The Quonset Hut

Life ain't just trouble, misery and thinking about Very Serious Things.

It is also remembering to "N'oubliez pas la joie de vivre".
I try not to forget it.

So, here goes, a bona fide first from this "author of note", dammit !

"The Forum of Spies"
Bond killed the engine of the arctic blue Bentley Continental GT “Le Mans Edition”, its 6.0-litre W12 motor with 567 bhp and 516 lb-ft of torque gratefully coming to a rest. Casually tossing the custom made, finger printed, credit card like key to the valet on the sidewalk, he said “Now don’t you try to move it, will you Junior, my car has a temper of sorts”, the request issued without missing a stride or checking to see if the boy had got it, but remembering MI6 Q’s warning “Don’t you dare damage that piece of government’s property !”.

Walking towards the entrance he noticed the presence of Wags, also known as the “Hound from Hell” to those in the trade, rigidly standing at attention by the gate of the Cosmic Club. Well, it was an improvement from his last employer, Bond grinned to himself. That Ivan Yvan was a real unbecoming cup of tea and a even worse paymaster, forever obsessed with the number thirteen and its sinister variants.

“OctoGraviticPussy, time to join some music to your white paper journals” Bond thought, as he coldly dismissed these distractions.
And went forth.

Another favourite, the dark Frankie Miller, steps up from an "author of note" :

"The Cesspool"
I awoke, raised my hand from the damp mattress where it had rested in a drunken stupor and lighted the first Lucky Strike of that godforsaken night. My head beating like a drum, I remembered her, her soft languish voice whispering in my hear “I will miss you” while her smooth fingers were busy emptying my wallet.

Sure, some gals get their kicks outta these tricks but so what, everyone has to make a living and I wasn’t the best of the choir boys, just the one that happened to be around. So be it, I thought, as I got over my late breakfast with a couple of Jim Beam’s quick jolts, its new friend Mila Kunis staring at me as if I gave I f**k about what was in the print and not in the bottle. Too skinny and too young, all these broads nowadays, anyway.

Belching a welcoming relief, I scratched my ass and let go a matinal fart. There you go, now only a bath to shake off my stench and I’ll be ready to ride your horses, lady.

We have much to do and I’m just getting started, you used to say. Plus, you haven’t seen nothing yet, you liked to add. Well, next stop your Blue pal. Him and I have a date in hell, and it’s getting late. What a wonderful adventure it will be, I said to myself.

Regarding (ahem) sound ...

Here goes, some waves : http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P4RD_rzuOBw

Play it at the top of your speakers.
It won't bust them.

If you recognized genious in this sax "fringe musician", try some more from him here : http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4Zf6fx4GRz0

“The Canadian Connection”

Smiley listened quietly to the rhythmic pounding of his predecessors wall clock beat the regular compass of a never ending march, time’s inexorable goose stepping towards infinity, unchanged, unmoved and uncaring, making a unperturbed cadence despite the urgency.
The file stood neatly shut in front of him, its contents known but not understood, like the recurring fact that the stars shone despite being dead, a introspection of the senses devoid of warmth but full with energy, like all moral ambiguities present themselves to those who will not shed a tear of regret but only a sigh of resignation over the inability to resist the appeal of the vulgar when facing the stolid parchment of the ethical thing to do.
I so want to please, but I just end not understanding how. Smiley remembered his father, who had made and lost countless friends due to elaborate confidence tricks and schemes which landed him, in the end, in abject solitude and unforgiving loneliness. His work forgotten, his flame thorn from him, bitter, ridiculed, left out to pasture and graze the great plains of man’s folly.
You reap what you sow. True. But the harvest is all, for the fate of man is to serve and not to know why.
And that is the reason, all things pondered, why I will destroy the Canadian. You can levitate as Icarus. But I will drown you, like he did, even if I have to reconstruct the Labyrinth where his father imprisoned the half-man, half-bull monster also born of his wife.
Comforted by these familiar thoughts, he picked up his peanuts bag and started eating the little salty pieces of nothingness.

“Dionysus Letters of Insanity”
My powers free everyone from self-conscious criticism and subverts the oppressive restraints of the inquisitive mind, liberate the soul for the pursuit of dialectic principles and frivolity of discussion independently of any given, yes, principles, and above all induce a state of self-awareness where everything is allowed and nothing can be forbidden, for I will say which, and in so doing, exempt myself, and alleviate yourselves, of what can be said and thought and what will not be allowed on the grounds, amidst and amongst, inclusive but without exclusion, of repulsive off-topic distractions, thereby setting forth the single unanimity of self determining where clarity lies beneath the shadow of the intangible.

I communicate between the ignorant and the initiated, even if I myself know nothing, because I was born from wisdom and have been anointed with the sanctified blessing of my father’s genius.

This lack of a necessary prerogative to arbitrate between the possible and the impossible, however, does not deter me, as it might were I not of divine ascendency, from defining with ex-cathedra authority doctrines of faith and morals, virtue and sin, and yes – that too – the profound effects of highly charged electricity upon any kind of substance (real or otherwise imaginary) give or take a few Joules, Ohms or whatever (I really haven’t a clue) since all of this is, in final reality, and also because I say so, just notions of quantum insignificance and immaterial relevance. Which, depending on my whim at any given instance, can be, or not, admissible to either accept or dismiss as a valid topic of discussion, be it inside the confined sanctum of my cosmic place or through the auspices of any other that suit my fancy, regardless of any, yes, that too, suitability or objections.

Therefore, tremble in awe, all of you.

Or else.

We should ban this guy, English isnt even his first or second language.

Seriously though, brilliant.

"The Saga of the Nazi Manic Paranoid Zombie"
Sieg Heil ! he screeched, while blood flowed freely from his spiky overgrown canines which protruded menacingly over very thin lips, crimson red not from hemoglobin but because of a very tartish lipstick he liked to use for certain occasions best left undisclosed, but that now, in the present circumstances, resembled more aptly a kind of war paint and a virulent sign of his deep commitment.

“Ze zecrets off Vorld Var Zwei are safe vith me, yes, nein ?” the question hissed at Nibelung, the janitor of the Cosmic Barracks, who eagerly clapped his heels and strutted “Ja…Ja…Jawohl !” with adoring admiration and ecstatic rapture.

And discipline, Ja, zat too.

“I haffe wunderwaffen unknow to them, I haffe friends in tzvee letter agencies, I haffe spiesz efferivere who send me Blau emailsz” he said, working himself to a frenzy.

“Do you zvant, do you really zvant …. Total Krieg, you traitorous and bestial baztards ?” he screamed amidst pink foam and red spit droplets, “I vill crush you like a valnut, I vill eviscerate your entrails and feed my Yorkies vit it, I vill … I vill Götterdämmerung you to oblivion, I vill gravitify you and your Freundschaftsbezeigungen to a pulp” he roared, hands clasped together with fury in front of him while his eyes glazed with almost erotic anticipation of these threats consummation.

Exhausted by the sesquipedalian tirade, he collapsed in a chair.

Alone.

But he was dead long ago, you see.

Looking for the next installment. Your prose lightens my day.

Mikado

“The Daily Loony Interview Show !”

“Hello folks, today in the studio we have the long awaited presence of the firefighter Nadil Blue. Let’s give him a hearty applause, shall we ?”

(thunderous handclapping)

- “Nadil, welcome ! What can you tell us about you and your team’s firefighting techniques ?”
- “Hi everyone, glad to be here ! But first, I’d like to make a statement …”

- “Sure, fire away, so to speak (haha) !”
- “I am here to discuss serious issues and to share my knowledge. But I will not partake in off topic distractions”

-“Nadil, that’s ok … so, how do you go at it ? any special technique ?
- “See ? That’s what I mean ! Are you insinuating I indulge in techniques of personal intimate gratification, ferchrissakes ?!”

- “Er, well, no, not at all …. but let’s move on, then. So Nadil, you seem to use a custom made hose, that’s correct ?”
- “Look here pal, innuendos about my hose is bad taste, okay ? How long is your hose Nadil, can I squeeze your hose Nadil, do you pump real good with your hose Nadil, that kinda stuff ... allright ??”

- “Uhmm, right … sooo, what about fighting a fire ? How do you do it ?”
-“That’s enough!! I have warned you, repeatedly ! What do you mean ? that I like it fighting hot ? that I like to ram a hose deep up my fire ? Frankly, your agenda is showing mister, now I can see where your downloading is coming from … !!”

-“Righto, rightee, off ya go now Nadil Bluie ! .... Applause for this guy, he’s wonderful !”

(thunderous handclapping, cat yelling and high-fives)

Bravo!! you got that blue idiot nailed. lets be practical, would he really get into a interview or would his linda do it for him?

Josh