Sunday, November 29, 2020

 11th August 2017

This morning I drove my car into the river as an offering to Neptune. But guess what? He wasn’t even at home but out playing crazy golf with M.O.D.O.K. That’s three grand down the toilet, plus the peacocks I was keeping in the boot.

          Still, things perked up in the afternoon when I stole a car and drove that into a bridge as an offering to Jeff Bridges and he descended from the sky and told me I was alright in his book. The months of physiotherapy it’s gonna take to repair my shattered legs are gonna fly by.

Monday, November 9, 2020

30th July 2017
Another haiku:

    I am a pink boy
    Insidious betrayal
    By that yellow orb

Sunday, November 8, 2020

29th July 2017
I write haiku now:

    Oh lovely sunshine
    The sunshine is quite lovely
    Lovely lovely sun

Monday, October 26, 2020

20th July 2017

The small stegosaurus perched on top of my television won’t stop staring at me and I’m not gonna lie, after a few months it’s starting to freak me out. Still, I’ll be damned if I’m gonna lend him my spirit level.

Wednesday, October 21, 2020

16th July 2017
So I was walking through the park today, on my way to the hot pastry parade, when a flock – or, if you want to get technical, a “bastard” – of kestrels swooped down from the trees and pummelled me with their meaty fists. I tried to point out the physiological inaccuracy of what was happening but they wouldn’t have any of it, insisting that this was payback for what I did to their bouncy castle.
        “Oh, my feathered assailants,” I said as they tenderised my sweet, sweet flesh, “your bouncy castle did not suffer at my cheeky hands but those of my malevolent doppelganger, Dark Poncho.”
        I saw the truth of my words blossom in their eyes like a drop of vegetable soup plopping into a glass of vodka, and in their shame they all ritually disembowelled themselves. Once again Dark Poncho’s fiendish actions had not only led to the unnecessary suicide of vengeful wildlife but also landed me right in the shit.
        There will come a reckoning, Dark Poncho.

Wednesday, October 7, 2020

8th July 2017
My heart awoke an hour before I did, bursting as it was with so much love to share on yet another Valentine’s Day, that day of the year when people turned into slavering dogs gnawing on the gristle-bedecked bones of either inevitably terminal or deluded, long-faded affection.
    By the time I got out of bed and went downstairs, my heart had already prepared a slap-up breakfast for me, consisting of liquor and wrists. Oh my heart, you know me so well.
    But then, my collector’s-edition ‘Allo ‘Allo! calendar leapt off the wall and kicked the shit out of me and pointed out the date.
    For ‘twas not Saint Valentine’s Day, aroused reader, oh no. ‘Twas Saint Duplocheek’s Day, that terrible holiday allowing people to be a bit of a twat for a day.
    Damn you, heart! Damn you.

Wednesday, September 23, 2020

Wednesday, September 16, 2020

23rd June 2017
Strangeness comes in many forms, my ancient, pagoda-silhouetted university lecturer told me and the rest of my class. Well, I say university lecturer, he was actually a gasman. And I say class, but it was actually just me and three skeletons glued to my head. And I say talking, but he was actually communicating via a series of gestures, timed lights and tearful writhing. 
        Anyway, where was I?
        Oh yeah, I remember: so there I was, plunging through Earth’s atmosphere with only forty-five seconds left before the best haberdashery in town closed for the day…

Thursday, September 10, 2020

21st June 2017

Borrow a professional ape-groomer’s artificial leg during the night and does he let you forget about it? Does he fuck.

Sunday, August 30, 2020

19th June 2017 

So I’m there in my pantry, buffing my spoons, when Satan / The Devil / El Diablo / Horned Kevin comes in dancing a merry jig while playing his fiddle like a grade-A ragamuffin.
        “Christ, Satan, mind my canned gnome legs!” I cried, affronted like that time Buddha stole the largest chip off my plate when we went for that curry and then he told me to not to worry about it.
        Satan? Well, he just tittered like the crimson reprobate he was and danced right back on out again. Back up to the bathroom and my various scented bath lotions, no doubt.
        Keep dancing, Old Scratch. One day, me and you, we’re gonna tangle.

Monday, August 24, 2020

 15th June 2017 

I awoke with a burning urge to invent wood only to find out someone had beaten me to it.
        Following this unfortunate realisation, I bounded down my stairs just in time to catch the post that dropped through my letterbox before it landed on the fenced-off compound I’d shrunk down to miniature size the previous night. With me, their new god, having saved them from being crushed by my latest issue of satirical magazine Fact Punch, the tiny communists who occupied the compound burned a tea cosy in my honour.
        Later, after supper, I found that the communists had used their own clothing to spell out a message intended for me on the floor of their compound: “KILL US”.
        How I laughed. Oh, tiny communists, not before you prove you can arrange your own tiny pub quiz.

Friday, August 14, 2020

14th June 2017
“Come outta there, ya egg-sucking clam!” Bugsy ‘Shrubs’ Hooper shouted a moment before an arseload of bullets tore through the ground-floor windows of my house. “We got the place surrounded!”
        Now I knew Bugsy was no dandy morlock, no way no how, this was the guy who iced Floyd ‘Handsome Ski Lift’ Marlowe and stole the legs right out from under Ray ‘Woah Mama’ Pavement, so I knew if I was gonna survive this assault from him and his gang of no-good thugs and gun-plumbers, I was gonna have to fight fire with fire before they plugged me as a lesson to anyone else who had the stones to speak out against the extortionate price Bugsy charged for a perm at his barber’s.
        So I opened my washing machine, took out my freshly cleaned Tommy guns and strode out through my front door, ready to blast God’s beard off his chin if he got in my way.
        “Here you go, Bugsy, you wrong man!” I yelled cleverly as I pulled my triggers and spewed hot lead every which way but loose, like that Clint Eastwood film, The Bridges of Madison County.
        Bugsy and his boys, frozen in terrified awe by the sight of me, no doubt partially due to my saucily arresting boots, seven-foot-tall helmet and Bauhaus T-shirt signed by Frankenstein, stood no chance as I gunned them all down like the crime-bags they were.
        They would all be back to try their luck again tomorrow, of course. They were zombies. But for now, I went back inside and finished my cryptic gyrations.

Monday, August 3, 2020

13th June 2017

Well, that’s the last time I try to pull off a bank heist planned by gibbons. Lesson learned there.