Warm Up

Here's a short film from Peacock and Gamble.  Good fun.

Mind > Words > Hands > Splurge

Lethargic.  It was not his limbs, but his brain that seemed frustratingly wearied.  Little would cajole the ponderous lump to activity, the human mind, the greatest super-computer known, dulled to a stuttering, numb withering in the face of crushing repetition, cyclic tedium.

It was a cruel trick of life that lumped this cynical, jaded creature with a station which surrounded him with the frenzied hysteria of gibbering children.  He did not subscribe to a karmic view of the world, however, and so his situation must be either attributed to a perverse emotional masochism or simple laziness.  Or a blend of the two.

“Turn the volume off, please”, the mumble escaped his barely parted lips, neither a request nor a command, more an automated response which he activated in order to avoid actually engaging with the stubborn, inconsiderate goldfish memory of the whelps whose compliance with the statement was short-lived.  Always short-lived.

Another peal of compressed, digital machinegun fire pierced the room, planned, designed and tweaked to the exact pitch of perfect annoyance by the King of Annoying Bastard Noise himself.

“Turn the volume off”.

The dropped ‘please’ and added edge of further annoyance to the repeated response was met by a swiftly muted computer and a clipped, flippant yelp of “Sorry!” from the offending gibberling.  The chittering of the children dropped out briefly in the wake of the restrained exchange, only the distracted clatter of plates from the café and the steady bass drone of the vending machine scored the room.

The chittering soon returned.  Of course.  The chittering; filled with frantic running-commentary of their internet-use and energetic onomatopoeic outbursts to accompany their gaming exploits.

Even characterising the children as wild mutated creatures or demonspawn no longer offered the slightest amusement, his mind’s bestiary emptied of fresh forms to cast upon them.  He’d realised his mistake early, originally he had assigned a unique fell creature to each child.  This had quickly sapped his creative resources.  Instead, he decided to envision the whole gathering as a large unified group of the same race.  But imagining them as a group of goblins was too much of a disappointment.  The group dynamic was simply too dissimilar to that of a classic goblin raiding party and despite their goblinoid shape and size, and despite how their rough command of the English language fitted his approximation of the goblin common-tongue, he was unable to maintain the complex and fragile illusion within his own head.

He chose, instead, to imagine creative ways in which they could be disposed of.

He envisaged a fireball scorching their ranks, webbing holding them fast until they wasted away and a dual-attack by two great bears, terror washing before them like a tidal wave as their roars preceded their hefty approach.  Numerous scenarios played themselves wonderfully in his head before he even considered the distastefulness of contemplating the annihilation of the young.  Surely something was wrong on a fairly fundamental level in order to be able to enjoy these hypotheticals?

His favourite scenario was one in which he was summoned, or created, an insubstantial creature of roiling mist and wind, which would coalesce suddenly and bare children, like limply flailing rag-dolls, through the glassless windows of the elevated room down into the expansive reception below.

“Volume off”.

The mist creature was imbued with an instinctive and thorough knowledge of philosophical and ethical value, and also wielded the oracular power of divination.  It cast its judgement on each individual in turn, processing and deciding whether or not their lives are, or will prove to be, of any value.  If they are adjudged to be upstanding folk, wholesome and scrupulous, they will pass through unharmed as the mist blows past them.  However, the unwholesome and unscrupulous elements of society will be launched humourously overhead as the mist tornadoes them with its unusual justice.

The moral code against which the creature judges is not wholly known.  What is known is that stupid people get almost-unjustifiably short shrift.  The same is true of people with mean eyes, and those who are able to smirk in a palpably evil way.  Also, individuals who insist on speaking without moving their jaw and make a foolish noise because of it also are punished by the Ethical Mist.  Also, children who refuse to turn the volume off their computers.

“Turn the volume off”.