Archive for January, 2012


He was a good fish.

January 24, 2012

Bit of a risqué one today, folks. In the picture, you can see one of the animal’s man parts. If you are easily offended by animal man parts, I suggest you close your eyes when you get to the picture. Here we go –

Old Man Peterson looked into Young Man Peterson’s eyes.

“You need to get out of here, son. He’ll be back for me any time now.” Old Man Peterson’s voice cracked as dehydration took its toll on his vocal chords.

“Dad, we don’t live in the wild west. Look, Dancing on Ice is on! They didn’t have Dancing on Ice in the wild west, they just had horses and guns and Will Smith!” Young Man Peterson was getting tired of having to do this every night. He held his father down in efforts to stop him running about and smashing all the lamps in a drunken haze. “You need to calm down, Dad. There’s nobody coming for you.”

It had been going on ever since their pet goldfish had died. Old Man had taken to drink to try and get over the pain, and kept coming home thinking he was a cowboy outlaw. Or something like that.  Either way, they had missed all of the last month’s Hollyoaks, which was really upsetting for everyone, and the health problems that a small old meerkat could acquire by going through a bottle of gin every day didn’t really bare thinking about.

“We all miss him, Dad, we all do. But he’s not coming back. He’s dead, and you have to accept it. He was a good fish, but we all knew the risks of getting a goldfish in the desert. It’s not their natural habitat. It was never going to be easy.” Tears welled in Young Man’s eyes.

A brief moment of sobriety passed over Old Man. “I’m… sorry, son. I… I just miss him so much. I’m so sorry. Please… help me.”

And so they decided to get a dog, and Old Man Peterson was sober until the end of his days (which came sooner than usual thanks to massive liver damage). He was happy, though, so it’s sort of a happy ending.

Many thanks to Tim, unfortunately I have no idea where he got it from. – UPDATE – He got it from The Sun (newspaper site place), no link provided.


Ice Cream Indecision.

January 20, 2012

They had been walking for what felt like many days across the grassy plains of Grassy Plains Land, the world’s most grassy theme park. Hector was exhausted, and his brother, Donatello, had been carrying him for the last few hours.

The pair had managed to get separated from their friends whilst considering whether it would be best to buy ice cream before or after they went on the park’s most famous attraction, “The Lawn Mower”. Upon turning around (having decided that they shouldn’t have ice cream at all because they were on a diet to impress the “laydees”) their friends were gone. Hector and Donatello panicked, running about wildly with their eyes shut, flailing their arms as they went, punching policemen, pushing old ladies over. It was carnage.

Awakening in a daze from their fear-born insanity, the brothers found themselves in their grassy predicament.

If the story had ended here, its moral would be as follows:

“Do not faff about when deciding whether or not to have ice cream. If you want some, just get some. Otherwise your friends will leave you to wander an endless grassy field until the end of your days.”

Luckily the story does not end here, as that moral is not particularly enlightening.

The brothers eventually found themselves back at the “The Lawn Mower”. The brief sense of relief that they felt was quickly followed by horror as they looked upon the damage they had wrought in their panicked insanity.

Ashamed, they turned themselves into the police, who were already aware of the crime thanks to an angry old woman who had been one of the armadillo’s victims.

Seeing that the pair were sorry, and that this was their first offence, the officer let them off with a warning and told them the real moral of the story:

“Do not faff about when deciding whether or not to have ice cream. If you want some, just get some. Otherwise your friends will leave you to wander an endless grassy field until the end of your days.”

Oh. The moral was the same.

Thanks to Marcello for sending this in, no idea where he found it!


The Climbing King of Hamstoria.

January 12, 2012

That good old Review of the Year easy update I was planning isn’t working. So I’m going to have to bloody write something new by the looks of things… Are you ready? The first excellent post of 2012 is below. Let’s do this.

The King of Hamstonia was an adventurous sort of monarch. His favourite adventurous thing to do was to climb things. He climbed up mountains, onto pterodactyls, and once, into space (it was a long climb, that one, he had to stop for jam sandwiches half way).

The hamsters of Hamstoria didn’t really mind their king sneaking off to climb things, because when he was away they all had secret karaoke parties in the castle, which was always nice.

One day, the King was out and about doing his adventuring, when he saw a cat. He had never climbed a cat before, and he felt an overpowering need to clamber up its wiry fur. Not being much for self restraint, he rushed over and began leaping up the creature’s back without a second thought, eventually finding his monarchy self atop the feline’s head.

This angered the cat, as it distracted him from looking at a nearby red shoe.

‘Get off me, or I shall punch you,’ the cat whispered, still trying to focus on the red shoe.

‘No! I am the King of Hamstoria!’ The King of Hamstoria correctly asserted.

At this, the cat flew into a rage and punched the King right in the nose, sending him flying into space (where he stopped for a jam sandwich), and then back down to his castle. It was a very well aimed punch.

The King shook off the dizziness that now assailed him as he pulled himself to his feet. His blurred vision suddenly became clear, and he realised he was in his throne room, and all his subjects were there, and there was a microphone in his paw. He had landed in the middle of a karaoke party in his castle. His subjects stared at him, slack-jawed. The King stared back. Nobody knew what to do. It was a difficult situation.

A spokesperson stepped out from the crowd of subjects to break the awkward silence. He looked into his kings vacant eyes.

‘Um… Happy birthday?’

‘… how did you know?’ A smile spread across the King’s face.

And so everyone karaoked their tits off all night long.

Thanks to Miriam for the picture, who got it from here.