Helter Skelter (part four)

© 2011 David Jasmin-Green

It was in China that the world as we knew it ended almost exactly thirty five years after the war and the freaky new world order began. Before the war the Chinese boffins had been striving to create a miniature star to solve their fuel shortage problem. Their mechanoids took over that project during the troubles, and for quite some time they seemed to be on top of the situation, but sadly the star eventually imploded, creating a tiny but nevertheless devastating black hole.
The black hole devoured a substantial portion of the Asian subcontinent in a frighteningly short time before it mysteriously fizzled out, or more correctly reversed. In a rather higgledy-piggledy fashion it spewed up its entire booty, returning its partly digested lunch from whatever back of beyond stomach it had been stored in, but the resulting rift in time and space unexpectedly let a whole lot of extraneous shit into our reality into the bargain.
“Oh nooooo,” the black hole's manager might have cried in reply to the Earth's bitter complaints. “It wouldn't be proper to return just the miscellanea of mashed up crap and useless flotsam and jetsam that my company inadvertently snatched from you. I want to give you an extra something as a token of my deep, heartfelt regret, something to make up for our incompetence in a small but meaningful way. Please accept our offer, because I'll feel terribly uncomfortable if you refuse. Ha! I was lying through my teeth, and you didn't have a clue, did you, you gullible tossers? My gift is a veritable Pandora's box, and it's going to fuck you up big time, I promise.....”
According to HAL, after the black hole reversed polarity the influx of energy didn't quite know when to call it a day after it had reinstated equilibrium. He likened it to an extended elastic band that can't cease moving while it still stores energy and there's insufficient friction and/or no solid barrier to stop it, and that was why the weirdies were able to enter our world – they were sucked in from Weirdville or wherever the hell they came from. It goes without saying that 'weirdies' isn't an accepted scientific term, but it was the only way that even a monster intellect like HAL's could describe the assorted uninvited immigrants that poured in through the open doorway created by the disaster. HAL is working around the clock to seal the gaping hole in space and time, and I'm confident that his magnificent intellect will come up with a solution to the problem eventually, but at the moment he's a trifle flummoxed.

Brr br - Look, how come every Tom, Dick and Harry carries a bloody mobile phone when they haven't been manufactured for over forty years? What is it this time? Are you a despotic, moustachioed Nazi Guinea pig with illusions of grandeur? Are you a sentient, somewhat riled one-eyed teddy bear brandishing a single clapped out machine gun and leading an army of gouty, wingless swans and decrepit old ladies? Are you a crippled, closet homosexual goldfish with leprous fins claiming to be the spirit of Benito Mussolini, conqueror of Abyssinia and dictator of Italy, demanding compensation for the war crimes that the allies committed against your favourite underpants? No?
Are you a past its sell-by-date cheese and onion flan who also happens to be a traffic warden, and you're a bit pissed off because we ripped up the ticket that you slapped on our Ford Cortina that was illegally parked outside Tesco while we nipped in for a cauliflower, a packet of batter mix and forty Marlboro Superkings - and to add injury to insult we pilfered your foil tray and plastic packaging so that you crumbled onto the pavement and a morbidly obese Russian gymnast gobbled up your rancid remains? Are you a flock of starlings that, purely by chance while indulging in an exuberant spot of aerial acrobatics formed a random shape reminiscent of a woman with a halo, and you tried to kid the Catholic church into believing it was a manifestation of the Virgin Mary but they told you to piss off, so you thought you'd try the same trick again to see if you could make a few quid out of us? A? Are you David Hasselhoff weeping pathetically in a public toilet because the rain ruined your perm, or maybe Sandra Bullock in a skimpy French maid costume playing a Bontempi electric organ cunningly retuned to a tone guaranteed to frazzle our delicate circuitry?
No? I'm somewhat surprised, I must say. Ah, you're none of those things. Instead you claim to be a spokesman for the three Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Well I've got news for you, you little fibber – I've scrupulously checked the Revelation of Saint John, and there were in fact four horsemen. What have you got to say about that, jism breath?
The Pale Rider couldn't come because he's suffering from a slight cold that he claims is man flu, and his mother insists that he has to stay in bed sucking Halls Mentholyptus and sipping Beecham's Hot Lemons, which explains why there's only three of you. You had a little chin-wag and you came to the conclusion that you don't need Death anyway, seeing as we're not living..... You eventually persuaded the Conqueror on the white horse into coming along although he grumbled because he didn't want to cancel his cricket match, but you had to kidnap War, rough him up a bit and super-glue him to his red horse's saddle because he's a total pussy and a disgusting pervert into the bargain - you caught him hiding in the bathroom indulging in a covert five knuckle shuffle over his favourite Queen Mother picture book, and he cried like a baby when you confiscated it.
Who the fuck are you, then? The video on this security system is shit, and even on high resolution you don't look much like an Apocolyptic Horseman to me. Fuck, you're a lady – please forgive my foul language..... You are Pestilence, you say - you're the dude (or dude-ess) on the black horse with a striking but, you insist, wholly coincidental resemblance to Sarah Palin. You wanted to pose as Naomi Campbell for this job, but God insisted that it's politically incorrect to dress up as a black woman unless you're black yourself, which you obviously aren't - and you were the only Horseman (or Horsewoman) with a genuine desire to attend.
Look, this is bollocks. You're no threat, to us, you comely, firm breasted, tight buttocked, full, red lipped, sexual energy oozing, gun-toting retard. We don't suffer from diseases because we're frigging mechanoids, and we're entirely sexless, so it's no use trying to sweet talk us or tempt us with your ridiculous womanly wiles because we have no interest in your eyelid fluttering, hip-swinging, deliciously pouty delights. I don't care if you are thrumming with raw, cancerous titty power! I don't give a toss if your milkshake brings all the boys on the yard and their life, in your humble opinion, is better than ours. We will defeat you, you absolute cunt – sorry, I mean Miss - there's no doubt about that.
What? You've entered our complex with consummate ease after blinding me and the security guys with your big, brown eyes, fabulous doobries and pert, swaying tush? It was an absolute doddle, you say, because you've never met a man that you couldn't twist around your little finger? But we're not men – which part of that statement don't you bloody well understand? Ah, but we were programmed by men, and the idiots put a lot more of their essence into our make-up than we realise, you remind us. At this very moment you're uploading your Trojan black horse into HAL's supposedly impregnable CPR, and while you're doing that HAL is giggling like an embarrassed schoolboy because he thinks you're absolutely drop-dead gorgeous - you're having a virtual cuddle and arranging a secret rendezvous while you sting him. I see..... Oh, Christy!

Bzzzzz! Bzzzzz! Bzzzzz! Bzzzzz! Cyril! Cyril, answer the damned phone, you useless wanker. We're in deep trouble, matey. We're, oh, apparently my battery's about to die, but that doesn't 'ake sense, because I only charged the 'loody thing this morning. Helter-skelter, na-na-na-na-na-na-naah, 'elter-'kelter, na-na-n- Cack, 'ollocks, tit and other expletives. Cyril! 'AL! Don! Mummy! Kkkkk! Kkkkkkk! Shit, I sound like a 'ucking scouser. Surprise surpriiiiise, the unexpected 'its you between the kkkkkkk eyes! Oh, bum! When I get to the 'ottom I go back to the top of the 'lide, then I stop