Will the real Captain Vokker please stand up!

This entry is massive, so get some wine or beers in…

Sorry for the delay, but firstly I would like to congratulate the winner of the recently held competition - namely, no-one. I did receive one entry at the count number 22245 by enthusiastic fan, Bill Flintrop, who added a short begging letter – ‘So I missed by a few visitors. It’s not only in Africa politics smells a bit off.’

This is of course very true, but I don’t accept rhetoric based on post-colonial whinging. Nice try, but rules are the rules. Ask Bob Mugabe. Better luck next time.

Well, I decided that with all the excitement going on in Zimbabwe, I should have another competition. All you have to do is guess the cost of a tin of peeled and diced tinned tomatoes in the Co-Op just down the road from me. If you think this is ludicrous, it is! Entries are limited to one per person. In the event of a tie, the winners will be tossed into a hat, and a rabbit will pop out with the lucky person’s name tattooed on its backside. I am sure you get the idea. If no-one gets the exact amount by Wednesday next week, the prize will be rolled over for another exciting competition. This time the prize has been upgraded. It is the same note but now laminated as to be a superb bookmark! Exactly like the one I am selling on Ebay at the moment.

Click here –

http://cgi.ebay.co.uk/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&rd=1&item=160226094644&ssPageName=STRK:MESE:IT

Oh, if your really bored, be a good ‘citizen’ take a minute (snigger) to ‘watch’ the amazing Ebay auction with one of the best descriptions of all ‘time’ by clicking here –

http://cgi.ebay.co.uk/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&rd=1&item=160226122860&ssPageName=STRK:MESE:IT

Okay, back to the competition… Simply use the comment button with your guess (in British Currency, not Zim dollars or Polish Zlotys), along with a name. I will notify the winner via this blog, and ask them to send me a postal address. How do you know I will not tell porkies? I will take a photo of the tin along with the till receipt and put it up here. Why go to all this bother? Good question, let me get another tin of beer and muse over a possible answer.

Moving on now, I would like to point out there are several reasons for the existence of this blog, but unfortunately due to severe damage to the cellular structure of my brain, I have forgotten most of them. Now I just do it for a laugh and hope that some people get a laugh out of it as well. People pay a lot of money to be amused these days. A television licence is a fine example. For an annual fee you are legally allowed to push a button on a plastic box which sends a signal to another plastic box which shows you images of black people living in abject poverty awaiting handouts and white people living in mansions advocating that those with television licences should do the handing out. The only thing in common is that both groups speak similar forms of pidgin English. Being a little philosophical here, doesn’t it make sense to give the black people free television licences? Would that encourage them to get a job and buy a TV? The local economy would boom and the entire community could feed off the good news!

Which brings me to the whole point. It might be a good idea to put up my own PayPal begging box. Beer is getting very expensive these days!

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Amazing, you know the old adage, fact is stranger than fiction, but it has happened to me recently. I was dreaming away that Hilary Clinton was the President (I would like to add that I am seriously panicking as I have £2 bet at 5 to 1 on her, and it isn’t looking too good), but really 15 years younger than she is now, and she had heard all about me and I was invited to the White House.

She offered me a cigar and that’s when I woke up all confused and just then the phone rang! It was her! My therapist! She said I was a total waste of time and not to bother coming back for more sessions, because quite frankly, I was not right in the head. I readily agreed and said she had small breasts. Undeterred with my observations, she also added that she was sick to death each time she sees me as I do the ‘doggy’ on her leg as a greeting, whilst claiming it was a Rhodesian ritual dating back to the time of the war when we were forced to shag any dog we could corner in the discos on our R and R. (Rampant Rutting.)

Well, I did try and point out that it was her job to make me better, not just fob me off like a spent dog!

Of course, most of the above is a load of bollicks. It was just to prepare you to some more unbelievable happenings in my undiagnosed world of being a Bi-Polar sufferer. That’s the disease where you get confused between the North and South poles and consequently can’t use a GPS navigation system.

After checking out some Open University rules, I feel safe to show you this. This is supposed to be a play. To be honest, it is more of a sketch for T.V. It is very short and due to certain regulations I was limited to four characters and about 6 minutes of action. Please read this, as it is rather funny. I also give permission for it to be used by anyone, as long as I am recognised as the writer.

However, you can imagine my surprise when an article in The Telegraph newspaper the other day, really made me do a turn, when lo and behold, my parody is actually played out in real life! After you have read the sketch you will see a link to the real life of Captain Vokker.

Flight of the Feeniks – A Christmas Turkey

Starring-

CAPTAIN VOKKER

• Early fifties.
• German drunkard.
• Owner/ pilot of Feeniks Airlines.
• Wears a camouflage jump suit riddled with bullet holes.

DEVORA

• Fortyish male Californian.
• ‘Stewardess’ for Feeniks Airlines.
• Dim-witted
• Stereotype camp transvestite bimbo.
• Wears ‘60s PANAM stewardess outfit.

JAMMY JIMMY (JJ)

• Mid twenties.
• Black English con-man.
• Co-pilot of Feeniks Airlines.
• Rastafarian, attired in Bob Marley look.

DODGY BIN-LINER

• Age, ethnicity unknown.
• Male.
• Fanatical suicide-bomber.
• Prominent breasts.
• Dressed in a burka designed from a black plastic bin liner.Speaks with an Asian Sub-Continent accent
  

Scene One.

Christmas Eve 2009. The open frontal view of a shoddy aircraft cockpit. Soft lighting, small, coloured lights flash periodically from instrument panels. The backdrop of the partition wall to the cargo hold has a skeleton, in tattered clothes, attached to it. Preparing for take-off from a fog bound Heathrow airport, CAPTAIN VOKKER slouches in his seat, drinking from a bottle of whisky. JJ sits straight up, fiddling with the controls whilst staring out intently. A loud speaker hangs down above their heads playing Band Aid’s ‘Do they know it’s Christmas’. Off- stage are the muffled sounds of idling aircraft engines.

Captain Vokker (singing with chorus) ‘Do they know it’s Christmas time at all!’ (burps) Santa Vokker is here again, feeding the world! (laughs, takes a swig from bottle, sings along again) ‘At Christmas time it's hard, but when you're having fun…’

Music is interrupted by a crackled announcement from the Heathrow tower. CAPTAIN VOKKER removes a handset from the instrument panel and speaks into it.

Captain Vokker Devora, we now taxi, you belt the passenger, really good! The

bastard only paid two pound on thieving eBay for his ticket. (hangs up handset, turns to JJ) Okay, Jammy Jimmy, lets go! We are cleared for take-off from runway five. Follow behind the CIA’s 747!

Loud speaker continues playing song ‘ There's a world outside your window
And it's a world of dread and fear…’

JJ (with dread and fear) Me, Mon? You want me to fly this shit-bucket? (short pause) By the way, it’s Jay-Jay, Mon. Only the police and lawyers call me Jammy Jimmy.

Captain Vokker That is what I pay you for, Yes? (laughs and takes swig from bottle)

JJ (looking intently forward, whilst fiddling with controls) Okay Mon - erm, what that plane look like? It’s a bit foggy out there! I can’t see jack-shit.

Captain Vokker It has two wings and a tail. (short pause. Laughs, drinks from bottle) I am starting to think you downloaded your own qualifications from the internet… Who cares, if they were good enough to fool the flight authorities, they are good enough for me.

JJ (nervously) That’s great Mon, anyway, I know what a plane looks like, Mon. But what are its colours?

Captain Vokker It is painted white, has no markings and tied to the wings are loads of bearded darkies dressed in orange jumpsuits. (burps, head lolls drunkenly)

JJ starts to pull levers and various handles. Engine sounds off-stage increase in volume. Stage slews back and forth. Skeleton thrashes widely and loses its left arm.

JJ Where we going, Mon?

Captain Vokker (laughs) We going to where all you kind of people come from…

JJ (amazed) We’re flying to Brixton Prison! At least it’s quicker than London Underground and a lot safer, Mon.

Captain Vokker No, you idiot! We fly to Africa, the home of rich tyrants and poor bastards! Tyrants pay me to deliver guns, so they can starve their population into submission. And at Christmas, the charities pay me to deliver food-aid to the poor bastards. Crazy world! (laughs sarcastically, takes swig from bottle)

Pause, loudspeaker plays – ‘The greatest gift they'll get this year is life…’

JJ Hey, my great, grand-daddy got stolen from the Congo, Mon. We kept it in the family - every generation been stealing ever since. (laughs) My sister got life for stealing an Arab prince’s crown jewels in Soho. She cut them off with his own Rhino-horn knife for not paying for the services rendered. (laughs) Not so bad, Mon, lifers are let out after seven years.

Captain Vokker (sighing, swigs from bottle) We have family tradition also. My father fly in the Luftwaffe. He was sent to drop relief parcels on the 6^th Army at Stalingrad. The idiot got lost in thick fog and dropped two million condoms with twenty thousand copies of Hitler’s ‘Mein Kampf’ on Timbuktu. I laughed so hard when he tell me the story. The Muslim peasants are still pissed off and shoot at the German rally-cars on the way from Paris to Dakar.

Pause. JJ is struggling with the controls, stage slews again, off-stage engine noises roaring and spluttering.

JJ Those rich eBay bastards put me in jail for eighteen months, Mon.

Captain Vokker What you do? Sell hashish? (laughs, takes sip from bottle)

JJ I got caught washing windows. (struggles with controls, mops brow, to himself) Oh Mon, I am wishing I never take this crazy job!

Captain Vokker You get jail for washing windows?

JJ No, Mon. (laughs) I tried to wash twenty thousand copies of Window’s Vista software, all stolen. (pause) This flying malarkey isn’t that easy! (stage slews violently as JJ pulls levers frantically) On the pc flight simulator I played with in prison, I flew the Concorde into the Taj Mahal!

Captain Vokker Not bad! (takes swig from bottle) In 1980, I was so drunk, I crashed a plane into Harare Stadium, Zimbabwe, in the middle of Bob Marley’s Independence concert. Lucky for me, the police were still white, so I got away with it. (laughs) Those Rhodesians were a great laugh.

JJ Never heard of the place.

Pause. JJ fumbles between his feet and produces a small teddy bear dressed in boxing shorts and gloves and props it on the instrument panel.

JJ This is Cassius Clay, my lucky mascot.

Captain Vokker Get rid off it! That teddy will be trouble! If they see that in the Sudan, we will be lucky if they just lynch us, (short pause) after cutting our hands and feet off. (laughs wickedly)

JJ hurriedly takes teddy and hides it, then fiddles with controls. Stage slews softly. Off-stage, engine noise increases.

JJ What’s the heading Mon, after we take off?

Captain Vokker Ask Bones, the navigator.

CAPTAIN VOKKER points over his shoulder at the rocking skeleton. JJ turns and looks.

JJ (laughs nervously) Aah, he seems a little dead, Mon!

Captain Vokker Poor old Bones. He was my co-pilot till last Christmas. He caught Jungle Bunny Fever and he rabbit all the time. At every stop, he go hop, hop! He got bad ‘JuJu’, started barking and shit in plastic bags and throw them out the window. I get him to England hospital just in time to save him. Then he get MRS super-bug from the hospital and it eat him inside out! I shoot the poor bastard and promote him to navigator to keep him here as part of the skeleton crew. (laughs uproariously and swigs from bottle) Bones still give me a hand. If right arm points down, that means south-west to Africa. Then we wait for Devora to bring tonight’s menu and we know exactly where in Africa we are going. He digs food from the boxes we are to deliver, for something to eat. After all, charity begins at home, I always say. (laughs)

JJ (facing now forward. Sarcastically, mimicking Vokker) That is so Cool! (to himself) Holy Haille-Sell-Asses, I am doomed, Mon! (makes sign of the cross) Okay, I think this is runway five, I dim the lights for take-off.

As lights dim into darkness, JJ pushes controls forward, stage slews and off-stage engine noises increase.

End of Scene One.

Scene Two

Almost simultaneous time frame. Cross section of cargo hold on same swaying stage floor. Soft lighting. DEVORA stands centre stage by back- drop of cabin partition wall, replacing a handset and facing forward in audience and BIN-LINER’S direction. BIN-LINER sits slumped in a deck chair besides food- aid boxes, stage right at an angle. Off-stage sounds of labouring aircraft engines.

Devora Well, sweetie, Captain Vokker says I have to make sure you’re belted in now.

Bin-Liner Shut-up, you decadent Western whore! I kill you!

Devora Tut-tut, if I was your mother, I would wash that filthy mouth out with soap. (approaches BIN-LINER) You don’t seem to have a belt. (looks about) Well, I can’t seem to see anything to secure you with, so…

DEVORA fumbles in his blouse and pulls out a bright pink bra and after a struggle ties BIN-LINER to the deckchair, pinning his arms. DEVORA returns centre stage.

Devora Well, that’s better! (staggers on his high heels as stage slews) Well - I am Devora, your lovely stewardess. Do you like my hair? (pats at hair) Well, anyway, I am here to make sure your flight is really, really pleasurable. So, a grand welcome to you, Mister Dodgy Bin-Liner, on Feeniks Airlines! (blows kiss) I will now perform the safety regulations. (giggles coyly) Feeniks Airlines has an excellent safety record, not even terrorists dare fly with us. This aircraft is equipped with one escape route, the cargo door at the back. (points) However (pregnant pause), if you feel your cargo needs some escape, I might let you root in my back door. (sniggers)

Bin-Liner (screaming) I kill you all! Filthy slut! Allah, save me from this filth!

Devora (waves a finger at him) Ooh, such a naughty little boy! I couldn’t help but notice those large breast implants you carry. Did you have yours done by Dr. Feelgood in Los Angeles? He does all the stars… He did mine also, filled them with two pints of silicone - each!

Bin-Liner (shouting fanatically) Shut-up you whore! Mine are filled with nitro and glycerine, and made in Pakistan by the Islamic Jihad Unpopular Front for the peaceful revolution against western capitalism and degenerate debauchery.

Devora (pause) That sounds like an interesting club. Do they have swinger parties? Anyway, I heard they stone people like me over there. I’m surprised you took the risk - you are so brave! (short pause) Now, during the flight, should there be a sudden drop in pressure and you are short of breath, (makes obscene mimicry of oral sex) you will be supplied with one of these.

DEVORA produces from behind a carton an oxygen bottle with a mask attached.

Devora Even if you’re smoking hot, you must put it out before you can suck on this. (waves mask and giggles)

Bin-Liner (struggling against his bonds, screaming hysterically) Allah, Allah, give me strength to send these infidels to hell!

Devora (ignoring outburst) We don’t carry any lifebelts, as we fly mainly over desert, but we do carry some blow-up camels. (laughs) That was a joke, so - finally, I will demonstrate the KAG position you will take, should we be about to crash.

DEVORA spreads his legs wide apart and bending over, pushes his head between them making loud kissing noises, then returns to standing position.

Bin-Liner She-devil!

Devora That is the end of the ‘Kiss Ass Goodbye’ demonstration. Now this is the best part - looking for dinner! I will now show you the various choices. (starts to sing ‘At Christmas time it's hard, but when you're having fun…’

DEVORA, swaying his hips, starts dramatically to open boxes whilst still softly singing out of order lines from ‘Do they know it’s Christmas’. After looking and reading out loud the doner/destination details printed on them, he theatrically shows objects from several boxes’ contents to BIN-LINER, whilst commenting on each donation, before returning them. Throughout the demonstration the plane occasionally sways, along with off-stage changes to engine noises. BIN-LINER periodically fights his restraint.

Devora Let’s see what China is sending to Mali. Oooh, how sweeeet! Look! There is a lovely, juicy lamb chop, some chips, peas and carrots. Shame they are all plastic and unsuitable for children under three - they might choke on the generosity. (laughs, pause, new box, sings ‘Where nothing ever grows No rain nor rivers flow...’) With love from Uncle Sam to the people of Somalia. This comes from my people. (pause) How boring, just hundreds of bags of microwavable popcorn. Leftovers from Chilly Clitoris’s Presidential campaign are my guess. I don’t like her, far too bossy, but I do fancy her husband. He did love to suck on a good cigar. (giggles) Did your people like him too? (pause, new box, sings ’Here's to you, raise a glass for everyone...’)

BIN-LINER makes loud gagging sounds.

Devora (continues undisturbed, sings ‘Where the only water flowing is the bitter sting of tears..’) From Save The Planet, for the people of Dafur. No surprises here. There’s a little booklet called ‘How to save your environment and grow your own genetically modified beans’, by Hal Bore. Comes complete with seven lucky seeds to create your own magic beanstalk! We had these last year. Full of helpful tips, you know. It said, for example, if your land suffers constant drought you should urinate on your planted seeds, as this also acts as a fertilizer! Amazing, huh? (pause, new box, sings ‘Feed the world, let them know its Christmas time…’) Not sure where this came from, writing looks Japanese to me. (pause) Dehydrated sweet and sour, researched whale meat, with a built in MP3 player! No batteries though. These Nips are really smart. (pause, new box, sings ‘At Christmastime, we let in light and we banish shade...’) To Zimbabwe from the United Kingdom. Ooh look – it’s a vacuum packed roast midget Christmas turkey. Oh isn’t that just so cute! I wonder how they got them to grow so small. It says, ‘With love from Olly James’s happy turkey farm, all scanned with radium to kill bird-flu viruses’. Ooh, I have had one of these. Mind you, it took ages to catch (short pause) and it squawked horrendously when I stuffed it. (laughs)

Bin-Liner (screaming) I can not wait to blow you up, you filthy whore!

Devora Oooh, I can’t wait either, you sexy beast! (continues poking around in boxes, sings ‘And in our world of plenty we can spread a smile of joy…’) Yuck! This sounds disgusting. Tins of foetal lamb soup from Afghanistan. So that’s what they do with all the unborn lambs after they skin them to make those funny hats. I don’t care where it is supposed to go. Poor little lambs! I will get Captain Vokker to throw them out over Timbuktu.

pause, starts on new box, sings ‘And there won't be snow in Africa this Christmas time…’

Lights start to dim. Off-stage engine noises increase.

Devora That means we will be taking-off any moment now. I must get myself into blast-off position. (winks)

Lights dim to total darkness. Off-stage engines reach take off crescendo then reduce in volume. There are sounds of muffled struggling and giggles.

Bin-Liner (screaming angrily) Don’t touch my tits, you decadent whore! They are pure dynamite!

Devora (delightedly) Ooh, promises, promises!

Bin-Liner (shouting hysterically) Once I get my tits out and mix them, you and your gang will get a big bang.

Devora Don’t be coy, let me give them a quick grope. It’s Christmas after all.

Short pause. There is a loud explosion and a bright flash followed by darkness. The curtain comes down to the sounds of Band Aid ‘Do they Know it’s Christmas’, at the line -

And the Christmas bells that ring there are the clanging chimes of doom
Well tonight thank God it's them instead of you
Feed the world

Let them know it's Christmas time again
repeat then fade.

The End.

And now read about the real Captain Vokker…

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/main.jhtml?xml=/news/2008/03/07/warms107.xml