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TELL ME IF I SUCK GUYS. Seriously.
- "[David] Blaine was a street-magician-turned-enactor-of-unlike
The British were not impressed. They were not impressed when Blaine pronounced his venture "the most extreme exercise in isolation and physical deprivation ever attempted", or when he said, "I'm a great artist: nothing more, nothing less." They were not impressed by the multimillion-pound deal he struck with Sky TV, and they were not impressed that he had decided to confine himself to a glass prison and voluntarily starve when so many people were actually incarcerated and in real prisons, and actually starving. Mayor Livingstone said it was disrespectful to the IRA members who died on hunger strikes in the 1980s.
Blaine duly took his place in his box. But the stunt totally backfired: it was as if it were the eighteenth century and Blaine was in the stocks. Crowds of cynical Londoners gathered underneath the box and laughed at him. Thy pelted him with bananas, French fries, and eggs. They made such a mess that his girlfriend, the unusually-named Manon von Gerkan, had to be cranked up on a crane to wash the food detritus off the box with a cloth. "We never had anything like this in New York," she said.
Blaine's helpers raised the box, so it would not be within egg-throwing distance. A group of men positioned themselves on Tower Bridge and tried to hit it with golf balls. A hamburger van pulled up and began ostentatiously frying onions and other foods whose enticing aroma was designed to upset Blaine, starving as he was. A man tried to cut off his water supply. Some youths frightened him by shining laser pens into his eyes. A homeless person sat nearby, behind a sign saying, "Please give generously. I am attempting 44 days on continuous alcohol alone."
Women took off their tops and flashed their breasts at Blaine; men pulled down their pants and mooned at him; people stayed up all night playing the drums so as to disturb the tranquility of anyone who might be trying to sleep in an overhead box. A radio station urged its listeners to stand in the cold chanting, "Ding, ding, ding" in an obnoxious fashion. Someone blasted the song "Living In A Box" by the British pop-funk band Living In A Box. A remote-controlled helicopter buzzed by, dangling a juicy-looking cheeseburger on a string.
There was unpleasant speculation about Blaine's bathroom arrangements, in keeping with Britons' well-known lavatorial obsessions. Blaine's explanation of his plans for his liquid waste-- that it would be expelled via a tube leading out of the plastic box-- had left the solid waste situation deliberately vague. Adult diapers were mentioned. A radio host took to calling Blaine "Nappy Man".
Newspaper columnists speculated that the illusionist had been eating on the sly, saying that he actually looked kind of fat, considering. In the Sun, Jane Moore referred to him as "that total twerp currently dangling in a box over the Thames". In the Guardian, Catherine Bennett said that the satirical response to Blaine illustrated the temperamental gulf between Britain and America, because Britons know how to "tell the difference between a huckster and a hero". She urged Londoners to engage in mass public ridicule by taunting Blaine with food. "Even a blob of oily ice-cream tastes exquisite when consumed in the suspended company of the preposterous, faux-starving Blaine," she said.
True, he did have his supporters, including American tourists; regular visitors who believed that they had telepathic connections to him and that he was sending them special signals from the box; people who felt sorry for him; and the paranormalist Uri Geller, who announced: "He has the quality of Rasputin."
When Blaine finally came down, thin and weak and with his major organs on the verge of collapse (or so he said), the general feeling was that "Above the Below" had been beyond the absurd, a huge pretentious failure. But what was it that made ordinary Britons tease and resent Blaine so much? Because he was making such a big deal about it. Because he revealed himself to be a puffed-up self-promoter rather than the friendly kind of eccentric who does what he does for himself rather than for public acclaim, and who is capable of going to the pub and laughing at himself over a few pints. Because he did not know when enough was enough."
-- Sarah Lyall, The Anglo Files
There's really nothing better than a fine evening alone, only a kitchen and the noises of the oven timer. It's almost enough to make me forget about this idiocy present in this hellhole, really. At any rate, chaps, I've baked some treats for you all-- you needn't be shy, I've plenty more where that came from!
[ ooc; THESE ARE THE COOKIES OF A KILLER. You all can assume that there's a neat little basket of things like muffins, cookies, scones, whatever at your doorstep with a cute little ribbon, card, and everything. Someone's been in a better mood lately ohohoho. ]
It looks like this snow isn't at all a freak weather incident. Not that I care-- it's a great deal better than sweating my arse off. But still, you'd think that in the middle of August that there wouldn't be temperatures like this! And bloody hell, I thought I had disabled the shocking function on this device--!
( [ locked to America ] )
( [ locked to Japan ] )
Oi, France, you been giving anyone any trouble lately? You've been unusually quiet....
[ in an obviously slurred voice ]
A-ah, 's'not as strong as I thou-- .... Oh, is this bloody thing on? Ah, HULLOOOOOO? HU-- Oh, right, y' can hear me jus' fine, can't you? [ soft laughing, and then-- ] Oi, oi, oi, errr... but I'm na' drunk 'r anythin'-- I can prove it, too, y'know! Ah..
Ameeeeeeeeeeeeericaaaaaaaaaaa. 'Ey, y' remember this? I know ya' do, 'cos you stole it from me, you prat! Oi, oi, listen, see, an' you'll know I'm na' drunk 'r anythin'-- ... whoa, di' I jus' say that? Is there an echo in 'ere?
... Oh, right, right-- Ameeeeeeeericaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.
[ a clearing of the throat, and then, to the tune of the Star-Spangled Banner: ]
To Anachreon in Heaaaaaaaaav'n, where he sat in full gleeeeeeee,
A few soooooooons of Harmony sent a pe- peti-- petitiooooooooon...
... I forgot th' res' already....
[ There's a long, unamused pause, a rhythmic, yet slow, thud of wood, and then, from seemingly a distance.... ]
Oi, you know, not even faeries are this cruel.
If this is a sick joke, I don't see the punchline anywhere. Oi, America, if you can hear me, this is not funny at all! I'm sure as hell not Mary Poppins, and Dick Van Dyke was about as Cockney as a stone!
[ Another few thuds on wood, and select cursing can be heard. ]
HOW THE BLOODY HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO GET DOWN HERE?! I'M ALREADY THINKING UNPLEASANT THOUGHTS AS IS AND I'M NOT GETTING ANY FARTHER!
[ A paricularly loud thump-- ]
Ow! For God's sake, is that really necessary?!
[ ooc; yeah couldn't resist. HULLO THERE PIRATED INTERNET. ]
Bloody hell--! You know, and here I thought that I had completely taken care of that shocking function, but it's just my luck-- AGH, DAMNIT, QUIT THAT ALREADY!
... 'S what I thought.
[ There is a pause as he clears his throat, and then-- ]
Right-o, then. Have we all quietened down? I very well refuse to be involved in any more of that foolishness, you understand? It's disruptive enough to piece together afternoon tea in this god-forsaken hellhole without all that incessant yelling, you know....
I s'pose I ought to apologise for my silence to, well, those of you who actually do deserve that much, at least. You bloody well know who you are, so I shan't elaborate any further... other than, you know, [ Unintelligible muttering, wherein the words "peace and quiet" and some select curses ] So I do hope no one has ended up dead-- or worse-- without my supervision. If you have, then perhaps it was deserved.... So, then, shall we have a roll call? I assume, of course, that no one important has left, yes?
[ ooc; oh god guys sorry for, you know, vanishing YET AGAIN. Here for good, though, and kicking it off with this post! You know you missed Mr High Tsundere. ]
You know... you bloody scientists, or whoever is actually running this hellhole.... If you were actually going to rain down such handy things as ammunition and foodstuffs, one would think that amongst it all, you would have been kind enough to dole out, oh, I don't know... some bloody damn good tea!
Or at the very least, perhaps a bottle or ten of decent spirits...!
But no, of course, you must deprive your more well-deserving citizens of the very things that maintain that fine balance of sanity. I see how it works, then. Bloody hell, once I return home, I shall be writing a diplomatic letter back to you, Discedo or whoever you are, about such a fault in your hospitality. Two can play at this game, you know. I'll not stand for such a lack of manners!
Somehow, I doubt well that everyone within this foul place has yet been alerted. However, perhaps now would be a good time to as any.
CITIZENS OF DISCEDO, PLEASE PAY ATTENTION.
I advise all that would prefer some sanity and rationality to cease conversation with the Republic of Germany unless and until he regains his senses. I should think that this warning also obviously applies to the nation of Prussia and any other allies Germany has so far collected. If you do side with either constituents, I would also advise you not to attempt engaging in war with me, as I have not even declared war formally, myself-- nor do I intend to, at this rate.
I thank you all for listening.
- The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland
[security: locked; America and Japan]
Oi, you two. I sincerely hope you've not done anything rash to encourage those two further. I don't want to have to clean up after your messes, America-- do you understand?
[ ooc; the first part is exclusively locked away from Germany and Prussia; looks like a war's a-comin, Discedo. /o/~ ]
