In which Chickenlady became a celebrity vet
When I was twelve I wanted to be a vet.

If I hadn’t accidentally smashed a glass thermometer, and then followed up by breaking the bowl bit of a stone pestle and mortar, I might not have been banned from taking Chemistry at GCSE. I’d have passed with straight As, or even A*s, then I’d have taken that and Biology, with Maths at A level, and my place to study veterinary science at Edinburgh University would have been confirmed.

During my final year I’d have met and had a passionate affair with Ben Fogle, which he’d never recover from, and he’d always carry a torch for me, even when crossing the Atlantic in a small boat with James Cracknell. Through my connections with Ben I’d have been featured on the BBC vets programme. After an ill-advised mishap with a elephant I’d have been offered my own TV show - a reboot of Animal Magic with me providing all the voices instead of long dead Johnny Morris. It would be such a hit that I’d also end up being offered Kate Humble’s job on Autumn and Spring Watch, and Bill Oddie and Chris Packham would have had a punch up in the BBC canteen over who got to ask me to the next awards do.

I’d have had a small guest spot on Animal Hospital with Rolf Harris which would have resulted in me becoming good friends with him and his wife, before any of the Yewtree news broke. I’d have liked Rolf because of Cartoon Time, but it wouldn’t last. At a formal dinner party in his London home Rolf would have turned to me and whispered, ‘Can you tell what it is yet?’ then looked purposely down into his crotch where his Digereedoo would be on show. I’d look away and begin to talk to Dave Lee Travis, who would be sitting on my other side. The Hairy Cornflake would offer to take me away from all of this and play ‘Our Tune’ for me alone, every morning. At that point I’d realise that this was just all too awkward, so I’d make my excuses and leave.

On returning home I’d find Alan Sugar on my doorstep waiting to beg me to join the Apprentice team in Margaret’s spot. I’d have accepted because my veterinary skills would be the ideal twist for the show - I’d be able to give a well aimed boot up the arse to the swaggering young Turks who falsify their CVs claiming to be CEOs of big businesses when actually they own a minicab. The Apprentice would grow to new heights of popularity, and I’d end up having an affair with one of the contestants - a Ben Fogle lookalike. But then the affair would come to an abrupt end one night…

I’d come home from a hard day in the surgery where I’d been expressing a number of dogs’ blocked anal glands, I’d be ready for a large glass of red wine and a foot massage from my Ben Fogle lookalike, but instead I’d discover him in bed with KATIE HOPKINS.

I’d grab my vet bag, find the vial of meds given to dogs when they have to go and ‘live on a farm because they’re tired and poorly’, everyone knows this is the best place for old dogs. They only need the little injection for the journey, a nice short sleep.

I’d have injected Hopkins while she gave Apprentice hopeful Ben Fogle lookalike a sloppy blowjob. She’d have gone quietly, with her mouth full. And I’d have ended up in prison for six months with my celebrity vet career in tatters.

Damn my twelve year old clumsy hands for smashing that bloody thermometer.
( chickenlady b3ta's very own Elizabeth Taylor, Sun 4 Oct 2015, 17:56, 12 replies)

Dead Ringers
Circa the Year 2000 there were some MP3s ripped from the radio program Dead Ringers being traded among the Doctor Who fandom on Usenet and elsewhere, because they featured Jon Culshaw doing phone pranks in-character as the Fourth Doctor as played by Tom Baker.

I loved them so much I made a very rough cutout-style animation of one of the calls, compressed it to one of the horrible small video files we had back then, and posted it online.

My animation circulated nicely, went the 15-years-ago equivalent of viral, and eventually got me a very nice email from a Dead Ringers producer who'd seen the clip, loved it, and wondered if I'd perhaps be interested in working on more animations like it for their TV version of Dead Ringers which was in its very early planning stages.

I was thrilled by the possibility, but let down when we got to the point in discussions where it was apparent I wasn't from BBC land at all; I'm American. There turned out to be too many obstacles in the way of bringing a filthy foreigner like me onto their production, but they were very polite and apologetic about it.

On the bright side, they were still very complimentary about my work and wished me the best and also didn't sue me for using their audio without permission. When their TV show premiered in 2002 it ended up not featuring any cartoons anyway, and it turned out quite nice.
( Rob T Firefly talked, like, William Shatner, on, Wed 7 Oct 2015, 7:56, 5 replies)

A band that never was
I was in a three piece studio only band named Sephiroth in the early 90s (there are currently six Sephiroths out there a 20 second Google tells me so we may have needed to change the name at some point.) We did a demo and - via a mate who knew a bloke - got it in front of EMI in New York of all places, who gave us the feedback that it was fundamentally good but needed solos and a vocal in the first half of one of the songs (where I forgot to fade up the vocals, whoops. I couldn't afford another top grade C46, I was that skint. It had to do.)

Since we were doing the industrial thing that was quite popular in the early 90s hair metal solos were never on the cards but as it turned out that didn't matter; the two guitarists started getting into some extreme right wing bullshit, including some NF/C18 stuff and the mentalist ramblings of David Irvine, Holocaust denier and all round weapons grade bellend. (Have you ever seen the photocopied leaflets and internal pamphlets/magazines from those groups of the time? Both shockingly hateful and light bendingly dense. They did try to get me interested. Ah, no ta.)

Obviously when this came to light I walked away and left behind the chance to be in a wave of copycat bands in the Ministry/Godflesh vein, probably signed for my soul to a label that signed us so no-one else could as was the standard at the time. Bullet dodged or top grin missed, I'm not sure. I am sure that neo-nazis can go fuck themselves though. Cunts.
( Fathter Puddytat Kill Kill dat widdle boid is mine on, Sun 4 Oct 2015, 18:35, 1 reply)

A Letter from Auntie Beeb
Length.

So there I was, sitting in a lounge in Heathrow, when the new and novel S55 in my pocket chriped to life revealing that 'Maw and Paw' wanted a word.

Fuckadoodlespirograph.

If the titular Mathers and Fothers were calling a mobile phone back in the day then someone had died. 35p a minute? To speak to someone? I'd already decided that God was related to The Lurkers of Scotland and had promptly fucked off to visit Valhara for the weekend and not left a note.

Dramatic postulating aside, it turned out that there was a letter for me. From Mr and Mrs BBC. Offering me an interview for a traineeship with Radio 1. Back when Radio 1 was just-after good, well, Mark and Lard had left.

Well mon b3tans, this was going to be the start of the career. My four years experience in studio radio was surely going to get me producing the Breakfast Show in a matter of weeks, I was a certainty for the job in my head. "Tell me Mother dearest, when is this interview and the start of my perfect life?"

Oh.

I'll phone them, I've another twelve months of battery life left.

The interview was supposed to be when I would be on holiday in Boston, and the furtherest they could push it was three days later - New York.

"I'll be back, in London, the next next day."
-"We can't change the whole schedule for your holiday"
"But.."
-"No Buts"
"How about.."
-"I said no buts"
"That joke only sorta works read out loud."

I was reliably informed that the interview could not be moved and I was to think very carefully about what I was to do. Come back early at great expense, or miss out. "Have a think and call back" she said.

A stiff drink and a bit of a think led me to the conclusion "If I can get one interview, I can get another." Right? RIGHT?

Having spent the last thirteen years scrabbling away at the industry and making friends over the wall at the hallowed BBC I have been informed that my stories are far too long and full of unnecessary prose, and that Auntie Beeb holds a grudge. Literally a black mark against my name. Turn us down would you? Fuck you. No job for you kid.

Guess who did get that job? Aled Jones. The intern turned producer of the Chris Moyles Show.

It could've been me. Thank fuck it wasn't.
( The Lurker Plenty One, Sat 3 Oct 2015, 14:08, 10 replies)

not sure

( $$ ✅, Tue 6 Oct 2015, 15:56, Reply)

Shall I do a genuine one?
Working in an IT-networky-type company, mid-90s, tech shares were like licenses to print money. I had 15,000 share options at 1.50 a share. The current price was 48.50, meaning I had a total of around 700,000 (dollars) just sitting there waiting to be exercised. The price had been going up like a rocket all week. In the end I phoned the company broker in the US and told him to sell everything when it hit 50 dollars a share. Went home, drank champagne, went to bed.

Next morning, the price is 39.00 a share. The peak was 49.75. I still had all my options. Then several board members were investigated for fraud. Never saw a penny. Still broke. But not bitter, it's just that all IT company directors are cunts.
(yesyesyes, Fri 2 Oct 2015, 17:38, Reply)

I was once offered a job in Stevenage.
I turned it down as it was in fucking Stevenage.
( monster munch person, man, woman... camera... TV?, Fri 2 Oct 2015, 9:33, 6 replies)

I got married almost 11 years ago
If I hadn't got married, I probably wouldn't be married right now. Really makes you think.
( Two Hats 🎩🎩, Fri 2 Oct 2015, 8:59, 3 replies)