Thursday, 30 October 2008

A magical fairytail

The handsome prince threw down his sword and approached the bed. Drawing closer, he made out the figure of the sleeping princess through the thin veil, and stretching out, drew it back. Stepping inside the enclosed space, he could not help but gasp at her beauty; her golden hair falling softly on the pillow, her perfect body visible through her fine, silken gown. Upon seeing this enchanting vision, he wished he could stay forever in that moment, but he knew what he needed to do. Pushing back his hair, he leaned across the sleeping figure, tilted her chin, and kissed her.
At first, nothing... Then, slowly, her eyes fluttered open.
"Who?... Who are you?" She muttered, sleepily.
"I am Prince Charming, come to wake you from your long slumber!" He replied, dramatically.
Turning, the Princess checked her clock.
"I've only been asleep half an hour..." she muttered to herself, then, as she awoke fully and took in the situation, "What the fuck are you doing in my room? Help! HELP!"

Fortunately, the Princess's neighbours heard the cries for help and were able to 'phone the police. The not-so-charming Prince was arrested and charged with attempted rape.
Life's no fairytale.

Tuesday, 28 October 2008

Christmas cheer.

I saw Santa today, in the field next to my house, picking up horse shit. In his little red clothing and a big hat.
I guess the whole Christmas gig isn't paying enough. Then again, I could have told him that. Making presents for millions of children is all well and good, but obviously it's expensive. I heard the elves had organised a(n? sounds wrong) Union too, so that's another expense for him. Oh well, he seemed happy enough, and the cold weather means the shit's frozen, which must make the work easier!

It's snowing! Yay...

Sunday, 26 October 2008

Some mirth

What do you call it when a man is savaged by a bear and loses the use of his legs?

A tragedy. Unless he was a paedophile or something.

Friday, 24 October 2008

An extract from my exciting novel

I'm not feeling particularly imaginative, so I'll let you all have a treat: An extract from my novel, which I'll never finish. Our hero, framed for a crime he didn't commit and on the run from the law, meets up with his friend Max, who has suggested a secret meeting place, to plan his next move:

“To be honest” Max said “that did nothing for me.
“Actually, the whole display was crap. The artwork itself left me cold inside. I mean, I’m willing to try modern art, but it was just lines and badly drawn people. And what was the theme meant to be? It was just a lot of unconnected little pictures – a dog here, family home there – No underlying message, no connections. And the free wine… I mean, I was expecting cheap stuff, but that was bollocks.” “Actually,” I retorted “It was grape juice.”
“Well, exactly. That really sums up the whole evening. The organisers had so little faith in the whole event they didn’t even splash out on decent wine. Or glasses, those things were bloody plastic. Wasn’t even worth the effort I put into stealing them!”
“Hmm…” I pondered out loud “what were you expecting from St. Mary’s PTA fundraiser? Those pictures were by 7 year olds. Personally, I rather liked some of them.”
Actually, they had been pretty crap, but I suppose it was the best they could do. I’d seen those kids, and some of them had pretty stubby fingers.
“Well, all right then” Max replied, “It was only £1.50. Hey, you know what this reminded me of? Remember that time on The Wombles, when Bungo and Orinoco and all of them pretended to be humans?”
“No” I sighed. I could see where this was going.
“Aye you do” he snapped, “they were all taking heroin, and there was that baby died, but it was crawling on the ceiling”
“For the last time Max, that was Trainspotting. Why do you always think it was an episode of the Wombles? And what’s that got to do with today?”
“Well, it’s just the whole Womble-art thing, you know?”
I didn’t, but I honestly didn’t care any more. Instead, I tried to guide the conversation back to my problem – call me selfish if you will dear reader, it’s your opinion. You Bastard.
“Right” say I, “moving on… I’ve been framed for the lamest fraud since ‘my friend’ Amobi from Africa e-mailed me from his hellish prison cell to ask for $15,000 to fund his revolution, and…”
“Yea” he cut in with, “how’d that work out for him? I’ve got some friends from work who helped out, but he still didn’t have the funds he needed”
“Oh, he got captured. Needs more money, I think. It was a good thing they threw him in a cell with a laptop and internet access though, or he wouldn’t have a hope in hell of getting out. We can’t keep bailing him out though; he’s got to learn to stand on his own two feet.” Again, I was losing control of the conversation, “Anyway, I’m wanted for fraud and someone has my ‘photo album. Where do we go from here?”
Beware! The kitchen door bit my hand! Now that it's tasted human flesh, it craves for more. Watch out residents of Murray Hall!

Tuesday, 21 October 2008

The future

I have just been to the future.
It's the same really. I should probably have picked a more exciting time to visit than next Tuesday.

A public service announcement

Sunday, 19 October 2008

A fact, like what Ben does... Yet subtly different!

Apparently, it’s all downhill after 20, when your brain reaches its maximum weight of about 3 pounds. Over the next 60 years, as billions of nerve cells die within the brain, it loses about 3 ounces. The brain begins to lose cells at a rate of 50,000 per day by the age of 30.
Ha, no need for a diet now!
No wonder zombies are so thin...
The rain continued to fall, slashing into me like tiny needles thrown by an angry and resourceful God. With a sad, undramatic noise not unlike "thud", my garden umbrella fell slowly into the barbeque. Normally, this would worry me, but the rain had long since triumphed over the fiery grate, and had consumed the sausages in an orgy of gloop and pig anus'. I continued to stand still, spatula raised half-heartedly, ridiculous cliched apron and hat that came free with the barbeque fixed in place. Eventually, I crumpled into a ball and cried.
The doctor tells me I have hypothermia. Probably because i was lying there for 36 hours.
I propose the creation of a heated apron, but I doubt anyone will listen.

Saturday, 18 October 2008

It's not youtube

It's mine!

No, YOUR sex is on fire...

Although happy in his relationship with Lucy, and secure in his sexuality, Calum often wondered why his fantasies didn't include songs he liked.

Friday, 17 October 2008

No Man is an Island, Part 2

Yes, Harold thought to himself, life on the island wasn't so bad after all.
It was a pity about the crushing loneliness though.

Sunday, 12 October 2008

The Treachery of Shopping.

I shouldered open the back door, stumbled dramatically into the kitchen, and dropped the shopping bags onto the floor. A lone tin of beans slowly rolled out, colliding with a chair leg in a boring fashion.
"Oh, been to the shops?" asked my made-up, plot devise wife.
I looked down, slowly, at the bags of shopping, at the words "Tesco" brazenly stamped onto said bags, and then looked slowly at her.
"No." I replied "I've just taken all the food out of the cupboards and the fridge, and taken it on a 45-minute bus journey."
In retrospect, this was foolish. The bags were heavy, and the soup my mother had given me had gone off in the heat.
I haven't seen my wife in several days...
That's two down now...

Tuesday, 7 October 2008

When going on holiday...

Never give the shifty-looking man down the street a set of keys so he can check your mail.
Bastard stole my house. But, there amongst the mud and foundations, just where the path abruptly ends at what used to be my front door, he left a copy of Reader's Digest.

Does that still come out? They always annoyed me, but they did some good books on stuff. I think i have one on world history somewhere...

Monday, 6 October 2008


The brick came through the window, knocking my lamp from the table, and skidded to a stop on my hearthrug. It was a nice brick, in rather good condition. I cleaned it up, throwing away a piece of paper some idiot had tied to it, and sold it on e-bay.
I haven't seen my wife in several days...

I'm listening.

Calum adjusted himself, settling into the couch, and took another look at the cards in his hand.
"Now Mr. Conway, it's rather simple. Just look at the cards, and tell me what the ink stains suggest to you" Dr. Conner said softly.
Calum took another look at the cards. No, it was no good. They still looked like a man stabbing another. Best to cage my bets, he thought.
"Erm, Louis Armstrong?" He offered, cautiously.

Sunday, 5 October 2008


I think the world needs more Superheroes to deal with the problems of increased violent crime, terrorism, drugs and people who phone up to sell you stuff you don't want. To this end, i plan to start a society of superheroes, feel free to sign up. Here are some ideas:

Elderly man - an old man who fights crime by moaning at it about stuff, and hitting criminals with a stick.
Pros: The stick often catches criminals unaware. Cons: Bladder weakness, tends to get stolen.

Flash Photography Boy - using a the flash on a camera, he not only blinds criminals, but gets evidence of them committing their criminal acts.
Pros: Blinding opponents is actually rather practical. Cons: It's a pretty shit idea really.

The Bad Father - uses fighting crime as an excuse to not visit his son and for forgetting his girlfriend Julie's Birthday.
Pros: Has experience escaping from difficult situations. Cons: Commitment.

Miss Obvious - states the obvious until criminals get pissed off and leave.
Pros: Isn't it obvious? Cons: The criminals might just assault/kill/eat him instead of leaving, bloody annoying

Mr. President man - is generally an idiot, and invariably makes situations of international tension worse.
Pros: Hilarious grammatical mistakes. Cons: Everything else.


I got cramp, then I hurt my toe. Life's pretty shit, but it could be worse:

Cow Kites

Are real. It's pretty easy, all you need to do it get the cow running before you start running.
Yes, i stole that from family guy, Ben told me to. But wouldn't it be great if you could get real animals to fly by attaching string to them?

Saturday, 4 October 2008


Do come in! Take of that coat and sit yourself down by the fire! There we go, comfy?
I know, i'll get you a drink! Is it good? Drink it all up... go on, I've got plenty.
Ha! You fool, that wasn't a delicious cocktail, that was my blood! Now you're my slave, for ever! Moo ha ha ha!
What, you have to leave? Oh, ok.
Why does no-one ever visit me?

The stall...

Was pretty shit, by all standards. It consisted of a table of some sort, covered with the Union flag. Behind the stall, another Union flag was pinned to the wall. An angry, overweight skinhead was shouting angrily from behind the stall and handing out fliers, which people politely glanced at and more politely binned. God bless the BNP.
He saw me, and similarly saw through my disguise as a standard-built white man, realizing at once that I was a black, gay Muslim.
"Hey, you!" He yelled, "You're scum! Go home!"
I take offence to this. So what, i killed a few prostitutes, that doesn't make me scum. And i was going home anyway.

Thursday, 2 October 2008

Wednesday, 1 October 2008

My novel

As you may know, I'm writing a novel. It does not, at present, feature any gypsies, but that isn't the topic at hand. So far, it stands at nearly 9,000 words. When finished -in 50 or so years - it will feature wit, cynicism, anger, ancient conspiracies, drunken shaving and chocolate chips. However, at the moment it consists of the word "Bin-liner" copied loads of times.
I don't intend on selling this magnificent work of literature. Instead, I intend to have many copies printed out, and then I'll build a fort out of them.
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