| deleted user 04.05.2006 12:13 |
The First Section, Where I really Like the Bits With the Car and Sofa Being Testy - "Why that's my eye and a bicycle! You can't *possibly* mean it!" In a semi-public garage (capacity of two automobiles on a good warm day of high humidity) lit only by a solitary bulb a man in a mauve dressing-gown gave the shabby vehicle a resounding prod. This did nothing to the vehicle, but did perhaps wound the man's pride as the vehicle had not relented quite as planned, but had blatantly stubbed his finger instead. He blinked in indignation and gave the thing a look that was part scowl and part pout. "Yes I do, I swear! Here, why don't you try?" The other man in the room (who was wearing clothing far more suitable for public activities) held out a set of keys. "... I can't." Was the rather annoyed reply from the first man who took it upon himself to lean on the vehicle which made the thing give a metallic moan - though this was more out of spite than actual physical strain as the man was hardly more than eight stone and therefore much under what it could reasonably bear. "Oh." The blond winked from a speck of dust and looked down. He sighed and sat himself on the vehicle (which did nothing in response except give a good-natured wiggle). "Why don't you." The ever-so-marginally shorter man suggested. "I suppose... if I really, really, really, must." He grinned and slid off the car. "It may be a good idea for you to get... dressed... you know... I don't think that qualifies as quite the proper attire for what is sure to be a monumentously spectacular expedition." Of course, this blond had the upper hand, as his heels gave him a full three-and-a-half inches in height over the mauve-bathrobed man in beaded slippers (which had no heels as that would undermine the delicate comfort of their nature). The one in the bathrobe that so attractively matched his hair and complexion (as these things invariably do in stories by wistful young girls) went outside and marched back to the visibly tipping flat. Today it was cocked to the right which was not unusual in the least as it was only on very rare occasions that the whole complex had left-leaning whims. Through the door and into the abruptly crowded space, he didn't have a chance to slink off to the near-existent privacy of his "room". He was spotted by yet another similarly gendered person who had placed himself in the middle of a sofa that was vaguely recamier in style (though that was not an intended effect) which left the viewer with the impression that it was irrevocably depressed. "He's shown it to you, hasn't he?" Said a muffled voice from behind a paper. Over the top of the paper (which was of obscure publication and not worth mentioning in name) protruded only a writhing mass of black curls that did an extraordinary amount in identifying the person to which they belonged. "Yes, and I can't make out what he's gotten into his head about it. It looks like a right lemon to me." As he trudged towards his "room", he accidentally stepped in a box of take-out (or was it a shirt?) and he told that exactly what he thought of it, which was expressed with the most colourful sort of language. Finally, after much ado about things that will be of varying importance in the future, he was at his "room". It was only a "room" in a cheeky sense of the word as there wasn't much to show for its namesake. He closed the door, turned around, tripped on a pillow, hit his head on a shelf, and grabbed for support on a hanger as he went down. For his actions, he was immediately bestowed with pants and a shirt as well as some hardly mentionable (and of little erotic value) under-things. |
| deleted user 04.05.2006 15:20 |
The Section Where Freddie Mercury Very Nearly Almost Dies - He waited several moments in this awkward contortion for someone to come rushing in to assuage their – not the least undue – fears that he was sprawled helpless, bleeding profusely from multiple gashes with a broken leg and a high probability of life-changing paralysis. “Have you broken the shelves again?” The hair was curly and the tone cheery. “No, I’m alright – only my skull is fractured. Good of you to ask.” He stood up in as proud a way as possible when one is draped in shirts and under-things. “That’s good, then.” Seconds later the sofa let out a great whine about the difficulties of supporting semi-struggling musicians and how it was being so regularly oppressed. Again having the privacy of a closed door, he set about the great task of selecting things to wear. He folded some things away and kicked others around in the pile. He became entirely more presentable when he (after a few less pleasing arrangements) was dressed in slightly shiny black bell-bottoms, a slightly open white shirt, a nice black jacket with interesting lapels and a tie at the waist, and platform heels of such a height as to put him on equal footing with the previously encountered blond fellow. But that is truly enough about clothing. Clothing is entirely too concealing to dwell upon for any great length of time without one becoming distrustful of it. He walked out of the room, newly shod feet easily dominating the offending pillow. “Are you really going to try that thing with him?” The newspaper folded. “I suppose. I don’t think I’ve got a choice…” “Well, I feel much better about this, then.” He stood up. “You’re going to be along for this, too?” He smiled at the prospect of not looking foolish alone, but with others as well - the probability that he would be the one being pointed and laughed at was much decreased by this and that made him glad. “Yes, I am!” Came a shout from the “kitchen”. |
| deleted user 05.05.2006 07:32 |
The Section Where Everyone is Named and The First Potty-Potty Word Creeps In - "Really? All of us? Anyone else?" The man that by now should be perhaps recognised as being a somewhat flighty rendering of Freddie Mercury with a much under-developed (and historically unreliable) character. "Well, who else is of significant importance?" Was the impolite question to the question (which, of course, answered nothing). "Let's bring James Bond. Or maybe... do you think we could get John Lennon to tag along?" He sat himself on the sofa and let out an undignified noise as a spring retaliated against his bottom, which had not on it sufficient natural padding as to prevent discofmort. "Probably not..." Murmured the man whose hair would in the future become a testament to commitment. "Well, let's get this done. I would prefer it to be very late evening but I simply don't trust Roger to drive in the dark." "Give me just a moment..." In the near distance a pot crashed and someone exclaimed "oops" in a rather thoughful-sounding way. After a short and arduous clean-up job involving not-quite-boiled rice, several strudy sandwiches were silently secured. The three left the flat and meandered to the garage, stopping only once - and that was for the express purpose of disentangling their dear Mr. Mercury from a rose bush. "Finally! I thought you must have gotten caught up in something else for a moment... er... let's go?" He hopped himself up from lying on the bonnet of the mysterious vehicle. He dusted himself off and made for the far side of the thing, stepping over a bag of bottles and some other clutter (such as a lawn mower that hadn't worked for as long as anyone could remember and did in fact belong to the owner of the building and was largely considered an obstruction to poetic justice). The other three set to arranging themselves inside the vehicle. The one that people seemed very much to like calling "Freddie" sat himself in the back, behind Roger (who wasn't wholly trusted in his ability to drive). The John creature sat himself also in the back-seats and nearly closed his hair in the door. This left the last person in, and the last person to be given voice to name, Brian, with the passengers side - which was just fine by him since it was a shorter walk and there was less to trip over on the way. "Your cologne smells like a margarita, dear." The speaker needn't be named as certian idiosyncratic speech patterns are quite revealing in themselves. "What?" The driver was remotely confused, as he hadn't expected to be accused of smelling of an alcoholic beverage at that very moment in time, though this wasn't the first time such an accusation had ever been made. "I was just mentioning, in case you hadn't noticed. I didn't know if that was exactly the scent you were going for... This thing smells a little bit strange, too..." To himself, he worried that the floor would suddenly fall out or that he would discover in an unpleasant way that the seats were actually stuffed with many dead moths. "Oh. Oops." He fired up the engine, but noticed that the garage door was quite closed. His near passenger got out and opened it expeditiously. They made way out onto the highway. No one said much as the interior was quite engrossing - especially all the "blinky things" up front. John was amusing himself by pressing some red and yellow buttons on his door handle. This produced no noticeable effect except for a shrill tone that varied depending on which button was pressed. Eventually, he had it worked out so that he could play with just his left hand something that sounded suspiciously like Mendelssohn fornicating quite unabashedly with the entirety of Pink Floyd. "Alright, this looks like a good stretch. Gimme just a tick--" He hit some buttons near the cieling tha |
| deleted user 05.05.2006 07:33 |
The Most Eventful Section, So Far... This is quite likely to be precisely what several passerby thought when a beat-up black Phantom Corsair materialised only a skip to the left of their public duck pond. The ducks remained motionless as they had seen this several times before and were not the least bit surprised. "It worked." Roger blinked. "To be honest, I was just looking for an excuse to drive fast." He kept blinking. Outside the vehicle, it was very sunny and a duck did them the service of sitting precariously on the bonnet and preening in a way one would not expect from a simple duck. "Have we died? Did we hit something back there?" He momentarily forgot about feeling sick and instead was amazed by a fantastic castle that looked straight out of a crazy German's imagination. Before the musing on the current situation could continue - indeed, take off - the Phantom was exited by its shortest occupant. He wobbled across the grass, but finally sat down near the pond and shortly gave up and collapsed all the way. Though a paltry one-fifty is tremendously under the speed of light, it's still rather disconcerting when one's not prepared for it. "Are you alright?" John stood looking down at him. "No." "Oh. Come to think of it, neither am I..." Back at the Phantom, the two others hadn't moved from their seats quite yet. "Is he alright?" "I wouldn't think so..." "Can you believe it? It worked!" Roger hadn't quite determined if this was good or bad and if he should smile or scream. "I'm still of the opinion that we're all dead. I'm not really sure, but that - " He pointed to the castle, "Might be closest to Freddie's idea of heaven." "Heaven has ducks?" "Only if you're quackers." There was a long pause. This was essestial to break the totally trivial nature of the conversation. Even partially famous humans have the same difficulties dealing with the unusual realities of life. "What should we do?" "I don't know. I don't know how we're here. This doesn't make the most sense of anything that's ever happened to me. How can a rickety old thing like this travel through... time... space... things like that - going only one-fifty. Why, even if we were going terribly - and I mean terribly extremely - faster, we couldn't do THIS! I guess this is possible, but it's very highly improbable and I don't like that since it sounds like reasoning out of a book that's not going to be written for several years." "I hate to interrupt... well, no, that's a lie - but there's a group of people gathering. I don't think they've ever seen anything quite like an automobile before and I believe we're either about to be worshipped or burned at the stake. I'm dearly hoping that it's the former as that seems, in my opinion, to be entirely more delightful." |
| deleted user 06.05.2006 11:31 |
Could anyone who read a small part of this tell me at least WHY they didn't like it? That would give me closure. |
| FreMe 06.05.2006 12:43 |
Hmm I read some of Chapter one. I think oneof the problems is that your sentences is roo long.. and it is a bit confusing, that you dont know anything about the characters... :) But i like the Drawing on your homepage, with Freddie spraying Johns hair though... Its dahmn good :-D |
| FreMe 06.05.2006 12:43 |
Shit, i should have read that through :p ^ |
| deleted user 06.05.2006 18:00 |
Thanks about the pciture! It's what happens when I don't hide the pencils from myself late at night... Hm... the whole things is wordy, I know... I guess that's just what I myself prefer to read... ALL THE LOVELY PEOPLE SHOULD KNOW: It picks up in the thrid post. People actually have names! It's a pity that no one made it far enough to discover the bit with "Mendelssohn fornicating quite unabashedly with the entirety of Pink Floyd." (in context, it makes sense, I swear). I though that was a gem. The whole concept was that Queen was going to be transported somewhere, to a magical fairy-land place and there would be the basis of their musical careers. Also, it would explain quite definitively EXACTLY when Freddie "went gay" (and why), so that everyone can stop arguing about it. Also, it would explain EXACTLY what "Bohemian Rhapsody" is REALLY about. Among other things, some of the more interesting involving how they would get home which had something to do with "'39". Well, I had a giggle. I mean, I created several new words! Like bopple. |
| FreMe 07.05.2006 07:56 |
^All that in those few chapters? Mayby i should read it through..XD Have you made other ones, like that hairspray yhing? I adore Queencomics, But I dont know were to find them..:( |
| deleted user 16.05.2006 16:33 |
I tried this... link And started this... link Thankfully, I don't remember doing it. Scanner stinks. Heeeeey - Today quantum theory proved that there's a Universe in which you are now banging a spectacuarly younger (not to mention, alive) Freddie Mercury. There is also a Universe where you are trying to knife him. You win some, you lose some. The peasant-like people began to circle and gawk. They also gave off an interesting smell that was a natural insect surpressant and quite useful to ward off wolves and ogres. Thankfully, a nice carriage came forth from the castle with its robin's-egg blue domes, bearing in it the most supreme King of the Land - who, in a remarkable accident involving several tons of live salmon, had become the King just that morning (and quite ahead of schedule, as he was just twenty-six Friday). "What's going on here?" The King asked, looking ever-so-slightly unsure of how to address beings of questionable diety-status. "We're having a manifestation of divinity!" Responded Freddie. This is considered to be more or less true, though scholars cannot help but note the ill-effects the humdity was having on Subject Mercury's hair-spray. "By whom?" The King felt that his birthday had come yet again as they didn't bring him fantastically gorgeous Persian sex-slaves on a regular basis. In fact, they usually forgot that on his birthday and apologised with a few vaguely French ones for Christmas. "By divenely higher powers, of course! You know, God!" John shouted across the duck-pond. "HE is not supposed to come yet. We're not ready for him. We're going to need several years before we're good and ready, at least." The King thereby doomed his countries chances of a second coming anytime soon. His countrymen are still upset as this makes orgies a lot less interesting. "But we're here now!" Roger added. "For heaven's sake! Go back!" The King supposed that he was handling the situation badly as he did not really want to drive away four perfectly acceptable (and quite flexible-looking) young things (who were, indeed, about his same age). "We can't... or, at least, I don't think we can." Roger wished very dearly that he were inside the castle, or at least back in the car as it's a very tricky thing to keep one's balance on grass while wearing platform shoes - even when not in a strange reality. "But you're a divine power! If you can't pop back, what good are you?!" The King wasn't really sure he wanted them if they were going to be quite so mouthy and contrary all the time. "Just about everything else." Freddie quipped, not quite aware of the implications that several flip words would have. -- Recently, I wrote something in which "I would have to say I'm sexual. That's about it - I know it sounds spectacuarly boring. But I'm of the very firm opinion that all able-bodied men should adopt a gay life-style for several years. We could do it in shifts - that way, we could curb over-population and not have to worry about if children are better with ketchup or steak sauce." |
| FreMe 18.05.2006 08:46 |
Make more like those with John and Feddie :D. Im making some myself, but I dont know how to display them :/ |
| deleted user 18.05.2006 09:38 |
Shhhhh! That's supposed to be Roger... I'm just not an artist. I don't think in pictures, I write the stuff, and than translate it and get mad because all the parts I really liked just don't translate to drawings all that well. What am I saying, again? For displaying your stuff... I just scan things... Oh, and all this is now in my back-pack, saved from certain crush by being stuffed in a spiral-notebook... |
| FreMe 18.05.2006 13:13 |
Hey, dont get me wrong now. I know that was Roger.. I meant that you shoud make more of thoose were John gets his hair sprayed..:D About scanning. I do have a scaner, and I know how to scan the pictures.. but thats about it :/ Besides, I cant really draw for a while.. I cut my fingers pretty bad, and I dont want the wounds to get dirty :p.. I might just do it anyways though XD. |
