Frankenstein sketch - Mercorabilia

Bit late for Halloween. Still it's always important to clear up any misconceptions.

Monster: Uuuurrrrr

Villager: What’s that? Who’s there?

Monster: Uuurrrrrr

Villager: Ah! It’s Frankenstein!

Monster: Uuurrrrrrr-oh for pity’s sake!

Villager: What?

Monster: I’m not Frankenstein! Frankenstein’s the man who made me. I’m his creation.

Villager: Oh.

Monster: Why does everybody get that wrong? It’s not as if we look alike.

Villager: (sotto voce) Well, that’s true.

Monster: Just because my creator couldn’t be bothered to give me a name, I get saddled with his. And I get all the bad press.

Villager: Well, you are Frankenstein’s monster.

Monster: Who are you calling monster?

Villager: Well, I mean, look at yourself.

Monster: That’s hardly my fault, is it? Did you choose how you look?

Villager: No.

Monster: Well, then. After all, what do you expect when your creator only has parts of dead bodies to sculpt you from. You’re bound to end up looking a little… odd.

Villager: I guess so.

Monster: Right. So let’s have no more of this ‘monster’ business. It’s just not on. I mean all I want to do is survive – like every other creature on this planet. That’s much to ask, is it?

Villager: No – but evidently a lot to go on about.

Monster: Well, I hope I’ve made my point.

Villager: Yes. Yes. Definitely.

<pause>

Villager: Well… don’t let me keep you.

Monster: What?
Villager: Well, I’m sure you’ve got lots of other non-monster stuff to do. Places to be, other people’s hovels to hide in.

Monster: Are you mad? I’m not going out there. Why do you think I’m hiding in here in the first place? Do you know what they do to monsters out there?

Villager: I thought you said you weren’t one.

Monster: But they don’t know that, do they? No – I’ll just stay here.

<pause>

Villager: So… cup of tea?

From The Mind of Merc - Racism

Sometimes I find my mind wandering over various eclectic topics and occasionally I am inspired to write some of them down. Today I was thinking about racism.

This is obviously a long and very convoluted topic but also, at the same time, IT IS BO**OCKS!

I’m sorry but what aspect of someone having different coloured skin meaning they are treated differently (or to be more specific negatively) makes the remotest speck of sense???

In that case should we treat suntanned people differently? They’re not ‘black’ or ‘white’ so ergo they must be different and should be treated differently. Er… no.

If you can see a difference in the appearance of black and white people – well done, you’ve got eyes.
If you think this difference means that one is somehow inferior than the other – oh dear, there’s obviously something wrong with your brain.

The only people who should be treated differently are those who think skin colour should mean a difference in treatment because those people need help. They need educating, they need to be helped to realise just how wrong they are, they need to see that the difference doesn’t make a difference.

Black and white people are all human beings and all human beings work and live and thrive better together – as a whole. Not as separate communities; festering hate and prejudice and resentment, not as individuals; struggling to exist in each other’s hostile environments – but as one.

As a final example of just how idiotic racism is and how stupidly prejudiced those who discriminate because of it are, take a look at this 'Spot The Difference' image:

Shower sketch - Mercorabilia

Oh what the heck - have another:

<tense music plays>
A: Right. I’m almost there. Maybe if it turn the dial just slightly to the right.
<sound of a blast of water>
A: Argh! No – too far! Maybe a bit to the left.
<sound of a blast of water>
A: Argh! Too cold! Too cold!
<sound of knocking on door>
B: (Off) What on earth are you doing in there?
A: I’m just trying to get the temperature right on this shower.
B: (Off) But you’ve been in there an hour and a half!
A: I know. But if a job’s worth doing...
B: (Off) There are other people who want to use the bathroom
A: I won’t be much longer.
B: (Off) You said that half an hour ago.
A: Well, it’s delicate work this.
B: (Off) If you have so much trouble with the shower, why not just have a sink wash?
A: I like the shower
B: (Off) So do I. but I can never get in there.
A: You’ll just have to wait your turn.
B: (Off) Wait my…! Right!
<sound of door opening>
A: What are you doing?
B: Are you coming out or not?
A: Not.
B: Don’t make me use the flush.
A: You wouldn’t dare!
<sound of toilet flushing>
A: Argh! Alright - I’m out! I’m out!
<background sound of shower ends>
B: At last! Close the door on your way out.
<sound of closing door>
B: Now then – time for a nice shower.
<sound of shower turning on>
B: Hmm. Maybe a bit warmer.
<sound of a blast of water>
B: Ooh – too hot! Maybe a bit colder.
<sound of a blast of water>
B: Hmm – too cold. This is obviously going to take a while.

Toaster sketch - Mercorabilia

So my laptop broke a few weeks ago. Luckily its replacement has now arrived. So... have a sketch!

General: My lords and… other lords. I, the General of Electric, present to you my latest and, dare I say, greatest invention. Behold <flourish as a cloth covering is removed> a toaster!

<sounds of oohs and aahs>

Scientist A: It’s beautiful!

Scientist B: It’s wonderful!

Scientist A: How does it work?

General: It’s quite simple. The plain untoasted bread is inserted into either of the TWO purpose-built slots on the top here.  I push this lever which lowers the bread into the bowels of the machine. After an indeterminate length of time, there is a ping! sound and the prepared toast emerges back up through the slot. And it is thus that I intend the process of making toast will become fully automated!

Scientist C: Are you sure?

General: What?
Scientist C: Are you sure it’ll be automated? You don’t think the person operating the toaster will be compelled to hover around the toaster to keep an eye on it while it works - just to be on the safe side?

General: No! They won’t! It’ll be absolutely fine!

Scientist C: So how long does it take?

General: Ah. Now - the machine is fitted with 6 time settings numbered 1 to 6 on the dial on the side here.

Scientist C: And these represent the minutes for toasting?

General: <laughs> Of course not! They denote how well you want your toast done.

Scientist C: I see.

General: 1 is for those who enjoy warm bread. 2 is for charcoal. 3 is for ash. 4 is for lightly darker ash…

Scientist C: Excuse me – ash? Who would want ash?

General: Loads of people. Now, as I was saying…

Scientist C: But isn’t there a setting for just nicely done toast? Something between 1 and 2?

General: But that would be 1.5! You can’t have a half measure – that’s ridiculous!

Scientist C: Is it?

General: Of course!

Scientist C: Oh. Well, I’m sorry, General, but I’m afraid I’ll be sticking with more traditional methods.

General: Such as?

Scientist C: Release the flaming arrow!

<sound of an arrow being loosed and striking its target followed by the sound of singeing>

Scientist C: Ah – lovely.

From The Mind of Merc - Motivation

Sometimes I find my mind wandering over various eclectic topics and occasionally I am inspired to write some of them down. Today I was thinking about motivation – specifically relating to the UK government (twice in as many months but can you blame me).

I'm not the best artist so have resorted to clipart and paint once again to create the analogy that occurred to me

Confucius sketch - Mercorabilia

I was fortunate enough to catch another of John Finnemore's Flying Visits last week and, whenever I'm that fortunate, it always proves rather inspirational. I therefore present my latest sketch investigating the origins of some very wise words:

<sound of buzzing>

Bystander: Blasted mosquito! It just won’t leave me alone. I wonder what it would take to get rid of it.

Confucius: Ah – this is most fortunate. I have been wanting to examine this very conundrum myself.

Bystander: Have you?

Confucius: Indeed so. If you will allow me, I will proceed with my experiments. First we try the hand.

<sound of swiping. buzzing sound continues>

Confucius: Hmm. Ineffectual. Next we move on to the flyswat.

<sound of swatting. buzzing sound continues>

Confucius: Nothing. Hmm. Let us try something else. Would you pass me that newspaper.

<rustling sound of a newspaper being handed over>

Confucius: Now then.

<sounds of swooshing then a thwack>

Bystander: Ow!

Confucius: Sorry.

<buzzing continues>

Confucius: It is a most persistent creature. There’s nothing for it. We’ll have to bring out the big guns.

Bystander: And what does that involve?

Confucius: This.

<rumbling sounds>

Bystander: A cannon? Isn’t that a bit much?

Confucius: We shall soon see. Fire!

<sound of a cannon being fired followed by exploding and collapsing rubble. buzzing stops>

Confucius: Success! I have defeated it.

Bystander: Yes, but you’ve also ‘defeated’ that house. Look - you’ve blown a massive great chunk out of the wall. Who knows what the owners going to think of that!

Confucius: Hmm. Very interesting. I must document this.

<sound of quill scratching on parchment>

Confucius: Confucius say “Never use cannon to kill mosquito”

Guess Who sketch - Mercorabilia

Partly inspired by John Finnemore and his (seemingly) favourite game – as it makes a regular appearance at his shows – and by my trip yesterday to catch his Flying Visit to Nottingham, I present this:

Fred: Now then… I’ve considered all the evidence carefully, and I believe the man I’m looking for… has… a beard!

Joe: Nope.

Fred: Damn!

<sound of Guess Who tiles being put down>

Fred: This is a rotten game.

Joe: You’re just a sore loser.

Fred: Can you blame me?

Joe: Can I blame you for being a sore loser? Yes – absolutely!

Fred: Well, I mean look at it. You’ve only got 4 possibles left. I’ve got half the board. I knew I didn’t stand a chance when I picked a woman card.

Fred: Anyway, it’s your go.

Joe: Right. I reckon the person I’m looking for has… large earrings.

Fred: <after a pause> Maybe.

Joe: What do you mean maybe? They either do or they don’t.

Fred: Well… they might.

Joe: Oh, you’re such a sore loser!

Fred: I am not! I wish you’d stop saying that!

Joe: Well, it’s true. Do they have large earrings or not?

Fred: Alright yes.

Joe: Thank you.

<sound of Guess Who tiles being put down>

Fred: Stupid game.

Joe: Stop being a sore loser – it’s your go.

Fred: Hmph. Let’s see. Whoops!

<sound of Guess Who boards rattling>

Joe: Hey!

Fred: Oh dear me.

Joe: You did that on purpose!

Fred: I did not!

Joe: You did! You’re such a sore loser. There was no need for you to shove the board like that.

Fred: I am not! And I had to grab the board – otherwise I would have lost my balance.

Joe: But it’s completely thrown off the game – we don’t know which ones were up and which were down now. We’ll have to start all over again.

Fred: No – let’s not. It’s a stupid game anyway. How about I Spy instead?

Joe: Alright. I spy with my little eye something beginning with S-L.

Fred: S-L. Hmm. S-L… Hang on – it’s Sore Loser, isn’t it?

Joe: There you are – you actually won something!

From The Mind of Merc - Decision Making

Sometimes I find my mind wandering over various eclectic topics and occasionally I am inspired to write some of them down. Today I was thinking about decision making – specifically those related to the UK government.

I used to think that maybe this was how it works:

But I’m not starting to think it’s like this:

How on earth did we go from the term ‘Prime Minister’ being an insult (Robert Walpole – the first person to technically hold the position from 1721-1742 – objected strongly to being described thus)

to the Prime Minister himself being an insult – referring to black people as ‘picanninies’ with ‘watermelon smiles’ #notmypm

I mean, come on:

Maybe overall it’s a case of:

And until then the best of British to all!

The Point of No Return - !!!NEW!!!

And secondly, a parody of a classic with a topical twist:

The Point of No Return not by Andrew Lloyd Webber
We are now here
At the end of all our lifelines
In pursuit of ease and comfort we sought and now look
Now look
We are now here
And our hopes are now far behind
If we have only been prepared to try
Dropped all the pretence, committed ourselves to try
Now we are here without a solution
We have arrived, we’ve arrived

Past the point of no return
Don’t want to be here 
All we could have done, it’s just too bad
Past the chance to make it right
No use re(mi)niscing
We threw away every chance we had 
What might have been if we’d done more?
What could have been achieved before
When sweet salvation lay before us?

Past the point of no return
The final countdown
What could be done when we’d the chance to learn
Before the point of no return?

We are now here
At that point at which it’s too late
At that point at which all we can do is stand and look
Just look
We are now here
(Al)ready knowing that it’s our fate
In our hearts we had always imagined we’d find a way out and escape from this nightmare
But now we are here without a solution
We have arrived, we’ve arrived

Past the point of no return
No second chances
Our fate is what we brought onto ourselves
Past the chance to right the wrong
If we’d just listened
Could we have avoided what we now face?
Why did we not notice the
Last of our hopes begin to fade?
Why did we let our greed consume us?

Past the point of no return
The final countdown
The bridge is crossed, so stand and watch it burn

We've passed the point of no return

The Ex-Kniggit Sketch - Mercorabilia

As I'm running out of month you're getting 2 for the price of 1.

First off, a sketch which given my hobby as a medieval re-enactor was pretty much inevitable

(A noble approaches a castle.)
Sir Praline: 'Ello, I wish to register a complaint.
(The Baron does not respond.)
Sir Praline: Oi, you coward!
Baron: Who you calling Howard?
Sir Praline: (choosing not to correct him) I'm sorry, I have a cold. I wish to make a complaint!
Baron: Sorry, we're closed.
Sir Praline: Never mind that, my lord. I wish to complain about this knight what I purchased not half a year ago from this very castle.
Baron: Oh yes, the, uh, the John de Grey... What's, uh...What's wrong with ‘im?
Sir Praline: I'll tell you what's wrong with ‘im, my lord. 'E's dead, that's what's wrong with ‘im!
Baron: No, no, 'e's uh... he's resting.
Sir Praline: Look, matey, I know a dead knight when I see one, and I'm looking at one right now.
Baron: No, no, he's not dead, he's, he's restin'! Remarkable lad, the John de Grey, innit, eh? Excellent lineage!
Sir Praline: The lineage don't enter into it. He’s stone dead.
Baron: No, no, no, no, no, no! 'E's resting!
Sir Praline: All right then, if he's restin', I'll wake him up! (shouting at the helmet) 'Ello, Mister Jolly Kniggit! I've got a lovely fresh goblet of mead for you if you show...
(Baron hits the armour)
Baron: There, he moved!
Sir Praline: No, he didn't, that was you hitting the helmet!
Baron: I never!!
Sir Praline: Yes, you did!
Baron: I never, never did anything...
Sir Praline: (yelling and hitting the knight repeatedly) 'ELLO KNIGHTY!!!!! Testing! Testing! Testing! Testing! This is your nine o'clock alarm call!
(Bashes the knight about the helmet a couple of times, lifts him up and down a couple of times then lets him go and watches him collapse to the floor.)
Sir Praline: Now that's what I call a dead kniggit.
Baron: No, no.....No, 'e's stunned!
Sir Praline: STUNNED?!?
Baron: Yeah! You stunned ‘im, just as ‘e was wakin' up! John De Greys stun easily.
Sir Praline: Now look, sire, I've definitely 'ad enough of this. That knight is definitely deceased, and when I purchased ‘im not 'alf an year ago, you assured me that ‘is total lack of movement was due to ‘im bein' tired and shagged out following a prolonged siege.
Baron: Well, he's...he's, ah...probably psyching himself up for battle.
Sir Praline: PSYCHING UP for BATTLE?!?!?!? What kind of talk is that?, look, why did ‘e fall flat on his back the moment I got 'im to the Holy Land?
Baron: The John De Grey prefers kippin' on ‘is back! Remarkable bloke, in’e, sire? Great lineage!
Sir Praline: Look, I took the liberty of examining that knight when I got ‘im there, and I discovered the only reason that ‘e had been standing up in ‘is armour in the first place was that he had gone stiff.
Baron: Well, o'course ‘e’s gone stiff! But listen once all that wears off, ‘e’ll grab his sword out of his scabbard, head straight for the nearest Saracen, and POW! 
Sir Praline: "POW"?!? Mate, this bloke wouldn't "pow" if you sent four million concubines at ‘im! 'E's bleedin' demised!
Baron: No no! 'E's preparing!
Sir Praline: 'E's not preparin’! 'E's passed on! This knight is no more! He has ceased to be! 'E's expired and gone to meet 'is maker! 'E's a corpse! Bereft of life, 'e rests in peace! If ‘e hadn't gone stiff in his armour 'e'd be clogging up the scrap heap! 'Is metabolic processes are now 'istory! 'E's ‘opped the twig! 'E's kicked the bucket, 'e's shuffled off this mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the bleedin' choir invisible!! THIS IS AN EX-KNIGGIT!!
(pause)
Baron: Well, I'd better replace ‘im, then. (he takes a quick peek behind the counter) Sorry sire, I've had a look 'round the back, and uh, we're right out of knights.
Sir Praline: I see. I see, I get the picture.
Baron: (pause) I got a squire.
(pause)
Sir Praline: Pray, does it fight?
Baron: Yup.
Sir Praline: Right – I’ll ‘ave that one then.