The Roulette Wheel has Chosen

Blumhouse went through the catalogue again and this time decided Chucky needed a comeback. Honestly, do they just spin a roulette wheel and go whatever classic horror this lands on, we'll steal the plot, commercialise it and water it down for 15 year olds? This comes after a 2019 remake and TV series of Child's Play by the way. All I could handle was 1 episode of the show. When it ended with a bullying helpline number, I knew it wasn't for me. Nothing ever emphasised the death of the transgressive kick in horror quite like that little blunder. Makes you want to bring back bullying. Aside from the Chucky renewed interest, James Wan already made his shitty doll horror with Annabelle. For the last 10 years these guys have been getting away with the same formula over and over. Turning to the roulette wheel to get them their next hit. However, all this makes me wonder, are they allowed to rip off a movie they already ripped off? Surely, that's across the line? A step too far?

Well they've gone and done it but don't expect any support from me. Horror fans continued endorsement of rubbish like this routinely confuses me. Do they not care about production? Are they really so blind to it? Surely, the appeal has always been the independent approach and guerrilla filmmaking? A bunch of mates getting together and delivering a big fuck you to the studios? What happened to that ethos? If 15 year olds want to get behind these films, let them, that's who they're for. They need their gateway drug they can slip on during a sleepover. Anyone older, I cannot understand the attraction. Call it what it is, shit.

Inverse cost and quality law has been thrown about willy nilly over the years.

I'm sorry Mr Wallace, I have considered your arguments and still believe Terminator 2 was a good movie. I can understand the idea behind the phrases attempted usage with regards to Star Wars and Lord of the Rings too because they originate from low budget serials and sword and sandals movies. Truth is when money has been stacked behind them, these films have been incredible. It's the knock on effect which has been bad for independent filmmakers. As soon as the big studios meddle with your trash, you're in trouble because you lose your greatest weapon over the competition, which is embarking on material the studio won't touch.

Unquestionably, one should not forget the movies themselves (Terminator 2, Star Wars and Lord of the Rings) are exceptional. On the other hand, modern mainstream studio horror is in my opinion where the term best applies. On principle, classic horror movies have worked on a low budget but now backed by a big studio they are doomed to fail creatively because they are designed to adhere to a strict package in order to ensure a successful hit. Anything that could be of interest or considered challenging is removed to make way for total acceptance and popularity. Put simply, they play it safe for the bucks.

Could you please tell me what Megan has to offer that hasn't already been said? Are we just going to pretend that there weren't a million 80s horrors that cheekily critiqued consumerism? Childs Play being the obvious first example. Chopping Mall another. Robocop The Stuff They Live. Halloween 3. Christmas movies like Gremlins and Jingle All the Way. Is one to forget these movies exist? We've had that whole response to the excess of the '80s and Reagan's reign of terror. So don't be passing off Megan's satire as even remotely new. Big selling points like new technology and a girl boss have been tossed around as justification for its existence. Neither do anything to persuade me this is good.

We'll start with the technology. Artificial intelligence has been a fear for decades. Philip K Dick published his frightening novel Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep in 1968. Isaac Asimov's I, Robot was written in 1950. These were visions of the future that suggested what human and AI integration would look like. How we would have to re-examine our laws and morals. The designs for these machines have changed over the years but the reason these texts don't lose their value is because fundamentally the ideas remain the same. No-one actually cares what the AI looks like right? The point is that AI would just come to be and we would still have to deal with the dangers regardless. Therefore, I have little interest in Megan simply for technological updates.

There is no vision here. Times have caught up and all this comes off as is Ok, we now know what this future will look like, we present to you what you know. There's no leaping ahead. Nothing brave in it. At least with the '80s there was this sense this is what it could be like but imagined through the medium of film. We need to push further ahead than Megan if we really want to succeed in any originality.

As for your girl boss? Didn't Bride of Chucky already deliver the finest doll girl boss in Tiffany? A really likeable fun play on Bride of Frankenstein for a '90s crowd. She had serious sex appeal and was a badass. Of course, to a large extent there is literally no point taking this material seriously. A lot of the '80s anti consumerist satires were just light fun one joke movies to begin with. Strict emphasis on the fun. Megan has very little in the way of fun. Chucky, he was cool as hell in that dumb '90s way. Loved his Rob Zombie and got in shootouts with the cops. Megan is a well behaved little shit and delivers a grand total of zero massacres. Her kill count is unforgivably low.

Musically, not too sure what's going on here. What is a Titanium? Maybe it's a commentary on the artificiality of auto tune and that style of pop music? Think the worst part is when I googled the song and it turned out to be from 2011 and produced by David Guetta. Proving not to be something that just appeared overnight and we'd had plenty of time to get acquainted. Got no excuse for that one. I can recall the album cover for Nothing but the Beat but couldn't tell you how any of the tracks went. One More Love now that's got all the guilty pleasure hits on including mega banger Sexy Bitch featuring the great Akon. Jesus that could be the most 2010 song existence. Brings back memories of sharing songs on Bluetooth on the back of the school games bus, buying sweets and drinks from the food dealer and then rounding off the day with countless hours of MSN. Get me away from all this now.

When compared with Annabelle, Megan suggests a new equally terrible path in horror. My criticisms for Annabelle were that it took itself too seriously in trying to be scary. We needed to return to genre legend Joe Dante and go back to the campy high energy fun. His trick was always to put in the comedy first and then the horror. The effect was far more unnerving cause it had this dangerous juvenile feel to it. That sort of Jackass or Beavis and Butthead like quality. As thought admitting this is a laugh, completely silly but someone may get hurt. The uncertainty and slow realisation of danger the thrill. Comedy in horror is how you wrongfoot an audience. Annabelle's problem was that it plays the situation too straight. Such an approach is entirely predictable and it basically becomes a wind up clock with programmed jump scares.

Megan indicates a move away from straight up horror but let's be clear, it is not in the right direction. There is a recent trend emerging of overwriting these films. They want to appear to be addressing the debate over horror films lack of character development. As a result, we get very conservative and traditional writing to meet bourgeois tastes. Since the writers are fucking terrible, all we're really doing is substituting horror for hokey drama. Moving the audience too far away from what it is they're actually here for. I know not every horror is going to be Night of the Living Dead or The Thing but if you haven't got the tools, at the bare minimum tick the boxes. These films don't even do that because putting in such pointless drama takes you so far away from the genre requirements. We end up with not a passable horror movie but a boring and shoddily crafted drama. Not what the doctor ordered!

Someone remind these fuckers its doll horror not dull horror. In the case of Megan, there is this really uninspired attempt at critiquing careerism against family. Something that inevitably falls apart when they realise, this is against the entire core of the film, which is this girl boss prevailing. Megan is the real hero in this. She is what audiences are coming to see. This female fantasy of taking no shit from patriarchal society. So why does the film waste so much time with the counter argument that family should dominate over career?

The film doesn't quite know whether it wants to champion housewives or the feminists progressing in the office. Unexplainably, it doesn't understand that you're allowed to ironically champion one and not take it seriously. No-one even really cares what stance you pick on an issue. This is a major problem of studio horror in that they seek to provide clear positive messages and in the process lose the tongue in cheek and transgressive thrills. Independent filmmakers and exploitationers don't necessarily believe in their stances or bow in to ill-conceived notions of good taste. There is a lot more mocking of the subject matter and the potential to wrongfoot the audiences as they question do the filmmakers actually believe this or is it a joke? That ambiguous positioning is lost in studio productions because they refuse to take risks and be playfully cryptic.

You may begin to wonder have the writers of Megan ever even seen a doll horror? We're here for the fucking mischief not to fucking cry! Consequently, there is only one sequence in this film that even comes close to resembling the campy trashy horror fun a decent doll horror can provide. I refer to the scene when Megan is revealed to the public. Her corridor scene when she's got trouble on the mind and disco tune Walk the Night by Skatt Bros drops in. She takes out the boss and his assistant. Still, I can't fully praise the scene because what goes down is firmly against the rules. You can't be boring for the whole movie then set up a huge premiere and instead of a massacre just give us 2 kills. ONLY 2 KILLS. WHAT FUCKING PLANET ARE YOU ON?

This Megan is a faulty product, send her back. Up your game, girl. Did these people not think if they scrapped all the atrocious family drama, we could have had more mischief? Megan's dedication to mischief is seriously lacking. Me and her need to have some serious words about that along with her inadequate kill count. Why doesn't she fuck? Where is her doll boyfriend? Is she too much of an independent woman? Oh fuck all that. Make dolls fuck again. Purely because it's funny.

As has been proven, not enough absurdity on display here. I like my doll horrors to be relentlessly manic. For the sequel, I want more Soulwax remixes, more kills, less drama. Truthfully, don't even want a sequel cause you just know they'll squash all the fun in favour of the drama. The '80s had Joe Dante. The '90s had Ronny Yu. Now we have a bland studio taking over and I might well have to check myself out of this genre. The day has come. Pack your bags lads, it's all over.

Ok, time to catch up on what our friend Bonehead Bill actually got up to on New Years Eve. I was shocked and appalled as always when this man fills me in on any of his adventures. Know that with this man, there is no boring drama just straight up genre requirements. He's all thrills no frills. He's someone you can rely on in times of hardship to give you the goods and none of the unwanted unnecessaries. A man of good old fashioned values such as sleaze, mediocrity and low intelligence. Guys in capes may dominate our screens but he's the real hero. Without further ado, I give to you Bonehead Bill. The people's champion.

It's New Years Eve. 7:03. Bonehead rocks up at his mate Groove Dog's house. After about 3 swift knocks, Groove Dog's mother opens the door. There is a somewhat awkward hello before Groove Dog's mother reveals, "He's on the toilet. You'll have to wait in the back room". "Cheers, Angie", replies Bonehead and makes his way to the back room. Creak, creak, creak go Bonehead's footsteps across the floor. He looks over his shoulder to see if Angie is still watching him. With the coast clear, he shuts the door behind him. In the back room, a 2005 Royal Rumble DVD catches Bonehead's eye. That was the one where they couldn't decide who had won. It had been pre-planned that Batista would be the last man standing but both him and the poster boy of the PG era John Cena accidentally fell out of the ring at the same time. A simultaneous elimination but did one fall just a millisecond before the other? VAR was needed. To make matters even funnier, Vince McMahon marches in so fast that he tears his quads and is unable to say anything but just sit there on the floor whilst the confusion prevails.

"We're going to die tonight", calls a voice from behind. Turning round, Bonehead can only add, "Excuse me?" Leaning against the open door was Groove Dog himself, fresh out the shower and combing his hair back. "I just know it", re-iterates Groove Dog. Bonehead squints heavily and then calmly responds with, "you know that's a heavy thing to just walk in the room and lay on me" Plonking down on to the sofa and staring directly ahead, Groove Dog casually clarifies, "Doesn't change the fact we're...marked for death". Bonehead chuckles and puts the 2005 Royal Rumble DVD on the shelf where it belongs. He turns back to Groove Dog and goes, "alright, fucking Steven Segal. What's got you thinking this way anyway? That feeling?". "I've got that feeling?", throws in Groove Dog as he stops combing his hair for a second.

This startles Bonehead who bursts out an expletive and automatically puts his hands on his forehead. "You not got it too?", asks Groove Dog. "Give me a sec", answers Bonehead as he closes his eyes and rubs his temples, thinking for a moment. After a brief meditation, Bonehead grits his teeth together and sharply utters, "yes". Such a response stirs Groove Dog and leads to him throwing his comb across the room, rapidly and near indecipherably shouts, "Shit. We're fucked. I know it. I've got a family meal tomorrow and all. That's not fucking happening". A note to readers, Groove Dog takes all superstitions and instinctual feelings extremely seriously. Bonehead Bill can only stare in to space. To contradict such a statement would be a lie. Was time up for these two hellraisers?

We cut to 8:12, Shake Rattle and Roll by Bill Haley and the Comets is playing on a shitty speaker. Groove Dog pours their third tequila slammer and they both make stupid sounds as it goes straight to their heads. Looking up they see a figure at the window holding about 5 pills and 4 grams of coke. It's Derek Dooley. One half of the Dooley brothers. Together this trio makes up The Renegades of Funk. Dooley enters the gaff and it only takes a few more tequila slammers before the three of them are re-enacting the 2005 Royal Rumble. There is a loud thud as both Bonehead and Groove Dog hit the floor. Closely followed by shoe scratching as Derek Dooley slips down too and leans back against the sofa. Footsteps can be heard coming across the corridor.

That can only mean one thing. Angie. They all look at each other trying not to laugh. Angie ploughs open the door. She takes in the scene. Half angry, half puzzled. This then changes in to a long stare at her son. The boys feared this may go on forever until Angie finally coldly remarked, "maybe it's time you all went to that party". They all knew what that meant. In defeat, Groove Dog nodded and went, "yeah, maybe". To this day, Angie, one tough son of a bitch. Heard many tales about the infamous Angie. In a rare moment, Bonehead senses the situation and shouts, "roll on out!" "Yep, roll on out!", returns Groove Dog. They had outstayed their welcome.

All 3 of them pile in a taxi and head up to the party. The Weeknd's hit Take My Breath is being played at an excessively loud volume over the radio. Groove Dog can't resist attempting Abel Tesfaye's signature high pitched vocals. After the slammers though, he sounds more like Judy Dunaway. The taxi driver stares straight ahead, his grip on the wheel tightening, desperately trying not to snap and choke everyone in the back seat to death. He knows, it's just going to be one of those nights. As they enter the gaff, I Walk the Line by Alien Sex Fiend is in full swing. Groove Dog sees an acquaintance in the living room, instantly gets down on all fours like Lieb Schreiber in X-Men Origins: Wolverine, let's out a Herculean roar and pounces on the guy. Bonehead and Dooley look at each other, shake their heads and proceed to the kitchen. Some men's behaviour can't be explained. Noticing a cupboard, bonehead sees the perfect opportunity to hide the rest of his crate from snatching hands. Dooley folds his arms and looks over suspiciously. "Can't be too careful", Bonehead says to himself. He learnt that one from me. You really can't.

Dooley is distracted by a man fiddling with the music set up. He bounces on over with the prerogative of seizing control early. "Oi fuckstick, you best not be about to put on that EDM bollocks of yours. No, we don't want any of that shit you normally make us listen to. I'm vetoing that NOW!" Fuckstick waves his hands about defensively and goes, "Hey, I got told I was in charge of this room". Dooley dismisses this instantly with, "No. No. Not tonight, brother. Save that shit for the walk home".

Fucksticks on the back foot. He knows it and awkwardly interjects with, "That was the deal. I'm in charge of this room. You guys get that room. I get this room. You got a problem you speak to Goats Cheese Vicki, alright?". Loosening up, Dooley nods and says, "Oh alright then. I'll let you off then big man. But fucking hell. What is it with you and that Code type music? I'm sick of that shit. Hear it enough on nights out. Should probably see someone. Sort yoursen out"

The stand-off is pretty much over but Fuckstick remains nervous. He's waving his arms again, giving it that routine, as he mumbles, "I don't talk about your music". This guy is on the ropes. Ready to be rattled. Dooley has him right where he wants him and hits back quickly with, "Good, cause you'd be leaving with a fat lip, son". Fuckstick flinches heavily as Dooley mocks a punch. In the corner Bonehead busts a smile, he's seen this little wind up act before. Dooley notices the smile and breaks in to snidy laughter. "Ha, I got you!", he repeats over and over. Bonehead knows not why he smiles at such stupidity. He still hasn't figured out the purpose of this passive aggressive nonsense his boys always pulling but when he sees ribbing taking place, unexplainably he senses an overwhelming urge to support it. Who is he to go against the laws of the jungle?

"Oh my God, are you two flirting?", comes a voice from the door. Bonehead slowly spins round to catch who spoke. Fuckstick's girlfriend Lula Vincent enters the room. Dooley walks over to her and hugs her as he whispers in her ear at a volume everyone can hear, "You know me baby doll, I'm a loving man. Can't nothing stop a loving man".

Bonehead Bill sees that his cue to leave and gives it the Dora the Explorer routine, investigating what other rooms this gaff had to offer. Behind any door could lie a romantic liaison waiting to happen. I hadn't mentioned this but Bonehead had himself something of a mission this evening. He was on the hunt for a mysterious brunette by the name of Emily Boginia. Like all women, so far she was doing a damn good job of evading him. However, that wasn't going to stop our riled up young tiger from taking part in the hunt. This was his jungle and his lioness couldn't be far.

Courtship was on the cards, Bonehead just needed to find his tennis partner. The predator scans the room for any signs of his 'future wife'. This wasn't something that happened over night. They'd been talking for a few months and even locked lips a couple of times. Our brave knight was under the belief that tonight could be the night to progress things. To take their budding friendship to the next level. To go deep under the covers and take her to a place of ecstasy. Go on, Bonehead!

Sadly, no evidence of her in the living room. Not even a trail for an amateur detective to work with. No blood, no breadcrumbs, not a single soul had encountered her. Polishing this room off, Bonehead was just about to make his exit when Dooley walked in with a small blonde and blocked the doorway. "Vicki, you got a minute?", asked Dooley. "Sure", replied Goats Cheese Vicki but she didn't seem like she wanted any part of the conversation and was mainly preoccupied with taking in everyone else in the room. "Can you sort the music out in this room? I liked that idea you had of our music in here and the shitty wa wa wa wa wa edm bollocks for them in there. We should go with that", proposed Dooley. "Alright, I'll get on it. Wait what was that EDM bollocks again?", mockingly adds Goats Cheese Vicki. "You know like the wa wa wa wa oh fuck off Vicki!", Shouts Dooley realising he's being taken the piss out of.

Goats Cheese Vicki begins setting up the speakers whilst Dooley hovers over her. She maps out a precious area with her arms and says, "Just be careful with these wires. Last time everyone was here they got knocked about a bit. I tested them this morning but ". Before she can finish her sentence, Dooley jumps in with, "Vicki, I didn't ask for your life story, I just asked for the tunes" Shaking her head Goats Cheese Vicki throws out, "Alright, alright" and returns to setting up the equipment. Realising he's overstepped the line, Dooley tries a half arsed apology with, "Sorry, that was out of order, Vicki. I'd just like to hear the tunes. I'm on edge. I just really want to get some music on. I get anxious when I don't hear the music. So chop, chop, quick time, Vicki. Quick time". "Oh no, not the quick time", returns Vicki giggling to herself.

Having set Dooley up on the laptop and speakers, Goats Cheese Vicki moves away from the music station. She stops and turns back to say, "Just get on whatever you like, there's a couple of playlists on there". Dooley throws a thumbs up and returns with, "decent, decent". Holding on to the door, Goats Cheese can't help but ask, "You're not going to be a dick tonight are you, Derek?". To this Dooley smiles and answers sarcastically with, "Vicki, come on. I wouldn't dream of it". Our host knows exactly what this means and in frustration screams, "Oh fuck off, Derek. Just don't break anything" and storms off. Now alone in the corner, Dooley mutters to himself, "Hehehe I'm going to break everything in her fucking house".

With no luck in the living room, Bonehead makes his way to the toilet and engages in the gaff pissing game. The gaff pissing game begins when the waterworks commence, you stand as far back from the toilet as possible and aim the stream. What you're wanting to do is see how long you can spray from this distance. As the stream gets shorter and less powerful, you can move closer to the toilet but if you miss the bowl, you lose. A no hander is optional and naturally carries double points. The thrill is in how many times you can complete this as with every pint, it grows harder. Accuracy will be measured and poor pissers will be exposed. Bonehead passes level one. He leaves the toilet with a grin on his face that could only come from a true victory and doing us all proud with his gifted technique. Well done, Bonehead.

Slipping out the toilet and making his way back past the living room, Bonehead becomes aware of an argument taking place. He glances around the faces of the guests to get a gist of what has triggered such a hostile reaction. Paranoia tells him he missed the bowl and got a splodge on the toilet seat. The smarter side of his brain tells him this is nonsense as no other person other than himself could know this if that were to be true. In reality, the argument was caused by one girl accidentally spilling their beverage down the back of another girl. Except this wasn't really over the drink. The word 'accidentally' was also in question. Unconsciously intended might have been more accurate.

These two particular girls had a history over having shared the same mating partner at various times. Make that the same time. Although, those that could confirm this piece of information were keeping mum on this one. The girls had their suspicions and that was enough. That was what the argument was really about. Obviously, neither would admit that out of embarrassment but everyone knew. The crowd stood with their backs against the wall, safeguarding their secrets, wondering whether to step in or just enjoy the confrontation. Groove Dog tucks his quivering bottom lip and has to put a hand over his mouth to hide his strong urge to laugh at tonight's entertainment.

Dooley, who was completely oblivious to the situation, (in fact the only one hadn't noticed the quarrel taking place), continued to do lines of coke off just about every surface in the room. He displayed a toothy grin, rocking his head back and forth, dancing to The Stooges Search and Destroy in between snorting line after line. His attention never drifting to the rest of the room. Stress was high all around but he was having the time of his life. As soon as Goats Cheese Vicki noticed this along with the specks of white powder scattered round the room, she pushed past Bonehead and berated Dooley, screaming, "Stop that now. Pick one spot and clean it up after". Even when receiving his telling off, Dooley kept that toothy grin and just nodded his head like a naughty child.

Our amateur detective's search for his elusive femme fatale led him outside. He'd near cleaned out just about all the rooms downstairs. Either she hadn't arrived yet or worse, she was already upstairs. A drop of rain hits his head, he looks up to the black skies and there is more where that came from. He steps back to where the patio shelter covers and lights up a cigarette. The combination of the cheap lighter and his cold hands make the task difficult but through sheer perseverance, the thing begins to smoke. As he inhales, minute details of conversations are heard from a few groups around him but none sound like his girl. Why would she do this to him? Disappointed, he throws the barely even half-finished cigarette in to the ground and strolls back inside.

Bonehead's bladder strikes again and he angrily heads back to the toilet. Opening the door, his eyes lock on an elbow resting on the toilet seat. There is a girl perched next to the crapper with her head in her hands, she could almost be praying except she's wiping a stream of tears from her eyes. "What's up, Lula?", asks Bonehead with a rare affection. Near inaudible due to the rivers of regret pouring down her cheeks, Lula replies, "It's Mikey". To clear up, Mikey was her boyfriend previously referred to by Dooley as 'Fuckstick'. Bonehead checks nobody is watching, then he closes the toilet door behind him and shifts the lock to give them some privacy. Once clear, he queries, "What's he done?". Lula unloads weeks and weeks of couples codswallop on this episodes protagonist. The type a single person has the luxury of avoiding. All he can do is sit back on the sink top and hear her out in a flurry of tears even Justin Timberlake would be satisfied with.

"I'm not having a good time", confesses Lula. "You don't look like you're having a good time", truthfully declares Bonehead. "Are you having a good time?", asks Lula. "Me? Hell yeah I'm having a good time!", shouts Bonehead, cracking open a can of beer and raising it to the roof. Blancmange's Feel me can be heard creeping in from the party outside. "Goddammit, I just want to have a good time", returns Lula laughing to herself and spilling some of her drink down her chin. Bonehead puts down his can and points at the door as he explains, "and this...this fucker is ruining that". Lula clears a strand of hair from her face and shares that, "He's a good guy. But when it comes to this. I don't know, man. I don't know"

Bonehead leans forward and questions his companion with, "Tell me this Lula. You work hard right? You pay the bills..." Lula stands up and interjects with, "Lula works hard". As she comes closer to him, Bonehead jokingly pushes her back and says, "then you deserve to have a good time with your friends, right?".

Growing in confidence by the second, Miss Vincent steps forward and exclaims, "Lula deserves to have a good time with her friends". Bonehead adds to this with, "Lula deserves to have a good time with her friends...as a treat" "As a treat", repeats Lula.

"Right, so next time he gets all in your face about this, you tell him this sounds like a you problem. Fuckstick, this sounds like a you problem", exclaims Bonehead. "Fuckstick, this sounds like a you problem", chants back Lula. "Cause it’s not your problem, right?", ponders Bonehead. To which Lula proclaims, "It's not my problem"

Mockingly, Bonehead points his finger at her and expresses that, "It's not your problem. That I know. That I know". Lula smiles back at him and a silence is shared between them. Eventually, Bonehead Bill taps his knees, stands up and announces, "Hey, I know how we can solves this". He reaches in to his jacket pocket and pulls a key and a bag of coke. Offering it up to Lula, he invitingly insists, "between me and you, as part of our ever blossoming friendship". Wiping away the final tear of the night without a seconds hesitation, Lula helps herself to a few keys from the bag. You wouldn't have even known only moments ago this dame was a waterfall.

"So we're friends now? We're doing that?", inquires Lula as she rubs her nose clean. "As far as I'm concerned we always were", clarifies Bonehead. "I'm sorry for the way things started between us", apologises Lula. "I didn't make things easy", admits Bonehead. The two friends hug it out and Lula almost unable to believe her own words says, "You know, you're alright, Bill"

Quickly, Bonehead whispers in her ear, "yeah but don't tell anyone". Stepping back, he puts his finger to his lips and she smiles back at him. He retrieves his can off the sink and unlocks the door. Standing right outside is Groove Dog.

"Nooooooooo!", cries Groove Dog and rapidly follows up with, "Is this like one of those things I'm not supposed to say anything about? The old unspoken? What on earth have you two been up to?".

Bonehead hears the first notes of Blancmange's Living on the Ceiling and looks around for snooping eyes. He taps his friend on the shoulder and, leads him away from the scene and asserts, "nothing but straight up friendship. The greatest drug of all". "Yeah, yeah is that what they're calling it these days?", teases Groove Dog. Lula Vincent flashes one last smile in their direction and slips off quietly to rejoin the party. "

"You seen Emily yet?", probes Bonehead. "Na lad not seen her. She ain't come out to play", answers Groove Dog. "Alright. Fuck. Just keep an eye out. I got so much to say to this girl whenever I may find her", informs Bonehead. They walk in the living room to find that it is now completely silent. "Wait. Where's the music gone?", questions Bonehead. Everyone is so pre-occupied he gets no response. Dooley is sat on the floor like a child in a school assembly about an inch from the television. "Come on move, you'll get square eyes like that, kid", explains a party guest as they try to drag him away by the arm. He is unable to be moved. "Whys he staring at the TV like that?", queries Bonehead. Some geek turns round and says, "He's been staring at it for the past five minutes. He hasn't spoken to anyone" "What's going on?", adds Bonehead looking for an explanation. "The countdown", informs the geek. "Oh shit, yeah. I forget about that every year", remembers Bonehead, scratching his cheek.

There she is. He spots her in the corner of his eye. All 5 foot 8 of her. Her chin pressed against her chest. Eyes titled upwards. She flicks her hair back in slomo. Almost total command of movement and gesture. She never crawls. His Lauren Bacall. Woman of Bonehead's dreams. Swiftly, he makes a beeline for her. He tries to get her attention but she seems distracted by the boy her next to her and only half listens. "I had this dream about you last night, you know. Yeah you were standing all dressed in smoky burgundy", reveals Bonehead. "Burgundy?", picks out Emilly in her sexy growl. She half smiles but continues to involve herself in the boy next to hers conversation at the same time. "Burgundy. It was softer than rain. I wondered these empty streets. Past all these shops and alleyways", poetically explains Bonehead.

Before he can continue with his dream, the countdown begins. 10...9...8...with all the drunken screaming Bonehead has to raise his voice in order for his dream to be heard. 7...6...5..."Then you appeared. And when I woke ", shouts Bonehead. "Hey Bill, I want you to meet someone. This is Chris. My boyfriend", cuts off Emily. "Boyfriend?", repeats Bonehead despite clearly hearing what was said.

4...3...2...1 Happy New Year! Dooley cranks the volume up on Abba's Gimmie! Gimmie! Gimmie! Almost cruelly, right before Bill's very eyes, Emily grabs hold of her boyfriend and begins kissing him.

The sweet tender kiss of betrayal. Everyone is dancing, cheering, stumbling and knocking in to each other. Welcoming the taste of life. The entrancing smell of a new year of mischief. A devastated Bonehead stands amongst the crowd. Sticking out like a sore thumb as the only one not wearing a smile. Against his pocket, he can feel the vibrating of his phone. He pulls the phone out to answer it. It is none other than Jacob Kelly. Unfortunately, he is unable to hit that green button and communicate with Mr Funeralopolis himself because Moby Dick has engulfed him sending his phone flying across the room and under a sofa. Captain Ahab is launched up against the wall and a hungry Moby Dick ravishes him, biting his head off and grinding his precious bones. The great beast refuses to let him come up for air and starves him of oxygen. When he does so, he looks so dry and shrivelled up he could be Spongebob and Patrick after they've spent too much time on land. He felt for the first time what it was like to be poor Geppetto swallowed whole by the enemy. Call me fucking Ishmael.

After what seems like an age, Moby Dick releases him for her trap and moves on to locate her next victim of the seas. A strong wave brings Bonehead Bill back to land as he drops to his knees and lets oxygen fill his lungs once more. As he rises back in to a standing position, he catches eye contact with a fellow human who mouths, "Alright?". Bonehead nods. In front of them the geek is getting it on with Moby Dick. The fellow human shakes his head and says, "Fuck sake, Jonah's gonna be buzzing about that one all week".

An overwhelming desire to leave the room comes over Bonehead. Sanctuary lay elsewhere. He seeks refuge in the toilet but upon making it there, 2 fornicators are already inside going at it. A dude is balls deep and sucking a breast so hard it was like his life depended on it. Noticing Bonehead, the dude barely stops. "Either get in on this or get out", is the dudes ultimatum. Bonehead doesn't need too much convincing. He grabs hold of the woman's other breast and sucks on it so hard like his life depended on it.

A crack of light appears. The door is opened once more. Minor Threat's Straight Edge coming from the living room fills their ears. A tall dangly fellow pauses for a moment. Out of the corner of his eye, mid boob suck, Bonehead can positively make out the largest man he has ever seen. "Either get in on this or get out", mimics Bonehead. Probably fuming that this is not the three breasted woman from Total Recall, tall dangly fellow grabs the two boys by the scruff of the neck and shouts, "get out of there you" They are dragged out with their feet off ground and thrown back in to the wild. Cocks flapping in the wind as they are sent packing.

"Well there goes that dream", mumbles Bonehead as he makes his way to his feet, pulling up his trousers and dusting off his sleeves. He can hear the riff of Devo's I Can't Get No Satisfaction like an unstoppable force in his head. the only thing louder than the riff is tall dangly fellows powerful stream striking the bowl. That guy would definitely never lose at the gaff pissing game. The girl flicks her dress back over herself in a well-rehearsed moment and sprints off. To vent his sexual frustrations, Bonehead pulls out his coke bag and his nose finds itself on the receiving end of a few keys.

In the living room, Dooley is pumping up the volume on Rage Against the Machine's Renegades of Funk. Groove Dog has brought back his Lieb Schreiber impression and is crawling along the floor and up the walls at high speeds. Unexplainably, this sabretooth act releases a primal urge in the women, who breathe heavily and can barely hide their horniness at the sight of this animal loose on the floor. Dooley glances over at Bonehead and sees him looking down. He hands him over a couple of ecstasy pills and says, "Ay, take a few of those lad. And remember, we're The Renegades of Funk, lad". Bonehead awkwardly nods back at him, replies, "ok" and stupidly slaps those pills down his throat with an unnecessary force you only see in the movies.

Struggling to stay upright and with the intensity of the spinning room, Bonehead stumbles across to the kitchen and pours himself a glass of the life-saving liquid: water. "You ok?", whispers somebody over his shoulder. He turns round to see Emily. "I'm not in a good place", responds Bonehead with no emotion and sipping the drink. "I should have called you before...", admits Emily. Bonehead stares forward, revealing about as much emotion as Buster Keaton and randomly asks, "have you ever seen Dirty Work?" "No", answers Emily, shaking her head in confusion. "The '90s comedy with Norm Macdonald?", clarifies Bonehead. "Still no", doubles down Emily.

"Not to be confused with the Steely Dan song, although it could have been named after it. It's the one where he gets dumped and he's got no job so he starts a revenge for hire business to raise 50,000 dollars for his step dad's heart transplant. I might do that. I don't have a Dad who needs a heart transplant or a Dad for that matter, but I could do with 50,000 dollars", drunkenly rambles Bonehead. "I think you could do with a rest", counters Emily. "You might be right", agrees Bonehead.

Gambling on his legs abilities, he puts one foot in front of the other and tries to maintain strict balance while waking to the door. "Semi Charmed Life, good song. They used that in a lot of movies when I was growing up", says Bonehead to no-one in particular. "Bill, I'm sorry I didn't call you to explain. This could have gone better", apologises Emily. Our Third Eye Blind loving champion takes no notice and continues towards the door. "Bill!", screams Emily in a bid to get his attention. He stops dead in his tracks, mostly at the unexpected raise in volume. "I want to talk to you, Bill", demands Emily. "The Bill you have called is not available right now. Please hang up and try again later", mumbles Bonehead mimicking an answer machine on his way out the door. As he drifts away out of sight all Emily can hear is, Bill humming the opening of Semi Charmed Life to himself. "Doo doo doo, doo doo-doo doo".

Time is running out. Bonehead Bill needs a bed. He can't see anything closer than a few centimetres in front of his face. Each step of the stairs represents a brand new challenge. He has to revert to the old hands and knees to complete the last few that remain. At the top of the stairs, a man stands leaning against the wall with his arms outstretched. "I seek refuge with the lord at daybreak, from the evil of what he has created, and from the evil of the dark night when it penetrates, and from the evil of the blowers (men or women) into knots, and from the evil of an envious one when he envies", preaches the man at the top of the stairs.

"Have you not considered those who were forbidden from private conversations, then they return to that which they were forbidden and converse among themselves about sin and aggression and disobedience to the messenger? And when they come to you, they greet you with that word by which Allah does not greet you and say among themselves, 'why does Allah not punish us for what we say?'. Sufficient for them is Hell, which they enter and burn and wretched is the destination", continues the top stair preacher. Next to him, a dude in a vest and wearing an oversized beanie dances about the landing, feeling the words of the sermon deep in his soul and getting high on them. Dancing vest guy is unable to remain completely still with jittery movements as he raises his head and smears dirt up his arms. Down below someone is blaring what appears to be the Black Hawk Down soundtrack. Bonehead keeps moving, pretending they are not there. One elbow in front of the other, dragging himself across the floor.

Now deep Behind Enemy Lines like Owen Wilson back in 2001, a resting place must be found. One in which the enemy wouldn't find him. Unable to stand, he maintains the crawl. Coming to the first door available, he finds his hands not working like they should and opts to headbutt the door wide open and dives through full John Terry. When he lands back on the floor, he raises his head and makes eye contact with a neat hour glass figure with an immaculate arse mid riding her man. "Ride like the wind, Bullseye!", calls the man somewhere under the woman. Hour glass tilts her head and clocks Bonehead Bill sprawled out across the carpet in a hauntingly inhuman position. A tangle of limbs like the T-1000 moments before he falls in to the lava pit.

Unable to handle the horrible contorted body only yards away from her, she lets out a deafening scream. "Sorry!", cries Bonehead as he puts two hands on the edge of the door and backwards rolls his way out. This was not to be his resting ground.

Thankfully, the next room is not too far because all this crawling is causing serious carpet burn for our hero. What on earth had Dooley given him? There had to have been a mix up. Ecstasy could not get a man this twisted. The next room happens to be empty and Bonehead catches a lucky break. A moments respite in this torturous hell. He dives under the covers and slams his head back in to a pillow. Cold sweats come over him and he wriggles about uncontrollably. A large creaking sound sends him in to shock. The sound of a door in need of a sprinkle of the old WD40. "Where's the God Damn lube?", bellows Bonehead. Before he can get hold of the identity of the intruder, the figure dive bombs on top of him. It was Groove Dog back in Sabretooth mode.

"Fuck was that for?", cries Bonehead holding his arm that was so nearly crushed in battle. "You don't call. You don't write. How else am I supposed to get your attention", says Groove Dog as though diving on top of people is the most normal thing in the world. His form of a hello. "Fuck off, Groove Dog!", aggressively explodes Bonehead. Velvet Underground's Venus in Furs echoes up from below. The pair begin laughing and lie back taking up the space of their coffin or final resting place. Immortalised in cheap Marks and Spencer's bed sheets costing no more than a twenty pound note. "Is this to be the funeral of Groove Dog and Bonehead Bill? The swansong of The Renegades of Funk?", inquires our leader. "I am tired, I am Cotton Weary", jokes Groove Dog. "One day we need to get to the bottom of this Lieb Schreiber obsession of yours", states Bonehead.

"Never. What you doing back here anyway?", queries Groove Dog. "Recovery", answers Bonehead. Groove Dog nods, steps up and glides to the door. He turns and adds, "I've got two things just for that. Water or cocaine. Which is it to be?" "I'll take a water", decides Bonehead. "One water coming up", echoes Groove Dog. As he walks out the door, he sings to himself exaggeratedly, "We can't go on together with suspicious minds. And we can't build our dreams on suspicious minds".

Always the worst singer but that never deterred him from obliterating any song he wanted. Bonehead Bill sniggers, shakes his head, shuts his eyes and lies back down on the bed. The door in need of the WD40 hums once more. Lifting his head, Bonehead calls, "Groove Dog?". No answer. A shadow moves across the wall. "Nosferatu?", cries out Bonehead. No answer. The sheets begin to move. Someone or something is crawling in to the bed. Bonehead lifts the sheets. A human head pops just a few inches above his balls. "Bonjourno", smoothly says the head. It's Emily Boginia

She kisses him. Playing it cool, he pulls away and playfully asks, "what makes you think I want this after tonight?" "You want me to stop?", throws Emily right back at him. He contemplates this for a second. A single floor down, he can hear X's The Unheard Music blasting its way up to them. "Fuck it", mumbles Bonehead, giving into his own horniness, hoisting Emily up against the wall and attacks her face like a clicker from The Last of Us spreading it's deadly fungus aurally.

Before our noble hero can make it to third base, there is an unwanted intrusion. The door slams open and two people looking to go all the way, crash in to the room. "Somebody lube the fucking door!", demands Emily. Both of them look up, to check out the intruders. It's Chris with a fine blonde that he's picked up from somewhere or other. Emily is so angry, she furiously gets up and begins slapping Chris. I think for cheating. As though, she wasn't doing the same. Chris's blonde companion then proceeds to slap Emily. The two girls get in a scuffle. Hair flies everywhere. Both boys have to duck back to avoid the strands. Not knowing quite what to do but feeling a compelling urge to get involved somehow, Bonehead Bill stands up and socks Chris in the jaw. Chris goes down like a sack of spuds.

This does not have the intended effect he would have liked because a red faced Emily turns her screams to Bonehead and tosses him out the door. Devo's I Can't Get No Satisfaction is stuck in our unfortunate hero's head again. "Baby! Baby! Baby! Baby! Baby! Baby!", chants Mothersbaugh as Bonehead proceeds to slam his forehead in to the door multiple times.

Breathing heavily, Bonehead pauses for a moment and analyses his options of how to burst through the door that separates him from fulfilling his sexual needs. He throws his gaze to his shoulder and lines himself up to charge through FBI style. He debates this for a moment and shakes his head dismissing the thought. Another idea enters his small brain, same thing but use his leg to kick the bastard off its already fucked hinges. The moment passes. Giving up on that situation, Bonehead re-joins the party.

Downstairs, Dooley is coked out of his mind, head banging to Deftones My Own Summer (Shove it). He won't stop slapping his penis region doing DGeneration X chops and letting out screams of "Shove it" at random intervals. Bonehead decides to ignore this and sit on the sofa. When Dooley tries to involve him, Bonehead just nods over respectfully but stays seated. A group of raised voices can be heard coming in to the room. It's the recently socked Chris surrounded by Emily and the blonde. "Where's that fucking faggot who hit me in the nose?", shouts Chris so everyone in the room can hear him. Yes, in the year of our lord 2023, homophobic language like that. Emily is tapping his chest and begs him to, "leave it!".

"Where's Bill? I want Bill!", demands Chris. Some joker heckles back with, "Go on, Uma, get him!". Dooley giggles and turns to Bonehead as he asks, "Oh my God, did you punch this guy or what?" The comment gives Bonehead's position away. Chris runs over ready to fight. Dooley dives in with, "Hold on. Hold on. You're sober and he's clearly inebriated. That's not a fair fight is it? I say we reschedule". Chris does a fake laugh throwing back, "and where was his sense of fair when he sucker punched me?". "Well that doesn't mean we all have to sink to his level", justifies Dooley.

Artie Shaw's Nightmare is set to repeat on Spotify. Hazy cigar smoke fills the air. Against the dames wishes, all the guys sit down and dictate the terms of a fair fight. a verbal contract is made between those present. As per the agreement, both fighters will do bong hits of DMT so that they are equally fucked and that is when, and only when the fight shall begin.

Dooley, who is something of an unquestioned expert in the field, will sort the DMT quantities and set up the bong. 40mg will be the chosen amount for each fighter. Bonehead takes his friend to the side and politely asks, "40mg? What's that like? what does that to a man?". Dooley returns with, "fine. Completely fine. No hallucinations. Just a pleasant feel through the body. A walk in the park". He taps his buddy on the shoulder for re-assurance. This of course is a complete lie. The amount involved is going to send them to space. No victory for either competitor, just mutual embarrassment. Dooley knows this and is far too intrigued what the results will be to stop this experiment.

All the party goers gather outside in a circle to bear witness to these two young men hit the bong. Once the required amount is reached and the effects begin to take hold, our fighters stare each other out. Jackie Lovetime, a local drummer begins hitting a plate with a tube of pringles to get everyone in the mood for battle. "Wait a minute. Wait a minute", demands Dooley as he finishes setting up the speakers outside. He hits play and out pours Bongripper's Reefer Sutherland "There we go", clears up Dooley. Chris raises his fists and edges closer to his opponent. Bonehead puts up a hand gesture to stop the fight for a moment. About a second later, he throws up on the floor much to the crowds collective disappointment. "Ewwwwwwww!", cries the crowd in unison. Chris looks utterly disgusted by his opponents actions on the battlefield but this shifts when he immediately bends over and has to throw up too. "Ewwwwwwww!", cries everyone in unison once more. "Homophobia makes me sick too!", calls a voice in the crowd. With sick still pouring down their chins and shirts, the spaced out warriors commence the fight.

Bonehead struggles to land a single punch with his aim completely thrown off by the DMT. Chris has the advantage of the longer arm reach and bigger hands meaning some heavy blows. A hard hook to the eye sends the Raging Bull flying backwards and blood spills on to the gazing crowd. They were going to call it at that point because truth be told, Bonehead was taking a real beating. However, Bonehead informs me that this is the very point at which a wizard appeared behind the shoulder of his enemy.

The wizard stood there unmoving with his hands resting on his staff and Bonehead wondered what to say. All he could do was stare at the powerful being. Bonehead had insulted many people over the years but he knew from the scrolls of literature that one should never insult a wizard. He feared any action could offend the supreme enchanter and that was the last thing he wanted. So he just stood and stared, waiting. After what seemed like a life time, a one eyed dwarf wearing a patch draws a circle in the air with his finger and howls, "The wizard has chosen!".

Bonehead Bill rapidly surveys the scene and looks for an explanation. The wizard expelled bluntly, "kill him". Bonehead didn't even hesitate on the request, he went in attacking Chris in a crazed state. No-one can defend against the psychotic fighter. They're far too unpredictable. On the spot, he developed a new form of Kung Fu, DMT Boxing. Chris took blow after blow from Bonehead's fists. Flesh crumpled in to flesh. Blood sliced the ground like a Jackson Pollock painting. When he looked down, Chris suddenly took on the form of a fully developed Agama Lizard. This freaked him out more so he just kept on pounding him.

Everyone at the party suddenly dispersed as a couple of cops showed up. The neighbours must have seen what was happening and called the boys in blue. My man says the cops were swinging their truncheons like they were fucking Lydia Tar. They knocked down anyone in their path without a hint of remorse. Teeth were flying. Bones were breaking. Bonehead looked down at his hands and flames were bursting off them. Were these even his hands? Had he lost his hands? Was he watching himself watching his hands? Or was he watching himself watching someone else's hands? He had to ignore this problem for now and get out of this place immediately. Our lionheart had to clear the scene and avoid the scouring pigs closing in. In the corner of the garden, the wizard still stood leaning on his staff. The wizard pointed to his left and a dazzling droshky appeared out of nowhere. Bonehead saluted the wizard, hopped in his newly acquired vehicle, whipped the horses in action and rode off in to the sunrise. When he awoke and came to his senses, Bonehead was perched against Sheffield's high stones in Howden with Vangelis's One More Kiss, Dear playing on his phone speakers. "Happy fucking new year", he says to himself sarcastically. How had he got here? How would he get back? How much of this you choose to believe is entirely up to you.

Bonus Points:

-The cop being amused by a child dying -That little Disco number Walk the Night by Skatt Bros

-Megan donning a samurai sword

-Megan taking out the boss and his assistant Overall Score: 1/5