Close Encounters: Prelude
I recently got my hands on a copy of the "Prelude" section to the planned but sadly shelved 30th anniversary release of Steven Spielberg’s Close Encounters Of The Third Kind: The Special Edition: The Collector’s Edition: The Extended Collectors Special Edition Edition and was pleased to see that – had it been shot and distributed – it would have papered over some of the holes and sanded down some of the flaws in the otherwise spectacular movie. After an exchange of emails with the esteemed director Mr Spielberg, none of which were overly threatening or contained intimations that certain photographs were in a certain person’s possession and a certain someone might want to allow a certain other person who happened to be the first certain person certain rights to reproduce a certain film script, the generous filmmaker has granted me an exclusive worldwide right to reproduce this script here so that fans of the cinematic masterpiece can finally fully appreciate Close Encounters Of The Third Kind in its fullest glory. INTERIOR – ALIEN MOTHERSHIP – BRIEFING ROOM Bright, minimalistic look, something John Lennon and Yoko Ono might like. Tall, thin alien sits at head of a table. Fanning out from him are smaller, childlike aliens. Panning view as the aliens communicate with one another using quick hand movements and head tilts. Close in on tall alien CAPTAIN QUEEDLESTEIN who presses his hands together and a stillness settles over the room. Tilt to his mouth which then speaks. CAPTAIN QUEEDLESTEIN Gentlebeings, this is the final mission briefing. We are now in cloaked orbit over the planet known by many names among its disparate peoples but which we’ll call Earth since we’ve all just undergone intense American language lessons. Queedlestein looks around at the faces of his fellow aliens, blinking and smiling. They blink and smile back. Very serene feel. CAPTAIN QUEEDLESTEIN Many of you will have visited Earth before on earlier missions. Some of you have had misgivings over our continued, er, "borrowing" of Earth equipment in recent solar rotations. Let me assure you that we shall be returning all borrowed equipment immediately prior to the main mission. Lieutenant Badoodleberg of the Antiquities Division will explain. Lieutenant? A child alien makes a brief hand gesture. LT BADOODLEBERG Extensive examination of the Earth artefacts has turned up nothing useful – yes, you were all right; there really was no benefit in taking them and to be frank, there was no place to store the battleship anyway – so we have agreed to return all airborne and sea-based vehicles back to the Earthlings … ANOTHER ALIEN (cutting Badoodleberg off) I was under...
A Statement To The Media
Ladies, Gentlemen, and In-Betweenonoids, I would like at this time to read out a prepared statement on behalf of Creamyhinge Buttwart into the findings from the inquest into the death of his loyal butler-toadfrog Timbo. Thankyou. "Ladies, Gentlemen, and In-Betweenonoids, I sincerely hope that my spokeslemming hasn’t commenced its address to you in the same manner in which I have started this communication or I shall be writing to its employer immediately following this statement and I shall not refrain from using some common words – such as those you might overhear while passing through the Port Sector of Flashem City – to express my extreme displeasure. Also, I shall impale it upon a trident and parade it across the cliffs overlooking the Tastesfishy Lake, and I shall berate it with insults while it writhes in agony, and I shall compose a song mocking its parents. Hang on, I’m its employer. Never mind all that then. "It has been a long triple-fortnight to uncover the truth about the deaths of my loyal butler-toadfrog Timbo and the Arsecheeky Girls. I am not the only person of sufficient social standing worth listening to who says that they were murdered. Timbo himself predicted he would be killed beyond the capacity for body-regeneration and how it would happen and he was right that one time when he flashed his torch at me and indicated there was a good chance of rain in the afternoon so there’s plenty of precedence for his precognitive powers despite all scientific evidence to the contrary. So I am disappointed. "The verdicts of accidental squishing through sexual shenanigannery and spontaneous guilt-driven combustion will come as a blow to my bank balance as shenanigannery is specifically excluded in the life insurance policy I took out on Timbo just last year following that fatal-looking orange rash around his central eye which eventually turned out to be Doritos and careless licking. "For the best part of a week I have endured two police investigations. The Dampflangian Contabulary and Semi-Hardonian Amateur Sleuthing Women’s Club’s inquiries were wrong. This inquest proves it. They said it was the work of the Godgoat Analphlegm drunk on prayervapour setting alight their tri-alcoholic sweat-drenched bedding with his fiery laugh while they slipped into post-coital comas and their findings are now dismissed. And I shan’t be singing at their Tertiary Christmas parties this year. "Contrary to the scrawled and childish musings of the verminous, scum-like, gutter press – and I’m fully aware that most of you will be present for the reading of this statement, you common trollfish not worthy to clean my outer anal flap following a night...
Sworn Affidavit Of Creamyhinge Buttwart
It was the third morning of the ninth day of Hugemember and I remember waking to the sight and sounds of a flock of Nudiehogs soaring across the crystal clear sky. It took but a few seconds for me to realise I wasn’t in my palace on the shores of the Dampflange Ocean as the roof I’ve chosen for this half-year is in the opaque style recommended by my favoured design magazine Just Palaces. Furthermore, the grey grass on which I was laying was sufficiently different from the Axminster-design Astroturf recently laid around my home as far as the upper eye can see for me to ascertain that I was probably still in the vicinity of the bars and restaurants of the old Semi-Hardonian quarter of Flashem City, around which I had been singing and drinking on most of the previous evenings of the preceding day. My loyal butler-toadfrog Timbo was also stirring as I staggered to my feet which was unusual as his tolerance for tri-alcohol is so poor as to typically require hospital treatment or body regeneration. I concluded that our drinks must have been spiked and we had fallen into unconsciousness earlier than expected at Bar No-Nads. I have a standing agreement with the bar owner, Ankleflakes Lubedup, that in order to avoid embarrassment and risk losing his licence he should simply dump us away from the premises in the event that we become too intoxicated to fight him off. While I now wonder angrily at who would have messed with another man’s drink in such a manner I confess that my brains were rather more spongey on that particular morning and with Timbo wheeling himself along as best he could I instead simply set off towards home using the peaks of Mount Sidewaysforfun as a reference point. In time we reached Flashem City and entered through the wallgate in the Port Sector. It was busy as the third morning had officially concluded and the pre-afternoon was on the verge of ditching its pre status in favour of none at all. I do not know which street we were in as the Port Sector is one I more often avoid thanks to its violent and seedy reputation clashing with my own. Nevertheless, the walk had cleared my minds and I took in the scenery with all my senses at full clarity. A market vendor was selling sweet-smelling Crotch fruit which was purchased and I spent some time being entertained by a puppeteer retelling the tale of Queen Spikedlabia Grunt And The Poisoned Mingepie. Scruffy children, no doubt from a Port Sector public school nearby, were equally...
I was a teenage spaceonaut
It was during that Summer when we all got caught up in the fervour of protecting Earth from aliens when I almost lost my life. Like many young people I rushed to sign up with one of the various private companies that were advertising at the tube stations and in the back of adult magazines; I think I saw the advertisement at Waterloo station but I’ll admit it might have been in Abseiling Bukkake Nuns. It doesn’t really matter now. A lot of the companies went bust before they were formed, were scams, or were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. I got lucky. The "L. Ron Hubbard Body Thetan Defence Force" company, as incredible as it seems, actually had nothing to do with the crackpot Scientology "religion" and had been simply named after the seven founding members. I actually met Terry L. and Montague Thetan when I applied and we all had a good laugh about the legal challenges and threatening letters from John Travolta at the time. Later I would discover that Montague laughed at everything because he had been dropped on his head as a baby, three times as an adolescent, and twice the day before I first met him. His laugh, like the rash on his lips, was infectious though and I still remember him fondly. I underwent extensive training – along with seventeen other accepted recruits – in alien warfare on the new-fangled Space Invaders machine at the cafe beneath company headquarters and was introduced to the experience of what space travel would be like through several sessions of heroin-high ‘Pin The Tail On The Donkey’ games. And it wasn’t just physical testing; every week we were subjected to rigorous question and answer challenges at The White Stag. On the Wednesday when we finished third and won a bottle of Pinot Noir we were told we were as ready as we were ever going to be. We were split into crews of six at random and assigned to one of the company’s three spacecraft. I had never been as proud in my life as the moment I was assigned second-in-command of the Orbital Space Fighter (OSF) Marilu Henner (Taxi was popular at the time if you remember). It felt like forever but in reality it was the day after the pub quiz when we climbed aboard our vessels and awaited the signal to leave Earth behind and begin our six month criss-crossing patrols of the Van Allen belt (the most likely injection point of the vile otherworldly creatures who were rumoured to be planning an interplanetary invasion). I had cycled to...
So You Want To Be A Space Animal
If you’re a normal boy or girl then you’re probably kilometres away on the internet (the internet is measured in metric units despite Americans not understanding factors of ten) looking at filthy porn or photoshopped pictures of monkeys dancing atop the heads of various world leaders and, what’s more, you’ve probably never wondered what life would be like if you were a mystically-powered space animal. Luckily for me there’s nothing really normal about visitors to this site so chances are better than George Lucas uncovering the secret of the Aztecs that allowed them to develop plots and strong characters in moving hieroglyphics that you – yes you – once gave a passing thought to space animals in your unrewarding and pointless existence. When it comes to space normal rules about animals go out the window and burn up in a gravitational vortex or are possibly just eaten by other space animals who follow the first set around looking for normal rules to devour because that’s the crazy sort of rules that apply in space. For instance, you know that rule that says that four legs is the absolute maximum number of legs that an animal can have before it shifts from being “cute” to “put on the planet to terrify people into early graves for other multi-legged beasts to feast on”? Yeah, well that rule doesn’t apply in space at all. You can be cute and have six talons. Crazy! I’ve decided to list some of my favourite space animals that I once considered being before puberty kicked in and the reality of being stuck in human form on this stinking cesspit of a hellhole planet struck home. You may be thinking “Why the hell are you doing this you fricking moron?” and I’d be a liar if I said the thought wasn’t reverberating around my head as I dictate every word to my typewriter emu but the answer is simply that you probably aren’t interested in the myriad ways I’m trying to avoid wiring in a new ring circuit for my oven. The Solar Monkey Child Overrated director Stanley Kubrick’s science fiction millstone 2001 has had some influence on my life since I was very young. My parents liked actor Kier Dullea so much they named my brother after him. Regrettably, they didn’t call him Dullea and give me a lifetime of jokes. Sadder still, they didn’t call him Kier either. They tried. They just didn’t spell it right. Oh well, at least it’s unique. From the age of nine onwards I began to waltz. A tip of the hat to the influence of using The Blue Danube...
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