“The Internet of Things” novel coming soon!

Murder. Intrigue. Anthropomorphic construction vehicles and bloodthirsty elevators; The Internet of Things, a real British blockbuster of a book has it all. They said that curiosity killed the cat, but they left out the part about the blender…

In a world where everything is connected to the internet and even your toaster is smarter than you, things begin to go wrong and Bruce von Toose, private detective, is caught square in the middle. Will he be able to solve the case of the disappearing rapper before Bristol, or all of Great Britain is razed to the ground by rampant, rioting machines? Will anybody be left alive to care or, more importantly, to pay his fee?

FINAL The Internet of Things Cover  - Artist Jamila Walker 300 dpi

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Blockbusters, Abridged





The Fast and the Furious



Some people go fast

in Hot Wheels cars.

Vin Diesel sports

a grappling hook.



Legally Blonde




 

A blonde woman

isn’t stupid;

she is instead

an attorney.



Moonwalker




 

Michael Jackson fights

drug gangs and Joe Pesci

to save kids; he turns

into a freaking robot.



Lethal Weapon




 

Riggs!

He’s crazy!

I am too old

for this shit.



Titanic




 

Leonardo Di Caprio

fucks Kate Winslet;

I think we all know

how this one ends.






Image from: www.msbnana.blogspot.com

Not Strictly Entertaining

“This is dumb” grumbled the celebrity chef

as he attempted a clumsy bald-headed plié,

and, mugging shamelessly for the cameras,

he announced he had never danced before.

 

“It’s mad, I’ve never danced before” he revealed,

rubbing his head proudly to a waxen sheen

with his sweaty, torn cuff; he liked it rough,

as his publicist had briefed him he should.

 

“My wife thinks I must be gay!”                                silence,

cut to a sequence of trialled pink sequinned shirts,

a nonsensical statement left to hang in the edit

like a homophobic fart in the prime-time lift.

 

Then cheers as he and his partner hit the dance floor,

hands on bums, pumping their hips with fixed grins,

stiff, like over-sexualised animatronic mannequins

lurching along painfully to Tom Jones’ “Sex Bomb.”

 

One judge liked it, he always does, flirting in his verdict,

one judge hated it, he always does, flinging verbal excrement,

one judge wasn’t sure, she never is, she liked his swinging hips

the last judge was too busy flogging frozen food (like he always is).