The Big What If?

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Suggested Audio Jukebox ♫

[1] The Christians “Ideal World”

[2] Lou Reed “Perfect Day”

[3] Johnny Cash “I Walk The Line”

 

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It all sounds frightfully downbeat don’t cha think? The words “what if?” are traditionally never far away from “things had been different” and usually spoken whilst bingeing on marshmallow fluff after a break-up or “I’d stuck to the speed limit” upon inspecting the roadkill we just fashioned in a thirty zone. However, my exercise this day is to explore a few of the more obscure (and often vaguely ridiculous) mysteries of the universe and see if that throws up any light on anything other than my current mental state. Chances are it won’t but it does sound suspiciously like a perfectly sound opportunity for harmless shenanigans and I’ve never been one to pass up a handful of those little fun-sized nuggets. So, without further ado, I say we get this show on the road don’t you? And to ease us in, let’s start with the burning question on everyone’s lips shall we?

What if the bad guys won?

 

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I’d gleefully dance an Irish jig in nothing more than a pair of paisley socks and spare not a solitary thought for the fallen. Tweetie Pie, Jerry The Mouse, Road Runner – these are but three of the animated characters who have had it coming for way too long now and it’s about time they received their comeuppance in my opinion. Hasn’t Wile E. Coyote suffered enough? How many more lives can Tom afford to waste before he goes to the great litter tray in the sky? And is it just me that finds that pesky canary ever so faintly cocky? Flick him from his perch Sylvester. Better yet, bite off his bulbous yellow head and then we’ll see what he tawt he taw. Moreover, isn’t it about time that Dastardly & Muttley claimed pole position for the Wacky Races? Does nobody reward industry anymore? At least offer them a lifetime achievement award after all the cunning plans they have concocted. Penelope Pitstop may be a grade A piece of tail but she’s far too squeaky clean for my liking. We live in a cynical world and it’s high time a little of that rubs off on Hanna-Barbera if you ask me, just to mix things up a dash.

What if The Spice Girls were a five-headed monster?

 

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Think of the possibilities here. Said mutation could boast Ginger’s cheeky “I once consumed a whole aubergine without once moving my lips” grin, Sporty’s steely “I could bench press more than you and crush you between my thighs like a walnut” glare, Posh’s quite frankly ridiculous “I have no idea where you heard that ladies fart” pout, Scary’s terrifying “I’m going to fuck your kidney through your ear lobe” snarl, and Baby’s wide-eyed “oopsie, guess who just went poo poo” lower lip bite and maybe, just maybe, a comeback would be on the cards. They already know how to make two become one, so what’s three more in the greater scheme of things? Think of it as the Swiss Army Spice and you’ve got yourself the best of no less than five worlds rolled into one. Also, think of the fun to be had in beheading this beast one bonce at a time should it grow a little too frisky as it invariably would. That said, five times the girl power could be too much for the Spice Monster to harness and it could go on a murderous rampage aboard a Double Decker bus. What do you mean, that already happened?

What if Donald Trump was elected into office?

 

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This one chills me to the very marrow and beyond. I mean, how can he possibly run a country effectively when his evenings and weekends are tied up building a pointless wall to rival the great one in China? It’s a sad day when we resort to getting Hilary Clinton bumper stickers but I’d rather that than the Trump Toupée take off as it’s better the devil you loathe a little less after all. We’re running out of time to stick the boot in before the unthinkable happens and, should this muculent mogul receive the swing vote, then I’m eloping to the Waka Waka Islands and not showing my face until someone assassinates this repulsive man and saves us all the indignity of World War 3. For the record, has anyone else noticed that Conan O’Brien disappeared from our screens right around the time that Trump decided to run for president? Tell me that’s not suspicious.

What if superheroes became unruly?

 

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Ordinarily these caped crusaders are more than happy foiling any criminal masterminds before their plans for global domination can be realized and save the fate of mankind in the process. However, after one too many kegs of pear cider, perhaps things would play out rather different. It’s scientifically proven that too much power goes to our heads so, throw a little judgement-impairing alcohol into the mix, and we could have an almighty superhero revolt on our hands. Next time you see Bruce Banner stomping down a dark alley at the dead of night, check to see whether his eyes are bloodshot and there’s a chloroform-doused rag hanging out of his pocket, as the Hulk Smash is far less appetizing a prospect without a shit ton of K-Y Jelly. And don’t even get me started on The Hammer of Thor. That said, I’d be intrigued to see what Wonder Woman gets up to after one too many Rolling Rocks.

What if canines could articulate themselves better?

 

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Naturally we just presume that dogs enjoy being dragged by short leash from pillar to post and playing dead for our personal amusement but I reckon they’d have something to say about the matter if only elocution wasn’t such an issue. Imagine the despondency when your beloved Beagle pipes up and informs you that you should “fetch it yourself, you negligible heathen” while reciting W.B. Yeats. Take those pets for granted at your peril and, whatever you do, don’t leave any literature lying around the house as every time they fetch the morning rag from the doorstep, they’re likely brushing up on their current affairs. Of course, they’ll still lick their balls, as old habits die hard. But it won’t be so harmless once they start borrowing their owner’s electric toothbrushes afterwards to defunk those tongues. Every time I pass a mutt in the street from now on, I plan to tip my hat to the little fella, and offer him a “how do you do?” If you’ve got any sense whatsoever, you’ll follow my lead.

What if felines became desperately needy?

 

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We like to think of cats as fiercely independent creatures and the ideal domestic pet for anyone who cannot be bothered with constant upkeep. Left to their own devices, they’re in their element, and have little to no time for we humans unless it’s on their own exclusive terms. However, with their sworn enemies dogs suddenly picking up Nobel Prizes left, right, and centre, there’s nothing to say that insecurity won’t come a knocking. Now I’m guessing the beard of kittens above looks rather adorable right? Well think again and lest we not forget that cats have a tendency to spray when marking their territory. It ain’t pink lemonade you know. Besides, I’m sure it would get tiresome constantly reassuring Mr. Tibbs that his penis isn’t tiny as he whispers his woes into your ear on perpetual loop while stretching the hell out of your lobe. What the above pictorial doesn’t reveal is the poor guy’s pubic region. Not so rampant for the pussy now are you Cedric?

What if Justin Bieber became even more of a prick?

 

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And things were going so well Justin. To your credit, you appeared to be knuckling down and getting back to making songs to top yourself to. Dare I say, I actually rather enjoyed Sorry, and had begun to fear the worst as Belieberitis is a very real and most terrifying affliction that no known ointment can cure. Then I heard Love Yourself and remembered that the rest of your music sucks ox balls. However, the real mischief here is in storming off stage at a recent show in Manchester, a city whose inhabitants would think nothing of punching your kidneys until they can bleed no more, on account of too much cheering between songs. I get the whole São Paulo thing from 2013 as a 2 litre bottle of Evian being lobbed at your head mid-performance could be considered as less than civil but I’d take all the hero-worship you can lay your hands on sonny boy as nobody likes a sulk, particularly a sulk with a net worth of $200 million. Eddie Cochran must be rolling in his grave right now.

What if plastic surgery goes wrong?

 

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How do those shiny new knockers feel? I guess you’re feeling more confident, more desirable, more like a woman now that you’ve finally upgraded to D cups right? That’s splendid, really it is, but please allow me to pose a quick question or several – have you taken a long-haul flight since the procedure? How well do you know your surgeon? Did he explain to you the vague possibility of your implants exploding halfway across the Atlantic Ocean? What’s to say that he didn’t run out of silicone during the operation and shove a fistful of unruly finger monsters into the cavity? And how are they going to fare up after thirty years of general wear and tear? It’s one thing having perky tits at eighty but what man in his right mind is going to want to go within 500 yards of you if your vagina resembles a stuffed crust pizza base with a hole punched through it? It sounds way too much like a lottery for my liking and, let’s face it, fake breasts are nowhere near as much fun to fondle.

What if James Corden forgets what side of the road to drive on during Carpool Karaoke?

 

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I like James Corden and happen to think he deserves immense kudos for taking over The Late Late Show from David Letterman and making it his own. That said, the whole carpool karaoke deal wasn’t thought out very well if you ask me. For one thing, I’m not convinced that the chassis on a Renault Clio can endure the cargo once Nicki Minaj slides her bootylicious badonkadonk in alongside him and, for another, what kind of response time can he realistically hope to achieve mid-falsetto? I can see it now, Lady Gaga being ejected through the windscreen onto the Long Beach asphalt because Corden forgot to check his mirrors while trying to outshine her at Alejandro. Road safety first James and leave the hearty renditions to the showers while you slide that loofah down your back fat. Other than that, keep doing what you’re doing, as we’re proud of you lad.

What if you were to marry a strict vegetarian without first learning of her moonlight flatulence?

 

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Looks sexy doesn’t she? Irresistible you might say. That may be but, while a picture can paint a thousand words, it isn’t so hot on picking up the baritone rumbling in Cindy’s gut as she prepares to release the Kraken, having just consumed half a kilo of broccoli stems and washed it down with a litre of turnip juice. Every last one of us farts whether we like it or not and, for all her best attempts at remaining ladylike during that saucy post-supper striptease, all that excess methane has to come out sometime and nocturnal relaxation isn’t all counting sheep you know. It may appear that she’s giving you the come-on by pointing that thing directly towards your pillowcase but don’t forget she’s packing a lethal weapon here. All I’m saying is, know the risks, and don’t come crying to me when you awaken tomorrow with a severe case of the dreaded pink eye.

What if an elephant suffers a nervous breakdown?

 

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With so many species currently set for extinction, we have a duty to protect those who have been with us for the long haul. Our good friend the woolly mammoth may no longer be with us but its jumbo second cousin has made it through the last few million years surprisingly intact. That said, for all their long-term memory prowess, who is to say that the stress of being the burliest of all land mammals hasn’t begun to get a little on top? It would be most tragic to witness this once proud animal sobbing uncontrollably because it just discovered it has developed a peanut allergy or some thoughtless imbecile just remarked somewhat less than discreetly on its thunder thighs. Elephants have feelings too you know and we all have our breaking points, that’s all I’m saying. And remember that tiny rodents give them the heebie jeebies so making them sit through The Secret of Nimh with you is just begging for tears and tantrums.

What if workplace harassment was punishable by death?

 

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Not so cocky now are you Mr. Prendergast? While there seemed neither harm or foul in slipping a digit into Harriet from Human Resources in the stationary cupboard, she appears to have taken your discrepancy somewhat personally. How do you think your wife of twelve years, Maude, will feel when she is called in to identify your body and sniffs your fingers? You’d better hope that the smell of formaldehyde is too overpowering for her to put two and two together before decomposition commences. That said, I can think of worse ways to go than being set upon by the above woman scorned and she is admittedly gagging for a poking. Tell you what, if you’re quick, you can still get your hand up her skirt and grab yourself a fajita on the fly. But will it all have been worth it?

What if we all just got along?

 

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I know right? What a preposterous idea that is. I mean, where would we be without petty quarrel? Or good old-fashioned street crime? Without the rich getting richer while the poor grow ever more destitute? Without firm favorites like judgement, assumption, and cruelty minus the kindness? Cheek dimples would no longer be considered special, Bill Cosby would be let off the hook with a kiss on the wrist, and Camp Crystal Lake would go swiftly out of business. What do you mean it already did? Never mind, New Line Cinema will soon dust off the old hockey mask and squeeze another $100 million from the long-suffering fans and there’s still another 49 states he hasn’t visited yet. Thank the heavens above for all men being created differently, it doesn’t mean we have to hang out with deadbeats, that’s where personal selection comes into play. It’s a little like avoiding excrement on the sidewalk, a fun little diversion from jaywalking, and all the more satisfying when you manage to swerve a turd.

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I do believe we have ourselves some food for thought and what a blast it has been exploring just a few of the posers I know have been on the tips of your tongues for some time now. Inquisition is a healthy pastime and I, for one, will never cease to ask questions as it all assists in painting that bigger picture and knowledge reportedly converts to power. Perhaps my priorities are just a tad outta whack but I promise, if I ever write a sequel to this piece, I shall get to the real meat and potatoes. Speaking of which, do you think Cindy would mind if I sleep in the spare room tonight? A pound of brussel sprouts is no laughing matter and, moreover, her 34D’s have been hissing for over an hour now. If I’m low-key enough, then perhaps the fifty alley cats currently perched on my front porch feeling all unimportant won’t learn of my whereabouts. What do you mean the elephant is just having a quick lay down? What gives him the divine right to call dibs on the guest room? Stressed you say? I dunno, sounds suspiciously like he’s pulling a fast one to me. Give Harriet from Human Resources a call will you and get her to pull up its contract? What do you mean she’s been arrested? Okay then fine, ask Benji. Honestly, do I have to think of everything around here? What if you put in a shift for a change?

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GREY KEEPER FRAME

2 Comments

    1. I love making you giggle. I’ll prise a snot bubble out of you if it’s the last thing I do dagnabbit. Fancied me some goofball with this one and I reckon there may be more where this came from as it’s ripe for the picking. Much love to you.

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