Sinister: Must stop eating cheese before bedtime

[Kevan Cooke]

Hello folks,

I had a dream, it went like this:

I am in a dark cave.  I am barefoot and standing on damp moss covered
granite.  There is a slow but steady trickle of water running across
the ground.  My eyes begin to adjust to the darkness, I can see a faint
glow emanating from a tunnel that leads out of the cave to my right.

As I approach the glowing light low murmuring voices mingle with the
gentle sound of running water.  I realise that the voices are chanting
softly.  The tunnel leads to an adjoining chamber.  Candles circle the
chamber and cloaked hooded figures tread a slow circle around a pit.
I glimpse a couple of faces, they look vaguely familiar, but I cannot
place them.

The chanting is louder now and I can make out the words "After all,
you're my wonderwall, after all, you're my wonderwall..."

Now they all stop and face the pit at the centre of the circle.  One of
the figures is dressed in a darker cloak to the others.  This figure steps
forward, as the others incant Stereophonics lyrics, and declares that it
is time for the sacrifice.

Eight people in white shrouds are led to the edge of the pit. They seem
to be in a trance.  I recognise one or two of the cloaked figures now.
They are journalists from the popular music press.

The head music journalist raises his hand above his head.  In his hand
is a long curved knife.  "Dark lord," he intones, "we offer you this
indie pop band as sacrifice.  In your name we neglect and dimiss the
talented.  In your name we shall champion the tuneless dirge of your
evil spawn."

I shudder involuntarily as a hissing sound comes from within the pit,
something is alive in there, something evil.

Suddenly there is a flash of silver, and a glimpse of red, as the
shrouds tear from one of the sacrifies.  Stuart Murdoch, for it is he,
leaps five feet and seems to pause in mid-air before a dazzling white
ball of light flies from his hand.  The ball of light arcs around the
chamber, and by the time Stuart has landed gently back on the ground
each of the evil music journalists has crumpled to the floor.

"You cannot withstand this light," cries Stuart, "for it is the light
of truth."

The hissing from the pit gets louder as the ball of light forms into a
spear and returns to Stuart's hand.  A gigantic snake-thing with a
grotesque misformed head appears from the pit.  It is Alan McGee.

"Alan McGee!?" cries Stuart, "How can it be?"

"Once I too enjoyed a good tune," hisses the grotesque snake-thing,
"but now the power of the dark side courses through my veins.  I shall
not rest until all decent tunes have been laid waste, and the world
knows only the pain and anguish of endlessly recycled seventies rock."

"Then I must destroy you, for the kids!" cries Stuart, and he leaps
towards the pit, hurling the spear of light at the snake-thing's
grotesque head.  The snake-thing lunges at Stuart with it's mouth wide
open and it's fangs gleaming.

Then I woke up.

Kevan
The Fat Slug


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