3 December 2009 by sherby57
This is now. That was then.
This is then. That was now.
Rocks smash against hope. I finish my sixteenth Sunny D of the day and hope I’ll make it until sunrise. Stop blushing at the marigold gloves, you fool.
I stand and look about me. I don’t recognise a single thing. Not even the diamond encrusted cheese grater left to me by Orson Welles. Hmph. It’s time to make a move.
Am I a man? Am I a woman? I can’t see my genitals, so it’s a bit like Schrödinger’s cat. I’m both. Don’t peek or you’ll make the decision for me.
Joan. Oh, Joan. Why did you choose to go back to the fifties? The modern world was made as your oyster. I am your pearl.
Let me make you a necklace.
Forever.
Posted in Fiction | Tagged Cheese Grater, Marigold Gloves, Orson Welles, Schrödinger's cat, Sunny D | 2 Comments »
2 December 2009 by sherby57
In the eleventh century MP3 players were extremely rare. There were only two and they were both owned by the king, his royal highness King Merlin Pervert III.
It was a rudimentary system that was made of spider’s silk and bark. It only contained 4kb of internal storage. This was only enough for the first three seconds of Tiger Feet by Mud. The king was furious as it was his favourite song and wanted to hear all of it. He knew the dance and everything.
His curtailed musical experience resulted in a long, bloody war against the French. They had ‘la ípod’ – which had a 256Mb hard drive – a stunning achievement for the times. King Merlin wanted it for himself. The greedy little bugger.
Anyway, this is where we get the phrase ‘I’d like some salt, please’ from.
Posted in General Update | Tagged King, MP3, MP3 Player, Mud, Royalty, Tiger Feet | 2 Comments »
1 December 2009 by sherby57
The rains falls hard on a neurotic seal. It’s heavy breath labours under the intesity of bourbon biscuits. Mike slowly flicks his hair from his eyes with gay abandon. That’s the last time that a seal would fuck him over. Grinding heels add an extra dimension to sadness and pain. When will this madness end?
Wearily, Graham took his tool belt from his brow and plonked himself in front of the rotovater. Would Joan ever retrieve the TV from the headest of head honchos?
He doesn’t know that Joan is already dead.
Posted in Fiction | Tagged Bourbon Biscuits, Fiction, Gay Abandon, Seals, Short Story, Story, Tool Belt | 6 Comments »
30 November 2009 by sherby57
Hi guys
What’s the script, here? Are we going to see Bobby Davro Live, or what? Or what? You’re no fun. I’ve been looking forward to it for months.
You’re quite selfish, actually. I had a chance to go on a ‘Teach Yourself Horse Polishing’ course and I turned it down because I was so looking forward to seeing The Davro. I’m weeping tears of pure paraffin.
Thanks for nothing.
Yours sincerely,
Lenny the Lion
Posted in General Update | Tagged Bobby Davro, Lenny the Lion, Paraffin, Tears | 2 Comments »
29 November 2009 by sherby57
Sitting in a tree
Wondering what to do
I decide to be a train
Off we go, choo-choo
Getting bored of that though
And I’m running out of tracks
It’s like being in the 80s
Frankie says ‘Relax’
So I curl in to a ball
And pretend to be a snail
I’m searching for redemption
It’s the holy Grail
Now I’m falling downwards
I’ve rolled off my branch
This is just a nightmare
Emotional avalanche
Posted in Poem | Tagged Avalanche, Holy Grail, Poem, Poetry, Redemption, Snail | Leave a Comment »
