You may say that Gort Nano is just a gloomy robot, but he isn't that at all. He's no mere paranoid android copy, he's his own automaton.
Created with love and hope (and metal and stuff), a string of failed robo-relationships (most recently with a shiney router) has left Gort Nano dissatisfied with his life, lonely and adrift, he asks those questions that we all asks from time to time.
Will he ever find the peace, happiness and love he so longs for?
Maybe.
With some trepidation, I answered my mobile phone, knowing it was Duncan (not real name).
You see Duncan has been suffering with Stephacockaliticus B the terrible viral condition that affects the calf muscles and the gene that controls your ability to speak at socially audible volumes in public.
Today was the day he got the results from the radical gene therapy he had recently been engaged in.
We’d first become aware that something was wrong with Duncan when he continually shouted at a small luncheon we had organised for another friend Suze, who was about to move to Africa to work with Médecins Sans Frontières.
At first, it was just rather embarrassing, especially the time we were almost ejected from Waitrose following Duncan booming, “Mate, where’s the fucking lemon grass?” Honest, he pitched his voice at such a volume he almost gave an elderly customer a heart attack; after all the poor old dear had only ever heard someone shout that loud once before, and that was during a Pathé film about the air raids in London circa 1942.
The most damning sign that Stephacockaliticus was taking hold was Duncan’s increased calf muscles mass. Dunc swore blind that he wasn’t working out and that the tone the lower part of his leg had developed had occurred over an incredible short period of time; in fact he’d added an inch in circumference during a Sunday evening screening of Paul Thomas Andersons tour de force ‘Magnolia’ (Mind you, it is a very very long flick).
It was at this point that Dunc got himself checked out by a quack. Turned out he did indeed have Stephacockaliticus B.
As my faithful readers will already know, I myself suffer with Stephacockaliticus A (the much more serious and headline grabbing version)
Coincidentally I developed the condition at the same time as my blog took a downward turn in hits. Ever since my visitor numbers recovered, I have documented my brave battle with this dreadful illness.
Obviously when I heard about Dunc’s condition I was devastated; everyone’s attention and sympathy and up to that point had been solely focused on me; now I was going to have to share it with Duncan! Even though to be quite frank his dose of Monks was far less serious (Monks is the slang name for Stephacockaliticus).
Dunc never let his condition get him down; he faced the illness with the same inherent middle class grit that you would expect from any ex-rugger bugger and former public school boy. In fact, during the initial months he positively prospered and my courageous, annoyingly handsome, vaguely amusing in a ‘calls everyone and everything gay all the time’ way chum just got on with things in precisely the same way as I hadn’t.
Where I moaned and complained he was philosophical and positive.
In May this year a Doctor from St Lego’s University Hospital of Malvern suggested Dunc take part in a trail using an experimental drug. This drug would blend with his ‘privileged’ gene thus giving his immune system an extra shot of arrogant superiority, hopefully enough to combat the Stephacockaliticus B bug.
Today is the day Duncan got the results of from this clinical trial.
Sadly the news is not good. Dunc has the all clear.
I writing this knowing my fate is far less certain. And if the truth be known, I wish it were me that was free and clear and not Duncan.
Does that make me a bad person?
There is a story I remember my mother telling me once about a tragedy that
befell my great grandfather when he was a young man.
The story goes that he was engaged to a beautiful young girl who he had
known since he was very young. They were a wonderful couple and it seemed
certain that they would enjoy a perfect life together. They were the very
definition of soul mates.
Their engagement was to be brief quickly followed by marriage, but war broke
out across Europe. It was the war to end all wars.
My great grandfather was called up to do his duty and this he did with
conviction and courage. The war had raged for a couple of years when his
beloved fiancée received the most terrible news of my great grandfather death
at one of the many now notorious fields in France.
She was inconsolable. She choose to end her own life rather than suffer it alone
with out my great grandfather. She was 19 years old.
Turned out it was a mistake, my great grand father hadn't died at all.
He choose not to take his life as had fiancée; for such a young man he had already
seen a dozen lifetimes worth of death and now every life, even his own now felt so
very precious to him. He decided that the best way to honour his loves passing was to live
a full life taking the memory of her with him.
He never forgot her. He kept a small photo of her (the only one he had)
in his wallet until the day he also died. He was 84 years old.
It was only a short trek from Elephant to Penguin, and this evening Chimpanzee made it in record time; 1 minute and 22 seconds.
Out of breath, Chimpanzee waved a hello to Penguin who paced around in his pool agitatedly.
“How… how… how are you?” wheezed Chimpanzee.
“I’ve been better,” replied Penguin, curtly.
“Oh, what’s up?” enquired Chimpanzee, finally regaining his somewhat gangly composure.
“Goodness Chimpanzee, you made it here from Elephants in record time!” Penguin said changing the subject.
“Yep,” said Chimpanzee with immense pride, “my best yet, 1 minute and 12 seconds,”
Despite generally being a good egg, Chimpanzee can’t help but stretch the truth a little, from time to time.
“Do you have a stopwatch or something?” enquired Penguin.
“Yep, swiped it from Keeper Tom,”
“Nice one,” Penguin said as they beamed at one another.
Getting one over on the staff at the facility was always a terrific boost for morale amongst the inmates, and Chimpanzee was an absolute master at this.
After a few moments, Chimpanzee recalled that Penguin was about to tell him why he was so tense.
“So tell me Penguin,” asked Chimpanzee, “Why so tense?”
“It’s Puffin,” replied Penguin.
“What’s puffin?” asked Chimpanzee a little bemused.
“Not what,” replied Penguin, again rather curtly, “Puffin, Puffin, over there,” he said pointing his flipper in the direction of the cage opposite.
“What’s Puffin done?” asked Chimpanzee.
“Nothing,” replied Penguin to the surprise of Chimpanzee before quickly adding, “Everything.”
“Everything, nothing? What is it specifically he has done to upset you?” said Chimpanzee scratching his chin in exactly the same way a simian Sherlock Holmes might.
“Everything!” repeated Penguin, making it no easier for Chimpanzee to comprehend the cause of Penguins apparent exasperation at Puffin.
“I don-,” started Chimpanzee before being cut off mid flow by Penguin.
“He’s so strange looking, I hate it, makes me sick, he’s so odd in his strange Puffin ways. I find him offensive to look at I cannot bare it anymore. Something must be done about him,” And with this Penguin turned his back not wishing Chimpanzee, his best friend (and Chimpanzee’s second best friend) to see him in such an angry state, for this was a rather unpleasant sight even for a closer personal friend witness.
Chimpanzee was speechless. What could he say? Clearly there was a problem; yet less clear was the cause, other than it appeared Puffins appearance.
“He’s just so… look at him, go on, look at him!” demanded Penguin.
Chimpanzee turn around to look at Puffin, although he was certain this would in no way elucidate Penguins anger.
Puffin was still up and standing at the front of his cage, possibly he had been awoken by Penguins tirade, or perhaps he just had not gone to bed yet.
“Evening,” said Puffin.
“Good evening,” said Chimpanzee.
“I don’t know either,” stated Puffin matter-of-factly.
“Oh,” was all Chimpanzee could muster.
“I’ve been here six weeks and for six weeks it’s been exactly the same. The shouting, the bullying the name-calling… I don’t know what to do frankly.”
“Oh dear,” said Chimpanzee.
“Clearly I’ve done something to upset Penguin, but other than just being here, I can’t for the life of me understand what it could be,” and at this Puffin nodded just once, a sad little nod that seemed to sum up both his frustration at the treatment by Penguin, and something more…
It was something much sadder and at the same time so common around the facility. Loneliness, that was it, Puffin was lonely. After all, as he had said, he had been here six weeks and this was the first time Chimpanzee had spoken to him, and all the other inmates regarded Chimpanzee as by far the friendliest animal around.
“I’m terribly sorry,” started Chimpanzee, “I’m Chimpanzee, I should have said hello when you first arrived,”
“Oh that’s okay,” replied Puffin holding out his wing through the bar, “pleased to meet you” and they shook, wing to paw.
“Oh for goodness sake!” cried out Penguin, whom Chimpanzee had inadvertently forgotten, “You’re making friends with him now!”
“Puffin, would you be so kind as to give us a few moments alone please?”
“Oh yes of course replied Puffin, I was on my way to bed anyhow.”
“Goodnight then Puffin, I’ll pop by tomorrow evening for another chat if that’s okay?”
“Oh that would be splendid,” and off he waddled to his hutch. As he reached the door, he turned, “Goodnight Chimpanzee,”
“Goodnight Puffin,”
“Goodnight Penguin,”
“Get lost!” Penguin shouted back.
“Penguin!” scolded Chimpanzee.
“What?” replied Penguin indignant that he had done anything wrong.
Chimpanzee waited a moment for Puffin to close his hutch door before he confronted Penguin.
“What has gotten into you?”
“What? What do you mean? I haven’t done anything, it’s him!”
“That’s nonsense, he seems like a perfectly normal fellow, in fact I’d say the only problem with Puffin is that he is clearly deeply unhappy – of which you are a part cause.”
Penguin was outraged; he flapped his little wings and ran to the top of his water slide before slide down it furiously.
“I can’t believe you’re siding with him; that little freak!”
“Penguin, don’t be so rude, Puffin might hear you”
“That’s okay,” came a muffled voice from Puffins hutch, “I’m used to it.”
“See” said Chimpanzee. “I don’t understand why you have such a strong dislike of Puffin. I can only guess it’s because of the way he looks.”
“Well,” said Penguin sheepishly (which was not an emotion Sheep reciprocate; they rarely if ever acted pengiunly).
“Is that it?” asked Chimpanzee before continuing, “is it the way he looks that upsets you so much?”
“No.” said Penguin in a way that strongly suggested he meant yes.
“Oh Penguin, I’m so disappointed,”
“But you have to admit he looks weird,” said Penguin desperately attempting to justify his outrageous behaviour.
“No, no I don’t” said Chimpanzee adamantly.
“Yeah right,” sneered Penguin.
“In fact Penguin, Puffin’s little black wings, shiny white tummy, black hood, intense, yet sensitive eyes, yellow feet and colourful beak remind me of another inmate held at this facility.”
“Oh really,” said Penguin, “Who?”
“You,” said Chimpanzee.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” cried out Penguin, “we look nothing alike”
“Really, have you looked in a mirror recently?”
“Well, no, I have one in the bottom of a closet somewhere…”
“Then I suggest you go and take a look.”
“Hmm,” said Penguin. “I’ll maybe have a look tomorrow morning, but I can’t promise anything.”
“Can you at least cut down on the bullying?”
“Not sure,” said Penguin, “He’s just asking for it...”
“He’s not really is he?”
“Maybe not actually asking for it, but still…”
“But still nothing. Now listen here, I am already late for a chat with the Meerkats, can I trust you to have a look in the mirror? Honestly, I believe you and Puffin have more in common that you may think.”
“Okay,” said Penguin, “But only ‘cause we’re friends; it doesn’t mean I agree with you or anything.”
“Well, that’s good enough for me.”
“Goodnight Chimpanzee,” said Penguin.
“Goodnight Penguin, speak again tomorrow.”
With that, Chimpanzee turned and started on his 3 minute and 32 second, trek to the Meerkat enclosure.
As he walked away, he felt deeply concerned by Penguins strong and somewhat violent feelings toward Puffin. He worried that even he may not be able to resolve it.
Then, just as he felt he was about to descend into another depression he heard something, almost out of his earshot that gave him a little hope.
“Goodnight Puffin.”
Puffin (painted by his cousin)
Plucky new biomechanic lifeform (he gets robo-ear wax) Gort Nano has spent the spring exploring our strange and sometimes confusing world.
He is now ready to ask those big questions which we are often to afraid to ask ourselves.
We salute you Gort Nano.
He stopped reading when he got to chapter 12.
Contemplating for a moment he came to the conclusion that it was a very good novel indeed.
He had purposely finished reading early this evening as he wished to stretch out his enjoyment of it as long as possible.
He placed his reading glasses onto the closed book and leaned over and switched off the bedside lamp.
As he lay in bed he could see that the orange light from the street lamp directly opposite his tiny one bedroom flat cast a shadow through his sash window onto his ceiling. The shape formed by the shadow reminded him of a girl he had been passionately in love with as a young man.
A great sense of sadness came with this recollection, as he reflected on the heartache this brief liaison had caused him.
With a heavy sigh he slowly let himself slip into unconsciousness with the hope that he may tonight dream of her again.
After a long, mostly blameless life the elderly man from Wigan died in his sleep. He did not dream of his lost love.
He left no legacy other than two grandchildren neither of which could remember the old mans first name.
The novel he was reading that last night was sent along with the majority of the possessions he had amassed over the years to a local charity shop, where it was sold to a sexually repressed teenage boy for £1.50.
The boy also read the novel up to chapter 12 before he left it along with a packed lunch on the train into Birmingham town centre on a hot and busy Summer Saturday morning.
What happened to the novel after that no one knows.
The end
...you can't really remember the guy you sat next to in class that's been accused of murder.
He seemed like such a nice boy
The name rings a bell but the face... dunno, I think he had more hair when we were 12.
And now in a little local TV station video
Great, now how the hell do I top that?
Maybe...
Well it's all over - but boy was it ever close -
For a time it looked very much like Zidane had got it with;
"Sniffy, now stand up and stop being embarrassed. Everyone experiments now and then, even good lesbians.
"Look, I'm even wearing your big green knickers to make you feel more at ease.
"Come on, stop crying and get out of the bushes. I won't tell anyone"
But then there was that headbutt to the sternum and Zidane was out.
2nd place was a tie between Thordora's:
"His personalized rendition of Midsummer's Night's Dream complete, Herge stalked off to torment the BBC with his costuming"
and Garfer's:
"Elvish sex pest on the loose in Ardnamurchan!
Call the cops."
But there had to be a winner, and it was one of three or four on a similar theme - and I selected it purely on the basis that it made me laugh the most 'cause it was so basic, brief and utterly tied into the picture, which are all the right qualities for a great caption -
Ship Creak is the winner.
In a final act of efficiency, which has so sorely been missing since I took ownership of those shorts now 8 months ago, I have made sure that Ship will have them very very soon. He is now beholden to produce a picture and continue this nonsense.
And thank fuck for that.
Cheers everyone for entering - for those who have never won - truly, in a very real way you are the winners.
Good night all.
...going to be annouced tomorrow evening - right now I'm off to bed 'cause I'm knack'd and pissed off.
Nighty night till then.
Competion closes at sometime on Sunday DEAD! - So get those last minute entries in. I will then collate the answers and select a winner and finally get rid of these fucking elf shorts. Hurrah!!!
Some say they were forged deep in the firey guts of Mount Doom – but that turned out to be bollocks.
Others would have you believe they were stitched by the nimble fingers of the water babies forced to toil in the great halls of apocryphal tales to fashion a garment with only a thread of false promises and needles of viscous marks. Again, that was balls.
Did they fall from the heavens, comfortably covering a renounced Angel’s shame? No.
Were they spat forth from a mighty Kraken when it had a nasty cough and a bit of a runny nose? N'ah
The truth of the matter isthey were made in China, probably by some poor exploited child earning less than a dollar a day (Which to be honest would be useless to the child anyway seeing as how the currency in China is the Renminbi).
They are 100% polyester – and they look it. But they are machine washable which is convenient seeing as how many bums they had knowledge of.
Anyway… some history.
George and Andrea started a phenomenon known as WATES otherwise known as Where Are The Elf Shorts. Many fortunate people have had the honour of displaying their wears and modelling the coveted Elf Short including... Frally, Jon, Kim, Karen, Owl, Strude, Puppdaddy, Matthias, and the gorgeous April Pissoff.
The deal is, once you receive the elf shorts you must model them and post your pic for the world to see. Then you, the blogger, has the opportunity of creating a caption to the picture of you adorned in the lovely green elf shorts.
The shorts have circled the globe - landing in Canada twice - on an ever fascinating and adventurous journey! (They have had a very long holiday in Malvern and the West Coast of Scotland – sorry about that).
Now, it's your turn to have a chance to win the fabulous Elf Shorts. It's simple - come up with a caption to go along with this picture of me in the Elf Shorts and you too could be the next lucky recipient.
Give it a go – this picture will be top post for 5 days.
Well, as it turns out I was right on the money with my predictions for the 2 part finale of this years Doctor Who.
That is of course if I'd actually predicted anything. Regardless, it appears for the first time in TV history the Cybermen and Daleks are joining forces at the suggestion of the Cybermen. Maybe it'll go something like this... (1st published a good few weeks ago)
