What do Jedward’s Birthday, Liam Fox, Justin Bieber, Siri, We Are the 99 Percent, the Rugby World Cup, protests in London and the Korean Grand Prix have in common?
They’re all featured as keywords in this blog post, because they are the things people seem to be talking about on Twitter today and I want to see whether mentioning them drives more traffic to this page.
I don’t have a lot to say about any of them though, sadly. So what I might do is incorporate them all into a short horror story, as this month I’ve been claiming I can write a short story every single day (turns out I can’t – it’s really quite hard).
It was John and Edward’s birthday, and they were celebrating by dancing around their kitchen to the new Justin Bieber album.
“These are some wicked catchy tunes, John,” Edward said to his brother.
“They sure are, John,” said John, who sometimes got a little bit over excited and forgot which of the big haired superstars he actually was. “Do you think one day Justin will ask us to go on tour with him?”
“Totally,” Edward replied, “I expect his email is in the post even as we cartwheel across this breakfast bar in a dangerous but ultimately endearing fashion.”
Then all of a sudden there was a knock at the door.
“That’s weird,” thought Edward as he went to answer it, “nobody buzzed to get us to let them in the building, and the party guests aren’t due for another hour.”
He opened the door to reveal Lewis Hamilton and Mark Webber standing there all tooled up with guns and bullets and machetes and the like. They were wearing helmets to cover their faces, but Edward knew it was them because he had seen pictures of their uniforms on the BBC sports pages.
“Hey guys,” he said, “I thought you were in Korea racing your fast cars against other fast cars.”
Hamilton and Webber said nothing, but breathed loudly inside their helmets and advanced towards Edward in a menacing sort of a way. It was about the same level of tension as you get from watching Halloween 5 (The Revenge of Michael Myers).
“Guys?”
Then there was a ssshink of metal unsheathed, and Edward screamed as his assailants did for him off camera (because not seeing what happened means you can imagine something much worse – your own private horror movie that will frighten you more than someone else’s interpretation ever could).
“Please can you repeat that?” said the new Siri software on Edward’s iPhone, which probably should have been programmed to call the police on encountering the anguished death screams of its owner but apparently wasn’t.
Webber, still a little angry at being pipped to second place in the Korean race by Hamilton only hours before, vented his frustrations by crushing the phone beneath his shoe. The last thing Siri did before it died was send out a call to Autoglass to come round and fix the windows.
Then the homicidal F1 drivers walked briskly towards the kitchen to find the other Jedward twin. It seemed their terrible bloodlust was not yet sated.
“IT’S THE MOST BEAUTIFUL TIME OF THE YEAR,” John was bellowing along to Bieber’s new single Mistletoe, totally unaware of the danger he was in.
Then the entire New Zealand rugby team swung in through the open window, Tarzan style, because that’s how they like to travel sometimes.
“Sorry we’re late guys,” said team captain Richie McCaw, “we stopped by the protests in London to find out what was going on, and some guy called Liam Fox spent ages showing us pictures from the We Are The 99 Percent website on his smartphone.”
“That’s totally cool,” John replied, “because in fact you’re not even actually late at all or anything, how great is that?”
They all agreed that it was indeed great – except for Hamilton and Webber, because even though they had a lot of hardware with them, they didn’t really want to decimate the All Blacks ahead of the Rugby World Cup Final – it wouldn’t have been right.
“Where’s Edward?” asked Richie.
Until this point the murderers had been standing on the other side of the door listening in, but now they knew they were about to be discovered they hid poor Ed’s body in a cupboard and mysteriously vanished.
But when they return there won’t be a rugby team there, and the remaining half of Jedward will surely die amidst girlish screams and an amazing twangly music sting.
And the world of music shall never be the same again.
This is what All Night Horror Madness at the Cameo Cinema reduces you to – I’ve only had about 4 hours sleep. And a disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in this story, it is sort of a fanfic only about life rather than Serenity, Harry Potter or Lord of the Rings.
And young children; I can’t imagine why you’re reading this blog but if you are don’t worry, it’s all made up, Jedward are fine.
And Jedward; I can’t imagine why you’re reading this blog either but if you are don’t worry, it’s all made up, you’re fine. Happy Birthday lads.
