Night Terrors

Using my photographic memory I hand sketched the above image of a deranged, possibly Parisian, rolling pin salesman that enters my nightmares and insists on whittling wooden representations of embarrassing moments from my past. From calling my teacher "Mum" in class, to snorting snot on my lips over-laughing at a boss' joke, to spitting on a relative's gravestone when I was 3 because I wanted to know what it would look like.

The prick.

8 shiny Dubloons to whoever tricks him into a mating programme at a wildlife park or takes his powerful, artistic hands as earrings.

Steven Seagal in Steven Seagal Versus the Giant Space Bastards

Here's my new movie idea for living legend Steven Seagal. I posted it to his twitter account. Let's hope he signs up and we tear Hollywood a new one.

Opening shot of Steven Seagal topless serenely meditating at one of his many well kept Buddhist shrine getaways. A proud horse softly licks Steven Seagal’s elegant ponytail.

Bam! Cut to a tentacle slapping Barack Obama’s testes! Cock! Cut to a slimy horn goring a photograph of Mother Teresa!

Shit! Cut to a Giant glutinous Space Bastard eating Kim Jong-Il’s face and molesting some kids with his telekinetic terror brain, laughing so maniacally, pregnant women’s unborns are turned into tiny adorable fascists and making all cakes taste like your shameful morning-after alcoplops!

Gasp! Mourn somberly as Steven Seagal’s one true love is killed by a Giant Space Bastard whilst at her charity piano recital in aid of deformed war orphans.

Cut to Steven Seagal shedding one black tear of fury. He smashes the horses face to death so it doesn’t have to suffer the Giant Space Bastard’s intergalacgto-rage.

Steven Seagal suits up. All semi automatic Giant Space Bastard widow makers and paunch hugging black leather shirts with fringing. And Vaseline for his hair.

Montage! Steven Seagal shoots many Giant Space Bastards in their octagonal pink mono-eyes, spilling goo in the open mouths of the aghast populace of doomed Earth. Balls, they just duplicate!

Steven Seagal kung fus the shit out of the Giant Space Bastards, chopping off absurd limbs and snapping out-of-this-world illogical cosmic necks until his wrists ache and he can no longer autograph copies of Half Past Dead. Asshole, they grow larger and more violent in their, by now, sexual extraterrestrial violence.

What now? Buddha or Jamie Oliver dressed like Knightrider pops into Steven Seagal’s generously proportioned head and whispers “Blues…” and BB King’s arm reaches out of their mouth handing a righteous honky tonk guitar to Steven Seagal.

Steven Seagal’s powerful fingers caress the frets and confidently bring all six strings to climax eking out the most wonderful, funky, morose, philanthropic blues the galaxy has ever witnessed. The Giant Space Bastards apologize for their ruthless malevolence by teaching Steven Seagal Portugese and sculpting the moon into his likeness. Then they go far away to probably not every endanger the world ever again in a straight to dvd sequel.

Steven Seagal returns to the shrine in the first scene. This time he wears a cape, and he lights a josstick for his horse, Michael.