Posts Tagged ‘george’

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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.

———————————————————

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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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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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.

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The Spooky Hen (AoA Halloween Special).

October 31, 2011

To begin, I would like to say this:

Today’s post has an actual picture, scanned in, from real life. From real life. It has been stuck to the wall in Animal on Animal Towers for over a year waiting to be scanned.  It’s even got scratches on it from where people have touched it. Astonishing, in this day and age. I think I need a sit down. And so, here is today’s excellent Animal on Animal HALLOWEEN SPECIAL post!

“Hello.” Whispered Betsy (full name Heavenstobetsy).

Wellington’s ears pricked up as he turned to his brother, George. “Did you just say something?”

George had fallen out with Wellington the previous night over what they should watch on TV. George wanted to watch Hollyoaks as it was just becoming exciting, but Wellington was having none of it and wanted to watch Scooby Doo. After some harsh words George had decided to stop talking to his brother, and so when asked the innocent question above, he turned his back.

“No, you silly sheep person!” Betsy whispered again, closer in Wellington’s ear, “It was me!”

Wellington was unsure if it was anatomically possible for him to turn his head to see whatever it was that was speaking to him, and thought it best not to try lest he strain his sheepy neck. The whispereing, however, had convinced him that a ghost was stood on his back.

“A GHOST!” Wellington screamed, bucking and leaping about like he did that time after a spicy curry, desperately trying to rid himself of his ghostly passenger.

George reluctantly spun around to see what the commotion was about, instantly seeing the truth. Betsy was a hen, not ghost. Unless she was a ghost hen, but the likelihood was that she was not a ghost hen as they had become extinct by the 1950s.

George relayed the information to Wellington, who by now was rolling on the floor trying to get the ghost/hen off his back, yet Betsy still clung tightly to her host. At the news from his brother, Wellington finally calmed down and got back to his feet.

“Oh. Sorry about that, hen who is not a ghost hen.” Wellington apologised meekly, feeling more than a little silly.

“That’s okay,” Betsy smiled, “BECAUSE I AM A GHOST HEN!! HAHAHAHAHAHA!” She cackled as she lifted him into the sky, much to the astonishment of George, who then watched his brother being airlifted off into the distance by the maniacle hen.

“Bugger me.” George grumbled as he headed over to the shed. It was time to bring his alter-ego ‘Super Sheep’ out of retirement again…

Thanks to Kieren for the image, taken from real life.