In order to get fit
I did some exercise
I pulled down my pants
Without undoing my flies
It doesn’t sound much
It was more than enough
I had to sit down
I was all out of puff
To try and recover
I lay on the couch
Let’s face facts
I’m a bit of a slouch
Posted in Poem | Tagged Couch, Exercise, Poem, Poetry | 7 Comments »
Fantasti-Man was sat at the bottom of the Marianas Trench. He was sulking.
Three days earlier, he had saved the world from annihilation when he diverted the path of a 6-mile wide asteroid into the sun. He returned to Earth and carried on with his usual life-saving duties, not really thinking anything of it. He’d saved the planet countless times in the past, and he didn’t do it for the recognition. He slept well that night.
In the morning, he expected to get a letter through the door announcing a ticker-tape parade. The mat was bare. Surprisingly, he felt a bit miffed. He didn’t really want a parade, but it would have been nice for them to make some acknowledgement of his efforts. It didn’t seem fair.
He tried to not let it bother him, but it really started to bug him. Why did he even bother if these people weren’t even going to say thank you. It’s just common courtesy. He found himself so agitated that he decided to fly down to the lowest point in the Pacific Ocean and see how they coped without him. He wouldn’t stay down there for too long, he just wanted to be missed a little.
What he didn’t realise is that the mayor of Largecityopolis had arranged a surprise party for him at City Hall. All the other members of the Justice People were in attendance and the Ultra-Femicon had baked a cake. It was a Victoria sponge, FM’s favourite. They had a live band doing Wham covers and everything. It was brill.
He may be near-omnipotent, but it doesn’t stop him being a doofus.
Posted in Fantasti-Man | Tagged Fantasti-Man, Fiction, Marianas Trench, Story, Super-Heroes, The Ultra-Femicon, Victoria Sponge | 3 Comments »
Ivan was terrible. He had been rehearsing the scene for the last three weeks, but he simply couldn’t remember his lines. Why had he picked the notoriously tricky “Hamburglar Inauguration Speech” for his big audition? He was never going to get a place in the Jim Bowen Academy for the Performing Arts at this rate. Becoming a student at the JBAPA was all that Ivan had ever dreamt of, and he could feel it all slipping away.
He pulled on his kagoul and decided to go for a walk. He hoped that the crisp autumn air would help him get past whatever blockage it was that was blocking him. He felt like a pitta bread that was crammed so full of doner meat that all the salad has fallen out and was generally impossible to eat. He pondered which part of his life would be represented by the chilli sauce, and it took him a good hour before he realised that the metaphor didn’t stretch that far.
When he awoke from his reverie, he realised that he was deep within the bowels of the local cemetery and was standing in front of President Hamburglar’s grave. Ivan felt destiny calling as he read the words of the historic speech, engraved into the tombstone. As he reached the line, ‘all great men must one day steal meat’, he felt a single tear roll down his ruggedly handsome face.
Ivan looked to the sky and thanked the universe. His dream would be coming true after all.
Posted in Fiction | Tagged Acting, Doner Meat, Fiction, Hamburglar, Jim Bowen, President, Story | Leave a Comment »
Q: What do you call a Scottish entrepreneur who likes to dip biscuits in his tea at the alloted hour for long signs?
A: Dunkin’ Banner-time.
Q: Which 70s/80s alien-based sitcom featured some bacon and an Indian?
A: Pork and Hindi
Q: Which Godfather actor’s dad like to wear beige slacks?
A: Al’s Pa’s Chinos
Q: What do you call a woman who wears denim trousers?
A: Jean(s)
Q: What do you call a Frenchman who wears denim trousers?
A: Jean(s)
Q: Which glamour model is bordered by Iraq, Syria, Saudi Arabia and Israel?
A: Jordan
Q: Why do Saturday and Sunday have a feeble tip?
A: Because they are the weak-end.
Q: Why can’t people stop eating New Zealanders?
A: Because they’re Maori-ish.
Posted in Jokes | Tagged Jeans, Jokes, Weekend, Bacon, Puns, Gags, Duncan Bannatyne, Indian, The Godfather, Al Pacino, Jordan, Iraq, Syria, Saudi Arabia, Israel, New Zealand | 2 Comments »
This edition of PFTP is going to be a little different, as I didn’t actually publish any posts last February. Instead of the usual countdown of the best posts, I’m going to explain to you where I was.
You probably know all about my life as an agent of Sherby57 – if you don’t, then have a look through some of the posts, here. In short, we are a secret society that is tasked with maintaining the fabric of reality in this particular universe. Since this is a secret society, I’d ask you not to mention it to anyone.
Anyway, each universe has its own trans-dimensional lighthouse, where someone has to sit and watch for any fluctuations in the space-time continuum. It’s as unwanted a task as jury duty, so I was dismayed when last February happened to be my turn on the rota. It was allegedly only going to last a month, and I luckily got the shortest month, but 28 days sat in a pulsating energy pod is not my idea of fun. I almost hoped for some kind of apocalyptic event to give me something to do.
Anyway, I packed a lot of books and a few jazz mags and resigned myself to life in the pod. It was as boring as you would imagine, sat, day after day, literally staring into the abyss. As time ticked on, it looked like the month was going to pass by completely uneventfully.
Then, just as I was about to go home, typically, something happened that meant that I couldn’t. Since most of this adventure happened in March, I’ll tell you all about it next month.
Posted in Post From The Past | Tagged Jury Duty, Lighthouse, Multiverse, Sherby57, Trans-dimensional, Universe | 4 Comments »
