ARMAGEDDON, THE MUSICAL

by Robert Rankin

..." Planet Lardi rolled on in ever decreasing circles around the sun. As it had been carrying on in this fashion for more years than anyone cared to remember, there seemed no cause for immediate alarm. Not that things were exactly a bundle of laughs down on old terra firma at the present time, oh dear me, no. Things had never been quite the same since, in a moment of gay abandonment, outgoing U.S. president Wayne L. Wormwood had chosen to press the nuclear button just as the New Year bells were gaily chiming in the arrival of the twenty-first century. This generally unwelcome turn in events had caught many with their trousers well and truly down and had definitely taken the edge off much of the auld lang syning. But it did, at least, offer followers of the late great Nostradamus the dubious satisfaction of spending their final four minutes saying 'I told you so' to anyone who seemed inclined to listen. The Nuclear Holocaust Event, as the media later dubbed it, was a somewhat noisy and unsettling affair, and was considered by the naturally pessimistic to be 'the end of civilisation as we know it'. Of course it was nothing of the kind and a surprising number of folk did come out of it relatively unscathed, if not altogether uncomplaining. The governments of the day rose to the occasion with such remarkable aplomb that one might have been forgiven for thinking that they were expecting it all along. Although the water was a bit iffy and lamb looked like being off the menu for some time to come, the T.V. was back on within the week, which can't be bad by any reckoning. And it was encouraging to note that not only had unemployment been cut at a stroke, as had long been promised, but racial intolerence ceased virtually overnight, mankind now being united beneath the banner of a single colour. A rather unpleasant shade of mould green. But, as someone almost said, you can't please all of the people of the time. And, even now, fifty years on, with the smoke beginning to clear, radiation on its way down and that nebulous sometling,oft referred to as normal service, restored, there were still no outward signs of euphoria evident upon the faces of Mr and Mrs Joe Public. Not that anyone was actually heard to complain, and why should they? Today's nuclear family had very much to be grateful for. Three square meals a week, unlimited cable television, a constant room temperature, low overheads and free waste disposal. And leisure time had really come into its own. Of course, the prospect of spending your brief span banged up in a bomb-proof bunker, watching T.V. and awaiting further developments, was not everyone's cup of enzo-protein synthatea. But you did, at least, have the satisfaction of knowing that, even here, you could play your part in the glorious rebuilding scheme. Active Viewing was now the name of the game, down below. The console of the T.V. terrninal put everythirig that was left of the world at the finger stumps of the bunker-bound.And there was a great deal to see. The re-education programme ,the devotional exercises, the food operas, the game shows, not to mention public service broadcasts. It was all there, and the choice of what you watched, and when, was all yours. A constitutional right.All the government asked was that you did watch. So,as an incentive, and to ensure just reward, they had instituted a system which was, in its way, every bit as fundamentally brilliant and divinely inspired as had been the wheel clamp in twentieth-century London. Every T.V. terminal now had an inbuilt Electronic Eye Scanning Point Indicator, or EYESPI for short. This marvel of modern technology was capable of recognising the viewer by the incidental patterns of their irises, iris 'signatures' having, of course, been registered at birth with the mother computer. Once recognition had been established, this ingenious little doodad totted up the number of weekly viewing hours being put in by the active viewer in question. Once these were logged, food, medical supplies and rehousing credits then could be allocated accordingly. It was a wonderful system: unbiased, democratic, free for all to take advantage of and with an obvious appeal to mankind's naturally competitive spirit. So wonderful was it in fact, that the T.V. stations felt impelled to extol its virtues every hour upon the hour. Its simple majesty being summed up, rather succinctly (andnot a little poignantly) in the famous hymn jingle, 'The more you view the more you do, the more we vet the more you get.' (No.4302, New World TV.Hymnal.) But, as has previously been stated, pleasing all the people all of the time is an incomplete science. And so this system, as near to perfect as any that can be imagined, had its dissenters. Not that any of them actu ally came out into the open to complain about it,of course. No chance of that. They were far too busy glued to their T.V. screens in a desperate attempt to clock up sufficient rehousing credits....."

Guess it sounds like an ordinary Scifi to that point...shades of Fahrenheit 451 and Brave New World.....? FORGET IT!
This is a seriously DIFFERENT story!
As WE hunch over that all-important box, enriching our lives vicariously, do we ever stop to consider that perhaps WE are all just characters in a giant real-life drama produced on location by a really BIG mass- entertainment provider on another planet...say the planet Phnaargos....that someone is planning and directing every segment of all our lives...and that someone else might be watching each shift and shiver of Earth's history. And what could the long-running series be called? `The Earthers', of course...of course!

So it's the year 2025. and Rex Mundi, our hero has just started a job for the Buddhavision Network, in which his sister, Gloria Mundi, is a real big wheel. Rex is just a tad suprosed by the degree of violence that goes with the job...on h is first day he is blown up, almost eaten by two determined cannibals,( Rambo and Eric, who bring their own cutlery), and tortured-to-the-death. But he is helped by a mysterious female figure,invisible to others, obviously clairvoyant, and apparently able to come and go at will. And Rex has been better equipped that most..his father had created and left for him the `Suburban Book Of The Dead' to guide him through the script!
Then there is Dalai Dan, the 153rd. reincarnation of the Dalai Lama, who has his own TV gameshow, the most popular in history, whose Third Eye has now revealed to him his imminent demise at the hands of (wait for it!) Elvis Presley, who's a bit puzzled by the whole thing, knowing as he does, for sure, Ma'am, that he's supposed to be back in 1958, dodging the draft then moving on to becoming President of the United States! And what is it about`Heartbreak Hotel' that holds the key to the story?

Of course, televison ratings are akin to the Holy Word. When `Earthers' pull on the public palls, (sorry!), a summit production meeting must be held and troubled executives plan a giant Armageddon sequence, guaranteed to glue bums to Phnaarg TV lounges, but quite likely to prove rather permanently lethal to the cast members!
But all ultimately ends well, though a carefully 'structed loophole-open ending does seem to call for a sequel! Seems there is a Holy Writ and a Mr Big,(called Big Nose in this incarnation) whose twin offspring Jesus and Christeen are both involved in the business, though Christine has never forgiven the Old Man, or her Brother, for the family chauvinism which automatically ensures that brother Jesus gets the star parts and top billing in Earth's story! So she's been designing a few walkon parts for herself, playing the odd guardian angel of the underdog, interfering in the cosmic plot here and there.
And seems Jesus, too, has done a lot of missionary work quite recently, much of it through the 1960's music scene
Anyway, Jesus turns out to be really quite a nice sort of brother-in-law for Rex. Gives him a blank book the Old Man has provided for a new series, and tells him Christeen is about to make him a Dad, and there's to be a whole new production number.
And just to show how well this crazy author can WRITE,lets scan another bit from the other end of the book:

"...On Earth a great wind tore across the sky. The clouds flew before it They rolled back, drew themselves into a swirling vortex and spun into the heavens. The sun shown down upon the tortured landscape. And a cry went up. Bunker doors opened upon the new day. Pale faces gazed toward the sky. Blinking and wondering, the denizens of the sub-world crept forth to view the new world. For already the world was turning. The irradiated wastes were vanishing. Lush fields spread to every side, rivers flowed, trees rose and blossomed. That which had been done was undone. The gates of the city were open to the fingers of the sun. * It was now or never for the ex-High Lama. Dan made a break for it. He grabbed Gloria about the throat and dragged her towards the lift door. Elvis spun around and let fly. Beams of fire ripped across the room, wreaking havoc. Dan thrust Gloria into Elvis. 'You haven't heard the last of me,' he cried in the traditional manner. Fergus Shaman shot him in the backside. The lift doors opened and Dan staggered through them into the waiting knives and forks of Rambo * and Eric. 'The main course.' Rambo raised his filleting knife and did something quite unprintable. The lift doors closed mercifully upon it. 'That isn't exactly in the script,' said Jesus. 'But it does have a certain charm. I think we'll leave it in.' 'Shall I be mother?' came the muffled voice of Deathblade Eric. Jesus turned to Christeen. 'It's all up to you now. You and Rex. Make it right this time.' And without even waiting for a thank you, he vanished. Which was just like him, wouldn't you say? 'Well,' said Rex, the way that formerly only the great Jack Benny had been able to say it, 'what a day this has been.'......"

ARMAGEDDON, THE MUSICAL....playing on a planet near you!

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