Sunday, February 19, 2006



Disclaimer: what follows is the first of three episodes of a drama involving some of you, my fellow bloggers. In no way is it intended to rip off or jump on the bandwagon of Dr Maroon’s far superior Gothic tale. Here, the story is a mere vehicle for an idea that’s been growing in my mind for some time.

Once he had brushed the last of the crisp crumbs from his beard, Kim climbed into his Aston Martin and gunned the engine. The meeting had gone well, and the good Doctor had proven a most affable companion. Already Kim was composing in his head the next post.

He decided to take the scenic route home from the hotel, and swung the car effortlessly through the suburban streets and onto the country lanes beyond the town’s reach. It had started raining and he flicked on the wipers. The road rose before him and he slowed as he approached the summit in preparation for the plunge down through the forest on the other side. As he crested the hill, his thoughts elsewhere, the reflexive organism in him jammed his foot down on the brakes as shapes loomed in the road ahead. He held the Aston against the slewing of its wheels on the wet tarmac and brought it to a stop only a few feet from one of the figures.

There were about ten of them, creatures such as he’d never seen before in his life. Humanoid in shape, and naked, but their faces without features and their skin a dull blue. Each one carried a truncheon.

He pulled the gear lever to the reverse position and turned the key, but now there were more of the figures behind him. He reeled back as a truncheon smashed into the windscreen, the glass starring. Blue hands wrenched open his door and grabbed at him, and he lashed out instinctively but a sharp blow to his head rendered him senseless.

He came to painfully, nausea writhing in his throat. He was aware of movement, and that he was seated with his arms bound behind him. He was in the back of some sort of van, but the absence of windows meant he had no external point of reference. Seated on either side of him were several of the blue, silent beings. Across from him, watching him, sat a man dressed in black, with a face that was instantly familiar to Kim although he could not put a name to it. An actor, perhaps? The man held a bowl in one hand and, as Kim made groggy eye contact, he smiled and dipped his free hand into the bowl and withdrew a tiny mouse, wriggling feebly, which he put into his mouth and chewed.

Kim looked away, fighting down the gorge. The man sucked the lashing tail between his lips and dabbed at them with a napkin. His voice was like the meshing of gears.

“Kim Ayres,” he said, “you’re under arrest.”

“On what charge?”

“You are accused of being El Barbudo.”

Next: the case for the prosecution.

Now this could be interesting.
damn.. you turn an otherwise amusing tale and make it creepy as FUCK!

i like it.
First it was the Archbishop of Canterbury, now it's Kim. It's like an Agatha Christie puzzle.

I was going to say the butler did it, but then as you're the butler in Dr Maroon's story...


Are you El Barbudo?

If this is a spoiler, please delete it and I won't let on.
Jokemail: are you looking for a fight?

Everyone gets to vote if they want after all the evidence has been presented, so Kim's fate will be in your hands.
As me recall, Foot thought me was somebody too, but didn't know who. Am this a thing with you FE? Everybody got to be somebody else. Nobody am who they say they am. Well, if we get to pick, me want to be FMC. She sounds pretty happy and seems to be having it fairly often... Wait!! Me want to be Sarah!! Yeah... that would be pretty.... WAIT!!! Me am the new guy. Am there any lesbians hanging around here?
It's straightforward paranoia. In Murder on the Orient Express every cunt did it except the Belgian detective, Poirot. Footeater probably thinks that everyone except him takes it in turn to be El Barbudo.
That's right Barbudo, stick up for the Belgians. We all know he done it. Filthy little snaileater with his moustaches and his hairnet and his leetle grey underpants. Cuntweasel!

If theres a jury can I be foreman? can I can I can I can I?

The fucker's guilty yeronour!
paranoia is a turn on for some people..

i find it rather annoying. i exhibit enough of it on my own.

;o) El B is calling you a cunt, again.
Hey! Who was that using the El B moniker? It was my turn today, you bastards!
Incidentally, if El b is not actually in Belgium as he claims then there is someone who is that regularly reads my blog - there is a big red dot over it on my clustermap... and I think it's safe to assume that Kim is actually in Scotland, since Doc M met him there... unless all three of them are one and the same?

In fact, Footsie, what you haven't yet realised is that Kim is ALL of us. Multiple personality disorder, y' see!
Binty, if yer gonna spill beans, spill ALL the beans.

Yes Foot, Kim am all of us. In fact, you am Kim too. See you suffered this really serious mental breakdown and invented this think you call "the Internet" so you can interact with youself and all you personalities. Now Kim, please! Take you pill and lets go listen to the radio.
So am I all the Blunt Cogs characters? Have I just been doing a 'Fight Club' scenario: unknowingly creating a bunch of wildly different personas just to express different sides of my personality that I daren't unleash in my normal, everyday life?

Now you're really messing with my head.
It's what each one of us says about the different sides of you that's potentially worrying......
'Kin hell.

I'll get round to posting the prosecution's case today or tomorrow, but I'm afraid nothing I've got planned is as bizarre as the stuff you lot are coming out with.
it truly IS like fight club then.. Kim wasn't aware of it! neither was i.. really. :o)
Where did you find it? Interesting read » » »
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