This page is just some stories, articles, sketches, monologues etc., that I've written. Not all of it's comedy either. I have some leaning towards science fiction (surprise, surprise)

Star Wars and Me. Star Wars. I've heard it referred to as the guy's "Dirty Dancing". It certainly means alot to me, the 36 year-old male, with a life-long obsession with comic books. The type of person Kevin Smith aims his films at. I was 7 when Star Wars first came out. I remember my love of it from the beginning, although, strangely, I never got to see it when it came out... Although The Empire Strikes Back was my first foray into the cinematic experience of the Star Wars saga, in 1980, we did try to make the trip to the original. I guess it was late '77, or early '78, that my dad, probably pissed off 'cos it was taking time out of his drinking, tried to drag us in to town to see it, but it was full. And I mean FULL. I've never seen crowds this big hanging around cinemas since. We couldn't get in. I believe we went to see The Rescuers instead, but my memory has blocked out that experience for some reason... However... I was hooked from the get-go, thanks to the Star Wars collection of my childhood chum, John Crawford. He had all the comics, games, figures, everything, and he introduced me. ( I often wonder what happened to John. He moved to America or Australia I think, and I never heard from him again... I hope he's happy wherever he is) By the time I finally got to see Empire, I already knew the characters and story inside out. It was the best thing since Spiderman and Superman combined!!! I remember getting a special edition of the comic-strip adaptation, after running down to the local newsagent, The Gem, for it (when was the last time you remember running to the newsagents?). and cherishing it for years. I don't have it any more, but recently got it in another format, and it sends shivers down the spine, as every panel comes back to me. My one regret was never getting a Millennium Falcon. That honour fell to my younger brother Dave. I'm actually fixing it up for him at the moment, as it's gotten wrecked over the years, but under strict instructions to return it to him when it's finished. Damn. Fortunately modern culture affords the chance for a guy in his 30s to buy all those toys from years ago, on Ebay or whatever, without the fear of scorn for such childish purchases (or maybe we just got better at ignoring said scorn), and I'm now the proud owner of an AT-AT, an Imperial Troop Transporter, and Slave 1. Next on the agenda? My old Micronauts spaceships... (right after I sort out an Adult-Size Chopper). Then I remember the anticipation for Revenge of the Jedi, as it was then known. And as silly as it looks today, Ewoks and all, I found it flawless at the time (even though it's a reworking of Episode 4, 'cos it was originally all written as one film). The Marvel UK comic book was a mainstay of my early teens, and was virtually impossible to get in the shops. I had to chase it down, week after week. When it eventually folded, in '86, I switched to 2000ad to fill the void, but that's a whole other story! Then the long wait. And Episode 1 - The Pharting Men'sArse came out to an almost unanimous 'WTF?'. I remember trying to like it, and accepting it as real Star wars, in much the same way as I tried to accept the Sylvester McCoy years as 'real Doctor Who', but now... I'm sorry, George, I can't. It just doesn't cry out the same way to me as the earlier trilogy. (and believe me, I like ALOT of crap Sci-fi..I still think Andromeda is brilliant). Yes, I have episodes 1 - 3 on dvd, for completion's sake. But can I recite them word for word, as with the 70s films? Eh...no. I couldn't even follow what planet they were on at any given time during Episode 1 (Granted, I was stoned for the first viewing, and had put it down to that, but found it made even less sense / drama / wonderment sober!). And the most disappointing thing about it? Vader, the menace of my childhood, is now, in my eyes, a whinging little bastard. Now I hear talk of a TV series. I hope it can restore my faith in what Star Wars is capable of. After all, it happened for Doctor Who. George, if you ever read this, let Kevin Smith or someone do it. Just go off and remaster Howard the Duck, instead.

Bob the Vampire BOB THE VAMPIRE By Robert Bonham (This is one that may become a book..I've only really got the start of it written...) CHAPTER ONE Okay, so here’s where I’m at, at the moment: I’m currently holed up in the cargo hold of a plane, on my way to the good ol’ U.S of A! It’s a tad cramped in here, and the remains of the Chinese I had will soon start to stink up the place. I’ve been forced to leave the country, go somewhere bigger, where I can’t be tracked down so easily. Ireland is way too small when you’re a soulless, undead killing machine. So, I thought, while I’m stuck in the bowels of this craft, I might as well recount to you, dear reader, the events in my life that have brought me to this point. Let you into the mind of a modern day vampire, if you will. You may find my point of view a little disturbing at times, sometimes sexist, sometimes racist (such as my reference to the Chinese guy who was kind enough to supply my in-flight sustenance). So just remember that, one: I am a soulless creature of the undead, and two: be you white, black, Chinese, male, female, old or young, I believe that every Human being is equal… You’re all food. Anyway, as a Human being, I sucked (if you’ll pardon the pun). I was almost thirty, and hitting a downward spiral. I drank too much, I smoked too much, couldn’t hold onto a job, or a girlfriend. Most of my life was just an alcoholic blur. I was also still living at home, although wearing out my welcome at an alarming rate. On this particular day, probably a Monday, I woke up still drunk, and decided to prolong my drunkenness before the hangover came knocking on my door. So, I rang in sick to my latest, crappy job, and headed straight for the pub. It was my last morning as a Human being. When you go on drunken benders, you will invariably end up in pubs or places you never new existed, and this was one such day. I’d been drinking since about eleven in the morning, and it was now about nine at night. I had just woken up on the back of a bus, and was once again half drunk, half hungover. I stumbled off the bus, much to the bewilderment of the driver, and went looking for the nearest bar, or at least, the nearest one that would let me in, in my disheveled state I found a new bar, on the southside of town, called "Stokers". It was one of those theme bars, the theme being the whole vampire thing. I went in, and was quite astounded by what I saw. The pub was divided into two bars, the "Day-walkers" and the "Night-crawlers". The "Day-walkers" bar was full of crosses, framed pictures of Buffy, and Peter Cushing from all those old Hammer Horror films. It was filled with a crowd of mostly young folk, into the whole ‘Buffy’ thing. Even the toilets were marked "Buffy’s" or "Angel’s". The "Night-crawlers" bar was much more interesting. I pulled up a stool at the bar, ordered a pint of "blood-weiser", and took in my surroundings, while staving off my hangover. There were a lot of framed pictures of Dracula, in his various incarnations from over the years. Also, various movie posters, and pictures of Spike, out of Buffy. The crowd in this bar was much more gothic. A lot of sullen looking people, with faces painted white. The night continued much as any drunken night I've ever had. I got progressively more drunk, introduced myself to people, talking complete bulshit. Eyed up women, but just could not work up the nerve to chat them up. Anyway, I was still unwashed and unshaven from the night before. I did notice a very strange individual, however, who I would later come to know simply as Foster, but you will learn more of him later in my story, dear readers. And then I met her. Yes, my friends, there is always a woman that suddenly enters a man life and changes it either for the better, or screws it up completely. This woman would do both. Her name was Nina, although I would not remember her name in the morning, we were about to have a life changing meeting. Actually, make that a life ending meeting. She was an absolute stunner. Really long jet-black hair that curled slightly, a gorgeous body, dressed in tight black. She had deep brown eyes, and wore really dark, wet lipstick. This was definitely a girl that could teach me a few things, but the old lack of confidence was well set into my psyche, and I just thought she was so gorgeous, that she was well out of my league. She approached me: "Hi there," she said, in an accent I couldn't quite place, " always nice to see an unfamiliar face in this place. You from around here?" I couldn't believe my luck! I mumbled some sort of response, that , like most of tonight, I would not remember in the morning. I do know that she made the first move. I can remember a lot of clapping from some of the other customers as she gently caressed the back of my head and, well, proceeded to wear the face off me. It was a great kiss, and I can remember feeling very drained of energy at the time, but I put that down to the amount of booze I had had that day. I also had a slight memory of some heavy petting that went on between us in an alleyway outside the pub, and a receiving a very long and painful love bite from her. Yes my friends, we all know now what that "love bite" was, but at the time I was so drunk, it didn't feel all that painful. And then she let out a little giggle. You know, that type of laugh someone makes when they know something you don't? And then she vanished… Anyway, that's about all I remember of that night. I don't know how I made it home, but there always seemed to me to be some guardian angel of drunks, that leads you home no matter what state you get into. It was, as I said earlier , my last night as a human being… The next morning was quite an experience. Imagine the worst hangover you've ever had, and multiply it by a hundred. No, a thousand. Well, you're not even close. And I was a man well used to a hangover.

Midges

And now the spring is upon us once more, so it is with a heavy heart that I resign myself to another six months of bullying from my most mortal of enemies....the midge. Why do I fear them so? Well firstly, they have the capacity to reduce the 'coolest' of people to idiots, in no time flat, through their main superpower..that of non visibilty. Yes, you could be sauntering along one minute, topped up to the nines in your newest high street fashions, looking good, and trying to impress any passing ladies. Looking good, that is, until you happen under the nearest tree, and there they are! You don't notice 'til they're upon you, but ARGHHH! Into the face. Into that carefully combed hair. Into the eyes!!! There is no way you can maintain any sort of composure at this point! People across the street can't see them at all! To far away eyes, you look like the local madman, crying out and arms flailing about, as if trying to ward off the voices in your head, telling you to kill people. The ladies run... And so it brings me to the main realisation I had about the 'humble' midge. These seemingly harmless creatures are indeed the 'scumbags' of the insect world. They hang around in gangs, waiting for some innocent passerby, and then they pounce! I myself walked through a gang of these visibility-evading vermin one day, only to hear, I swear, a tiny, tiny little midge voice mutter under his breath...."Ya, muppet!", and all his little scumbag midge minions break out in laughter before the inevitavle assault. And like all scumbags, they are, of course, very big when they're in a gang. But you get one on it's own, and it's a different story, oh yes! They don't even meet your eye, hoping you won't notice them as part of that gang that attacked you yesterday. I may invest in a hat, this summer.

The Importance of Cartoons

This is something I wrote a couple of years ago... The Importance of Cartoons By Robert Bonham Ah, yes! Cartoons. That much maligned, much underrated, and frequently much ignored artform. And I don't refer, for now, just to the animal antics of animated cats and mice (although, that, too, has its place), but rather to the printed variety, home to magazines and newspapers, since publishing first began. Cartoons, as an artform, firstly, have a unique ability to combine both visual art, and written ideas, jokes, stories etc., often with a subject matter considered bad taste, or taboo, in modern society, but which, nonetheless, I feel, needs to be brought to peoples attention. A cartoonist's craft may be akin to that of a stand-up comedian, albeit without the performance aspect to it. Cartoonists, writers, comics, and others of that ilk have an ability to stand back from the world, and see the craziness that exists, in an almost 'Alice in Wonderland' kind of way. Just as we need our Lenny Bruces, Bill Hicks', and Billy Connollys, we also need our Art Spiegelmans, Robert Crumbs, and Matt Groenings. The most popular, or certainly, most widely known cartoonists, and indeed, comics (of the stand-up variety), are those that comment on the everyday things affecting our lives, be it politics, religion, sport, the world of TV etc. But in this ever changing and, I hope, progressive society, many new subjects are being broached; Sexuality, childhood traumas, racism, to name but three. The advantage of cartoons over, say, news reports, is that cartoon images create in our minds pictures that stick with us, through the attraction of their presentation. If I refer back, for example, to the Tom and Jerry cartoons I mentioned earlier, we all found hilarious the acts of violence, and their outcomes, envisaged in those cartoons, and can instantly remember that if a clothes iron is launched down Tom's throat, he will end up with an iron shaped tail, which will propel him into some closet filled with lots of heavy household junk, but that sort of thing wouldn't really work in a live action show. But I digress… As mentioned earlier, there is also the nature of the taboo, or even just socially embarrassing, subjects. Take, for example, Art Spiegelman's "Maus", a re-telling of the holocaust from HIS point of view, in which Nazis are represented by cats, and Jews, by mice. The intent, I think, of this, is NOT to make light of the holocaust, but rather to let us see it in a way that entertains (without detracting from the seriousness of the subject matter) and will leave us with mental images that will stick with us. It's also a way of 'standing back' from the whole thing, and seeing it through the 'looking glass' point of view; how bizarre and absolutely unbelievable it is that such a thing could happen, in 'civilized' society. Society, as we know, has a lot of problems, not helped by the fact that the majority of society is in denial about it's problems. Cartoons have a way of getting through that denial, so the readers, and I like to think, 'sane' people can see all this and think: "Yeah! This cartoon / idea / observation is so right!" Cartoons appeal to a much more common denominator than, say, political rallying might. Take, for example, the trouble Viz comic (a British humour publication) got into, when it ran a comic strip featuring Harold Shipman and Fred West ( two notorious serial killers in England) living as neighbours, AND made light of it all. This upset a lot of people, understandably so. But a lot of people it would have upset would have been those who liked to live in denial that such a thing existed in our society. I'm sure if a comic strip was done exposing the child sex abuse that goes on in the catholic church, for example, it would, again understandably, upset a lot of people. But it would also bring into people's lives the fact that this IS all going on. Sorry if you find it offensive, but as long as society lets things like this happen, they must be brought to society's attention, or we all just slip back into denial. All I have said, so far, is, of course, just my own opinion, but with my impression of society as it is, the old orders of politics and religion don't seem to be agreeable with today's newly forming beliefs. We are moving into more 'interesting' times (to allude to that old Chinese proverb) and, as ever, we need our commentators, be it cartoonists, comedians etc., to show us the lunacy of society's ways, from out-dated religious orders, to 'presidents' buying their way into power, to the guy living two blocks away, who can't keep up with the world, and, in a week's time, is going back to his school fully armed, to get back those he thinks have him feeling this way… 17/11/03

Waking Moments

A short sci-fi story I wrote for Sci-Fi Quarterly WAKING MOMENTS By Robert Bonham 1: Captain Richard Darius opened his eyes gradually, the white light almost blinding him. He looked up to see an unfamiliar face gazing down at him, but this man still had the unmistakable look of a doctor. “Who are you?” asked Darius, a little croakedly. “I’m Doctor Bronski,” answered the stranger, affirming Darius’ guess, “ but can you tell me who you are?” “Yes, I’m Captain Richard Darius, of the Earthcorps science ship, Broadstar.” “Do you know the date?” “Not exactly,” answered Darius, and began to do the maths, “I know we left for Altair Minor on March 26th, 2083, and it was an eighteen month mission, both ways, so… wait a minute… I don’t remember us getting to Altair, so…” “Oh, you got to Altair alright,” said Doctor Bronski, while checking Darius’ blood pressure, “but the automatic resuscitation system failed on the suspended animation pods. You were still in deep sleep when you crashed into the surface of Altair Minor. Rescue teams found you ten months ago.” “And what about my two crewmen, Lieutenant Carstairs, and Doctor Osmond?” asked Darius, feeling he would not like the imminent answer. He was right. “I’m afraid they’re dead”, said Bronski, solemnly. “When your ship hit the surface, their animation pods were destroyed. I don’t know how yours survived the impact, but you were still asleep when we found you.” “How long was I asleep?” asked Darius, tentatively. “Well,” started Bronski, looking down at his shoes, braced himself, and looked Darius in the eyes, “ it’s now 2094. You were in suspended animation for nearly eleven years…” Realisation dawned on Darius’ face. “Eleven years?” “Yes” “Oh, God. Lisa… Lisa!” “Relax, Captain. Your… wife has been notified. She’ll be here shortly. But for now you must rest.” But Richard Darius couldn’t rest. He had to see his wife. 2: Lisa Darius stood in the doorway of the hospital ward. But she was no longer Lisa Darius. At least, not the Lisa Darius he knew. She was a little older, but not old enough to warrant the amount of grey hair, or lines on her face, that she now sported. And she looked a little… “I don’t know,” thought Darius “bitter? Battle-hardened?” But she was no longer Lisa Darius. Legally. “Remarried?” asked Darius, disbelievingly. “Oh, come on Rich, you were only supposed to be gone for eighteen months,” she tried reasoning, but feeling a lifetime of guilt, “I thought you were dead. We all did. After four years of mourning, I had to move on. I remarried two years ago. “Tommy,” said Darius, “what about our Tommy? He must be… fourteen? No,” He tried to do the maths, again, “ twelve… thirteen? How is he? Lisa stared blankly at him, then covered her face with her hands. “Oh my God, they didn’t tell you. I thought they’d told you!” “Told me what?” “Richard,” she paused, not knowing how to say what she was about to say, “Tommy… Tommy died… five years ago. In a boating accident. He and some school friends…” But Richard Darius was not listening. His world had fallen apart. 3: A few months had passed, and after a lot of physiotherapy, Darius had full use of his limbs again, but was still staying in the hospital. At the moment, he was taking a stroll through the hospital grounds. He had not seen Lisa since that day, and doubted he ever would. But better not to dwell on it, he thought. He was enjoying the fresh air, and listening to the sound of nature around him. Fresh air, grass, and birdsong were not that common, in this latter half of the twenty first century. There wasn’t much room for people to build any more houses, factories, hospitals, or anything, so people built upwards. This hospital alone had a hundred and two floors, and on the roof garden, it was one of the few places relatively free of the smog-ridden streets down below. It was almost quiet. He strained to hear a few birds in the far corner of the garden. And then he heard something else. It sounded like a human voice, but muffled by something. He could make out the words ‘mother ship, this is rescue one’ and something about ‘skeletons’. Then a bright light seemed to shine right through his eyes, into his mind. He collapsed. When he came to, he tried to get up, but found his legs were not working anymore… “I have to say, I’m baffled,” said Doctor Bronski, pacing up and down, tapping his glasses on his bottom lip. “Baffled? Is that a scientific term, Doc?” snapped Darius, edgily. “I can find nothing physically wrong with your legs. The muscles, tendons, bones all fine. So are your vertebrae. I can only think it must be something psychological.” “Well, that might explain the voices,” said Darius, “or the white light I saw.” “Ah yes, the voices,” mused Bronski, “I think I can explain that.” He sat down on the bed beside Darius. “The ship that found you, the Nautilus, sent a single man down to search your craft. They figured there would be no one left there to rescue, as it had crashed there nine years previously, and was almost completely wrecked in the crash. However,” he continued, “ the man that discovered you would have used the title ‘rescue one’ when talking to the mother ship.” He went on: “ You said it sounded muffled. I think your subconscious may have heard his conversation with the mother ship. The muffling may have been his helmet, combined with fact that you were encased in an animation pod.” “ And the word ‘skeletons’?” asked Darius. “ He may have been referring to… what was left of your colleagues, Osmond and…” “Carstairs.” “Yes,” murmured Bronski, apologetically, “ Lieutenant Carstairs.” So, that was it. For the moment, Captain Darius was confined to a wheelchair. But, as it turned out, he would never walk again. 4: Three weeks later, Darius came to a decision. He had been having suicidal thoughts, recently, and the anti depressant injections he was receiving were not working. He had lost the will to go on. He had lost his wife, kid, and the use of his legs. He went to the bathroom to run a cold bath… The bath was full now, so he locked the door behind him. He barely managed to reach up to the medicine cabinet, and took out a packet of razor blades. But as he closed the little mirrored door of the medicine cabinet, he got the fright of his life. Reflected in the mirror, standing behind him, were the mutilated, decaying corpses of his two dead crewmen. In sheer terror, he dropped the packet pf razor blades into his lap. Carstairs and Osmond stood right of front of him now, flesh dripping from their bones, eyes missing from their sockets, and the stench, God, the stench was over powering. He could hardly hold on to the contents of his stomach. Then they pointed their fingers at him accusingly, and spoke: “ You killled ussss…” “ You mussst paayyyy…” “ You will burnn in Helll…” They both mouthed the words simultaneously, but the eerie sound of their voices seemed to come from everywhere. Darius was now aware of a deep pain, just above his legs. He looked down to see that the razor blades he had dropped into his lap were now cutting through his legs. He tried to scream… …And then he died. “Mother ship,” said the voice, “ am now standing outside what remains of the Broadstar. Am going in” “ Roger that, rescue one.” The lone man sent down to see what remained of the Broadstar stepped tentatively inside. After twenty minutes, he reported back to the ship: “ Mother ship, this is rescue one. Have found where the life pods were located. I’ve found the skeletal remains of Lieutenant Carstairs and Doctor Osmond. Their life pods were obviously smashed right open on impact. Am now looking for the third pod.” “ Roger. Over” Ten minutes later: “Mother ship, this is rescue one. I’ve just found what appears to be half a skeleton. It’s just basically hips and legs. Have also found the third life pod. It wasn’t smashed open like the others, so the rest of the body must still be inside…” He wrenched open the third life pod, and went white… Captain Richard Darius opened his eyes, looked down, tried to scream, and instantly died of shock. All that remained now in that life pod was the lifeless upper half of Darius’ body. In the split second between waking and dying, Darius’ mind had given him enough time for one last dream. He dreamt of home, of his wife, and of his child. And his dream turned into a nightmare. And then his nightmare was over.