Shortly I will have to disconnect from the internet and go do stuff in the real world.
Among other things I badly need a haircut.
And that means you get some crappy Pete flash fiction.
With Big Brother back on UK television (I don’t watch the show, but am an avid follower of the Marion and Des commentary thread on Interaction) it seems that the time is right to…
SEND IN THE CLONES
The situation inside The Dome was shaping up nicely.
The night before Boudicca had crept off for a rendezvous with Genghis Khan, much to Adolf Hitler’s disgust, and this morning the apostle of racial purity was glaring at the Mongol warlord and his Iceni paramour with undisguised loathing. The odds were good that they would come to blows before the day was out.
Aleister Crowley had got into a screaming match with Pope John Paul, when the latter had tried to bless their morning muesli, and Theda Bara kept accidentally bumping into Mother Theresa in a way that left no doubt in anyone’s mind as to her intentions, except possibly that of the young nun herself. Lucrezia Borgia was upset that for the third day in a row her offer to do the cooking had been declined, while Louis XIV and Mary Queen of Scots squabbled constantly, each trying to outdo the other in matters of noblesse oblige.
Only one of the clones remained aloof. They were now in their second week and as yet he had said nothing, but those deep set eyes missed little and the constant frown on his face suggested that he found them all wanting.
It had taken nearly a third of their budget to secure the Turin Shroud and Network Controller Tsao Xing was far from convinced that their wild card actually was Jesus, but enough people still believed in him to justify the outlay and they’d more than covered their investment with advertising revenue.
The centennial series of Celebrity Big Brother was on course to be the most successful yet in the ongoing franchise.