Hi, I'm Steve Jobbie. CEO of Waste Management Innovations. We provide green solutions to many of the environmental problems we face today. Like toilet waste. Solid waste products can be made into many things. What you flush can be reconstituted into useful everyday items. Look at my clothes. It might surprise you but... They're shit. My car. Shit. My autobiography (the book is available on Amazon). It's shit. Everything in my life is shit. It's all shit. Everything you see is shit. The future is shit. |
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A FOOTBALL STADIUM COMMENTARY BOX. F/X: sounds of a football crowd play over the sketch - horns, cheers, chants. GARY: There’s Harry Kane, doesn’t he look lovely, and English? GABBY: Yes he does. And there’s Maguire, on the bench. Not looking so lovely. GARY: No, not lovely. But English. GABBY: And here comes the other team. GARY: The other team, who, it has to be said, isn’t England. GABBY: No Gary, it’s Italy. GARY: That’s what they are, Italian, not English. When you start with a disadvantage like that, it’s a wonder they even turn up. GABBY: There goes Jack Grealish. GARY: Standing there like an English God. GABBY: Another lovely man. GARY: A lovely English man. I’m not gay Gabby, but if he wanted to bum me, I’d let him do it. GABBY: Well Gary, I think he’s going out with a page three model, and you are a fifty five year old man, so I don’t think it’s on the cards. GARY: They say an Englishman’s bum is his castle, but if the entire English team wanted to take me up the Glitter, I’d lower the drawbridge, and welcome them in. GABBY: If you’ve just joined us, welcome to the BBCs IMPARTIAL football coverage, of England... GARY: Land of hope and glory. GABBY: … against Italy. GARY: Lazy sexist communist perverts. GABBY: Gary! So, what do you reckon England’s chances are today? GARY: Well, obviously we’re going to win. We are England. GABBY: If only all nations could come together and solve our problems on the football pitch. GARY: Well, they do all come together, it called the Euros. GABBY: Yes Gary. GARY: And of course, the World Cup. And in 1966 it was won… by England. GABBY: They’re about to kick off. F/X: whistle blows. cheer goes up. GABBY: Kane passes it to Sterling … England on the offensive. GARY: England indeed. What a great country. Loved by everyone in the world. GABBY: A long ball from Sterling. It’s been intercepted by Italy. GARY: Tea on the lawn, Beefeaters at the Tower of London, red buses, God save her Majesty the Queen. GABBY: It’s passed to Chiesa he shoots, oh my God! Italy has scored. F/X: roar from the Italian fans. GABBY: One minute in and Italy has scored. What do you think of that Gary? Gary? What are you doing? GARY: There’s no point in going on. GABBY: Gary! Get away from that window. GARY: Aaarrrrrggggggghhhhhhh (TRAILS OFF)! F/X: a loud thump. GABBY: Gary? Are you alright? Someone get an ambulance please. What’s that? The director is telling me, they’ve… they’ve disallowed the goal. Did you hear that Gary? No goal. What do you have to say now? GARY: (MUTED – IN PAIN) Come on England. A nondescript office.
Boss - This is where you'll be working. We always say 'You don't have to be mad to work here', but Tim, actually is mad. He killed a lot of people at his last job so... We can't really take the risk and fire him. That's Susan. She's your immediate boss. She may try to sexually harrass you. She does that to everyone. If she doesn't sexually harrass you, you can complain to H.R. We don't want you to feel left out. Over there is Jim. He thinks he's a 14th century nobleman. That's why he has the horse. Just call him Sir Jim and you'll get along fine. That is Xhehnoirh. He is an interdimensional being. He exists in all possible quantum states, which is why he has to leave early on Friday. The coffee machine is here, it accepts gold dubloons or Swiss francs. You're allowed two coffee breaks every day. Each one lasts 13 minutes and 12 seconds. No more. No less. Here's your desk. It's nailed to the roof. That's for safety. Your phone is here. I know, it looks like it's covered in blood but don't worry. That's not blood. Probably. Could be jam. I hope it's jam. So, if you have any questions, just pick up the phone. Talk into it. We record all conversations on the telephone. I'm pretty sure that's not legal but, what do I know? Don't tell anyone I said that. If you need to go to the toilet, there's a bucket under your desk. It gets emptied every few hours. By the way, one of your duties is to empty the buckets. Well, we'll see you when you finish at 5 o' clock. That's 5 o' clock tomorrow. We work 20 hour shifts, but you do get Thurs off. Thurs the 22nd of July, 2032. The sky above the port was the colour of shit, like a TV tuned to ITV3.
I was jacked into the cyber toilet, clearing my cache after downloading a virus from a cyber hooker. She had corrupted my hard drive and I had to use a floppy. Now my stomach felt like an electro-bagpipe turned up to 11. I took a hit of Dex and was fudging my nut like a space monkey. Ritz was tending bar. He had a prosthetic arm, two cyber legs, and an artificial nose. Neurosurgery had turned him from an reasonably attractive man into a walking vending machine, his innards replaced with a selection of New Coke, New Pepsi, and Red Bull New. The Sprawl was cold, and I would rather have been in cyberspace. In cyberspace I could be myself, but most of the time I was a 14 yr old Japanese girl called Kimika. I sold dirty panties for a thousand New Yen. Business was good. Soon I'd be able to buy that Playstation 7 I wanted. I looked out the window at Tokyo bay. In the distance the twinkling lights and hologram advertisments of the city centre, bright against the brown sludge of sky. It reminded me of home. Birmingham. |
Michael Beck tries to think at least once a day... usually, he fails.
These are just some of the things that go through my head. Categories |