GAYLORDS IN SPACE

1977-1984

This suggestion for study is inspired by a French reality programme of the same name, in which prominent homosexuals were filmed for the edification of a rabid television audience. Interestingly, Michel Foucault and his "young friend" Jean Paul were the first to take part.  13 July 1977 saw the launch of space capsule Cockblast II carrying Foucault and friend and for the next 14 months viewers avidly tuned in every evening to share their fears, their worries and their horny rampant sex sessions.

As with today's reality programmes, producers would spice things up if things got a bit boring. These included weekly games where the pair could win greater privileges (better food, more comfortable beds, oxygen etc). Here are just a few:

1. Swan. Swans are released into the capsule. Foucault and Jean Paul have to shave as many as they can in 20 minutes. For every swan shaved, the pair receive a highlighter pen. It's not much of a prize, but they don't seem to mind.

2. Rusty Trombone Party. This sexual practice went under various other names, including “rusty tree penis", "rusty crap hammer" and "Willy Wonka Reacharound". It was the big ratings winner, with over 50 million watching one such event. It is also where we get the phrase "parping a tune on the rusty trombone", which is in common usage today.

3. Fart sex. Foucault and Jean Paul make love through the medium of their flatulence.

4. Docking Station. Jean Paul floats aimlessly around the capsule, wearing a special spacesuit with the bottom cut out. A naked blindfolded Foucault then has to locate Jean Paul and perform the tricky manoeuvre of achieving coitus. It's rather reminisant of the opening of 2001: A Space Odyssey, although instead of a satellite majestically pirouetting through space, it's a flailing bald Frenchman with an erection trying to locate his boyfriend's rear end. Nevertheless, it was still an intensely moving moment of TV history. I cried a great deal whilst watching the tape of it.

I feel Gaylords in Space was very much ahead of its time. TV could learn from it today.

You people make me sick.

I've had a further brain thought concerning Time Slag, Here's her backstory:
 
Time Slag is a sexy financial adviser. She prosecutes things like insurance fraud, embezzlement, money laundering, etc., acting as a kind of ombudswoman to the intergalactic multiverse.  Her hectic schedule barely gives her any time for a lovelife, but she still manages to leave a trail of broken hearted men in her wake. She's also a cyborg, for some reason.

Following in the footsteps of Doctor Who, who had popstar Billie Piper for a glamorous assistant, Time Slag's sidekick is Simply Red's Mick Hucknall. Unfortunately Mick suffered an awful teleportation accident where his DNA became intertwined with that of an alien virus. It has left him extremely disfigured. He's now a boneless slug-like creature with a single hand that has no opposable thumb. All he can do with it is nudge objects that happen to be in the nearby vicinity, rather like a cat with a ball of twine.  He has no power of speech, but is fully sentient: he scrawls messages in his own mucus that plead for someone to end his wretched existence. Harrowing stuff; yet funny as well.

Mick's lack of mobility may pose somewhat of a problem in the show's action sequences that require rapid movement. But I've hit upon an ingenious idea to circumvent this: Time Slag will push Mick's body around in a wheelbarrow. It should all make for some tremendous entertainment.

I think the BBC1 Saturday 7pm slot would be ideal for Time Slag, just after the new hit reality programme, Ainsley Harriott's Jizz-Fart Maggot Farm.

Hi sex puffins.

This is an idea for a television programme. It's called:




 TIME SLAG


The synopsis is as follows:



a slag travels through time.



Pretty self explanatory, really.

I think I've come up with a great idea for a television programme. It's quite cerebral and highbrow. Here it is:



RIM MY PROSTATE


This is what's know in the business as a "high concept".

And this is how I'm going to pitch it to the ITV executive when I meet her in an interview that will take place in my imagination on Friday.

The stars really come out to play in this interactive gameshow. It's a deceptively simple idea: celebrities have to perform the unlikely sex act described in the programme's title on a 72 year-old gentleman. This man then passes judgement on their performance using withering sarcasm that often reduces the hapless celebs to tears. Stars for the first edition TBC*, but those rumoured to be appearing include 90s popstar Whigfield, Martin Amis, Immanuel Kant and one of the interchangeable blonde girls from Hollyoaks.
At first, I thought I would have the celebrities donate their fees to a worthy charity e.g. a children's hospital, third world aid, cancer research etc. But then I thought it would be better if they gave their appearance money directly to me, and then I would use that money to buy myself something nice at the shops.

What does everyone think of it? I'm interested in feedback, as long as it's positive and you validate me as a human being. If this is not the case, you can piss off.  


*I apologise for confusing you with an acronym. If you're in showbusiness like I am, you sometimes don't have time to use "words". But as you're not involved in the biz, I'll help you out just this once: TBC stands for "The Balloon Council".

Hey eggplants.


This is a new idea that will launch my career as a TV mogul and excremental pornographer.


CHOMPING ON ROADKILL
Synopsis:

A couple are given a bin bag and an hour to scrape up dead animals on a local A road. They then have to serve what they've found to an unknowing couple at a dinner party.  Cue lots of funny action and dialogue in the kitchen as they prepare the meal ("Don't thin the sauce", "Where's the paprika?", "Can you grill squirrel?", "You show more tenderness with that badger than you have with me in ten years of marriage! I want a divorce Gary!", etc.). After much stilted conversation and forced joviality, it is revealed to the other couple that they've been eating flash-fried bits of carrion swarming with parasites and marinaded in Gary's piss. At this point in the programme I'm hoping they will laugh and see the funny side rather than recoil in horror and threaten legal action.

I see this show as similar to Come Dine With Me, only the contestants won't be quite so insufferably middle-class and smug.


I need funds for my idea, of course. You can make donations at this website: http://www.wankingwithchopsticks.co.uk/ 

DRINK MY BATHWATER

This is a new idea for a TV programme that will kick into shape ITV's saggy-arsed daytime schedule:



WHERE'S MY TREBUCHET?

This is what it's about (as if it needs explaining!):

Each week a member of the public asks a question that everyone, at sometime in their life, wishes to ask: where's my trebuchet? A team of four celebrities then has three hours to build the medieval catapult for that lucky person.

This process will be severely edited down to about 40 minutes, minus the commercials but including the subliminal messages asking viewers to go to my roadkill erotica website and buy a porcelain model of a man violating a stoat.

Celebrities for the first programme are Jay Z,  Richard Dawkins, William of Orange and Mrs. Dalloway. 

   
It should all make for some tremendous entertainment, especially if you're infirm, unemployable or mentally incapacitated (every better if you're all three).

GONNA BOTTLE UP MY LOVE, SHAKE IT UP AND DOWN AND SPRAY IT ALL OVER JESUS

Hey you sodding fucking bastards.

I've had quite a difficult few weeks. I've suddenly realised that I've been breaking the law in partaking in my new hobby. It involved following women very closely late at night whilst narrating the 18th century erotic novel Fanny Hill in a seductive voice. I thought in doing this I'd meet some interesting lady people, but apparently it's counts as "harassment" and carries a minimum three-year prison sentence. I genuinely thought it was a normal everyday hobby, like stamp-collecting or masturbating in front of a pet dog.

There's so much I don't understand about the world.


Here's an idea for a TV podfart, a new medium that I've just invented:



Kids Say the Stupidest Things.

The pitch

3 to 5 year-olds are asked questions on a number of different subjects, e.g. animals, their own family. geography, current affairs, etc. After submitting demonstrably false answers, a panel of judges will roundly criticise the pathetic attempts at knowledge on display, using the staple of TV judging panels insults: inapt and poorly thought out similes.

For example,

"Jack, your brain is like Gandalf playing a banjo"
or

"Jamie, your attempt to explain Marx's theory of alienation was as if a tractor was trying to put on a pair of trousers"
and

"Molly, your intelligence is at a poor level. It's as if a sofa cushion was your mum, and you're like a smaller sofa cushion who she gave birth to. Sofa cushions have low intelligence, and you're like that."
Such incisive comments will show just how flawed and idiotic these children's worldviews really are.


The panel will consist of a man, a women and another man: all pissing on a young child's confidence. Metaphorically speaking, of course, although a more literal meaning could come into play, depending on how the show does in the ratings. But I don't really envisage it going in that direction. Honestly, adults hosing down kiddies on live television? That's sick. You see that sort of thing on Loose Women, but there it's done for satirical purposes only.

I don't see this show as being exploitative. No, not at all. All it's really doing is psychologically harming toddlers for the benefit of a large TV audience. What's the harm in that?