Archive for September, 2011

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The Glue Monster.

September 26, 2011

The worst thing about putting glue on your fins and then patting your friends on the back is your flipper becomes glued to your friend’s back. This is what Thomas, Percy, and James discovered to their surprise just last week.

Nobody was sure how they got the glue, perhaps it washed up on the shore thanks to the Disgraceful Behaviour of Humans (DBH)? But my God, their respective mothers were not pleased. For the next week each mother had to have enough food in for three hungry turtles! Each night the “Glue Monster” (as the kids had dubbed themselves) went to each of their mother’s houses, and each wanted to be fed every time! It was outrageous. Some would say this was greedy of them, and those people would be right.

Little does James know, but his mum took the food costs directly out of his university fund, so he is destined for a call centre. That’ll teach him.

After the week was up the glue seemed to loosen and they freed themselves by playing a tug of war game in the park. Most people thought Thomas would win and put down £5 bets to prove it, but in the end nobody won as the glue snapped and all the turtles fell over at the same time. It was comedic, but angry gamblers don’t tend to care for comedy and so there was a lot of shouting and threats until they were refunded.

After the partially traumatic event the turtles all ran home, only to be grounded as soon as they got there for “Shitting about with glue.”

From then on they never even used Pritt Stick.

Thanks to Dannie for the image, which was obviously from here.

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Lifelong rivals.

September 8, 2011

The rivalry between Clarice the cat and Dyson the dog had been going on for years. It had started long ago when they were a kitten and puppy playing in the yard…

On this particular day Clarice had taken it upon herself to challenge Dyson to all kinds of competitions. She had won the egg and spoon race, and unicycle juggling contest, and the monster truck rally, and Dyson was getting a bit sick of being made a fool of. He had taken to grunting to himself and stamping about. He really wanted to go home and have some cheese slices for dinner and forget about this whole day, but Clarice was having none of it.

“I bet I can play the banjo better than you.” She smirked, looking all smug and condescending as cats do.

Dyson rolled his eyes, “Probably.”

“You wait here and I’ll go get my banjo, then we can see for sure.” Clarice nimbly scampered off to wherever it is cats keep their banjos.

Dyson slumped down and grumbled. He wasn’t really sure why he came out to play today anway, especially with someone as shit as Clarice.

A couple of minutes later Clarice appeared holding a banjo, and started playing. Admittedly she was alright to say she wasn’t anatomically equipped to play such an instrument, and this realisation was what tipped Dyson over the edge.

“RIGHT! THAT’S IT!” he yelled, leaping into the air toward the source of his annoyance.

Clarice dropped the banjo and stared up at the dog rapidly descending toward her face. Maybe she had gone too far?

And then Dyson landed bottom first on the cat.

“Clarice,” he said, “I don’t want to be friends with you anymore.”

And so they became lifelong rivals.

Image found by accident in an email from my uncle! Thanks!

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The Vegetarian Crocodile.

September 5, 2011

Emilio the crocodile was a vegetarian, and all his friends laughed at him as he munched on beetroot and carrots for his dinner as they chewed on the faces of eagles and horses. He had become a vegetarian when he was a lad after a rabbit saved his life (he doesn’t like to talk about it, but it had a profound effect on him).

Anyway, one day he had been down the pub with his mates and they were having a laugh at his expense as usual. After a little ribbing, and far too much beer, they dared Emilio to go and eat a hippo. Of course he was never going to, but he headed out to the river all the same looking as fierce as he could muster. He was all frowny and he showed some of his teeth, which wasn’t really that scary but he figured what he lacked in the intimidating expression department would be made up for by him being a crocodile, which is pretty scary anyway.

He got to the lake as his friends cheered him on, and stared at the biggest hippo for a bit.

“Not sure what to do now.” Emilio muttered to himself.

The hippo overheard his mutterings, and raising an eyebrow queried “What are you up to?”

Emilio explained the situation apologetically, hoping that his honesty would warm the heart of the massive hippo and not provoke the beast into kicking him across town. Luckily the former was the result.

“Jump on my back.” The hippo smiled.

Emilio looked confused.

“Jump on my back and I’ll carry you home. You’re in no fit state to get there on your own, and this way you don’t have to explain all this to your friends.”

Emilio complied.

And this is where he got his idea for the now hugely successful Hippo Taxis business!

Image from here, with thanks to the fancy Kieren.

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The life of Little Tony.

September 4, 2011

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.