"Who Am I?"

Here’s a story I wrote in 2004, just for the fun of it. It’s jam-packed with references to movies and shows – and some off-screen stuff – with one common denominator. Guess who! 🙂 (Not that the post tagging or 10-second Photoshop job of a picture gives it away or anything…)

“Who Am I?”

Mr. Actor-in-Cleverest-Disguise-Ever!
Or not.

Let’s face it. To be the Antichrist isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. You can never find a decent girl, because all the ones you hang out with look at you with a dumb expression of awe. It’s nice to be considered a god on occasion, but sometimes you just want to be loved. There is the proper kind of woman you want, of course, and if she has a kid, it’s great! Package deal: pawn and mistress for the price of one! She might object to using her only child as a satanic agent, but hey – if you get bored, just tell her a dingo took her baby! She might object to being raped, however, and she might also end up stabbing you in the back with one of seven ancient knives.

It could happen, and it did, and I died, ending up in the freezer on a deserted island off the coast of New Zealand. Alone? I’d wish. No, together with a mad woman who fantasises about me at night, because she couldn’t be bothered to love me when I was alive, even though I wanted to marry her. But no, I had to die before she realised she should’ve said yes. Wouldn’t have minded so much if it wasn’t for the fact that SHE was the one who killed me and put me in the freezer in the first place.

Well, at least she didn’t have the time to get greedy and demand things, like I should get rid of all my mistresses. Should’ve had her married off to some young Dr. Debauchery when I had the chance. Too late now, of course. She put her career first, you see. Wanted to be a writer. I hear her book does rather well, having been filmed and everything. I hope the man portraying me is staggeringly handsome, or he’ll do me no justice.

Some people prefer to involve themselves with demons and monsters, but that’s a little too weird for me. Much saner to want to have a house in Montana with a little white fence and two cars. Or, rather, anything that doesn’t include digging through a tonne of dinosaur poo at three in the morning, because SOMEONE forgot to keep an eye out and not get eaten. I think I’d much rather be in a building below a huge radio telescope with winds that exceed 30 mph. It’s risky, but if you’ve lost a very important space mission because the backup generator failed during a power outage – what would you rather do? Fess up? “Sorry, we’ve no idea where your tin can is at the moment”? Maybe I could get a robot to do it. Programmed correctly, I could have him calling me “Sir”, which would be nice.

I could have married a tiny mute woman, but I had a feeling she’d rather screw the oddball neighbour instead. You know, the kind of guy who is trying so bad to fit into the hood that he’s even got the tattoos… I know the story, you know. She’d be all reluctant at first, and then they’d end up shagging! Not me, of course. Him! Oh, it’s a cruel world.

What’s with women anyway? They’d rather do it with an invisible guy than to sell him off to science (actually, to the highest paying government, but shhh). Where’s the money in that? Not too bad being a spy, though. Sure better than being in the army! As long as you don’t fraternise with the enemy, you’re all right. You know the drill? They’re all nice and charming, and all the time, they’ve been telling your enemy all your little secrets, and made you help them and their silly cause. All just because you happen to be in love with them! Treacherous beasts! Sometimes I wonder if it isn’t best to just love ’em and leave ’em. Parachute in one day, ride out on a bike the next, and leave them behind so you can haunt their minds all their sad lives. Take it from me and leave it as a memory, because meeting up years later, when the war is over, is never a good idea.

To get a girl nowadays you have to do something noble, like rescue her from a madman on a sailing ship by shooting a flare gun at him. (He went out with a boom – literally!) Saving her from a dragon is even better – if you can get to her before the dragon’s fiery breath does, of course. Having accused her of witchcraft because you obsess about her even though she’s forbidden fruit (being of the wrong religion), is apparently a really big turn-off. I fail to see why. It beats playing tennis!

Maybe I’ve just got the wrong profession? Drunken barrister? Nah… I’d forget the silver, and that would REALLY turn in to unease! I could be a chef. Women love a man that can cook! But I’ll just kill my colleague by accident and end up on a sofa with the bartender, even if she’s just finished school. (I suppose that’s why I didn’t meet her years ago.) What about a submarine-saving captain? Meh, passé!

A cop. Women go nuts for a guy in uniform! But then I’d either have to take bribes from the local gangster or wear a nice hat and be all churchy and investigate the slaughter of a family I went to church with. Tragic stuff. Much better to be the bad guy. Money laundry, maybe? Lucrative business! I could have a yacht, a wife and a girlfriend at the same time (they would of course do each other if they get bored). I don’t really care, as long as she’s a good wife and doesn’t go psycho stalker on some barman that’s just come to town.

Perhaps I could design a spacecraft. It would fly around until the end (or ends) of the world, but my drawing skills aren’t that good, so I’d just make something that, as it happens, goes fantastically evil. You know, like infinite space – infinite terror, type thing. Teaching sounds much safer, but only if I can be a real pest. If not, I’ll teach kids how to separate a carnivore from a herbivore, because that amphibian DNA is no laughing matter. It could go as bad as being the figment of a deranged author’s imagination. Things were so much easier in the French Revolution! Maybe I could become a journalist and write all about it?

I’m a man of the world, perhaps I could be an ambassador? King of Britain? Prime Minister of Hawaii? Then again, why would I want to be the PM when I can be the president of the United States of America? No, that would be like having an affair with a slave for like half a century; completely taboo. I might as well be a penguin!

I could always go back to work for the MI6, like James Bond, but I’d much rather just sit here and watch the sleeping dogs, drink my “sex in a bottle” pinot noir wine and ponder the wonders of my brilliant career. I could direct a movie or two, perhaps. Maybe I’ll be knighted – or win an Oscar, but I should probably settle with my OBE and realise I make everyone else excel to win awards and myself constantly be overlooked and never get the girl. I don’t mind getting the brush off. I’d go stiff if I didn’t. Who knows what lurks on the event horizon? My family affair is but two paddocks away. A nice country life for me is just the type of strong medicine I need. Yes.

The End.

It’s been a while now, but I can still remember and find fifty different screen productions in this text, but I think there might be more, because I thought it had over sixty. Shows how rusty on the fandom I am, really. I haven’t watched these films for some time now, which is the problem. Oh well. I reminisced a bit when looking up early posts to a certain mailing list (now deceased?) to see if I had written any useful reviews back in the day that I could re-post here, but alas, no. They were just of the short “I saw X! It was great/good/okay/godawful! Yay!” variety, so you’re safe. FOR NOW! Muuuuahahahaaaaa! (Oh gods, I’ve lost it.)

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