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.
Thursday, 30 October 2008
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...
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.
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?”
“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?”
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.
It's the same really. I should probably have picked a more exciting time to visit than next Tuesday.
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...
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.
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
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