Imagine, if you will, a hero. Lets call him Duke Supermighty. He is tall, courageous and dashingly handsome but also nurturing and kind. Hands which can crush cars also cradle newborn kittens with the infinite care of one who has known trouble, but never sought it. He is a powerful colossus, crushing the Bad Guys beneath his leather boots and snapping their puny limbs like matchsticks. But beneath his armoured veneer our hero has a secret. A flaw. An Achilles Heel.
Duke is water soluble. Effervescent, if you will. The slightest downpour would kill him. He needs to don a radiation suit just to take a piss. He often dreams of swimming in a great silver lake and wakes up with tears drying on his cheeks. Which then dissolve his face, obviously.
Rubbish isn’t it? As far as film pitches go I wouldn’t green light that if it came with a martini and a man with a solid gold cock. Neither would I want to go and see that movie, but I might if it only cost me ONE POUNDLINGTON.
Hang on a minute Daisy, I inexplicably hear you say, seeing as how you’re over there and I’m over here, a pound is a lot to most people.
You’re not fucking wrong you PRETTY PRETTY THING. I literally fished ten pence from a puddle on Monday and was pleased with myself for finding it. Imagine that. Fishing for pence in dirty water with cigarette butts floating in. And if I’d do that for ten pee imaging what the fuck almighty I would do for A WHOLE SHINY POUND.
I joked recently with a friend about starting a fund for myself via the magical interwaves of the virtual world of the dancing pixels, i.e THE INTERNET, with the view to coaxing a pound from 250,000 people (you read that right, bitches) and then buying myself a house. Because lets face it, if I’m treating finding ten pence with the elation with which most people reserve for blow jobs and ice cream then I’m never going to be in position to buy a house otherwise.
Now I realise that people – fickle, suspicious creatures that they are – aren’t going to wang me a pound for doing absolutely nothing. Would you? No, of course not. You are not at home to Mr Stupid. But what would you pay a pound for? I could LOVEBOMB everyone for a pound each. I am good at Lovebombs. I received one once from a friend who had just texted her ex-boyfriend that he was a ‘Withered little Wurzel – a joyless fuck with a the genitals of a shrew’ and was trying to even up the balance in her karma. She told me something nice about myself and I literally PURRED with the glory of it.
I could offer everyone who partakes in the ONE POUND HOUSE PROJECT a sleepover but frankly I’m a bit of a misanthrope and would want to murder every single one of you about ten seconds after you’ve arrived. Even you, and you’re nice.
This is me, reduced to begging on the internet. Christ. What would you do for a pound? More importantly, what should I do to get a pound off everyone? I do not accept dry humping as an answer.