Sunday, 28 July 2013


“Oh Daddy, dearest Daddy, Daddio,
Your peepers are like a bird’s eye view of two champagne flutes,
With a woodlouse in each,
Kicking its little legs like some frantic brown submarine floating on custard.”

“I had a bacon sandwich at two, you know?
And at three I put the cat away in the chest freezer.”

“Oh, Mister!” she groaned,
“The winds of wisdom run through your veins. You’ve experienced life
And now your breath smells like the ocean,
And your hands are dead jellyfish,
Hovering over Death’s rank potion.”

“I like Whole Nut, but I’m not very keen on Fruit and Nut… you know?”

“Oh Sir,” she said, “never have I seen such an arm – one which has swept aside all enemies and bore horizontal against the head which braved such storms as none survived and yet drove on, on, and on forth, stooping through the razor rapid sands and the wicked slicing rain of misfortune.”

“A Pot Noodle would go well with that. It may seem that a Pot Noodle doesn’t really go with anything, but a Pot Noodle would probably go well with that. Perhaps you should just tip one over the top of the whole thing. You know?”

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