Last week I attended the Den of Geek pub quiz. It was a great event and, if you’ve never been, I��d advise attempting to get along to any future ones that might take place. They’re a wonderful place to find a good time, good people and, if you’re a hungry vampire, the blood of many, many virgins.
They’re also, unfortunately, a terrible place to find justice. While I make no complaints about the main quiz (which I’m reliably informed was judged entirely fairly), the bonus round poster competition was a corrupt sham. I should explain.
The challenge was to create a poster for a Christmas movie starring Jason Statham. My team, Teenage Mutant Halfwit Oddballs, produced this.
As the winner was announced, we shared knowing grins and nods. We had this in the bag. Then, the results. We hadn’t even made the top four. Faces dropped. Smiles turned into twisted, anguished despair-ridden expressions. The fix was was in – we’d been done.
I’m not someone to take injustice lightly, which is why I’ve spent the majority of time since this article finished posting snarky comments about the apparently impending Doctor Who movie anonymously on the internet, like a god-damned masked hero. Me and my quiz team had been wronged, and I was going to do something about it.
I was out for justice, like Steven Seagal in that film Out For Justice, but without the rubbish subplot about his family. My day of vengance started similarly to the film. With me, the closest thing Den of Geek has to Steven Seagal, slamming a violent pimp’s head through a car window.
While my motivation for justice was as strong as Seagal’s, him avenging the murder of a friend and me wanting to ensure ‘Santa Claus Gets Punched in the Fucking Dick’ gets what it deserves, I didn’t have the same leads that he did to work with. In Out For Justice, shortly after committing a violent killing in broad daylight, the killer remarks to his accomplice, “I got news for you. It’s gonna get a lot hotter before the night’s over.” That could be because you spat your DNA all over the crime scene, clever lad.
Unfortunately for me, the folks behind the Den of Geek Quiz poster round stitch up 2011 were smarter. They had spat in my face, but they’d used metaphor to do so, and as any dedicated CSI fan-fiction writer will tell you, metaphor leaves no traces of DNA.
I went for a walk to think things over, and this is where to story takes another turn straight out of Out For Justice. Someone threw a puppy at me. Well, they attached a leather strap to its neck and held the other end, and it came towards me at speed. I assume that they threw it. Regardless, I punched the thrower in the face and sprinted away with the dog, as circumstances demanded.
I thought it prudent to travel by car wherever possible after this incident, as I wanted to avoid become distracted by other airborne household pets being chucked in my direction. I cruised around looking for the Den of Geek overlord, a mysterious figure who existed in vague terms but was certainly responsible for the robbing me of my quiz prize, or even the council of the Internet Movie Website Mafia (IMWM), who were sure to have been in on it. I was also looking at the local prostitutes, but that was just a coincidence, regardless of what any arrest report may have to say for itself.Why would I need a prostitute when I already have foxy ladies throwing themselves at me?
Making no progress, I called in on a butcher’s shop which is a well known hang-out for corrupt Internet writers. It became immediately apparent that they were expecting me, because they were giving me shifty looks when I walked in. I leapt over the counter, wrestled a meat cleaver away from the burly hairy bastard who had been attempted to intimidate me by hacking up chunks of beef, and bashed his scrotum until he wept like a puppy locked in a car boot that just won’t be quiet no matter how much you honk the horn.
I then laid bloody waste to all of the customers in the shop, because they were in on it too and no one was willing to give me any information.
Next I went to a pool hall, where I was hoping to find the Den of Geek overlord’s brother. The place was bustling with some particularly hip cats, the kind of guys who would definitely have their ears to the street and would know something about why I hadn’t won a prize at a quiz. Sadly, they were all pretending to be holding a snooker tournament and wouldn’t talk to me. I smashed the place up and beat the shit out of everyone. Under 13s or not, they weren’t telling me what I wanted to hear.
The place was a sticky mess, covered in blood and spilled cups of lemonade. Mini-sausage rolls and party ring biscuits were all over the floor (in the madness of it all, I may have gotten over-excited and tipped over a buffet table).
I scooped a ball up from one of the game tables and popped it into a sock that I keep in my jacket pocket. Grabbing someone who may well have been the DoG Overlord’s brother by the hair, I screamed into his face.
“Where’s your brother?”
“I don’t have a brother” he blubbed pathetically. I suspected he was lying and so cracked him in the mouth with the sock/snooker ball. He coughed out a bloody phlegmy mess that seemed to contain several teeth. His eyes betrayed an immense pain mixed with excitement over what would be a monumental haul from the tooth fairy. I smashed him in the face again, because that’s how I roll, before a voice interrupted.
“What are you doing? He doesn’t know anything.” It was one of the IMWM council.
“What’s going on? How come my team didn’t win the movie poster round in the Den of Geek quiz? What do you want from me?” I screamed at them.
They told me that Den of Geek were acting alone; that the site had gone rogue. I suggested that we stop here for a bit and put together a plan to storm their offices together, but they insisted that they’d already been and there was no one there and, besides, hadn’t we better leave before the police show up? I wasn’t sure if I could trust them, but they had a point. If I’ve learned anything from writing for Den of Geek it’s that the police have almost no sense of humour when it comes to attacking children with snooker balls.The Den of Geek headquarters, where the site’s editors drink brandy and antagonise commenters.
Frustrated by my lack of progress, I stole another move from Out For Justice and stormed the VIP area of a dance club and started showing a baffled waitress saucy Polaroids. In the film, the Polaroids are integral to the plot. Here, they weren’t. I just wanted to keep things roughly in-line with the movie, so I took some of myself in the car, with the puppy on camera-operating duties.
The waitress was, understandably, upset.
Regardless, I smashed the place up and took her with me. Less because she was helpful, more to keep the dog company. Shortly afterwards, she managed to escape, so I can only assume her and the dog didn’t get on.
This left me driving around in my car in the middle of the night, covered in blood, in the company of a stolen puppy, hunting for justice and screaming at my car radio. I was clearly on the right track. Then, out of nowhere, I had an anonymous tip-off from a voice in my head. It told me to go to a brothel. It was the best lead I had so far.
I pulled into my regular parking space and snuck in the side entrance. The hostess offered me a warm welcome and took my coat.
“Matt! Lovely to see you again. How was your morning?” with a seductive wink and a smile that showed she still had most of her teeth. She knew me well, all right.
“It was blood soaked, lacking in direction and loosely based on a Steven Seagal movie from the early 90s.” I replied, in my usual cool, shrieking way.
“Same shit, different day,” she said, which sounded a modern phrase for a 70-year-old to be using.
I nodded at her and waltzed past like I owned the place. As I strolled through the brothel, I bumped into several DoG writers. That’s not relevant to the story in any way, but I did see them there so I thought I should mention it.
With no clue what the DoG overlord looked like, and no actual information as to where he was, I had to follow my intuition. Fortunately for me, I’ve got a Seagal-like ability when it comes to finding villains. We’re like Jedi except that, when it comes to morals, we’re not total pussies.
I kicked open a door and walked in on a man having sex with a prostitute. He became very angry and so I knew I had found the villain behind the whole thing. A massive shootout took place. I only had a paintball gun and he wasn’t armed, so after about twenty minutes of this pointless, colourful anarchy, we declared a draw and decided to just have a nice chat.
The whole thing had been a mix-up, he said. I asked if we should have gone with the title, ‘Jason Statham vs The Human Santapede’ and he agreed that it was a much better name. He presented me with a bottle of champagne to make up for the prize that I’d missed out on. Sadly, though, I had some trouble getting it open, and after a bit of tugging and grappling the outcome was that I accidentally stabbed him in the face with the corkscrew.
Still, no point worrying about it. I was out for justice, and I had found it.