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Bert finds a Cure.

March 3, 2015

Bert was a normal enough weasel. He was a mammal (source: Wikipedia), and he looked like that weasel from Animals of Farthing Wood. So, pretty standard. He was a nice weasel, he sent everyone at work Christmas cards, he wrote to his mum, and he didn’t skulk away when it was his round at the bar. But Bert had one major flaw: he could not hug.

It was a problem that bothered him deeply, a dark secret constantly poking away at his sanity.

It was not a physical problem, but a mental one. As a child, Bert had attempted to hug a moving car. The car of course bit him, and Bert’s poor psyche was damaged forever. Ever since, a hug had been impossible for him.

One day in Spring, Bert was feeling particularly gloomy. Sat in a tree, he looked out into a field and thought dark thoughts. If he couldn’t hug, what was the point? The whole world was out there, but at arm’s length. The best he could do was shake its hand, and it wasn’t enough. Not any more.

And so he jumped. Bert leapt from the branch that was previously his seat. Eyes closed, the wind rushed through the fur on his cheeks as the ground rushed up to meet him. And then, suddenly, he felt a soft thump beneath him.

“HOLY BUTTOCKING JESUS!” came a shrill cry, just below his head.

Bert opened his eyes, and there was a woodpecker, and he was holding onto its back. Wait… he was HUGGING its back!

“YES! Oh my goodness! I’m hugging! I’m hugging!” Bert whooped and screamed with joy as the pair flew through the air.

He was free at last.

bird_weasel

Image from here, by a person called Martin Le-May. Sent to me by Nick, Tristan, and Mike, in that order. Thank you to everyone involved!

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The Mysterious Note.

January 29, 2014

“Find me when you wake up.”

It was scrawled on a crumpled up piece of paper Alfonso had in his pocket. He frowned again as his beady-bird eyes slowly drifted over the faded characters on the page, his brain assigning the groups of abstract shapes the sounds in his head that made them into words of the English language.

Who was it from?

Alfonso pocketed the note, for perhaps the fiftieth time since he had found it this morning, and took to the skies to clear his head. His tiny wings flapped frantically to draw him into the air. His shoulders ached. Actually, his whole body ached. He felt liked he had been punched right up the arse by someone with shovels sellotaped to their fists.

“I shouldn’t have drunk that bottle of Southern Comfort last night,” he mused as he looked down at all the people below.

Which one of them had written him that note? Which of those tiny bastards was responsible for this confusion?

Alfonso’s phone buzzed in his pocket and he drifted down to alight on a stone pillar in the city below. It was a text. The text said this:

DID U GT MY MSG?

It said that because it was 1998 and everyone wrote texts like that for fear of sending two messages and it costing them an extra ten pence for the sake of one lousy letter.

The number the frugal-minded message was from was not in Alfonso’s address book, so he texted back:

YES WHO R U?

The reply said this:

MEET @ ZOO LOL

Alfonso wasn’t sure what a “zoo lol” was, so he headed over to the regular zoo in the hopes it would be the same thing. Luckily, it was, he could tell by the fact that someone in the camel enclosure was calling his name and waving and sometimes saying “Coo-eee!”

The increasingly confused bird shuffled over to the source of the sound; a cheerful looking camel with a red harness around her muzzle. The camel was very pleased to see Alfonso.

“Hi Alfonso! I’m very pleased to see you!” The camel said, which proves the previous sentence was not a lie.

“Who are  you?! How do you know who I am?! What is going on?!” Alfonso collapsed on the ground and sobbed like he did when Mufasa died.

“Don’t cry. Jump on my head and I’ll tell you what happened.”

Alfonso hopped onto the camel’s head, and she whispered this:

“My name is Elizabeth, and I am your wife. You got really drunk last night and called me nasty names, so I sellotaped shovels to my fists and punched you right up the arse so hard that it erased your memory, and the address book on your phone. I think it even erased your email accounts. It was the best punch I have ever done, and you bloody deserved it, you IDIOT FACE.”

Alfonso was very shocked to hear this, but of course it all made perfect sense. He was an idiot face. This had happened before.

“How can I make it up to you Elizabeth?” Alfonso whimpered.

“There is only one way to make it up to me: Build me a house made out of your tears.”

And he did just that, and never drank a whole bottle of Southern Comfort again.

Apologies.

 

Thanks to Dannie for the image, who got it from the usual place.

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The Christmas Dragon Fox Mix-up.

December 11, 2013

It was Christmas. Well not bang on Christmas, it was December and it was snowing, so it was pretty much Christmas. It looked like one of those Christmas cards you get where some kids have made a snowman and there are robins and stuff like that.

It was “Christmas time”. There we go.

Barnabus was a fox, and a bloody good one at that. He did all sorts of regular fox-based things such as knitting and dropkicks to the face, and he was ranked World #2 Maypole Dancer for three years in a row during the late 90s.

On this particular morning Barnabus was watching the news, which went along the lines of “Oh my God you guys, it is December and it is really cold and snowing, let’s all mass-panic as though this is a unique occurrence. All of the trains are crying and don’t work, look at this traffic jam, here is a man with a spade, here is some ice on a car in a person’s driveway, children are wearing gloves, we’re all going to die.” After having his fill of hysteria, Barnabus decided to go for a morning walk in the country.

The air was crisp and cold, and his breath plumed out from his mouth in little clouds like he was a dragon, he smiled at this and gave a little “roar”.

“Holy crap!” A frightened yelp came from a nearby bush, “Are you a dragon?! You sound like a dragon.”

Barnabus raised an eyebrow at the bush, puzzled, and took a step forward in efforts to investigate.

“Don’t you come any closer!” Said the bush. “I know your game, you’re going to toast me up good and eat me! You flipping dragon!”

“I’m not a dragon. Honest. I’m a fox. Check out my excellent knitting.” Barnabus took a scarf he was working on out of his standard issue fox rucksack and held it up to the bush. “You don’t see excellent knitting like this from dragons, do you?”

There was no response from the bush.

Cautiously, Barnabus slid a little closer. A silent moment passed, as though the bush was thinking, and then suddenly the bush blurred into the form of a leaping dog that filled Barnabus’ vision. Before he knew it he was slammed to the ground, his quality knitting strewn about in the snow.

The dog stared down at him, sniffing and gulping for air after its exertion.

“Are you a bush or a dog?” A slightly startled Barnabus asked.

“I’m a dog,” said the dog. “The bush was just my Halloween costume. Are you really a fox? I thought you might be a dragon dressed as a fox.”

“I’m a fox. I promise. I didn’t even do Halloween this year, it’s getting too commercial.”

The dog took his paws off Barnabus and looked around sheepishly.

“I’m sorry for pinning you down. I always get paranoid around Christmas what with all the scary dragons about. One of them bit my tail last year, it was awful.”

“That’s okay, they freak me out as well, my name’s Barnabus by the way, Barnabus the Fox.” Barnabus gave a little smile as he picked himself up.

The dog smiled back, “I’m Joseph. Nice to meet you. Listen, I’m really sorry about all that back there. Since I pinned you, it would make me feel much better if you pinned me back, would you do that for me? Call it a Christmas gift if you like.”

And so, Barnabus pinned Joseph, and the traditional family pastime of having a brutal wrestling match each year at Christmas was born.

foxDog

Animal on Animal wishes you a reasonably good Christmas.

Many thanks to Brett for sending this over, who got it from here.

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It means no worries.

May 29, 2013

I think some people all ready did a story about this so I don’t have to.

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

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Meeting an Old Friend.

May 20, 2013

They hadn’t seen each other since before the war.

The last time they had met, petty worries about locking your door or whether the oven was on still existed, children still asked for toys at Christmas.

Times had changed. George had changed. He could just about remember a time when his back leg didn’t ache, when his thoughts were not so soupy. Just about.

The old dog screwed up his failing eyes to try to make out what the big brown shape lumbering towards him from across the road was. It certainly wasn’t the bus he was waiting for. Buses didn’t cross roads like that.

The brown smudge got much larger until it filled George’s vision, he took a little step back.

“George?” a familiar voice boomed above him, far too loud and close, as always.

Through the cloudy mess of his thoughts a bolt of recognition cut a path through George’s mind.

“Bill?” he whispered in disbelief as he craned his neck up to behold his old friend. “I can’t believe it! You’re still alive!”

“Hah, as if I would let a little war kill me off!” Bill smiled.

“Have I got some stories for you…” George sighed.

So they talked until the sun went down.

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Bit of a departure from the norm there, not sure what came over me.

Thanks to Dannie for the image, which is obviously from the Guardian. Obviously. Dannie.

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Mutual Despair.

April 23, 2013

The harshest times can bring the greatest of enemies together. It was something Terry the mountain goat had seen scrawled on a napkin one time when he was drunk. In fact, he might have been the one that had written it. He couldn’t remember.

Regardless, one baffling summer, the words rung true for him.

Tiddles the cat was in a foul mood as always. It was mid July, and his name was still Tiddles. All the other cats relentlessly took the piss out of him for his stupid name.

“Tiddles!? That’s a right shit name!” they would say, inventively.

Tiddles knew he had a right shit name, but he hoped one day that he would wake up and be called ‘Dave’, or ‘Hansel’, or ‘Hulk Hogan’. Something ace like that. But today never seemed to be that day, and he secretly knew neither would tomorrow. So Tiddles was frequently super cheesed off about everything.

He hated all things, he even hated your face.

It should be noted that in the future it will snow in Summer, because the weather is already getting pretty messed up nowadays, so it can be assumed that nothing will make sense in about 20 years or so (that’s science). It should also be noted that this story takes place in the future.

It was a snowy summer day when Tiddles bumped into Terry. Terry had fallen out with his wife over whether or not they should tape Catchphrase. He was very upset because he had inevitably lost the dispute and would miss this week’s episode, so he had stepped outside to have a cry.

Tiddles was enraged.

“What are you doing crying out here again?! You stupid goat-sheep-man!” Tiddles had met Terry last week under similar circumstances and immediately decided that they should be Ultimate Enemies for no particular reason.

“Sh-she won’t let me tape Catchphrase! It’s a new series and I just want to see what it’s like!” Terry sniffled, a single tear descended down his cheek.

“I don’t care!” Tiddles screamed, “I’m called Tiddles! Do you know how that feels?! I have a stupid name!!”

They sobbed together for hours, all the pain and despair they felt about their respective predicaments howled through their bones and out into the crispy summer air.

Then suddenly, they stopped. Terry looked at Tiddles. Tiddles looked at Terry.

“Tiddles, I just remembered, I have magic horns. If you touch my horn and wish for a different name, it will be so.”

“You’d do that for me?” Tiddles’ face lit up. “Come to think of it, I have a VCR at my house, you can come ’round and tape Catchphrase there!”

And so, Tiddles (later to be renamed Hulk Hogan) jumped on Terry’s back and directed him to his home where they taped Catchphrase, and everyone was shockingly happy in the end.

To my house!

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Thanks to Miriam for the image. I do not know where you found it.

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The Secret Love.

April 21, 2013

Bob was king of the rabbits, that was just the way it was. It had been that way since he could remember, and he could remember pretty far back. At least as far back as when Gary Barlow had blonde hair and Take That weren’t every mum’s favourite.

Consequently it came as a shock the day his throne was taken from him by his best friend, Cher the capybara. Cher had been his best friend and advisor since the days of Boyzone (King Bob tended to use boybands as a kind of chronological landmark). Cher had grown tired of Bob’s excessive foot tapping, digging and breeding, she felt it was destroying the kingdom and that she could do a better job.

There was only one thing to do. Cher wrote to Cilla Black and the next thing King Bob knew he was being dethroned via the medium of Surprise Surprise. Cilla raised an army and embarked on a lengthy campaign of war against King Bob, it lasted 2 whole series and gained the highest ratings ever for the show. It was not a very nice surprise at all for the king.

After his defeat the king leapt on his old friend’s nose and begged to know what all this was about.

Incredible emotion.

“What have I done wrong?!” he sobbed.
“You’ve been a right crap king, Bob,” Cher explained.
“I apologise, I had no idea! Why didn’t you tell me before? I would have changed it all for you…” Bob hesitated then, and took a breath.
“But why?” Cher whispered.
“Because I love you, you silly goose! I always have!”

This was pretty convenient, as Cher secretly loved him too, so they got married and ruled the kingdom fairly together for a thousand years.

Cilla doesn’t enter into wars lightly, and was well cheesed off about the whole affair.

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Thanks to Amy for this one, not sure where you got it.