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Zippedy doo da


Feeling perky and chipper after a few days of feeling kinda glum.

Friday helps but its more than that.

Feel ready for some new challenges, even at work I feel quite good (sense the reluctance) and ready for action.

Writing a novel in a month (NANOWRIMO) coming up so, excited and scared about that.

Its the ‘what can I do before I’m 50’ challenge and I’d better hurry up –  only  2 and a half months left.

First draft of a novel and shedding a few more pounds will feel pretty damn good.

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Dahling


-Look at that old fool dahling.

-I know dahling. Does he honestly think anyone believes that’s his own hair?

-These people.

-I know.

-Did I tell you about Rathbone?

-That fool, no dahling.

-Finally jumped.

-No!

-Yes.

-No dahling!

-I’m telling you.

-Well, he said he would. My God! Look at that woman’s atrocious handbag!

-With those shoes

-Honestly dahling…

Inspired by a glorious image from ceiren.posterous.com

Twisted


Inspired by an image from ceirenbell@posterous.com

Watching the swarm was always exciting for me and Tommy. We thought that old Mr. Hackett being twisted and then broken up into tiny pieces was funny and we thought that watching his cows slowly coming apart bit by bit was funny too.

We felt it too, our heads were pulled all out of shape, my left arm was kind of back-to-front now and Tommy lost an eye the second time round, but it didn’t bother us much.

At school no one spoke to us but that was no different and before they’d tease us and push us around. They didn’t do that anymore.

Last week Mumma was turned inside out and we didn’t laugh at first coz she made us our dinner, but Tommy said that now we wouldn’t have to eat our greens and that made us laugh.

We ate all the ice cream that night.

Rare


Exquisite sample of urine produced after a lon...
Image via Wikipedia

She thought it would be rare, maybe even before she died, which frankly wouldn’t be too long. It was, on the face of it, just another old-lady painting. She’d seen them lined up by the seafront with their easels and new packs of watercolours many years before she retired and followed suit. This was different though, this was a slight variation on the water colour theme. She’d collected her husbands urine for the last 3 years and mixed it with a whole variety of local delicacies, dog turds, vomit collected outside the pub on a Sunday morning, a big jar of her own spit she’d kept specially, and of course that pigs blood she’d got from the butchers.

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S Club


Dressmaker’s S (Falmouth, MA)

Stop, she said
Sad severe Samantha

Stupid statement

Simon, she said
Stop saying such shit

Suddenly she stopped

Superb!

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Sovereign meeting the people

‘Let’s get this straight, you think you’re wife here should have my job?’ said the Mayor.

‘Yeah I do,’ said the man with the hat. ‘Thing is, she may not look it, but she’s a dynamo.’

‘A dynamo?’

‘Yeah.’

‘D’you mind not talking about me as if I wasn’t here,’ said the wife of the man with the hat.

‘See, I told ya,’ said the hat man.

‘I’m sorry,’ said the Mayor. ‘I’m just taken aback here. I feel insulted to be honest with you.’

‘Insulted?’ said the hat man.

‘Insulted?’ said the hat man’s wife.

‘Yeah.’

‘Why ?’ said the hat man’s wife.

‘Well come on. I mean, here I am trying to be nice. I’m walking around, chatting with people, trying to find out what they want…’

‘Well, yeah but…’ said the hat man’s wife.

‘I’ve only been in the job for 5 days…’

‘I know but…’ said the hat man’s wife.

‘And this schmuck…’

‘Hey!’ said the hat man.

‘How dare you!’ said the hat man’s wife.

‘I don’t think he meant anything by that,’ said the Mayor’s aide.

‘Didn’t mean anything,’ said the hat man’s wife.

‘Just be a man,’ said the hat man.

‘Be a man? Be a goddamn man!’ said the Mayor.

‘I’m glad I didn’t vote for you…’ said the hat man’s wife.

‘Well, thank you but I didn’t need your vote and frankly…’

‘Mr Mayor…’

‘If anyone’s a schmuck…’ said the hat man brandishing his umbrella.

‘Sir, move away,’ said the Mayor’s security man grasping the umbrella.

‘You make me wanna puke,’ said the hat man’s wife. ‘Come on dear, we didn’t come here to be insulted. ‘

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Grounded


Lone Cloud
Image by craigmdennis via Flickr

In the sky he could see his target. The fat fluffy cloud to the left, in fact, at that moment it was the only cloud in the sky. He wanted to reach the cloud quickly before it changed shape. He couldn’t believe it wouldn’t be as solid and comfortable and armchair-like as it appeared from the ground.

He stood up and stared at it some more before simply lifting from the ground, slowly at first and straight up, head first. He stopped at a few feet and came straight back down. He couldn’t work out how to change direction and landing was still a huge problem; last time he’d sprained his ankle and had to ring his Dad to pick him up, making some excuse about being attacked.

‘Who by, do you know them? You do don’t you I can tell?’

‘No Dad, I don’t know them, I’ve never seen them before.’

‘What did they take?’

‘Nothing, a police car drove by and they ran away.’

He’d not flown since. If only he had someone he could talk to about it, someone who could teach him. He had to keep it all to himself but he was dying to tell Harry, his best friend. Harry loved science fiction and superheroes. He’d know what to do. If he found out though Jack knew he wouldn’t be able to keep it to himself, no way.

Imagine if people found out, what would happen to him. He’d probably be hounded out of town or burnt for being a witch or his house would be surrounded by cameras and paparazzi and his Dad would be really cross and he would stop his pocket money.

Bu then, surely if he could fly, properly, once he’d got the hang of it and could land and change direction and swoop and all that, then it wouldn’t matter would it? If they came after him he’d just fly away. If his Dad stopped his pocket money he’d fly into the bank and steal some money and they wouldn’t be able to stop him.

But it wouldn’t end well. He imagined flying round and round being chased and shot at by helicopters and RAF jets and ground to air missiles and the whole of the army would be after him and he’d be hit high above the city and fall to the ground like a stone.

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Where did I put those parents?


Family Room BEFORE
Image by Mandajuice via Flickr

It wasn’t that he didn’t understand so much as that he just couldn’t think about it. Whenever he tried his mind became either completely blank or a mass of noise and scribble and chaos. Either way, the whole subject of housework was always problematic for him. Not that he expected anyone else to do it, well maybe he wouldn’t have minded, to be honest, but as he’d been on his own since hiding his parents, he had no one else who could do it. Theoretically, he could have hired someone but that would have meant earning some money and he hadn’t really worked that out yet either.

His parents’ money was running out fast, unless they had more hidden away somewhere, but if they did he couldn’t think of a way to find it. Asking them was out of the question of course as he’d forgotten where he’d hidden them. All he knew was that he’d hidden them ‘somewhere safe’, that old chestnut.

He’d tried the obvious places, behind the sofa, under the bed, in the shed, in the garage, in the kitchen drawer. He tried places that weren’t at all obvious, like the bathroom cabinet, his pencil case, his jacket pocket, the sugar bowl, the hamster cage and his old shoes under the bed.

All of this had got him nowhere. It had been 9 months now since he’d hidden them. He was a little bit worried about them, obviously, but mainly, he was worried about himself. How was he going to pay the mortgage when the cash ran out?  How was he going to get the house clean, get himself clean, his clothes washed? How was he going to clean up his act so that he could invite someone round or have a chance of meeting someone? He had no clue.

Although his parents were miniature parents, it didn’t mean he relied on them any less. He said to himself that he’d hidden them but in reality they were perfectly able to unhide themselves and find him, they were just choosing not to.

They were letting him use his initiative, something they’d banged on about for years. They may have been miniature but as far as he could tell they seemed to be just as big a pain in the arse as normal sized parents.

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There was this little guy, with a huge left hand. Most of his life he’d made every effort to keep it hidden. Oversized left pockets in all his trousers played a significant role.

He was actually left handed so it led to considerable difficulties. At school or in any public place he used his right hand, so his writing was appalling and he had to avoid any kind of manual work, like carpentry for fear of injuring himself.

His parents helped him to hide, supplying regular notes and excuses on demand. His Dad had a giant left ear and his Mum a tiny left thumb, so they knew what he was going through.

When he was 25 he left home and moved into his own little flat. That day, he decided to come out. He waved that hand around like a huge shovel wherever he went. He always wrote with it in public and he discovered that if he ever got any backchat or abuse from the neighbourhood kids, he could muster an almighty cuff round the ear.

Within a year he had his first girlfriend, an enormous breasted woman with buttocks the size of beach balls. They lived a happy life together.

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Grizzworst


Photographs of several "Final Fantasy XII...
Image via Wikipedia

Sick of the castle keep, Grizzworst decided to work out in the open today. He’d forgotten though, how hideous he appeared to mere mortals, so much so that in the last few minutes he’d had two screamers, an attempted assault and a suspected self-fouling.

He remembered why he’d remained hidden for the last 50 odd years now.

Still, it was a bit of a laugh, he had to admit, a bit distracting from his real work, magic and associated potions and lotions, but he figured he deserved a bit of a break.

He wondered if he could actually kill  anyone simply by being hideously ugly. He hid behind a tree and decided to try it out on passers-by for the next hour or so  before resuming his work.

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