Raspberry Bulbs - Midnight Line

An enormous career-spanning interview with JG Thirlwell by Karl O'Connor (aka Regis) and Jim Siegal (aka Ning Nong) has just been published in The Quietus. And don't forget you can pick up the brand new JG Thirlwell & Simon Steensland album Oscillospira from the Foetus Online Shoppe now! Photo by Marylene Mey

The Gift That Keeps On Annoying

5 (Owen Harper, Torchwood) has to buy a birthday present for 11 (Henry Deacon, Eureka). What does 2 (Alec Hardison, Leverage), 8 (Jim Sterling, Leverage) and 10 (Donna Noble, Doctor Who) suggest and why is 12 (Harry Dresden, The Dresden Files) laughing like a mad thing? "Could someone explain to me why I am shopping for this man again?" "Couldn't have had anything to do with the fact that you blew the man up, could it? And on his birthday. And might I add that you blew me up too? And I had my eye on some T3 cable." Jim Sterling grinned at Owen. "You blew him up? I like you already." Owen Harper rolled his eyes. "I did not blow that Deacon bugger up! He blew himself up, if you must know. You'd think a man who works with that sort of thing would know not to ignore the 'do not press this button' sign." Donna raised an eyebrow at Owen. "What language was it written in?" "I dunno; some alien thing." "And you expect someone who hasn't got the TARDIS translation thingummy wodged in their head to be able to read that? You're sort of stupid, aren't you?" Owen glared at her. "Well, that Sarf of the Rivah shrill of yours doesn't do your image as a great intellect any favours, sweetheart." "Oi! Shut it, Dead-Man!" Sterling stepped between them and raised his hands. "Miss Noble, we're supposed to be helping this walking case of 'tude. The quicker we do that, the quicker we get shot of him." "So I have to wander a shopping centre with him. Well, isn't that wizard?" Donna sighed. "All right, what do we know about this Deacon person?" Hardison frowned at his open laptop. "Wish I could tell y'all, but this man just doesn't exist. No credit card logs to show his preferences, no Facebook page, no..." He looked at his screen and his frown deepened. "C'mon now; what do you mean, no social security number?" He looked up from his laptop at his unwilling companions. "Who is this guy?" "That's classified," said Sterling, slapping Hardison's laptop shut. "FBI? I can so crack that." "DARPA. Not to mention DoD." Hardison blinked at Sterling. "Man, I thought I was gettin' used to you. Now? Now you go scarin' me all over again." Donna, meanwhile, rummaged through her handbag. "Here," she said, handing over an elaborately carved wooden flute. "Give him this, and don't say I never gave you nothing." Owen took the flute and looked it over. "What makes you think Mr Fix-It over in Middle-of-Nowhere, Oregon will want this?" "'Cos it's extraterrestrial, you ning-nong! I got it on R... Raxa... Some planet beginning with R and sounds like some kind of disease. Maybe we give him this to poke at, he won't go blowing things up for awhile." Owen looked gratified, and Sterling just looked relieved that the whole thing was over, but Hardison happened to note the tall man in the big leather duster, watching the exchange and trying to stifle laughter. He eased over to stranger and asked, "Y'all mind either minding your own damn business or telling me what's so funny?" The tall man looked Hardison over and then said, "You don't want me near you for long, so I'll only say this. The thing's not exactly alien, even if aliens were selling it. And incidentally..." Most of the tall man's comment was lost in a feedback whine from Hardison's earbud. By the time the hacker had removed the malfunctioning bit of equipment, the stranger in the duster was halfway out the shopping centre's front doors, still laughing. After a moment in which he carefully studied his now useless earbud (the circuits were fried, if he was any judge), part of the lanky man's comment registered. "Wait a minute; what do you mean, 'have I heard of the Pied Piper of Hamlin'?!?"