Journal Entries

In Like Finn - Heavy Metal Intro


Finnish coastline just south of Merikarvia. Damaged Swedish cargo ship, foremast shattered, still in the water, as heavily cannoned man o' war turns about.

Zoom in to pirate leader, Captain Dolph Finn.

Finn is standing at ship's wheel. In his hands, an Ibanez guitar, shaped like a two-headed battle axe.

ECU on Finn. Takes plectrum from his beard and grins handsomely.

Power chord in G Major as cannons fire.

Roll Titles and Theme Track.

*In Like Finn* starring Henry E. Letterbox.

A FWR/Steve Swann Production.

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Latest reply: 2 Days Ago

Escape from Abakhan.. The haberdashers revenge.

Thanks to GoHL, I now have Henry Letterbox mincing around as Snake Pliskin, trying against all odds (although we know he will come through... There's at least two sequals in it for the franchise) to complete a 24 hour knit amid the apocalyptic surroundings of a sale in the local wool shop.. Things are gunna get messy!

Discuss this Journal entry [23]

Latest reply: 4 Weeks Ago

Day at the Beach

Three years ago we toured the beaches of the D Day landings, as mere tourists, paying our respects to family who served in WW2, enjoying the freedom of a long motorcycle ride.

Watching the interviews with the surviving veterans today brings home how very very different their day at the same beaches was.

Thank you just isn't enough.

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Latest reply: 6 Weeks Ago

Balance of Probabilities

“Heidi, you really have no choice”, Agent Grant smiled gently, holding out her hands for the baby.

“There must be, surely..a mistake...please?” Heidi begged the other woman.

Behind them, one of the heavily armed, and armoured, DDV squad coughed awkwardly and flipped the screen, he hated it when they begged.

“Heidi Waite, by the Authority of the Dishonesty, Deviance and Violence Laws, we have determined this subject to be capable of murder, and, as such, the penalty is death. You have one minute to hand the subject into our custody, or lethal force will be employed.”

Four weapons were cocked noisily to punctuate his point.

“Time to say goodbye Heidi, don't worry, we'll look after him now”, another gentle smile.

“But he's only a baby! Please!”

Heidi held the child to her breast, mother's instincts seeking to protect him, even though she knew there was no protection to be offered.

Six months old, and the child's own DNA had already sentenced him to death.

She kissed him gently, her tears wetting his face, then, as any good citizen would, handed him over to the Agent.

“Please, be….” She struggled to find the words, “Don't let him …”

“Heidi, I promise, he'll be treated with respect, thank you for your cooperation, this is a copy of our findings and the verdict."

Heidi gave her thumbprint, acknowledging the fact that she understood her son had been scanned, and that she further understood that he had been positively identified (99.8% probability) to be genetically capable of future Violence (namely Homicide) and that she gave the State her permission to protect Society from future harm, by any means deemed necessary.

The baby cried all the way to the transport.

Agent Grant grimaced, unconsciously touching her belly, praying her own tests would be normal, as she heard the Squad Leader radio in that they had 'another DDV for the shredders”.

Discuss this Journal entry [48]

Latest reply: May 5, 2019


Although entry to the arena was free, (after all, everything nowadays was free), the queue was enormous.

Crowds stood at a respectful distance from each other, shuffling forwards politely, careful to keep out of each others’ personal space.

A few dozen yards away, a brief commotion, the queue tutting disapproval at the youth for shouting out (and possibly causing distress) to those nearby.

The youth promptly apologised profusely for her uncouth behaviour, explaining in a respectfully low voice that a fresh supply of free t-shirts had arrived.

The crowd nodded thanks as they crammed their frames into the latest treat, swapping candyfloss and hotdogs from hand to hand as they complimented each other on how fab they looked.

Volunteers (strange folk to give up their free time just to perform menial tasks that could be done much more efficiently by machine) handed out yet more freebies at the entrance.

The podgy masses eagerly took free armfuls of candy, fizzy drinks, and popcorn, keen to be seen to be useful consumers for the ever present, and much appreciated, cameras.

Adults were bombarded with free samples of the latest alcoholic treats, freebie lighters forced into hands already full of freebie cigars and cigarettes, those still under the recommended consumer age of twelve, pleaded softly with their elders, (careful not to convey any implied neglect) until they were patted on the head (physical contact obviously kept to a minimum) and offered a quick drag or a mouthful of wine.

The crowd waddled on, thankful as the moving sidewalk eased their bulks upwards towards the spacious arena seats. Hydraulics hummed reassuringly as the seats adjusted to the weight of the audience.

Vast screens promoted the latest, must-have freebies, cosmetic surgery (always a fave with the kids), vacations to the beautiful (where wasn't beautiful nowadays?) cities, beaches and forests, the latest treats, food (always food), and entertainment packages.

Twenty/four/seven. You want it? Have it! Enjoy life! Be happy!

Gunther settled back, enjoying his latest drink, and scanned the info-screens for the details of the evening’s free entertainment.

Numerous up and comings, a few has-beens, and a guest star from across the ocean, all confident of polite applause from the two hundred thousand gathered at the arena, and, obviously, the billions of housebound watching at home, enjoying their bedridden lives, and consuming along with the more mobile citizens who had made it to the live show.

Then, at nine, the main event.

He paused to pull out the funnel from the rear of the seat in front of him. His neighbours smiling their approval as he vomited into the pipe, pleased that he was contributing by making more room to consume.

The main event, yes, Gunther cheerfully wiped his mouth on the freebie towels, cheerfully took another bucket of cheese fries and a beer or three, and settled down to watch the infomercials.

Can You Imagine? Years filled his eyes as the cartoon began, this was one of his favourites!

Can You Imagine? A cartoon classroom, healthy children, slurping pop and guzzling sweets, a few bright stars heaving themselves to the Vom-gone funnels by the teacher’s monitor, the cyber-tutor handing out golden candy stars. Proud moments.

But. Can You Imagine?

Cartoon zooms in on a sickly, grey child. Painfully skinny, miserable mouth in a ghastly grimace as she shook her skeletal head and said, *No thanks!*.

The Arena shared a mutual gasp, shocked once again by their favourite horror story.

Can You Imagine?

Another child appeared. *No more, thank you!*

Yet another, *I've had enough*

And the worst, *Thanks, but I'm full!*

Can You Imagine?

The classroom suddenly became a black and white nightmare, panning out as the disease spread through the school, further out, freebie stores closed, factories shut, crops and livestock died, unconsumed, in the Agro zones.

People became unhappy, angry cartoon characters, grotesquely skinny, refused to accept society's freebies, the world collapsed, disease (banished from the planet centuries before) returned, skinny graves were dug in the wastelands the beautiful parks and gardens had become.

Skinny hordes marched against decent consumers, forcing their sick ideology on the good folk, happy, chubby consumers turned into unhappy, aggressive and skeletal freaks.

Can You Imagine?

War and revolution (ancient words confined to unread, dusty books a thousand years ago) returned to the world.

Beauty replaced with ugliness. Happiness with grief, full stomachs with starvation. Peace with conflict, tolerance with hatred.

Can You Imagine?

The skinny, horrific child again filled the screens.

Sunken eyes burning red as she whispered the word *enough!*

Screens filled with nuclear blasts, a dead world, the crowds and homebound viewers wept. Grabbing handfuls of freebies, keen to consume away their shock.

These sickos would never, ever, bring that kind of world back. Enough would never, ever, be enough!

Boos filled the arena as the first group of skinny, non-consuming, deviants were dragged out onto the sand.

Gunther cheered, spitting mouthfuls of freebies, as the executions began.

Discuss this Journal entry [9]

Latest reply: May 2, 2019

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