Posts tagged: Silly

Apr 14 2010

Sticky Bits

There’s nothing more alarming than walking down the street minding ones own business only to find oneself caught in the middle of a hole-storm. I huddled in the doorway of a dingy looking greengrocer and shivered as millions of tiny holes hurtled earthward, making little popping noises as they winked out of existence on the grimy pavement.

To add insult to injury, peering through a particularly slow-moving hole revealed that it opened out into a rather pleasant looking meadow, furnished with long, waving, grass and glowing with yellow sunlight.

As I waited for the shower to pass, I drifted into my usual daydream – of building a machine – a Machiavellian arrangement of gears and magnets – to collect the holes together before they popped in order to make a gateway to somewhere – anywhere – better than this.

It was during a particularly pleasant part of this daydream – the part with the girl – that I noticed that one of the tiny holes hadn’t popped. It simply sat there, on the pavement, looking at me.

“Oho!” I thought, hardly daring to hope. Another hole fell beside the first and the two coalesced into one slightly larger hole.

“OHO!” I cried. More and more holes fell, bouncing and skipping onto the pavement instead of popping. Little silvery rivers flowing inwards, seemingly drawn towards what was rapidly become a swirling whirlpool to somewhere else.

I peeked my head as far forward as I dared – trust me, you really don’t want a hole in the back of your head – and gazed into the swirling eye. The view beyond the coruscating wheel of liquid glass was idyllic to say the least – the sun setting in a brazen sky sending lances of orange fire across rolling hills covered in the greenest grass I’d ever seen. Multi-coloured birds fluttered and swooped and their muted cries drifted up to me as though from the memory of a beautiful dream.

The deluge was slowing when the outermost surface of the spiral began to foam and effervesce.

“Oh bugger!” I cried, realising with horror that – if I delayed – the portal would be gone forever. I tensed, ready to spring into a new life in another world, when the dingy door behind me flew open and a grizzled looking old chap in a dusty floral print dress appeared behind me.

“Away we ye, ye stupid bloody things!” he bellowed, and sloshed a bucketful of dirty water and potato peelings across the pavement. The portal fizzed and spat violently then vanished, the energy of its passing casting peelings and grime skyward.

I gazed blankly at the stinking heap of peelings with a heavy heart, and imagined their slimy counterparts descending from the clear sky and soiling the meadow in that other place.

“What have you done?” I whispered.

The old man hiked up his tights. “Stupid bloody holes. Leave sticky bits all over the path. Shouldn’t be allowed.”

Feb 23 2010

A Conversation with Dave

Dave: I hate this f*cking place.
Me: It’s a hell-hole.
Dave: If Buffy came in here she’d turn around and walk straight back out.
Me: Faith would get right in there though.
Dave: Yeah. She’s…. dirty.
Me: …..

Feb 09 2010

Finding Jesus in my soup

David stared into the bowl of soup where the face of Jesus had materialised and wondered why The Man looked so much like a serial killer. “I mean, if you’re the Son of God you can look like anyone, right?”

The face widened its eyes a little, rivulets of Heinz Cream of Tomato streaming to the sides of the plate like the parting of the Red Sea in miniature. For an entity without even a whole head, it did a remarkably accurate approximation of a shrug.

“Well, what’s that supposed to mean?”

The manifestation of the divine smiled and opened its mouth. Thick reddish orange liquid bubbled around the words. “I look as you expect me to look.”

“Bollocks,” David said. “I expect you to look like Robert Powell. And don’t give me that  disapproving look – you’re a bowl of soup. I can talk to a bowl of soup any way I like.”

“Gonnae keep the noise doon, Chief?”

David looked up. Gordon was sitting at the table opposite with his own bowl of soup upturned by his side. As usual, he’d been finger painting and the front of his hospital gown was covered in a lattice of thick orange smears.

“Keep it down yourself, Gordon,” David scowled. “I’m trying to have a conversation with Jesus.”

“Yer talkin’ tae yer soup again, boy. D’ye no think it’s time ye stopped it?”

“Do you hear me passing comment when you’re smearing shit on the walls of your ward? Or screaming abuse at the seagulls? Have I ever said a word about you sitting up half the night chatting to the furniture?”

Gordon thought about this for a moment. “Naw, Chief. Ye’ve never said anything. But then, I’m just a mad bampot  – you’re a bloody doctor.”

Nov 29 2009

Oh! Oh! OH!



*maniacal cackles*

*snort* *snort* *snort* *snort* *snort* *snort* *snort* *snort* *snort* *snort*

Oh my poor aching sides!


Aug 27 2009

Another conversation with Mr Daniels

J.Daniels: Cables: I has them!

J.Dow: w00t! j00 can has cabols!

J.Daniels: I’m wondering if it wouldn’t be less painful to just hang myself with them. they’re quite sturdy. I think they could take it.

J.Dow: Go for it. Can I have your netbook?

J.Daniels: Over my dead b- oh, wait!

‘m wondering if it wouldn’t be less painful to just hang myself with them.
3:44 PM
they’re quite sturdy. I think they could take it.
Jul 22 2009

A page from my notebook

I do this from time to time. I pick a random page from the notebook I use in meetings and scan over the notes trying to work out what frame of mind I was in.

22nd February, 2009

Tweedle dum and Tweedle dummer

Robots of Death!

Oh no!

We’re all doomed!


flibble wibble! Woo! Fnee!

Swoggy woo!

Tears that fall from eyes that only know joy

Alright, I admit it. I have no idea WHAT I was on that day.

Jun 23 2009


“Gardez l’eau!” the leathery little man bellowed, and promptly ejected the unpleasant contents of a small blue bucket from the first floor window.

Standing, as I was, directly underneath, I was shocked, stunned, and not a little bemused to find myself suddenley decorated in what had, until very recently, been the contents of a complete stranger’s colon. I am by no means xenophobic, but if I must find myself lathered in excrement at eleven o’ clock in the morning, I would much rather it was, at the very least, the excrement of someone I knew and preferably that of a close personal friend.

“I say,” I said, with a furrowing of my brow (which, incidentally, caused some rather nasty trickles to make their way around the sides of my face), “may I perhaps suggest a little consideration for passers-by when lobbing your unmentionables from your window, my good Sir?”

“No you may not,” snapped the little man. “I shouted the customary warning. Anyone hearing those words should consider themselves fairly warned. Your personal hygiene is not my responsibility.”

I squinted up at him, mopping ineffectually at my face with the morning newspaper. “It is also customary,” I began through gritted teeth, “to allow a little time to elapse between calling the warning and letting fly with the bucket of effluence.”

The little man’s leathery visage set hard, looking for all the world like a gorilla’s palm. “I allowed more than sufficient time for a plan of evasion to be produced and executed,” he stated.

“You did nothing of the kind, I cried, shaking my fist. “The two events were as near simultaneous as makes no odds! You need to leave a margin of at least a few seconds to allow the individual occupying your intended strike-point to take himself out of harms way – otherwise you end up in a heated debate with an enraged and excrement-soaked stranger.”

He leaned out from the window and studied me intently. He did at least appear to be giving the suggestion a reasonable amount of thought.

“So you’re saying,” he began slowly, “that I should call ‘Gardez l’eau’… and then wait?”

“Yes,” I said. “You should wai…”

The second flood of noxious semi-solids struck me full on the face, and the bucket followed less than a second later.

I danced from foot to foot in a furious little jig and shrieked incoherent outrage up into the annoying little man’s face. “Why?” I bellowed. “Why would you do that?”

“By means of demonstration,” he cried, offended. “As you are being so good as to assist me in improving this essential life-skill, I felt it only fair that I should take the opportunity to demonstrate that I had assimilated your information correctly!”

“But you didn’t have to actually throw it! And you certainly didn’t have to lob the bucket down afterwards!”

“Ah yes, I do apologise for that – I’m afraid I became a little over-enthusiastic in my learnings. In my defence, however, I should point out that you had adequate time to prepare yourself but chose instead to stand chatting.”

“What?” I gasped. “Because I didn’t realise you were going to throw another bucket of foul water on me!”

His eyes fairly bulged from his shoe-like face. “I cried the customary warning!”

“In demonstration!” I shrieked, recommencing my little hopping dance of fury. “In conversation!”

“When someone says ‘gardez l’eau'”, the little man said carefully, “It should be perfectly evident that something unpleasant is likely to follow. Whether in conversation or not.”

Before I could gather my rapidly spinning thoughts, the third deluge of filth sluiced down from above with the sound of an overinflated snail.

“Gaaaaaah!” I cried, and was suddenley cut short as a large galvanised steel bucket wedged itself firmly over my shocked head.

I staggered to and fro for a moment before grasping the bucket with slippery filth-soaked hands and pulled it from my head.

“That was deliberate!” I wailed.

“Of course it was deliberate,” said the little man. “That’s why I said ‘gard’…”

“Shut up! Shut up!” I roared, incandescent with smelly rage. I raced across to the other side of the street as the little man disappeared back inside the building. As I stood panting and leaning against the wall, he reappeared bearing what looked like a firehose.

I gaped in horror. “What do you have there, Sir?” I whispered.

He thought about it for a moment and then smiled.

“Pressure,” he said. “And range.”

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