Archive for July, 2012

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The Panda Bandits.

July 23, 2012

The rickety old plane shook as it was assaulted  by the turbulent northern winds. A biplane was no place for the Panda Bandits (George, Bill, and Horace), but after robbing the National Bank of Scarborough they found it was the only vehicle in the car park.

“Maybe we should have organised some kind of getaway car instead of going to Pizza Hut?” Bill suggested as he surveyed the car park.

His fellow bandits scowled and motioned for him to follow them as they dashed towards the plane. They had had this argument before the robbery. There was no time to do both, they had to either get a car, or go to Pizza Hut. Pizza Hut was their choice, they were hungry for cheese and bread and things of that nature. They would work out the vehicle situation later. And so, here they were, stuck with a biplane. Stupid flipping pandas.

With only two seats, it was a tight squeeze for the three endangered thieves, yet they had all managed to fit after it was decided that Bill would have to sit on Horace’s lap because George was the boss. Despite the standard issue flight training which all pandas receive in their teens, George’s piloting skills were a bit rusty as he was out of practice (which he neglected to explain when he proclaimed himself pilot). So they ended up doing something that looked a bit like this:

It was a right balls up. The trio fell from their seats while upside down. They screamed as they fell. They screamed like terrified stupid bandit pandas falling at speed from an aeroplane, because they were.

Assuming they were falling to their death, George said:

“AAAAAAaaaAAaAaAAaaRGH! BUGGERY BALLS!”

But luckily they landed in an unrealistically soft tree, which broke their fall instead of their bones. So that was good.

George felt embarrassed about his previous panicked shouting. He wished it hadn’t been in capitals. He wished he hadn’t said “buggery balls”. It was going to be a while before he lived this down.

“Ay! You blokes!” a voice came from the ground below. It was a policeman with a massive moustache. My God. That moustache was inspiringly large. It would put even the greatest of men to shame.

“You blokes!” he continued “Are you those nasty Panda Bandits that just robbed the National Bank of Scarborough?”

“No officer! Not us!” the nasty Panda Bandits that just robbed The National Bank of Scarborough said in unison.

But then a massive bag of money fell from the sky and landed next to the police man and his astonishing moustache.

“You’re bloody lying, you flipping panda dickheads!” the policeman was not pleased, so he threw a net over the pandas and took them to prison where they learnt to make cakes for Gordon Ramsey like on the telly.

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Thanks to Tim for the panda image, I dunno where he got it from.

Thanks to myself for the image of a Fokker plane, I got it from here.

Thanks to you, for reading this crap.

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The hen and the hat.

July 3, 2012

Bernice was a pretty thrifty hen and tended to buy her clothes from charity shops. Arguably as a hen she was throwing her money away on clothes as she didn’t need any (being a hen), which surely would mean that she was a foolish spender rather than “thrifty”, but people that would argue this should probably find something better to do, such as write ridiculous animal stories in their lunch breaks.

So:

Bernice had decided one day that she was going to buy a hat. She was pretty fond of hats, they tended to get her the most compliments from gentlemen hens, and she did like a nice compliment from a gentleman hen.

The charity shop greeted her with its usual smell of old books and Frank Sinatra as she moseyed in through the doorway. She said “hello” to the voluntary worker behind the counter and shuffled onward to the clothing section at the back.

There were many hats. Many hats. A lesser hen would have panicked and turned to leave at the sight of so many hats. There were splendid top hats and bowler hats, old flat caps, and even a paper crown from a Christmas cracker. Bernice began to rummage through the heaps of headgear, and after a short time she discovered a lovely looking grey/brown fur hat. Synthetic of course, as she was against fur and didn’t buy into that whole “oh it’s vintage, dear” bollocks that people say.

Paying a hefty fifty pence, she left the charity shop happily displaying her new hat on her bobbing head all the way home. And then the hat spoke.

“I’m not a hat, you know.”

Bernice very nearly needed to change her hen pants at this, but tried to control herself.

“You’re not a hat?!” she coughed.

“No,” the not-a-hat said.

“Well what are you then?!” Bernice was very confused.

“I’m Sebastian, I fell into the pile of hats while trying on a flat cap. Thank you for rescuing me,” Sebastian smiled.

“Oh, that’s okay. But why didn’t you tell me earlier? You cost me fifty pence!”

“Sorry about that. I’m only small, you see, and I was quite enjoying seeing the world from a little higher up. I’ll pay you the fifty pence back,” Sebastian pulled a 50p from his hedgehog pocket and handed it to Bernice before hopping off her head onto the floor. “It was very nice to meet you.”

With that, Sebastian left.

It was that moment that Bernice decided to stop buying hats.

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I have received strict instructions on how to credit this from Graham (who submitted it on behalf of a friend, thank you):

“Alice Ryley (photographer) with Sebastian (hedgehog). Loved Owner with her True hero.”

“P.S. Sebastian please call Alice… She’s worried about you.”