Sumo-Eier?!?

[MMC]

Niemand Anderes als Ernest Hemingway persoenlich hat Folge 5 literarisch verarbeitet:

It was cold, and the cable car had stopped. The man in the cabin sat with his breath misting the window. He had been there four hours. The sun was going down, and the cold came on harder now. He held the radio in his gloved hand and listened.

"No, it suddenly stopped," he said. "I don’t know. No, I didn’t touch anything. What do you mean it’s too heavy? I’m alone in the cabin." The voice on the other end was tired, indifferent. "Yes, yes, what am I supposed to do now? I’ve been here four hours. It’s freezing, and the sun’s going down. Yes, I understand. No one can come today. Yes. They’ve gone for the weekend. I thought so. Thanks. Thanks a lot."

---

Down in the valley where the Terfenbach ran hard against the rocks, the village of Banalotopia lay small and tight, like it didn’t trust the land it stood on. Mr. Dussmann lived there. He was the rope maker. His hands were broad and scarred, his fingers like hooks, and he was proud of the ropes he twisted in his workshop. The Golden Knot of the Lower Franconian Shibari Association hung on the wall behind his counter, the gold dull and scratched from years of polishing.

His daughters, Robbie and Bobby, were twins and trouble. They wanted villas and swimming pools, ponies and cinemas. "What is it?" they would say. "Why can’t we have it?" They said this often. Dussmann would go to the Krug in Terfsdorf and drink until his anger had no edge, just a dull weight. But the next weekend, there would be the village play, and Dussmann would laugh and sing *Holladiree Dulue* with the others. That’s how it was.

---

Then came the day the rope broke.

"Drugs?" Dussmann said when they told him. "No. Not cut? Broken? My ropes don’t break." He protested, but the trial came anyway, and Dussmann sat in the hall with his big hands curled into fists on his knees. The settlement was a joke, but he took it. A climbing course, beginner level, with Dussmann himself. And that was that.

The course was a disaster. The man was too heavy, they said. Dussmann swore he wasn’t. But the man fell, and the lawyers came again. This time, the settlement was a trekking tour in the high mountains with Dussmann’s dealer daughters, Robbie and Bobby.

---

The mountains were high, and the air was thin. The trek was harder than it should have been, and the twins fought the whole way, throwing their words sharp as knives. The man tried to keep his peace. They drank Swedish wine and sang Swedish songs, and the man thought maybe it would end there.

But it didn’t. It went to hell.

The twins had plans, though what kind they were, no one could say for sure. The man knew only that the ropes had broken again, and this time, no one was singing. The mountains closed in around them, the snow came fast, and the Swedish wine ran out.

[Dr. Dralle]

sam und kiki sprechen bei cnn über 25 jahre banalotopia:

[MMC]

CNN? Cable News Network?

Brauchen wir eigentlich noch Material fuer 25?

[Dr. Dralle]

CNN? Cable News Network?

genau! ich habe den orginal cnn-news vorspann davor gehängt,
weil die podcast stimmen meiner meinung nach sehr nach amerikanischem frühstücks-fernsehn klingen.

Brauchen wir eigentlich noch Material fuer 25?

wir haben bisher den start mit warren in der steinzeit.
dann den schwenk über die zerschossenen nullen in die jetztzeit,
wo warren aus dem fahrenden auto heraus einen tisch für 17 personen bei barschels bestellt.

dann kommt warren auf dem sofa und wird nach seiner schönsten erinnerung gefragt.
da sagt er dann folgenden text:

"Naja, die ganzen witzigen Dialoge zwischen Byron und mir.
leider sind die parts von byron dann in der postproduktion alle wieder rausgeflogen,
weil das sonst zu lang geworden wäre.
da haben die zuschauer also gar nichts von mitgekriegt."

dann kommt der ausschnitt mit warren aus folge eins, wo er fragt, ob man ihn denn nicht irgendwie orten könnte,
gefolgt von byron, der in der zentrale von MMC-jeep-verleih am telefon sitzt und ihm erklärt,
das er das vorher hätte buchen müssen.

das können wir mit verschiedenen telefonsituationen durchspielen.

[MMC]

Weiter oben im Strang haben wir Sofamonologe von Warren, Roter Bueffel, Sam, Kiki, Drulle und Byron natuerlich.

Es gibt auch noch Szenen, die wir nicht in B24 verwendet haben, die eventuell jetzt verwendung finden koennten:

Warren am Telefon; spricht zu den anderen im Raum: "Jarek ist am Apparat. [erklaerend] Jarek Muretschinski. Genau die Sprechrobbe. Fragt, ob er endlich rauskommen kann. Wass soll ich ihm sagen?"

[Gemurmel der anderen] "Der war doch schon ewig nicht mehr?", "Seit Folge 9 glaube ich", "Brauchen wir den ueberhaupt noch?", "Wer ist das?", "Hatte der nicht mal was mit Kiki?", "Rababar, Rababar usw"

Drulle: "Treffen Sie sich mit neuen Freunden und vertiefen Sie neue Kontakte durch offene Gespraeche"

Warren, ins Telefon: "Das Huhn sagt, du solltst Leute treffen und mit denen reden."

Drule: "Drulle. Ich heisse Drulle."

und

Falls es noch eine Tanznummer geben soll: Wir sehen mehrere Chlamydien und einen Voltarenen; der folgende Dialog entpannt sich zwischen zwei Chlamydien:

"Was macht denn der hier?"
"Der war in Folge 19 krank; und da sagte die Gewerkschaft, dass ihm der Auftritt vertraglich zugesichert worden ist; und dann wollten die nicht in 21; und in 22 und 23 haetts angeblich auch nicht hingepasst; und jetzt isser eben hier."
"Und hier passt er jetzt rein? Zu uns??? Worum gehts hier eigentlich?"
"Keine Ahnung. Irgend so ein Meta-Quatsch"
"Wohl eher Megaquatsch"

und Warren am Telefon:

"Hallo Waltraud - ich wollte fragen ob du am Samstag zu Sams Umzug eine halbe Stunde frueher mit dem Transporter? Der Hausmeister muss spaeter noch in die Stadt und dann [...] Ja, super. Danke. Bis dann!" [legt auf, spricht Richtung Kamerateam] Sag mal, filmt ihr das Alles mit? Wieso? Das ist doch ueberhaupt nicht [Kameramann sagt was] Ja, doch Sam zieht Samstag um. Wusstet ihr das nicht? Klar sollt ihr kommen und helfen. Spaeter gibt es dann noch eine Feier. [...] in der neuen Wohnung. Bringt vielleicht was zum Knabbern mit. Kasten Bier haben wir. Sag mal filmt ihr immer noch? Das schneiden wir aber spaeter raus, oder?

[Dr. Dralle]

...und der beethoven spielende warren und kiki und sam bei cnn sind ja auch schon fertig.
ich denke, das reicht für B25!

[Dr. Dralle]

byron nimmt warrens anruf bei MMC-jeep rentals entgegen:

[MMC]

MMC Jeeps: Nur echt mit ohne Lenkrad!

In der Zwischenzeit hat sich niemand anderes als Arthur C. Clarke Banalotopia 6 angenommen:

### **Log of the Spaceship *Brotzeit***

#### **A Journey to the Gamma Quadrant**

In the great silence of interstellar space, where human ingenuity dances precariously on the edge of cosmic indifference, the *Brotzeit* began its voyage—a routine mission to the Gamma Quadrant. Our cargo: several metric tons of Dübener long sausage, destined for the neomyzetes of Land Blum 3, a fungal species whose dietary peculiarities had confounded xenobiologists for decades.

The expedition began with an incident that epitomized the fragile complexity of modern spacefaring. A member of the crew became inexplicably lost en route to the spaceport, their voice recorded in a fragmentary log:
“I have no idea where I am. The thing simply went out. No coordinates, no signal… nothing. I must be at the port in an hour—we’re flying today! Wait… oh, someone’s coming to retrieve me? For free? Incredible. Well, I’ll see you soon. Monkey cool.”

This was no isolated anomaly.

---

#### **Mechanical Interludes**
Captain James Taddel, an experienced if eccentric commander, took to his log with his characteristic blend of precision and digression:
“Turf time 0.13.03. The *Brotzeit* has departed Earth’s orbit, and we are making steady progress toward the Gamma Quadrant. Before we reach the Klinsmann system, we must address a matter of urgency—the chromos’ spacesuits require decontamination. Neglecting this could introduce biohazards to the sensitive night-side quarters.”

Taddel’s thoughts turned abstract as he reflected on a theoretical dilemma inspired by their journey:
“Can space exist without objects to define it? Or objects without a spatial framework to contain them? These are questions that have preoccupied philosophers since the dawn of consciousness. Yet here we are, aboard this ship—a singular spatial object, hurtling through the infinite void.”

His musings were interrupted by the discovery of an outdated video file embedded in the *Brotzeit’s* mainframe, a leftover from its manufacturing days at MMC. “We’ll need to uninstall it on the way back,” he noted dryly.

---

#### **The Desert Planet Tattoo**
Midway through their journey, a mechanical failure in the ship’s transporter necessitated an unscheduled stop on Tattoo in Vienna, a sparsely populated desert world known for its vibrant, if insular, culture. The crew sought respite at the local spaceport bar, but Taddel, ever restless, wandered into the labyrinthine alleys surrounding the city’s central arcade.

It was there that he encountered an old nemesis: Darf Korbelhase, a shadowy figure whose vendettas were as legendary as they were petty. Korbelhase, clad in the somber robes of a self-styled dark lord, challenged Taddel to a duel. With a dramatic flourish, he invoked a cryptic quote from Wittgenstein:
“The limits of my language mean the limits of my world!”

Yet Taddel, having long anticipated Korbelhase’s philosophical theatrics, had stuffed his ears with cotton. Unaffected, he replied with a wry smile, “Another time, perhaps. I hear you have a prior engagement with a Princess Laila.”

---

#### **The LSD Incident**
Returning to the ship, the *Brotzeit* encountered an event that would mark one of the strangest chapters in its history. The transporter, upon inspection, was found to be fully functional, its apparent failures rooted not in engineering but in perception.

Taddel recounted the revelation with an uncharacteristic solemnity:
“There was darkness, and the darkness was without form and void. And in the darkness, I saw myself—adrift, alone. But this was no cosmic vision. It was the aftermath of a catastrophic mix-up in the ship’s cafeteria.”

An MMC technician had inadvertently replaced the sugar supply with a potent psychedelic compound. For three days, the crew wrestled with surreal visions, and the mission was delayed. The incident culminated in the MMC-bund’s permanent expulsion from the ship’s culinary operations.

Taddel concluded his log with a characteristic blend of humor and resolve:
“We are barred from entering the Gamma Quadrant for now, but the sausages will keep. In the meantime, I hear Barschel’s serves a fine drink. Care to join me?”

---

The *Brotzeit’s* voyage would continue, a testament to humanity’s capacity for resilience, curiosity, and absurdity in the face of the vast and indifferent universe.

[Dr. Dralle]

toll, der clarke!
auch wenn er captain cuddlehare die ganze zeit über "taddel" nennt.
hier ist die youtube version:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aCXLW9DV_Z8

morgen bastele ich weiter an den warren/byron dialogen.
ich denke, das wird gut!

[Dr. Dralle]

... und bevor sie jetzt die fehlende "episode 04" der banalotopia-shorts reklamieren:
die ist schon in arbeit aber noch nicht fertig...

[MMC]

... und bevor sie jetzt die fehlende "episode 04" der banalotopia-shorts reklamieren:
die ist schon in arbeit aber noch nicht fertig...

Episode 05 ist sehr gelungen; aber Sie wissen schon, dass Folge 5 eigentlich der Bergfilm ist; und Folge 4 der Western? Bin mal gespannt was episode 04 sein wird? Etwa eine 'Fusion'; Berge im Westen'?

[MMC]

Auffaellig ist ja, dass die 'Shorts' auch immer laenger werden... Ich nehme an, dass das meine Schuld ist. Das tolle an ChatGPT is natuerlich, dass man es einfach Alles fragen kann. So hilfsbereit! Und immer eine Antwort parat. Daher hier die Edward Lear Fassung von Banalotopia 7 in 'about' 1:30 Laenge:

Sure! Here's a version that should take about **1 minute and 30 seconds** to recite:

---

In the land of Banalotopia, odd and bright,
King Balthasam faced trouble day and night.
The Dussmann twins, with mischief and glee,
Were making the kingdom as wild as can be.

“O Drule,” cried the King, “What should we do?
These twins are a menace, and we’re through!”
Drule the Chicken, wise and spry,
Said, “I know the one who’ll make them comply.”

So Warren the Elf, his carpet in tatters,
Sent them to Urschel, whose name truly matters.
With Raufigt the dragon and Land-Blumen, blind,
They set off together, a solution to find.

Through forests they trekked, past machines that could talk,
Met a fairy who danced and gave them a walk.
At last, they confronted the troublesome twins,
And quickly unraveled their mischievous spins.

The twins begged for mercy, their tricks undone,
And back to the King, the mission was won.
Balthasam rejoiced, with a tear in his eye,
While Urschel just laughed, with a wink and a sigh.

The kingdom was safe, the joy was restored,
And Banalotopia once again soared.

---

This version should be just the right length for a **1 minute 30 seconds** recitation, trimming some of the details while maintaining the core of the story.

PS: Die Charles Bukowski Fassung war auch recht nett. Aber ich bitte Sie, fuer so ein schoenes Maerchen. Charles Bukowski?

[Dr. Dralle]

Sie wissen schon, dass Folge 5 eigentlich der Bergfilm ist; und Folge 4 der Western? Bin mal gespannt was episode 04 sein wird? Etwa eine 'Fusion'; Berge im Westen'?

da bringen sie mich auf eine sehr naheliegende aber famose idee!
bisher habe ich immer nur die bilder aus dem dazu passenden film verwendet.
aber es spricht ja absolut nichts dagegen, alle filme bunt zu mischen...

das lear-gedicht ist auch klasse!
aber die bukowski-version hätte ich zumindest auch gerne gelesen.
ich weiß schon gar nicht mehr, wann ich mal eine bukowski-schwarte in der hand hatte...
muß ewig her sein...

[MMC]

Der BUkowsky Text war zum Glueck noch in der History zu finden:

The forest smelled like rain and regret. **Warren the Elf** leaned against a tree, staring at the wreckage of his flying carpet. It hung there in the branches like a bad idea he couldn’t shake, torn and useless, mocking him. He lit a cigarette, the smoke curling into the damp air, and muttered, “Perfect. Just perfect.”

He was supposed to be at a wood elf conference, schmoozing and pretending to care about whatever elves cared about these days. Instead, he was stuck in the middle of nowhere, feeling as useful as a broken beer bottle. Just then, a royal messenger stumbled out of the underbrush, all puffed up like he was delivering salvation.

“King Balthasam needs a hero,” the messenger wheezed. Warren exhaled a stream of smoke and squinted at him. “You’ve got the wrong guy,” he said. “But I know someone crazy enough to take the job.”

---

Enter **Dicke Urschel**. Big woman. Loud laugh. She didn’t walk into a room; she took it over, owned it like she’d been there her whole damn life. When Warren told her about the king’s problem—the **Dussmann twins**, tricksters who’d stolen half the joy out of Banalotopia—she just laughed and slapped her thigh. “Mischief-makers? Ha! I’ve met worse over breakfast.”

She didn’t waste time. She picked her team like she was picking a fight. First was **Raufigt**, a dragon the size of a stray dog, with scales like rusted tin and an attitude twice his size. Then there was **Land-Blumen**, a blind dwarf who could smell trouble before it even happened. Together, they made a team that looked more like a bar fight waiting to happen than a band of heroes.

---

The road was dirt and silence, the kind that creeps into your bones. The kind that makes you think too much. But Urschel didn’t seem to mind. She trudged ahead, boots kicking up dust, while Raufigt grumbled about the lack of decent food, and Land-Blumen hummed some old tune that didn’t have a name.

They met strange things along the way. A **talking washing machine** in a clearing that whirred and sputtered about separating whites from colors. Urschel just kicked it and kept moving. “Riddles are for poets,” she said. “Not for people with places to be.”

Then there was **Holla**, a fairy with hair like moonlight and a voice that could cut glass. She handed Urschel a crystal that glowed faintly in the twilight. “This will light your way,” Holla said, all mysterious and ethereal. Urschel pocketed it without a word.

---

By the time they reached the **Dussmann twins**, the air had changed. It shimmered, bent, like the world itself was laughing at them. The twins were lounging in a meadow, their identical faces wearing identical smirks.

“You think you’re clever, coming here?” one twin sneered.
“Heroes always think they’re clever,” said the other, flicking a blade of grass.

Raufigt spat fire, Land-Blumen sniffed out their illusions, and Urschel charged through their traps like a bull in a china shop. The twins’ magic fizzled, their tricks fell apart, and for the first time, they looked... small. Human.

“We weren’t trying to hurt anyone,” they said, voices trembling. Urschel stared at them for a long moment, then sighed. “Yeah, well, you did. Time to knock it off.”

---

They brought the twins back to the palace, tied up like stray dogs. The streets were lined with people cheering, waving, crying. The king was a mess of gratitude, tears streaming down his royal face. “You’ve saved us,” he sobbed, clutching Urschel’s hand like it was a lifeline.

“Sure,” Urschel said, lighting her pipe and blowing smoke into the royal air.

---

That night, after the wine and the applause and the endless speeches, Urschel sat alone on the palace steps, watching the stars. Raufigt snored at her feet, and Land-Blumen leaned against the wall, humming that nameless tune.

“The twins weren’t evil,” she said after a while. “Just... lost. Like everyone else.”

And somewhere, far from the palace, a dream stirred. Maybe it was Warren’s, or maybe it was yours. A dream of flying carpets, blind dwarves, and talking washing machines. A dream that felt more real than reality itself, where the line between hero and fool blurred like smoke in the air.

---

In the end, it wasn’t about winning or losing. It was about the road. The fight. The scars you collect along the way. **Dicke Urschel** knew that better than anyone. And as she flicked the ash from her pipe into the cold night air, she laughed—a big, booming laugh that seemed to shake the stars themselves.

[MMC]

Und es spricht ja auch nichts dagegen zwei Filme zu dem gleichen Bildmaterial zu erstellen, aus verschiedenen Perspektiven. Dahere hier eine 1:30 Version von Bukowski:
Here’s the revised text, distilled to fit a 1:30 reading time, maintaining Bukowski's gritty tone:

---

The forest reeked of rain and bad decisions. **Warren the Elf** stared at the wreckage of his flying carpet tangled in the branches, lit a cigarette, and muttered, “Just my luck.” He wasn’t supposed to be here; he was supposed to be schmoozing at some wood elf conference. Instead, he was stuck in nowhere with nothing.

A messenger burst through the brush, breathless. “King Balthasam needs a hero!” Warren squinted through the smoke. “Not me. But I know someone dumb enough to try.”

That’s how **Dicke Urschel** got the job. Big, bold, and loud, she didn’t take orders; she took over. She grabbed her crew: **Raufigt**, a grumpy dragon the size of a mutt, and **Land-Blumen**, a blind dwarf with a nose for trouble. They hit the road, stumbling through mud, madness, and a **talking washing machine**. Urschel didn’t care—she just kept moving.

When they found the **Dussmann twins**, the air shimmered like a bad hangover. Their magic was clever, but Urschel was ruthless. Raufigt roasted their illusions, Land-Blumen sniffed out their tricks, and Urschel crushed them like cans under her boots.

Back at the palace, the king wept and called her a savior. She lit another cigarette. “Sure,” she muttered. Later, sitting on the palace steps with her crew, she stared at the stars. “The twins weren’t evil,” she said. “Just lost. Like the rest of us.”

It wasn’t about winning. It was about surviving—and lighting up when the dust settled.

---

This version delivers the core of the story in Bukowski's style within the time constraint.