The Hirsute of Happiness

Inadvertent musings set you on the path and in a sense a lot can be forgiven given the right light. All throughout periods of longing and lust you trust what you must in order to survive. Its this inherent fear of loneliness that brings you to concede ground where the once was no sound reason to do so. It was not a necessary trick of the imagination that led to the slaughter of ideals it was a necessary highlighted imperative and cultural stipulation whereupon the need outweighs the devils drive. Trust in lust and your world shall be pure. Perhaps not in the illiterate sense but somewhere hidden in the lipstick stained sheets and shirts there is a certain truth that longs to be found. Forever lost is what she thought you would be. Now she has you on her knees and it’s the best way forward as far as she can see. Subjugation delivers you forth to her arms and thine divine impulses will always deliver what is wanted more than what’s best. But for your day of rest you shall have your eternal reward and be delivered forth on the doorstep of failure. You will see what eternity holds in the night for your crimes. But forever more there will be one who can forgive but not forget. You can plea and beg and scream that it’s not your scene. This petty exchange and derision based on submission but in the end bend to her will for she holds the key. Happiness is merely a reflective vision by which we perceive ourselves and light can once more shatter these dubious fair delusions. It was always a mystery to you how this series of decisions and moments came about. Where was the seed and what was the need to be here laying in silence staring at the beauty you once held out hope for. Now you’ve found it you fool what are you going to do? Does man just need a challenge or the reward? Strive for it, seek it out. Is it this challenge that feeds your desire or is it more? Can you ever be truly happy in her reflection? Of course these were all fanciful musings and only after forever did you witness what was soon to become the one who would surrender your trenches for. For? Yes indeed. It was for this very minute you had lived the thousand days before. It was for that touch and that smile that you had wondered in out of the cold. Life cannot deliver to you forever that with which you can be content for a while. You must seek that which you need to know. To hold her is to taste fear. To know her is to hold her near. To feel the breath, to breathe in her neck. The bead of sweat the lone regrets all wash over and seal your existence. She is not for an instant. Was love ever for you? He whispered.

All I Can Hear - I Me Mine

Inventive perspective played its part more often than art shone through the shades to illuminate the morning stains. Wretched satins and nylons cast aloft and intrigued patterns danced before your eyes in the suns morning effect. Like dancers twirling for the crowd your eyelids flutter making sinless clouds. Ever lasting impressions greet you with abandon and run away faster than you can fathom. Was it real or imagined? Did that shining mean all that it could have or was it denied before it brought forth all it should have? In an instant the whisper makes you calm and the warm sweet breath raises not an alarm. Love and longing greeted you that day and since tomorrows promise once led you astray its better to sit back and let it all wash. Let her coolness calm your tensioned features. Wouldn’t you have wanted it this way? Id have clearly thought so. The extension of this paradigm is a shift in degrees of relativity when compared to the finite dimensions within which you have always regarded yourself. An inability to maximize external thought and project inner quandaries upon her significant other worldly beauty. She was always the one who could arouse such suspicions yet spent a great a deal of her time making you feel small and insignificant. A passing glance or catch of an eye would bring you back forthwith and to see that smile was always to make it worth the while. For her sun shone like the stars and could not hear the expanse of your song for the howling became too incensed were it to draw near. The positivity of her reaction to your touch may have left you for dead but a cunning smile was always worn and led to suspicions. In an interrupted sleep you would awake and stare endlessly and aimlessly. Thoughts not needed for it was comfort. She was there and as you regaled in this on the cool evening breeze floating through the window and cooling the sweats of passion you felt joy for the first time that day. Laying there silent she was anything you wanted her to be. A mother, a lover. In silence she understood your thoughts, your pain, your anxieties, fears and trepidations. She did not mock. That laughter out of kindness that never the less felt so incredibly cruel to behold. In silence she never mocked. Awake could be done with a look but asleep was perfection. Could any love be more real than now? Stroke the bead of sweat from the brow, the hair stuck to the forehead, cheek squashed in an innocent sleeping pose like the most beautiful child. If only she knew what I had thought in those instants. The horror, the betrayal, the devotion, the love, the bitterness. Far better to be tempered with words no matter how fiery they may become. Far better tempered, even in anger.

Obscene is the Gesture

Obscene is the gesture once created for nurturing her young on the back of recent successes. It wasn’t as if no-one had heard the murmurs and inherently rumbled dissention amongst the ranks it was more a case of first in best served to suit the detractors. Finalising wishes was never high on the agenda of the esteemed council diatribe yet it wouldn’t seem out of place to suggest it came from within. Suggestion is often seen as the first important step to assimilation and distraction is merely a cause for reflection. If it were not for the lesser of two greats then she would never have seen it coming. Down the road a night owl stooped and peered through the engaged scenesters to reveal a darkness that not one of them had thought to reveal. With a sense of dread she made her way to the council chambers to hear what was to be put forth at last nights meeting. The steps clambered ominously and drew her arched heels in like an old maid carrying your love on her broad shoulders. Its that very weight that leads to broken hearts and bones. Did anyone ever think of lightening the load on the poor wretched woman? She cannot be your water bearer for life and loss. She bore the fruit now wish her well. No more meaning gleamed from smiles and faces in the mud. No more howling and wishing forth a new dawn for no one there cared to begin with. Only yourself to blame when it all comes to naught. Only each other to blame when it all should have been sought. Your reckoning was to not have seen her but she was there. You can never deny her that. Only in a listless passing thought could she have conceived of your intentions and begging for forgiveness just seems a little senseless. When all she wanted was a whisper. A simple truth spun over kind words. Could it ever be given or were you simply too selfish to oblige? The night carried on yet as she approached the iron door she heard a voice. What it said will never be known. Imperceptible to more than just many. Inescapable for less than a few but with a view to this hue she strained for the sound. It was her knocking, hammer brought down. Justice served for her purpose revealed. Justice served for her conscious concealed.

Greetings Hairy Traveller

Inopportune victims fell silent to the marching crowd proceeding right above the pass where wenched lasses greet with a toothless smile and all the while for a quarter mile along pastures new and moonlit hues gathered together from the dew like a rain in quiet night’s fog for all to see the brothers three met the bushes from the grass and crept inside eyes open wide for the mystery laden farce of seven nights and fairground lights dazzling for the crowd in little lanes and store bought frames hide a picture you could paint if there wasn’t something you once knew and sprung to the table to all who are able and managed to be here tonight for these festive mystery blights on one’s soul hidden deep beneath the troll like hair and who could quite dare to be given up to what was made in the days before we were bade to bid farewell to our dream like knell and knaves they did become, outgrew what they’d become but forsake it they could not for all they had they got through luck and nothing more this victory is the score for those left untroubled and their worth of memories doubled, took on a new significance and mentioned her’s was difference and given what was before she knew that bare legs straw did itch and scratch, broke the camels back so suffice to say, with the dawning of day bought adventures fresh and new like the wings of Hayle’s muse and comfort reigned in the idle haze of drawing from the strewn and ashen blunders of ripped and torn skies thundered from all around and scorched the ground and few but far anew the world withdrew and left it for the men now few.

Wish you were here, coz it sucks!!!

Swallows fly through hollows as weeping willows wallow
A marked intention is worth three in the hand
One in the bush is not a great place to get it
Every wish from the street seems more plausible
In time will be seen the river’s nautical
Miles come in kilos and windows were in frames
All the banal and all the mundane
Things are less complicated than first once were was
Yet all seems the same as was there once is
In season and reason your fellow man’s treason is
…..line….
Forty nights and desert daze
Lead me to the promise of….
Nah…lost it

Leave them alone,they can't help it

Does everything round come in a cup?
Is two not enough or too many?
Likely isn’t the word you’re looking for
Microscopy and salad tv dinners infront of the radio
Studying ancients and humble dwellings
Mixed emotions forebade the actual sitting
Frozen still nightscapes wake your slight frame
Eaten shards of comfort's warmth
Homes abound in natures good intentions
Cant sleep in for life’s pretensions
Although they make a nice pillow sometimes

Goosedown Blackberries Make You My Mother

- an essay in post cultural evolutionary standards in education ; a critique of cultural relativism in the modern era.

In modern methodological surveys of north-western standards and imputational district services it is an often lost point of reference in determining sequential evidence theories known as fact to the lesser great industrial service sector.
It’s a seldom explored area which upon closer inspection would appear to warrant a more direct approach starting from the ground up and particularly in certain circular industries that thrive off and upon themselves and for all intents and purposes, each other.
While most educational authorities will attempt to discredit this critique it is no doubt a matter that warrants consideration and a curtailing of modern standard educational techniques.

Question to Dylan Thomas

In 25 poems or less explain why death shall have no dominion.

The Moscow Evening Standard

Yesterday on the moors of bonny Scotland, Lachlan whispered a particularly delightful and somewhat enchanting nothing to the companion with whom he was travelling. She was a fair maiden indeed. A roving reporter from Moscow TV come wandering across Christendom to seek her fortune and a juicy story to boot. Ignacious the little Scottish terrier she owned had led her to this place and she was delighted that the first person she encountered should be such a handsome, esteemed and well groomed gentleman such as Sir Lachlan. At first he could not believe his eyes as this fair blonde maiden sparkled through the eerie quiet morning mist of the moors like a tram’s headlights in the fog. A beauty such as this did not come along every day out here. Lachlan led her along to his cabin and shyly bade her to sit down at the nearest chair he could find. He wasn’t disturbed when he found out she was a reporter, for he felt he had nothing to hide and wouldn’t have thought that the Moscowans as he affectionately called them would really give a tinkers cuss for his stories or indeed the stories of anyone he knew.

Her face was indeed beautiful yet devoid of any particularly distinguishing features.Those features that were distinguished, on anyone else may have indeed added up to an altogether rather unattractive person, yet somehow on this little blonde face everything sat and radiated such a warmth that he scarcely needed the roaring fire that had suddenly engulfed his home and was beginning to spread over the countryside like sour sobs in a garden. And as he himself caught alight and shrieked in agony, Rosetta the reporter jotted everything down meticulously so that she may finally have the story she needed to make it big with the Moscow Evening Standard. She’d show that pesky Dimitry Rolkinov a thing or two about heart string pulling reporting even if she had to suture the string to the hearts herself. Of course Lachlan was perplexed as to why she did not even lift a finger to help him seeing as though she was holding a pale of water yet he listened calmly as she explained that his death would bring about a greater good and perhaps even a 5000 rouble a year raise for her. Thomas accepted this with a final gargling noise and collapsed in a smouldering heap. Rosetta kissed his charred corpse goodbye and made way for the train station. It was going to be a long ride back to Moscow but she had a story to write and a good journalist never sleeps.

100 ways to Jarb on the Farbleheist

1) eat more protein jacks
2) try 47 flavours of fruit and see
3) forget yesterday was today
4) remember tomorrow wasn’t that good
5) twix dreams
6) microdot salad surgery
7) invent an artificial shoe horn
8) trident soup
9) write down your partner’s flaws
10) burn the list and chastise yourself warmly
11) insensitivity
12) incestuous incense
13) romote controlled batteries
14) incendiary forgiveness
15) give up at 15

Sanctioned Deliverance

I was so dying to have a little sleepy at work
Fred said the veg was in the drawer
Who’s complaining now the streets are paved
Forty nine plus 1 is the answer key
Insert it to win a prize fight with t-bone jack
Trust me you’ll never win
Fine in the end is all he could say
Master trusts the sanctioned deliverance
Faster screamed the child in the night
Over tomorrow and under the dawn
My brain is tired….a yawn

Frederick the Simple

CHAPPED HER TWELVE

Frederick ran from the scene, knowing one day he’d come clean, but today was certainly not that day. Frederick was feeling adequately fragile as it was, without having to tell his friend Eric that he’d beaten his one true love to death with a polka dotted whack and put her in a sack, he tied to his back and threw in the river, the very thought made him shiver. Finally he arrived at Thomas’ house and calmly rang his hands and the door handle. “Thomas! Thank god you’re home. We need to, well I need to talk”. Thomas just stared back with a sleepy stare from inside bed ware. “I know I’ve pushed our friendship’s boundaries lately Thomas, but this time I mean it. I have to change my ways. I must stop….you know” “Yes. I know. Come inside” Thomas sighed exhaustedly. “Oh and mind your step by the way. You see I recently purchased a small Indian fishing ball but it bounced off the wall, caused me to fall, now it just sits on the step for a stranger to break his neck.” Frederick successfully negotiated the harmless ball and sat down on the couch. He was not allowed to relax for long however, as a knock came at the ceiling. ‘Twas the electrician, the best one in Eling, Come to fix the wiring, all the while admiring, the bald spots on the heads, of the ever ageing Thomas and friend. Since Thomas had never heard of an electrician let alone ever called one he was regarded with some suspicion. The electrician was kindly asked to vacate the ceiling and did so obligingly pausing only to nurture his instincts of mother’s ilk and farmers milk. Frederick, soon there after, proceeded to tell Thomas of his encounter with Eric Derrick. Thomas too knew that the time was not right to lay the news on poor Eric but realised people may begin talking soon enough. As Frederick pulled the electricians carcass into the ceiling cavity Thomas quite seriously began to wonder why he ever became friends with Frederick.

Frederick the Simple

CHAPTER eleven

Frederick awoke sleepless the next mid morning and was struck by a passing thought but decided today was not the day to be over analysing his recent behaviour. The time though, had surely come to speak to Thomas and get to the root of the matter tree and thrash out some ideas as to why his life had taken such a strange turn. He set off on foot across the great estates, that for some reason surrounded his house in Eling, whistling a morbid tune. For unlike most people, Frederick only found the desire to whistle when he was at his lowest. Greens seemed blue and troubles brewed on the mildew, the grass danced with fog and quiet, grey rain washed another cog in his mind, all the time trying to find the answer to the question he barely knew. He realised at that moment that a man he had yesterweek spied sitting on a bench near the running track, was now sitting on a duck in the park appearing to be peering. The man was unmistakable and at the same time unremarkable in his gait. His shoulders slouched into his cigarette pouch, as he rolled another drag of mystic milde shag. With an expression of malevolence and hesitant elegance, he peered towards Frederick, blissfully unaware of the relevance. Whilst Thomas did find it strange to have seen the man twice in as many weeks the thought registered nary a skerrick as he had just seen Derrick lying on the grass amid empty cans and flasks.” Good day to you Derrick or should I now call you Eric?” asked Frederick. “Call me what you will son for I cant believe that any one could hurt me as much as she has, where has she gone I wonder? Things are not right, gone asunder” replied Eric in an oddly poetic turn of phrase. ”Whatever do you mean dear Eric? Of whom do you speak?” “Of Rosie of course, she’s been gone but a week, yet I know something’s amiss, our love was sheer bliss. Now she won’t return calls. Is it gall? Perhaps something has happened to her.” whimpered Eric “Rosie?” asked Frederick hesitantly, scarcely wanting to even begin to entertain the horrible realisation that was dawning on his poor gormless mind.

Guess Who

Travelling weary journeymen had tales beyond the pale yet none surmounted the Count’s delectable striving for the hirsute of happiness,it lied with a brush with fame and fortunes on the rise. This would have made the average person wary but beyond the pale and above the rail lay a master craftsmen who knew a fair artisan, a conductor of a bus in a town that share must, lest it become frail like bitten off edge nails .Fortune favoured the fair game hunter whenever there was a story to be muttered of rising fortunes which forever left you waiting, the game is new and bracing, yourself will hold no relevance to third parties who are true to their benevolence yet leave all quivering in their wake as a good dead person should; for if not, then ‘twas wrong of all to assume that nothing in the room could hold her to the facts of nothing held back. Was it wrong of me to assume such things? You cant be held responsible for my inactions I’ll give you that.

Gratuitous Fortitude

Marty said his hit parade started 40 minutes ago
Trudy was true to her word

Fotune favours the cold hearted
Is that what you heard from the white walls???

You and Me Makes Three

Johnny tried to explain but couldn’t.

Seventy-two equations all came up with the same response:

WHAT?

Far above Eden and Silicon Valley who needs to hide their shame?

Backwards Rhyme Cake - Thanks to all who contributed a line!

Have you ever been non invited to a Christmas do?
Have you ever posted a Blog?
Have you ever been in love?
Have you ever lost a glove?
Have you ever slept on sand?
Have you ever played in a band?
Have you ever reached for nine when all you really needed was seven?

Do you need to play flute on Stairway to Heaven?
Do you need a hand?
Do you need to understand?
Do you need a shove?
Do you need a sign from above?
Do you need some kind of dog?
Do you need an invite to that party I threw?

Have you ever wished that you weren’t you?
Have you ever had a drainage clog?
Can you feel my love glove?
Have you ever eaten deep fried dove?
Have you ever punched a wall with your hand?
Are your tastes in women old and bland?
Have you ever dined with Michael Bevan?

Do you need Heavenly’s ‘obnoxious Kevin’?
Do you wanna get canned?
Can you appreciate, Versailles, a bunker-grand?
Do you need the warmth, hand 0’glove?
Do you need films starring Catherine Deneuve?
Do you love the bejewelled of hog?
Have you seen seven magnificent, Who?

BOREDOM

Dingy nights, where dark pub lights burn bright eyes as red as sand
He held her down, his hopes he drowned, all as he held her hand
This news she said, flew through his head and he QUICK! He needed a double
His reply with a sigh, felt like denial, boy was he in for some trouble
This moment passed but the feelings they last, just for that little while longer
Its not all but fair with her whiskey blonde hair that he couldn’t feel any stronger

Generous Genomes

In general the General generally generalised generic genomes and geniality generously

He did you know...

punctuation

flying the time went by in my mind with a cheap bottle of wine this all seemed somehow familiar to the one and his daughter whose thirst quenched by water just thinking she oughta lead him to slaughter for his life must be shorter than hers and whats worse is the hurt that hurts worst that flowed through her girth like windless rain thunder missing whats right gone asunder to trap all entwined her fate became mine and I was left on my knees never heard myself say please before her with her ways stringing me through days of endless lust wonder how I wanted to plunder her for her mind and body but left not for dead the old images in his head shook off from the plains it was just such a strain to find himself more than she with her flaws but yet hope still remained and now the suns daze has led her to him she cant help but grin at him and his smile for it was worth all the miles of endless footprints in sand all but none sink from knee deep sun dried mud and hence filled with blood like grapes from a vine his love was divine not like gods and his sons but earthly warm and glum

I wROTE a pOEM

I wrote a poem and I didn't like it

So I made it a blog and now I hate it

Then I deleted it and it was gone

Now I'm happy again

English 101

There are this many ways to spell an "ort" sound....

Thwart
Court
Brought
Port
Naught
Torte

My 32nd Sexual Encounter

32nd or 30 second….

thirty second or thirty second

could get confusing….

My thirty second sexual encounter.

Hmmmmmmm…………….

A list for a lists sake

1. Joe is short for Joey which is in turn short for Joseph which is the masculine of Josephine who, if rumours are to be believed, is suffering from a bad case of the clap.

2. Apples are not actually missing an app and the word would be missing an s anyways if that were true.

3. Mission Impossible movies always seem to end with the mission being completed…I don’t get it…

4. Peaches Mangoes Peaches like to hold flags in communist arenas.

5. Flags hold onto poles. Unless of course the pole in question was around in 1939 in which case he would have been shot.

6. Red and Yellow and Pink and Green. Purple and Orange and Blue. That’s all there is. That’s what your children are being taught to believe.Fight racism everywhere. Unless it’s positively enforced that is. That’s USA O.K.

Dear diary....

I tried to read a book the other day.....

Didn't happen

Frederick the Simple

CHAPTER TEN

Though the meeting with Ms Archcroft had been brief, Frederick felt renewed vigour and unlike in previous times of confusion in his life, he chose not to sardonically whip the first woman he saw and instead went for a peaceful walk to mull over the recent events in his life. All of a sudden, seemingly out of nowhere Thomas went jogging past with an expression that could only express what he was feeling at the time. Frederick had never been a particularly perceptive person and so had to catch up to Thomas and ask what was the matter. Thomas just kept jogging however almost as if he were ignoring Frederick, like he was not even there. Frederick was appalled until he realized that it had been at least ten minutes since Thomas had jogged past and he was still just standing in the same spot deciding to catch up to Thomas to ask him what was wrong. Frederick was still desperate to find out what Thomas was up to and luckily for Frederick Thomas had not put much distance between the two of them in his ten minutes of jogging because they were in fact on a running track at a local elementary school and since Thomas was such a slow runner it had taken him almost 9 minutes and fifty seven seconds to get around the 400 metre track. “Hi Thomas” muttered Frederick. “Oh hey there Frederick” replied Thomas. ”Didn’t see ya there buddy what’s up? Why are you standing in the middle of a running track with a golf umbrella and a large hessian sack?” “Oh FUCK!” cried Frederick. Yes gentle readers, he’d done it again. The poor dear Ms Rosemary Ashcroft had become Fredericks third victim of tender bludgeonings and it only then dawned on Frederick that perhaps he had better start thinking of a better way of expressing himself than needlessly killing every one he knew. “C’mon Frederick” sighed Thomas sympathetically, ”lets get you home.”

Frederick the Simple

CHAPTER NINE

Unbeknownst to most while rich folks boast I just serve toast and call myself a host. Now…whilst no-one was any the wiser about the ordeal Frederick had gone through in chapter 7 it had none the less left him a little shaken and so he had chosen to once again become master of his own destiny. Breaking through the shackles of his gormless mind he decided to give Rosemary Archcroft a call. She had always been kind to him and whenever he needed a helping hand he just strung up an Egyptian temple ghost and summoned all his strength and channeled it into some sort of cylindrical homing device. He did once own a homing pigeon but it had left a bad taste in his mouth. Rosemary was delighted to hear from her old friend and sparring partner and offered to meet him in a nearby alley way for purposes unknown to all but her and her phone. ‘This could be it’ thought Frederick and rushed out to buy a new pair of sleeveless pants especially for the occasion. He did have trouble getting them on however, and so set fire to them in the local business district and unfortunately gave second degree burns to every third person he encountered

Frederick the Simple

CHAPTER EIGHT

The author decided to heed the advice of a close personal friend and move away from the digressionary path the novella seemed to have taken in the previous chapter and get back to the story…if he can be bothered.

Frederick the Simple

CHAPTER SEVEN

Frederick found the hound in the ground he had brought for a pound but it didn’t make a sound for it had just drowned. Needless to say Frederick was bemused, amused, confused and any other fucking rhyming word you can think of adding to this pointless cow pat of a story. The author had taken a somewhat bleak outlook on the recent events and histories that plagued him like a freshly paved mausoleum. Not even Frederick knew why a story was being written about him. He tried to contact the author but found when he spoke to him he simply made noises not unlike an old fax machine being stomped on by a couple of little French slums hoodlums. Fuck this thought Frederick. If the author doesn’t care what he’s writing about me then why should I and threw himself off the first ledge he could find. Unfortunately for Frederick but I guess, fortunately for the story, the author was a sadistic little fat fuck and ensured that the ledge Frederick came across was more of a mantle piece atop a modestly sized fire place. Frederick knew his fate had been sealed. He was doomed to live out the tedious whims of an author so bored and brain dead you’d assume he couldn’t find the will our strength to put pen to page. Lucky it’s all computers these days, so the author just had to wiggle his fingers and the words came up on the screen. Like magic, or as close to magic as a brain stripped of all it’s its wonder and joy could bother imagining. The author himself knew at this point that he didn’t really want to be writing this story but since there were no small monkeys around to rape, he had to make do with typing shit.

Frderick the Simple

CHAPTER SIX

John the thong had an enormous schlong but lost it to three tattood men in a backgammon match. Surprising really, since he had never played the game in his life. His wife on the other hand loved the game….strange. Anyways back to our story. Our eventual hero Frederick had since disposed of the likes of Duc Van Tram Pham whatever his name was, and had now culled his entourage down to a mere sixth of the size it was…Guess how many people that is? Little did the unsuspecting Frederick know, that Mrs. Johnson Thomson was not in fact dead but a born again Christian. This was terrible news for Frederick, for though he was a simple lad, he knew a surprising amount of religious teachings and philosophies and had written a great many essay on the bleak meaninglessness of our existence and the futility of life. Now keeping this in mind, take your minds back to chapter 72 oh dear reader, and think to yourself :”hang on…I never read a chapter 72, the book jumped straight to chapter 73 and just be secure in the knowledge that in Africa people are hot and have not much to eat.

Frederick the Simple

PART 5


Quantam mechanics is a field that holds no relevance to this story. Frederick had long ago dreamt of snow but had forgotten about it entirely until that fateful night. Anguished screams awoke Frederick from his slumber only to find himself stranded in the holding bay of a small cargo plane taking supplies to the set of a reality tv show. This wasn’t a particularly unusual occurrence so Frederick just went back to sleep in the warm belly pouch of a lactating kangaroo. The average person might find this a strange set of circumstances and since Frederick was an average person, so did he. He consequently re-awoke with a start and as the gravity of his situation finally sunk in he went back to sleep.

Frederick the Simple

paRT 4


June the moon was a curious goon, who ate a baboon and was called a buffoon. Frederick loved her none the less. He mused to himself that if she could love a man such as himself, then she was worthy of a tender bludgeoning. As he was preparing his favourite mini beach umbrella, reserved purely for festive beatings, he noticed that Thomas had left a voice-mail in his throat, so spat it out and heard what was said. “ I am a no-nonsense kinda guy Frederick, and if you lay a finger on my late mother I will destroy your moss plantation." Now Frederick was appalled at the thought that Thomas could think him capable of such an act, and so took an axe and killed the ceremonial chicken. Try as he might though, he couldn’t shake off the lingering feeling that someone was watching him. As he rose his rosy head, he noticed he was in fact standing naked in a public square and thought “ shit…I’m standing naked in a public square” Being the simple lad that he was, this was the only thought that came to him so he just sat down and made a pigeon sandwich. It was horrible, yet as he choked on a feather he was struck by the amusing thought that one plus one could actually equal two if he put two apples in his eye sockets and counted them in the standard fashion.

Frederick the Simple

CHAPTER THREE

Never one to shy away from a good ho-down, Thomas got back to plowing the carrot tops. He had fallen into this job by chance when one day a strange stranger walked past his 19th storey apartment window whistling a merry tune. Thomas later discovered that the man had in fact just jumped out of the 21st storey of said apartment, and the whistling sound that so intrigued him, and made him want to be a carrot top harvester, was in actual fact the sound of the wind being pushed through the man’s rectal cavity as he hurtled toward the pavement. Luckily for the man that jumped though, he happened to land in a small cockerel’s boot and lived to tell his own story to a biographer; who in turn sold the film rights to Time Warner. It is believed that ‘twas this very story that inspired the Disney classic The Little Mermaid.

Thomas rang Frederick later that yesterday morning and was told of the Mr’s Johnson Thompson incident…He didn’t seem to mind as he knew Frederick was just having a laugh when he bludgeoned that woman to death, and it was only most peoples’ lack of a sophisticated sense of humour that stopped them from getting the joke.

Frederick the Simple

PART 2
CHAPTER -12.76
VERSE 193839320920352039-2034-20493-23049

Mrs Johnson Thompson and Frederick were getting hot and heavy in the back of a chevy when a trident slowly pulled into view…” how odd” mumbled Frederick. “Pardon me?” bellowed the always verbose and sometimes on toast Mrs Johnson Thompson. “Shut up!” shrieked Frederick as he very lovingly and tenderly bludgeoned her with a small beach umbrella. Slowly pulling her limp lifeless carcass into the back of the trident, Frederick’s always enthusiastically sadistic friend Duc Van Pham of Ipswich, muttered his approval at the events he had just witnessed. He could not help but feel slightly perturbed by the fact that, though he lusted for blood as much as the next man, he was left feeling slightly unfulfilled as he discovered that the woman he had seen beaten, was in fact his mother and at times a loving aunty. “strange” he thought. Duc Van Pham however, quickly got over his self indulgent bitterness at having missed the chance to kill his mother himself, and went and ate a mint.

Frederick the Simple

CHAPTER ONE

then frederick was all like

“I’m sick of mutilation theories being tied to tree stumps in Havana, it’s time to move on from the throng in my thong and find sights unseen and sleepless dreams in waking mares of night ”

Now everyone knew Frederick was a simple lad but no-one not even Thomas could ever have dreamt he would say something quite so insulting to the Nicaraguans. People the world over reeled back in horror at the thought of spending another night and a day in the company of such a man, so opted for the safer rout of trying to invent a blend of poultry juice and guava….I mean guava??? C’mon now…Right…. back to Frederick. As has been mentioned, he was a simple lad of Norwegian goats blood breeding, and every time he smelled cheese he threw up horse food. Also as a result of an old war wound every time he tried to re-heat beans in the microwave he’d pass out and piss himself…


I FEEL LIKE IM ON SPEED FROM THE COFFEE…ACTUALLY HAVING A MINI PANICK ATTACK