Welcome to Acerbia; population: π
This is the archive of the many and fabulous adventures of . Like a hard-bitten son of Michael Moorcock's Jerry Cornelius taught to write by William S. Burroughs; continually reincarnated, debated over by intellectuals and literati at cocktail parties the author can't get invited to, the target of scorn and ire from women everywhere, frequently mistaken for a former member of the Warsaw pact, named after the Italian explorer Giuseppe Acerbi, slowly rewriting the Book of Cataclysm, this is postmodern fiction at its most playful and creative.
The Martians Are Always Coming
"We must attempt to make contact with them" said Ogilvy the astronomer as he peered through the scope. He adjusted the focus slightly and drew another puff on his pipe. "Yes, that is what we shall do. We shall make contact with them. They're obviously intelligent; perhaps we can communicate in some manner."
"I'll tell you what we should be doing" blurted Major Eden "we should be blasting the buggers to smithereens!" flecks of spit got caught up on the big bushy grey walrus moustache he had obviously been cultivating for years.
"We wait gentlemen. We wait" I counseled patiently.
By the third day the Martians had assembled their walking platforms. Sat atop silver saucers balanced on three legs they ambled to and fro across the common. Perched up there manipulating controls with their leathery tentacles we could see that construction hadn't finished and final preparations and adjustments were being made. Major Eden, Ogilvy and I all agreed that now was the time.
Major Eden's second battalion wheeled out the contraption and Ogilvy picked up the microphone once it had been wired into the bunker.
"...rtians... oh... meh"
Eden barked a few orders and the technicians assigned to the contraption busied themselves increasing the power output.
"Try it again Ogilvy"
"Martians go home!" The astronomer's voice rang out loud and clear across the common through the tannoy. All activity from the landing site ceased and the tripods turned to face our bunker.
"It worked!" Major Eden was jubilant "Again! Be more forceful this time man, we're not women."
Ogilvy cleared his throat and the sound was projected across the common. The Martians still hadn't moved.
"Sod off! Go on, be off with you, you slimey blobs."
I watched as the Martians atop the lead tripod conferred, then one of them consulted some scrolls before picking up what appeared to be a microphone of their own.
"pink... bipeds... smelly"
Eden looked at Ogilvy, Ogilvy looked at me, I looked at Eden.
"Did they just... insult us?"
"I daresay they did! Give me that!" Major Eden made a grab for the microphone but Ogilvy held fast with a look of stoic determination on his face.
"Now see here" he barked and the technicians outside covered their ears "an Englishman's planet is his castle and you are uninvited trespassers. You're going to get a damn good thrashing, you intergalactic pieces of phlegm!"
I watched in awe through the viewscope as the Martians again consulted their scrolls to formulate their reply. Little did I realise that this was merely the beginning of the War of the Words.
Eucritta melanolimnetes
A few years ago I was dating Kay, a cute paleontology research assistant recently returned from a trek up the Amazon river. Kay had a weird vintage lingerie thing going on and in many ways dressed and acted like the girl next door with undertones of a Playboy centerfold; sweet and playful but also sassy and sultry. She'd often say things like "gee" and "golly gosh", but never swore. Any profanity uttered around her seemed to turn the air blue.
Kay lived near Camden canal, and one evening we were making out on the rug in front of the fire. I was trying to work my hand up inside the cashmere sweater she was wearing, having already given up trying to get past the dolly rocker circle skirt and reinforced petticoats, when there was a thud from the back porch.
"What was that?" I asked.
"Oh probably nothing..." she said, all rosy cheeks and sparkling white teeth all-American gal smile.
There was another thud from the door that led out to the canal and Kay excused herself for a moment, heading straight for the back door. There was the sound of her unlocking the door and stepping outside and I crept after her hoping to find out what was going on. I could hear her shouting at someone.
"...into your goddamned thick sub-aquatic skull, gillboy, I'm not interested! Okay it was fun at first being the damsel in distress and all but I'm tired of it now! Every human male I try and connect with you end up killing and dragging me off into the murky depths for another tete-a-tentacle! Not this time though, I've had enough of washing that fishy smell out of my hair. Beat it buster!"
And with that I spied the creature from the black lagoon skulk off and slip back into the waters of the canal, his ambitions of carting Kay off over his shoulder thwarted.
Footnote
It occurs to me that I would very much like to see George Dubya Bush say the words "Iranian Uranium" repeatedly, very fast.
Emeralds and Rubies
It was only after the cyclone, and after the house was ripped up into the sky alongside Mrs Badcrumble on her bicycle and after the house crashed on top of her and I walked out of the wreckage to discover the impact had cured my lifelong color-blindness that things started to get weird.
I was following the path the diminutive people had set me along when I spotted a bonfire Guy at the side of the road. He was slumped over forwards with sick dribbling down the jaundiced sack clothing of his face and small clumps of straw protruded from the cuffs of his jacket and the hem of his trousers.
"Are you okay?" I asked him after I'd skipped over to him and set down the picnic basket the vertically-challenged villagers had given me.
"Sir Isis" slurred the Guy before pausing for a moment and dry heaving over my ruby slippers.
"Pleased to meet you Sir Isis!" I said and extended my hand.
"I said I have cirrhosis!" barked the Guy and then baulked once more.
"Oh dear! I'm off to see the Wizard to see if he'll send me home again, why don't you come along and maybe he'll give you a new liver?"
The Guy paused and considered this before letting off a noxious fart. He fumbled and pulled himself up on my dress, helping himself to a free grope of my chest before staggering alongside me along the path. It wasn't long before we came across a strange gentleman clad in thick armor and protective clothing, standing stock still in the middle of the forest, surrounded by short corpses riddled with bulletholes.
"Hello?" I asked him, trying to see through the reflective faceplate that hid his eyes from view.
"dnt mve" came a tiny voice from behind the protective gasmask he wore.
"I beg your pardon?" I said loud enough for him to hear.
"I said don't move!" the man, clad in protective body armor, knee pads and kevlar helmet with faceplate and gasmask, tried to take a few jilted steps but fell over due to the weight of all the ordnance and weaponry attached to him. Several guns went off and a grenade rolled free of his webbing.
"Grenade!" screamed the Guy who immediately downed the remains of his bottle of moonshine and threw himself under the Armored Man. The grenade went off harmlessly, tossing several corpses away like ragdolls and scaring my little dog too.
"Why you ought to be ashamed of yourself, using dangerous weapons like that in public!"
"Lady why don't you mind your own business, I have a right to bear arms! Besides, I'm out here hunting!"
"Well I think you ought to come with us to see the Wizard, maybe he can give you a conscience. What are you hunting?"
"Lions?" asked the Guy as we helped the Armored Man back to his feet.
"Tigers?" I asked as we set off again into the depths of the forest, the Guy swigging on a hidden bottle of gin and the Armored Man's weapons clanked noisilly.
"Woof?" said my little dog. We all looked at him and he shrugged his little doggy shoulders.
"Me!" roared the beast as he leapt from the lower branches of a nearby tree, knocking us all flat again. The Guy smashed his bottle and held up the broken end menacingly while the Armored Man rolled and brought two sub-machine guns to bear on the creature. Somewhere ominously in the background I could hear a Pink Floyd album playing.
"And who are you?" I asked
"I'm the belligerent junkie hedgehog and I'm desperately in need of a fix!"
And with that my little collection of an alcoholic, a gun nut and a drug addict was complete so we all set off towards the Emerald City.