|
|
Dick Dangerous's Dark MaterialsApr 25 '08 Write an essay on this topic.
Popular Products in Home Furnishings
The Bottom Line Which is worse? Bein' trapped in another universe, or findin' yo'self in a parallel Bristol? And is Tricky more annoying than 50?
Well Danger fans, if you read my last missive you’ll remember that me, M., Bruce and Dai were hurtling through hyperspace, sent there by Roger Foxby who’d been disguising himself as Andrew Lloyd Webber. All of a sudden another flash of light blinded us. Then there was nothing. Then there was... “Bristol?” said Dai. The rest of us looked at him confused. “Well it's bloody Bristol boyos,” said Dai. “I used to come over here at the weekend to beat up English, I know its secluded alleys well.” We were stood in the middle of a shopping centre next to a television shop. “Well I ain’t ever been to Bristol, but out of the three of you, Dai is the closest thing to well-adjusted.” “What about me?” asked M. “Dude, you actually believe you can rap. You’re more deluded than Brucey here.” “Fackin’ dingo bumming idiots,” said Bruce. “Well looks like once again Foxby f*cked it up,” I said. “He’s sent us to the West Country, and unless we get a*s-raped by the web-footed hicks I heard they got out here, then you can bet your ukelele he’ll be surprised to see us and say something like, ‘Ah Dangerous, I see my clever ruse has been rumbled.’ Then it’ll turn out he was working for his imaginary friend. Again.” “Have I missed something?” said M. “Nope, that’s the tall and short of it,” I said. “Since when has Tony Blair been president of the UK.” A screen in the window had footage being broadcast of Blair being interviewed with the caption, “President Blair resigns.” “Since forever,” I replied. “Dick, for the last time, we have a Queen here, and it’s not just Julian Clary. I’ve told you a thousand times.” “So we must be in a parallel Bristol!” I yelled. “Great,” said Bruce, “Let’s go and bum a fackin’ sheep. I’m hungry, let’s get some fish and chips.” I guess that for Bruce, travel between universes is a common side-effect of excess alcohol consumption, so based on the assumption that fried fish dinners were a common denominator between worlds we trooped off in search of a joint that would sell us some, preferably without turning our sh*t to the consistency of a quality Covent Garden soup. This parallel world didn’t look much different to our own, although I’m sure the chicks were hotter, but ain’t that always the way? Now I ain’t ever been in Bristol, but I heard the local pass-time involves rectally inserting small rodents for recreational reasons, and for some reason everyone there has an Aunty Mom. True to form, most people we found in the center were wearing leggings which would give a giraffe fat legs and probably keep old Gordon Brown awake at night worrying about the obesity epidemic. I’m figuring he’s not been to Texas on official duties as the Chief Butt-boy of the Empire or whatever the hell limeys call their President. But that ain’t nothing’ compared to what they call our president. “Is it just me,” said M. “Or are everyone’s eyes closer together?” He’d spent the last quarter hour scrutinising people carefully and had been told to mind one guy’s daps. I guess that’d make M. active in some circles, but we promised never talk about that time in Soho ever again. “They look like a bunch of Kiwi squirrel suckers,” said Bruce suspiciously. “Maybe we’re in Bristol, New Zealand,” I suggested. Hell we visited a place called Cambridge there and there’s a place called London in Ontario whose weather forecast I keep getting. I reckon Bruce has been reading it too ‘cause he keeps wandering around London in shorts in the middle of winter. “No,” said Dai, “This is definitely Bristol. F*ckin’ English with their f*ckin’ suspension bridge and Isambard Kingdom-f*ckin’-Brunel.” “Kingdom-f*ckin’-Brunel,” I said slightly confused, “Is he like the parallel version? The SS Great Britain is a novelty D*ldo in this world!” “It was the first ship to have a screw propeller,” mused M. “Probably the first thing with a screw propeller here as well,” I reasoned, although M had been watching too much Extreme Machines on day-time TV. We were now entering a slightly more gentrified suburb, a place where the houses had Audis outside and they weren’t stacked up on bricks. As we wandered down a leafy sunny street I noticed a dude who’d been walking towards us suddenly stop dead. “Dick,” said Dai, “I don’t like to worry you but that bloke over there is the spitting image of you.” Dai often says things like this. He was sure that next door’s cat was sending him instructions from his cell of the Welsh Liberation Army, using the code of “Bangor Rules,” but the guy in front of us did look a little bit like me except… “Woah, hold on,” he said nasally in an American accent, brushing hair out of his eyes. He was a little podgy and wearing a faded Monty Python t-shirt, but other than that looked like me. “Hold on nothing motherf*cker, why’ve you got my face?” “Well,” replied the alternative Dick Dangerous, “Really I should be asking you the same thing, because you see in my frame of reference you’ve got my face.” “I’ll frame of reference you ya little sh*t…” “Dick, no!” said M. “I know all about this: it’s a parallel version of you.” “Yeah, except I’m a f*ckin’ nerd M…” “The number of references to sci-fi shows that appear in these stories and you’re calling him a nerd?” “Hey don’t f*ck with the fourth wall M.” “But if you touch him then… er… you’ll upset the balance of the universe and create a massive explosion as you annihalate each other. I’ve seen it on TV.” “Which show was that on?” M. mumbled something under his breath which sounded like, “Doctor Who,” but then nerd-Me butted in. “Actually, that’s anti-matter.” “Stay outta this poin-dexter. Even if you are me…” “I seriously doubt,” continued Nerd Dangerous, “That you are from another universe. The physics of that would be far beyond the reach of even the greatest genius. I should ask you a question to prove that you are me - something only I’d know the answer to.” “Okay, the first place I jerked off was in a ninth grade Christmas-carol concert, at the back of the church.” There was a stunned silence which was eventually broken by Bruce. “You never jerked off ‘til ninth grade?” “Look,” I said producing my wallet, “Here’s my passport see - Dick Dangerous, U.S. citizen.” This only seemed to animate Nerd Dangerous and he grabbed me by the arm, causing M. to leap behind Bruce, who’d produced a can of beer from god-knows where and was takin’ a slug on it. “Well now that’s swell, come in and meet my friends, my house is just over here.” We walked up a neat path into what can only be described as the most bizarre block of flats known to mankind - it was just stood there, in the middle of nowhere, with allotments all round it. We clambered up to the third floor and Nerd Dangerous let us in, babbling the whole way. “I’m studying a PhD in dark energy at the university, trying to find a way of synthesising Higg’s Bosons and thus reproducing the exact conditions that existed at the Big Bang.” “Sorry dude,” I said as he proferred mugs of very weak coffee into our hands, “But leaving aside this chick’s bosoms and how you wanna bang her, can you like build some kinda machine that’ll get us back to our own universe ‘cause I’m kinda overdue savin’ the world back there.” “Oh?” “Well there’s this dude called Roger Foxby who’s… wait a sec, how the hell do I explain Roger Foxby?” Nerd Dangerous looked at me blankly. “No-one can be told who Roger Foxby is, they have to smell him for themselves.” “Can’t say we have anyone like that,” said Nerd Dangerous. “Interestingly, although there may be an infinite number of universes containing a particular person, there are equally an infinite number that don’t.” “Hell you’d better re-write the theory boy ‘cause there’s one cold-a*s motherf*ckin’ pimp ninja who’s in every motherf*ckin’ reality, and that’s Dick f*ckin’ Dangerous boy. Dick Dangerous is reality.” I looked at the blank expression he was giving me, and the suspicious stain on his faded blue levis. “Although I figure this universe may be the exception that proves the rule…” I was cut off by the sound of Bruce retching in the sink. “Oh sh*t, I shoulda said, Bruce here can’t have coffee.” “Is he allergic?” “Nah, it just sobers him up too much. M, you got Bruce’s emergency kit?” “Of course,” said M, removing a small syringe which he injected straight into Bruce’s neck. “Anti-histamine?” asked Nerd Dangerous. “Not unless that’s a new brand of absinthe.” “Wait,” said Nerd Dangerous, “Some of your friends might have parallels here. What’s your name,” he said to M, and the monster rhyme machine that is M Ravioli fired up. “Mushroom Ravioli is in yo’ area Watch yo’ Mom ‘cause I gave her malaria…” “You know that malaria isn’t transmitted sexually?” asked Nerd Dangerous, and M just looked confused. “You know man, we’re gonna have to have a long chat about what’s cool and what’s not.” “I know what’s cool! He’s M. Ravioli. He’s a multi-platinum selling artist here! He’s the first British rapper to top the US album chart.” “Sh*t, we managed to find a parallel universe where M’s successful? The chances of that were pretty low!” “’Ave you got a suave and daring Welshman here?” asked Dai. I ain’t sure what suave is, but I’m guessing it ain’t a dude with more hair on his body than his head, which is what Dai is. “No…” said Nerd Dangerous, “But I do live with a Cornish freedom fighter called Dan Trebilcock.” “Ain’t that a porn-star name?” “No, it’s traditional Cornish.” “But what’s he a freedom fighter for? I mean hell, all I know about Cornwall is they glow in the dark and have a cheese called, ‘Yarg!’ which is probably what you say if you run a Geiger counter over it.” “The Cornish Freedom Army?” said Dai, “Bunch of splitters.” “Oi’d expect that kind of talk from a stranger like yous,” said a huge dude who hulked through the door and looked uncannily like Dai. Except he was wearing a tee-shirt with a white cross on a black background with “Get Rick Stein Out Of Padstow,” scrawled over it in red. I can only assume Rick Stein didn’t return the lawnmower or some sh*t. “Dan Trebilcock,” said the Cornishman, offering a hand, causing Bruce to snigger. “Bruce, it’s not that funny.” “I bet that’s what he tells all the Sheilas,” said Bruce, unable to control himself, but Nerd Dangerous was suddenly animated. “Are you Bruce Fearless?” “Yeah, that’s right ya shirt-liftin’, sheep-botherin’ pommie b*stard. What’s it to you?” “Well we also live with a Bruce Fearless here. Are you a Zoologist?” “Ya callin’ me a sheep b*ggerer?” At that moment the door opened, and the spitting image of Bruce was stood in the doorway, identical in every respect except for one. “Kia ora bro,” said alterna-Bruce in a kind of low-key way. “Now that isn’t fair,” said Bruce, “He’s a fackin’ bogan Kiwi sticky-beak bum-ranger!” “He’s still better than you Bruce.” I noticed another dude stood behind Kiwi Bruce, trying to find a way past to get inside. “Alright there m’lovers?” he said in a slow, drawling kind of way. “Oh dear,” said Nerd Dangerous, “It’s Tricky.” “Tricky?” “Yes, we’ve been trying to get rid of him, but he just keeps coming up from downstairs. Dan, fetch the broom.” Dan grabbed a broom from the corner and started shooing Tricky towards the door. “Alroight you. Shoo. Of with ye.” “I’ve got a girt lush casserole,” said Tricky as Dan shut the door. “Just wait…” said Nerd Dangerous, and after a few second we heard the despondent thud of Tricky heading downstairs. “Wait!” said Bruce, who was getting more and more panicked by the second, “How do we get out of this nightmare?” “You can’t,” said Nerd Dangerous, “There’s no way here of producing enough dark energy to break through. I’m afraid you’re stranded.” “Choice bro,” said Kiwi Bruce, slapping his Australian counterpart on the back. Bruce just seemed to get paler and paler. “You got another syringe?” I asked M, who started to search around in the bag. “Well crew,” I said to the others as M. managed to get Bruce under some kind of control, “It seems we’re stuck here, but to be honest this world seems pretty much like ours.” “Oh, you’ll find its all pretty similar,” said Nerd Dangerous smiling, “It generally quite quiet here.” I was a little worried because of where he’d put the emphasis. “Generally?” I asked, but my thoughts were answered by the distant sounds of screaming, mixed with a loud metallic thumping. “What in the name of Huw Edwards is that noise?” asked Dai. “Sounds like a Welsh rock band,” I answered, “But with less sweaty grunting.” “Oh no,” said Kiwi Bruce matter-of-factly, “That’s just the Giant Space Crabs.” “Giant what now?” “Oh look,” said Dan, pouring a cup of coffee, “They’ve destroyed the church down the road.” “That’s a pity,” said Nerd Dangerous, “I quite liked that church.” “Woah, hold on here! Giant Space Crabs?” “Oh yes,” said Nerd Dangerous, “Earth is at war with the space crabs. They’ve destroyed most of the planet. Pretty much everywhere has been destroyed apart from Bristol, and the whole human race is either working as slaves to our Crab overlords or they’re using them to fertilise their fields of space coral.” “But… that’s… really…” Words escaped me. “Bad?” “I know, they’re using it to power their space-craft for universal conquest, but it’s actually pretty inefficient.” “Holy sh*t, you’re being invaded by bug-eyed aliens and you don’t even give a sh*t!” “Of course not, this is Bristol.” “Bristol?” “We only care about things that happen in Bristol.” “But the whole planet’s been destroyed!” I wailed. “Look,” said Dan, “You’re in Bristol now, only Bristol things matter. You aren’t in London any more.” “Not that you could live there anyway,” said Kiwi Bruce, “Because that was the first place the Space Crabs attacked.” “Actually, I heard they destroyed Broadmead,” said Nerd Dangerous, stirring in two sugars. “Good job too,” said Dan thoughtfully, “Just a shame it took an invasion of Space Crabs to get rid of it. Do you think they’ll build a new centre now?” “No,” said Nerd Dangerous, “They’ll probably build more of those missile silo things because they need warheads for fighting off the Intergalactic Prawns.” The building began to shake violently as a giant mechanised eye roved around the window, eyeing us with malicious intent. “M.!” I shouted, “They’re all f*ckin’ mad here!” M was still trying to shove the syringe into Bruce’s neck, while clinging onto the fridge as giant metallic claws started to rip off pieces of wall. “If it’s any consolation, Bristol’s pretty much the same in our world.” “Did you watch Skins last night?” asked Kiwi Bruce as a giant claw chopped Dan clean in two and metal tentacles came through the window and carried off the two halves into a set of wriggling mouthparts. “No,” said Nerd Dangerous. “Space Crabs were on,” said Kiwi Bruce, taking a sip of coffee. “Outside Café Nero.” “The one on Park Street?” asked Nerd Dangerous, ducking under a giant claw. Me, M and Dai had managed to haul Bruce into a corner of the kitchen to avoid the onslaught and giving M. a stronger grip on the syringe. “No, the one in town,” continued Kiwi Bruce absently. “Bloody product placement.” There was a ferocious banging at the door which could only have been Tricky. “Yeah Tricky!” shouted Nerd Dangerous, “We know. It’s the Space Crabs. Just ignore him,” he said to Kiwi Bruce, who was now trapped in the giant claw and was being dragged towards the window, “He’ll give up in a minute.” “What do we do?” yelled M over the noise. “I ‘ave some leeks strapped to me and am primed and ready to go.” “Dai for f*ck’s sake!” “Don’t try and stop me Dick boyo. Avenge my death by spitting on all the English you see. For Shirley Bassey!” I managed to haul him back when suddenly Bruce sat bolt upright and took one look at the Space Crab tearing into the flat. “You ripper!” he yelled, and grabbing the broom ran full pelt towards the oncoming monster. “No!” yelled M. as Bruce leapt towards his doom. “Are you kidding? This time we might actually have killed the f*cker.” Thanks, I’m Dick Dangerous, and contrary to popular rumors I don’t have space crabs. It’s just the way I walk.  |
| Write the first comment on this review! |
