PICKLED BY ROB BURRISS
CONCEPT BY PETE DOYCE
ANY CORRECTIONS AND ANY CHANGES TO THE TEXT BY MARIE BIRCH
COPYRIGHTED TO GRANT/NAYLOR PRODUCTIONS
"So why did ya join the Corps, then?". Dave Lister was renting a place. He was renting a flat off the Ganymede Mafia. Of course he didn’t know this. He just thought that he was renting it off a guy, called Bob. But he was wrong. This flat was in a row of flats, which were situated opposite a large cigarette factory, in which Dave Lister, had conveniently acquired a job. Every night, when he clocked off, he would stay behind, and live in the supply warehouse, well after dark. Then under cover of pitch dark, created by the broken street lamps, he would smuggle a crate of cigarettes, back to his flat, and sell them at a knock down price, at his local over the weekend. Then one fateful Tuesday night, he decided to sample the stock. A stray spark from his zippo, caught a crate, and an entire row of boxes, spontaneously, combusted! Lister ran. He ran, until his knackered little legs gave up, and he found himself in a large construction yard. He hauled himself up a huge yellow crane, and looked in the direction of the factory. The orange flames and blue cloud of smoke, were evident, from five miles away. Just as a matter of interest, the thick blue cloud of tobacco smoke, accidentally made two million non smokers, on the Merseyside area, turn into nicotine addicts! Lister was buggered. He could see from his position, fifty metres off the ground, that not only, was the factory, well on it’s way, to becoming totally decimated, but so was his Flat, and the entire, nearby Residential area! Oh dear. If he was caught, the Tobacco Company, would sue him, for every penny of his name, which wasn’t going, to be all that much, if you get, my drift! But if he was caught, Bob was going to hate his balls! A muffled scuffling caught Lister's attention, and he turned his head. On the dark ground below, looking up, were two men. Perhaps even four men, who were dressed up as two men! They were huge. Black suits, and ties, dark glasses. "Good God", thought Lister. "Now I’ve got the Men In Black, after me!". "Mr Lister?". Lister responded with a barely noticeable nod. "We are representatives of the Ganymedian Mafia. You have, it seems, destroyed, our top quality, rented accommodation, and so I’m afraid, we’re going to have to kill you. Sorry". And when the men took their guns out, Lister started to think, that they might not be joking! He started climbing. He climbed some more. Fifty metres up, already, but this was a behemoth crane, and there was at least fifty metres left, above him. The top of the crane is hardly an escape route, but he was all the less likely to climb down to the bottom, so it was his only option. These were the docks. The black treacle of the Mersey, coarsed by, and, as Lister was nearly up, the top of the crane, he was also looking towards, i.e, the crane looking out, over the dead river. Lister reached the summit, but he couldn’t just stop there. He had every confidence in the huge men's climbing ability. He wasn’t just going to wait there, for them to get him. He reached for the turn-ups of his frayed, oil spattered jeans, and tore them off. The men were approaching. They had reached the point, where Lister had been, when they had threatened him. That was far enough for them. They aimed their weapons. And Lister hurled himself off the crane. The machine juddered, like a springboard, and the Mafia Men, had to hang on, for dear life. Lister grabbed hold of the crane cable, in mid free-fall. The scraps of denim, were doing their best to protect his hands, from the obvious results of severe friction, between flesh and steel. A manufacturers rivet, in the material caught the cable, and sent up a shower of red sparks. And then the cloth, was jerked out of Lister's hands, as he hit the huge cast iron crane hook, at the end of the cable. He span arse over tit, towards the acid cocktail of the river. Then he landed in a pile of sprouts. A tanker not carrying oil or steel, but sprouts, had broken his fall! The rotting greens were almost a thick liquid and the fog of methane surrounding them, was shrill and nauseating, but he was alive! For how long though? The tobacco company, the Ganymedian Mafia, and maybe even Bob, were all after him! It was at that moment, senses clouded over, sprout fog... "...that I decided to join the Space Corps" finished Lister". "Come on, you must have broken the law, once!".
Rob Burriss
August 1998
Marie Birch
August 1998
Al and Frank were crap crooks. Their names, were
out of date and sounded like they had been lifted, from a 1930’s Gangster flick
(which they had). They dressed in white suits, which only served to draw
attention, on Io. And most crap of all, they couldn’t
actually steal anything, worth bothering about. But they weren’t daft
(Actually, Frank was daft! As in all B-movie gangster pictures, one of the
partners was a big lummox, and the other was a little brainier.) What they
lacked in talent, they (Al) made up for in brain power. They planned to steal
the most valuable object, with the least security. They weighed two variables
carefully, and decided this object, was the 1952:
Phase 4, telegraph pole, with the triple re-inforced
wiring, which was currently housed in the "Boring" department of the
Ionian Southside Museum of the Twentieth Century. The vastly overpaid Curator
of this Museum, went by the name of: Arnold J.Rimmer! Al and Frank approached the Curator of the
"Boring" department, who was currently engrossed in a game of Risk,
with his Cadet School training Officer (It’s of no importance to the tale, but
perhaps of interest, to some of you, that Rimmer,
controlled Brussels and Washington DC, although this was purely academic, as Caldicott, possessed the rest of Europe and America!). Al
and Frank weren’t very convincing, at all. They were trying to convince, Rimmer, that they were Museum Officials, who were
transferring, the 1952: Phase Four: Telegraph Pole, with the triple re-inforced wiring, to the down-town Museum. They weren’t very
convincing at all, but Rimmer was convinced! Any
opportunity, to show the authority, this job, granted him, was welcomed, with
open arms, and so, he was blind to the fact, that he was being conned! Rimmer was very excited to be the one, who physically moved
the great and ancient telegraph pole out of the musuem,
and into the Inspectors, Alfred and Francis' van! Especially since
"Alfred" and "Francis" had made this little operation out,
to be a covertly funded and secret exchange of artefacts; Rimmer
was a part of something important! His Father would be so proud! Rimmer loaded the pole onto an anti-gravity carrier, and
pushed it out of it’s
transparent chamber. He turned it towards the Employees exit and bumped it
through the corridor, and out between the polythene-service doorway, which led
into the darkened rear courtyard of the museum. Al and Frank were waiting
there, as planned. After they had saluted Rimmer,
they grabbed the pole, and flung it into the back of a dodgy red van ("Wilson's
Windows", read on the side of the van in bold red script), and then they
were gone. The inquest ran on for several weeks! There was, surprisingly,
enough of a great case for the prosecution, and Rimmer
was, let off in the end, because, by the width of a gnat’s contact lense, far from Rimmer, being
found guilty, the Prosecution's character witness, Rimmer's
Father, didn’t help matters, at all! Of course, Rimmer
finally got off, because he was such a bloody prat!
Throughout the whole trial, he had put on a fantastic impersonation of a
rabbit, caught in the excessively bright foglights,
of a, quite well, frankly, really big car! And because of this, no-one truly
believed, that he could be a criminal! When he passed out, of the Ionian
Courtroom Buildings, a man proven innocent, and a very embarrassed Rimmer, decided, that he would never, ever tell anyone,
just how he broke... "...the law for the first and last time!", concluded, Rimmer.
The End you must have!
Rob Burris
August 1998
Marie Birch
August 1998