1

Soup vs Drugs

Posted by Barry on Nov 5, 2008 in Random Writings

I’m writing a short story for possible inclusion in a new anthology at the moment.  It’s a gritty, realistic piece, about two boys in inner city Glasgow, and touches on various ‘grown-up’ subjects.  One of these is drugs.

Now, never having been involved in drugs myself, I’m having to do a lot of reading up.  I’m learning a lot of things I didn’t know.  Through it all, one thought keeps striking me.  Maybe it’s my age or something, but I can’t help but feel that drugs don’t sound as good as soup.

So, in order to prove this point, here’s 10 Reasons Why Soup is Better than Drugs

1.  Soup comes in a wide range of flavours.

2.  You can buy soup in most supermarkets, and many corner shops.

3.  No matter how much soup you consume, the Russian Mafia will not take an interest.

4. The second container of soup you buy is unlikely to be thirty times more expensive than the first.

5.  It is rare for dog-worming tablets or washing powder to be used to ‘pad-out’ soup.

6.  When you have soup, you can be reasonably confident it has never been hidden up someone’s bum.

7.  Bringing soup into Singapore does not carry the risk of being shot dead on sight.

8.  Soup won’t cause you to dance around like a mental patient.  Unless it’s too hot, obviously.  Even then, you’re unlikely to keep dancing for eighteen hours straight.

9.  There’s a reason The Verve never released a single called “The Soup Don’t Work”.  It’s because soup does work, consistently and without fail.

10.  You can’t dunk bread in cocaine.

So, for anyone thinking of dabbling in drugs, I hope this has helped convince you otherwise.  Go grab yourself a bowl of Chicken Noodle or Carrot and Coriander instead.  You’ll feel better for it in the long run.  And probably the short run, too.

 
0

Five things I have recently realised

Posted by Barry on Sep 15, 2008 in Children's Books, Personal, Random Writings

1.  I make faces which correspond with what I’m writing.  For example, if I write about someone scowling, I scowl. If someone smiles in a story I’m working on, I smile as I type the phrase “she smiled”.  I only caught myself doing it the other day, but have since realised that I do it all the time.

2.  It’s possible to write two novels in three weeks.  I know because I today finished the second - a full 30 or so hours ahead of deadline.

3.  That weird spot thing on my chin is a wart.  Ew.

4.  Since adopting Google Chrome as my browser of choice, I’ve used it once and once only.  I’ll stick to Firefox.

5.  Anthony Daniels (C3P0 in Star Wars) looks a bit like Eoin Colfer (best-selling author of the Artemis Fowl series).  Just a bit, though.

 
2

An Open Letter to Wasps

Posted by Barry on Sep 1, 2008 in Random Writings

I have just been chased around my kitchen by an incredibly persistent wasp. Fortunately, I survived, which is reason enough for me to post this letter I wrote to the wasp species as a whole a few years back.

An Open Letter to Wasps

Dear Wasps,

Well…where to begin?

This letter has been a long time coming to be honest, but it was only the events of the past few days which finally prompted me to sit down and write it. More about those in a moment.

I realise that the summer is almost over and that you’ll soon disappear for several months, so it’s probably too late for you to take on board my comments this year. Perhaps during your mass hibernation you could have a think about some of the issues I’m about to raise which have compelled me to write to your entire species as a whole.

Firstly, would you care to explain exactly what I’ve done to make you hate me to the extent you do? I recall no wasp-related cruelty instigated by myself at any point in my life. In fact, if you remember I was actually the one who used to stick up for you and the insect population in general when other kids insisted on burning you from the sky with home made deoderant flame-throwers. I could have stood cheering with the rest of them, or even just kept my mouth shut and silently disapproved, but no, I expressed to everyone involved how much I thought what they were doing was wrong, completely alienating myself from my peers in the process.

I defended you, wasps, at great personal cost, and yet you choose to repay me by making my every venture into the outside world a scene from 1978 B-Movie masterpiece "The Swarm". Only without Michael Caine or Richard Chamberlain in a major role.

I don’t actually recall the exact specific moment I realised you were victimising me more than the rest of mankind - the day I realised I had been singled out for special attention.

It may have been when I was seven years old and found three of you hiding in the sack I was using in my school sports day sack race. Perhaps if you had not announced your presence by simultaneously stinging me on the legs and crotch as I leapt valiantly towards third place I may not have been typing this letter to you now.

Or perhaps it was when one of you waited outside my house for me to come out, then pursued me for over a mile before vanishing, only to unexpectedly buzz loudly in my ear as I stood talking to a girl from my fourth year Math’s class who I found especially attractive. While the frenzied, breathtakingly elaborate dance I performed in an attempt to get you to leave may have worked as a mating ritual for certain members of the animal kingdom, I assure you that such performances do not win points with the female half of the human race. It would be wrong of me to blame any and all subsequent failings with the opposite sex on you, but you should at least take some of the responsibility.

Most likely, however, the time I realised I was wasp enemy number one was when I opened that bin at the Glen Nevis Visitor Centre near Fort William. You remember that one, don’t you wasps? You remember my reaction as I opened the lid of that bin one otherwise pleasant Summer’s day, only for countless legion of you to erupt from within and launch a full scale attack on my person. There were hundreds of you zipping around me - I’m sure some of you were even attacking in formation. One onlooker likened it to the Rebel attack on the first Death Star, although unlike the Galactic Empire, I feel I had done nothing whatsoever to deserve it.

How many stings did I get that day? Six? Seven? Did it go as high as eight? I honestly can’t remember, since each specific and isolated pain soon merged together to form one collective agony so severe it required several days of medical attention.

Since then our swords have crossed many times. That day you hid under the door handle of my front door waiting to sting me on the hand. The time one of you landed on my Walls Strawberry Cornetto approximately one fifth of a second after I removed the protective paper, instantly rendering it inedible.

And, of course, let us not forget the time you stung the leg of a friend of mine while he drove us along a twisting country lane, causing him to swerve off the road and roll the car fifty yards down an embankment. Despite it almost bringing about my death, I have to admit that this was a masterstroke on your behalf, and the wasp or wasps responsible should be praised for their inventiveness and ingenuity.

Over this past Summer it seems I’ve been unable to go anywhere or do anything without you being there to turn it into some kind of Hellish Sphekosophobiac nightmare. The trips to feed the ducks with my son; The walks home from work; The day trip to Mallaig. Wherever I went, there you were. I couldn’t understand it.

It wasn’t until I found your nest under my house that I figured out how you could possibly have known I was going to be in all those places. Suddenly it all made sense. You had bugged my house. Literally.

I’ll admit that I lost it a little at that point. I’d tolerated the abuse you’d dished out for so long without retaliation, but at that point I felt something had to be done. That’s why I went to the hardware shop and bought that powder stuff to kill you all. I’m sorry, but I felt I had to do something to try to demonstrate to you that I’d had enough.

Even then, as you know, the light sprinkling of the powder I left outside the vent through which you were entering and exiting my home did little to harm you or dampen your determination to make my life a misery. I’m sure I actually saw little wasp footprints in the thin layer of white dust one morning when I checked it. I was half expecting to find a tiny snowman in it somewhere, but mercifully never did.

What happened next you should not hold me responsible for. Instead you should blame the member of your species which elected to sting me on the back of the neck while I peered down at the apparently non-toxic substance I had sprinkled round your front door. It was his fault I bought those cans of Raid. It was his fault I cobbled together my home-made anti-wasp suit. It was his fault I rained down death and destruction upon you to the extent I did.

Ironically, this time it was I myself who had to be prevented from burning you all with a deoderant flamethrower. My next door neighbour was good enough to point out at the last second the consequences of projecting a jet of flame into combustible areas of my own home.

And you know what? As I lay in bed that night I actually thought that perhaps that had been your plan all along. Maybe those dozen or so wasps living beneath my kitchen had sacrificed themselves in the hope I’d burn down my own house in my haste to eradicate them. Was that the plan? Or am I giving you too much credit, wasps? Am I reading too much into all this? I just don’t know any more.

This week I visited Blair Drummond Safari Park with my partner and our young son. But then you know that, don’t you? Judging by the amount of planning you put into my misery I must assume you knew about it for some time before we went.

The sting you gave me I could handle. It wasn’t the first, and I’m reasonably confident it won’t be the last. But did you have to later sting that goat while I was patting it to show my son there was nothing to be afraid of? Frankly I’m unsure if he’ll ever go near another animal again after witnessing at close quarters a previously docile nanny goat suddenly start acting like it had rabies. He hasn’t even been near his goldfish since that day, and no longer wants the puppy he has been asking for every day since October 2003.

So where do we go from here, wasps? I’d love to think we could draw up some kind of peace treaty which would see your species as one leaving me the Hell alone, but I have my doubts you’d go for such an agreement.

I am willing, however, to sit down around a table with you and discuss your reasons for hating me this way. Maybe there’s something I could do to make amends? I’d love us to even get to the stage where you harass me no more or less than my fellow man, but unless you tell me what I’ve done wrong, I can see no way for me to rectify whatever it may be.

I sincerely hope you take this letter to your Queen and that she takes the time to read it through. I know we won’t ever be friends - too much has gone on for that to ever be a possibility - but perhaps we don’t have to be such sworn enemies.

It’s a big world out there, wasps. I think there’s room in it for both of us.

Regards,

Barry Hutchison

 
0

The 50th Post

Posted by Barry on Aug 28, 2008 in Comics, Personal, Random Writings, Writing Samples

I really just logged on here today to delete all the usual spam comments about Britney Spears’ … um … lady’s area, but then I noticed that my post last night was the forty-ninth one to appear on the site. For the mathematically challenged, that would make this post number fifty. A milestone in anyone’s book, and cause for some kind of celebration.

But what? A cake? I could bake (well, buy) a cake and scoff the lot, but as celebrations go, that one feels a little on the selfish side. I suppose if everyone sent me their address I could send them a very small slice, but it seems to be taking over a week for any mail to get here from the UK, so the cake might not be the freshest by the time it arrives.

So what, then? How can I possibly thank the three, maybe even four people who read the blog on a vaguely regular basis? By shutting down the site and promising never to write another word for the remainder of my natural life? Possibly, but I’ve got contracts to fulfill and deadlines to meet, so that would only come back and bite me on the backside.

Hmm. I’ll have a think about it while I write the remainder of this self-congratulatory blog entry.

Fifty posts, eh? It’s not a huge amount - particularly as at least one of them was about commas - but it’s not a pathetic number either. It’s not, like, five posts, say. That’d be rubbish. If I was patting myself on the back for managing five posts you’d have my full permission to kick me square in my lady’s area.

Whoops! I mean man’s area. Hahahaha. Typo, that’s all. Just a typo.

So, fifty. It’s half way to a hundred posts, so that’s quite good. I already have my celebration planned for when I reach the hundred mark. Live on webcam I intend to cocoon myself in a sticky black ichor, where I shall remain for three weeks. At the end of that period I shall emerge as a beautiful, giant butterfly with a book for a face.

I shall then flutter from town to town, presenting my book face for the townsfolk to read. As they gaze at my quivering pages, a tremendous sense of calm and tranquility shall wash over them, and there will be no more hatred left in their hearts.

In a century or more, when my work is finally done and the world is at last a place of peace and joy, I shall write of my life in a series of picture books aimed at the under fives. They shall be known as ‘The Adventures of Book Faced Barry, the Butterfly of Love’ and their message will spread throughout the cosmos, touching the lives of alien beings we’ve never even dreamed of.

Alternatively, I’ll put some stuff up for you to download, like I’ve decided to do to mark the fiftieth post. Yeah, in fact, I’ll definitely do that for post one hundred. It’s not that I have a problem with being a book faced butterfly of love, but I’d get claustrophobic in the cocoon for that amount of time, so - alas - I’ll have to give it a miss. Mankind will just have to muddle through on its own.

Anyway, here are some random downloads from my hard drive you might fancy taking a look at. Or you might not. Entirely your call. I mean, it’s not like I’ve sweat blood and tears over them or that …

1. Gangrene - Page One
Page one of GANGRENE #1 has been all inked up and is looking fab. It’ll be coloured in the finished product, but here it is in glorious monochrome. The lettering was stuck on quite quickly by me, but a proper letterer who actually knows what he’s doing is going to be lettering the final comic. The pencils here are done by the ever-excellent Neil Chenier, with inks by Jeremy Freeman.

2. Gangrene - Draft One
And to go with the first page, here’s the full script for issue one in Adobe PDF format. Be warned, it contains the odd wee sweary word, a heap of violence, and a woman in a hideous tracksuit. It’s all just words, though, so when you get to the bit with the hideous tracksuit, you can always imagine it’s described as a lovely tracksuit instead.

3. Our Man in Pathology
My first ever attempt at a comedy sketch. It’s not great, so try not to laugh. Actually, no, forget that. Do laugh. That’s the point.

That’s it for now. Hope you enjoy!

 
4

A Letter to Skeletor

Posted by Barry on May 27, 2008 in Random Writings

Long, long ago I wrote the letter below for another website I ran.  The site was called RandomRant, and recently I was forced to take it down due to hacker/not having enough time issues.

Anyway, I’ve saved all the content.  Much of it isn’t … erm … suitable to go on here.  Other stuff is.  Over the next while I’m going to post some of the stuff which is reasonably safe for a family audience.  Today we start with my personal favourite.  Today we reprint A LETTER TO SKELETOR!

Sent: 27th July 2004 • To: Skeletor, Snake Mountain • Subject: Observations from a casual observer

Dear Skeletor,

First of all, many thanks for taking time to read this letter. I appreciate that your schedule is pretty packed with evil and evil related activities and that your time is precious. I’ll try not to take up too much of it, but I really do think you need to hear what I have to say.

I, like a large number of other people on the planet Earth, have watched with amusement for the past twenty years as you have repeatedly tried and failed to infiltrate and conquer Castle Grayskull and gain access to it’s legendary “secrets”.

Yes, you read that correctly Skeletor: “Amusement”.

Because while I appreciate the thought, effort and sheer dogged enthusiasm which go into your takeover bids, your apparent inability to spot the numerous and often gaping flaws in each and every one of them is laughable. I’m sorry, but it had to be said.

Take, for example, Fakir. You remember Fakir, don’t you Skeletor? The clone you made of He-Man? On the face of it, the plan was brilliant. Flawless. You managed to create an exact duplicate of He-Man using just the power of your Ram’s Head Staff, who could just walk up to Grayskull, knock on the drawbridge and gain entry. Victory was assured!

Or at least it would have been had you not given Fakir blue skin and orange eyes. I mean - what were you thinking there? I can only assume this was a frankly astonishing oversight on your behalf. The real He-Man doesn’t have blue skin or orange eyes, Skeletor, so in order to be truly effective, nor should an evil double. An identical duplicate should be identical to the thing it’s a duplicate of. The clue’s in the name. It’s just common sense.

Speaking of which, why do you insist on surrounding yourself with idiots? Okay, I appreciate that Beast Man and Trap Jaw are some scary looking blokes, but what real help have they been in your war on Eternia? They might mean well, but they haven’t contributed anything useful in two decades, Skeletor. Not a single thing. Even with employment law being so strict these days, any other employer would have found an excuse to dismiss them long before now.

It’s not as if you even like them, and I’m sure they can’t be brimming with job satisfaction either. I’ve had some crappy jobs in my time, but at least no boss of mine ever shouted “Fools!” at myself and my colleagues before shooting at us with lasers. I read somewhere recently that over fifty percent of people who get fired from a job go onto find higher paid employment in their next job. They’d probably thank you for sacking them in the long run.

And what about your strong right arm, “Evil” Lynn? Look at her name written down. You’ve just been pronouncing “Evelyn” wrong all these years, haven’t you? Surely even you can’t expect the Masters of the Universe to lay down their weapons and cower before someone called Evelyn? Particularly one who doesn’t even have the confidence to correct people who say her name wrong.

Your recruitment policy is utterly ridiculous. Take Tri-Klops - okay, so he has three eyes, but how’s that going to help defeat the mightiest man in the universe? At best it’ll just afford him a better view of He-Man’s massive fist as it connects solidly with his head. Likewise Ju-Jitsu - that big hand he has isn’t a useful special power, it’s just a big hand! He’s deformed! While I applaud your policy on employing the disabled, you shouldn’t fall into the trap of believing their disabilities will actually aid your nefarious schemes in any way. Elephantitis is not a valuable addition to your arsenal of evil.

And surely when you employed the two-headed Two-Bad you realized that each half of him spent every waking minute punching the other half in the face? Why didn’t this put you off? Why didn’t it start alarm bells ringing? Couldn’t you have just found a single headed person who would spend their time punching someone else in the face instead? Someone else who it would actually benefit you to have punched in the face? An employee who spends the entire working day physically harming himself is a liability, no matter what line of business you may be in.

And what about Stinkor? Jesus, Skeletor, you hire a guy just because he smells bad?! You think henchmen of that calibre are going to give you some kind of advantage over a man who can lift a mountain with one hand?

I dunno, it just seems to me that you’re deliberately shooting yourself in the foot by hiring these people. You’re attempting to conquer a planet and rule it with a fist of iron, Skeletor, not start a circus. It’s like you want to fail or something. There’s probably a psychiatric term for it, but I don’t know what it is.

Assuming you do genuinely want to succeed, my suggestion is a completely clean slate. Start from scratch. This time round though, I recommend you pick your staff based on their intelligence and skills, not by how outlandish they look. If a guy turns up for interview with green and purple striped skin and metal wings, try to find out what abilities he has rather than just offering him a job on the spot.

And when I say “abilities” I mean useful ones. Sit down and make a wish list of skills and attributes you think will genuinely increase your chances of ruling Eternia. I’d be surprised if “mental command over fish” is on there, so retaining Mer-Man’s services will be largely unnecessary. Again, he may be resentful at first, but he’ll be relieved at no longer having to worry about being thrown headlong into a pit of lava when he inevitably makes his next blundering mistake and will soon come to accept the benefits of no longer working for you.

Once you have an effective team in place, pay attention to what they have to say. I know this goes against the grain, but even with the buffoons you have working for you now disaster could have been averted time and time again had you only listened to them when they pointed out the obvious holes in your plans.

Like the machine you built to turn people to stone and bring stone things to life. Even Beast Man knew that one was an accident waiting to happen, and sure enough fifteen seconds later the machine was going crazy. What thanks did Beast Man get for pointing out the dangers of your latest contraption? A lightning bolt to the feet. He was only trying to help. How long did it take you to devise and construct such a machine, Skeletor? Longer than the four seconds it took He-Man to defeat the giant statue you brought to life with it, I’m almost certain.

The same goes for the huge tank you made out of dinosaur bones. Appearance wise it was nothing short of breathtaking, but what was its purpose? I can see why the whole ‘bone theme’ appealed to you, but you can’t have honestly believed that a vehicle which travelled at approximately four miles per hour and offered no protection whatsoever to those riding inside it was going to be the one to win the war? Trapjaw knew it was destined for failure, you could see it in his eyes, but he kept his metal mouth shut for fear of being on the receiving end of the mental and physical abuse he’s come to expect from you.

Rather than waste valuable time and resources developing such ludicrous contraptions, maybe you should concentrate instead on learning how to use your magic Rams Head Staff properly? I’ve seen you use it for everything from simple fireball hurling to creating living creatures out of thin air, so it seems to be an incredibly powerful piece of kit. Do you maybe have an instruction book or manual for it lying around Snake Mountain anywhere? If not perhaps you could get in touch with the manufacturer to see if they can help. It’s clearly far more effective a weapon than a ray that stops all the flowers in Eternia from blooming. What use is that, Skeletor? You think He-Man’s going to give up the secrets of Castle Grayskull because he misses his Aspidistras? It’s not going to happen.

And anyway, are you sure Castle Grayskull actually has any secrets? I’ve seen inside it and it looks kind of sparse to me. It’s just all stone walls and very little else. Maybe there’s a room somewhere that’s got secrets in it, but they’d have to be pretty impressive to justify the effort you’re putting into getting them. What if the secret of Grayskull is just the Sorceress’ family recipe for Bolognese sauce? Okay, that might be some tasty sauce, but is it really worth devoting your entire life to? It’s something to think about anyway.

Finally - and please don’t take this the wrong way - don’t you think you perhaps set your sights a little high when choosing He-Man as an arch enemy? I mean, granted you’re pretty toned and clearly keep in shape, but when your opponent can defeat you and your entire army simply by blowing on you the time has surely come for a serious rethink?

I hope you’re not too disheartened by this letter and that you take some of my suggestions on board. There are too few evil megalomaniacs with no skin on their face around today, and I really do think with a bit more thought and a few slight changes in strategy you will one day become ruler of Eternia. I wish you all the best for when you do.

Regards,

Barry Hutchison

P.S. - He-Man is Prince Adam with different clothes on. Obvious when you think about it, isn’t it?

Tags: ,

Copyright © 2008 BarryHutchison.com All rights reserved. Theme by Laptop Geek.