As I stood there in that narrow doorway looking at an aging man with his beer belly slapping against the long haired female splayed across the table, legs akimbo, with her knickers sat on top of this grunting, sweaty bloke who looked more like he was trying to move a heavy piece of furniture than someone having sex, I tried to look away. I couldn't. The belly was swinging like a pendulum hypnotizing my gaze to his body that seemed to resemble a meat sack filled with mashed potato with a mullet on top. His eyes turned slightly to meet mine and he gave a quick nod of acknowledgement before his thrusts and gasps for air conjoined in one mass quiver of ecstacy finishing his frantic pumps and leaving a slight drool hanging from the corner of his mouth down to his chin. He quickly ushered the volunteer away as he whipped off the knickers from the top of his head and mopped himself up.
"Alright, mate," he said in between heavy breathing, "I was just...opening her chakras". A wry smile crept on one side of his face like he was having a reverse stroke. My stomach churned from looking at this naked smug man and his mullet.
This was my first meeting with David Icke.
A few weeks back a friend of mine had mentioned that they needed some volunteers to be runners at a T.V. station. I needed the experience working in such environments for my career, so I jumped at the chance. I queried my friend about what station - BBC? ITV? Channel 4? Television X? His face said it all as he looked to the ground and mumbled something incoherent. I looked at him again and at the same time of letting out a deep sigh he muttered, "The People's Voice".
"What the fuck is The People's Voice?"
"A T.V. channel crowd sourced by people to report the news the mainstream won't touch," he said robotically like he was reciting a mantra from the manifesto of a cult.
"what channel is it on?" I said as I reached for the remote control of the T.V.
"Oh no, it's streamed on the net"
I looked at him with my head skewed slightly, "It's a T.V. station that's not on T.V.?"
"Yeah, people gave £300,000 to them to start an internet T.V. channel"
"What the fuck for?" I blurted out.
"So they could report on stories that the mainstre-"
"Yeah, I get that," I said rolling my eyes, "what I mean is...Fuck it, where is it?"
"Near Wembley"
In retrospect I should have turned it down and run a mile. But I needed the experience and no-one was offering such an opening."If I volunteer, do I get any compensation such as my travel reimbursed?"
"Nah, just pizza and lager. Tennent's though."
A disconcerted look glazed my face,"Tennent's? As in Tennent's Super? 9% lager?"
He let out another sigh, "Yeah, it's what Dave and the crew drink all the time."
As my mind slushed around Perturbed and bemused at the prospect of volunteering there for nothing more than pizza and beer, I reluctantly turned up for my first day at TPV.
As I walked towards the door that had "tele studeo" scrawled on a scrappy piece of paper blu-tacked to it, I could hear the faint stirring of what sounded like a crowd. I opened it and a roar of sound hit me in the face like a screaming fart. The scene that greeted me was like a New Age zoo peppered with grunting drunk monkeys. A potato headed Irish man with a can of tennent's in hand babbled at me incoherently in what sounded like pikey talk whilst wearing a neck tie on his head.
"Er,hello, I'm here to volunteer," I nervously answered to his Irish bibble.
"Yer fecking go over there yer fromdhdsdusyeueyu" and he drunkenly gestured to a seat that said "Obey" on it. I sat down and a young woman dressed in New Age rags came over with a clip board in hand.
"Are you a lizard?" she asked with a Cheshire cat smile.
"Er, am I what? A lizard?" I queried.
"Yeah, it's TPV protocol to ask anyone who comes in here if they're a lizard". She leaned in and whispered, "David doesn't like them"
"Oh,er,yeah, I'm a lizard," I said in jest poking my tongue in and out.
Her eyes widened as she dropped the clip board to the ground and began screaming, "WE GOT ONE! DEFCON ONE! DEFCON ONE!"
The place stopped in its tracks and all eyes darted towards me. The drunken pikey who by now had stripped to the waist, stumbled over and knocked me off the chair onto a pile of books and 24 packs of Tennent's. He pinned me down and dribbled on to my face screaming, "Shapeshift yer feckin' fdifugkkp! Ye'll never take us alive!"
I frantically tried to push the overgrown leprechaun off me while I made it quite clear I was joking.I was gasping for breath when a scrawny guy with a large head that was clearly to big for his body started to calm down the pikey by stroking his round puffy head gently giving him reassurance that I was not a lizard and his pie had finished warming up in the microwave.
"Yer feckin' locky powepwieor," he murmured as his sweaty body lifted from mine and his head quickly turned to the attention of the microwave.
The young lady crouched down picking up her clip board and told me they didn't joke about such things around here and that they were saving the world from the shapeshifting lizards that control the world from the moon and Saturn.
"Duly noted," I said as I wiped the bile from my shirt.
What was this place? This was a television studio? As the lady began showing me around I caught a glimpse of the many empty Tennet's cans strewn across the place, some made up into a pyramid. As we walked into the gallery the scrawny man who had saved me from the pikey greeted me and introduced himself as Sean. His little hands and high pitched voice didn't imbue someone that was somehow in charge.
"This is where the magic happens," he squealed with his girlish voice.
I raised an eyebrow. "Oh, yeah, magic," I said trying to disguise my sarcasm.
"Dave says we're gonna change the world with this," Sean said with his little hands rubbing together with glee.
"Who's Dave?" I asked.
The room fell silent and everyone looked at each other.
"You don't know Dave? The Son of the Godhead? Our leader?"
"No, sorry, I just needed to voluntee-"
Sean cut me off, "You'll meet him soon as he's helping a young woman out in the cupboard at the moment. But you can meet Gareth, his son, as he's just come in."
I was directed into a dank studio where two men were kissing passionately. Sean coughed and the two broke their embrace and the more feminine of the two lifted up his sunglasses and held out his hand.
"Hey there slave, er, I mean volunteer. You gonna be helping out me dad with his saving the world and shit?"
"I guess," I said shaking his clammy hand.
He leaned over to get a drink with a straw in it. "You wanna drink?" He offered with a smirk on his face.
"Sure.." as I reached for the glass Sean quickly intercepted stating I might want to stay away from straws.
"Oh Sean, let the mong suck on my straw," Gareth protested.
Mong? My eyes kept looking at the exit door like it was imbued with sanity . Anything seemed better than this shambled place. In fact slamming my penis in a car door seemed more appealing than working here for pizza and tinnies. But I bit the bullet and carried on because I needed the experience.
Sean ushered me out and in his squeaky voice apologised for Gareth's behaviour. I asked where the toilet was just to get my thoughts together and have some respite from the peculiar environment that had been thrust upon me. Sean gave directions, but to be honest I wasn't really paying attention so I opened one of the doors nearest to me and that's when I stumbled onto the messiah himself in the scene that still haunts my dreams like Freddy Krueger with a mullet.
*To Be Continued*
hope there's more to come 
