Posts Tagged ‘dannie’


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:


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:


The reply said this:


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.



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


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.


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.


Journey Across the Manly Sea.

June 7, 2012

The journey was long, but they knew that had to take it. Their wives had caught them watching Bridget Jones and eating ice cream. It was time for them to leave, to voyage out across the Manly Sea, and to find the gruff hairy man inside them.

Dilbert was a bird, or at least, he assumed he was a bird. What would the bill and wings be for otherwise? He wasn’t entirely sure what kind of bird he was, he just knew he wasn’t a sparrow, or an ostrich.

George was a turtle. He wanted to be a Ninja Turtle when he was small, but he discovered quite quickly that he wasn’t good enough at kicking people in the face in a stealthy fashion so had to settle for just being a normal turtle. It still kept him up some nights.

The pair said goodbye to their respective wives, to ice cream, and to their Bridget Jones VHS tape, and set out on their perilous journey of manliness.

The day started well. The Manly Sea was calm, and so were they, until they saw The Island (not the film). Excited, they swam over to The Island, hoping to find manly stuff, like beer, and hairy legs. There was nothing on the shore, not even a moustache, but Dilbert and George walked up the beach regardless, assuming that manliness would be found further in.

Pushing through the overgrown trees they found themselves stood in front of a small pink house.

“Doesn’t look very manly,” George grunted.

“Maybe it’s a trick. Like a test to see if we’re comfortable enough with ourselves to go into a pink house,” Dilbert offered.

“Okay, let’s try it.”

They cautiously edged through the door and turned on the lights to discover a hugely feminine living room, with an excessive amount of cushions (so many as to make it actually less comfortable because there was no space for sitting down). The fridge was full of ice cream, and the VHS collection included such classics as BOTH Bridget Jones films, and Notting Hill. Dilbert and George looked at each other, baffled. It was their dream house. So they watched the films, they ate the ice cream, and they sailed back home during the night, thoroughly happy yet confused as to how this constituted manliness.

Their wives were waiting for them on their home shore, looking quite angry, and getting angrier still as their husbands explained how it had gone.

“You went the wrong bloody way!” Alice (Dilbert’s wife) interrupted, and pointed in the opposite direction to which they had sailed, “It’s that way!”

“Shit,” Dilbert said, and headed back to the sea, “I guess we best try again, then.”

And so they set sail, in the same direction they had gone earlier, and high fived as their wives shouted for them to turn the other way.

Thanks to Dannie for the image, which is from here.


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.


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.


The Angry Witch and the Hippo.

July 1, 2011

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.

May 17, 2011

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