Sexy hijinx

I discarded my keys in the bowl beside the door, removed my hat and coat and let out a satisfied sigh. Another hard day at the... Well, I don't really do anything. I go out, smartly dressed, and eat sandwiches for 7 hours before walking home. But I digress.

 After a hard day at the, well, park bench I liked to sit on, it was nice to come home and relax. Of course, and you're probably ahead of me here, I was not to receive the pleasant evening in front of the television I'd hoped to enjoy. In my kitchen I wandered lonely like a cloud, hoping to make myself a refreshing cup of coffee to feed my horrible addiction. The addiction is to heroin rather than coffee, of course, but I buy strange, opium-based coffee beans that help me get through the day.

 But I digress again. In the kitchen, there were two men. They were large, handsome muscular men wearing only tight trousers and braces that crossed their oiled, well-toned chests. On their heads, they had little yellow builders hats. I assumed, therefore, they were some kind of sexy builders. Or someone had sent me man-strippers again. It happens remarkably frequently.

 "Evening," I addressed the men casually. I wasn't in the mood for their well-toned, homoerotic shenanigans.

 "Evening," One replied. The other smiled and nodded politely, "Your conservatory's coming along nicely, we should be finished by Friday."

 "Oh," I mumbled weakly, "That's good."

 Excusing myself, I slipped into the back yard. Nope, no half-build conservatory there. I checked the rest of the house - nothing on the side, on the garden shed, or on the roof. No-one was building me a conservatory. None of the neighbours were building me a conservatory. There was no conservatory.

 I returned to my house, angry and confused - like every other time I see an attractive, semi-dressed man I suppose - to confront my intruders.

"Alright gaffer?" The builder greeted me. "Happy with how things are coming along?"

 "Well lads, sort of. I was just wondering... There's, erm... There's no actual building work going out there. And I don't remember hiring you or anything."

 The men recoiled, their faces convulsing in terror. Shocked, pale and panic-stricken, they raced to the back yard.

 I watched from my kitchen window as they raced around my back garden. They were still very greasy and very half-dressed, and a few passers-bye had stopped to watch the hi-jinx. A passing cat hopped over my fence and stopped as well, watching the scene for a few moments before turning tail and fleeing. The builders, having fallen first into a furious row over who was to blame for the lack of conservatory, had now fallen onto each other in the middle of the lawn and engaged in a spirited wrestling match. Their greasy bodies sweating and bumping together, they disrupted several of my garden gnomes and flattened a rather promising ant-hill. The onlookers had started to cheer and take pictures as the fight continued to unfold, and a small bus filled with elderly nuns had stopped nearby. I shrugged, and having made myself a cup of coffee, folded out a lawnchair and sat down to watch.

 Time dragged on, and day turned laboriously to night. The mysterious guests wrestled long into the evening, and around midnight, I fell asleep. When I woke up, they were gone, and to this day I still know not who they were or why they came to my house. There was, however, a freshly-built conservatory attached to my house in the morning. It's really very nice, and no-one charged me for it.

It's nearly all over, don't worry.

Image by B Tal via FlickrDawn's early light caressed our tired faces. We'd started climbing early in the morning, guided by the light of the moon or something, arriving on the final plateau several minutes ago. In front of us, the fountain. It was like a fountain of some sort, with water coming out of the top. In fact, the water was spraying out of the upturned hosepipe of a stone gnome. Nearby, other statuettes of the little people frolicked happily - one gnome tricked another with a joke flower, dispensing splashes of youth-restoring water in his friend's astonished face. Another gnome, his trousers dropped, engaged in an activity not fit for the eyes of ladies or the young. A third dispensed waters from a tiny watering can, and so on. The overall effect was one of stupidity. Despite the many healing abilities the water could offer, I was gripped by an overwhelming desire to destroy the ridiculous fountain in front of us.
 Around me, the party gathered. Looking sadly at the scene in front of us, they captured their fleeting thoughts and prepared to talk.
 "That. Is ridiculous."
I looked at Pinball Ed. He was right, of course, but I didn't like the way he punctuated his sentence.
 "Wait!" The Red Baron yelled, "Where is ze Rat-like one?"
Ze. I thought to myself. You're just saying "ze" instead of "the" occasionally. You're not German at all. Then my anger dissipated as I probed his exclamation - Sergi was no-where to be seen.
 Adventurer Ed flicked open the holster to his revolver, pulling the antique weapon out and searching behind nearby rocks. I approached the fountain, it seemed a good idea to see if it worked.
 I reached out my cupped hands.
 I scooped up some water.
 Then I drunk it and got young again, and things began to go back to normal.
 Emerging from behind a rock, Sergi approached us, bearing a treacherous-looking tray of smoothies. Quickly, Adventurer Ed turned and began to take aim.
 "I found a smoothie bar" Sergi called out, his happiness suddenly evaporating as a bullet punctured his chest. Stumbling, clutching dramatically, he reached the edge of the cliff. Adventurer Ed took aim and fired again, sending the dirty, foreign-looking chap to his death. We all cheered, then bottled up some water and went home.

There's a stall outside my house...

Early this morning, I noticed them setting it up - 4 or 5 gnomes, in little gnome suits and hats, with a truck. The stall looks like your typical American child's Lemonade stall: it's wooden, crudely made, and has a little sign nailed on top. It differs, however, in regard to its contents: while a lemonade stall sells lemonade, and homemade bacterial infections, this stall lacked lemons, products derived from lemons, or even yellow coloured water pretending to feature lemons. What there was, was a huge pile of jam. Well, jams to be more correct - lots of different flavours and colours of jams, piled up next to the stall.
 After lunch, I went out to see what was going on. The gnomes told me it was a pick'n'mix stall, and I could pick my own jams and fill a bag to take home. I explained that I liked jam that A)I knew the flavour of, and B)wasn't sold off a big pile outside. I also explained they were in my front garden. They took this badly, throwing handfuls of jam at me until I retreated into the house.
The joke's on them though - even now, a huge swarm of wasps is descending on their stall, ripping them limb from limb. Remember this, dear reader - Never cross me!