Exquisite Corpse
Wed, 2012-07-11 01:05
#1
Exquisite Corpse
I want to play an interactive game, one I've played before, based on the Surrealist idea of a number of people adding to a picture that they can't see in its entirety until it's complete - Google it, Wikipedia explains the notion far better than I can. The literary version is slightly different from the pictorial original. Some wag starts off a story, and whoever wants to post a contribution is free to do so. It will be fun to see what we end up with. Here's the starting point:-
Vince was a chef, a very special sort of a chef, he thought, but it was a pity that his paltry wage didn't reflect his undeniable excellence. He was a pastry chef, and he worked in a really fancy West End restaurant. It was the sort of place that expected one to speak in a poncey French accent in front of the opulent, stuck-up clientèle. Vince found that expectation very hard to live up to, because, he often told himself, one was a very down to earth sort of a bloke - in fact if one was any more down to earth one would have to permanently lie on the bleeding ground. Vince came from Scunthorpe, and his mother, bless her soul, claimed that he was the fucker responsible for putting the 'cunt' into Scunthorpe. Well now he was in a position to show the world how much of a cunt he could be if he really put his mind to it.....
His older brother, Nobby, had recently won a substantial sum on the lottery. Nobby was opening a fancy restaurant of his own in Manchester, and he wanted Vince to be in charge. "Brilliant," Vince said when he heard the news. "I intend to show my boss, Jean-Claude Vallier, who's real name happens to be Brian Haddock, how to feed the scum whose pimply, pampered arses he sincerely believes the sun shines out of. I'm gonna feed them all on long dead cod pie and puke vol-au-vents and dog shit roly-poly. I'll show those wankers who's a cunt!"
It was Vince's first shift since he had received his good news, and for the first time in seven hellish years he entered the kitchen with a huge, smarmy grin plastered across his face.
Denzella
I'm up for this where do I post my contribution?
The Walrus
Just put it in the comment box. I'll copy and paste them all together when the deed is done and post the result in the forum.
scratch
Nice one.
The Walrus
I just had a dizzy blonde moment, Scratch. I read "Scratch July 11th, 2012 - 15:02 Nice one," and for a moment I mistook it for your contribution. I thought to myself 'Wow, Scratch's Pastry Chef chapter two is so over my head that for the life of me I can't bloody well understand it....."
Denzella
The Walrus,
I've lost confidence with this and also I think my piece is perhaps too long as I just checked yours and it comes out at about 292 words whereas mine is approx 692 words.
Moya
The Walrus
It doesn't matter, Denzella, it's just for fun. Post it and we'll see what we come up with. If it doesn't run smoothly perhaps the next time we can stick a word limit on contributions.
The Walrus
Actually I've never contributed the first post in this game - I much prefer it if two or three people have started the ball rolling in a fairly straightforward, sensible way and then I can step in and inject a hefty dose of insanity.
The Walrus
If enough people play ball and we come up with some interesting results we could maybe publish the result as an ebook. Starting off is the most difficult part, and once we get a few folk interested the results will be very intriguing - just wait and see.
Denzella
“Good Morning Jean Claude, Out of my way if you please and make room for a master. I have an urge to create while the need is upon me but first I must take a piss will you give me your hand please. In the interests of hygiene I need you to hold it while I urinate in your pocket. Jump to it you poncey French impostor. Or would you prefer it if I went into the restaurant and pissed on your favourite customer, I believe I saw the Minister sitting out there. Oh and I know I saw the Archbishop as I came through picking my nose and scratching my arse.
Ah, now that’s better you can go now I will call you when I need to do number twos. What did you say Dish of the Day was? Well, as this is going to be my last day I have taken the liberty of altering the board to include my contribution to the shit you serve up here and laughingly call food.
Don’t stand there with your mouth open. Now where is my Chef’s knife and no, that
is not a threat. On second thoughts where is my chopper? Oh, silly me you’ve still
got it in your hand. Now you know you can’t keep it. I can’t work my culinary
magic with you holding my chopper. That’s it… now give it a little shake. This is a
kitchen after all. Hygiene must be our first priority. Now, today, I have brought some
of my own ingredients at my own expense. The reason for this is that I came in
earlier and brought in the A Frame board from the pavement outside and marked it up
with the best of my signature dishes and here is today’s printed Menu.
Starters
A tin of Heinz Chunky Vegetable Soup – a la con Vichyssoise
A Confection of Farts in batter served with relish and Syrup of Figs Comfit
Sautéed Testicles served in a white whine sauce
Kitchen fresh cockroach salad with a vinaigrette dressing
For the Main
Beef Wellington with fennel and Pedigree Chum served on a bed of leaves
Stake Dianne served with button mushrooms and a soup song of blood jus
Fish Dish - Boiled Bloater served with anything found on the kitchen floor
For Dessert
Sun dried Cowpat pancakes served the traditional way with sugar and lemon
Bread and gutter pudding
Crap Suzette with a twist of Cannabis and drizzled with a red onion coulis.
“I’m afraid I didn’t bring the testicles for the ‘Sautéed Testicles’ I thought you would
supply them. No need to flinch…it’s only my chef’s knife!
With the Beef Wellington, I’m sorry, but it was raining when I took the dog out and I didn’t have time to scrape the dog shit off and the bed of leaves, I think, might still have conkers attached.
As for the Stake, I take it your wife, Dianne is coming in today especially as I’ve brought my stake and I’m pretty sure they are mushrooms…
The Bread and Gutter pudding was a problem too as I had to fight off a load of pigeons for this ingredient they were pecking and crapping faster than I could pick up the bread.
As a matter of fact you look as if you might be doing much the same, crapping that is, as you seem to have a big brown mark on the back of your whites. Still once you’ve eaten your way through every item on my Menu the result will be very similar.
What’s that you say…Oh, I think you will…why, because the little shit you call your son and who normally works in the restaurant is as we speak hanging upside down in the cold room of a friends butcher’s shop. Oh, and did I tell I you that this would be my last day working in this hell hole under a poncey French tyrant who has never been nearer to France than the ferry boat terminal at Dover.
I will untie you now so you can start the first of your Starters.
Bon Appétit!”
The Walrus
Wow, Denzella, that's truly brilliant! I can tell that you enjoyed writing this as much as I enjoyed reading it. Liberating, isn't it? Your post is not at all what I expected, which is the best thing about this collaborative fiction malarkey. You added a lot of French terms I would have struggled to come up with, and your humour amazed me. "The bed of leaves, I think, may still have conkers attached." - I love it! In this game the story changes as it's processed by a series of different imaginations. Come on folks, who wants to start scribbling where Denzella left off? This is Tales of the Unexpected at its very best!
The Walrus
If no one else plays in the indeterminable period that it takes me to get restless, Denzella, I'm going to compose part three of The Pastry Chef and you and I will write the rest ourselves.
The Walrus
Come on, chaps and chapesses - we need contributions, there's a story here aching to be told.
Denzella
The Walrus,
Put it up again as a new topic with a different heading. Perhaps, Third part of story needed.
The Walrus
Okey dokey, will do later today. Hopefully. It's a long story, but basically I have a bomb load of hand washing to do in the bath as our washing machine has died and gone to appliance heaven and the insurer, Indesit, are dragging their feet about issuing us with a replacement. Oh, and I have to do it all one handed because I had a nasty accident replacing the glass in our back door window on Wednesday.....
Das Stavrou
Thought I'd give this a go *S*
Vince began to untie Brian, humming a tune as he did so. Brian had soiled himself and was tainting the air with eldritch scents.
"Brian for gods sake, stop fidgeting!"
Brian had eyes wide open and frantically monitoring Vince's every motion, much like a surgery patient who had managed to stay awake during a delicate procedure. Vince's phone rang, with a ringtone that sounded somewhat like the monstrous offspring of eastenders and drum and bass.
"Oop better answer that! dont go anywhere Bri"
Nobby was calling, Vince answered his brother.
"Hello mate, what's up? i'm a little bit busy at the moment, rustled up something for Brian to try out, since i'm leaving and all"
Nobby was not in the happiest of moods.
"Alright Vince, erm, listen. Is there any chance you can, well, not leave your job just yet?"
Vince glanced back at Brian. He was still there, shitting himself.
"Not really"
"Have you given your notice in?"
"In a manner of speaking, what's going on Nobs?!"
Nobby sighed.
"Mate. You've been had by Gary again, i got him to speak up, he's been laughing all week about something, mate when i told you online i had won the lottery it wasn't true. Gary hacked my facebook and pretended to be me, i only found out today"
Vince felt the cold rush of wrath course through him.
"I see. Tell Gary he's a cunt and i want to see him"
"I will, i already told him he's a cunt. He admitted he wanted to get his own back for last months dinner party at Tracey's"
"You what?"
"Come on Vince don't you remember?
"No"
"You were off your tits on something and kept pestering his girlfriend for a shag"
"Oh"
"You have no memory of going upstairs, finding Tracey's S&M gear, putting it on, and asking his girlfriend to smack you on the bum and call you susan?"
"Now that you mention it i do yeah. Right well, thanks for letting me know mate. I've got to run as I'm in the middle of something very important. I want to see Gary asap and sort this out in my own little way. Get it sorted. Bye."
Vince terminated the call and turned around to face Brian. He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. He reminisced at how his father used to comfort him in times like these, remembering in particular the words
"You're a pillock Vincent"
scratch
Zalgradis, that's a definitely good contribution. Good all the ay through and I could particularly empathise witht the S&M gear; I once had a friend that.. Etc Harrumph.....
Das Stavrou
ah glad you enjoyed it pal *S* - it's a great idea for a game
The Walrus
I never thought of the possibility of Vince going to work with his brother falling through. The only thing I can possibly say to that, Zalgradis, is 'fucking excellent.'
Das Stavrou
thank you good sir, hope you get some more contributors *S* great laugh
The Walrus
"Brian, I've made you a cup of tea, nice and strong and sweet, just how you like it," Vince said a few minutes later as he handed his employer a mug of tea and sipped at his own.
Sadly he had found it necessary to tie Brian up again because he had a slight panic attack - he tried to climb out of the window, then he tried to crawl under the ovens, and then he tried to crawl down the sink, and if Vince wasn't careful the silly fucker would probably disappear up his own arse.
"Don't worry if your tea tastes a bit, well, a bit odd, Bri - it's Kam Sam Ping Pong, or something like that, and it's a North Vietnamese delicacy. They soak it in fermented virgin piss or something, and it takes a little getting used to. Bloody hell, it's even more bitter than I thought it would be."
Vince didn't have a clue what to do when he realised what a pickle he had somehow gotten himself into, but all of a sudden he came up with a cunning plan.
In his locker, he remembered, he had fifty grams of dried magic mushrooms and a little peyote. He had no idea what effect a combination of the two substances would have on a drug virgin like Brian, but hopefully the evil brew would make the pseudo French ponce forget everything.
"Why..... Why..... Why have you make me tea?" Brian mumbled. "You never made me a cuppa before, knob breath. Not ever. Why now? And what have you done to Baptiste, my sweet, innocent, fine boy?" A single tear ran down the little man's cheek.
"Errrm, nothing, nothing at all, me old pal, me old mate, me old Chine," Vince replied, taking another swig of tea. "Shit, this is 'orrible. I was pulling your leg when I said your kid was hanging up in a mate's butcher shop cold store. That was cruel of me, and I'm really, really sorry. Honest I am.
What I should have said was that 'e's hanging out with a few mutual friends, but you know me, Bri, me and practical jokes, me, you, your missus gazing longingly out of the window in just her bra and pants, practical jokes, your little poodles, Mufty and Funbags, and the whacky antics we get up to....."
"Erm, no," Brian said. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Vince."
"Bertrand or Baptiste or Bottie jockey or whatever his name is perfectly safe," Vince continued, draining his cup and refilling it up from the oddly blurry teapot on the kitchen unit. Well, from one of them. "That tea ain't half made me thirsty.....
Has your missus ever had a mammogram, Bri? I love the look of titties squashed against plate glass. Baptiste is staying with a couple of pooftah friends of mine, so he'll be perfectly safe and feeling right at home, no doubt. I bet your missus is a right goer, Bri.
They're probably, I dunno, circle jerking or rimming one another in a great, steaming pile or bumming each other into oblivion or whatever turns them on.
They're sound guys, though, my buddies, Leopold K. Gopher - the 'k' stands for 'killer - otherwise known as the Bone Breaker, and Kinky Winky Winstone, the septuagenarian ex serial killer and West Midlands knitting champion, so your lad will be fine. Nipples. Nipples. Got any photos of your wife's tits on you, Bri? I've got a right hard on....."
"I, er, can you please untie me, Vince?" Brian said. "I've calmed down now. honestly."
"Naah. Shiny oak tables, mother of pearl penguins, boiled ham. Well, maybe, if you promise to behave yourself. Lamb chops. Naaaaah, you'll run away. You can't fool me, Bri, you little tinkerer.
Bollocks, I've downed the wrong cuppa, ain't I? I must've got 'em mixed up. Bugger..... I suppose that's why there are five point nine teapots instead of twenty three like there rightfully should be.
That's why the kitchen is phosphorescent orange and spinning round at zillions of miles an hour. That's why the copper bottomed frying pans are all dancing the Fandango on the double drainer. Wahaay! That's why that porcupine with two hundred cocks is fucking the colander under the table and Janice, the clock, keeps sniggering and calling me a cunt.
That's why you look like a Shetland pony all of a sudden. No, three of 'em, a sickly green spotty fucker, one made out of burgundy flock wallpaper and the shy one called Adolph hiding in the cupboard under the sink. Pepper. Peter Piper picked a peck of. Got any naughty vids of your missus on your phone, Bri? I bet she's got a fanny like a manhole, and I'd love to slip her one. Neeeeeigh!"
"Aah, Jean, George, Rollo, thank heavens!" Brian said as three burly men entered the kitchen through the rear door. "I'm afraid Vince has looped the loop, the spots have vanished from his dominoes, he's gone stark, raving mad. He's assaulted me, you need to restrain him and call the police. If they give you any bullshit tell them he's black, and about forty of them will be here like a shot."
"Ladies!" Vince gurgled as he fell dribbling off his chair. "You say potato, and I say..... I say potato too. No, thass not right, is it? I shay pussy lips. Or cheese. Or Motorbikes. Are you the Weather Girls, you fat fucks? Do you mind 'elping me off with my clothes, madam, and calling me Susan? Can I have a sniff of your cunt?"
The Walrus
I couldn't resist taking another shot at this. There's a very similar tale going on in another forum so there's plenty of room for everyone who wants to play.