Behind closed doors...

Yeah, so last night I posted a short story and I actually wrote three last night. Daniel and myself are going to set up a separate blog for this but in the mean time I'm going to keep this bastard fresh and post my stories up on here. So here we go, enjoy.

BEDFELLOWS
Eight months in and Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt had discussed many things in their relationship. They spoke about the economy, adoption, religion, global warming, whether or not they were pro-choice and what could be suggested to be inappropriate dinner party conversation. One warm night in August they had even gone so far to share their stories of drug and alcohol abuse. However, it had been eight months and neither had begun or wanted to begin a study of their previous sexual encounters.
The main reason for this was obvious. They were both extremely good looking people and even before they had met that one blustery evening in February they were familiar which each other’s reputation. He had read that she took Antonio Banderas and Lucy Liu into a meat cellar and came out about 15 minutes later looking a bit untidy and she had, with some curiosity, watched the sex tape that he had made with Jennifer Love Hewitt.
When the subject arose, it was a little past half past eleven. They both had some work to do in the morning; nothing glamorous, just tax receipts and then a dinner party in the evening. Neither of them even really liked Kirsten Dunst but they liked the free booze and managed to get a baby sitter for the evening. Anyway, it was about 23: 09 when Angelina said something like “you better not stare at Kirsten’s bum or I’ll kick you”. It was quickly laughed aside because they had a small joke that Kirsten Dunst’s bottom was horrid and looked like two mouldy plums. One thing led to another and somehow they started talking about Stanley Tucci. I don’t know why, but they did.
“Yeah, I’ve always found his head to be a bit creepy”, Angelina said to Brad.
“Who, Tucci?”
“Yeah. The baldness seems unnecessary.”
There was a small pause as Brad attempted to reach for words as he would attempt to reach for air.
“But. I thought you fucked him.”
“No!” Yelled Angelina. “Where did you hear that?”
“It was a while ago!” Brad rushed for something to come to his assistance.
“Who told you?” She asked as her face filled with venomous anxiety.
“It was just. Y’know. Well known.”
Defeated she turned onto her side and blew out a small gust of wind before turning around to her him giggle slightly.
“What?” She hissed.”
“Nothing.” There was another pause. This time it was entirely his own. “It’s just. Tucci?”
“Well I heard you fucked Charlize Theron.”
“So?”
“When she was making Monster.”
“Yeah.”
“Not your best moment Brad.”
There was a small cloud in the air now. They had to talk about it. For hours they spoke about who they fornicated with, what it was like and where they did it. Needless to say, there were lots to talk about it. Finally, it got to a point where Brad finally asked.
“So how many?”
It didn’t take them long and they announced to each other, as if in private caves in the Alps, their quite large and intimidating numbers. Turns out Brad was a bit of a slut in the early nineties, y’know when he became known for his role in “Thelma and Louise”. Anyway, Angelina didn’t like that much so she left and spent three days with her sister in San Francisco but she came back and they made up and it was OK. Good, that, such a lovely couple.

Outsiders and Dialoguing

I don't know how to spell dialoguing. Apparently you can't. Oh well.

Anyway, I revamped the ole myspace (check me out: www.myspace.com/theplaguecontinues) and I released an EP of covers BLAH BLAH BLAH I've written so much about that already and its all on the myspaz.

Gladly though, I do have something new to share. I have been writing (very) short stories for my friend's project. Here is one I made earlier:


DIALOGUE BETWEEN TWO MEN IN A BATHROOM WITH A SINGULAR CUBICLE AND NOTHING MORE

“Excuse me.”
“No.”
“What?”
“This is a queue.”
“A queue?”
“Yes. There is only one cubicle in this facility and a very large man is currently occupying it.”
“Oh. I see.”
“Yes.”
“Suppose I shouldn’t have had that sagwala for lunch.”
“Sorry.”
“I said I shouldn’t have had that Indian food for lunch.”
“No I didn’t say sorry as if I wanted you to repeat it. I apologised.”
“Oh. Well how do you know it’s your fault?”
“Well, you say you went to an Indian restaurant?”
“Yes.”
“Was it the tandoori of the corner of Eversham Street?”
“Yes.”
“Well I work there. I am the head chef.”
“Ah. You are clearly Indian.”
“Yes. And I am also wearing a chefs’ hat.”
“I just assumed that was a costume.”
“That would have been quite peculiar.”
“Well people often visit public bathrooms to change into costume.”
“Yes, but I am entering the bathroom, not leaving it.”
“True, that.”
“Yes.”
“So, earlier.”
“Yes.”
“You said sorry.”
“Yes?”
“When I mentioned the Indian food, you said sorry.”
“I did.”
“Why?”
“Oh well. It’s a long story.”
“That fat guy’s been a while already. He’ll probably be a little longer.”
“Well the truth I am here and not at work is because have been accidentally poisoning our customers slowly and over a period of time and about 37 minutes ago we burnt the restauraunt down.”
“Oh.”
“Yes. See my family have been ridiculed for a very long time and we have had enough. I actually remember you as a child vomiting all over our own bathrooms and leaving it for us to clear up. So we’ve been killing you.”
“How long do I have?”
“You ate the sagwala?”
“Yes.”
“It doesn’t look good.”
“Well. The fat man has left the cubicle now.”
“You best go then.”
“He looks pretty thin now too. Probably did him some good.”
“Yes.”