Smashed by moisture and one cold hand; trying to remember the name of Spain.
Floral scent and massive green eyes, grabbing hands and pushing, and flipping head both ways for secrets.
Then i went back caught out and made a buy. And now the 2nd hand, the same shiny and cold one, is still here with me and the painted toes, or whats left of them.
Just depth and floating in a sea of half-understood references to things no-one cared about much anyway and certainly not many knew of... missing another set of greens and hiccups.
серада, 19 снежня 2007 г.
пятніца, 14 снежня 2007 г.
Lemonman
Lemonman wondered about the injustices of the world. He liked to think of these things. It made him happy. He sat on a bed of nailed broken polystyrene. He knew the fumes would only make him sick, but still he sat and pondered. Mincing, almost. His brain was too full of potent imagery to be mincing, Mincing being, as I understand it - to be doing nothing.
These injustices made him depressed but by wondering on them, he found it gave him a reason. He felt bored and lay down. The polystyrene crunched under his weight. He lay and gazed at the sky, a dark green sky. Between the clouds he saw spots of yellow - the sulphur in his coffee had started to work. Lemonman leant across, over his clothes to grab the knife that lay by his book on nodules.
Taking the knife in one hand he drew a strip down his leg, creating a red stripe in the fatty flesh of his thigh. He always felt clean when blood letting and this was no exception. He felt fresh and new like the breeze had suddenly grown warm and enveloped him in it's misty aroma. He rubbed the open wound, then washed his hands in the bowl of cold water by his bed.
He stood up, the thin blood leaked onto his foot and soaked into the crushed polystyrene floor. A beating at the wall let him know Donald was back from the surgeon. His head probably bound and wrapped.
Oh the injustice. Lemonman rubbed the back of his neck and made his way to the small chair in the corner. He sat down and observed the patches of red marking the floor. The bowl of water now pink and bitty. He pressed the buzzer.
"What?" said the speaker.
"I want some food." said he
"What?" repeated the speaker.
"Potatoes. Salted ones and some gravy too."
"Wait.". The speaker fizzed and died.
A beating at the wall let him know Donald was not feeling better after being to the surgeon. The crack of the door-box opening echoed round the small cell. Lemonman swung open the panel and took the plate. On it were 3 roast potatoes in gravy.
"Thank you." he said
Donald's moaning and banging grew more frequent.
He sat quietly wondering and slowly squeezed the crunchy potatoes until the soft white middles squidged out into the warm gravy. He took his fork from his bedside draw and began to eat. Ummm. Potatoes. This was a treat he would rarely see again now the war was on.
After finishing the soft potato and soaking the gravy up with his hair, Lemonman took the roast skins of the potatoes and rubbed them into his leg. The salt made the skin sting but he knew it was for the best.
The darkness had crept upon the night and the clouds were no longer visible. The yellow spots in his vision were larger and greener now. He washed his hands in the pink water and put the potato skins back on the plate, then put the plate back in the door-box.
Outside (outside, outside) a crow settled on the aluminium grill separating the visitors from the rest of the world. It pulled at the rinds of bacon poking through and gazed down at the figure of Lemonman laid on his floor of polystyrene. The crow took a strip of bacon and flew away into the dark.
On the hill a boy sat. He was six. He held in his hand a wooden stick and a piece of string. He rubbed his tired eyes and fed the string down into the small hole by his feet. A moment later he withdrew it. Attached to the end was a minute television. He took the TV and put in in his pocket. Slowly he lowered the stick into the hole and sure enough another TV was attached to the end when he withdrew it. He placed this TV in his other pocket. Then he turned and left for home.
These injustices made him depressed but by wondering on them, he found it gave him a reason. He felt bored and lay down. The polystyrene crunched under his weight. He lay and gazed at the sky, a dark green sky. Between the clouds he saw spots of yellow - the sulphur in his coffee had started to work. Lemonman leant across, over his clothes to grab the knife that lay by his book on nodules.
Taking the knife in one hand he drew a strip down his leg, creating a red stripe in the fatty flesh of his thigh. He always felt clean when blood letting and this was no exception. He felt fresh and new like the breeze had suddenly grown warm and enveloped him in it's misty aroma. He rubbed the open wound, then washed his hands in the bowl of cold water by his bed.
He stood up, the thin blood leaked onto his foot and soaked into the crushed polystyrene floor. A beating at the wall let him know Donald was back from the surgeon. His head probably bound and wrapped.
Oh the injustice. Lemonman rubbed the back of his neck and made his way to the small chair in the corner. He sat down and observed the patches of red marking the floor. The bowl of water now pink and bitty. He pressed the buzzer.
"What?" said the speaker.
"I want some food." said he
"What?" repeated the speaker.
"Potatoes. Salted ones and some gravy too."
"Wait.". The speaker fizzed and died.
A beating at the wall let him know Donald was not feeling better after being to the surgeon. The crack of the door-box opening echoed round the small cell. Lemonman swung open the panel and took the plate. On it were 3 roast potatoes in gravy.
"Thank you." he said
Donald's moaning and banging grew more frequent.
He sat quietly wondering and slowly squeezed the crunchy potatoes until the soft white middles squidged out into the warm gravy. He took his fork from his bedside draw and began to eat. Ummm. Potatoes. This was a treat he would rarely see again now the war was on.
After finishing the soft potato and soaking the gravy up with his hair, Lemonman took the roast skins of the potatoes and rubbed them into his leg. The salt made the skin sting but he knew it was for the best.
The darkness had crept upon the night and the clouds were no longer visible. The yellow spots in his vision were larger and greener now. He washed his hands in the pink water and put the potato skins back on the plate, then put the plate back in the door-box.
Outside (outside, outside) a crow settled on the aluminium grill separating the visitors from the rest of the world. It pulled at the rinds of bacon poking through and gazed down at the figure of Lemonman laid on his floor of polystyrene. The crow took a strip of bacon and flew away into the dark.
On the hill a boy sat. He was six. He held in his hand a wooden stick and a piece of string. He rubbed his tired eyes and fed the string down into the small hole by his feet. A moment later he withdrew it. Attached to the end was a minute television. He took the TV and put in in his pocket. Slowly he lowered the stick into the hole and sure enough another TV was attached to the end when he withdrew it. He placed this TV in his other pocket. Then he turned and left for home.
The Big Race
by Prof. Froz Scrote'um & Dr.Chuckles Sackit
I Once took part in a race
But soon fell on my face
I once tried to fly a balloon
Put fell back to earth to soon
I landed right on my funny bone
So laughed and cried on the way home
I bled to death later in the bath
from the injuries in my back.
I Once took part in a race
But soon fell on my face
I once tried to fly a balloon
Put fell back to earth to soon
I landed right on my funny bone
So laughed and cried on the way home
I bled to death later in the bath
from the injuries in my back.
The Big Adventure
by Prof. Froz Scrote'um & Dr.Chuckles Sackit
One day me and Bob went to the park
we played away till it got dark.
Then we went home, straight to bed
and separately rested our sleepy head.
The next morn' we woke up bright and fresh
For breakfast we ate donkey flesh.
And then a cup of Tea or juice
Followed by boots tied very loose.
Then we tried on scraggy clothes
and picked the bogeys from our nose
And to them tied some bits
of string and wore them on a chain or ring.
One day me and Bob went to the park
we played away till it got dark.
Then we went home, straight to bed
and separately rested our sleepy head.
The next morn' we woke up bright and fresh
For breakfast we ate donkey flesh.
And then a cup of Tea or juice
Followed by boots tied very loose.
Then we tried on scraggy clothes
and picked the bogeys from our nose
And to them tied some bits
of string and wore them on a chain or ring.
Book of Ugly
by Froz Scrote'um & Dr. Chuckles Sackit
I collect ugly people
I find them great to collect
And when I find an ugly person
I go into a frenzy and make them my sweat pets
I like to stamp them in a book
so all my friends can take a look.
and see and we and take a look
the ugly people in my book
Freaks like u are real rare
and women with facial hair
look at you and take a stare
The ugly people in my book
I collect ugly people
I find them great to collect
And when I find an ugly person
I go into a frenzy and make them my sweat pets
I like to stamp them in a book
so all my friends can take a look.
and see and we and take a look
the ugly people in my book
Freaks like u are real rare
and women with facial hair
look at you and take a stare
The ugly people in my book
Anonamouse
by Froz Scrote'um & Dr. Chuckles Sackit
Dexstah was a fine young man
He lived at home with his nan.
For the thing that Dexstah like's the best
Is the bum fluff on his chest.
And ever after he plucked is so
And surfed his belly in the snow.
For snow was Dexstah's favourite weather
He liked it more than bondage leather.
He loved the cold upon his chest
He liked to keep some in his vest.
So this is now Dexstah's tale
Because he's gone abroad on winged sail
But the plane crashed in Peru
And Dek was found with pants of poo
And so the legend of Dexstah now stands
Never wipe ones arse with both hands.
Dexstah was a fine young man
He lived at home with his nan.
For the thing that Dexstah like's the best
Is the bum fluff on his chest.
And ever after he plucked is so
And surfed his belly in the snow.
For snow was Dexstah's favourite weather
He liked it more than bondage leather.
He loved the cold upon his chest
He liked to keep some in his vest.
So this is now Dexstah's tale
Because he's gone abroad on winged sail
But the plane crashed in Peru
And Dek was found with pants of poo
And so the legend of Dexstah now stands
Never wipe ones arse with both hands.
Jeremy Jexxytone
by Rev. Hatmagic
On October 23rd, 1964, Jeremy Jexxytone began his analysis of straw hats. Feeling that they had previously been over-analysed, he stuck to the original critical method of measuring out five jars of pink straw, five of blue, and five of yellow. Finding that only the yellow straw was useful, and that his years of straw-dyeing had been wasted, he threw away these once beautiful but now outrageous pieces of useless material.
Like an Aardvark in the cold, he reflected upon this years experiments; he concluded that his love life had gone down, his chimpanzees had escaped, and he had aquired a large mole on the edge of his penis. Rhythmically tapping out "So lonely" by the police on his dad's stereo, he reminded himself that it was the stereo he was waging war with, not himself. National values were decreasing, national security in his country was being lost, and he couldn't control it, never had been able to. What was the point of cooking, when he could make microwave dinners which poisoned his mind, his life, and his potential children.
His wife was an oversized, hippopotamus of a woman who had graduated from night school to work as a dental hygienist. Jeremy had stumbled across this infathomable creature when drunk in the morning crossing the road. She had been as plump and as rotten then as she was now. He had met her on the way to his home, after staying with some friends. She had been the lollipop lady. They hadn't made love for six years.
Jeremy was losing his hair. He combed it as gently as he could, so as not to remove the only sign of youth left. He was always preoccupied with the threat, or hope, that cancer might one day overtake his mistake of a wife.
On October 23rd, 1964, Jeremy Jexxytone began his analysis of straw hats. Feeling that they had previously been over-analysed, he stuck to the original critical method of measuring out five jars of pink straw, five of blue, and five of yellow. Finding that only the yellow straw was useful, and that his years of straw-dyeing had been wasted, he threw away these once beautiful but now outrageous pieces of useless material.
Like an Aardvark in the cold, he reflected upon this years experiments; he concluded that his love life had gone down, his chimpanzees had escaped, and he had aquired a large mole on the edge of his penis. Rhythmically tapping out "So lonely" by the police on his dad's stereo, he reminded himself that it was the stereo he was waging war with, not himself. National values were decreasing, national security in his country was being lost, and he couldn't control it, never had been able to. What was the point of cooking, when he could make microwave dinners which poisoned his mind, his life, and his potential children.
His wife was an oversized, hippopotamus of a woman who had graduated from night school to work as a dental hygienist. Jeremy had stumbled across this infathomable creature when drunk in the morning crossing the road. She had been as plump and as rotten then as she was now. He had met her on the way to his home, after staying with some friends. She had been the lollipop lady. They hadn't made love for six years.
Jeremy was losing his hair. He combed it as gently as he could, so as not to remove the only sign of youth left. He was always preoccupied with the threat, or hope, that cancer might one day overtake his mistake of a wife.
Willie the Bear
by Rev. Hatmagic
Willie the bear had been walking approximately six months, when all of a sudden his gee gee trousers fell down. He had to remember that he was merely a publicity stunt for the children of Disney World, and that all the happiness and glory he brought forth was all for the corporation. A man in a blue suit who had a faint odour of diarrhoea had told him so.
The diary willie had been writing had been in a 3D collage form, hitherto unknown by 6th western film players in the area. They themselves preferred to project pictures of psychological experiments on poor unwary students, including the isolation tank. The bar codes branded onto their foreheads was the first step, who knows what came later......
He awaoke from this tragicomedy with his trousers still round his ankles, and little children were peering at him. How the hell had these little blisters got behind the hut of hell? Where were their parents? Or was this merely a cult of children in the Disney Underworld? He had heard rumours of such things, and proceeded to bellow ferociously at the kids.
Willie the bear had been walking approximately six months, when all of a sudden his gee gee trousers fell down. He had to remember that he was merely a publicity stunt for the children of Disney World, and that all the happiness and glory he brought forth was all for the corporation. A man in a blue suit who had a faint odour of diarrhoea had told him so.
The diary willie had been writing had been in a 3D collage form, hitherto unknown by 6th western film players in the area. They themselves preferred to project pictures of psychological experiments on poor unwary students, including the isolation tank. The bar codes branded onto their foreheads was the first step, who knows what came later......
He awaoke from this tragicomedy with his trousers still round his ankles, and little children were peering at him. How the hell had these little blisters got behind the hut of hell? Where were their parents? Or was this merely a cult of children in the Disney Underworld? He had heard rumours of such things, and proceeded to bellow ferociously at the kids.
A Tale of Horror and Suspense
by Prof. Froz Scrote'um & Dr. Chuckles Sackit
One fine day (Name Censored for Legal Reasons) was walking into a nasty great big storm. Little did he know that an evil race of half snail, half taxman killers were hot on his heels. (Name Censored for Legal Reasons) sensed they were there but didn't think to look down and remove them. Slowly the snail/taxmen began to devour a finely cooked meal of steak eggs and lard before taking a quick nap to sleep off the fine banquet they had just consumed. Knowing this and with hawk-like dexterity, (Name Censored for Legal Reasons) slapped his buttocks together with such ferocity that the snail/taxmen were shaken from their small mansion, out the back door, passed the shed, travelling east for several miles, turning left at Bengal only to land in a giant pile of hoss's shit, freshly laid by the farmer. So, ridding his journey of deadly killers (Name Censored for Legal Reasons) set off some fireworks to celebrate. In the night he slept with his teddy in a tent made of sticks and bracken.
He awoke the next morn to find... nothing. Everything had been tea-leafed, the sky, the trees, his tent, everything. Well now that (Name Censored for Legal Reasons) had nothing left he decided that it was probably time to brush his teeth. "GGGRRRRRRR" said his stomach, which was strange, as it had been stolen. "Today I shall limp" said (Name Censored for Legal Reasons). So off he went limping off like someone with a limp, until he got tired and decided to walk normal again. So he got his chain and took normal for a walk. The walk past. (Name Censored for Legal Reasons) tripped him up and a fight broke out.
One fine day (Name Censored for Legal Reasons) was walking into a nasty great big storm. Little did he know that an evil race of half snail, half taxman killers were hot on his heels. (Name Censored for Legal Reasons) sensed they were there but didn't think to look down and remove them. Slowly the snail/taxmen began to devour a finely cooked meal of steak eggs and lard before taking a quick nap to sleep off the fine banquet they had just consumed. Knowing this and with hawk-like dexterity, (Name Censored for Legal Reasons) slapped his buttocks together with such ferocity that the snail/taxmen were shaken from their small mansion, out the back door, passed the shed, travelling east for several miles, turning left at Bengal only to land in a giant pile of hoss's shit, freshly laid by the farmer. So, ridding his journey of deadly killers (Name Censored for Legal Reasons) set off some fireworks to celebrate. In the night he slept with his teddy in a tent made of sticks and bracken.
He awoke the next morn to find... nothing. Everything had been tea-leafed, the sky, the trees, his tent, everything. Well now that (Name Censored for Legal Reasons) had nothing left he decided that it was probably time to brush his teeth. "GGGRRRRRRR" said his stomach, which was strange, as it had been stolen. "Today I shall limp" said (Name Censored for Legal Reasons). So off he went limping off like someone with a limp, until he got tired and decided to walk normal again. So he got his chain and took normal for a walk. The walk past. (Name Censored for Legal Reasons) tripped him up and a fight broke out.
Patrick Breakwave
by Dr Dollarhat
glorifying the very fact of his own existence, Pat proceeded to destroy absolutely everything in sight as a protest against the inferiority of the earth as a whole in comparison to his good self. And this was not simply personal opinion; Patrick Breakwave really was an anomaly in the realms of humanity, a purification of atomisation itself: Pat Breakwave was a superbeing.
Grounding his mighty feet and causing pain to the very essence of gravity, Pat looked up towards the heavens to challenge the Gods with his post physical strength of mind and matter, harnessing the life force of mother Earth with relative ease. But suddenly, and for the first time since he was a small childhood weakling, Pat felt discouragingly belittled. He had conversed with the almighty on extremely bad terms. Having messed with gravity in his fit of monstrositous anger, Pat had caused God to loose his footing in the clouds, and was now communicating to the super-powered Earthling via satellite, having been so embarrassingly ejaculated into the infinite realms of time and space.
This was bad. Not just Gods disappearance, but what revelations he had oh so recently bespoken to Pat. It seemed now that the end was nigh. When the Lord almighty reached the outer edges of space, he was going to send tonnes upon tonnes of irrelevant junk mail to Pats house, so much that if he didn't become bankrupt through over expenditure on irresistible rubbish, then he would in fact drown in a sea of glossy paper in the comfort and misery of his own home.
glorifying the very fact of his own existence, Pat proceeded to destroy absolutely everything in sight as a protest against the inferiority of the earth as a whole in comparison to his good self. And this was not simply personal opinion; Patrick Breakwave really was an anomaly in the realms of humanity, a purification of atomisation itself: Pat Breakwave was a superbeing.
Grounding his mighty feet and causing pain to the very essence of gravity, Pat looked up towards the heavens to challenge the Gods with his post physical strength of mind and matter, harnessing the life force of mother Earth with relative ease. But suddenly, and for the first time since he was a small childhood weakling, Pat felt discouragingly belittled. He had conversed with the almighty on extremely bad terms. Having messed with gravity in his fit of monstrositous anger, Pat had caused God to loose his footing in the clouds, and was now communicating to the super-powered Earthling via satellite, having been so embarrassingly ejaculated into the infinite realms of time and space.
This was bad. Not just Gods disappearance, but what revelations he had oh so recently bespoken to Pat. It seemed now that the end was nigh. When the Lord almighty reached the outer edges of space, he was going to send tonnes upon tonnes of irrelevant junk mail to Pats house, so much that if he didn't become bankrupt through over expenditure on irresistible rubbish, then he would in fact drown in a sea of glossy paper in the comfort and misery of his own home.
Fraggle Rock
A dialogue between Prof. Froz Scrote'um and Nurse Knumbahumba.
S: Today we shall be discuss-ing the phenomenom menace. A film largely blamed for the emergence of Fraggle Rock.
K: nice.
S: Thank you, Nurse. Fraggle Rock is an evil, hard-hitting and potentially hairy musical form. It must be eradicated before the time of fangs and children in armour and then we shall take over and describe the results of never understanding that wrestling was really pool.
K: May I just ask you a question about flies food?
S: No. Yes. I mean no. Oh go on then, you know how I adore that great old species we call the fly.
K: Do flies fart on their food?
S: Of course they do every one knows that. Even I fart on my food!
K: Great......... Newts! Newts are nicer than grapefruits top-bits! How about a wrestle?
S: I'm absolutely out of this world! Bogsy being Fraggle Rock with his millions.... and millions of..... fangs? Ha! haaaaa! My God!! I never knew I was a Werefraggle!
K: Can I be Jet the Shit-Man Fart?
S: Right! And there off and it's a strange smelling foot lock from the shit-man! Oh.. Easily side stepped by the Rock, and it's under the ropes and down the ramp for me my dear! Your a crowdy one now aren't you?
K: No. I'm purple jon the pipers sorting box.
S: Errrrrrrr...... III' MM MMM SS SO OORRR YY Y YY !!! ! ! TTH IS RRO C C KK DRILL ISSS S S S GETTt Tt Ingg A AAaa BBIT TTt tt RooWWDD D D dy!!! !! !
K: nice.
S: Thank God that's Dover, I thought we'd be out here forever.
S: Today we shall be discuss-ing the phenomenom menace. A film largely blamed for the emergence of Fraggle Rock.
K: nice.
S: Thank you, Nurse. Fraggle Rock is an evil, hard-hitting and potentially hairy musical form. It must be eradicated before the time of fangs and children in armour and then we shall take over and describe the results of never understanding that wrestling was really pool.
K: May I just ask you a question about flies food?
S: No. Yes. I mean no. Oh go on then, you know how I adore that great old species we call the fly.
K: Do flies fart on their food?
S: Of course they do every one knows that. Even I fart on my food!
K: Great......... Newts! Newts are nicer than grapefruits top-bits! How about a wrestle?
S: I'm absolutely out of this world! Bogsy being Fraggle Rock with his millions.... and millions of..... fangs? Ha! haaaaa! My God!! I never knew I was a Werefraggle!
K: Can I be Jet the Shit-Man Fart?
S: Right! And there off and it's a strange smelling foot lock from the shit-man! Oh.. Easily side stepped by the Rock, and it's under the ropes and down the ramp for me my dear! Your a crowdy one now aren't you?
K: No. I'm purple jon the pipers sorting box.
S: Errrrrrrr...... III' MM MMM SS SO OORRR YY Y YY !!! ! ! TTH IS RRO C C KK DRILL ISSS S S S GETTt Tt Ingg A AAaa BBIT TTt tt RooWWDD D D dy!!! !! !
K: nice.
S: Thank God that's Dover, I thought we'd be out here forever.
Sackit & Scrote'um argue... Wood or Metal?
by Prof. Froz Scrote'um & Dr. Chuckles Sackit
FS: Wood is better because it is brown and life's essentials are brown; Poo - without poo our insides would bloat and make us sick and; Trees - without trees there would be no oxygen and no firewood and no paper to wipe our poo with.
CS: Bullshit.
FS: What?
CS: How do bulls wipe there asses then? mmm? They've got no hands and in order to avoid an encrusted rectum, must construct anal wiping devices from metal.
FS: Yes, but like all machinery, these devices are cumbersome and malfunctioning and one day might cause a nasty accident by anally skewering the bull with a harsh metal poker which would have hramlessly broken if made from balsawood!
CS: Yes, but with the continual lubrication from the mighty bull's anus balsawood would slowly lose it's rigidity!
FS: Yes but soft, soggy wood creates small homes for weevils, worms and beetles that dwell around the anus of cattle. Rusty metal bottom prodders are not only abrasive to the skin but are no shelter for anal wildlife.
FS: Wood is better because it is brown and life's essentials are brown; Poo - without poo our insides would bloat and make us sick and; Trees - without trees there would be no oxygen and no firewood and no paper to wipe our poo with.
CS: Bullshit.
FS: What?
CS: How do bulls wipe there asses then? mmm? They've got no hands and in order to avoid an encrusted rectum, must construct anal wiping devices from metal.
FS: Yes, but like all machinery, these devices are cumbersome and malfunctioning and one day might cause a nasty accident by anally skewering the bull with a harsh metal poker which would have hramlessly broken if made from balsawood!
CS: Yes, but with the continual lubrication from the mighty bull's anus balsawood would slowly lose it's rigidity!
FS: Yes but soft, soggy wood creates small homes for weevils, worms and beetles that dwell around the anus of cattle. Rusty metal bottom prodders are not only abrasive to the skin but are no shelter for anal wildlife.
The Witty Bugger's Dictionary
by Dr.Chuckles Sackit & Prof. Froz Scrote'um
The Witty Bugger's Dictionary
A concise yet condensed guide to language.
denote; (a) to unwrite a memo. (b) to do nowt.
nowt; (a) the absence of "wt". (b) a newt of the minute.
absence; (a) common sense held in the abdominals..
manner; (a) someone who makes men.
universal;(a) a versal with one wheel. (b) a man called Allen who is like, in appearance, a universe.
symbol; (a) to walk with an unsteady limp.
unsteady; (a) a day in which we celibrate "unstead". (b) a teddy bear belonging to the United Nations.
celibrate; (a) what monks' are. (b) a rate on which celebrities are payed.
monk; (a) a small monkey. (b) the word "monkey" to someone who can't say more than one syllable.
newt; (a) to surgically make impotent. (b) a previously unavailible nowt.
impotent; (a) the tent in which newted people sleep. (b) a phrase used when your potent. (c) a tent in which an imp frolics.
sleep; (a) what happens when you run accross a wet floor.
floor; (a) to beat and cain with rug or carpet. (b) an ore with floral decoration or wings.
cain; (a) a "c" in pain. (b) to kinkey whip.
kinkey whip; (a) to lash with flex the key of kin (b) icecream used with sexual intension.
whip; (a) to girate or froth cream or other dairy products with a whisk. (b) Indiana Jones' only weapon angainst the viscious tribes and dangerous animals of the jungle.
flex; (a) an ex-flea.
. ; (a) a universal symbol used to denote the end of a sentence. (b) A camel from a long distance.
uphill garden; (a) to tend to flowers crops or shrubbery upon an incline.
yer; (a) to exclaim in disbelief. (b) to be of "yours", such as "move yer arse!".
disbelief; (a) to mess with someone's faith.
suck; (a) to inhale orally, thereby creating suction which attracts nearby matter. (b) to be really bad.
matter; (a) the occupation of making annoying welcome mats. (b) the act of beating a female with a small course rug.
orally; (a) to beat Ally about the head with a boats ore. (b) to lie down utilising the mouth.
hence; (a) to create a hedge or fence from chickens. (b) to sword fight using a very thin, long hedge.
To to; (a) to have designs placed into the skin. (b) an inconspicuos way of describing taking a shit.
knob; (a) to shag, bang, fuck, screw, have, do, pump, bugger or any other kind of sexual penetration. (b) to poke with the penis.
course; (a) to navigate around. (b) to swear or verbally abuse.
navigate around; (a) to sucessfully steer about a spherical object. (b) the act of avoiding buying everyone a pint.
everyone a pint; (a) to be stood in a room of midgets.
midget; (a) to get in the middle. (b) to midg extra terrestrials.
thing; (a) to sing with a lisp. (b) a very slim "G".
act; (a) a phrase used to bring forth phlegm from the throat. (b) the German word for "eight" used to bring forth phlegm from the throat, sometimes into the oncoming face of a possible attacker.
german; (a) a race of people who live in Germany. (b) the fusion of man and gerbil.
gerbil; (a) the bill for "gerring".
moosolar; (a) scale used for singing practice. (b) a cow that runs on solar power.
penis; (a) to spell "Denis" wrongly.
froth; (a) substance emitted from one's mouth when having a fit. (c) the result of gene splicing between frog and moth.
mouth; (a) to eat, consume or devour orally. (b) when the "n" in "month" dies.
organism; (a) discrimination against organs.
The Witty Bugger's Dictionary
A concise yet condensed guide to language.
denote; (a) to unwrite a memo. (b) to do nowt.
nowt; (a) the absence of "wt". (b) a newt of the minute.
absence; (a) common sense held in the abdominals..
manner; (a) someone who makes men.
universal;(a) a versal with one wheel. (b) a man called Allen who is like, in appearance, a universe.
symbol; (a) to walk with an unsteady limp.
unsteady; (a) a day in which we celibrate "unstead". (b) a teddy bear belonging to the United Nations.
celibrate; (a) what monks' are. (b) a rate on which celebrities are payed.
monk; (a) a small monkey. (b) the word "monkey" to someone who can't say more than one syllable.
newt; (a) to surgically make impotent. (b) a previously unavailible nowt.
impotent; (a) the tent in which newted people sleep. (b) a phrase used when your potent. (c) a tent in which an imp frolics.
sleep; (a) what happens when you run accross a wet floor.
floor; (a) to beat and cain with rug or carpet. (b) an ore with floral decoration or wings.
cain; (a) a "c" in pain. (b) to kinkey whip.
kinkey whip; (a) to lash with flex the key of kin (b) icecream used with sexual intension.
whip; (a) to girate or froth cream or other dairy products with a whisk. (b) Indiana Jones' only weapon angainst the viscious tribes and dangerous animals of the jungle.
flex; (a) an ex-flea.
. ; (a) a universal symbol used to denote the end of a sentence. (b) A camel from a long distance.
uphill garden; (a) to tend to flowers crops or shrubbery upon an incline.
yer; (a) to exclaim in disbelief. (b) to be of "yours", such as "move yer arse!".
disbelief; (a) to mess with someone's faith.
suck; (a) to inhale orally, thereby creating suction which attracts nearby matter. (b) to be really bad.
matter; (a) the occupation of making annoying welcome mats. (b) the act of beating a female with a small course rug.
orally; (a) to beat Ally about the head with a boats ore. (b) to lie down utilising the mouth.
hence; (a) to create a hedge or fence from chickens. (b) to sword fight using a very thin, long hedge.
To to; (a) to have designs placed into the skin. (b) an inconspicuos way of describing taking a shit.
knob; (a) to shag, bang, fuck, screw, have, do, pump, bugger or any other kind of sexual penetration. (b) to poke with the penis.
course; (a) to navigate around. (b) to swear or verbally abuse.
navigate around; (a) to sucessfully steer about a spherical object. (b) the act of avoiding buying everyone a pint.
everyone a pint; (a) to be stood in a room of midgets.
midget; (a) to get in the middle. (b) to midg extra terrestrials.
thing; (a) to sing with a lisp. (b) a very slim "G".
act; (a) a phrase used to bring forth phlegm from the throat. (b) the German word for "eight" used to bring forth phlegm from the throat, sometimes into the oncoming face of a possible attacker.
german; (a) a race of people who live in Germany. (b) the fusion of man and gerbil.
gerbil; (a) the bill for "gerring".
moosolar; (a) scale used for singing practice. (b) a cow that runs on solar power.
penis; (a) to spell "Denis" wrongly.
froth; (a) substance emitted from one's mouth when having a fit. (c) the result of gene splicing between frog and moth.
mouth; (a) to eat, consume or devour orally. (b) when the "n" in "month" dies.
organism; (a) discrimination against organs.
Amphoronomous Spacial Identity Diagramatically Sound Investigation
by Prof. Froz Scrote'um. Photo: Prof da Inspecta
The consumation of time by human body is due to an exterior force other than what we know. This force I shall name "John". No make that "Bruce". Any way, Bruce is a powerful force inhabiting only the greatest of people. This is why most people are late. To be a great person you must do three things. These are: 1) Hold cups of tea with the left hand when removing hair from the head. 2) Hold the tea as steadily as possible when nearing stairs. 3) Carry at all times a selection of fine young cannibals, just inside the jacket or coat, by the inside pocket (If you do not own a jacket or coat with an inside pocket you can never hope to be great).
The photograph you see above is of such a great person. He holds his tea correctly and appropriately and has some of the best fine young cannibals available. As you can see he is clearly in contact with Bruce and is always spot on time. Incidentally he also has a fine selection of old cannibals and hamster pelts. His identity has been disguised using the latest technology in order to provide highest comfort while in disguise. He is of course a great guy.
2.2 The Parable of the Picnic
by Father Humour
It started when we were children
as it always does.
I hated her.
But in the narcotic haze of a green
and false field, we sat, in the pollen
and chewed our bread.
The yellow and green seeped into the
food. The intense, powdery claustrophobia
crept into my nose and throat and
strangled me. I died. I choked.
But I still sat neatly, quietly smiling
pretending it was all good.
I rammed my fist down my throat,
when I got home, still suffering from
the torment of peace and quiet.
I pulled out the bread, but still
could not breathe. I reached and
gasped and belched and wheezed.
I wretched as I thrust my fist
further and further.
It started when we were children
as it always does.
I hated her.
But in the narcotic haze of a green
and false field, we sat, in the pollen
and chewed our bread.
The yellow and green seeped into the
food. The intense, powdery claustrophobia
crept into my nose and throat and
strangled me. I died. I choked.
But I still sat neatly, quietly smiling
pretending it was all good.
I rammed my fist down my throat,
when I got home, still suffering from
the torment of peace and quiet.
I pulled out the bread, but still
could not breathe. I reached and
gasped and belched and wheezed.
I wretched as I thrust my fist
further and further.
2.1 The Parable of the Finger-tips
by Father Humour
Ill, sick men come to me.
I take their wet, shaking fingers
and touch them gentley.
Their soft finger tips - cold and burnt
help me.
I feel their finger tips with mine.
Their individual existences printed
into their fingers - their lives echoed
in the beaten, rough, cut fingers.
They came from the streets.
I do not, for I am Saint.
I am forever here, forever myself.
They beg forgiveness for sins never
intended.
Sometimes, I lick their fingers. I place
the softness, the sensitive tongue upon
the salty, cold, and burnt finger tips.
I taste their piss, and I weep.
Ill, sick men come to me.
I take their wet, shaking fingers
and touch them gentley.
Their soft finger tips - cold and burnt
help me.
I feel their finger tips with mine.
Their individual existences printed
into their fingers - their lives echoed
in the beaten, rough, cut fingers.
They came from the streets.
I do not, for I am Saint.
I am forever here, forever myself.
They beg forgiveness for sins never
intended.
Sometimes, I lick their fingers. I place
the softness, the sensitive tongue upon
the salty, cold, and burnt finger tips.
I taste their piss, and I weep.
1.6 The Parable of the Bears
by Father Humour
Seven men knocked on my door.
All at the same time
They stepped from the blackness,
quite quickly. And withdrew backwards.
They clanked their broken heels as they
withdrew into gigantic apples
from which they had initially stepped.
These giant apples, when the men had
returned, shook with a great might,
They vibrated and heaved eventually
rocketting sideways, dissapearing into
5 mile wide bear's mouths. One each.
The bears, who were sleeping, coughed
and apologised to me, saying "Mate
were real good but... " and they shrugged
all seven of them.
And as they did my vest caught fire.
Seven men knocked on my door.
All at the same time
They stepped from the blackness,
quite quickly. And withdrew backwards.
They clanked their broken heels as they
withdrew into gigantic apples
from which they had initially stepped.
These giant apples, when the men had
returned, shook with a great might,
They vibrated and heaved eventually
rocketting sideways, dissapearing into
5 mile wide bear's mouths. One each.
The bears, who were sleeping, coughed
and apologised to me, saying "Mate
were real good but... " and they shrugged
all seven of them.
And as they did my vest caught fire.
1.5 The Parable of the Tree
by Father Humour
Jesus baked my heart in butter.
It fell from an apple tree
onto his lap.
He held it and said 'Amen'.
I saw him.
I was there. Hidden in a bush, behind the leaves.
I saw him piss up that tree.
And swallow a crumb from his pocket.
He spoke to the worm
in that apple
I fucking saw him I tell you.
Jesus baked my heart in butter.
It fell from an apple tree
onto his lap.
He held it and said 'Amen'.
I saw him.
I was there. Hidden in a bush, behind the leaves.
I saw him piss up that tree.
And swallow a crumb from his pocket.
He spoke to the worm
in that apple
I fucking saw him I tell you.
1.3 The Parable of the Rain
by Father Humour
In the field
It rained
I took my hood
and pulled it over my head.
I walked like Forest Gump.
And I walked.
The bottom of my trousers got wetter and wetter.
I didn't care.
The rain never stopped either.
and together me and the rain continued until exhausted.
Then we slept.
In the field
It rained
I took my hood
and pulled it over my head.
I walked like Forest Gump.
And I walked.
The bottom of my trousers got wetter and wetter.
I didn't care.
The rain never stopped either.
and together me and the rain continued until exhausted.
Then we slept.
1.4 The Parable of the Jelly
by Father Humour
Jesus told my son
'The days have gone.'
My boy asked me what he'd meant.
I couldn't say.
I sent my son to make jelly.
He did.
Lime it was.
I don't like lime
but I thanked him anyway.
It occurred to me
After my bowl had been taken for washing
that my son had never really known
about how days come and go.
He'd never understood how it happened.
Jesus told my son
'The days have gone.'
My boy asked me what he'd meant.
I couldn't say.
I sent my son to make jelly.
He did.
Lime it was.
I don't like lime
but I thanked him anyway.
It occurred to me
After my bowl had been taken for washing
that my son had never really known
about how days come and go.
He'd never understood how it happened.
Eztreme
by Prof. Froz Scrote'um
Since the loss, many people had been and gone. One was here and then not, another in the sky as company for the departed and a smile for energy.
'It's poetry' he thought as a slick and wafer-thin razor-wire cut out an angled wedge from one of his calf muscles. The puking had since receded and the leaking from his right eye had crusted over with a black beetle.
Since the loss, many people had been and gone. One was here and then not, another in the sky as company for the departed and a smile for energy.
'It's poetry' he thought as a slick and wafer-thin razor-wire cut out an angled wedge from one of his calf muscles. The puking had since receded and the leaking from his right eye had crusted over with a black beetle.
Strange is a Word With P
by Prof. Froz Scrote'um & Dr. Chuckles Sackit
A year later the king and Rumple were married and Hat the Magic Cat sat near the fire, waiting expectantly. A tea cup fell on his head and knocked off his ears. Which he collected.
A year later the king was wet from the waist down and porous from his left eye to his chinny winwin.
A year later the king and Rumple were married and Hat the Magic Cat sat near the fire, waiting expectantly. A tea cup fell on his head and knocked off his ears. Which he collected.
A year later the king was wet from the waist down and porous from his left eye to his chinny winwin.
Piglet
by Froz Scrote'um
The small greenwich monster left his home not knowing quite how he'd managed to get his sixteen pound hat off. He'd been stuck in it for over five years and his newly balded head felt as fresh as the bottom of a small child or piglet.
The small greenwich monster left his home not knowing quite how he'd managed to get his sixteen pound hat off. He'd been stuck in it for over five years and his newly balded head felt as fresh as the bottom of a small child or piglet.
Damien Stetson-Neck
by Dr.Dollarhat
Standing freely on the brink of extinction, grasping the battered remains of his electricity solidifier, Damien Stetson-Neck proceeded to cancel his own existence on Gods great Earth.
It had been an interesting time, to say the least, but Damien was unsure about how much he had achieved. He was certain of what he had achieved, and how he had come about doing these many splendorous things, but how much of it mattered? How does one measure ones own achievements, outside the suit wearing world of the academic hive mind of modern society. Damien was positive that it had something to do with the effect that your actions have on other people, but then not all that many people in his life mattered that much to him; at least not by the standards of his definition of his achievements at any rate. There was Dexter Mayhew, who had introduced him to the spiralling world of extra-cellular communication through which he had learned to talk in languages unknown yet natural to his tongue, with many of the more conscious organs in his body. His heart, his vital life sustaining organ, revealed to him that the human race was misled by the teachings of Jesus Christ, and that it was not the second coming of the lord that we had been eagerly awaiting over the years, but the first.
For centuries the hearts of every man woman and child had been trying to communicate with undying monotony the essential rhythms of Techno music, but now that it was here the hearts were disappointed through an anti-climatic ignorance; the children of earth were listening to music instead of their hearts, and the world was going to pot.
Also there was Dr Dollarhat, who in a moment of momentous momentality described to Damien from behind his twin sets of amazing dancing teeth the secret behind solidification. With this knowledge Damien had learned to solidify electricity, after vain and psychologically damaging attempts at solidifying light and sound, but the whole venture had meant nothing but tragedy for anybody who was even loosely connected with Damien, be it physically or by some meaningless social relationship based on some aesthetic irrelevance such as drugs, money or gender.
Damiens conscience was becoming a burden more weighty than the splendorous bulk that were his achievements that seemed to lie worthless now on the other end of the scales. The countless number of marsupials and indeed human marsupialists that had lost their lives and more importantly at this time their sanity within the realms of the after world due to Damien's experiments would bring a huge minus number on his sense, and indeed count, of achievement.
According to Dr Johnsons measurement scale of achievement, as a percentage of time spent achieving, an achievement being something that effects directly the lives of another either positively or negatively, Damian had turned out to be a minus number, and used in relation with his figures of Social Standing, Damiens probability of existence was as follows:
3(+10)divided by 25=0.52
(S(+10)divided by A- = Probability of Existence.
Considering these facts, Damien proceeded to close down his brain, not choosing death, but letting the wandering souls of all those whom he had hurt in his lifetime choose him his fate in return for the insult of not being able to choose their own. Mere moments later, Damien's heart ceased dancing................
Standing freely on the brink of extinction, grasping the battered remains of his electricity solidifier, Damien Stetson-Neck proceeded to cancel his own existence on Gods great Earth.
It had been an interesting time, to say the least, but Damien was unsure about how much he had achieved. He was certain of what he had achieved, and how he had come about doing these many splendorous things, but how much of it mattered? How does one measure ones own achievements, outside the suit wearing world of the academic hive mind of modern society. Damien was positive that it had something to do with the effect that your actions have on other people, but then not all that many people in his life mattered that much to him; at least not by the standards of his definition of his achievements at any rate. There was Dexter Mayhew, who had introduced him to the spiralling world of extra-cellular communication through which he had learned to talk in languages unknown yet natural to his tongue, with many of the more conscious organs in his body. His heart, his vital life sustaining organ, revealed to him that the human race was misled by the teachings of Jesus Christ, and that it was not the second coming of the lord that we had been eagerly awaiting over the years, but the first.
For centuries the hearts of every man woman and child had been trying to communicate with undying monotony the essential rhythms of Techno music, but now that it was here the hearts were disappointed through an anti-climatic ignorance; the children of earth were listening to music instead of their hearts, and the world was going to pot.
Also there was Dr Dollarhat, who in a moment of momentous momentality described to Damien from behind his twin sets of amazing dancing teeth the secret behind solidification. With this knowledge Damien had learned to solidify electricity, after vain and psychologically damaging attempts at solidifying light and sound, but the whole venture had meant nothing but tragedy for anybody who was even loosely connected with Damien, be it physically or by some meaningless social relationship based on some aesthetic irrelevance such as drugs, money or gender.
Damiens conscience was becoming a burden more weighty than the splendorous bulk that were his achievements that seemed to lie worthless now on the other end of the scales. The countless number of marsupials and indeed human marsupialists that had lost their lives and more importantly at this time their sanity within the realms of the after world due to Damien's experiments would bring a huge minus number on his sense, and indeed count, of achievement.
According to Dr Johnsons measurement scale of achievement, as a percentage of time spent achieving, an achievement being something that effects directly the lives of another either positively or negatively, Damian had turned out to be a minus number, and used in relation with his figures of Social Standing, Damiens probability of existence was as follows:
3(+10)divided by 25=0.52
(S(+10)divided by A- = Probability of Existence.
Considering these facts, Damien proceeded to close down his brain, not choosing death, but letting the wandering souls of all those whom he had hurt in his lifetime choose him his fate in return for the insult of not being able to choose their own. Mere moments later, Damien's heart ceased dancing................
Xxxxxx eve
by Dr. J. Monki. Translated by Froz Scrote'um.
I Dr. J. Monki was spending a quiet night in, last xxxxxx eve, awatching my xxxx xxxxxxx a computer xxxx only known as "Xxxx Xxxxxx", while partaking of the old jazz xxxxxxx. In the aforementioned game, the xxxxxx climbed a rope, not just one but many a rope, and I noticed to my horror the rope went between xxx xxxx but did not come out the other side..... After much thought (2.1 msecs) I paused at the idea that this young xxxx's xxxxx was indeed gobbling up the rope thus aiding in the ascent, Yes xxx had a XXXXX XXXXX! What a brilliant idea! it would be fun for all the family! Xxx and Xxx could use xxx as a xxxxxxx xxx while xxx was a good role model for little Xxxxxxx and hours of bath time joy for young Xxxxx. To these ends I will be marketing a new xxxxXxx-Aracnoid XxxxxXxxxx Xxxx" and hope to have xxx on the shelves (and over the table up, the stairs, infact everywhere) along with xxx very on affiliated xxxxxxx show next xmas. "
I Dr. J. Monki was spending a quiet night in, last xxxxxx eve, awatching my xxxx xxxxxxx a computer xxxx only known as "Xxxx Xxxxxx", while partaking of the old jazz xxxxxxx. In the aforementioned game, the xxxxxx climbed a rope, not just one but many a rope, and I noticed to my horror the rope went between xxx xxxx but did not come out the other side..... After much thought (2.1 msecs) I paused at the idea that this young xxxx's xxxxx was indeed gobbling up the rope thus aiding in the ascent, Yes xxx had a XXXXX XXXXX! What a brilliant idea! it would be fun for all the family! Xxx and Xxx could use xxx as a xxxxxxx xxx while xxx was a good role model for little Xxxxxxx and hours of bath time joy for young Xxxxx. To these ends I will be marketing a new xxxxXxx-Aracnoid XxxxxXxxxx Xxxx" and hope to have xxx on the shelves (and over the table up, the stairs, infact everywhere) along with xxx very on affiliated xxxxxxx show next xmas. "
Rot the Badger
by Prof. Scrote'um & Dr. Chuckles Sackit
One fine day Rot the Badger found that the air in his room was getting particularly uneven. So, after pondering multiple solutions to his conundrum, he walked over to the opposite side and breathed extreamly hard in a shallow attempt to sort this problem.
After 5 minutes his chicken tikka slippers had been microwaved to a golden cristpy finish by the excess of toxins in his breath. At that moment, Perrywinkle the half-breed monkey / goat fell quite ill after attempting to mix the chicken pox virus with jelly. Later that day Mrya Collchester, ironically from Colchester, burst into flames when re-enacting the famous nudity scene from Beaty and the Beast.
After seven rounds of toast and a slight sanding down of Ms. Collchester's breasts and other important items, the sex began again, only to be rudely interupted by the supporting cast of Oliver. Quite pissed off by the sudden outburst of the Ibola virus, Mr. Collchester quickly burst in to find his wife rubbing monkey grease into her forearms. With that, the stress was too much to take and he rubbed himself down with monkey grease too, which is widely prized for it's medicinal properties. Next on the shopping list was cheddar cheese, but he decided to forget about Safeways for the minute and slipped into the giant pea-pod next to Mr. Beast. "What is ze purpose of Meaning?" asked Mr. Beast. "Well, who the fuck do you think I am?" the Grandfather of All Knowledge replied. "Your the bloody cameraman!" said Mr.Beast "Anyway I wasn't talking to you."
Back at Rot's house his golden cristpy chicken tikka slippers were causing quite a stir among the locals. 'Yum, yum, yum' was the war-chant bellowing from the cookie jar, but no one heard it because a sudden silent had taken over the hens, who now rammed goat's livers down their throats like toasted socks upon the infinite feet of time.
One fine day Rot the Badger found that the air in his room was getting particularly uneven. So, after pondering multiple solutions to his conundrum, he walked over to the opposite side and breathed extreamly hard in a shallow attempt to sort this problem.
After 5 minutes his chicken tikka slippers had been microwaved to a golden cristpy finish by the excess of toxins in his breath. At that moment, Perrywinkle the half-breed monkey / goat fell quite ill after attempting to mix the chicken pox virus with jelly. Later that day Mrya Collchester, ironically from Colchester, burst into flames when re-enacting the famous nudity scene from Beaty and the Beast.
After seven rounds of toast and a slight sanding down of Ms. Collchester's breasts and other important items, the sex began again, only to be rudely interupted by the supporting cast of Oliver. Quite pissed off by the sudden outburst of the Ibola virus, Mr. Collchester quickly burst in to find his wife rubbing monkey grease into her forearms. With that, the stress was too much to take and he rubbed himself down with monkey grease too, which is widely prized for it's medicinal properties. Next on the shopping list was cheddar cheese, but he decided to forget about Safeways for the minute and slipped into the giant pea-pod next to Mr. Beast. "What is ze purpose of Meaning?" asked Mr. Beast. "Well, who the fuck do you think I am?" the Grandfather of All Knowledge replied. "Your the bloody cameraman!" said Mr.Beast "Anyway I wasn't talking to you."
Back at Rot's house his golden cristpy chicken tikka slippers were causing quite a stir among the locals. 'Yum, yum, yum' was the war-chant bellowing from the cookie jar, but no one heard it because a sudden silent had taken over the hens, who now rammed goat's livers down their throats like toasted socks upon the infinite feet of time.
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