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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic

A brief history of the great George Green.

Good Evening – The Best of George Green

George Green. Journalist, Writer, TV Personality, Union Negotiator, Sky Writer. He has been part of our media centric society since the dawn of the television age. Chronicling his life is to vicariously take part in the pivotal events of the late 20th century. From the invention of the Cheerio to the falling of the Berlin Wall, George has been there with his camera crew, lederhosen and hairpiece to capture the moment.

In George’s own words, here is how he came to be.

I was born in Buchans’s. My father was the local game keeper, my mother was a professional mummer and certified stuffed lichen pillow maker. My father would be gone for long periods, out in the bush, making sure the local hunters didn’t kill anything that they didn’t have a license for.  My mother created lichen stuffed things for the locals. It was a booming business until they put a road in.

When I was young I admired my father. He was a big burly man, famous for his ability to keep the game safe. It was said that when he was out and about in the bush, the animals were safe but the poachers must watch their backsides. More often than naught, potential hunters would creep out of the wood late at night, in shame and sporting a sore ass where my father had  - as my dad liked to put it – ‘made them right’.

I spent many a night in my bedroom, my feet trussed but my hands free to play with the dials of my Fada Model 1000 radio, searching the airways for those illusive signals. It was then that I was bitten by the news bug. I would hear those static laced far off voices telling me of extraordinary things in extraordinary places. The urge to be them, to do that, overcame the urge to undo the ropes which held me in bed, making me wake in a pool of urine each morning.

I wasn’t the brightest kid in high school. I was too much like Ichabad Crane. I was tall, but exceedingly lank, with narrow shoulders, long arms and legs, hands that dangled a mile out of my sleeves, feet that might have served for shovels, and my whole frame loosely hung together. My head was too small, and flat at top, with huge ears, large green glassy eyes and a long snipe nose, so that I looked like a weather-cock had perched upon my spindly neck. I resembled a goofy, old scarecrow who had escaped the cornfield. The girls at school would tease me mercilessly, especially in home economics class. But I was happy to listen to their tales about becoming woman and feminine hygiene products.

Since I was horrible at athletics, pathetically shy and horribly ugly, I was bullied constantly, humiliated at every turn and generally despised. I managed to suppress the urges that sometimes arose to bludgeon large numbers of people to death. Only Mr. Mothmouth seemed to understand me. We spent many hours in his small cabin by the lake, discussing philosophy, literature and anatomy. It was a very small cabin and I savoured these times when I could slumber without being trussed, though I did have to share that rather small cot with Mr. Mothmouth.

 Despite my physiognomy, I managed to exercise a laser sharp focus on studies, which served me will. I somehow managed to excel at school. It earned me a scholarship at Memorial University in my favorite subject – taxidermy.

At University I went through a metamorphosis. My body decided that it would re-proportion itself so I became more homo sapiens like. I was no longer trussed up at night so I could go to the bathroom - my urine induced sores healed. I smelled better. I discovered the University newspaper and radio station – as well as girls.

Most men of my era were sexually naive. Against this yardstick I was sexually retarded. I knew nothing. Nocturnal emissions’ filled me with fear, I thought I was dying until the doctor told me, with quite a look of concern upon his face, that this was quite normal for a young man and I should not try to put the fluids back in.

I worked my way up to being editor of the Memorial Howler, my pinnacle piece being a scathing expose on the reuse of Dustbane by the janitorial staff.

After graduation I filled the inboxes of newspaper editors all over the country with applications for employment. I attributed their lack of response at the time as a fear of my prowess and that I would be a potential threat to their status.

Not wanting to be down and out, I pursued the path usually taken by young men from my area at that time. I joined the Army. Since I had a degree, I was taken in as an Officer.  After a short course in the finer points of officering; such was what fork to use at dinner and the proper way to adjust your codpiece, I was dispatched onto the world.

The Army has a genius for putting the right people in the right place. Those from the shallow end of the gene pool generally ended up on the front lines. Those who are higher functioning become the movers and shakers, the leaders and decision makers. I was brought into the communications corp. There was a need to keep the troopers informed of the important things happening in the world from the Army’s prospective. Someone to make it relevant, entertaining and understandable by those with a grade 5 education. The Army thought I was just that sort of person.

I took to the task like a lamprey to a passing salmon. I was privileged to roam the world, expanding my knowledge, honing my literary and interviewing skills. I made the crisis in Cyprus clear by using Dr. Seuss analogies. The Suez crisis was simplified through the use of hand puppets. The invasion of Hungry became an extension of the Hatfield and McCoys.

It was based on the quality of this work that our national broadcaster came looking for me one rainy August afternoon. I was sitting in my favorite coffee shop, a newspaper on my lap, The Sears catalogue opened to the lingerie section, my slacks loosened for comfort, when Herbert Bighead slid into the chair across from me. He offered me his hand and a job. Their lead national reporter had been found dead that morning, in a small hotel off the high street. It took a while to identify him since for some reason his wallet was missing and he had signed in under an assumed name. He was working on some sort of investigative story. Anyway, it created a crisis for the broadcaster. They needed someone that could throw into the fray immediately – what with the walrus debacle rippling through parliament.

The rest – as they say – is history. I rode the wave of technology from print to radio to television to the internet.

You can read more about George in his Autobiography – From Buchans to Baghdad – My Life as a Bawdy Man

 

And now – his seminal interviews….

Aug 30, 2005

Good evening, I am George Green. Today we are honoured to have Dr. Cornelius P. Pettigrew, a member of the American Academy of Arts and Science, the National Academy of Sciences and the American Philosophical Society. In addition, he is a member of the Serbian Academy of Sciences and Arts. In February of this year he received the President’s medal from the Literary and Debating Society of the National University of Ireland, Galway. In 2003 Dr. Pettigrew received the prestigious Erich Fromm prize in Stuttgart Germany. He holds a PHD in fluid dynamics from the St. Petersburg Institute for Hydrometerological sciences. In addition to these academic achievements, Dr. Pettigrew has been awarded the Grand Diplome from the prestigious Le Cordon Bleu culinary academy. Dr. Pettigrew is the only inhabitant from the continent of Antarctica to hold so many degrees and he is the only penguin to have achieved such academic stature.

Since all members of our audience are not fluent in penguin, we have hired simultaneous translation services. It is our pleasure to have Pillow, a sheep from the International Species Translation services headquartered in Picton, to provide this service

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For our watchers, I am proud to say that I am nearly fluent in penguin. It is a difficult language to master, being  a combination of squawks, head bobbing, foot flapping and wing fluttering. I will ask questions first in English, then the penguin translation. I will begin -  Mr. Pettigrew, how did a lowly penguin from Antarctica such as yourself manage to climb to the intellectual stratosphere?

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It was the scientists at McMurdo that got me hooked. They started to feed me. I wondered, how were they getting the fish? I never saw them jumping in the water. I couldn’t understand it. I vowed even though I was just a fledgling penguin chick to get to the bottom of this mystery. One night – winter actually – it is 6 months long you know – I snuck into one of the buildings at the station. It was the kitchen. I found a bounty of food. I gorged until I thought my gut would burst. A cook found me and threatened me with his meat cleaver. I was young and I didn’t know what to do, so I took him out. Slashed his throat in a single strike with my bill. An action I shall always regret.

That is extraordinary. I never heard this before. You killed someone on McMurdo station?

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The scientists and staff at the station covered it up. The guy was an asshole. He never washed his hands after going to the toilet. He oversalted the food. He never bathed or showered. He was a crappy cook. He threatened people with death if they didn’t eat what he made. You could smell him a mile away. These things become very irritating in a cloistered environment such as Mcmurddo station. The staff were happy to see him go, but worried about who would cook for them. That’s where I came in, I became their cook.

Fascinating. Can we say then that your culinary skills stem from this event?

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No. Food preparation has always been a forte of mine. I have the amazing ability to regulate the type and amount of acid in my stomach, so when I regurgitated food for others, I would enhance it and make it more flavourful. Squid requires a different amount of digestion than haddock. Shellfish must be served at just the right consistency else they loss their bouquet and freshness. To not put too fine a point on it, I am an artist. To prepare for tonight I have been marinating a piece of salmon in my gullet. At this point it should be perfect. I offer it to you now.

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Well Dr.,I am indeed fortunate to have you prepare me a meal. Doug – could you get me a spoon please?

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That was stupendous Dr. Pettigrew. Delicate and with a wonderful mouth feel. Perhaps the best salmon I have ever tasted. I detected a bit of thyme in there, along with a touch of cardamom..

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Very astute Mr. Green. You failed though to notice the squid ink I added. Just a touch to darken the meat since it can loss its colour due to the acids. In the kitchen I expanded my culinary skills, becoming somewhat of a specialist in artisian breads. But I have to say that my absolute speciality and one that gets everyone salivating is my mutton. My chops are from heav......

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We will cut to commercial now.

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Aug 2, 1990

Hello again, I am George Green. Tonight we are thrilled to have the Apostrophe family -  Bee, Kay and Jay - joining us to share their exploits and adventures. Over the past decade or so, Bee, Jay and Kay Apostrophe have been popping up, uninvited, in the most bizarre of places. From the Kremlin to the Vatican, the Whitehouse and on talk shows, the Apostrophe’s have been able to sneak into forbidden places, circumventing security and generally making a mockery of protection services. We will seek out how they do it, why they do it and some background on who they actually are. So without further ado, I present to you the Apostrophe’s.

Bee – hello

Kay – hello

Jay – hey

Bee,  I will start with you. What can you tell me about the Apostrophe’s that make you engage in these sometimes unbelievable intrusions?

Bee - We get bored easily. I remember shortly after I was born – think I was 3 hours old -  laying in that crib, staring at the ceiling tiles just like Brian Wilson did, wondering how long I would have to stay there, soiling myself. Fortunately it wasn’t that long, the nurse came and dropped me on my mother’s breast. I found then that eating seemed to kill the time nicely. Though it has lost its luster since then, at least eating from a tit.

Jay – I started mucking with tarot cards when I was 2.

Kay – My sewing machine has this option for making zigzag stitches – I use it a lot.

Bee – Shut up you two, he was talking to me, I’m more important.

Kay – You spit on me in the car

Bee – You were playing with the windows and wouldn’t listen!

Jay – Now now you two, you’ve been fighting since you were old enough to crawl to each other and try to gouge each other’s eyes out. You should be dignified and mature, like me.

Well, I do detect a bit of competition within the family. Who comes up with the brilliant ideas to do your famous ‘pop ins’? Especially the one on the international space station?

Kay – That was my idea. I always wanted to see what it was like to float around – weightless. So we went to Cape Canaveral one day and snuck into the space shuttle.

How could you possibly do that? I don’t know much about space flight, but I’m sure they are very careful about what goes on board the shuttle. Where did you hide? There is not much room.

Bee – we can make ourselves really small. And we are good hiders. One game of hide and go seek we played took 8 months to finish – and we know where to look.

Kay – Even on the space shuttle they have toilets and cupboards where they store things. Sometimes we have to make room. We threw out some of these rocket pack thingies they would use if there was an accident and they had to bail out. Since those were tossed, we tossed out the parachutes as well. Then there was lots of room. The hard part was making sure no one saw us do it.

Jay – you made me do all the ripping and tearing. My fingers really hurt after that.

And what was the reaction of the astronauts when they discovered you were aboard? You made the news and there was a great hue and cry about it, but what was the real story?

Kay – the real story is that those astronauts are a nasty lot

Bee – they said some very bad things to us

Jay – But it wasn’t that bad. Once you two took a couple of them to the back, things seemed to settle down.

Kay – I wanted to hit one of them

Bee – I did hit one of them

Jay – I didn’t hit any of them

Kay – You are a whoosey. You sucked up to them like they were superheroes

Jay – at least I didn’t literally suck them

Bee – I didn’t!

Kay – Well one of them was cut.  Spaceman stay up a really long time.

Tell us about the Vatican – outside of the space shuttle, that was one of the more memorable ‘pop ins’ you’ve done.

Jay – that one was my idea. Have you seen the crowds at the Vatican? There was no way we were going to fight through them. So we became Swiss Guards and just strolled in.

You can’t just dress up like a Swiss Guard and wander into St. Peter’s - can you? I mean, Bee and Kay, you are petite very feminine ladies. Jay, you could perhaps, but you are not that large either. How did you pull it off.

Kay – we don’t want to give away any of our secrets, but we do have pads of various types.

Bee – special pads that can do very interesting things.

Jay – plus we kidnapped and tortured a guard a few days before to get the information we needed to get in. I can tell you that now since we are in America and  I don’t think the Vatican has extradition with the US. Plus no one knows he is missing. They think he abandoned his post for a 13 year old Thai girl and now lives just outside Bankook raising spider monkeys and playing the flute.

Kay – I rode on Bee’s back

Bee – She’s pretty light

Kay – we can move fast when we want to

At that moment Kay appeared to disappear. He walked out of the shadows behind George and did a wet willie in George’s ear.

Extraordinary. I must say didn’t see you move. Was it misdirection? Doug – did you see anything on the monitors.

Camera cuts to a balding man with headphones on who is panning his head from side to side.

Kay – told you we were fast.

Bee – I once out ran a bear that had a dart stuck in its butt

Jay – The hard part was sneaking up on the bear to stick the dart in. Too bad she outran it.

Kay – once we were in, we slipped into the back part – where the Pope and his buddies hang out.

Bee – it was spooky. And there are NO women’s washrooms.

Jay – That day the Pope was going to the balcony to wave at people and do Pope work, so we thought we’d join him.

Bee – There are NO elevators either.

Kay – The Pope is does NOT have a sense of ha ha

You are a truly fascinating family. We are starting to run out of time, but I would really like to get the background on how you managed to get yourselves aboard the SSGN Georgia. This was an amazing feat. How on earth does one get about an American nuclear submarine?  Especially one of the newest breed – a cruise missile launching nuclear boat.

Kay – Through the holes in the top

Bee – We are very good swimmers. We snuck up on it late at night.

But they have guards. I have had the privilege to have toured a few of the American nuclear submarines, and they are surrounded by armed Marines, have nets in the water around them and are always heavily protected. How did you do it?

Jay – Marines are pretty dumb. We created a diversion. We made noises like sea otters and they all came to look. While they were doing that, Kay and Bee snuck on top and slipped in through an open hatch. I went underwater and they let me in through a torpedo tube

Kay – Those torpedoes are big! We had to get one out of the way to let Jay in. I didn’t want to. But Bee was being bossy and made me help.

Bee – Sailors will do almost anything for you if you are naked.

Kay – I didn’t want to have anything to do with Bee and the sailors, but she made me

Bee – You liked it. I could barely see your face most of the time you had so many seamen on you.

Jay – The Captain wasn’t happy. He wanted to shot us.

Kay – We talked him out of it. Seems he really liked Jay.

Jay – I don’t want to talk about it.

Bee – You sure spent a lot of time in his cabin.

Jay – I said I don’t want to talk about it!

Bee – The captain still sends him emails and pictures.

Jay – Shut up!

Kay – They went out for dinner last week.

Jay – You little bitch – I should have thrown you out of the space shuttle.

-  Jay reaches over and tries to grab Kay by the throat. Bee leaps out of her chair onto Jay’s back and pulls his hair while clawing at this eyes.

- Doug and a few of the crew come running forward and separate the Apostrophe family.

- George looks up at the camera.

I would like to thank the Apostrophe family for joining us here tonight. It has been fascinating. I hope to see you all again next week when we will be exhuming a number of corpses from a local cemetery to test some odour suppression products. Until then -  Goodnight.

 

Sept 11, 2001

Good evening, I am George Green. Today we are here with Mr. Vladimir Muckluck, writer of the latest piece of fiction to make the New York Times bestseller list – “My Flaming Arse”. Mr. Muckluck has graciously agreed to discuss his work, taking time out from his intense research on Scatology and its relation to throat warbling, which is integral to his next piece.

Mr. Muckluck, it is wonderful to have you here with us tonight.

You said there would be a meal. I went into my dressing room and there was nothing, not even a cracker.

Oh, I’m sorry Mr. Muckluck. We should be able to deal with that. Can you tell us what inspired you to put pen to paper for “My Flaming Arse”?

It wasn’t pen to paper you flatulent turd. It was on my computer. You do know what a computer is don’t you? You certainly don’t seem to know what food it is. Twits.

Uhh hum. I apologize. I was trying to use some colourful language.

You want colourful language? Fuck, Cunt, Motherfucker. That’s colourful language. Some half baked tripe about putting pen to paper is a pretentious wad of claptrap. This network is an abysmal waste of precious electricity. You should close up shop. Turn of the cameras and the lights. Get jobs at the local Subway flinging processed meat wedged between chemically laden slabs of bread at the pavlonian  mouth breathing masses as they come to gorge on unneeded calories so they can go home and mate with their crotch rotting bedpartners, perpetuating the patheticness that is modern civilization.

That is quite the rant Mr. Muckluck. You seem to have dim view of modern society.

Well aren’t you the leader of the local mensa society to figure that one out. How many brain cells were actively engaged in the analytic activity – 2 out of the functioning 3?

– Mr Muckluck leans over and vomits

 You make me physically ill! Did you see that – I just lost my breakfast. It was good breakfast too, crumpets, bacon, some scrambled eggs with truffles. I was looking forward to having that come out the other end. I was looking forward to wiping my ass after a good shit and briefly reliving that meal as it traversed my gastrointestinal track. But you have denied me that pleasure. Your show has denied me that joy. You haven’t feed me either. I may collapse any moment now from malnutrition and disgust.

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You slimy pri.... – cuts out for commercial

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We are back with Vladimir Muckluck, author of My Flaming Arse. If you  are just joining us, we are having a full and frank discussion on the foibles of modern society.

Foibllleess of mmmmodern ssocciety!

Vladimir is saying this with a mouth full of chips -  spittle and crumbs are flying

 Modern society is great! Unlimited porn on the internet, Lulu Lemon tights in pretty young things showing off their camel toes, sports cars with obscene amounts of horsepower that you can only use if you happen to wear on towel on your head and own a small sandy country that for some ungodly reason is floating upon a pool of oil that you don’t even know how to extract. It is the morons in it that fuck it up. Morons like TV interviewers and TV producers and book publishers. Who would take a mountain of shit such is My Flaming Arse and actually publish it? It is a total whack job! I deliberately put everything in the wrong tense. I used colons for semi colons. I used italics where they weren’t needed. I made up words – I used ploymonomanic 15 times and not one questioned what the hell it meant. I had no plot continuity. Halfway though I changed the location from Finnigans Head to Pyongyang – No one noticed! In half the sentences I used no definite or indefinite articles. In the other half I used no verbs. It was a stream of my perverted and totally politically incorrect consciousness literally regurgitated onto the page, fueled by booze, cocaine and porn watching binges.

Well that is interesting. So what you are saying is that there is an appetite out there for the unfettered truth. Thoughts not constrained by the conventions of the day, undeterred by social mores and unafraid of the potential repercussions of such controversial positions?

Did I say that you half witted hamster? I said nothing of the kind. I said it is crap. Toilet paper with a font. Get your head out of your ass. Personally I think Kelly my publisher – a good looking babe who does this thing when she gives head – was whacked like she usually was on her own little mixture of crack and coke. C and C she called it. Loved it when she went there, since it usually ended up with one or both of us sustaining some interesting wounds to our genitals.

Can we say then that you are inspired by the world around you and how society as a whole functions?

-Vladimir stares at the interviewer for an overly long time. Embarrassing long time. Slowly eats another potato chip

What will the meal be?

Excuse me.

What will the meal be? You promised me food for coming on this show. I want to know what it will be. If it is some half assed chicken that has been sitting under a heat lamp for the last 21 days, acting as a Petri dish for a new and lethal form of hemorrhagic fever, I will take it and shove it down your pretentious, overly educated and probably semen stained throat. I want a fillet. Medium well. With béarnaise sauce and asparagus on the side. For dessert a leche cake with a caramel sauce. Have you got that you twat eating baboon?

I’m sorry Mr. Muckluck, this isn’t a restaurant. We do cater to our guests. Sandwiches and such. I’m sure there will be something in your dressing room afterwards. You seem to be a man of, shall we say, base instincts. Would that be an apt description?

-Mr Muckluck is picking his nose and ignoring the interviewer. He pulls his finger out and examines it closely. We can see a smeer of green on it. He rolls his thumb and forefinger around on the slime. He then leans over and wipes it on the interviews leg. Then he farts. A very loud fart.

 I guess you could say that.. For once I agree with you. I am a man of base instincts. Have you ever done a blue angel? That’s when you fart while holding a lite lighter at you bung hole. If you are lucky you get this big whoosh of flame. It is transitory. A beautiful thing. I am a blue angel. An ignited fart. And like an ignited fart I stink. And like an ignited fart, you can’t really appreciate the beauty unless you see the ugly hairy ass that it comes out of. What I just did would have been a great blue angel. If you’d feed me like you promised and I hadn’t lost my fucking breakfast I could have probably conjured up another one. But you have denied me that pleasure. By denying me that pleasure, you have displeased me greatly. I do a couple of things when I am displeased. Sometimes I roll up into a pathetic little ball and cry in the corner for a few days, soiling and wetting myself until someone shows up with a sedative and they take me back to the psychiatric facility. But I’m not going to do that. I’m going to do the other thing.

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My mind is clearer now

At last, I can see, where we all soon will be

Jesus, you started to believe the things they said of you

You started to believe this talk of God is true

And all the good you have done, will soon get swept away

You’ve begun to matter more than the things you say.....

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Submitted: January 26, 2021

© Copyright 2021 RB Lafosse. All rights reserved.

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