Room 303

ROOM .303 – Why Room 101 Is For Pussies And How You Should Really Deal With The Things You Can’t Stand

You’re Not In The Matrix Now Keanu

Keanu prepares to assassinate the last shreds of his acting talent

           

You are standing out at the door to Room 303. As you cross the threshold, you’ll see immediately that it is a cruel and unforgiving place. That’s fine though, because you’re not there to be nice and you’re certainly not there to forgive or be forgiven.

Personal justice is the only purpose of this place. It’s rough concrete surfaces are broken by the riveted steel door by which you entered. A door which locks only from the inside. This place has nothing to do with Keanu Reeves. Not unless you want it to.

The Whole 9000 Yards

Fun for all the family. Girls can join in too.

 

Room 303 contains only three things: you, the object of your hatred and a Vickers .303 calibre tripod mounted machine gun. Complete with a miles long belt of ammunition. You’ll have seen the machine gun on old war films; big buggers with a double grip handle and a barrel thick as a drainpipe. They’ll keep spitting out lead for days as long as you supply them with rounds and cooling water. The bullets look like little brass javelins.

You see, room .303 is a highly interactive experience. You don’t just lock away what you find loathsome, you confront it. You point that heavy duty war engine at the offending person or object(or idea or concept-it’s only an imaginary machine gun) and you let rip. A hail of murderous fire then rips, punctures, shreds and flails until that thing-which-should-not-be is a pile of mince on the floor.

Yes, I Do Fucking Remember Spangles

 

How much? You could buy a car for that in ’72

You then emerge, drenched in blood (even ideas bleed in Room 303). You will be covered in gore and dog tired, but it’s righteous gore and it’s a good tired. This week it’s my turn to pull the trigger. And tied to the execution post with suitably coarse and stout jute twine this week is……70’s nostalgia.

Picture this scene. You’re a forty something at some work obligated night out. No one really wants to be there, but everyone has had to turn up. None of you has drunk quite enough to get that “at ease with anything” feeling. Then inevitably someone pipes up with that dreaded phrase: “Remember Spangles?” There is a sudden roar of unity and approval and the predictable descent into the land of flared corduroy and chopper bikes begins.

Charley Says..

Charley didn’t really like kids. He did the adverts purely for the cash.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I remember all this shit as fondly as anyone. More so in fact. Yes, I do remember Spangles and Mint Cracknell. I remember Space Dust and Aztec bars. I remember telly shows like Mary, Mungo and Midge, Issi Noho and Animal Crackers. I particularly recall all the sinister public information films (Put a rug on a polished floor? Might as well set a man trap). And yes, I do go all warm and fuzzy at the very thought, which is kind of by way of being the point.

Bodie And Doyle

 

Hey Guv. Have you seen the size of this?

Have you seen the re runs of some of your favourite 70’s TV shows on the Skybox recently? Yeah, me too. Great, I thought, The Professionals is on. A whole hour of Bodie and Doyle. Beer ready, snacks ready, here we go. Theme music : awesome. Outrageous 70s fashion : awesome. But then ten minutes in : Oh dear, this appears to be crap. Never mind, Randall and Hopkirk’s on the other side. Technically a sixties show, but it was repeated a lot in the Seventies. Ah, this appears to be crap too. And so it continues, night after night, programme after programme.

You’re Just Making It Worse For Yourself You Know

I’m tellin’ you Bernie. These idiots will pay to watch anything.

 

So stop talking about this stuff in bars, because the more you do the more lazy TV execs will feel justified in screening stuff we remember as being brilliant. And even though you now know that these shows will be crap and totally not as you remember, you’ll still torture yourself with them when you come home from the pub. And so will I because I’m no different from you.

Then one day the moment will come. The moment when this has happened to too many bits of your childhood. The moment when your little inner bubble bursts. The bubble that contains a little bit of the air from that time of limitless potential and boundless possibility. The one that keeps the feeble motor of your optimism going and let’s be honest, that motor is getting slower and jerkier by the year.

Shut That Door

 

Just step into this room ladies. There’s something I want to show you.

So just shut up about the Seventies and remember them quietly. Shut up before the mangled pulp which was your body ends up on the cold concrete floor of room 303. A room which I have definitely not built for real. Now, it’s time to let rip with the murderous fire. And I shall be making those machine gun noises with my mouth, because those noises are still brilliant no matter what decade you grew up in.

© Copyright Michael Grimes 2013

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About thedailygrime

At that awkward age - too young to be a grumpy old man, but just acerbic and downtrodden enough to have an opinion. Read it here.

3 responses to “Room 303”

  1. Jennifer M Zeiger says :

    Having just finished “Welcome to the Monkey House” by Kurt Vonnegut, I have to say, your voice reminds me of him. Nice satiric voice that makes me cringe at the same time that I enjoy reading.

  2. Dr. Sharkey says :

    I bought myself a DVD of Hong Kong Fuey, remembering how much I used to love it as a kid. It was truly crap, and the thing that bothered me the most was that the Sarge’s arms were so short he’d never have been able to reach his own cock. Maybe HKF helped him out. I don’t want to think about it. And The Young Ones – my mam used to shake her head and say “I must have no sense of humour…” I’d tell her that she just didn’t get it. But now that I see the re-runs, it was funny because I was eleven. I watch it now with the stony face of a man disgusted by his former self.

    • thedailygrime says :

      Don’t talk to me about The Young Ones. When I was 25 I bought the box set on VHS. I settled down for an evening of beer, curry and personal hilarity. No hilarity commenced. It was my first experience of “nostalgia isn’t what it used to be”. Not got round to watching Hong Kong Fuey. Thanks for the heads up.

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