Wheelly Good?

Feral Animals - Terrible Entities

As I was walking among the trees and leaves of the woods a squirrel brought to me the incredible thought that testing fate brings its own rewards in the long run. That he himself had successfully tested fate and had got a lovely nut with which to engage in the curiosity of burying a prize long sought. He had tested fate and won.

BUT YOU CANNOT TEST FATE, YOU MUST NOT TEST FATE

As our Saviour taught us, so we pray

Borja was a horse, and unlike other horses, he was aware of the fact. This didn't mean he didn't like donkeys, or oxen, or even the baby Jesus, he played with them all in the accepted manner. But he was a horse, and there ain't nuttin gon' change him! Except a far away party with a spanner.

He read his invite and set off. On the way he saw the March Hare from Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, and asked him for the time. Unfortunately the March Hare is quite old now and thought he'd been asked for a piece of pine, and thus sent him in the direction of a forest. The forest in question was just outside of Ormskirk in Chester.

In went Borja, and saw the spanner sat on an over sized mushroom.

"You tool," said Borja.

"You mule," said the spanner

"I'm not a mule," replied Borja

"Oh," said the spanner.

Oh indeed. The spanner was lost but couldn't ask Borja for help, as spanners lack the phonetic sound P, so if he asked for it, he'd only get hell, which wasn't really any good to him, being a spanner.

So Borja cantered off in the direction of the spanner's party, without the spanner. Upon arrival it became clear that Borja should have brought a bottle, and he got very concerned. So he spoke to a Priest who was nearby, and he became a Catholic instead of a Horse.

Hail Mary, full of grace, the lord is with thee. Blessed art thou amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now, and at the hour of our death. Amen.

The Boy does NOTHING

There was a man that thought he was missing out on everything, and because of this he collected everything to compensate. He was like a rag and bone man, but not as loud. He hated the idea of not having the full set of stuff, like every book in the series, every issue of a magazine, every shelf in a book case, that kind of thing.

He had a bath one day. But the next it was taken away from him. He took off his bra and let everything loose. He went to Martineau Place in Birmingham, ate a Bacon Double Cheese Burger meal with Coca Cola (C O L A cola) as the beverage from Burger King (refusing to eat in the cafe called EAT on principle of his rejection of such minimalistic modern nonsense in the naming of things) and then let forth with his tirade of bitterness, hatred and general animosity. He was quite hurtful about it too, telling one person they had big ears and another that they smelt. Of what this person smelt he never did say.

He got killed, viciously and savagely murdered by a dress-by-numbers indie kid that though he was in a riot, when he was actually in a pair of Dunlop squash trainers that his mum had just washed.

When he woke up from being killed, he was in a place with a lady that looked like th inside of a Dyson. She was Dusty.

"Hey Dusty," he said, discovering for the first time his Canadian accent. "How's it going?" he added in a Welsh way.

"Alright," said Dusty, like Catherine Tate. "You're dead mate."

"Yeah I know", he replied, in the manner of that fat bloke from Little Britain.

Then Dusty bit herself, and all that was left was a school blackboard, covered in red chalk, except for the area around where two beautifully formed bath taps were leaking water, smudging the chalk into an ellipse surrounding their base.

"Bath is in Gloucestershire, isn't it?" said the man.

The Muffin Man is seated at the table in the laboratory of the Utility Muffin Research Kitchen. Reaching for an oversized chrome spoon, he gathers an intimate quantity of dried muffin remnants and, brushing his scapular aside, procceds to dump these inside of his shirt...
He turns to us and speaks:

"Some people... some people like cupcakes exclusively, while myself, I say, there is naught, nor ought there be, nothing so exalted on the face of God's grey Earth as that prince of foods... the muffin."

The Bourne Ridicule

A storyboard idea for a new Jason Bourne film, to be released as soon as you can get a cameraman ready, can you do that for me? Ta.

Well I thought I'd add a twist to the usual format of this series, and actually feature a plot. The plot, though highly developed and complex in comparison to the normal plots in these films, goes like this: Jason Bourne buys a cat. This cat tries to kill him, because the US government chipped him, in order to prove that the whole US government isn't eluded by one man who can't remember anything. Bourne kills the cat.

Next, he bumps into a seemingly nice man by the name of Roger, who is actually sent (and chipped) by the US government with the same intention as the cat. Bourne fights him in handcuffs and ensnared at the ankle region by a barbed wire rabbit trap, and ends up killing him with his teeth.

Then, he gets in a car and shouts at a passing car, something like "Hey you, punk ass bitch". The driver of this car takes the hump and chases Bourne, having been primed (and chipped) by the US government to kill Bourne at whatever costs. Bourne manages to kill him, his wife, 4 children and their pet lizard with one perfectly timed crash into a canister of gas.

Bourne is injured by this, but he still manages to muster enough strength to fight off and indeed kill 63 American agents who are after him, and give the kiss of life to the wife of the car driver, with whom he starts a whirlwind romance for the last 10 minutes of the film.

I would like to shoot this in the French style of Merde and show it to people for free so they don't waste their money on total and absolute toss.

Fantasia on Reflected Treegos

Once a tree that came to life,
went walking along the beach.
He hopped quite slowly just to see
What distance he could reach.

Now part along the front he found,
singing loud with glee,
A quite remarkable Looking-Glass,
Being sat on by a flea.

The Looking-Glass sang on and on,
While the flea just sat and sat.
Quite why it brought this hilarity,
Was only explained by a cat.

The Cat was sat nearby on a rock
And looked to be weary and frail.
The tree asked what on earth this was,
But the cat let out a wail.

"The Flea, you see, was sat on me,
and he gave me quite an itch.
Because my fur is quite a pain,
It really is a bitch.

But Mirrors have no fur, you see,
For the flea to irritate,
So it tickles them unto hilarity,
And generally feels quite great."

The Tree was scared by fleas and cats,
For both sit on its arms.
But the Looking-Glass was quite a gent,
He fell for his charms.

Three weeks on at beach's end,
The Glass and the Tree did wed.
But of the flea and that day before,
Nothing was ever said

Until now!

Are you over your rainbow?

There was once a fat mouse called Rooney, and he had a wife called Colleen Nolan. She was sitting on the bank doing something really interesting, like reading a book or writing a letter. Rooney wasn't, he was just standing still anticipating the end of the next minute. When that end came, he quickly swivelled and gathered himself to focus on the minute now in existence. He wasn't happy, but Colleen Nolan was and that's what mattered to him.
Then a Jack-in-the-box walked past, with his legs sticking out of the bottom of the box which made up his middle. "I'm going to Gloucester!" he said to Rooney, who just mumbled back something about Roald Dahl's sugar jar.
"Pardon me young mouse?" said the Jack-in-the-box quite politely and full of courtesy.
Rooney reacted hereby. "I hereby react! Are you going to the Doctor's in Gloucester?"
"No," said J-in-the-B, and he almost wasn't lying. He was in fact going to see his long-term partner and co-habiter, who had the name Helen, who he affectionately named "lurrrrrrrve Doctor when he wanted her to get the groceries. "I am in fact going to see my long-term partner, and co-habiter, named Helen."
Rooney thought that was ok, that there were no warnings required, and as he had lost track off all the arrivals and departures of minutes that had been going on, he really rather wanted to get shot of this strange and curious thing.
"Ok, J-in-the-B," said Rooney. "Right you are."

The next day Colleen Nolan read in her book and wrote in her letter that J-in-the-B had gone missing. He'd fallen into a puddle, and his Munge had been a fuddled. But nobody knew what happened hereafter.

And this explains why this blog has the address of Early White Rabbit