Showing posts with label Roger Rabbit. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Roger Rabbit. Show all posts
Friday, November 20, 2009
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Friday, February 15, 2008
WAIT A MINUTE...!
The last time we left gallant Mr(s). Henderson we had just been confronted with the shock revelation that s/he was actually Jeremy, the long-lost lover of the gay guy (as in the gay guy and straight guy). Confused? I wouldn't blame you.
So in true sonata-allegro style, let us have a brief recapitulation, which I promise will be nothing more than a condensed and tonally modified repeat of the exposition.
Somewhere along the way we learned of Mr(s). Henderson's roots. She was the bastard child of a prostitute who worked in Mrs. Kelly's Olde Knockin' Shoppe and who was killed in the Battle of Monto, 1925. The Legion of Mary exacted holy retribution on the poor little child by cutting off his (yes, his) mickey with the Holy Knife of Padre Pio and sending him/her into the care of the Magdalene Sisters. S/he eventually discovered how she was different when one of the evil nuns waz just abou' to wash her gee an' seen she hadn't even go' wan, an' it looked like she used to have a mickey.
So there we are. We do not know what happened between this incident somewhere around 1930 and the present day, which is somewhere in time between 1970 and 1998 (we just haven't decided yet).
We were first told that Mr(s). Henderson was a manwoman, but not a womanman. Therefore we can assume that s/he is more of a man, even though s/he appears to consider him/herself as a woman. S/he starred in that terrible adaptation of Roger Rabbit which flopped on Broadway, and then moved to Ballymena and worked as a tailor(ess) for J. Asha's sweatshop. S/he tried to get married to Jim Bartley who used to be Bela in Fair City, but it didn't work because the Nordy laws wouldn't allow it for all sorts of complicated reasons.
When this failed to work out, Mr(s). Henderson began roaming the plains of North America searching for something called Love, with the help of his/her beaver friend Anne Gyna. Somehow whilst floating along the Miss'hippy Mr(s). Henderson and Anne Gyna came upon a luminous pink castle which just so happened to be inhabited by Rufus Wainwright, who took a rather homosexual shine to our hero(ine) Mr(s). Henderson. As the painful memories of his/her time with the Magdalene Sisters flooded back to his/her (and the river flooded thanks to that dam beaver Anne Gyna) s/he made a dash for the nearest wormhole which transported him/her straight back to Howth Castle.
Once in Howth s/he decided to visit Gay Byrne but realized he had defected to Ballsbridge, the bastard. Instead, s/he got a DART into Connolly Station and went to visit the Pro-Cathedral where, without realising, s/he came across the very baptismal font that had been used to break down the door of Mrs. Kelly's Olde Knockin' Shoppe in 1925 where his/her poor mother had been killed. Does s/he know his/her true heritage? We're not sure just yet. Anyway, after almost coming close to finding out thanks to the old sacristan, s/he fled the Pro on the sacristan's death to buy some knickers in Boyers and curtains in Guineys like a true aul'fella/one, though we would be hoping aul'fellas wouldn't be buying knickers, or curtains for that matter.
After that, his/her attention was grabbed by the ad for gee transplants on the side of the bus that knocked down Trevor Sargent on his bike. In search of information on gee transplants, s/he came to the Mater Hospital where s/he was referred to the bumbling Dr More, who after much coaxing gave him/her an information leaflet on gee transplants. When this information proved unsatisfactory, s/he ran to Knobs & Knockers of Nassau Street only to discover that they couldn't help either. Once again that gallant homosexual Rufus came to his/her rescue with the help of a gay pride parade and some ridiculously camp choreography. Among Rufus's legion of gay dancers s/he discovered none other than the gay guy (from gay guy & straight, etc.) who addressed him/her as his long-lost love Jeremy with whom he had lived in Papua New Guinea before he was relocated to Chicago during the Depression. We also don't know how he got from Chicago to Nassau Street, and neither do we know how Mr(s). Henderson got from the Magdalene witches to Broadway to Ballymena to North America and to Papua New Guinea somewhere in between. We did know that s/he went Down Under at some stage, but we thought that was just a euphemism.
What will happen to our heros and hero(ine)s? Get the fuck down the stairs and we'll tell you later. Mickey!
TO BE CONTINUED.
So in true sonata-allegro style, let us have a brief recapitulation, which I promise will be nothing more than a condensed and tonally modified repeat of the exposition.
Somewhere along the way we learned of Mr(s). Henderson's roots. She was the bastard child of a prostitute who worked in Mrs. Kelly's Olde Knockin' Shoppe and who was killed in the Battle of Monto, 1925. The Legion of Mary exacted holy retribution on the poor little child by cutting off his (yes, his) mickey with the Holy Knife of Padre Pio and sending him/her into the care of the Magdalene Sisters. S/he eventually discovered how she was different when one of the evil nuns waz just abou' to wash her gee an' seen she hadn't even go' wan, an' it looked like she used to have a mickey.
So there we are. We do not know what happened between this incident somewhere around 1930 and the present day, which is somewhere in time between 1970 and 1998 (we just haven't decided yet).
We were first told that Mr(s). Henderson was a manwoman, but not a womanman. Therefore we can assume that s/he is more of a man, even though s/he appears to consider him/herself as a woman. S/he starred in that terrible adaptation of Roger Rabbit which flopped on Broadway, and then moved to Ballymena and worked as a tailor(ess) for J. Asha's sweatshop. S/he tried to get married to Jim Bartley who used to be Bela in Fair City, but it didn't work because the Nordy laws wouldn't allow it for all sorts of complicated reasons.
When this failed to work out, Mr(s). Henderson began roaming the plains of North America searching for something called Love, with the help of his/her beaver friend Anne Gyna. Somehow whilst floating along the Miss'hippy Mr(s). Henderson and Anne Gyna came upon a luminous pink castle which just so happened to be inhabited by Rufus Wainwright, who took a rather homosexual shine to our hero(ine) Mr(s). Henderson. As the painful memories of his/her time with the Magdalene Sisters flooded back to his/her (and the river flooded thanks to that dam beaver Anne Gyna) s/he made a dash for the nearest wormhole which transported him/her straight back to Howth Castle.
Once in Howth s/he decided to visit Gay Byrne but realized he had defected to Ballsbridge, the bastard. Instead, s/he got a DART into Connolly Station and went to visit the Pro-Cathedral where, without realising, s/he came across the very baptismal font that had been used to break down the door of Mrs. Kelly's Olde Knockin' Shoppe in 1925 where his/her poor mother had been killed. Does s/he know his/her true heritage? We're not sure just yet. Anyway, after almost coming close to finding out thanks to the old sacristan, s/he fled the Pro on the sacristan's death to buy some knickers in Boyers and curtains in Guineys like a true aul'fella/one, though we would be hoping aul'fellas wouldn't be buying knickers, or curtains for that matter.
After that, his/her attention was grabbed by the ad for gee transplants on the side of the bus that knocked down Trevor Sargent on his bike. In search of information on gee transplants, s/he came to the Mater Hospital where s/he was referred to the bumbling Dr More, who after much coaxing gave him/her an information leaflet on gee transplants. When this information proved unsatisfactory, s/he ran to Knobs & Knockers of Nassau Street only to discover that they couldn't help either. Once again that gallant homosexual Rufus came to his/her rescue with the help of a gay pride parade and some ridiculously camp choreography. Among Rufus's legion of gay dancers s/he discovered none other than the gay guy (from gay guy & straight, etc.) who addressed him/her as his long-lost love Jeremy with whom he had lived in Papua New Guinea before he was relocated to Chicago during the Depression. We also don't know how he got from Chicago to Nassau Street, and neither do we know how Mr(s). Henderson got from the Magdalene witches to Broadway to Ballymena to North America and to Papua New Guinea somewhere in between. We did know that s/he went Down Under at some stage, but we thought that was just a euphemism.
What will happen to our heros and hero(ine)s? Get the fuck down the stairs and we'll tell you later. Mickey!
TO BE CONTINUED.
Thursday, December 27, 2007
A Reading from the Third Book of Gee Chronicles.
A man was once called Mrs. Henderson. He was on TV, but he was a manwoman, but yet not a womanman. S/he/it was in an adaptation of Roger Rabbit. The director fancied a risqué angle. So, during a nightmare sequence, Roger(ina) got his mickey cut off by a woman dressed as Margaret Thatcher. And henceforth, he became a woman. Now, Mrs. Henderson felt pity for the newly feminized Rogerina and offered him (err...her) a job in a brothel. It soon came out (or in Rogerina's case, it didn't and went in instead) that Mrs. Henderson was actually a big man, not just a small man we'll have you know. Actually he wasn't a mná at all. He was banned from the gentleman's jacks because he hadn't a mickey. S/he did however not have a vagina in any case which makes things rather complicated. But in the end, they did a swap of genitalia and all were happy, especially Rogerina, who found a mickey in a cup of coffee in O'Brien's on Liffey Street. It had a Polish air about it and was, in fact, very polished by the staff of Rasputin. Hail. Thus, the nightmare ended and Roger woke up to see Bob Hoskins wearing no trousers with a hockey stick and, thus, a new nightmare began.
This adaptation of Roger Rabbit flopped on Broadway though it was marginally more successful than "Éamon deValera: The Brooklyn Years".
Also...
An Advertisement on Behalf of Big Red Mickey™, the best thing to come out of Denmark since Peter Schmeichel.
A new innovation in the general new showbiz fashion of comfort and sensual appreciation of the shaft-shaped soft things. Available from all good mickey shops internationally. So, what can one do with their Big Red Mickey™?
Here's a few inventive uses that you may not have thought of.
You could put it in the fridge and then take it out again. In these fresh circumstances, you are officially taking the mickey out of the fridge. *Warning: do not try to direct traffic or conduct an orchestra with your Big Red Mickey™. These misuses may result in death by cars or cello.
Go swimming with your Big Red Mickey™.
Bring it to Royal Ascot and throw it at horses (e.g. Camilla).
Use it as an oversized hair-curler.
Whack it off... the wall... or the toilet seat. Obviously here, we mean the Big Red Mickey™.
For those who are vertically disadvantaged, bring your Big Red Mickey™ along to barber and use it to erect yourself in the chair.
Bonk it.
Bash people on the street!
Cut it into pieces and microwave it as a stress-reliever.
Throw it in front of F1 race cars.
Hold charity days of Big Red Mickey™ sponsored hugs and kisses. Charge more for kisses and even more more...well, more adventurous.... behaviour....
Bring it to Mass. Bash people who don't turn off their mobile phones. Then bring it into the Confession box.
Give it a hug, a nice big squeeze. O yes says D. Norris.
Post it in to Gerry Ryan and ask for a prize.
Use it to beat your woman until you get satisfied.
The Big Red Mickey™ is available in Jewish and gentile versions. Jewish forms lack zips so in practice you can't zip up your mickey. D. Agnew, we hope you're not a Jew.
If you have any problems with your Big Red Mickey™, contact our inventive support service. You can call us at Callsave 1890-hows-yer-mickey.co.uk. Our online support team of mickey-fiddlers are always free to answer any queries. Email us at mickeysupport@gmail.com (g as is gee). Visit our website at www.bigredmickey.org/home/mickeyandgeeco/geepart/products/.
So, talking about dirty things...
These dirty whooooooores in da Pavloovians. Shag off and go home. "We've already shagged and we don't have a home to go to. What do you think I bought these crotchless jocks for?" says he as she fiddles his mickey. These young ones polish the ornamental mickeys of the future with their pregnant ways and foreign cultures. The Jews, for example, don't even go to shopping centres, unless they're kosher. Uuum/Oom, as the case may be, comma, full stop. Tick tock. Doc, Dub, The Doc of the Dub, The Mighty DubDoc. More on the DubDoc later (with Jools Holland).
Bye.
Only joking.
I forgot to say "kisses".
Bye, kisses. Mickey.
This adaptation of Roger Rabbit flopped on Broadway though it was marginally more successful than "Éamon deValera: The Brooklyn Years".
Also...
An Advertisement on Behalf of Big Red Mickey™, the best thing to come out of Denmark since Peter Schmeichel.
A new innovation in the general new showbiz fashion of comfort and sensual appreciation of the shaft-shaped soft things. Available from all good mickey shops internationally. So, what can one do with their Big Red Mickey™?
Here's a few inventive uses that you may not have thought of.
You could put it in the fridge and then take it out again. In these fresh circumstances, you are officially taking the mickey out of the fridge. *Warning: do not try to direct traffic or conduct an orchestra with your Big Red Mickey™. These misuses may result in death by cars or cello.
Go swimming with your Big Red Mickey™.
Bring it to Royal Ascot and throw it at horses (e.g. Camilla).
Use it as an oversized hair-curler.
Whack it off... the wall... or the toilet seat. Obviously here, we mean the Big Red Mickey™.
For those who are vertically disadvantaged, bring your Big Red Mickey™ along to barber and use it to erect yourself in the chair.
Bonk it.
Bash people on the street!
Cut it into pieces and microwave it as a stress-reliever.
Throw it in front of F1 race cars.
Hold charity days of Big Red Mickey™ sponsored hugs and kisses. Charge more for kisses and even more more...well, more adventurous.... behaviour....
Bring it to Mass. Bash people who don't turn off their mobile phones. Then bring it into the Confession box.
Give it a hug, a nice big squeeze. O yes says D. Norris.
Post it in to Gerry Ryan and ask for a prize.
Use it to beat your woman until you get satisfied.
The Big Red Mickey™ is available in Jewish and gentile versions. Jewish forms lack zips so in practice you can't zip up your mickey. D. Agnew, we hope you're not a Jew.
If you have any problems with your Big Red Mickey™, contact our inventive support service. You can call us at Callsave 1890-hows-yer-mickey.co.uk. Our online support team of mickey-fiddlers are always free to answer any queries. Email us at mickeysupport@gmail.com (g as is gee). Visit our website at www.bigredmickey.org/home/mickeyandgeeco/geepart/products/.
So, talking about dirty things...
These dirty whooooooores in da Pavloovians. Shag off and go home. "We've already shagged and we don't have a home to go to. What do you think I bought these crotchless jocks for?" says he as she fiddles his mickey. These young ones polish the ornamental mickeys of the future with their pregnant ways and foreign cultures. The Jews, for example, don't even go to shopping centres, unless they're kosher. Uuum/Oom, as the case may be, comma, full stop. Tick tock. Doc, Dub, The Doc of the Dub, The Mighty DubDoc. More on the DubDoc later (with Jools Holland).
Bye.
Only joking.
I forgot to say "kisses".
Bye, kisses. Mickey.
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