31.10.05 | The Practicalities of Tentacles In Confined Spaces and Attics (+ Pumpkin Conversation included free for Hallow's Eve!)
I love squid, me. Living and kalamari'd.
Look at this little fella, for instance. Positively gorgeous. If i was a lady squid, i'd be all over him as only a lady squid can be. Ink-squirts and all! (I'm only assuming it's a "He" btw. Could be a lady squid for all i know)
I think this one looks better
uncooked. Don't you?
But the other morning i was awakened from a particularly and pleasant and sordid dream, by the sound of my new next door neighbours having a very loud party. Karaoke and everything!
"Bastards!" i thought. "Could've invited me!"
So naturally, i went to complain.
Pausing only to arm myself with items procured from my manicure set (Yes it is mine. Don't ask)(Oh ok, ask if you must, but i'll only tell you that as i'd never seen the aforementioned neighbours before, i thought that protecting myself with anything more serious than a nail-file and tweezers, might be viewed as overly aggressive and might lead to... friction. Besides, my manicuring skills are lethal!
And yes, i know that's not what you were going to ask, but i have keep some air of mystique now, don't i?
...So i knock on the door and after a while it's answered by a squid, wearing a paisley print smoking jacket, and armed far more seriously than myself, with a large gin & tonic in one tentacle and a cigarette perched on the end of an extraordinary long holder (y'know, 20's style kinda thing) in another.
"Hello, old chap" it oozed.
"Hello. I've come to complain about the noise. But i've just realized i'm in the middle of a dream. so uh, i guess it doesn't matter that much, after all."
"Oh? How do you know it's a dream?" it asked, waving it's free tentacles around in some bemusement.
"Because you're floating".
"Ah, well. I am high as a kite. We've been smoking opium, you see. So perhaps i'm dreaming you instead?" it tittered in typical mollusky fashion.
Damn! It had a point. This was starting to get stressful.
"But let's not worry about all that for now, old sport! Why not come in and have a large G&T with me and the rest of the crowd. It should be a lot of fun. We've just persuaded God and Satan to duet on the karaoke. They're doing "I've Got You, Babe".
... the next day, while i'm enthusing to Pumpkin about my dream shennanigans, and wistfully bemoaning my lack of tentacular appendages, and how much fun it would be to have some of my very own, she pragmatically points out that they'd be completely impractical indoors. Especially on me.
"You'd always be tripping over them. Because you're so lazy, you'd just drag them on the carpet.
"And have you thought about how difficult it would be to turn around in a small room with them? Do it slow, and you'd be staggering around like a drunk in a skip. Do it fast and it'd be: "Swish! Thud!" as your tentacles whirl through the air and collide with the walls. And then off to the hospital for more bandages".
"Yes, because i'd already have punched you for being stupid, in the first place."
Aaa, she sooo wise! Everyone should have a Pumpkin in their lives to keep them on the straight and narrow. Or as straight and narrow as possible. Granted, my own Pumpkin has a rather herculean task when it comes to moi.
That night, i have vivid dreams about being a posh squid, and living in a huge converted attic space. Troubled only rarely by need for bandages.
14.10.05 | Picnics and Orange Things
"Hold your ground! Hold your ground!"
And so it has come to this... our foes stand manifold in unnumbered ranks before us.
"Sons of, er... wherever...(sisters, too!). Never... in the fields of human(ish- ok not very at all) conflict... has so much been owed to so few... so very few..."
I must marshall the troops for one last stand.
"I see in your eyes the same fear that would take the heart of me!"
This may well be the end of me. Of us all!
"A day may come, when the courage of men fails, when we forsake our friends and break all bonds of Fellowship, but it is not this day!"
And then who will save the world from this dread menace? Eh? Who?!?!
"An hour of wolves and shattered shields when the age of men comes crashing down!"
I wave my noble sword valiantly in the air defiantly towards the enemy.
"But it is not this day! This day we fight! By all that you hold dear on this good earth, I bid you, stand, men of the We- eh?!
"What are you doing?"
"Ahh, hello my orange gourd of grandness"
"Never mind that Pumpkin malarky!- What are you doing?"
"Because from where i'm sitting, it looks like you're standing on top of a fence, waving a penknife around your head over-enthusiastically, and exhorting a pair of rather bemused chaffinches into attacking a field of carrots with you."
"But my precious Pumpy!- Why whatever do yew mean?"
"You know perfectly well what i mean, i'm sure. Anyway, i can see right through your ploys and devious assumed madness. So there.
Ah... unfortunately this is true, gentle reader. Pumpkin can read moi like a book. A very badly written one full of pictures, easy to understand words, and simple plotline.
Oh, and i'm also looking at you through the binoculars you thoughtfully brought along."
Damn! I turn and wave cheerily at her, sitting on the picnic rug, book in hand and binoculars casually noting my every action for future deserved ridicule. She waves ironically back.
"And furthermore, all your wailing and gnashing of teeth is disturbing my reading. So i've been feeding your tuna sarnies to some ants. As a means of revenge and entertainment."
"Er right, men-
"I think you'll find they're still chaffinches"
I ignore the telephone with steadfast determination
"- as you were. And you... you... carrots...
I utter the word with obvious disgust and contempt. It's important to show ones superiority at these times
"... don't think this is the end of it! I'll be back! Hahahahahaha!"
Meanwhile, back at the field...
Thievery! And Theft!
5.10.05 | ...And it's Good-Night From Him...
Oh dear, what is a poor Saturnyne to do?
He's had a nice lovely mirthful post all lined up for you, and was all ready to add the finishing piccies, when what should happen, but his totally legal (Well as legal as yours, right?) copy of Photoshop got all stuck-up and refused to play anymore. Bastard bastardy bastard!
Fortunately though, one of Englands top comedy actors and genuises very kindly stepped in to help at the last minute by popping his clogs. Bit of a pisser for the rel's, i know...
So while yer all waiting for my next fabulous postage, here is a very lovely monologue i shall pretend i didn't steal wholesale from Here
"Good evening. I am the president of the Loyal Society for the Relief of Suffers from Pismronunciation, for the relief of people who can't say their worms correctly, or who use the wrong worms entirely, so that other people cannot underhand a bird they are spraying. It's just that you open your mouse, and the worms come turbling out in wuck a say that you dick not what you're thugging to be, and it's very distressing.
"I'm always looing it, and it makes one feel umbumftorcacle, especially when one is going about one's diddly tasks. Slopping at the Sloopermarket, for instance. Only last wonk, I approached the chuckout point, and I shooed the ghoul behind the crash desk the contents of my trilly, and she said 'All right, granddad, shout 'em out.' Well, of course, that's fine for the ordinary man in the stoat who has no dribble with his wolds. For someone like myself, it's worse than a kick in the jackstrop.
Sometimes, you get stuck on one letter, such as wubbleyou. And I said, 'Well, I've got a tin of woup, a woucumber, two packets of wheese and a walliflower'. She tried to make fun of me and said, 'That will be woo pounds, wifty-wee pence.' So I just said 'Wobblers!' and walked out.
"So you see how dickyfelt it is. But help is at hand. A new society has been formed by our mumblers to help each other in times of excream ices. It is balled Pismronouncers Unanimous, and anyone can ball them up on the smellyphone any time of the day or note, twenty-four flowers a spray, seven stays a creek, and they will come 'round and get drunk with you.
"For foreigners, there will be inperpetwitters, who will all speak many sandwiches, such as Swedish, Turkish, Burkish, Jewish, Gibberish and Rubbish. Membranes will be able to attend tight stool, for heaving classes, to learn how to grope with the many complinkities of the daily loaf.
"Which brings me to the drain reason for squeaking to you tonight. The society's first function as a body was a grand garden freight, and we hope for many more bodily functions in the future. The garden plate was held in the grounds of Blennham Paleyass, Woodstick, and the guest of horror was the great American pip singer, Manny Barrellow. The fete was opened by the bleeder of the opposition, Mister Dale Pinnock ... Pillock, who gave us a few well-frozen worms in praise of the society's jerk. He said that 'In the creeks and stunts that lie ahead, we must do out nut roast to ensure that it sucks weeds.'
"And everyone visited the various stores and abrusements, the rudeabouts, thing boats and the dodgers, and of course, all the old favorites such as Srty your Length, guessing the weight of the cook and tinning the pale on the wonky. The occasion was great fun, and I think it can safely be said that all the men present and thoroughly good women were had all the time.
"So, please join out society. Write to me, Doctor Small Pith, The Spanner, Poke Moses, and I will send you some brieflets to browse through and a brass badge to wear in your loophole."
Goodnight, Mr Barker. And thank-you for the aching sides.