Don't worry, be Happy.

Lights, Camera,Reeking Action


Do you ever lie awake at night worrying? About money, relationships, work, an upcoming journey, its your worry so it could be anything, you're only limited by your own lack of imagination, literally.

In my time,  sleep has temporarily abandoned me for worry about nuclear Armageddon,  dieing a virgin, things said at work meetings "Wait a minute, was he saying I was slow?"  But just now, I'm worried about Guy Ritchie and the the films he's making. Its a long time since Lock, Stock and Snatch, almost 20 years. Sherlock Holmes was good, but recently, honestly, King Arthur and the something of whatever and the Man From U.N.C.L.E? Seriously?  So, and I'm sure he, and his by now near bankrupt backers, will appreciate it, I've been thinking about his next project, just the thing to get him back on track and making those zingy, gangstaramas.

A reboot, Guy Ritchies......The Mr Men. What about that? I've been working on the characters for him, just to get him started.

Mr. Happy is the criminal kingpin. At his peak in the 80s, famous in Glasgow for his smiles better campaign, of course, most of the smiles Mr. Happy induced were with his Stanley knife, the standard late payment charge for his style of money lender. 

Get me this much ketamine,
I've got a date with Little Miss Stubborn tonight

Had to lay low in the Costas for a few years while the Teletubbies Gang grew in prominence, dealing their trippy shit, but now he's back with no time to waste, its time to show there is only so much Happy one town can take.

Mr. Grumpy, the consigliere, the trusted No2. Always ready with crabby advice, the keys to the safe houses and Little Miss's on call. Made a fortune when the Gingerbread Housing market blew up and invested the proceeds in trafficking trolls from Hong Kong. He knows where the bodies are buried, he didn't dig the holes, but he supplied the shovels

Mr. Fussy looks after the books, a master money launderer, shoveling money through countless fake businesses like Rent-a-Ghost or sending it off-shore to an anonymous Fraggle Rock bank account. 

Mr. Strong is Happys personal bodyguard and driver, ex-pugilist and a bit punchy these days, but you wouldn't want anyone else in a corner with you, he just fits perfectly for a start.

Lucky Mr Bump had his famous murderers thumbs insured

Mr. Bump is Strongs sometimes partner in crime, collector of dues, breaker of bones, its Bump that visits in the night

Mr. Tickle is the safe-man and a handy pick-pocket. An ex-Radio Misterland DJ, he did a stretch inside after 

Rosie and Jim made accusations against him, unfounded of course, 

at least according to him, 

Mr. Tickle thought CCTV was a
terrible invasion of privacy

Mr. Bounce, is Happys psycho nephew. Down from Misterland while his old man takes a turn at her

What do you mean funny? Like a clown?
Do I amuse you? Huhh?

majesties. Totally unstable and when he gets together with Mr. Mischief, its mayhem. 

Mr Jelly is a compromised pharmacist, Happy knows he's into the Jelly Tots so he

has him writing fake Tramadol prescriptions to feed Misterlands opioid crisis, the only crisis will be if Jelly gets fingered by the old bill and locked up in Jelly Jail.

Mr Chatterbox, a once trusted lieutenant in charge of distribution, but suffering a moral crisis and Grumpy suspects he is ready to grass.

Fucksake,I told you coppers not to come to the house!!

And the distribution, the foot soldiers, out in the grimy streets, delivering merch and running the chemtrail. 

Mr Busy: Goof balls

Mr Cool: Woo Woos

Mr Rush: H Bombs

Skinny and Dizzy: Mexican Horse

                                                        

Whoa, this is good shit,

Scene 1: Mid-Morning
Dive bar on North side of town

It was a long, narrow counter, a regular barfly propping it up like an architectural necessity a left hand could have drawn, taking in the looped news and reading beer mats. Skilled at not noticing, important in this bar, but Mr. Grumpy noticed everything, the back door, the hardcover and improvised weapons, fire extinguishers, tables, anything that would cause pain and confusion and vital seconds.  He had a choice of seats, of course, even the few that were occupied, but took one on the back wall, facing the door and looking the length of the counter.  From here the row of whisky bottles on the gantry appeared as a thin copper line, soldiers, armored breasts presented to a sober foe.  Mr. Small, the barkeeps' little hands sometimes appearing into view as he tried to reach and persuade an optic to comply with the weights and measures act.

Mr. Strong strode in through the saloon doors purposefully, took a second to survey the scene but was followed by the boss before he had a chance to give the all clear.  Mr. Happy looked less than happy, he looked like Mr. Anxious as he planted himself heavily in a seat across the table from Grumpy   And so he should, Mr. Grumpy hadn't looked forward to giving him this news.  

Well?  Mr. Happy chortled nervously.  Grumpy sighed, there is a team in town for you. Happy grinned that grin that he couldn't stop grinning, even when he tried really hard, it was a curse really.   Who is it, and who facking sent them, he giggled.  It's The Moomins, Grumpy replied with a tone of resignation, they're finally coming for you.  Mr. Happy burst into a gleeful snicker, The Facking Moomins, those roly-poly gimpy fackers, what the fack are they fackers going to do, sit on me, stare me to death with their dopey faces, with their poncy hats on their simply drawn heads,  he guffawed. Grumpy thought that the last epithet was a bit rich coming from a Mr. Man,   That's not all Mr. Grumpy snapped, his nerves getting the better of him and shortening his patience, even with the boss, Noggin the Nog sent them, and he's come to town too. Mr. Happy stopped his guffawing, Fack, he chuckled. We're Facked.  

Over to you Guy Ritchie, this is more than enough to be getting on with.  See you at the BAFTAs


Lang may yer lum reek.