Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Bleah. Blargh. Rargh. Grumble.
...said the grumpy giant.
The children squealed and hid behind Geoffrey the Magic Badger. Geoffrey did not want to let down his new friends, so he puffed out his chest and spoke boldly to the giant.
"Excuse me Mister Giant," said Geoffrey, trying to sound brave. "We have several issues of this fascinating magazine called Watchtower that we would like to sell you. Could you spare a few minutes of your time?"
[Extract from the unpublished Enid Blyton novel Door-Knocking in the Faraway Tree]
Monday, June 29, 2009
Once upon a time there were three little pigs. They were extremely shonky builders who made homes from substandard materials. The first pig made a house out of bendy straws. The wolf came along and, after a well-rehearsed speech centred around forceful exhalations, blew the house down, pureed the pig into a baconshake, and drank it through one of the many bendy straws. The second pig made a house from stickers. The wolf came along, noticed one of the stickers was a Texan pro-gun bumper sticker, and in a rage (he was a very left-leaning porcicidal hamovore) blew down the sticker house and made the pig squeal like Warren Beatty. It was pretty unpleasant. The third pig was going to build a house out of reinforced concrete and razorwire, but when he went to Bunnings to buy the materials he got all caught up browsing the garden section. The wolf caught him on the way home and ate both the pig and his newly-purchased tulip bulbs. After that he felt a bit unfulfilled, so he went and blew down a few houses.
Then he exploded for no adequately explored reason.
Nobody lived ever after, happily or otherwise.
Once upon a time there were three bears: Dwayne, Greg, and Eddie. They lived in a loving three-way relationship, and played fun games in which they pretended to be lumberjacks and plumbers.
One day their house got hit by a rogue asteroid that had been labelled GLDLKS01. They all got vapourised instantly, along with their black and red chequered flannelette shirts and tool belts.
...and they all lived vapourousnessnessly ever after.
Friday, June 26, 2009
I remember that crazy man banging and hollering at the farmhouse door. I remember pa telling me and ma "Git upstairs!" and we went, sure, but I didn't go far. I sat on the top step, and I saw my pa get his shotgun and shout through the door. "Who's there?" he shouted, trying to sound scary. "Larry!" was the shout from outside, and pa pointed the gun at the floor and opened the door.
Larry was the Sterlings' youngest. Mr and Mrs Sterling owned the next farm over, up against the foothills. Big property, but tough land to farm, and they was getting old. All their boys had gone - to the city, or those big cattle ranches over in the plains - but Larry stayed. When he weren't around, people would joke he was soft in the head, "born idjit" they said. Nobody said that stuff to his face, though. No fear or nothing, just that Larry was too friendly and cheery to be mean to.
No cheer that night, of course. Larry seemed like he'd gone crazy, eyes bugged out and hair messed and tangled like a tumbleweed. I knew he weren't too many years older than me, not shaving just yet, though looking like he'd need to soon. When he crashed into our front hall
that night, though, he looked older than his own pa. White, his face was. I remember thinking I never saw a face so white.
He stumbled over to pa, grabbed him, bear hug like, and they both went half down, kinda half sitting and half kneeling. I thought for a second that Larry was attacking pa and I was getting set to pelt down those stairs and drag him off, forgetting of course that Larry was twice my size.
But then his foot kicked back, slammed the door with his foot. After the mighty bang of it slamming, everything was still and silent for what felt like a long time. There was only one noise, a kind of bubbling and whistling. Took a minute, but I worked out it was Larry crying. He held my pa like a baby clings to its ma, and he cried into his chest.
Was weird, seeing a near grown man cry like that. I could see pa was out of his depth, too. His hands was up in the air and his face was all confusion and shock, like a man who cracks an egg into a frying pan and finds a goldfish inside. "What's goin' on, Larry?" His voice was gentle - he remembered who he was talking to - but there was a lot of worry in it. "Huh? Your folks okay?"
Larry stopped crying and pushed back, fast. His foot slipped out from under him and he plopped down on his ass. Would've been funny if I weren't so scared.
"Ma and pa..." Larry started, then stared. He tried again. "Ma and pa, they're dead."
"Dead? How Larry? Tell me." The gentleness had gone out of pa's voice - it was like a stone now.
"Ducks," he said. "The ducks did it."
Stay tuned next week for part two of Beyond the Valley of the Ducks!
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Dates are Rebecca's kryptonite. If you follow her around shouting out random dates she eventually regresses to her demon form.
At that point you then stick mini-marshmallows up both her nostrils to place her under your control.
Once under control, she can grant wishes, but only if they involve cheese. The cheese can be peripheral or trivial, but it has to be there. Ask her for a billion dollars and she can't help you. Ask her for a billion dollars and a slice of processed cheese and she can do that.
One needs to be crafty when dealing with cheese demons.
Sorry, where was I?
Have you been smoking carpet samples again?
No, but that's an excellent suggestion.
*runs off to mug a door-to-door carpet salesman*
are cheese demons related to cheese weasles?
Distantly. Alongside Darwin's tree of life is a loosely parallel evolutionary path called the Tree of Cheese.
Its fascinating reading. I was always in love with the cheesosaurs when I was kid, my favourites being fromagiosaurus and goudasaurus rex.
More recently we have extinct megafauna such as the camembear.
and don't forget the edamites - hard wax casings have been found to prove they pre-dated the cheesosaurs
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
"What do you mean its the same story? The names are clearly different!"
"Yes, about that. You don't think David and Bavid are somewhat similar?"
"You know how Jerik slays Zord with the Blade of Kell at the end ofthe first book?"
"Yes, it's a fantasy classic..."
"...and Derek slays Zedd with the Blade of Krul at the end of the second book..."
"It's a deliberate foreshadowing! History repeats itself and heroes find themselves thrust into the same roles as their ancestors, the blood of mortal enemies flowing down through centuries and sustaining age-old battles!"
"I see. And in book three..."
"Book three is totally different! It's a female protagonist!"
"Yes... called Jerra, who slays Zood with the Blade of Khaal-"
"Hammer of Khaal, damn it! It was the HAMMER of Khaal!"
"Oh, I'm sorry. That's completely different then."