Text Maniac- Holy Cow Batman!

Text Maniac

“Well,  please put on this protective lead apron ...so that the X rays don’t damage any of your vital organs !” said Doctor Clement reassuringly to the little child.

“ See,  it has a photograph of a famous philosopher (to make it  more child friendly)...I call it the ‘Freudian slip’..!” .he said, as he motioned for the child to get onto the front of the MRI scanning machine at St Tydfil’s Hospital .

With his big droopy eyes and baggy hanging skin below them,  Dr Clement looked like he was either  half asleep or part bloodhound.

“ So you say your son has been receiving text messages direct to his brain and not on his mobile phone like most children ?” queried the Doctor disbelievingly.

“ Yes , my little William Figaro had been complaining of headaches a lot... since he moved to Caedraw School two years ago....but now he is convinced he is receiving alien messages from above...from a planet called Nirvana!” said the worried mother.

“ I appreciate that he is only 10 years of age and that he could be making the whole thing up ...but he is not normally that sort of child....he has never even had imaginary friends...or any other signs of madness before!” Ma Figaro continued.

“ Not even one?” asked Doctor Clement ....” Everyone has ONE....don’t they?” queried the psychotherapist.  

“ Ah....!” he said peering through the microscope ..

.” How extraordinary ....look there you can see on the right cerebral cortex....a message....’congratulations you have now qualified for free weekend texts....spend £2.00 to get free calls too!....Vodaphone net work.!” said the astonished scientist.  

“ Only a theory mind....but does your son have a mobile phone?” asked the Doctor.

“ Yes...he had one for his Fifth Birthday...he has been twittering on it since he was five...talking to such intellectual equals  as Demi Moore and Ashton Kutcher.... !” said the mother.

“ Incredible...if you look just behind , where his eye sockets are,  you can read pages of even more messages.....it is remarkable’....said the medic.

“ I have read articles on this phenomena in the Lancet....but never seen it in the flesh before!” he continued genuinely excited.

“ Your son....has he always had the hunchback?” asked the Doctor.

“ Since birth ...but we try not to remind him he is different from other children!” said the mother protectively.

“ Does it get him angry then?.....He is not going to take the Hump with me now when I tell him my diagnosis?” said the Doctor coldly.

“ No....what is it Doctor?...his father Quazi and I ....we were concerned that he was schizophrenic or a product of a mixed race gene pool...!” replied the mother worriedly.

“ Mam...I can assure you that it is not a genetic disorder....your son has been living on his mobile phone day and night without rest....he has become a human ‘Facebook’!!!’ said the Doctor dramatically.

“ You see...children’s skulls are not properly formed until they reach about 15 years of age, then  the male of the species turns into Neanderthal man...this is the characteristic grunt or one line reply....once they reach this teenage landmark,  you know  then , that they are thick enough to own a  mobile phone and sad enough to go on facebook!” said the Doctor.

“ So these text messages ....what I surmise is happening ...is that your son ...William Figaro....is clearly different to the other children in his Caedraw Infants....his curved back is somehow or other allowing the absorption of the telephone messages....being so  close to the series of mobile phone masts...they are  penetrating his brain directly and manifesting themselves as  human text messages.!” announced the Doctor excitedly.

“ So in simple terms,  initially my little William Figaro is picking up signals on a one-to-one basis and is turning into a human WI FI.!” said the mother.

“ It’s not a scientific fact...at this stage .it’s only  a hunch!” said the Doctor

“ F*** off Doctor.... said the kid hearing every word of the conversation in text form in his brain from inside the MRI scanner .

“ So he is just a text maniac....nothing more!” sighed the relieved mother.

“ We can’t be certain....but we would like to run some more tests on him!” said the Doctor.

“ Will the NHS pick up the tab Doctor ...as we are a poor family living in a high rise flat in Caedraw?” asked the mother.

“ We can put you on contract?” said the Doctor flippantly.

******

“ What shape is on the reverse of this card?” asked the Doctor to little William Figaro.

“ Is it a mobile phone mast shape?” replied the ten year old.

“ You are not doing this to get compensation are you?” whispered the Doctor.

“ I’m receiving you loud and clear....like my text messages!” said the child phenomenon eyes rolling back in his head like a mulatto Ray Charles.

“ When these text messages come through...my little hunchback friend... how do you know?” asked the Doctor picking up the next card.

“ They register like a little ringing in my ears!” said the kid innocently.

  “ So it’s the Bells....Alexander Graham Bells!” said the doctor making a Peter Beardsley face at his guinea pig.

“ What do you see this time ?” enquired the Doctor holding up the next card.

“ A twat in a white coat holding up a card with an orange square on it!” screamed the kid fed up of being a lab rat.

“ Correct...how did you get that?” asked the scientist checking that the card  was not transparent.

“I had a flash message....the future is orange!” said the kid in a zombie like trance.

Noticing the change in the child’s condition,  the Doctor leaned forward and picked up the note pad in front of the child.

Drawn on there was a series of crude attempts to interpret the card patterns and shape.

But this latest one was written in some sort of Hindi language to which the Doctor could not translate.

He knew there was bound to be someone in the staffroom who could.

“Well the full message reads.....    

‘TB.NFU.NIRVANA.RIPSHAMBO.WNO.TNT.7/11’

“ Are you sure Doctor...after all it is Ramadan and  you have fasted for at least 7 hours....it doesn’t mean anything to me....I asked the mother and she said he has written it a lot on paper, in his alphabetti spaghetti and on his scrabble board....!” said Dr Clement.

“ I have lived in Merthyr all my life why are you asking me ?” said Dr Raj angrily.

“ That’s easy ...!” said  their colleagues Dr Eng to his Siamese Doctor brother Chi telepathically ....

The human version of the Enigma machine at Bletchley Park continued.

“ TB is Tuberculosis...

NFU is the National Farmers Union or Nirvana Fresian Union.

Nirvana is where Kurt Cobain is.

RIPSHAMBO is the Hindu Fresian Black Bull killed by order of the Welsh Assembly.  

WNO is the Welsh National Opera...an organisation... funded by the Welsh Assembly and makes the subsidy given to the NFU look like ‘chickenfeed’  

TNT is Tetro Nitro T......an explosive device...

7/11 is the date of the terror attack on the Capital of England...”

“So you think that there will be a fundamentalist terrorist attack on the Welsh National Opera on 7/11 coming?” said his brother orally and telepathically.

“How can you be so sure?” Asked the Doc.

“My Father used to watch a lot of the 1950 Lassie television shows when the telepathic sheepdog knew Little Tiny was trapped in a disused mineshaft’ replied the boffin.

“What do I tell the Police .....how do I alert them....they will section ME when I tell them I am in St Tydfil’s hospital and I got the message from a kid with ‘Text-Ray eyes ‘said Dr Clement.

Both Eng & Chi said simultaneously....

” Tell them your information is based on a hunch....and you Figaro-ed out all by yourself!”        

*****

“ Well Charlotte , you HAVE lost some weight haven’t you....but you still look like a Benny Hill character in that dress...it looks like a deck-chair from Barry Island Seafront!” said the opera star.

“ Bitch , Bitch, Bitch...just because Andrew Lloyd Webber picked me to go on ‘Dorothy’ and not you...... I have a better voice anyway ...Cardiff ‘Blues’ are much nicer than a tone deaf Neath Osprey singing like someone stuck a tuning fork up her arse!” countered Charlotte.

“ When was the last time you presented ‘Have I Got News for you?”

“ I hate sharing a dressing room with you...I’d rather share one with Susan Boyle or Paul Potts  anyway !” said Katherine Jenkins....” at least they aren’t as ‘diva’ius as you!”

“ As usual , your still jealous that I got to Henson before you and we  live the lifestyles of the rich and the famous !” replied ‘Good’ Charlotte.

“ So you think you are the Holy of Holies... just because you used to be a ‘Church’....everyone in Wales knows I am the most talented opera singer...read this copy of
the Wales on Sunday....I beat you by three points....Ospreys 3 Blues O...and I am the most beautiful looking one too....!” she said holding up a photograph of herself against a much larger pregnant Charlotte in the mirror! .

“ Mirror , Mirror on the Wall who is the fairest one of all....said Katherine truly entranced by her own beauty.

As she did so Susan Boyle & Paul Potts wandered in cracking the mirror behind them  both singing  ‘Go Compare!”

Keep smiling thought Charlotte ...it is only for one night more....Pop Star to Opera Star  is  on its final performance tonight and then she would be able to fly onto the USA....think of your bank balance girl....after all Gav’s Rugby career looks over.

She knew she was booked onto the latest reality show in the States  where singers became chat-show hosts....Pop Star to Oprah Star!

*****************************************************************

“ Where you do you want this Black Fresian Bull model to go? “ asked the stage hand coughing badly as he ‘steered’ the stuffed animal to its destination.

“ Over there ....over by the frog with the huge buff coloured penis!” demanded Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber in a huff.

“ My name is Gerard Depardieu...and I can speak the King’s English if you don’t mind ....I have a ‘Green Card’ said the actor turned Opera Star for the evening.

“ No ...not you....I meant follow the ‘yellow prick toad’....towards the Emerald City set ......we open to the public in two hours.....Jesus Chris superstar ...where do you get these people from!” he moaned throwing his arms up in the air,  his face skin rising,  then falling dramatically seconds behind his  brown eyes as he did so.        

As the West Walian Monk ‘Stagehand’ carried the bull towards the Carmen set he did look a bit odd .

“ It’s for the Torredor Song scene....shall I put it over by those Seville oranges...or by the Escamillo costume...?” he said aside to the director hiding behind the drapes nervously.

The director just gestured silently not speaking to people from a lower caste.

“ Ah Susan Daarling.....please will you and Paul put on these ‘Phantom of the Opera’ masks for the rehearsal there’s a luvvy.....!” said the Lord leaping around the stage like Nurevyev .

“ I didn’t think we were doing Phantom again tonight?” queried Potts.

“ We’re not.......it is for the audience’s benefit!” said Tim Rice.

“ Excuse me Mr Lloyd-Webber....but we have Cardiff CID in the hall and they have warned us to look out for anyone suspicious....(he said as two monks dressed as a Dalai Llama passed him humps rising and falling with the music)!” said Gopher Coffee (a prop wrangler).

“ They claim that they have a report of an intended terrorist attack intended to blow up the ‘Sacred Holy cow of Wales’ in retribution for murdering their poor ‘Shambo’. he continued.

“ Bullshit...!” .sayeth the Lord....”we  had a bomb hoax  and all that ‘jazz’ before and during the performance of Evita ....but  as Barbara Dixon and Elaine Paige will confirm  ,  that turned out to be just ‘another suitcase in another hall’                

“ Tell them  we will be vigilant....but the show must go on!” he said with all the flair of PT Barnum.

As the West Walian Hindu monk ‘stagehand’ silently placed a timing device amongst the Seville ‘Clockwork’ oranges,  the scene was set in more ways than one.


*****

As he entered the ‘Royal Box’ His Lordship was happy.

So was Prince Edward.

As he sat on his throne, he glanced down at the scene below him he was excited once more at his creation.

Managing to get both Katherine Jenkins and Charlotte Church on the same bill was unbelievable.

Getting them to share a dressing room was an even greater miracle than he  had managed in setting up his previous production  Jesus Christ Operastar.

The two divas both beautiful and talented were like Peter Shilton and Ray Clemence in their 70’s heyday....both should have had more caps between them.

In the next ‘freebie’ box sat the representatives of the Welsh Assembly.

First Ministers Edwina Haart and Rhod Gilbert Morgan sat checking whether or not anything on the extensive menu qualified as an expenses claim.

“ This West Walian beef looks tempting fresh from that Llanelli Butcher’s....what does this little  TB mean....?” asked Haart

“ Tender Beef!” came the reply.

“You mad cow !” he muttered under his breath .

“ It could stand for TB !” remarked House of Commons own Ron Davies....” but I wouldn’t worry I have never caught any communicable diseases from any badgers...and I have been at it for years!”  

“ I think I ‘ll have the spongeiform for desert!” she declared putting her feet back up on a kneeling Lembit Opik.

“ Quiet now ...the show is starting!” said Rhod.

“ Why don’t they sing opera in Welsh...instead of Italian....that will create some ‘jobs for the bachgen’ said Lord Ellis-Twmas from his PC correct seat.

“ That’s what an Ice Ted Ford is for!” said John Redwood trying to mime the singing the Italian National anthem.

The gathered elite of the Welsh upper echelons sat silently trying to pretend they were cultured enough to enjoy Opera.

After two hours of wailing and facial gestures , the enthralled audience began to smile as Andrew Lloyd Webber and Sarah Brightman left the stage to much ‘Hot Gossip’ about a reunion and the return of a suitcase to another hall.

Then the Night at the Opera  started –it  was a tribute to so many operas it was  practically unworkable.

As the Marriage of Figaro....blended in Die Fledermaus and finally to the Spanish set of Bizet’s tragic Opera.

Both Church & Jenkins sang arias like it really was a talent contest.

One trying desperately to out warble the other.

Finally it was the turn of ‘Carmen’ and the entrance stage left of French actor Gerard Depardieu .

Out of shot,  trying to put off Church in her solo front stage spotlight performance, Kathryn Jenkins whispered to the stage hand that she had to exit to refresh her make-up and powder her nose a little.

Church mid –aria stopped suddenly and said to her rival....’like we haven’t heard that one before!”

The ensuing cat-fight was the best Cardiff /Neath scrum,  ever seen in Wales and ended with the new more athletic Charlotte,  getting her slimmer diva in a headlock and ramming her James Herriot-style up the cows arse.

Jenkins stood in her finest sequined dress,  head fully submerged in the former steer.

“ Un’bull’ievable!” said Depardieu....that ‘bullockaid’...is worse  then the French Farmers Union!”  

“ Never mind the Taurus get me to the chorus!” interjected Subo trying to wrestle the spotlight back of the war of the divas and back onto her and Paul Potts.

With her head in more beef than she was used too....Jenkins tried to take ‘stock’.

In the dark brown innards of the stuffed cow she tried to work out why was the cow was full of sticks of TNT,.

Grass and Bullshit she was used to in the opera business but not TNT.

With her delicately manicured hands that would not have looked out of place in a dolls house,  she tapped SOS in Morse .

Veteran actor John Thaw interpreted her ‘turandots and dash’  and pulled her out just in the nick of time.

Jenkins screamed as she realised that her make-up had come off inside the bovine creature and the damage to her beautiful face was ‘in-opera-bull’.

Sat amongst the Seville oranges was the clockwork detonator.

As the minute hand struck 9.00pm,  the bomb was triggered and a huge explosion rocked Cardiff Bay,  sending a shock wave out into the sea  scaring  Tiger Bay trawler-men and casting the previously anchored Greenpeace ‘Rainbow Warrior’ adrift.

The stuffed cow full of TNT and Bullshit,  exploded sending poor Jenkins backwards off her tiny ‘Dorothy’-ready  red shoed feet and into the air bag that was Charlotte Church.

The unfortunate Susan Boyle was straddling the bull,  rodeo style,  doing her closing number  and she was bore the brunt of the blast shooting  high up into the air, straight out of the retractable Opera ceiling and landing on the odd shaped roof  of the neighbouring ‘Senghedd’ Building.

Having splinters in her varicose veins she slid down uncontrollably,  skirt in the air shouting ‘Jimmy, Jimmy,  Jimmy’ wildly as she splashed down into the sea.

The ‘Dahl’ ing  narrowingly missing the Norwegian Church as she went.

The cloud of ‘Bullshit’ that hung in suspended animation above the Opera House confused airport control at Cardiff Airport .

They thought it was the Icelandic Volcano ash cloud returning and immediate cancelled he Ryan Air flights.

The cloud suddenly dropped on the celebrity audience, starting with the highest one of all up in the Gods.

The X-Factor judges found it Cow-Hell as they became ‘Plop Idols’.

The talented Piers Morgan and LA Simon were no longer Ex-Pats.

As the third hand grass,  from the former ruminant’s stomach,  rained down both on Cheryl Cole and a premiership footballer....the Cow Volcano stopped ‘blowing Ash’.
On stage Jenkins and Church resumed their feud.

“ You got shit up your nose ...AGAIN!!!” laughed Lotte as she was wrestled into the Orchestra Pit by the Neath Barbie doll.

Actor Gerard Depardieu saved the day.

He did his soliloquy free from bull.

He used his cape to fend off the cow-shit to cries of ‘ole’ from the posh seats.  

“ Love is  a rebellious bull no one can tame’ he said dressed as a  sexy Gallic Matador.

Andrew Lloyd-Webber stood up in amongst the rain of brown shit and instantly declared the evening a triumph.

The audience clapped as they were covered in crap.

“ Look it is my first ever standing Moo-Vation!....better than Miss Siagon” the Lord edicted.  

“ My Lord it is a triumph ....said Tim Rice covered in milk from the front end of the bi-sexual cow.

“ Yes,  you will be  knighted  for this or be crowned one way or another....arise Sir Moo-ller Rice!”  he joked to his tubby friend.    

“ But where has poor Susan gone to?” they said as one


****

‘Text Maniac”

Back in St Tydfil’s Hospital in Merthyr, Doctors Chang and Eng both sat upright.

They had received a telepathic text message from little William Figaro.

It was a photograph of a Seville fruit bearing the message that the future was orange.

They also received another  message  from the ‘Sky’ as Susan Boyle was dragged out of the bay by Greenpeace bearing two harpoon marks .....

It read:

It’s not over till the Fat Lady swims!!!!