Forever Triangle: Uncle Jupiter

I am standing outside a school holding a giant cheque which reads one hundred and sixty thousand dollars printed in a font that resembles handwriting, designed by a team of graphic artists and distributed across the Western coast of America. It was the font of choice for these kinds of events, though there was a wide selection of fake handwriting available to charities, government bodies and the media. A flash bulb goes off in front of my face. Who uses flash bulbs any more. My mouth is dry and I gulp the back of my tongue. The woman next to me talks to the dozen or so reporters but I can't concentrate on what she is saying. The enormous cheque begins to slide down a sweaty palm and I worry I will drop it. Somebody finally takes the cheque off me and the woman puts an arm around my shoulder and we smile as more flash bulbs go off and people shout questions.

I am left alone in a hallway and hear my name called out. Fire doors open inwards for me and I walk across the auditorium floor, the applause falling as quickly as it rose. The head of the board of governers and the headteacher are stood to one side. I look around for a podium or somewhere less exposed but find none.

“Hello. Good afternoon. I hope we're all going to have a good time today. I just donated one hundred and sixty thousand dollars to your school. A hundred and sixty thousand. It's a generous donation, so generous that not many people are even able to do it. But I am, because I care. I care about the little guy, hitting the books, trying to make himself smart. I don't care if you're a jock, cheerleader, class clown or goth, everyone deserves an education that is paid for through generous donations like the one I just gave. I suppose you're asking yourself, why, why would this British guy come over to my school and give me nearly two hundred thousand dollars? But you know what? You shouldn't be asking why. You should be asking how. How do I get to be that guy?” I say. I wonder how loudly I am speaking. How do I sound, blowing air in short bursts over a wet blob in my mouth. I think about the size of my tongue.
“It's economics, Salzebury, the Gideon knot, Keynes, mythology, survivalism, trigonometry zoology, fluid dynamics, pyramid schemes, zombies, Rudolph Hess, microscopy, an excel spreadsheet, ipads, gemstones, bus tickets, viruses, environmentalism, brain transplants, pacifism, The Odyssey, facetime, gin and tonic, new shoes, the conquest of Mexico, batman, zygotes, fountain pens, mints, Sigmund Frued, Futurism, the Amazonian Rainforest, golf, Ludwig van Beethoven, buicks, childhood, pataphysics, buddhism and cell phones," I explain. "You can't just get a college education by paying for it. You have to work hard. Then you have to carry on working hard once you've graduated. The only difference is you'll be working somewhere nicer than cleaning up piles of shit in a school like this. You want everyone laugh at you? Think that you're a fucking joke? No, didn't think so. Take the easy way, drive a hyundai to work, have an affair, earn the average wage. All of it will seem terrible but at least it won't actually be terrible. That's why getting an education is important. You think I just threw one hundred sixty at this place so you could paint the corridors, put a basketball court somewhere? Hell no. I just give you the opportunity for an education. Make yourselves smart and in doing so increase the competition for jobs in the future.” I said, smiling. I looked down and shook my head before looking back up.
“You don't even know what. This is basic economics, but they don't teach that shit at high school. Don't want everyone knowing how to make mad money, who they gonna make money off? Y'all punks need to be schooled on some left wing sheeeeyit.” I say. I have grown confident as I speak. I feel strong and powerful. I pop open the top button of my collar.
“Ch'all better recognize socialism. You probably thinking of Groucho if I say Marx. But guess what. I'm talking about a guy called Karl. And he invented Communism along with this dude called Engels. Say what? Motherfucker invented communism, ain't that a Russian thing? Hell yeah homie. So's space travel. You think it's a coincidence all them dudes on the enterprise are chill?” I say.
“Anyway, I've donated almost a billion dollars to schools in Los Angeles. Y'all going to get a sweet education for gratis. Might seem fun now, but wait til you leave college. Everyone around you's gonna have been at the same college. I made this whole city totally fucked!” I say, miming smearing my hands across a dome. I laugh and walk out, starting to run through the empty corridors. It is a labyrinth of plastic, every door seems as same as the last. This is the place shootings happen. Eventually I reach the outside and have to lie in the car park, coughing. What have I done? There's no load game in real life! Everything had repercussions, from breakfast to noon. I sat up and started to run again, down streets populated by cars, veins bulging on my forehead. Nine hundred and thirty two thousand six hundred and twenty three dollars of company funds given away in the space of a day. I wondered for a moment if I would have to claim bankruptcy then laughed. Of course not. I still had things to do. I rang Bill and he picked me up.
“Take me back to the hotel.” I say.
“Sure. Are you okay?” he says. I begin to take off my clothes.
“Yes.”

Fifty Shades Of Grey Movie Discussion And Dinner

“The problem is, both actors are blonde. In the book they're brunettes. This movie's gonna flop big time.” she said. I nod nonchalantly. She continues; “And another thing, Charlie Hunnam just isn't Christian Grey, the guy looks like a total cretin. I mean hello, he's in that awful Sons of Anarchy show, always has cuts and bruises on him. It should have been Robert Pattinson or Ian Somerhalder.”
“And Anastasia Steele?”
“Kristen Stewart.”
“Of course. Hold on a second.” I say, taking off my sock and shoe.
“What are you doing?”
“I'm taking a picture of my foot. I've noticed it's been changing shape recently, I need to make a proper record of it.” I say, snapping a foot picture with my instagram. I am sat in a restaurant across from Sabby, the main blogger on ohfifty.com, the #1 Fifty Shades Of Grey fan-site. We are discussing the upcoming Fifty Shades Of Grey film to be released in August next year. I put my sock back on, though the heel section is now at my instep. I swear under my breath, angry at myself for misaligning the sock.
“Is everything alright?”
“Yes, yes. Everything's fine. It's just...I put my sock on wrong.” I say. Our gaze meets across the table, there is a certain electricity in the air I can't help but feel amidst the aroma of the two huge portions of white veal I have ordered. The waiter arrives with another bottle of champagne and pours out two glasses.
“Merci, garcon.” I say to him as he walks away.
“Do you speak French?” she says.
“Oui. Est-ce que ca vous plait? Tes yeux sont comme des fosses." I murmur. She giggles.
"What does that mean?"
"I'll tell you later. First, I want to hear more about the movie."

The Fifty Shades Of Grey trilogy written by E.L James has been one of the best selling books of the century. The plot involves a billionaire seducing his secretary, having sex with her and eventually they both fall in love and get married. As one flicked through the pages of this grumble book you could almost hear movie execs in Los Angeles scramble to secure the film rights. But what would this film look like? On almost every page there is a lewd sex act taking place, whether it's Anastasia being tied down and whipped across the chest or Christian ejaculating into a cup and drinking it, the sex isn't just a straight forward bit of how's your father but intricately designed BDSM conquests that spiral into abstraction as the books progress.
"How do you think they'll handle the sex element in the films? I can't remember when I last saw a dick or a bit of vag in mainstream cinema since maybe...Basic Instinct."
"Exactly. Any moment Anastasia's Inner Goddess is revealed the camera isn't going to show it. The blowjobs, the dildos, the fisting."
"I'm curious to see how they're going to show that bit where Christian presses his cock and balls between those two panes of glass. Or the infamous shit eating scene."
"A significant section of the fans were hoping that the film would be picked up by a porn studio, but do it tastefully, you know? Stay true to the source material."
"I don't see any problem with a porn film being released in mainstream theaters. Have they forgotten how successful Deep Throat was? Behind the Green Door?" I say. I can feel my foot changing shape inside my shoe.
"Don't get me wrong, it's not just the naughty bits that I like in the books. I like the romance too." she says.
"Of course." I say.
"Like the part where Christian announces his love for Anastasia? After they have sex in that public toilet?"
"Or that bit where he hires a new secretary and she's like, a total bitch. But he still loves Anastasia...right?" I say.
"Yeah...I think so." she says.

The meal continues, course after course is brought out. Braised beef, deep fried prawns, sweet breads with tomato chutney, tandoori chicken and pilau rice. The conversation switches from film adaptations to other kinds of adaptations.
"Do you think if they gave a dolphin legs it would be better than a horse?" I ask.
"You mean to ride or just...better?"
"Mostly better, but also to ride."
"Well dolphins are quite noble creatures. How would they breathe though?"
"Just stick some water bottles over it's gills." I say.
"Dolphins don't have gills, they breathe through that blow hole at the top."
"Really? Even better then. A tube filled with water can be fitted more easily." I suggest. The desserts are brought out, savoury ice cream served on a bed of cake crumbs.
"What about the legs?" she asks me, playing with her spoon.
"Robots." I reply angrily. We eat the rest of the dessert in silence.

"Well it was lovely to meet you." says Sabby. We are standing outside the restaurant.
"It was good to meet you to. Maybe we should go for drinks sometime...maybe brainstorm a petition to get the film cast right."
"Yeah, yeah, that'd be good. The studios will have to listen to the fans." she says. I stand there with my hands in my pockets, unsure of what to do. Do we embrace? Kiss? Or do I just walk away? "Well, I'm going now."
"Goodbye." I say, watching her flag down a taxi and step in. She waves at me through the glass and I am left alone outside the restaurant, wondering what to do next. Then all of a sudden I get an idea.

A few hours later I am sat between two computer monitors, editing together my own version of Fifty Shades Of Grey. I'm using footage from Twilight, Secretary, Water For Elephants, Cosmopolis and six or so different hardcore porn films. The Fifty Shades books are scattered around me, I read out the dialogue and dub it over the newly edited film.
"Because I’m fifty shades of fucked-up, Anastasia." I read in my best Robert Pattinson impression. I relight a cigarette from the overflowing ashtray.
"Because I’m fifty shades of fucked-up, Anastasia." I repeat. I cut out a section of Leather Teen Angels 2 in which an actress has a speculum inserted, splicing it between the baseball scene from Twilight. Over the actresses head I've placed Kristen Stewart. It doesn't look too realistic but I'm hoping to enhance it with CGI later. I check my foot again. It is now swollen to almost twice it's usual size.
“I want your world to begin and end with me." I say in my Pattinson voice. I cough as both monitors show huge stretched out versions of Robert Pattinson's head.