The Perminator

By Darren Worrow

It wasn’t the fact that in 1984 Hollywood movie director James Cameron had a premonition that I would write this book and quickly altered the character’s names and the plot slightly to make his blockbusting film, it was the fact that he then sent a robot back through time to eliminate me before I was born by targeting me dear ol’ mum that annoyed me.

So, thanks to the power of Smashwords self-publishing, you can now relish in the deadly serious, original true story and follow the adventures of Sarah O’Connell, an Essex hairdresser who discovers her role in the fate of humankind when a really, really naughty robot from the future hunts her down in order to eliminate the unborn leader of a rebel force that aren’t very keen on permed hairdos.

Can Sarah and her future-boy nincompoop protector, Fleece defeat the robot, hot on giving everyone a smashing perm before it’s too late? Will they be able to change the fate of the deadly war between the humans and machines and overcome the terrible corporation Hairnet? Can we expect to read any sexy bits in this pathetic parody?

Read it before Cameron’s machines finally get to me and all hope is lost. I’ll just finish on a personal note to the director himself, “ha, you didn’t realise that my mum was that handy with a rolling-pin! See you in court Cameron!”

Reviews on Amazon:

"Clever and ingenious:
A self-confessed self-publishing (soon to be publishing guru) with a must-tell story to tell. And wow does he tell it. I like this clever, layered, witty, intriguing slice of life story with plot twists is book-form, I imagine this author has more creative genius gems in there. Nice one!"

"The Perminator Rules:
This is one of the few books that I've had trouble putting down. A parody of THE TERMINATOR, THE PERMINATOR is hilarious from beginning to end. When the Perminator goes back to the past to prevent a fad from recurring in its twenty year cycle, the opposition sends somebody to protect the future mother of the leader of the opposition. The concept of preventing this embarrassing fad from recurring is funny in itself, but the whole book will have you laughing. WARNING: Read while you're alone or others will stare at you."

"Wild Ride:
I chose to read The Perminator because I wanted something different. I got what I was looking for. The book is so absurd, it is sometimes challenging to keep up with. I laughed out loud often and found the read a delightful change form my usual stuff. Borrowing the structure from The Terminator movies was a brilliant move. At times, the flying weapons were a bit overdone. Another spoof relying more on the author's great sense of timing and humour would be a big seller. Sometimes I skipped the long descriptions. I could see a movie based on this book without The Terminator infrastructure. Darren has the power to write a pure movie script based on a structure of his own creation. I see a Pulp Fiction applying great visuals and an understated; yet, uproarious sense of humour."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Darren Worrow
• Release date: Mar 21, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311703125

Darren Worrow

I was born in the Fling Dynasty of a small planet known as Duncan in a galaxy far, far away. My humble parents, believing the planet was on the eve of destruction, sent me off as a baby in an egg-shaped craft and I landed here on planet Earth in the spring of 1973. I was later to discover through a cavern of ice, as you do, that the planet was fine all the time and it was just a particularly nasty prank by my father’s mates down the pub. I landed in a deep jungle and was raised by a company of wolves, learning to live as they did. Until one day when a naughty tiger with a very English accent came along and I was whisked away by a black panther and a jazz singing bear to a man-village. It wasn’t the tiger I was worried about; it was the American cartoon producer following on behind him. It was at the village that I won a golden ticket to visit a chocolate factory where I fell into a river made of chocolate and was sucked up a pipe into a fudge room; happy days. It could have been worse; I heard some other kid turned into an exploding blueberry. I lived at a coastal Inn for a while until an old sailor paid me a penny to look out for a legless seadog; what a cheapskate. In finding him I discovered a treasure map and was promptly whisked away by a sailor to a Caribbean island where I got into a bit of a rumble with some pirate radio DJ called Captain Tony Blackbeard. It was that or another holiday in Clacton. At eleven I was taken away by a man with an uncanny resemblance to actor and comedian Robbie Coltrane to a school for wizards where I had to battle it out with some bald blue bloke who killed my parents, said he was a lawyer working for an author called JK Rolling or something. That wasn’t as bad as the frog flavoured semolina we had to eat for school dinner. As I grew up and went to college I decided to give my favourite toys, a cowboy and a space ranger, away to a snotty girl from around the corner, nobody told me the cowboy was really Tom Hanks otherwise I would have given them away a lot sooner. So, other than the time I was bitten by a rare spider and found myself with special arachnid powers which I used to defeat an evil leprechaun, I left college and it was all very uneventful. Nowadays I have settled down to a family life and enjoy writing books, striving to be more like Bruce Bogtrotter every day. People say “where do you get your ideas from?” I tell them I have no idea, I've had such a boring, everyday life. If you really can be bothered to know more about me why don’t you visit my website at www.darrenworrow.webs.com and find out even more honest facts?

Book preview

THE PERMINATOR

Darren Worrow

THE PERMINATOR

Darren Worrow

Copyright 2012: Darren Worrow Published by Toonedelic.

Revised and republished 2013 by Purple Papaya LLC.

Third version published 2015 by Smashwords.

No part of this publication may be reproduced without written permission from the author/publisher.

No similarity between any of the names, characters, institutions, persons or substances in The Perminator, and those of any persons living or dead is intended and any such similarity is purely coincidental. The scenarios depicted in this publication are solely for the purposes of entertainment and are not intended to promote or condone any activity deemed illegal by law.

1.

A modest service station hanging haphazardly on the side of the A12, the dual carriageway out of East London, racing into the British Badlands of suburban Essex was the location where a quiet night was disturbed by a small electromagnetic occurrence. It began as a gathering of force, short bursts of wind blew up into a mini tornado, between two parked Lorries. Producing in its centre splinters of electricity, like forks of lightening, the force suddenly erupted and then ceased its disturbance. Witnessed by only one nosey parker in a passing car that promptly paused to allow its passengers time only to ponder its cause. The driver of the vehicle pulled over at the nearest phone-box and called the local police. By this time the night was yet again quiet, save the occasional passing of traffic upon the highway.

Police Officer Gavin Waite received the call on his walkie-talkie, Officer Waite, state your position, over?

Erm…sitting, was his honest reply.

What, do you read? State your position, over?

Yes, erm, still sitting sarge, he continued.

Officer Waite, you must always finish your communication with the word ‘over’, over? came the voice from his walkie-talkie, now, expand on your last comment, over.

Oh, yeah, well I’m in a sitting position sarge, you know, on my arse.

What are you doing Officer Waite, over?

Community policing sir, building a rapport with the local youth; see it as an exercise to increase police respect and support within the community….sir, he confidently claimed.

After a short pause the voice returned, You must state OVER!

Oh, yeah…erm...over, sorry! Officer Waite began to get annoyed with this conversation and only wanted to finish what he had started here, the kids surrounding his table at the Little Chef were finding it all highly amusing.

I hope, for your sake Waite that it is not another Knickerbocker Glory eating contest at the Little Chef, said the voice as Waite quickly put down his long handled spoon and brushed off a small bit of glace cherry which was hanging onto his chin by the sticky cream. The kids began to howl with laughter.

….It is isn’t it, over?

Well, sort of….but this time we are doing it more in knockout rounds, the last time we decided that…..

Enough! Bellowed the voice from the walkie-talkie, I’m picking on you Waite as I suspected that you would be within the vicinity of the reported incident and it just so happens by some miracle you are. Do you copy, over?

Erm, yes sarge, the report sarge, do go on…

OVER!

…Over!

Right, we need you to check out a 147-15 just outside in the lay-by Officer Waite, do you copy over?

A 147-15? You mean a deadly assault with a banana? questioned a shocked looking Gavin as the kids, now bored with the call, went to kick the hell out of the Space Invaders machine at the opposite end of the restaurant.

No, that is a 146-10; I mean a small electromagnetic disturbance. It’s been reported to have taken place between two parked lorries right outside where you are, please investigate and report straight back to HQ ASAP and, by the way, no more Knickerbocker Glory eating contests please, over?

Yes, ok sarge, reading you loud and clear, I’m off there immediately sir… said Gavin as he raised his lardy backside from the plastic chair.

Over?

Sorry?

Are you over Waite?

Well, sarge, my mum says it’s just puppy fat but to be honest it starting to get me down, I mean I’m 34 and it’s like….

JUST SHUT YOUR FAT CAKE-HOLE AND GET TO THE JOB! loudly announced the voice, cracking under the pressure from the tiny speaker in the walkie-talkie but none-the-less causing Officer Gavin Waite to stumble out of the doors of the Little Chef in haste, you forgot to say over…over, he muttered but the voice was long gone.

Officer Waite fearfully plodded along, the weight of three Knickerbocker Glory ice creams were revolving around in his belly like a large amount of clothes in a washing machine. Torch in hand he closely investigated the gaps between each parked lorry but found nothing but a discarded chocolate bar wrapper and an empty can of coke-a-cola.

Just when he turned on his right foot, with intentions of a negative call back to HQ on his walkie-talkie, he suddenly bumped into something very large and very firm. It was a man of well over 7 foot in height, broad of shoulders, blank of expression and completely naked. The man looked the police officer down and up, up and down again as if he was scanning him. Gavin yelped in surprise but the man in question gave no reaction. He reached frantically for his radio, this is when the man grabbed his hand, crushing every bone from finger tips to wrist and causing Gavin great pain. The walkie-talkie fell to the floor, smashing into