# data[].attributes.headline
Me
and Tommy Talbingo

 

Cast

Craig, a grumpy middle-aged man

Tom
Tom, an even grumpier cat

A
dilapidated lounge room in a ramshackle house. Craig strums absent-mindedly at a
guitar before casting it aside. Tom Tom enters and addresses him.

Tom
Tom: Your guitar playing is crap, Craig. And your songs are pitiful, especially
that one

called Be Mine…or B minor. That’s not even
funny. Or clever. Just pitiful middle-aged angst and broken-hearted cliché. Why
don’t you go out and find a woman instead of hanging around annoying me and the
neighbours with your wretched warbling?

Craig:  Why don’t
you?

Tom
Tom: You know very well why I don’t. Your last mad girlfriend insisted that you
get me

castrated, if you recall.
I don’t know why she didn’t have you done as well while she was at it. It’s not
as if you’ll ever meet anyone else. And you’re too old. I was young and virile
until the operation. She really picked the wrong one to emasculate, in my
opinion.

Craig: Fuck off, Tommy! I might meet someone else one
day.

Tom
Tom: I seriously doubt it, and even if you did, you’d fuck it up. How long did
the last

one
last? All of three weeks, if I remember correctly. And it was sickening to
watch.

 

Craig: What do you mean?

Tom
Tom: When you weren’t both besotted, you argued and fought about absolute
shite. I’m

telling you now, you have no idea at all about women
or relationships.          

Craig: I thought you liked her. She liked you.

Tom
Tom: At first. She was very affectionate to me. She bought me things and
finally 

persuaded you to let me
inside the house, so I didn’t freeze my balls off at night. But then she had
them cut off anyway. You may still miss her, but not half as much as I miss my
testicles.

 

Craig:
Tommy, you’re a stray cat. I found you under the car. I took pity on you. There
were

already too many stray
cats in Yoogali without you siring more.

 

Tom
Tom: I could say the same about you, mate. There are already too many fucking
human beings on the planet without you begetting more of them.
You already have two, don’t you?

Craig: Yes. But I don’t want more kids. I just want
someone to love.

Tom
Tom: You’re pathetic. Someone to shag more like. No-one will ever love you
again. 

You are self-centred,
egotistical, solipsistic, a lousy father and a shithouse lover.

Craig: Like you’d know, Mister.

Tom
Tom: I know only too well. I’m a cat. I’m intuitive. You just couldn’t get her
juices

flowing,
put it that way.

 

Craig: She was post-menopausal. There weren’t any
juices left.

Tom
Tom: So you may think. Face it, Craig, you’re lucky to turn on a tap. Give it
up and

 accept eternal
loneliness as your fate. You’ve upset and damaged enough women for one lifetime
as it is.

Craig: How unfair. I consider myself to be sensitive,
loving and caring.

Tom
Tom: And seriously deluded. You have the sensitivity of a pipe wrench, and
you’re

about
asloving and caring as extreme toxin. I’m not trying to be hurtful; I just want
you

to
see yourself the way others do.

 

Craig:
Thanks a lot, Tommy. I love you too. As if I’m going to meet anyone in this
town,

 anyway. There’s not much chance of that.

Tom
Tom: Thank Christ for small mercies. The female inhabitants of Coolamon are
spared

your
attentions and libidinous excesses. But what of all those other poor, 

unsuspecting
women beyond the safety of the town’s perimeter?

 

Craig:
And how the hell would I ever meet them? I never leave this burgh, as you well 

know.

Tom
Tom: Who knows what depths you would be prepared to trawl? Local schoolteachers
or

librarians,
or those scrubbers you talk to down the pub.

 

Craig: How would you know who I talk to down the pub?

Tom
Tom: It’s a small town, Craig. People talk, and so do cats. Your modus operandi
has 

been observed and
discussed in minute detail throughout the shire. You are a joke from here to
Wagga Wagga and possibly as far as Junee and Ardlethan as well. But I suppose
there is also the possibility of you meeting someone on-line, on one of those
tacky middle-aged dating services you’ve signed up to in the past.

 

Craig:
What rubbish! I wouldn’t go near them. They are only for pathetic losers and
desperate

morons.

Tom
Tom: Which is pretty much how you appear to the world, frankly. There is no
point in

 denying it, Craig. I’ve read your emails.

Craig: When?

Tom Tom: When you’re at
work, however rarely that occurs, or when you’re at the pub    trying to pull inebriated crones.

Craig: You are cruel, you know?

Tom
Tom: No, I am only being honest and trying to help you develop self-awareness.
You

have got to be more mindful of others, Craig. The
world does not revolve around you. You must find other ways to satisfy your
needs, perhaps through serving others in a selfless manner, if that were
possible for you.

Craig:
Thank you, your holiness. How long have you been giving spiritual guidance for

anyway?

Tom Tom: Long enough. Do
you remember that Buddhist girlfriend you once had?

Craig: Lucretia, you mean?

Tom Tom: Yes, that’s
right. The Buddhist who had the sense to dump you to escape your emotional cruelty.

Craig: You never met her. You don’t know anything
about her.

Tom Tom: I chat with her on Facebook occasionally. She
seems really nice.

Craig: Facebook! Do you
use my Facebook account to chat with Lucretia? I thought I’d   blocked her.

Tom Tom: Of course not. I
have my own account. I’m Tommy Talbingo to her. One of your many friends who doesn’t like you. She
seems really happy now and her boyfriend is      a
real success story. And by the way, they’re engaged.

Craig: To be married?

Tom Tom: No! Engaged in
satanic warfare. Of course they’re engaged to be married, you dolt. I’ve been invited to the
wedding.

Craig: You? But you’re a cat. You can’t go to a
wedding.

Tom
Tom: I know. It’s bad luck, apparently. She doesn’t know I’m cat, of course. I
told

her I’m a landscape architect, actually. I’ve even
given her some suggestions for what to do to liven up their garden. They have a
lovely house, you know.

Craig: No, I didn’t.

Tom
Tom: Her life has improved exponentially since she dumped you for him. But that

seems to be a recurring theme in your
life, doesn’t it Craig. I’ve tracked down quite a few of your former lovers and
they all say the same thing about you. Hardly surprising, really.

Craig: Do you really think it is necessary to trawl
through my past and examine all of my  relationship
disasters?

Tom
Tom: Yes, I do. It gives me a greater insight into the flawed nature of your
psyche and         the fragile state of
your ego. You are a very sorry case indeed, Craig. I am only trying to help you.

Craig:
Help me? You appear to be doing everything you can to destroy any vestige of
self-confidence that I retain.

Tom Tom: Precisely. I’m
trying to help you see that everything you have attempted thus far         has been futile and that the brutal
reality is that in order to overcome your deeply     ingrained flaws, you have to confront them. It’s as simple as
that.

Craig: What’s in it for you?

Tom Tom: For me? Nothing.
I just want you to be happy and stop sulking around, playing            those ridiculous songs. And another
thing, Craig.

Craig: Yes, what is it?

Tom Tom: It’s dinner time and I want fresh meat, not
fish from a can. Fresh meat!

Craig: Don’t we all?

                                                The End    




 

# data[].attributes.subject
Me
and Tommy Talbingo

 

Cast

Craig, a grumpy middle-aged man

Tom
Tom, an even grumpier cat

A
dilapidated lounge room in a ramshackle house. Craig strums absent-mindedly at a
guitar before casting it aside. Tom Tom enters and addresses him.

Tom
Tom: Your guitar playing is crap, Craig. And your songs are pitiful, especially
that one

called Be Mine…or B minor. That’s not even
funny. Or clever. Just pitiful middle-aged angst and broken-hearted cliché. Why
don’t you go out and find a woman instead of hanging around annoying me and the
neighbours with your wretched warbling?

Craig:  Why don’t
you?

Tom
Tom: You know very well why I don’t. Your last mad girlfriend insisted that you
get me

castrated, if you recall.
I don’t know why she didn’t have you done as well while she was at it. It’s not
as if you’ll ever meet anyone else. And you’re too old. I was young and virile
until the operation. She really picked the wrong one to emasculate, in my
opinion.

Craig: Fuck off, Tommy! I might meet someone else one
day.

Tom
Tom: I seriously doubt it, and even if you did, you’d fuck it up. How long did
the last

one
last? All of three weeks, if I remember correctly. And it was sickening to
watch.

 

Craig: What do you mean?

Tom
Tom: When you weren’t both besotted, you argued and fought about absolute
shite. I’m

telling you now, you have no idea at all about women
or relationships.          

Craig: I thought you liked her. She liked you.

Tom
Tom: At first. She was very affectionate to me. She bought me things and
finally 

persuaded you to let me
inside the house, so I didn’t freeze my balls off at night. But then she had
them cut off anyway. You may still miss her, but not half as much as I miss my
testicles.

 

Craig:
Tommy, you’re a stray cat. I found you under the car. I took pity on you. There
were

already too many stray
cats in Yoogali without you siring more.

 

Tom
Tom: I could say the same about you, mate. There are already too many fucking
human beings on the planet without you begetting more of them.
You already have two, don’t you?

Craig: Yes. But I don’t want more kids. I just want
someone to love.

Tom
Tom: You’re pathetic. Someone to shag more like. No-one will ever love you
again. 

You are self-centred,
egotistical, solipsistic, a lousy father and a shithouse lover.

Craig: Like you’d know, Mister.

Tom
Tom: I know only too well. I’m a cat. I’m intuitive. You just couldn’t get her
juices

flowing,
put it that way.

 

Craig: She was post-menopausal. There weren’t any
juices left.

Tom
Tom: So you may think. Face it, Craig, you’re lucky to turn on a tap. Give it
up and

 accept eternal
loneliness as your fate. You’ve upset and damaged enough women for one lifetime
as it is.

Craig: How unfair. I consider myself to be sensitive,
loving and caring.

Tom
Tom: And seriously deluded. You have the sensitivity of a pipe wrench, and
you’re

about
asloving and caring as extreme toxin. I’m not trying to be hurtful; I just want
you

to
see yourself the way others do.

 

Craig:
Thanks a lot, Tommy. I love you too. As if I’m going to meet anyone in this
town,

 anyway. There’s not much chance of that.

Tom
Tom: Thank Christ for small mercies. The female inhabitants of Coolamon are
spared

your
attentions and libidinous excesses. But what of all those other poor, 

unsuspecting
women beyond the safety of the town’s perimeter?

 

Craig:
And how the hell would I ever meet them? I never leave this burgh, as you well 

know.

Tom
Tom: Who knows what depths you would be prepared to trawl? Local schoolteachers
or

librarians,
or those scrubbers you talk to down the pub.

 

Craig: How would you know who I talk to down the pub?

Tom
Tom: It’s a small town, Craig. People talk, and so do cats. Your modus operandi
has 

been observed and
discussed in minute detail throughout the shire. You are a joke from here to
Wagga Wagga and possibly as far as Junee and Ardlethan as well. But I suppose
there is also the possibility of you meeting someone on-line, on one of those
tacky middle-aged dating services you’ve signed up to in the past.

 

Craig:
What rubbish! I wouldn’t go near them. They are only for pathetic losers and
desperate

morons.

Tom
Tom: Which is pretty much how you appear to the world, frankly. There is no
point in

 denying it, Craig. I’ve read your emails.

Craig: When?

Tom Tom: When you’re at
work, however rarely that occurs, or when you’re at the pub    trying to pull inebriated crones.

Craig: You are cruel, you know?

Tom
Tom: No, I am only being honest and trying to help you develop self-awareness.
You

have got to be more mindful of others, Craig. The
world does not revolve around you. You must find other ways to satisfy your
needs, perhaps through serving others in a selfless manner, if that were
possible for you.

Craig:
Thank you, your holiness. How long have you been giving spiritual guidance for

anyway?

Tom Tom: Long enough. Do
you remember that Buddhist girlfriend you once had?

Craig: Lucretia, you mean?

Tom Tom: Yes, that’s
right. The Buddhist who had the sense to dump you to escape your emotional cruelty.

Craig: You never met her. You don’t know anything
about her.

Tom Tom: I chat with her on Facebook occasionally. She
seems really nice.

Craig: Facebook! Do you
use my Facebook account to chat with Lucretia? I thought I’d   blocked her.

Tom Tom: Of course not. I
have my own account. I’m Tommy Talbingo to her. One of your many friends who doesn’t like you. She
seems really happy now and her boyfriend is      a
real success story. And by the way, they’re engaged.

Craig: To be married?

Tom Tom: No! Engaged in
satanic warfare. Of course they’re engaged to be married, you dolt. I’ve been invited to the
wedding.

Craig: You? But you’re a cat. You can’t go to a
wedding.

Tom
Tom: I know. It’s bad luck, apparently. She doesn’t know I’m cat, of course. I
told

her I’m a landscape architect, actually. I’ve even
given her some suggestions for what to do to liven up their garden. They have a
lovely house, you know.

Craig: No, I didn’t.

Tom
Tom: Her life has improved exponentially since she dumped you for him. But that

seems to be a recurring theme in your
life, doesn’t it Craig. I’ve tracked down quite a few of your former lovers and
they all say the same thing about you. Hardly surprising, really.

Craig: Do you really think it is necessary to trawl
through my past and examine all of my  relationship
disasters?

Tom
Tom: Yes, I do. It gives me a greater insight into the flawed nature of your
psyche and         the fragile state of
your ego. You are a very sorry case indeed, Craig. I am only trying to help you.

Craig:
Help me? You appear to be doing everything you can to destroy any vestige of
self-confidence that I retain.

Tom Tom: Precisely. I’m
trying to help you see that everything you have attempted thus far         has been futile and that the brutal
reality is that in order to overcome your deeply     ingrained flaws, you have to confront them. It’s as simple as
that.

Craig: What’s in it for you?

Tom Tom: For me? Nothing.
I just want you to be happy and stop sulking around, playing            those ridiculous songs. And another
thing, Craig.

Craig: Yes, what is it?

Tom Tom: It’s dinner time and I want fresh meat, not
fish from a can. Fresh meat!

Craig: Don’t we all?

                                                The End    




 

# data[].attributes.headline
Graeme, the Unhappy Unicorn

In
a magical land, far from the sea, there once lived a community of unicorns who
grazed upon the wide plains and supped from the sweet streams that ran through
their lands. As this was long before mankind had emerged to plunder their
pristine habitat, the unicorns were free from danger. The predatory animals,
like wolves and jackals, were reluctant to attack unicorns, as their horns appeared
threatening. Thus, they were inclined to hunt smaller, less threatening mammals,
like leppoes; small furry creatures that are now sadly extinct.

            However, despite this idyllic
existence and the general mood of contentment, there was one very unhappy
unicorn, and his name was Graeme. Whilst all the other young unicorns gambolled
and frolicked, Graeme sulked and refused to partake in the revelry. His mother,
Florence, tried to encourage him to join in with the other unicorns, but Graeme
was surly and anti-social. 

            “Why don’t you go and play with your
friends, Graeme?” Florence would ask.

            “They’re not my friends. They are
just a bunch of losers who know nothing,” he replied. “I hate them. They are
always doing boring stuff, like frolicking and gambolling. That sucks big time,
man!”

            “But you used to frolic and gambol
when you were young. And you used to be friends with all the other young
unicorns, don’t you remember?”

            “Yeah, so what? I’m over it. I don’t
want to hang around with those retards any more. They’re tedious.”

            “Oh, Graeme, don’t be so critical.
They’re just enjoying themselves. There must be something that makes you
happy?”

            “Nah! Nothing around here. It’s mind-numbingly
monotonous. The girls are hideously ugly, and besides, they’re all frigid. And
the guys act like faggots.”

            “Graeme! Those are horrible things
to say about your friends. I don’t know what has happened to you. I’m going to
have to have a serious discussion with your father. You can’t go on with this
attitude. Not if you want to get on in this life.”

            “Dad’s a dickhead too. What’s he
going do? Send me to the counsellor again, that old clown Carson. I reckon he’s
probably a paedo anyway. I’m not going back there. He’s a perve, Mom.”

            “Graeme! That’s enough!”

            “You bet it is. I’ve had enough of
this shit hole. I’m getting out of here.”

            Graeme turned and galloped full
speed away from the happy little community. His mother cried out to him to
return, but he ignored her pleas. When Graeme’s father, Charlie, heard of his
son’s departure, he and some of his friends formed a search party, but found no
trace of him. Florence and Charlie were shattered and missed their only son
inconsolably. The rest of the community, however, were glad to see the back of
the petulant brat. He had been a bad influence on the other young unicorns and had
always refused to help anyone.

            Rumours began to spread on the
plains, about how he had been seduced by the bright lights of Unicorn City and
that he was hanging out with a gang; of how he indulged in substance abuse and
sold himself to perverted old unicorns to procure them. It was also rumoured
that he was living in sin with a horse! “The shame and iniquity of it,” they
said. 

            However, none of it could be corroborated,
being mere scuttlebutt and conjecture. No-one ever saw Graeme again, and it is
more likely that he was killed and eaten by a lion after leaving the safety of
his community. Besides, Unicorn City doesn’t really exist. It was a myth
invented by some small-minded bigots in the community. The moral of the story
could be: small communities create small minds, but in this case there is no
moral, unless you want to make up your own.

 

# data[].attributes.subject
Graeme, the Unhappy Unicorn

In
a magical land, far from the sea, there once lived a community of unicorns who
grazed upon the wide plains and supped from the sweet streams that ran through
their lands. As this was long before mankind had emerged to plunder their
pristine habitat, the unicorns were free from danger. The predatory animals,
like wolves and jackals, were reluctant to attack unicorns, as their horns appeared
threatening. Thus, they were inclined to hunt smaller, less threatening mammals,
like leppoes; small furry creatures that are now sadly extinct.

            However, despite this idyllic
existence and the general mood of contentment, there was one very unhappy
unicorn, and his name was Graeme. Whilst all the other young unicorns gambolled
and frolicked, Graeme sulked and refused to partake in the revelry. His mother,
Florence, tried to encourage him to join in with the other unicorns, but Graeme
was surly and anti-social. 

            “Why don’t you go and play with your
friends, Graeme?” Florence would ask.

            “They’re not my friends. They are
just a bunch of losers who know nothing,” he replied. “I hate them. They are
always doing boring stuff, like frolicking and gambolling. That sucks big time,
man!”

            “But you used to frolic and gambol
when you were young. And you used to be friends with all the other young
unicorns, don’t you remember?”

            “Yeah, so what? I’m over it. I don’t
want to hang around with those retards any more. They’re tedious.”

            “Oh, Graeme, don’t be so critical.
They’re just enjoying themselves. There must be something that makes you
happy?”

            “Nah! Nothing around here. It’s mind-numbingly
monotonous. The girls are hideously ugly, and besides, they’re all frigid. And
the guys act like faggots.”

            “Graeme! Those are horrible things
to say about your friends. I don’t know what has happened to you. I’m going to
have to have a serious discussion with your father. You can’t go on with this
attitude. Not if you want to get on in this life.”

            “Dad’s a dickhead too. What’s he
going do? Send me to the counsellor again, that old clown Carson. I reckon he’s
probably a paedo anyway. I’m not going back there. He’s a perve, Mom.”

            “Graeme! That’s enough!”

            “You bet it is. I’ve had enough of
this shit hole. I’m getting out of here.”

            Graeme turned and galloped full
speed away from the happy little community. His mother cried out to him to
return, but he ignored her pleas. When Graeme’s father, Charlie, heard of his
son’s departure, he and some of his friends formed a search party, but found no
trace of him. Florence and Charlie were shattered and missed their only son
inconsolably. The rest of the community, however, were glad to see the back of
the petulant brat. He had been a bad influence on the other young unicorns and had
always refused to help anyone.

            Rumours began to spread on the
plains, about how he had been seduced by the bright lights of Unicorn City and
that he was hanging out with a gang; of how he indulged in substance abuse and
sold himself to perverted old unicorns to procure them. It was also rumoured
that he was living in sin with a horse! “The shame and iniquity of it,” they
said. 

            However, none of it could be corroborated,
being mere scuttlebutt and conjecture. No-one ever saw Graeme again, and it is
more likely that he was killed and eaten by a lion after leaving the safety of
his community. Besides, Unicorn City doesn’t really exist. It was a myth
invented by some small-minded bigots in the community. The moral of the story
could be: small communities create small minds, but in this case there is no
moral, unless you want to make up your own.

 