Stories From The Head

It’s All There... Working in the theatre had been Junerbass’ dream since he was a midget. Now he was fully grown, and had gotten a job in a local azeb-store. But all his spare time was spent threatening to beat up famous directors if they didn’t give him a part. Sometimes Junerbass even found it necessary to kill them, in case they told the army about his rather eccentric way of “auditioning” for a part. It actually went so far, that directors sought out Junerbass, just to get beat up by him. In their minds, they weren’t famous enough if Junerbass didn’t attack them. (Actually, this wasn’t far from the truth. Only one Bzela-award-winning director had never been maimed by Junerbass. But guess who was waiting for him on the outside when the award-ceremony finished...) Anyway, Junerbass had just finished beating the crap out of a rather well-known director with a live mare cat, when he suddenly stopped, bent down, and tried to hear what the pitiful whining coming out of the director’s mouth was. “Juner...bass...you’ve...got...the part...” Junerbass screamed of joy. “JIPPIIII! When do we start rehearsing?” The director looked at his wounds. “Seven to nine weeks, depending on what the surgeons decide”.  Well, Junerbass could wait. He’d been waiting for such a long time now, anyway. As he went beck inside the azeb-store, cursing himself for not taking the time to listen to what the directors had been saying to him while he was beating them up, Junerbass decided to start learning the dialogue right away. He wanted to sit up all night, but soon realized that learning lines isn’t much fun, so he went out and murdered an extremely talented movie-producer instead, for old times sake. The first day of rehearsals was a nightmare. Junerbass performed his opening monologue (carefully finding the time to kill two stagehands and a one-legged dancer), and Oppla, the director, took notes. Junerbass looked frighteningly beautiful as he read the words; “The pain. The fire. It’s all there...” The director scratched his nose. “Oh no! This won’t do”. He removed his glasses. “We’re changing the words. This is your new monologue”. He handed Junerbass a piece of paper (his assistant had just been ripped apart by Junerbass, so he had to do everything himself). Junerbass read it aloud: “The bråll. The armsag. It’s all there...” It was beautiful. “Much better” thought Junerbass, as he smashed the director’s head in with the sharp end of an axe. “Acting is what it’s all about”. One year later Junerbass won the prestigious “best actor”-award at the Lullehuun Interplanetary Film Festival (LIFF). He killed the entire jury with a broken chainsaw...

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