A mighty river flows down what was once Easter Road in Edinburgh. As I stand at its banks near on the edge of London Road Gardens, a fish leaps out of the water and two legs unfold from its undercarriage and a hideous beak emerges from its mouth. It lands on a rock that in some more ancient time was a kerbstone, and hisses at me before flying away.
There has been an alien invasion of Abbeyhill Primary School by biomechanical quadrupeds with grotesque heads; humanoid faces sandwiched between two mechanical disks. Men walked around the playground like postcard hawkers at the Taj Mahal selling Fireworks and knives to fight off the horde. The aliens talked in code as the world ended around them.
During the 1970s, my auntie Margaret had German existentialist philosopher Martin Heidegger renting one of her rooms. She said he had some wild parties.
Steve Jobs cheats death by wearing explosive belt and taking the Reaper with him.
China discovers the mysterious breeding ground of the Blue Whales, and threatens to blast them to extinction with nuclear weapons unless the West pays them protection money.
Two nights in a row I have seen wonderful sights in my dreams, and I tried to photograph of them on a (dream) iPhone. First was a wonderful vista in which orange sunlight flooded over the horizon onto a neon-pink oriental megacity.
Second was of a peculiar pink insect with strange biomechanical proboscis that made a sound like a sped up conversation. On both occasions, my reflexive instinct was to reach for my iPhone to try and photograph them. And on both occasions, I then looked at the imaginary iPhoto app to see the photos were gone.
A close friend and I had embarked on a career of solving crimes. Turns out people were disappearing and being taken to a fallout shelter / FEMA internment camp beneath the department store John Lewis, and furthermore, somebody was manipulating people with mind controlling moths by putting caterpillars through their letterbox. BUT WHO?
A range of official Bruno Mars Lego sets are released, based on the particular world-line he makes through spacetime when dancing.
There is a new sequel to James' Cameron's Aliens, this time about a new breed of "Combiner" xenomorph.
It was shit.
I hit bedrock at the bottom of a Minecraft shaft and find myself in a basement packed with memories. Trunks full of old tapes of my grandparents speaking. Old vinyl records and toys I had long since thought were thrown away. But sitting in a corner is a box of nuclear materials from when my mum was building a nuclear bomb.
I break through the ceiling to see that I'm in the attic of my parents house. But outside, we are in another place, at the top floor of some alpine retreat.
A voice says "you know all those things you found weird as a child? Well they grew up too"; then the camera cuts to an upside down, inside out building.
I am in a theme park based on childhood memories. Lots of nostalgic messages carved in Abbeyhill school tables.
The EU is run by a giant Plesiosaur. His sidekick? Peter Mandelson.
James Cameron has the interior of his mouth made robotic, so he can control its bacterial ecosystem. He also owns a "perfect" tree carved out of a giant single piece of hardwood.
Noel Edmonds douses himself in petrol and set himself on fire.
I am stealing bars of gold bullion with the fat guy from Superbad.
Russell Brand buys Edinburgh Italian foodie stockist Valvona and Crolla. He prances around in the shop like he owns the place, because he does.
My friend Stephen and I invented a cannon that could shoot teleporting orbs. We fired it at my mate Alex but it only teleported the top of his head, leaving him gurgling about like Britney Spears in South Park. We then went on an adventure to try and find his missing upper head and sew it back on, but we couldn't remember the coordinates of where we sent it to.
Nick Griffin is announced as the new Dr Who.