Thraxwhirl's Carnival Bizarre

Well, here's my craziest thread to date. After no popular demand whatsoever, rather a curious mix of desperation and insanity, I've decided to throw at you some of the stupid nonsense that from time to time emerges in my brain, in the urgent hope that someone may advise an effective treatment.

I call this condition the "FanFic" syndrome, and understand many users of Messageboards are sufferers. Somehow I never imagined that I would succomb, but then you always read about these terrible diseases and think "It'll never happen to me", don't you?

I'm told that one obvious symptom is that of apportioning blame, and swearing blind that it's not your own fault - rather someone put you up to it. Being in denail. In my case, that's absolute nonsense. I'm not in denial, it genuinely wasn't my fault. You can blame Goldberry for a lot of this unintelligible crap, because she only encourages me with the things she says.

I simply come out with whatever seems to take shape. So I offer, despite my better judgement - or perhaps because of a lack of it - some of the things that surface.

Almost every entry has been date-stamped to show when it was originally written. This first vignette came to me back in the Summer of 2002, when, in a moment of panic, I asked myself what might await us in the extra Footage of the Extended Edition of FotR. What if it was more footage of Celeborn? The horror!!!

My lurking fears took shape thus:


Celeborn talks to Big Brootha.

By Adz (August 31st 2002)


*The Diary Room. Celeborn takes a seat*

Big Brother: Hello, Celeborn. You wanted to speak to Big Brother?

Celeborn: Yes. I've had a rotten day. These scruffy-looking eejits have arrived from the West, and apparently brought doom upon my Kingdom. They number eight where once they had been nine. It had been my intention to speak with the pointy-hatted wizard, but apparently some balrog's done him in, and now all the minstrels in the forest won't shut up about it.

Big Brother: Anything else?

Celeborn: Yes, to add insult to injury, I think my wife's having an affair. I have not yet discerned who her secret lover is, but I've narrowed it down to a curly-haired midget with expensive jewelry and in need of a pedicure, and this grumpy bearded collier with an axe and a drink problem.

Big Brother: And how do you feel about this, Celeborn?

Celeborn: Oh I have no emotions.


It never really became clear why... but it set a precedent. I realised I was insane, and more of this crap began to issue forth.



Haldir Talks to Big Brother

(September 3rd 2002)


*Haldir takes a seat*

Big Brother: You wanted to talk to big Brother, Haldir?

Haldir: *inhlaes from cigarette, which is stuck onto the end of a holder, fashioned from ivory. Exhales* Indeed I did, luvvie. I have to talk to someone, and no one else around here understands.

Big Brother: What's the problem?

Haldir: Ugh. Where to begin? *sighs* Things have got on top of me a little of late, sweetie. Ever since those beastly travellers swanned into the forest as if they owned the place, I haven't had a moment's peace. It has been my duty to keep a look out at all times, as they snooze with not a care in the world, up in that tree house.

Big Brother: And you resent this?

Haldir: I've been working my fingers to the bone for that bloody woman and her mirror. Last night, while the minstrels sang about that wizard - as if there was anything special about him, certainly not his wardobe - and my request that they croon something a little more pallettable, like Gloria Gaynor's I Will Survive was turned down -

Big Brother: Did they say why that was?

Haldir: They tell me a line such as 'back from outer space' cannot be translated into Sindarin. Ignorant monkeys all of them. *

 

You know, I have to read virtualy every single post made on these boards don't you?

 

LOL! Yes, well at least that way I know someone can be a target for my invective.

It's bad enough being plagued with this LotR "Big Broootha" affliction(kinda like tourette's without the rationale), but I can't afford a psychiatrist, so I just have to unload it at someone, and Goldberry doesn't post on tF.N much.

You're now officially my counsellor, mate. Very charitable of you.

 

lol rather amusing

lol no sympathy for you Yosh you took the position

 

Well, it was about this time that my brain began to descend to knew depths, and I had visions that were most perplexing. Nothing made much sense, but one question dogged my thinking night and day...

That Radagast... he's off his tits, isn't he? I'm convinced of it. Am I alone in thinking that, each day of his multi-millenial existence, the man habitually smokes an enormous bag of weed?

I think he does, and I can't believe it wasn't begining to affect his relationships with the other inmates in the Big Brother House that year.

So I wrote out my thoughts. Any psychology students or fellow lunatics may relate to my prognosis. Maybe.

Radagast Learns The Awful Truth.

By Thrax aka Adz (22nd September 2002)


*Radagast enters the diary Room. He is wearing a baggy jumper, flared trousers and dark sunglasses, despite being indoors. He is holding a book entitled Advanced Dungeons & Dragons Monster Manual. He pauses in the centre of the room and looks about him, as if mulling something over, but failing to remember what.*

Big Brother: Good evening Radagast.

Radagast: Aright? *Beams with lacadaisical nonchalance.*

Big Brother: Take a seat.

Radagast: Cool. *sits. Places book flat on lap. Rummages in pocket and lifts out Rizla papers, tobacco, a lighter and a small polythene bag containing a suspicious, black grit-like substance, almost certainly of Jamaican origin. He places these items on the book before him, whereupon a series of burn marks can be observed.*

Big Brother: Wait a minute. Radagast, you can't skin up a joint in here!

Radagast: *looks unconcerned. Shrugs* **** off. I'm a Maiar.

Big Brother: It's illegal.

Radagast: *shrugs again, and extracts two papers from the Rizla pack. The pack is clearly torn. Licks one, and proceeds to attach it to the other.* This affects me how, exactly?

Big Brother: The police, Radagast!

Radagast: *shakes head casually* Nyaaa, I couldn't care less. Mellow out, geezer - all law is just Fascism, man. I didn't get worked up over that Ring mullarky in the Third Age. Be cool. *whistles the guitar riff from Sabbath's Sweet Leaf for a few seconds.* Anyway, what did you want?

*Big Brother: *Off-balance for a second. There is a slight pause* Er, well, your nominations, Radagast. May we have them please?

Radagast: *blank. After a few seconds.* I'm sorry, dude, my mind was elsewhere. What did you say?

Big Brother: *testily* Nominations, for goodness sake. Whom do you wish to kick out?

Radagast: You kick people out?!

Big Brother: Of course.

Radagast: *disgusted, puts Rizla pack, lighter, tobacco and gear back in pocket. Screws up papers stuck together and drops said on floor. Tucks book under arm and stands.* Up yours, Goebells - I'm not kickin' anyone out! I'm no stool-pigeon. I'm, like, endin' this conversation now, man ok? I'm off to chill out with Treebeard for a century or two. Rosie Cotton's gonna bake us some cookies. *grins* Knockout cookies, you dig? *walks toward door, in a stoned, plodding motion. Steps outside. Saunters off down corridor. After a few seconds, saunters back past, heading in the opposite direction.*

Big Brother: *shouts after him* FINE! You bugger it up for the rest of us! See if I care! *even louder* AND GET A HAIRCUT, HIPPY!!

If anyone here is getting closer to a diagnosis of my insanity, based upon my testimonials, I'd be grateful if you could advise some therapy. Many thanks.

 

I think I'm going to need therapy now!!

 

Yip, I'm talking to myself now, definitly need help!

 

Encore, encore!

seriously - Thrax - d'you mind if I print a copy of the first post for a friend of mine? I'd e-mail him a link, but he sees pens as new-fangled work of the devil and I don't think he knows what e-mail is.

 

a-t-y. You go right ahead, mate. I'm perfectly happy to let folk read this. It's just my bizarre brain and its crazy workings. or Not sure.

Yoshee. I'm glad to know that I'm not theonly one who's insane.

THE NAZGUL PLAY A PRANK.

By Thrax aka Adz (2nd October 2002)


*The Diary room. The Witch-King of Angmar enters and sits.*

Big Brother: Your Lordship Murazor.

Witch-King: Call me Dave.

Big Brother: As you wish. Dave, what is it you wanted to tell Big Brother?

Dave: Well, it's just that me and the lads are planning a bit of a prank on the others. Wanted to run it by you.

Big Brother: Okay. What's the plan?

Dave: *sniggers* It's t'riffic. We're gonna sneak in the boy's dorm after dark, and stab 'em in their sleep! *laughs out loud* It's priceless. We used to do it all the time back in college at Minas Morgal Polytechnic. The looks on Freshmen's faces as they woke up with a Morgul Blade in their guts was a scream. Ha Ha! Always breaks the ice. Best fraternity parties evar!! Ha ha!

Big Brother: *aghast* Err..don't you think the boys will suspect?

Dave: No. This is the best bit. We're gonna be in disguise. *looks pleased with himself*

Big Brother: Disguise?

Dave: Yeah, we're gonna dress up as Riders In Black. All nine of us.

Big Brother: 'Riders In Black?' You're gonna disguise yourselves - let me get this straight - AS WRAITHS?

Dave: Yup.

Big Brother: Oh dear God. You seriously expect this gag to work?

Dave: *hurt* Well, we tried out the disguise on Farmer Maggot, and he didn't rumble us. He just thought we weren't local. Accused us of annoying his dogs, but suspected nothing.

Big Brother: Hmmm. Tell me were you put up to this?

Dave: How do you mean?

Big Brother: Well, did for example Sauron - and I stress this - Sauron THE DECEIVER?!! suggest that this might be a good idea?

Dave: *looking sheepish. Lying* Nope, it was entirely my own idea.

Big Brother: Fine, well good luck to you.

Dave: Cheers, Big Brother. I'll call back in here tomorrow and let you know how it went. *smiles* Bye now. *leaves.*

Big Brother: Prat.

*THE NEXT DAY. The Witch-King of Angmar enters. He looks miserable and is covered in feathers. He takes a seat.*

Big Brother: Well, Dave. How did it go?

Dave: Bloody Aragorn. No sense of humour!

 

It's been a wee while since I offered you folks my thoughts on anythin', hasn't it? Hmmmm, yes, Precious, it has.

So, given that Jeeves never pays attention to a word I speak, and there's no one else within earshot, I decided that I might just as well post my thinkin' here and see if anyone else has opinions on, well, anything at all.

So, I was listening to The Warning by Black Sabbath, as I'm wont to do from time to time, and naturally I began thinkin' about squid. Stands to reason... well, my reason anyway.

Now I didn't really draw any earth-shattering conclusions about any of this, but I did find myself stuck upon an important question that has vexed humanity since the dawn of time - well, since dawn this morning any road - and it's simply this....

Will Man ever be able to communicate in an meaningful sense with squid? Indeed, has anyone ever tried? I'd be fascinated to hear from any among our number on these boards who can offer insights into their experiences upon this matter? Perhaps you've conversed with squid? Maybe in text messages(they have far more digits than us, and can probably type faster) or semophore(maybe their flags are fashioned of some water-proof fabric)? Or perhaps you may have spoken to the odd squid just as a result of a wrong number or telesales pitch, and you later thought no more of it? Whatever, if you do have experience of conversing with them, could you please post what you may have learnt?

I'd be grateful.

Then, havin' pondered this conundrum for a bit - somewhere between three seconds and fourteen years, I think - I started thinking about toes.

My musings on toes were a little more apprehensive. If, I wondered, I didn't have any toes, would my shoes still fit? It's a worrying thought... my toes rarely get much appreciation for their daily presence on the ends of my feet, but perhaps it's because I never wear flip-flops.

But then, in a moment of panic, I realised that my shoes don't fit very well as it is, and perhaps my toes are entirely to blame! What if all these years my feet would have been more comfortable in their apparel if my toes were to make themselves scarce! How can I know for sure.

Trouble is, I dunno that I have the will-power - not to mention the hacksaw - to do without them. PLUS, and this is second- or even third-guessing myself, what if my toes are absolutely critical for communicatin' with squid, and I simply haven't learnt how to wiggle them properly? Well, it's a bloody scary thought isn't it? I mean, I don't know for certain that squid aren't all deaf - never tried to find out - and just maybe the only form of sign lanuage they understand from humans is less manual and more chiropractic?!

In a world full of squid, I'd be a mute without my toes, wouldn't I? And they - the squid - could decide to leave the seas and visit my flat for coffee at any moment... what if I've no way of askin how many sugars they take? Hmmmmmm?

So, in conclusion... should I just buy myself a larger pair of shoes?

I'd be grateful for any thoughts upon these subjects.

Thank you.

I'm nippin' off to listen to some Aerosmith, or maybe Iron Maiden. Maybe that will lead me to some answers upon these issues.

I'll be back with more food for thought when I have some to offer.

 

Bring on the Carnival! Let's have a legless Legolas, an allurin' Olorin - bring on the Balrog, Thrax! I wanna hear what that big bugger has to say to big brutha

 

Well, in honour of your return, a-t-y, and given that I've nowt better to do, I'll oblige you. Thing you have to remember about Balrogs of course is that they're fire demons... well, it explains why they're so incredibly hostile all the time, doesn't it? I mean, and I say this to all of you here at the FFUK, if you spent the entirety of your life perpetually on fire 24/7, well, you'd probably be pretty damned bad-tempered, wouldn't you?

I know I would.

It was a thought that occurred to me 2 years ago(almost to the very day) at any rate, and it would certainly explain why one of Morgoth's Lieutenants should make such a disagreeable and incompatible housemate.

Oh, and to any former ZX Spectrum users out there, who used to enjoy playing The Hobbit computer game... ...

THE BALROG NOMINATES

By Thrax aka Adam (3rd October 2002)


*The Diary Room. Thorin sits down and starts singing about gold.*

Big Brother: Get out! Now!

*Thorin leaves and mutters something about not getting a cinema release despite being in a more popular book. The Balrog enters, sweating profusely, icepack on forehead, and sits.*

Big Brother: Good evening, Mr. B.

Balrog: *Roars at interminable volume. No words can be inferred.*

Big Brother: Can we turn the volume down on the speakers a bit? Can't hear myself think! Mr Balrog, could we do a soundcheck?

Balrog: *Roars again, belches fire.*

Big Brother: Just say anything. A poem perhaps.

Balrog: Testing, testing. "Mary 'ad a little lamb. I bit it in the head." Was that okay, luv?

Big Brother: That'll do.

Balrog: Large.

Big Brother: Okay, whom do you wish to nomiate for eviction?

Balrog: Well, I've thought long an' hard about this. Firstly I wanna kick out Aragorn.

Big Brother: And why?

Balrog: I've chatted with Haldir about this. We reckon he's the one who's been pissing in the shower.

Big Brother: Really?

Balrog: Yeah. He's already lost one kingdom, but I'll be buggered if he's gonna mark his territory here. *picks nose* Ouch! ***k, that's hot!

Big Brother: Okay, mate. Second nomination?

Balrog: Well, I choose Gandalf the Grey or White or Mithrandir or whatever the bloody hell he calls himself these days!

Big Brother: And why?

Balrog: He always complains when I turn the heating down.

Big Brother: Oh get out!!

...I ask, how the bloody hell did you escape the spiders of Mirkwood? They got me every time!

 

Thanks, Thrax

...I ask, how the bloody hell did you escape the spiders of Mirkwood? They got me every time!

Hack the program with a 'poke' command

 

Thanks for that I'm laughing like an idiot now

 

well, I think you're all nuts, and it's just as well that I'm here to offer you guidance.

To this end, I'll begin with my thoughts on cinematography, and give you my recommendations, for the sake of your peace of mind.

Are any of you here fans of Slash fillums? Well, if you are, I dunno what you see in 'em. I myself had never entertained the notion of watching any, but a friend of mine is pretty keen on the Slash genre. Imagining this to be some obscure subculture of documentaries about that guitarist bloke with a top hat, and hair that forbids him a driving license, I decided to look into this phenomenon.

Needless to say, my findings were intriguing, and moreover disappointing, and let me tell you, possums, that the following moovies...

Plumbing to America
Pissin' Impossible
The Man With One Wet Shoe
***te Club
U-Bend 571
Cystern Act
Jacob's Bladder and
The Armitage Shanks Redemption

...altogether concocted for me the worst evening I can remember in years. Looking back, I sneak myself towardsthe suspicion that it may only have existed in my imagination, and was the result of eating a cheese sandwich before bed.

Regardless, I find it difficult to excercise a cast-iron grip upon the demarcation between reality and... well, wherever it is that you folks believe yourselves to be.

It's with this thought in mind, and given that I've nowt better to do, that I began to ponder one of the great unanswered conundra of our times...

...whither a re-enactment of the Nuremberg Trials, with finger puppets? Hmmm? Well, to my knowledge nobody's tried it, so I let my brain handle it, having first turned off the TV, unplugged the phone, written a will leaving everything to my clone(should he someday be made real), cancelled the milk and papers, and set my alarm clock for next February...

...then I began.

Musin' upon the impossible, I decided that it would make sense, and affect some "human" interest, if all the protagonists were animated by the assembled throng of the FFUK. To this end, Richie was charged with the task of wigglin' the jurors, a-t-y manipulated the Defence Attorneys, Livi-Wan the media, Enji waggled a few translators and stenographers a bit, and the defendants themselves were impersonated to perfection by Darth_Arsenal, Ripper and Stormtrooper_fan(and let me tell you people her right thumb gave a truly impassioned performance of Hermann Göring, under cross-examination by the U.S. Council).

Remarkably, in a laclustre attempt to sift through reams of evidence, all of the defendants were ultimately aquitted, for the simple reason that Yoshee's left pinky was hindered in its role as Justice Robert Jackson, because the velcro on his tiny little moustache kept coming loose, and the case for the Prosecution was held in conteptwhen no one took him seriously.

The moral? I dunno that there is one, except to say that if History is to keep on being re-written, it's best not to leave it up to me...

...I have a tendency to get distracted at crucial moments.

And I suddenly feel quite hungry, but I've scoffed the last digestive.

 

(I've given up actually reading Thrax's posts, so I just laugh)

 

The Nuremberg fingerpuppets is an excellent conceit - and would be far more entertaining than any of the films mentioned... with the possible exception of fight club, which is more than mitigated by the fact of Helena Bonham Carter's appearance in a major role. I could never get bored of watching her. If she sat on telly reading the yellow pages cover-to-cover I'd watch from start to finish.

 

Most amusing mr Thrax. We demand more!

 

Hmmm.... well, since you asked for more, I thought I might brin the following trascript of a Galactic Infomercial to your attention. The advertisment is for a certain brand of pet food, which no doubt you've all purchased at one time or another so as to give your banthas a smooth silky coat, and stronger, healthier bones... I know I have.

In November of 2002, they ran a competition, for which the prize was a holiday in a galaxy far, far away... and needless to say I entered it.

I didn't win. Sadly. And it wasn't until sometime later that it was sugested to me that I may simply have have failed to take into account the speed of light, radiowave transmissions, and the reliability of 2nd class post...

...if that's, my entry should reach the manufacturers in a couple of aeons. I'll be keeping my fingers crossed until then.

Anyway, here's that promotion:

Win!!! A Holiday on Bespin

Jabba's Deluxe Bantha Fodder offers you the prize of a lifetime.

Enter our Prize Draw, and win a holiday for two in Bespin!

Collect four tokens from special packs of Jabba's Deluxe Bantha Fodder or Jabba's New and Improved Rancour Swill(now with 10% less fat and 20% extra Jedi meat), and send them to us at Jabba's Palace, PO BOX 1138, Tattoine, and next Summer you could be luxuriating among the clouds in this former mining-colony-turned-Imperial-holiday-resort.

Mary and Arthur Frampton of Mos Espa recently won last years' exclusive vacation, thanks to Jabba's Deluxe Bantha Fodder.

Here's their story, as related from the Black Box recording of their Round-City Tour by Cloud car:


Mary: You never take me anywhere, you miserable good-for-nothing. If I 'adn't entered that competition with Jabba's Deluxe Bantha Fodder, we'd never get out the house!

Arthur: What?

Mary: It's true, ya lazy ratbag! You spend all weekend in front o' that bloody telly watching Bobba the Jedi Slayer, and in the evenings you chuck all us money away on Podracing and drinks with yer mates. Yer a bloody disgrace!

Arthur: Well, we're 'ere now, luv. Let's mek the best of it. Look at the lovely views.

Mary: Aye. Right posh is Bespin. Too good for't likes of us.

Arthur: Aye.

Mary: Which one of us is steering?

Arthur: We both are! This thing 'as two ****pits. The idea is to promote harmony between the two pilots. It allows us to settle us differences and co-operate. Bringin' us closer together, pet.

Mary: Well I want to go this way!

Arthur: Why's that?

Mary: I want to see the chamber where they put that daft smuggler into carbon freeze. 'E were right tasty that Han Solo. I could fancy 'im.

Arthur: Noo, luv. Let's go and find us some'at else. The steelworks where that dozy gold droid got smashed up and knackered!

Mary: You always 'ave yer way, you. I suppose I just 'ave to lump it. Go on then, it's this way, left here!

Arthur: No it's not, dear. You're reading the map upside down!

Mary: I am not, ya chauvanist pig! I'm turnin' left!

Arthur: Don't - !!

*horrible sound of ship tearing in half as both pilots steer in opposite directions.*

Mary & Arthur: Craaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaapppp!!!!!

*recording ends*


The coroner estimates that they had a lovely time prior to the unfortunate circumstances outlined above.

Anyway, if you and your partner wish to holiday in Bespin, Jabba can make your dream come true. Collect tokens with Jabba's Deluxe Bantha Fodder and Jabba's Rancour Swill, and enter our prize draw for a once in a lifetime opportunity, just as Mary and Arthur did. And next time, it could be YOU.

Bib Fortuna, Chief Marketing Executive, Jabba's Palace Anim

 

Where do you get this stuff from?

 

Oh my goshums, this is one of the funniest, most random things I've read in ages!

Keep up the good work, Thrax!!!!!!!

 

Thraxwhirl never invites me to parties any more

oh well. i may or may not have laughed really hard at this thread. in fact, i may have only chuckled inwardly.. you'll never know Thraxwhirl...