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March 21, 2007
A Quiet Crime
I once caught a fish off Bronte Beach in Sydney, a zappy little speck which I brought home and put in my marine tank. It pleased that he had no trouble adjusting to tank food, and in fact he quickly developed a taste for it. Days passed and he was more and more the voracious feeder, barrelling others out of the way, nipping their fins if they were slow to react. This behaviour began to extend to non feeding times, and I realised I’d introduced a bully into the system. So one day when my dad and I were off to the fish shop to acquire more victims, I took him from the tank and, when we passed the sea, I put him back into it. It was not the sea from whence he came, though, no riding the swell of the surf nor fresh tang here. This was a bay full of rocks and bottlecaps, a few boats floating atop a realm dark and still, thick with grease and empty of his fellows.
Posted by Sam Bowring at 10:38 PM | Comments (0)
March 05, 2007
Another Interview
1) What did you want to be when you grew up?
The proprietor of a reptile house in my parent’s garage.
2) What childhood event sent you on your performing path?
I was forced onstage at gunpoint by a clown and told ‘they laugh or you die’.
3) If you could take just one luxury item to a desert island what would it be and why?
A solar powered laptop, to be used as a digging implement (broad flat surface when closed, that’s what you need).
4) Favourite Adelaide moment?
Breaking one of my drug vows.
5) Most under-rated comedian?
Jennifer Connolly. I know she’s not strictly a ‘comedian’, but she was in a funny movie or two, that counts doesn’t it? C’mon. That counts.
6) Who’d play you in the Hollywood film of your life?
Morgan Freeman.
7) Which comedian would you love to punch?
Kent Valentine.
8) Which comedian would you like to pash?
Jennifer Connolly. Now you can see why I set up that ‘Jennifer Connolly is a comedian’ thing before, eh? Eh? She’s one hot lady, that comedian.
9) Gig where you’ve absolutely bombed?
On a beach in Thailand, drunk, following a juggler and talking through a faulty headset to a crowd that didn’t speak English.
10) Secret talent?
Catching flies.
11) Worst ever job?
We buried the money in a vacant lot, not knowing that the next day they were going to start filling it with concrete for a parking lot.
12) Brushes with fame?
I once told Tom Cruise off for being late. In retrospect, I’m glad he didn’t go me.
13) Strangest dream?
A tyrannosaurus getting beamed onto starship Enterprise.
14) Favourite local haunt during Fringe?
The Rhino Room.
15) Worse decision you’ve ever made?
Getting a tattoo of Milli Vanilli across my back.
16) Product you’d happily endorse?
Electric cars (the big ones I mean, like for the environment and stuff).
17) A five word summary of your show?
Hmm. Well I suppose it’s
18) Why should people come and see it?
Otherwise we’ll feel like losers.
19) What are you looking forward to at the Fringe?
The craziness.
20) Where do you like to eat when you’re at the Fringe?
Can’t remember the name of the place, but I’m sure I’ll find it again.
21) What makes Adelaide so great during Fringe?
The vibrancy on the streets.
Posted by Sam Bowring at 02:49 PM | Comments (0)
March 02, 2007
Kitten Kaboodle
Chapter One
Kitten Kaboodle thought ‘Right that’s it! I’ve had ENOUGH.’
You can tell he was really angry because he didn’t even need an exclamation mark to round off capitalised text. That means he said the word ‘ENOUGH’ in a very BIG way, without needing yelling or screaming to give it impact.
Speaking of impact, Kitten Kaboodle pulled out his rocket launcher and aimed it squarely at the Joneses. The Joneses were Stan (the father) Gwen (the mother), little Steph and energetic Patrick. There’s no point really in telling you their names, because they’re just about to be blown to smithereens, and as such have no further ‘impact’ on the story. The impact of the rockets on their heads made sure of that, to be sure, of a certainty, to a tee.
FUCKEN BOOM!
Kitten Kaboodle put away his rockets and felt a deep and growing satisfaction with his handiwork. He remembered the expressions on the faces of the Joneses just before they’d been engulfed in flame - a certain confusion, disbelief, consternation at the sight of a small and cute brown kitten aiming a fuck-off huge rocket launcher at their heads.
‘Fucken boom fucken boom,’ repeated Kitten Kaboodle, standing in the smouldering ruins of No. 67 Pondike St, East Fexington Downs. ‘I am mighty pleased, meow meow.’
Across the road was a little boy who’d been playing on the street. His eyes had since been drawn however to the house exploding loudly into a thousand smithereens (little boys are curious). Now the boy was staring at Kitten Kaboodle, and Kitten Kaboodle said ‘Hello hello meow meow.’ Kaboodle got down on all fours again (he stood upright when using rocket launchers) and padded across the road to stand in front of the small boy.
‘Meow fucken meow little man,’ said Kaboodle. ‘What you got to say about these recent events?’
Around them, people started running out of their houses, amazed and dumbfounded by the noise and smoke.
‘Oh my god!’ said Jinni Waterfresh, pointing at her (former) neighbour’s house. ‘Oh my God my God!’
‘Is someone calling the police?’ said someone.
‘The fire fighters too!’
‘An ambulance!’
‘My God,’ said Jinni. ‘Did anyone see what happened?’
The little boy pointed a finger right at Kitten Kaboodle. ‘Kitten diddit!’ said the boy. ‘Got big gun!’
Unfortunately the boy was too young to be taken seriously. If an adult had been as smart as the boy, that adult would have been considered a retard. Also, the child was pointing at a small brown kitten saying it murdered the Joneses, which was plain ridiculous. Also, everyone was in too much shock to even notice the boy’s little voice. There was one creature there who took the boy seriously, however. His name was
Kitten Kaboodle.
‘Listen up, kitchen scraps,’ said Kitten Kaboodle, leaning in close. ‘And you better listen good – cause they’re the last words you ever gonna hear!’ And Kitten Kaboodle shot the boy’s head off with a shotgun.
The neighbours started screaming in panic. They looked and pointed at Kitten Kaboodle.
‘He was gonna sing like a fucken canary, meow meow,’ said Kitten Kaboodle. ‘What I did was fair enough!’
‘Oh my God!’ shouted Jinni Waterfresh.
Kitten Kaboodle’s eyes narrowed, and slowly his head swiveled to Jinni.
‘Yarp yarp yarp about your fucken God,’ he said, hissing a mean cat hiss. ‘They only vice I got a problem with, toots, is religion.’ He yanked out a whip and sent it at Jinni’s neck with such precision that it dove into her flesh and wrapped around her windpipe, then tore the whole thing out. Kaboodle stalked over to her convulsing body, pumping its nutrient into the gutter where it mingled with the newspapers and cigarette butts. He hooked a claw under her eyelid and pulled it back to stare into her fading gaze. ‘I’d love to be there when you realise there’s nothing but oblivion, meow meow, but unfortunately in oblivion you can’t realise fuck all. Good fucken luck lady.’
As he stood up the other neighbours were scattering, so he grabbed his machine gun and soon his whiskers were vibrating as the gun rattled in his paws, plying metal into the backs of terrified people.
Author’s Note:
I have only written Chapter One so far, but I think Kitten Kaboodle is a great character for an ongoing series of books designed to help children learn reading. He is fun and, true to his name, he is always able to pull out whatever item he needs in any given situation. There may well be more Kitten Kaboodle to come!
Posted by Sam Bowring at 01:04 AM | Comments (0)