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Felicity sat patiently in the waiting room of DDT Productions, quietly confident in her ability to secure the job. The advertisement had said ‘Do you have the ability to say the first thing that pops into your head? Without doubting it? Then this job is for you!’ Well, thought Felicity, This job’s for me!
Her interview wasn’t scheduled for another half an hour, but she had arrived early purposefully, to get a feel for the place. She smiled; it felt like fun, she decided to get the job.
‘Ask DDT’ was becoming so popular that plans were being made to recruit more ‘dead guys’. The online phone-in radio show, featuring channeled Dead Dick Tracy, was swamped with callers lately, and despite increasing the length of the show to an incredible 5 hours, dozens of callers left disappointed, their questions unanswered.
Jobson Batt and Ernie Young toasted each other with a warm glass of fine French brandy. Disaster Damage Team, or DDT, was doing fabulously well, and they congratulated themselves on their perspicacity and foresight.
Another storm was heading for the west coast, and they chortled happily in anticipation of plenty more work for their booming business.
Sawyer reached for his boots, his eyes still blind with sleep. He didn’t know how much longer he could cope with all this. Years ago, when he’d joined the Weather Incident Rescue Team, or WIRT, he’d imagined a relatively easy life, long spells of inactivity in which to play poker with his team-mates, and an occasional exciting incident. Little did he realize that he would be working on average a 100 hour week…and even then, the team was chronically short-staffed.
Get out of bed you lazy fuckwits, shouted Captain Hendrix. GET UP!! GET UP!! The storms a mile off Blinton Lighthouse, GET UP!!
Claudio rubbed the grimy dagger on his shirt tail. There was a row of jewels along the hilt, ruby, emerald, sapphire, amethyst…
Becky scratched her head in confusion. She wondered if she’d ever catch up with all the new characters and story lines in the Reality Play. Who the fuck was Joe? Yeah, he was cute, but who was he?
Becky sneezed again and shivered. Her cold was making her feel strangely disconnected and floaty. Nothing made much sense anymore, but it didn’t really seem to matter.
Ted always felt the cold, and the saloon was freezing. He clenched his chattering teeth for as long as he could, and then could stand it no longer. He dashed outside to grab a sweater out of his saddlebag, grimacing with cold.
The Sheriff, trembling with cold, tugged at the sleeve of his sweater, and inadvertently pulled a small canvas bag out, spilling the contents all over the side of Dervish, his horse.
Hallucinogenic green frogs boinged and scattered all over the place.
Yikes! shouted Ted. This is gonna be one helluva f’kin trip now!
Beattie and Leonora had finished unpacking their belongings, and had rearranged the meager furnishings of the little white washed cottage. There was one item as yet unpacked: a sturdy wooden crate.
What are we going to do with them, Bea?
Hmmm? Beattie looked up from the computer. Oh, the bloody skulls. Well, not on the mantelpiece that’s for sure! We’ll have to hide them again. How about in the old bread oven outside?
There’s an idea, replied Leonora. Give us a hand then, Bea…
But Beattie was busy tapping away at the keyboard. Well, what a coincidence! she cackled, turning round to face Leo. Bert’s found another one!
True focuses
Funny aspects
Badul loved mother attention,
Despite forgotten black eyes
