Tales of Orion

by Purple Wyrm on June 1, 2010

“Arrrgh! I don’t like this show!” moaned Orion, the masked singer. He was always moaning, it annoyed him that people kept mistaking him for Elvis. “Just because I wear a mask and sound like Elvis and use a stage name and started my career just after Elvis died doesn’t mean I’m Elvis!” he used to yell at his fans. Then he’d launch into a hip swinging rendition of “Jailhouse Rock”.

That was when he had fans.

He grabbed the remote and switched from the strange show about talking birds and fish to the Megaglobex Corporation News Channel. The lights dimmed slightly as the TV drew extra power from the lines to properly display the newsreader’s blindingly white teeth.

“In international news the British Royal Family have been revealed as shape shifting interdimensional reptilian aliens from the constellation Draco with the ability to create controllable multiple personalities in their subjects by the repeated broadcasts of “Chitty Chitty Bang Bang” the NeoBritish Broadcasting Corporation is famous for.”

He smirked. The lights dimmed again.

“A statement from the Millennium Dome Palace on the Isle of Dogs is expected soon, be sure to keep watching Megaglobex Corporation News for the latest developments. Back at home the latest reports from the SGA indicate our brave boys have made major gains in the Gladsheim, Vingilot and Fenris systems, pushing to the brink of defeat the third, fourth and tenth fleets of the Asg…”

Orion switched off the TV. There was nothing on.

A red light began flashing on the Consumption meter by the fridge. Seconds later the scratchy synthesised voice began. “It has been 46 minutes since your last consumption break Mr Presley. Slaves are starving on P3X-6756 because of your poor consumption ratio. You are 325 consumption units behind for this month, failure to consume is an offence punishable under the Guaranteed Consumption act of twenty-oh…”

“I’M NOT HIM!!!!” screamed Orion, lunging at the meter “I’M NOT ELVIS!”

“….with penalties ranging from twelve years imprisonment to penal exile….”

“I’M NOT ELVIS!!!!” he screamed at the ceiling. He jumped up and down waving his fists in the air. The Consumption meter disgorged a flood of consumption pellets, his unconsumed allowance for the month so far. They spilt over the floor and beneath his feet, tripping him up. He collapsed slowly to the ground, banging his head on the TV as he fell. Strangely,his last thoughts before unconsciousness claimed him were of the annoying show with the talking birds and fish…

(We resume normal Eurovision broadcast soon. Probably)

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