The Tale of Mr. Custard.

Mr. Custard had never noticed it until the man pointed it out at the bank, but it was true, he did have a bird on a cat on his head.

Baffled, he trudged back home in a daze. Suddenly all those years of people pointing at him made sense. The whispering and laughing. That strange weight on his head that made his neck ache. All the pieces fell into place. It was like in the film The Matrix when stuff like deja vu is explained, and you realise that the Matrix is real, and we all live in it.

He needed a sit down and a cup of tea. A proper one, out of his extra large Spider-Man mug.

Cradling the oversized mug in his shaking hands, Mr. Custard eased onto the sofa in his front room.

“What does one do in a situation such as this?” Mr. Custard whispered to himself.

“We’re just glad you know about us now,” the bird said.

“Yes, we’ve been trying to work out how to break it to you for quite a while. But since we didn’t mention it straight away we felt it would be awkward to bring it up, so we kept quiet,” the cat elaborated.

“It’s been a pretty awkward couple of decades, if I’m honest,” the bird chirped, “Sitting about on this cat, who coincidentally is sitting about on your head. I haven’t called my mum in years. My wings are all stiff.”

“It’s hardly a flipping picnic for me!” the cat was anxious to let everyone know he was not enjoying himself. “I feel like the filling in a sandwich! Like a piece of ham, or some salad. It’s rubbish. I think I need some counselling.”

The pair went back and forth for a bit, all the while Mr. Custard listened as best he could while sipping his tea. It certainly was a predicament, and none of the participants in this strange inverted food chain tower seemed happy to be part of it. He sloshed the tea between his teeth, musing as it cooled. He knew over time this practice would stain his teeth, but he couldn’t give a damn, he had a bird sat on a cat on his head.

It was then that the idea came to him.

“Guys!” he interrupted. “Have you ever thought about just… getting off?”

There was a pause. The bird cleared his throat. The cat coughed. And then the pair shuffled about a bit and stood up, toppling onto the sofa beside Mr. Custard. The two animals dusted themselves off in silence, now separated, and then looked at Mr. Custard.

“Bit embarrassing, really. I wish we had spoken to you sooner,” the cat said.

“Oh well, at least it all worked out in the end,” Mr. Custard shrugged.

The trio said their goodbyes, shook hands, and the bird and the cat went their separate ways, leaving Mr. Custard to finish his tea.

Thanks to Dan H. for the image, not sure where he got it from (will update if the information turns up).

Milo and Chief’s Big Adventure.

Milo was a brown duck, Chief was a white duck. They were not of different races, Chief had simply had a terrible accident involving emulsion when he was a painter and decorator.

The two had not always got along. When they were young ducks they had been hanging out at the local juice bar, sipping some kiwi juice and wearing shellsuits. Yes, shellsuits. The ones that are bright colours and make “shoosh” sounds when you move. It was the early 90s. Suddenly, a woman duck appeared.

Well, she didn’t appear, she came through the doorway. She wasn’t a frigging magician. Christ.

Anyway, a woman duck walked in. She was wearing one of those super cool pink shellsuits, and both Milo and Chief were crazy for her. As she stepped into the room, the two friends instantly began punching each other in efforts to impress her. It was an atrocious show of misguided romance-driven violence, for the woman duck loved NEITHER OF THEM. She was in love with a sheep dog named Keith from back home.

Upon realising this horrible truth, Milo and Chief fell into a deep depression, and took to floating aimlessly on rivers. Milo stood atop Chief’s back acting as lookout in case any pirates came and tried to scuttle them.

One day, they were floating as usual, moping away the hours of the day, when they realised they had lost track of time. They found themselves floating in the rivers of Venice! Due to the excellent romantic reputation of Venice, the pair bumped into some women and were instantly married.

It was well good.

Thanks to Robert for the image, who got it from some strange Facebook group called “I love to laugh”. Have a search for it if you feel the need.

The Spooky Hen (AoA Halloween Special).

To begin, I would like to say this:

Today’s post has an actual picture, scanned in, from real life. From real life. It has been stuck to the wall in Animal on Animal Towers for over a year waiting to be scanned.  It’s even got scratches on it from where people have touched it. Astonishing, in this day and age. I think I need a sit down. And so, here is today’s excellent Animal on Animal HALLOWEEN SPECIAL post!

“Hello.” Whispered Betsy (full name Heavenstobetsy).

Wellington’s ears pricked up as he turned to his brother, George. “Did you just say something?”

George had fallen out with Wellington the previous night over what they should watch on TV. George wanted to watch Hollyoaks as it was just becoming exciting, but Wellington was having none of it and wanted to watch Scooby Doo. After some harsh words George had decided to stop talking to his brother, and so when asked the innocent question above, he turned his back.

“No, you silly sheep person!” Betsy whispered again, closer in Wellington’s ear, “It was me!”

Wellington was unsure if it was anatomically possible for him to turn his head to see whatever it was that was speaking to him, and thought it best not to try lest he strain his sheepy neck. The whispereing, however, had convinced him that a ghost was stood on his back.

“A GHOST!” Wellington screamed, bucking and leaping about like he did that time after a spicy curry, desperately trying to rid himself of his ghostly passenger.

George reluctantly spun around to see what the commotion was about, instantly seeing the truth. Betsy was a hen, not ghost. Unless she was a ghost hen, but the likelihood was that she was not a ghost hen as they had become extinct by the 1950s.

George relayed the information to Wellington, who by now was rolling on the floor trying to get the ghost/hen off his back, yet Betsy still clung tightly to her host. At the news from his brother, Wellington finally calmed down and got back to his feet.

“Oh. Sorry about that, hen who is not a ghost hen.” Wellington apologised meekly, feeling more than a little silly.

“That’s okay,” Betsy smiled, “BECAUSE I AM A GHOST HEN!! HAHAHAHAHAHA!” She cackled as she lifted him into the sky, much to the astonishment of George, who then watched his brother being airlifted off into the distance by the maniacle hen.

“Bugger me.” George grumbled as he headed over to the shed. It was time to bring his alter-ego ‘Super Sheep’ out of retirement again…

Thanks to Kieren for the image, taken from real life.

The life of Little Tony.

Regarding my recent absence, I can only type “sorry” and hope that it looks sincere enough for you to not be that bothered. Work has been extra busy so writing this nonsense in the evenings has not been an option. Now that work is provisionally returning to normal I hereby declare the nonsense back on! Thank you, here is a story:

Little Tony was the most notorious swan gangster on the lake, but he wasn’t one of those “street” gangsters that dance and all that shit, he was one of those “day of my daughter’s wedding” style gangsters that have desks and a cupboard of horse’s heads and stuff like that.

He had always been different from the other swans, not because he robbed banks with tommy guns (most swans do this) and smoked cigars, but because he had stayed grey and small like a signet, despite being 40 odd years old, which had earned him his nickname. Nobody really knew why this was, but the NHS have used him in an ad campaign citing his excessive cigar use as the cause.

Little Tony’s right hand swan was Big Jim, who also served as a gettaway vehicle and hiding place when the “pigs” were about:

Little Tony trusted Big Jim with his life, which seemed like a good idea until Big Jim accidentally sat on him.

And that was the end of Little Tony.

Image from here, found by the ever observant Dannie.

The Angry Witch and the Hippo.

It had been a tedious morning for Dilbert the Hippo. He had made a bowl of Crunchy Nut Cornflakes for breakfast but somehow managed to forget about them while he was pottering about, so when he came to eat them they were soggy. Dilbert hated soggy Crunchy Nut Cornflakes.

It was then that The Witch came. The Witch (an unfortunate name for any little bird), had decided at a young age to take her name up as a vocation, and had trained many years at Witch School. Secretly she had hoped Witch School would be a bit like Harry Potter, but unfortunately it was just a bunch of shitty portable classrooms in a field.

A combination of being a witch, going to a rubbish witch school, and being run over by a callous hippo driving a knackered old Mercedes Benz while drunk, had thrown The Witch into a gaping, swirling canyon of madness and hatred.

Her madness and hatred were mainly directed at hippos and portable classrooms, and Quavers (another story).

That morning The Witch had snapped after kicking her toe up on her front door. She flew into a rage, and rushed to the nearest portable classroom she could find. There were seconds between her arrival and the classroom becoming a smouldering blotch on the grass.

Once the deed was done The Witch found herself still very angry, so she went in search of a hippo to take out her rage upon. Unluckily for Dilbert that hippo turned out to be him.

He had just discovered his soggy Crunchy Nut Cornflakes when The Witch, spewing abusive words and making rude gestures toward him, flew down and sat on his back, her magic touch instantly turning him into Lego.

The Witch was pleased, and flew off laughing to herself, not knowing that justice was around the corner. The police found her and arrested her for “Turning flipping hippos into Lego”, and “Burning stuff.” She was sentenced to life.

Thanks to Dannie for the image, (captured on location at the event).

Gangsters 4Life.

Apologies about missing last week. I was a bit worried about following the last post, as it was amazing.

tossersthatreviewthingsontheinternet.com gave it a stunning 9/10, saying “We couldn’t read it without checking all the doors were locked and then taking our pants off. ” Which was lovely of them. The animalonanimal fan club sent me some flowers that seemed to have been taken from my own garden, with a “Congratulations” card attached apparently written in my own handwriting.

It was an all round success.

So here’s hoping this one will be acceptable at the very least.

Trevor was sick of being in a gang. He wasn’t a bad rhinoceros, he was just bigger than most people, and not so clever, and that tended to get him into trouble.

Being beefy attracted a lot of negative attention when he was in his youth. Kids would push him and challenge him to fights, dare him to run about in china shops with his friend Edward the bull. He used to get into trouble with the police a lot, and eventually fell in with a bad crowd full time.

Clive “Oddly Small” Stevens was the worst of them. A bafflingly tiny rhinoceros with a Napoleon complex, he was hell bent on “Running this freakin’ town, bitches”, and quickly became the leader of a gang that would be called “The Superfly Cool Dudez”.

The gang was mostly comprised of little white birds that made a lot of noise and didn’t do too much, so whenever anything dangerous or violent needed doing that would likely warrant an Explicit Lyrics label were it a music release, Trevor was sent to do the dirty work.

After a few years of this, he eventually realised that his life had not gone the way he had wanted. His mum kept telling him off every time he went to see her, and his dad just stared at him, glassy eyed, sipping whiskey.

So Trevor got out.

He told Colin where to shove his gang and ran off to Devon to set up a B & B (which these days is said to have the best tea of any B & B in the country), and lived there until he was old and smelled a bit.

I would like to thank the one they call Dannie for the image, who got it from here.

Zorro vs. The Nuclear Submarine of the Sky.

They called him The Nuclear Submarine of the Sky, because he kept isotopes in his underpants and could fly (nobody was quite sure where the “submarine” bit came from, in all fairness, but it had stuck).

He was a highwayman that terrorised the whole town, and everyone had gotten sick of him swooping down and robbing their shopping. He was a massive bugger as well, so nobody dared to punch him. The townsfolk were at their wits end, so they called for the greatest policeman of the time, Keith “Zorro” Panasonic. Zorro was a little fellow, but he had cunning like you would not believe, and some knuckle dusters that would mess you right up.

One afternoon, Zorro hid in someone’s shopping bag, waiting to be stolen. Sure enough the gigantic Nuclear Submarine of the Sky (his real name was Dwayne but that’s less intimidating) swooped down and robbed the shopping, but to his surprise out leaped Zorro! He leapt onto the thief’s back and started punching him in the back of the head with his knuckle dusters.

It was flipping ace.

After some severe head punching action, the villian was brought to justice and sentenced to go to hospital because he was bleeding far too much for it to be healthy. Eventually he probably went to prison, because it’s only fair, really.

Zorro was awared a gold star and given a lollipop, and the town was saved.

Thanks to Craig for the picture, not sure where it came from.

Detective Casablanca has a bad day.

It had already been a strange day for Detective Casablanca the cat, he had found out his own father was a Russian spy that morning and had to arrest him, and then he had found out that his father was actually his mother (she had been wearing a stick-on moustache all these years as a disguise).

With these revelations weighing on his shoulders he wandered into a supermarket to get some lunch. He bought an unremarkable sandwich, and a Lion Bar for dessert.

The sandwich was fine, but when he opened the Lion Bar he discovered inside the wrapper, instead of a lion bar, was his arch nemesis Senor Toblerone! Senor Toblerone used his devilish agility to leap out of the wrapper and land on Detective Casablanca’s exposed back, at which point he injected a microchip into the fur on the Detective’s neck so he could control him.

Pleased with his success, Senor Toblerone rode Detective Casablanca back to his country mansion to gloat about his achievements to his wife.

Thankfully, Detective Casablanca’s Russian Spy Dad/Mum had managed to escape incarceration came across the horrible scene completely by accident! She punched Senor Toblerone right in the mouth and rescued her son.

Months later, after having the mind-control chip removed, Detective Casablanca and his Dad/Mum decided to move to Moscow and be Russians. As far as anyone knows they are still there today, communisting it up.

Thanks to Amy for the image, who got it from here.

The pigeon that thought he was Optimus Prime.

The main problem with Horsebox was that he thought he was Optimus Prime. As a child he had obsessed over Transformers toys and become fixated on the idea of turning into a truck at will, and laying down some seriously awesome justice.

Surprisingly he had friends, despite his delusions of giant fictitious robot grandeur. One of his friends was Monstro. Monstro was a good friend, and tried his best to humour Horsebox as he dashed about the place thinking he had wheels.

Of course sometimes it became too much. There were days when Horsebox would run at cars screaming “AUTOBOTS! TRANSFORM!”, which was terribly dangerous.

It was in these times that Monstro would have to intervene by standing on his insane pal until he had calmed down.

Monstro is currently attempting to save up enough money to send Horsebox to a pshychiatrist, let’s hope it goes well.

Image from here, courtesy of Lee, the king of dreams.

The owl incident.

Holy crap. It’s Animal on Animal time again.

Orson used to get really peeved at his wife Beavis because she always stood on his head when he was trying to think about cool stuff.

Sometimes he would be thinking about beer, or about being drunk, or about going to the pub, and she would always stand on his head and distract him. It wasn’t ideal at all.

Then one day his wife was thinking about something and he stood on her head to see how she liked it.

She didn’t like it very much and called the police.

It was in all the papers.

Thanks to Kieren for the image, taken from here.