to a world in denial.

The psychopath drew his bony skeletal hand across his dark hood and the white of his skull seemed to vanish into some hideous eternal blackness. Time to start work.

The Reaper, grim as always, moved down amongst the two-legged dogs and chose his victim.

Saturday, April 3, 2010

An Easter Story

1. Condemned

They say that my son is a criminal. They have locked him up in prison. They have sentenced him to death.

I don’t understand any of it. He did not murder anyone. He did not steal anything. He did not lie, or cheat, or rape. He did not start fires, or assault people.

But tomorrow, they are going to kill him.

They won’t even let me visit him. I tried to see him, but they wouldn’t hear of it. I asked the prison guards but they just laughed. I wanted to tell him that I love him. I wanted to tell him that I know he is innocent, that nothing anyone says can change my love. But they wouldn’t let me.

2. He is Dead

It is done. They have done it. My heart is destroyed.

They killed my son. They hung him up and he died. It was horrible. How could they do it?

He was a kind man. He helped so many people. He never did anyone any harm, but they killed him. They were frightened of him, because he wasn’t afraid of them. Because he knew that the world needed to be loved, not dominated.

They were afraid that their empire of fear might be toppled by one of love.

3. You Can’t Keep a Good Man Down.

You’ll never believe it. I can’t believe it, but I know it is true. What gladness, what happiness, what bliss.

When they came and told me, I thought they were mad. Then I saw and I thought I was mad. But I wasn’t mad - unless you can be mad with happiness.

Jesu, my son, lives!