Photo: © Al Forbes 2014 

Celebrity Blockbustas was billed as the toughest physical endurance challenge ever put on our TV screens. But it didn’t make for exciting entertainment. In fact it was compulsive viewing for insomniacs.

It was a simple concept: celebrity competitors stood in containers and were then filled chest deep in quick setting concrete. First one to fight their way out was the winner.

The problem was, no one had ever got out. Not even close.

FREDDIE MERCURY: He wanted to break free, but was yet another one to bite the dust.

KING ARTHUR: Despite experience of pulling objects out of stone, he found success here as elusive as the holy grail.

HARRY HOUDINI: Managed to disappear inside the concrete, but never reappeared.

AL CAPONE: Has alleged experience of putting men into concrete, and many years of rock-breaking behind him. He thought he’d be untouchable, but found it all too taxing.
But wait a minute. What’s this… Ladies and Gentlemen we have a winner!

An Italian called David! I’m not sure who he is, but I’ve heard he has received elite Ninja training from a turtle named Michelangelo.

David looks very impassive, and has little to say for himself. But we have a statement from Coach Michelangelo:

“I’ve been working with David for two years. Using specialist nunchuck skills, he just seemed to appear out of the concrete! This is just the beginning. Soon the whole world will know that Michelangelo’s David is a hero!”

Well, that’s it for today. If you enjoy watching paint dry, tune into next week’s edition of Celebrity DIY Makeover.

This story was prompted by Sunday Photo Fiction, October 5th 2014, hosted by Al Forbes. Click on the logo for more details.

To view the other entries in this challenge, click the blue frog.

Photo: © Al Forbes 2014 

Take a good look at this picture: the sad face of austerity in Medieval England! Is this how we treat our dragons in the late 12th Century?

It’s sad to see young down-and-out dragons such as Doris here, with their hopes turned to stone. Officially classified as a Beggar – to reduce the unemployment figures – Doris had recently been advised to apply to Nottingham Forest as a mascot. But instead they gave the job to one of seventeen men claiming to be Robin Hood.

Doris briefly had her hopes raised when she heard they were casting for a play about the Loch Ness Monster. Despite her obvious acting ability, she was sadly rejected, in favour of a scale model.

Previously working as a ‘Sparky’, Doris unknowingly fell foul of new legislation. The Elf and Safety Laws demanded all employees refrain from smoking during work hours. Her employer bought himself a tinder box, and she was soon fired.

Luckily, her tale has a happy ending. Doris’ day finally arrived.

She was spotted by flamboyant entrepreneur Sir Richard Brand (the owner of the Verge Inn chain of gastro-taverns) as he was flying past on one of his high-speed catapult services. She started working as a Trainee Chef on the Flame-Grill Burgher Bar. But after impressing Sir Richard with her novel idea of transporting customers to his taverns, she was soon a rising star in the company.

Sir Richard took a chance by expanding the flight operation up the West coast. Thanks to Doris’s pilot scheme, they were now proudly flying customers on a regular basis on Verge Inn Atlantic flights.

For Doris now, the sky’s the limit.

This story was prompted by Sunday Photo Fiction, September 28th 2014, hosted by Al Forbes. Click on the logo for more details.

To view the other entries in this challenge, click the blue frog.

Photo: © Al Forbes 2014

They had originally asked me to speak at his funeral. I politely declined to attend, saying it would be too emotional for me.

I would have liked to have been there, to be part of the shared grieving process. After all, he’d been my mentor and was such an inspiration for me. If only I’d been able to reach the heights of his success and popularity.

He died on his birthday – a real Shakespearean tragedy, you might say. As a Knight of the West End theatre, I think he would have appreciated the irony.

I often imagine him opening his gift. The Newton’s Cradle he’d always wanted. Like the big kid he was, he probably would have pulled on one of the metal balls straight away, closing the mercury switch that detonated the explosive device.

I knew he would never read the goodbye note I attached to it, telling him how much I really hated his ‘niceness’. How behind my smile, I was just waiting for a chance to pay him back for his mystifying success. And now it was my turn for the limelight after waiting for so long. But I just wanted that note to be there with him, when he went ‘out’. Exit, stage left.

The real irony is, that they managed to identify my signature from two fragments of paper.

During the trial, I got the biggest headlines of my career. But what use is it to me now, stuck on the Inside. I call it rough justice.

I hear they’ve done a wonderful obituary for him on BBC1. Life just isn’t fair.

This story is written for Sunday Photo Fiction: August 31, 2014, hosted by Al Forbes.

For more details, click the logo.

To view other entries in this challenge, click on the blue frog.