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The Jerry Cornelius Collaborative Story of Doom!

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  • UncleDes
    Version 3.1

    Jerry rushed out of the DVD store; his face a river of tears; his hand bearing a small plastic package. He stumbled, heartbroken, along Oxford Street, running the 300yards to the turning into the small alley that led to his apartment.

    He raced up the stairs and, with fumbling fingers once...twice dropped his keys trying to open the faded green door to his shoddy home. Once inside, he pulled open the door to the liquor cabinet, not pausing to turn on a light or find a glass. Jerry grasped at the cork on the whisky bottle and threw it on the floor, upending the bottle and letting its vital essence enliven him.

    How could they? How COULD they? He was a hero... a gifted lover... a chrononaut... a dandy... a true jester... a family man...

    How could they MOCK HIM LIKE THIS?

    His body slumped; his fingers failed... and the plastic package fell to the floor. Jerry half-heartedly kicked it, so the DVD fell out, leaving the title semi-visible in the twilight: "Austin Powers in Goldmember"
    Last edited by UncleDes; 07-22-2007, 09:09 AM. Reason: ? Guess

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  • UncleDes
    The Nature of the Cat-'as-Trophy

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  • David Mosley
    Jerry is falling.

    The soft, darkly oppressive walls pressed against Jerry's body. He tried flailing his arms and legs to better gain some purchase but it was no use. It was too slippery. The walls closed tighter around his head. He tried to scream, but no sound was forthcoming. Perhaps if he held on to the safety cord he'd stop falling? But there was too much slack and the rate of his descent didn't ease. He wondered briefly what he would find at the end of the fall. The pressure increased. He still couldn't scream. His lungs were full of fluid. He was going to die. Suddenly the constriction passed to his shoulders. A bright light flooded his vision. He screwed his eyes shut. He still couldn't scream. The pressure rippled down the length of his body until he felt it vanish. Then he felt a sharp pain across his buttocks. And finally Jerry screamed.

    "Congratulations, Mrs Cornelius - it's a boy."
    "Aw Loid! Not 'nother of the effin' blighters."

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  • UncleDes

    Keef blurted out "What chequebook? We haven't needed chequebooks since Trotsky got killed by that icepack in '61!" Shakey Mo turned down the durge coming out of the iPod speakers and smirked. "Ice PACK? Ice PICK isn't it, Keef? Getting a little rusty? Jesus!"

    It was at this point that Jerry realized that Una and Catherine were both staring at him expectantly - Catherine grasping a dog-eared copy of "Return of the King". What the hell had they been up to in their three hours a.w.o.l. from the Time Centre?

    "Come take a little lookie here, Jerry-boy!" The scent of garlic and lavender emitting from Una Persson both repulsed and attracted him. He wandered over to the pink settee where the two women sat squashed together like siamese twins.

    "Look wha' we done, Jerry." Catherine's barrow-boy Cockney accent grated on his senses. Her black fingernail pointed to the middle of page 97. Jerry's eyes blazed. "What did you two fucking idiots do? That's Tolkien?"

    Catherine shrugged. "It was the early 40's in bloody boring Oxford and we had already had a laugh at bloody Parson's Pleasure, and then we had a bloody pint in the bloody Lamb and bloody Flag and got talking to this old geezer and made some suggestions about character names..."

    "But _Dildo Baggins?_ You can't...just..." He stuttered to a halt.

    Mo Collier's voice carried easily over the argument, the chugging rhythm of the music had slowly quietened down and two male voices rapped back and forth. "Oi! Shut it, you three. This is the bit where Hendrix and Tupac got into the fist fight in the studio."

    Jerry had had enough. It was a Bank Holiday. Who would heal the Time Rift now? Una put down the army-surplus mind-reader and looked him in the eye.

    "Band-aid, Jerry?"
    Last edited by UncleDes; 07-07-2007, 02:16 PM. Reason: Maintaining the narrative flow. Crucial to JC stories..hahaha

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  • David Mosley
    Jerry winced and rubbed his bruised shoulder. He stared moodily at the stranger who had just collided with him and was now walking on without so much as a by-your-leave. If only he hadn't lost his vibragun in Battersea. Jerry wept.

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  • nalpak retrac

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  • CandyFlossCow

    That portion of geometry dealing with figures in a plane, as opposed to solid geometry. Plane geometry deals with the circle, line, polygon, etc.


    One of the larger computational fluid dynamics (CFD) models ever developed helped to optimize the performance of an advanced fighter aircraft. The 5,000,000 grid point model was used by Northrop Grumman Corporation to investigate straight vertical landing for the Joint Strike Fighter, the U. S. Air Force's next generation combat plane. The model, which covered the entire exterior of the proposed aircraft, helped engineers investigate the effects of entrainment, which produces negative lift and must by counteracted by additional engine thrust. A special preprocessor automated most of the model creation process, including strategically distributing grid points for high accuracy while minimizing computation time.
    Mike Malone, Engineer/Specialist, Northrop Grumman Corporation, Pico Rivera, California
    Silicon Graphics World, July 1998, page 14

    17. Reaction/Creation (Duality 1)

    Jerry shaded his eyes from the sun as he watched the plane spiral towards the ground, trailing thick black smoke.

    "One down," he said.

    "I think it's an anagram," said Mo, cryptically, chewing the end of his pencil. Jerry shook his head and touched Mo's arm. Mo looked shaken.

    "Take your schemer's mitts off me, Mr C. I'm not like you."

    Jerry smiled.

    "Me neither."

    18. Catastrophe/Cornelius (Duality 2)

    The Rolls sped across the desert, a silver speck kicking up a trail of dust. Jerry watched as a small stall approached. He slowed the car. Bishop Beesley awoke with a start.

    "Are we in Jerusalem yet?"

    Jerry ignored him. A tall, grey-haired cowboy hailed them from the side of the road, waving a wooden stick.


    The cowboy's other hand held a pistol. On the sand, next to the stall, lay a bucket and spade. Jerry grimaced and put his foot down. A cloud of red dust filled the air. Jerry didn't dare look in his mirrors.

    "Mirage?", Beesley asked.

    "No. I'm trying to give up," said Jerry.

    The Bishop nodded sympathetically, and started to scratch himself.

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  • Talisant
    The most divine art is that of healing. And if the healing art is most divine, it must occupy itself with the .. 'brain'.. as well as the body; for no creature can be sound so long as the higher part of it is suffering. - Pythagoras

    8. The Creature of the Neuropathy

    Nurse Rosetta Chap was not exactly conscious when the Phantom Limb plowed into the dock at the base of Goat Island. Oblivious to the comatose patient on the bunk across from her, she was day-dreaming of how to spend the out of court settlement “guaranteed� by her lawyer from the pending sexual harassment lawsuit against her former employer, Trace Pathos, political spin doctor, world class hypochondriac, and inept masher.


    Warm and wet, something covered her face, an alarm was ringing, and there were voices, one of the crew and the Doctor, she could tell they were in the room with her, but they sounded so far away.

    “Sأ¬, sأ¬, la signora era sul pavimento, la sua testa sanguinava, e Jerzy camminava lontano, ho detto, lo sciocco, l'abbiamo pensato morivano, dove lei va adesso?â€?

    “Well, he can’t make it far, find him and bring him back, no tellin’ where he imagines he’s off to!�

    “Camminava molto lentamente, e non ha mai fermato, ha detto che andava a Roma, a Roma, dove tutti i peccati e gli scandali del mondo riuniscono e sono glorificati.�

    “Well...Oh, Nurse Chap, finally coming around eh, just take it easy there.�


    Shakey Mo found the ’39 Wyvern abandoned in an alley just on the boundary of Old Town, dawn was another hour away, music still blared from the club-lined street. Quick peep, keys...shades...

    The car started on the second try, and trolled past the Spectra Oath, the Hatteras Cop, the Strata Epoch, the Tea Pot Crash, the Captor Haste, and the Space Throat.


    Mo spied Cap Rheostat, the ol’ lamplighter, plying his trade, “Hey Cap, Cap! Hey, seen ’im tonight?�

    Cap waved, and shrugged a NO.

    The Wyvern sped up and off into the predawn mire.

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  • David Mosley
    3. Duel in the Sun


    "Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwnnnn nnnnnnnnnnnn." The Merlin engine that powered his Submarine Spitfire complained vocally as Jerry drove down into a tight roll after the Messerschmitt ME 109 he had caught sneaking off from the main raiding party. He pressed down hard on the joystick, cursing as he fought with the beast for mastery until it finally succumbed to his command and allowed him to pull up before the Messerschmitt plowed into the ground beneath them.

    Even over the sound of his engine, he could hear the muffled roar as the enemy plane exploded and a huge fiery ball of hot gasses filled his line of vision. "Yeeaah! Cop that, Adolf!" Jerry laughed as he left the scene of destruction to re-join his squadron. Doubtless the tale of their life-and-death combat would have grown some by the time he got back to the Mess and sat down with Ginger and Smoky, but that was in the nature of the pilot's report. Like fishermen's tale, it grew in the telling.

    Suddenly, a burst of exploding hot lead across his nose broke Jerry's reverie. 'Jesus Christ! What the hell was that?', he thought as he pulled back on the stick and pushed the Spitfire upwards in the hope he would gain enough height to see his attacker before it attacked again. That would teach him to let his mind wander. Jerry peered through the persplex screen over the Sussex Downs landscape below. Although he couldn't see any sign of it now, away in the distance he could hear the sound of the enemy plane's engine. But something wasn't right. It didn't sound like the Daimler-Benz DB 605A that the German Messerschmitt planes used. It sounded different. Like the Rolls-Royce Merlin 45 in his own plane.

    Realisation hit Jerry like a bucket of cold water. 'Frank, you dirty bugger!' he screamed as he steered the Spitfire in the direction of his brother's own plane. 'You're not s'posed to shoot me, you bastard!' he shouted as he ran straight into the black trouser legs of the local ARP Warden.

    'Now, now sonny, there's no need for that sort of language. What would your ma say, eh?'

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  • CandyFlossCow
    Re: The Jerry Cornelius Collaborative Story of Doom!

    Originally posted by manmiles
    Well, with all this talk of JC stories. I decided to try and start a collaborative Jerry Cornerlius story here. Just a little bit of fun and madness, go in whatever direction you so want.
    Erm, well, you asked for it.... :) Beats doing work!



    STATUS QUO guitarist RICK PARFITT has given up alcohol for good because his excessive drinking made him forget the chords to the band's songs.

    The MARGUERITA TIME hitmaker, 56, admits years of boozing have finally taken their toll and are seriously affecting his playing.

    He says, "I'd have a beer at midday then move on to vodka. I was getting on stage and having a drink.

    "I kept forgetting the lines to songs and the chords too. It started to frighten me a bit. I'd stop drinking for a couple of days and start shaking.

    "Now I go out and I just drink water."


    This theorem says that if two chords intersect, the product of the lengths of the segments of one chord is equal to the product of the lengths of the segments of the other. Very handy for this problem, and you don't even have to know or assume that the chords are perpendicular.

    2. Be old, the man.


    "Do you believe in mathematics, Mr. Cornelius?"

    Jerry heard Miss Brunner's voice, but just couldn't get her angle. Jerry was never one for protracted debate.

    "How about a drink?"

    Jerry parked the Rolls and helped Miss Brunner out. The old girl was looking a bit unsteady. She drew her fur coat tighter around her shoulders and shivered. Things had been looking rather melancholic of late, but Jerry had cheered up enormously after he bumped into Miss Brunner in Sainsbury's. Miss Brunner had been stuffing bottles of bleach into her coat. Jerry had pretended to be a store detective. Miss Brunner had pretended to be very annoyed.

    As they approached the bar, a High Court judge in mud-stained robes swore at them. Jerry ducked, instinctively. His reflexes had come back to him. Jerry smiled and patted Miss Brunner's arm.

    "Mine's a double."

    In the smoky gloom, the muzak system played "Spirit of the Age". Jerry found it oddly familiar.

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  • manmiles
    started a topic The Jerry Cornelius Collaborative Story of Doom!

    The Jerry Cornelius Collaborative Story of Doom!

    Well, with all this talk of JC stories. I decided to try and start a collaborative Jerry Cornerlius story here. Just a little bit of fun and madness, go in whatever direction you so want.

    Apologies to Mike

    Jerry Cornelius in

    'The Entropy of Faded Messiahs.'

    1- Jerry decides to pack it all in.


    Jerry Cornelius sat at the computer and sighed.

    The world was going straight to hell and even worse, it was ignoring him totally. He was hitting 65 now and on the verge of being completely past it. He longed for the day when it was him and his gun, screwing against the forces of law and order, going against the man and tuning in and dropping out. There was a time when HE was the messiah for the masses and…


    “Heard about this Gideon chap?�
    “Gideon chap?�
    Jerry raised his head slowly from the old pornographic magazine he was reading.
    “Gideon Starcraft, Starlost…Star-something. Apparently he’s the new hip thing, all PVC bondage ware, waltzing around like he’s something special. The kids love him apparently…�
    “Don’t say �kids,’ Mo… It makes us sound old.�
    “Jerry, we ARE old.�
    Jerry Cornelius leapt from his chair and promptly sat back down coughing.
    “If Keith Richards and Mick Jagger can still rock at their age, then so can Jerry!� he spluttered, “I thought I’d be dead by now. I think I’d rather that than this agonising nothingness of old age.�
    Mo groaned under his breath,
    “Jesus, Jerr… Why do I spend time with you anymore? You’ve become such a downer.�
    “Then piss off then!� shouted Jerry.


    With a scream, Jerry realised that he had become THAT old, he had become the age when you just can’t help but look with disdain at the younger generation and say �in my day.’

    “Yep, I’m going to kill myself. Seems like a fun thing to do.�

    He got up and shuffled over to a chest in the corner of the room. He opened it up and pulled out his old and trusty vibragun, it's once gleaming surface now faded with age and disuse. He placed the nuzzle of the gun against his temple.

    "Sorry, Cath, this is what happens when you dump the old Messiah for the new one."

    Have fun, somone!