For quite a number of years Boris got first place in the annual Grow-a-Spud-in-a-Pot competition. Then, one year he was beaten by Hector. That was the last time that happened. Every year after that, Boris came first. Year after year, everyone else’s potatoes died of the blight.
Melissa had a pet python. It was huge. Of course, she was unmarried. The snake kept all men at a distance.
At night Melissa would snuggle up in bed with the pet python wrapped around her. On a warm night the snake would sleep on the floor.
“It curls around me for warmth,” said Melissa. “It’s not going to swallow me!”
Melissa pooh-poohed the idea that it could devour her. “Pooh-pooh,” said Melissa.
“It will kill you one day,” warned Melissa’s mother.
“Pooh-pooh,” said Melissa.
One night Melissa got up in the dark to go the bathroom. She tripped on the python curled up asleep in the corridor. She broke her neck. In the morning there wasn’t much to clean up. Just a pair of slippers.
The Queen of the country made an important announcement: next Thursday she would turn up with her entourage at any house in the kingdom – chosen at random – and have dinner.
Goodness me! Did the country go into a flap? Every household prepared a sumptuous dinner. Windows were cleaned, toilet bowls were brushed, everything was spick and span. What if the Queen came to our little house?
All were ready except apparently for Tommy Ursendoff in his little house in the country. “If she comes here she can sod off,” said Tommy Ursendoff. “I’ll give her a raw carrot and tell her to shove it. I’m not bowing and scraping to some pretentious old git. If she was going to pay, that would be another story altogether.”
You already know, gentle reader, that the inevitable will happen. Out of the millions of houses in the Kingdom, whose house should be chosen at random? Why of course! Lady Brackenbury-ffodalia-Battenberg-Courtney-Weasal was chosen. She was a personal friend of the monarch. Her husband was an Earl. The Queen had a wonderful time devouring fresh strawberries floating in a vanilla sauce.
In the meantime, Tommy Ursendoff had much to say: “She did not come here because she doesn’t like to piss into yesterday’s toilet bowl. She’s a snob of the highest order.”
Nora and Gus always knew what their oldest son, Gadsby, would give them for Christmas. It had been the same for the last five years, and what a saving it was! He always gave half a cow’s carcass for the freezer, nicely chopped up and packaged. It would last the two of them the year. Of course, they had other meat in between, like chicken and pork, but beef was their main meat.
Nora and Gus inevitably marvelled at Gadsby’s luck. He was presented at work with a cattle beast carcass just before Christmas. He worked at the abattoir. “Half a cow is enough for my freezer,” he told his parents, when they visited him.
Anyway, to cut a long story short, these days Gadsby has still got a couple of years left before they let him out.
Knut pestered his mother.
You know, Mom, how people have chickens and collect their eggs? Well I want to have penguins instead.
You can’t have penguins, Knut. They need a huge expanse of sea to swim and catch fish.
But they have penguins at the Aquarium Center. They live there permanently.
That’s because they artificially create the right environment for them.
We could do that. It’s not as if we’re not filthy rich.
We’re not doing that, Knut.
I WANT SOME PENGUINS!
Well you can’t. And that’s that.
Knut was really annoyed. He stomped out to feed his pet giraffe.
Derven’s pet guinea pig was called Howard. He’d named it after his uncle who was a skin specialist who walked around like he owned the place. Derven thought it was a fun name.
Some people were very critical of this. It was insensitive to name a guinea pig after a renowned expert in skin. Many people suffered from skin cancer and a lot died from it. Anyway, what did Derven know about melanoma? He was a Nobel Prize Winner in Physics, not Medicine. His Ph.D. thesis on the influence of Charlotte Bronte on the writings of Dostoevsky was legend, but it hardly helped him know what was what with skin cancer. Just because he’d once read a book in Hindi on Egyptian hieroglyphics hardly turned him into a dermatologist.
A quite large group of protesters formed and marched up the street. They demanded Derven’s head.
In despair for the horror of having named a guinea pig after his famed uncle, Derven committed suicide. The guinea pig starved to death. The protesters were very happy; they had saved the planet.
Katrina, sometimes called Kitty and sometimes Kit depending on… on… absolutely nothing, was enthusiastically into yoga. It was yoga for breakfast, lunch and dinner – as the saying goes. To all intents and purposes it could be said that she was addicted to it. An obsession!
Personally I can’t stand the stuff. If anyone offered me yoga for breakfast I’d say, no thanks just a slice of toast and a coffee will do me fine.