Monthly Archives: July 2014

Otto the Alien

A Perfect Pizza

Having propagated successfully only last quinquinnium, I felt like a bit of a change. I’m sure you’ve all been there. Your youngest thousand offspring constantly howling for your attention, other spawners competing to see who gets their original shape back the fastest and comparing their “perfect promogeniture”, while you’re simultaneously made to feel guilty for not immediately resuming your bullshit ratrace career by smug, spawnless crotch-stabilisers.

I fancied a change. A break. A holiday. Call me a bad spawner; bite me.

So I left the kids with their co-spawner, hired Betsy my off-planet transport pod (740 pegasus powered, v16 engine, flies like a banshee bitch mainlining base) and made for the furthest edge of space-time. And, to give me something to do, I made it my mission to find the perfect pizza.

I know, it’s weird, we have pizza too, blabla heard it, guy. You honestly think you’re the only civilization to think up dough, cheese and tomato? Frook, you people. What you don’t know is that where I come from pizza is seriously (see-ree-us-lee) high-end stuff. Like ahi tuna and saffron-infused truffles meets that cow that’s been massaged by nubile Asian chicks and fed only organic golddust or something.

Which means that one of the most coveted jobs in my world is to be a pizza-delivery guy. Or girl. Man, it’s like being Heston, Hugh, Michel and Jamie, but with all the wealth and market-share of Bezos. Which is why it’s my next intended career move.

So I know pizza is from Italy (I flew in for a few nights and Rome is now my totally frookin favourite place of all time), but I heard a place called Dudehattan is the place for a slice. I’m sure I’ll find it.

Because I’m determined to find the best pizza on your frooked-up little planet, before it’s sucked into the shape-shifting vortex from Ephrinilium Camblex in about 5 centuries.

Erp. Forget I said that. First Directive and all that. And YES I know you’re familiar with the concept; where do you think Gene Roddenberry got the notion…?

Otto the Police Dog

Zero Hour!

I SAW THE QUEEN! THE ACTUAL, LIVING BREATHING QUEEN! It was very brief, if I’m completely honest with you (I saw her ankle when she got out of the car), but it still counts!

So did you all watch the Commonwealth Games opening ceremony too? Gosh, what a wonderful show it was. The singing, the dancing, the chairs, the kilts; it couldn’t have been more Scottish if Frankie Boyle had been stabbed with a slice of deep-fried shortcake. Although I did take issue with some of the Scottie dogs who simply refused to walk out in front of their team and had to be carried – letting the side down rather, I thought.

But I was busy most of the time working. On Tuesday we were scheduled to start our shifts in Winchburgh, although in the end we had to move because there were just three desks in a large, otherwise empty office. So we were sent to Livingston for breakfast but when we got there at two in the morning there was no food and we were then despatched to a 999 call in Niddrie, together with three other police vans for some reason. Thank Benji we have lots of resources to spare!

But we made it to Glasgow in time thank Lassie. Everyone was talking about a virus in the athletes’ village and how the weightlifters would have to be  careful not to shart – must be a technical term – but at that point I was sent to “sniff out terrorists” by one of the bosses. I love tasks like that; the vaguer the better.

And then afterwards when all the police bosses gathered together to give each other a pat on the back (mutual master baton society -?- the Sergeant called it later and everybody laughed, but I couldn’t see the baton anywhere so I’m not sure what that meant). Boss 1 said to Boss 2 how it had all happened without a hitch thanks to them personally and how they were expecting commendations for it, or possibly an OBE. Other Bugger’s Efforts, my Sergeant said later.

And now the ceremony is all over I’m going to sleep for a bit. My shift turned out to be 35 hours long in the end, although there is no overtime but that’s ok, I love working for free.

But Boss 1 was right: it did all go off without a hitch. Well, there was some drunkenness and theft in the park, and an attempted assault of one of the Tongan weightlifters by a rather surprised and crumpled youth. But there were no disasters or catastrophes (unless you count the Scotland team’s uniforms, thank god I’m colourblind), and I’m sure that’s all down to the bosses.

Next week: Otto sniffs a suspicious package

Otto the West Bank Barrier

What’s in a wall

Yesterday a man tried to cross me. I didn’t really mind. In fact, I didn’t react at all. But the other man with the gun did, the guard. It did not end well.

As walls go (or wall-and-fence-barrier which is what I am strictly speaking), I’m quite laid back really. Most of the time I just want to keep people safe, like all walls do, or give people something to climb so they can see further. Most walls just want to help. I mean a house without walls is basically a marquee. People – humans – tend to need walls. Which is odd but whatever.

But most walls will also agree that they are used by humans to do things that are bizarre, pointless or downright immoral. Take the Wailing Wall for instance – he’s called Eddie. You couldn’t meet a nicer wall; well what’s left of him. Always cheerful, always friendly. And to be wailed at, loudly, by milions of people a year (literally millions, sheesh) must give even the most tolerant wall the hump.

Now me, I’m used as a barrier – well that’s what I’m called; the West Bank Barrier. Much like Hans in Berlin was before he went the way of Jericho. Because for some reason humans like division. The people who built me obviously wanted to keep the suicide bombers out, ok, but generally I’ve noticed that humans like barriers. They need barriers. Us and Them, with Them firmly Over There, so We can feel united and They can be blamed for, well, everything.

Which is ironic because to me, you’re all exactly the same. You must really like arguing or something. To us walls, though, it’s only so much noise. Or wailing. And the lucky ones find love (Hans and Checkpoint Charlie, for instance, well that was a scandal but they were different times). But the rest of us just become really really grumpy.

So if I lurk and loom a little now and again, forgive me. Because Isralestine is so beautiful on both sides of me – I just wish you could see it.

Otto the Hill

1066 and all that

Good morning good morning good morning! Is everyone wonderfully splendiferously gorgeous, I trust? Gosh, this is my first ever post; I’m a little nervous. No one has EVER asked for my opinion, EVER! Truly an honour.

Where to begin? The trouble with having an audience with such a short life-expectancy as humans (a CENTURY! Good lord, honestly, I had to laugh in disbelief. Managed to pass it off as a small earth tremor. Blamed it on the fracking) is that the beginning is so very long ago that it won’t make much sense to you.

One thing I know you’ve all heard of is the Battle of Hastings. You know, 1066, William the Conquerer annihilates pretty much the majority of England’s governing classes in a field in East Sussex. Well, that field was me! And let me tell you, having a ruddy great battle fought on your very person is no way to wake up at the crack of dawn. No morning chorus, no how-d’you-do, just a lot of yelling. How rude. As though they owned the place…

Well my short-lived little darlings, I’ve been asked by the Continental Shelf to keep it short, so I shall bid you all goodday. Anon, adieu, a-bye!

Next week: Precambrian or Cenozoic – which had the best fashion sense?

Otto the Police Dog

Games of Thrones

The Commonwealth Games are finally here! Nearly! So excited! The coming weeks are so important for the police, where I work, and for me in particular. There’s just so much to do! So many perimeters to safeguard, bags to sniff, teeth to bare, bad people to identify; No one has actually said so, but I think the success of the Games may depend on me. (Well, they’ve told me that its failure will be my fault, so it stands to reason that I will be thanked for any success as well).

What is particularly exciting is how my bosses have tasked me with so many things only last week, when they have known about the Games for a few years now. Like I have to mark all the high risk locations along the Baton Relay route based on ALL previous incidents EVER! To give my Chief Inspector an idea of where to “position resources”, is how he put it. The Sergeant later said he knew where to position resources which made everyone laugh, although I’m not sure why exactly. So I started the job this morning and so far I reckon I’ve marked almost every inch of the route. I don’t think I can be doing it right. But apparently it’s better to be over-excited and even cry wolf (or cry explosives sniffer dog, huh) than remain calm and proportionate.

And that’s easy to do because it’s just so thrilling, all this last-minute stuff! So many bosses walking very quickly from one end of the operational incident room to the other, all bellowing orders, ordering coffee or just polishing their lapel things. And the fact that I’m working 12-hour night shifts, 8 nights in a row, while there is no overtime (at least not for support dogs) and way fewer police dogs than only a year ago, makes me feel that this is really SERious. So I know that if I do a good job, I’ll be doubly appreciated! Just so excited.

Next week: will Otto meet his deadline?