The Necroplanicus-the Book of Dead Projects

SB and SW had been in Limbo along with the rest of the PP crew. They’d tried to get under the bar but it was too low so they decided to sit at it and drink Planter’s Punch the same as everyone else.

Captain Charlie, demoted from Major for a reason that was SECRET had his own theory concerning deliberate sabotage by alien labourers masquerading as planners. He wasn’t going to tell anyone though because it was another secret, just like the height of a certain tower.

He stared hard at his green joke book, then at his planning guide. His eyes switched back and forth between them then grew wide with horror, he couldn’t tell them apart!

Like Douglas MacArthur, Captain Charlie had stated, "I will return!" It’s just that no-one was was really sure where he was returning to, or from, not even him. He was sure though that his keyboard would be waiting along with all his favourite software, so he began his flight. At a tangent, of course; (after all he knew that the shortest distance between two points was a cube.)

Post SLAPPERS soiree (conversations and opinions yet to be reported)in Merde Hawk City an apparition has reappeared in an uptown hotel in a downtown part of a pioneering city.
Quietly stroking a white cat whilst sitting in a rather large arm chair M, formerly known as Snowhite has surpassed even Madonna in reinventing both herself and her career path. She, reputedly, was making trillions from her best seller bodice ripper, Egotistical versus Fanatical Planners, Madness or Fit?

M pressed a button on the arm of her chair and a huge all-seeing eye appeared on the wall screen. The cat purred approval, turned its head to look at her, winked, and said, "That ought to do the trick, got any cat treats?"

The all-seeing eye insinuated itself into the system, its purpose to seek out the Charlie and convey its secret message. But not just any Charlie, it had to be a real Charlie, sometimes called the right or proper Charlie. With a single-minded intensity it began its search.

M had returned from WA in the October prior to entering the disputed boundary at the Barents Sea. Norske "fishing inspectors" were known to have boarded Ruskkie "fishing boats" and be taken to the darker side, to be released at a later date at Check Point Charlie near the Finmark border.
The ever seeing and roving green and blue eyed white pussy did indeed trace wild trajactory comments for corporate reguritation at a later date.
M picked and crushed the fleas and ascertained that revenge was indeed a desert best served cold. (Pun intended). Now should that be served cold as in devoid of emotion or in ambient air, water of land temperature less than 15 degrees or in her sark. M reckoned only the GFI the Rio Slapper would know how cold it was standing her your sark in the Upper Buchan Plains. Still the Sleeper based in Hong Kong was cosy in the knowledge that . . . .

M was james Bonds boss, and check point charlie was situated in Berlin, but Snow white was this beautiful princess who fell asleep,and was kissed by somebody special, why all the side tracking? lets get on with the story and keep it magical. So ms Pennyfarthing under instruction from ’M’ told 007 the Queen would hit him on the the head with a sword, and make him a prince, so that he JB ’007’ could go and kiss Snow White and resolve all the outstanding issues in terms of the NEC and make it happen, so they could go to bed.

anybody knew where M is? her fone is dead...

There had been much discussion on the new 007. Not only was he English and blonde ergo blondes have more fun but he was of the male species - Central Casting are SO predictable. Despite Ms Moneyeuro trying to bed Bond since 1963 (you would have thought they would have taken up carpet bowls by now) M would have no Hanky Panky on her shift. The elusive damned cat was always 2 yards in front of the vet when he called. That was bad enough, especially as the cat was required as a prop for secretly recording the planning of Bonds global missions.
M vowed to update her furryboots but alas her phone number remained top secret until the Irish 007 was reinstated.

Somewhat confused the Rio Slapper awoke from a very long sleep induced by too many caprinhas and many late nights analysing the various paths in Charlie’s schedule. She had come to the conclusion that Wolf or no Wolf she would take her chances in the woods for to be sure it was the quickest path.

She pondered the question of the wherabouts of M - the clues seemed, to her at least, to point to Cairo, the Cat, the desert.........well M ? Close ?

Nithin lik it ava ma quine!

M was suited n booted in a Clients office, minding her Ps and Qs incase her A2Z or P45 would be a requirement.
She had indeed seen the last remaining of the 7 Wonders of the World but alas the lack of Herdies pies was too much and she had to move on.
Should N B a promtion then she was up 4 it but she was quite content being a roving reporter planner, a case of a rolling stone gathers no moss, moving targets hard to hit but it was more than likely a case that her evil twins could spend money more quickly than she could earn it when at home in SHC.
Nvertheless she looked forward to the next Slapper reunion and hoped the invitation list would be extended.

[Deleted by Moderator] Generally JB 007 seems to be holding the plot together, if he can get to CR with a roll of duck tape. The question is where is the "line of balance" or is it just time Vs Chaineage????????????????

M vowed to skelp 007s dowper as chainage smacked of bondage.
Considering Sean Connery MB OAP could still give the other Bonds a run for the money even sans rug, was Bonds age really relevant.
Most Contractors knew the true line of balance was 2 pints 2 G & Ts, 2 sherries and 2 Herdies Pies in each hand whilst walking a straight path against the crashing current of staffies leaving work at 3.30pm on a holiday weekend.

so much for M, she’s having a break, she’s ignoring Bond at the moment...

Watch out for Dr No’s dog, the white one, pretty vicious, might take James the spy by accident, the dog has backup called JAWS

Nelson, half cut and completely sozzled (Snowhite had immersed his body in a barrel of brandy when he had passed out in Deckins Stavanger)was sick of being tail end Charlie and had decided to recruit Frog 1. Despite Ms endeavours to search under every stone Frog 1 had appeared to have gone underground.
GFI was at this very minute landing in Seagull City off the Rio shuttle to pick up Herdies pies and was en route to a dubious Smoggie sporting event in the land of the flat and boring.
Despite the far and wide scattering of his compatriotes, Nelson had come to the conclusion he would get even, a case of an Aye for an Aye.

Authors note. The above events are based on actual act and names and places have not been changed to protect the guilty.

The Pommy (Englishman) appears in his sartorial glory (actually badly dressed in normal terms), but still as as smooth as a Haagendas ice cream and thinks he can BS his way through the world with a Picasso like Tilos "Line of balance" diagram. The problem is the Americans and Canadians are present and everybody is talking about the smoking mirror, and discussing who can sell bullshit the best. Then the master scheduler appears, there is actually three of them, but he is the true one, and starts asking for explanations about cuts and fills (mass haul diagrams) and does his own representation which makes no sense. Another 5 minute discussion takes two hours. There is no justice, where is Batman?????????

PS no names no packdrill

batman is sleeping in hongkong, tired of finding M..m actually stands for maris, (mission ain’t resolved, it’s sinking).. he passed it to JB..needs a better software, which can work on top-down w/out altering the weightings...

Far out in space, beyond the reach of all but the most powerful radio-telescopes, a minute object orbited a gas giant. A sun so huge that it was almost immaterial, so nebulous it was almost the idea of a sun.

The tiny object circled the giant like an annoying insect, and an electronic eavesdropper would have heard it emitting a constant meaningless babble.

Things were, indeed, quite quiet on the Wester Front. Despite people trying to muddy the water, plans had indeed gone underground and were rotten bottom up.
Still, the GFI was returning to Rio a broken woman now that the Sevillians were even dancing in Smoggieland whilst M was trudging East signing off Mustgo cant be rushing.

It was evident that Carlos the Jackal had hobbled home, distraught that he had inherited the dichromatism gene whilst the more robust planners nutured the achromatopsia version.
What really drove him to the depth of despair was that dichromatism was sex linked. How could he possible live with himself? Was he special to belong to this 7% of the population? Or would the inability to see various shades of grey (a characteristic highly regarded in the northern latitudes especially on Construction sites)handicap his undermining abilities?

Yes it was true - a broken woman was she - squashed by the Sevillians, who had pipped the smoggies at good old Stadium Pressure Safety Valve - never more would she go dutch.

Back in Pele land - all was quiet (mainly due to the striking workforce) but also in preparation for the MAIN EVENT - Copo de Mundo was approaching fast. The brazilians were waxing lyrical about their chances and the rest were keeping a low profile

Just then....

A shadow passed across the face of the sun! Could it be "he who’s name must not be spoken" returning through a time warp from an interstellar trip to garner hyperbole? Had he not echoed the words of Douglas MacArthur and left everyone wondering if it was a threat or a promise?

Only the slow passage of time will reveal the answer.

Which clearly did not. However, it would appear and He who cannot be named and Sweaty Betty Our Girl on Ipanea Beach appeared to be missing in action in tandem.
This promised to a more exciting in depth conversation than past Torry conquests and getting held up for lunchean vouchers at Teatime.
Still it was only a matter of time before the Far East Connection would work out a suitable reply to Ms last posting and mark the final chapter of the Dead Project Book.

Clearly GFI/SW was still bound and gagged, hopefully from another lunch voucher, lunch time heist in Rio and nothing more sinister.
M morphing to SW returned from Moscow to the far north. She had reluctantly dispensed with the luxury of her 6 ft black belt karate driver Viktor.
Laden with amber, wood, gold, a non conflict diamond complete with a Silver Fox, nights oot in Aker Brygge would never be the same again now her wings were clipped. Still she welcomed the virtual reunion of her Nercopals.

Ah but Sweaty finally had a plan - and not before time they cried.
She had been secreting digging a tunnel under the floor in the Xerox room for some months and had at last come up for air (and a new pack of Marlboro).

Her next mission was still under wraps for the time being but soon she would emerge like a butterfly from a thingymabob ....

Just then

nevertheless had a murky past.
To paraphase The Importance of being Earnest, it is unfortunate to misplace one mistress but to misplace two is damned carelessness.
The World of Lady Planners was indeed small, full of coincidences, gossip, intrigue and knitting patterns.
Still would wild Oscar own up to his murky past? Was she indeed a mistress or did he just mean to mention he was mentoring her?

who are we refering too?

It must be me, as I have a perennially guilty conscience as well as a murky past!!!

After his wife had told him to get a life, Oscar had traded in his Planning vocation and was partaking in training for next seasons cricket. Still Shaney boy had better perfect that spin as Oscar, allegedly, was going to come up trumps.

Clive,

Is it contagious? Emanations of sporadic and meaningless drivel, reminds me of someone, possibly me, but someone else as well, just can’t quite think who at the moment.

Chris Oggham

who had recently come in from the cold and was at work suffering from hot flushes induced by a Planning Forum at the branch office, The Ferryman, Aker Brygge the night before. Wishing to cascade to the interested reader, Sweaty Betty the Lady Planner from Inpana and founder member of S.L.A.P.P.E.R.S is, alas, no more. Now a house owning resident in Houston looking forward to the Rodeo. After throwing in the towel when her boss tried to reduce her meagre wages, she is, at present, a house mouse, and is "resting" between assignments. There is absolutely NO truth in the rumour she is currently working in the establishment known as Hooters.

Indeed - Where is Oscar???????

Oscar, Oscar - wherefore art thou my dear beloved?

Parp, Parp said Sweaty Betty.....

Aside (Sweaty Betty formerly of Rio now Houston and maybe soon to be Rio again) Should that not have been a squeak or are you REALLY REALLY working in Hoosters Houston or perchance Hooters Abroath?).

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Oscar had indeed gone to ground. Perhaps out roaming the wintry wastes proving "Man always kills the thing he loves best"

Hooters Arbroath ??? now that really would be nippy......
:-P

Concerning Oscar, perhaps (Shock! Horror!) he has been kidnapped!

Thoughts aghast - maybe he’s at peace - propping-up the foundations of his last project - having spoke the truth, unknowingly, to Don Corleone. An offer was made, but it was refused. Of "The Family" he is no more?

....THAT was the reason why the Electrical Installation contractors had quoted so cheaply. The 240V cabling was actually pinched from a set of Christmas Tree Fairy Lights. Oh my, how is he now going to warn them.....the building will burn, the building will burn.....

However, M had had Oscar chipped and knew not only where he resided but also knew his exact "furryboots". The Monitors were slowly coming out of their hibernation as they realised they had had is too easy in recent times. The rota of early morning watchers and listeners would have to be reactivated.

The March-of-the-’Bots had been initiated. Homing-in on the victim’s signal, there was no stopping their murderous onslaught. Despite the inventor’s Prime Directive, a rogue element of the ’bots had been programmed via a virus infected Bluetooth download. Their LOGIC had been corrupted.....AND NOW THEY WERE ON A MISSION......

woh
so cold in the lithuanian gutter
Charlie your my man man
X to sweatty betty
got to go my wife is coming back
oscar

All at once, he awoke - his body shimmering with the drops of cold sweat, instantly clinging to his clothing and freezing into pellets of ice. The eyes were staring into the crisp skies of a frosted morning, with blurring images of people stepping-over him as they made their way to offices - ignoring the fact that there, lying in front of them, was The Man...the one that made it all happen.

Had he fallen from grace or was he pushed? All that we know is that, today, rising stiffly from the muddy, diesel-ridden snow that infects the gutters, his slumbering nightmare had ended. It was all but a dream. Now was the time to come-in-from-the-cold......

after the book of dead projects...
i feel i depressed...



just joined and found!

It’s OK to feel depressed, when you’re in recruitment. Just don’t do anything silly like jumping off your wallet.

Chris Oggham

This thread is like the kettle for the Queen of Hearts’ tea, it’s going off the boil. Would a large dose of Oscar provide a remedy?

no, a dose of Charlie may do

oooooh did someone mention Charlie ?

Isn’t that akin to saying Macbeth ? Will the necroplanicus be doomed ?

a large dose of Glen usually works for me..

Glenfiddich, Glenlivet, etc. etc.