Fatties in Space Part 3 – Definitely still not for kiddies

You’d have thought I’d have given up on this idea by now wouldn’t you. But no. No I haven’t.

Part 1 is here and part 2 is here.  You really need to read those first for this to make much sense.  Not that it makes much sense.

 

The big day came around, as our pair left the ground

and to space they did head quite excited

soon of gravity free they would quite happily

give into their lust now ignited

 

Not constrained by their girth or the pull of the earth

they were sure to express their desire

to the chamber they floated, rotund hot and bloated

loins smouldered then soon set on fire

 

Hungry mouths warm wet lips bulging crotch quite pert nips

they cavorted and drifted through space

arching backs roaming hands loves wet warmth swollen glands

In huge bosom he buries his face

 

Set free from their weight, she’s the food on his plate

he devours from angles quite kinky

with his mouth he then pleases his tongue he then teases

and lord look where he just stuck his pinky

 

Heaving flesh they’re entwined to their passion resigned

hungry mouths they consume head to feet

Right way upside down how they both go to town

Like that time at the all you can eat

 

Now the entree is done and its time for more fun

its the main, shes bent over and waiting

Massive buttocks quite round what a sight most profound

he approaches his mouth salivating

 

Hands on hips legs akimbo, head thrown back like a limbo

how he handles her bulk into place

with no effort he fills her the pleasure it thrills her

Just like ribs, puts a smile on her face

 

Then with coital alignment and subtle refinement

its doggy, jack hammer then twister

little dipper, wheel barrow, for her age she’s quite narrow

though the Zebra Lunge gave her a blister

 

As they peak in their lust one more move is a must

and he grabs her and spins her around

They explode with delight and embrace close and tight

For the pleasure and love they have found

 

She caresses his chins and quite sated she grins

satisfied for the first time in years

pudding eyes drink her in shes his goddess of sin

such pleasure it brings them to tears


 

Well I think that is enough really.  I will miss them,

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

Dear Earthlings

I am not best pleased.

It’s me, the Universe.  Call me what you will, Jesus, Allah, Buddah, The Great Nothing, Merlin, Aslan…I do not mind particularly.  My closest friends call me Darren.

Not been here for a while, so just popped in to check up on you and I will admit, you never cease to disappoint me.  You really cannot be nice to each other for five minutes can you.  I turn my back to enjoy a rather lovely supernova sun and when I come back you’re at one another like you always are.

I was going to list the wars you’re waging against each other but you know what, I really cannot be bothered.  Please, slaughter away – the sooner you’re all dead the better.  I plan to bring the dinosaurs back – they were far cooler than you lot.  Oh, I may keep the Japanese – they’re cool too and I think a world populated by dinosaurs and the Japanese would be freaking awesome.

I was going to suggest that it’s about time the Americans took a good hard look at themselves and stopped shooting each other for no good reason but, well, for one they won’t listen because they seem rather fond of such beastly things and secondly, the NRA have sorted me out with a sweet holiday home so I should probably hold my tongue.

Oh, and do not go blaming me for those storms you’re having.  Act of god my big fat celestial bottom.   If you insist on ejaculating inside one another willy nilly and living wherever you choose with no consideration for common sense and then building homes on coastal swamps and places known as ‘Tornado Alley’ what do you bloody well expect.  I didn’t send the storms and I didn’t give your kids cancer either (despite what a lot of the christians reckon) .  Bad things just happen okay.  It’s part of the circle of Life.  You should listen to Elton John more.

I noticed what you’ve done to the polar ice caps too.  Great job you dicks.  I always liked them, lovely and tranquil they are.  Do you not realise what a lovely planet you live on?  Perhaps not – given the quite awful manner in which you treat it. I noticed a turtle with a plastic straw lodged in its nose.  It’s not funny, stop laughing.  You’ve dumped so much plastic in the seas that it will certainly outlast you lot.  Good bloody riddance I reckon.

Oh, and special mention to the Americans.  Bravo on Donald.  As if being disliked by the majority of the planet wasn’t enough you choose that to be in charge.    It has actually made my list of top 3 of monumental humanity cock ups.  It is easily on par with the fact that the Greeks can’t seem to install decent plumbing – despite their creative genius, and the small matter of JarJar Binks.  George..Serious?

I’m going now, I hope you finish each other off some time soon because I can’t wait to see a Ninja riding a stegosaurus, it is going to be frigging fantastic.


Screw you Haiku

100 word Wednesday – The Chase

99 Word Challenge – Sound

 

Photo courtesy of  Werner22brigitte @ Pixabay

Armitage – Part 1

… I had suggested, and I thought quite wittily, that she fetch me a sandwich and a nice cup of tea …

I am just reposting this so I don’t lose it.  It was my first ever post less than 3 months ago but I really want to use that post as my blog intro and for the life of me I cannot work out how to do that so I am rehousing this one.  Sorry to clog up your feed with it.

Michael


 

I have never enjoyed Tuesdays.  Looking back at the significant moments in my life I am pretty certain that were they plotted on a chart of some description – perhaps a rather nice exploded pie chart –  not one of those milestones would appear after a Monday but before a Wednesday.

I recall quite clearly my first kiss and it was on a Friday afternoon in late summer, as far from Tuesday as one might hope to get.  My children were most definitely not Tuesday babies, preferring instead to squeeze their way into the work on a Wednesdays and Friday respectively and I married for the first time on a glorious Saturday in July and the second time it was a rather bleak Friday afternoon in March.  I could attempt to find a milestone moment on a Tuesday but I shall not because there simply aren’t any.  Of that I am certain.  I do not, therefore, hold out a great deal of hope as I put pen to paper, commencing with it as I am on a Tuesday evening  in early July.

Negative it may well seem, and perhaps I would agree that It is hardly the attitude with which to embark on any new endeavour, but such is my outlook as I sit here in the darkness typing.  “So why type?” I hear you ask.  Well the answer to that is rather quite simple.  My wife suggested it might help me unburden myself and provide me an outlet for things inside that would well be far better out and perhaps prove a route to obtaining a positivity which I apparently quite often lack.   I had suggested, and I thought quite wittily, that she fetch me a sandwich and a nice cup of tea which I was also lacking at that precise moment in time – but I received only one of her special withering looks and spent a rather uncomfortable evening in the spare bedroom  – sandwichless and parched.

Whilst I make no assertions that this is in fact anything other than late night ramblings, were I to consider this something more poetic and meaningful then as creative journeys go this is simply a first step.  Perhaps the journey has not yet begun and this is actually only the packing of a small overnight bag.  If this is the only thing I ever write then it could actually be the metaphorical equivalent of picking up an exotically illustrated brochure from the travel agents which I ended up leaving on the bus home and then deciding that actually I won’t go abroad this year and will instead potter around the house and maybe build a small wall in the garden.

Not that we have a travel agents.  That closed down when the rift opened.  As did most things around here.  If there is one thing that I am certain of it is the fact that unless the univers decides to undo that which it has done then at no time soon will I be packing a bag – whether overnight or otherwise –  to go anywhere because there simply is no longer anywhere to go to.

 

 

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/tea/

 

 

 

 

 

Screw you, one and all.

Its probably wholly inappropriate and in rather poor taste. I’d not read it really.

To Everybody

I write this letter with some regret, though not much if I am to be honest.

I, Kris Kringle, hereby tender my resignation and would notify all concerned that I will be ceasing all and any Christmas related activities henceforth and with immediate effect.

Though there are many reasons for this decision, and it is not one that I take lightly, I have for the most part simply had enough and fancy a bit of a change.

The magic of Christmas seems now lost on so many and I no longer feel the support of the people I have for so long served, and I believe they would be best served by Amazon or Ebay or maybe just sending a really nice card or a letter saying something nice you don’t really mean.

The main reason though is the recent controversy my actions have attracted.  As I have repeated publicly on a number of occasions, and I would again insist right now, Elves are not children –  despite their stature.  The incident of March the 3rd this year so widely reported in the media was consensual and under the supervision of Mrs Kringle herself who is rather fond of that sort of thing.

I still contend strongly that there should be no bias against human elf relations.  I do not recall such an outcry when Aragorn and Arwen declared their love for one another, and they most certainly did not have to contend with people prying into their homes with long range telescopic lenses.  With hindsight perhaps we should have closed the curtains, but I am old fashioned and still believe in respecting the privacy of others – despite my day job.

Due to this hypocrisy, I must now work under the scrutiny of child services until they are satisfied that the welfare of my elves is no longer a matter for concern, and this is not a something that I am willing to tolerate for one day longer.

Whilst I accept that I am a public figure, what happens between consenting men and elves should be their business alone.  Despite the disapproval of so many sections of society it comforts me that I have found acceptance in some of the more niche communities on the dark web and my wife and I are proud of the fact that we are now widely attributed with being the creators of the “Upside Down Elvish Spit Roast” and the “Pixie Pile Driver”.

I know the children will be disappointed, but their demands have become most unreasonable in recent years and where once there was joy in building toys for them and seeing their little faces light up on Christmas morning these days we are mostly subcontracting to shoddy far east electrical suppliers who use child labour.  Whilst it is true that small hands make light work,  on balance I am probably doing children a favour.

I hope that you are able to secure a replacement for my position, perhaps the Chines might fancy it – they have the manpower and distribution channels I am sure.  For me, I am going to take a few weeks off and catch up on Game of Thrones and then my intention is to open a vape shop in California.  If you ever fancy a new bong or an electric cigarette pop by, I’ll do you a great deal.

Best Regards

KK

 

 


Photo courtesy of free-photos @ pixabay

Screw You Haiku 11/9/17

A little light haiku relief…

Proof that haiku do not always have to be serious…

 

The life of the clown

by day bringing joy, by night

he’s under your bed

 

night time toilet trip

lights out, think I saw a clown

run back to bed scared

 

Long hair and tight jeans

he watches her walk and lusts

bugger, it’s a bloke!

 

hot tea before bed

up three times throughout the night

Damn old man’s bladder!

 

One drink after work

woke up in the back garden

bloody sambuca!

 


More stuff?  Ive tons and tons of stuff!

Jeffrey and Cho – FFFAW Challenge

Lion and Zebra – Daily Prompt – Hidden

Probing – a cautionary tale – Daily prompt

 

 

Deep and insightfully insightfulnessness

Today’s blog introduces my new section, Ask Michael.

Seems that there are lots of blogs offering advice and inspiration so today I thought that I would perhaps try my hand at something a little different.   I have read a lot of the blogs out there so think maybe I might have the knack.

Life not what you thought it would be?  

How about…”All good things come to those who wait.”  Ooh,  how about “Life is what you make of it.”

Now you could sit around waiting for something wonderful though I would suggest you ask yourself if it really is that bad.  Okay, so maybe you’re one of those poor folk with a face full of flies and a sticky out belly button and is born into abject poverty and would prefer a loaf of bread over a fridge magnet quote but given that you are reading this, probably on a mobile phone, then I don’t think you’re one of them.

I imagine you have very few, if any, flies on your face and you probably have Amazon Prime Video and enjoy regular baths.  Maybe it could be better if you had NetFlix, but perhaps  just be grateful for what you have and keep working to try and improve yourself and your life and those around you because it could be a damn site worse and you could be wearing underpants that you got from a Lithuanian charity.

Feeling like a failure?  

Why not hang out with urine drenched homeless people and crack addled prostitutes for an afternoon?  You’ll feel so much better about yourself in to time, and will have a new found appreciation for the meagre amount you have achieved in life.  That is assuming they don’t rob you and steal your clothes and use you as a sexual plaything in a bus station toilet.

Lost your faith?

It will be fine I promise, in fact I would suggest you get out to the pub with a few mates and have some cocktails and shots and do some karaoke.  Chances are that whatever your faith strippers and flaming sambucas are on the do to list so enjoy it while you can.

You can always go back when you hit rock bottom, or at Christmas or on the day of the holy monkey god ascension day or whatever it is people go for these days.  We all know how much people of faith love welcoming back a lost soul, so they will probably have a barbecue for you, which would be lovely I am sure.

Let’s finish on a couple of things you could turn into motivational weight related fridge magnets shall we? 

I may have fat armpits, but at least I do not look like I have aids.

I beat anorexia!

I smell like pies because it makes me feel sexy.

That’s just a sample of my wisdom, and you’re feeling better now I imagine.  Not bad for a first attempt I reckon.  As you can see I am all heart and am here to share your pain.  

Feel free to leave a comment and I will happily advise you how to fix your life.


Fancy reading something else?

Ichabod the first

Badger and Fox

More miserable and inappropriate limericks – Not for the kiddies


Photo courtesy of Geralt@pixabay

An open letter from the killer clown community

In a world where diversity across society is ever increasingly celebrated there remain places where prejudice and hatred still run free.

This is a bit of a stream of conscious Saturday effort, which requires me to simply (with minimal editing) write.  This one went much better than last week and is pretty much unedited.  I would have liked to redo it as I like the idea but it is what it is.

Details can be found here if you fancy having a go:

https://lindaghill.com/2017/07/07/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-july-817/


Dear world

In a world where diversity across society is ever increasingly celebrated there remain places where prejudice and hatred still run free.  For every minority welcomed into inclusive arms there are those who day to day must face the very real darkness that lies in the hearts of men.  It is on behalf of one of those most marginalised segments of modern society that I write.

While the LGBTQ population blaze a glittering trail and celebrate their diversity and individuality we are forced to remain hidden under your beds, our history and heritage now long forgotten and all that remains of the joy we once brought is fear.

You have forgotten us, and more than that you have allowed our memory to be twisted until all that remains are your own inner fears and inhibitions which you project onto us.

In sports and entertainment those that are differently able are now held aloft as a symbol of our more progressive ways yet we must hide our difference and we are forced to lurk in the dark recesses of your closets for fear of discovery.

We deserve better for once we were the better part of you, we ewre your joy and your escape and your light in the darkness.  Now, I fear we have become your darkness and we must now arm ourselves to protect all that remains of our once proud people.

My heart’s desire is that once again you will embrace us and allow us to help you regain your innocence.  We are tired of living in the sewers and the garden sheds.  We wish to be released from the shackles of your childhood nightmares and to again bring joy to the faces of small children.

We ask of you to no longer exclude us but to open your arms and embrace our kind, free us from our solitary existence be ask for we are born of you and and deserve better.

Yours Sincerely

Killer Clowns


Fancy More?

Pesky butterflies – Weekly Weather Challenge: Hurricane

Badger and Fox

Ichabod the first

 

 

Https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/solitary/

 

 

Photo courtesy of RyanMcGuire @ pixabay

The joy of saying stupid things 1.

Picture if you will a small village in Africa, and in a small mud hut in this village lives a man.

You know how people just say things?  e all do it and today I think I shall mount my high horse and discuss one of those things people say quite casually that more than likely has its roots in some vague truth but is actually absolute drivel.

Now insist as much as you like, but I do not for one minute believe that laughter is the best medicine.

I am a firm believer that in fact, medicine is the best medicine.

Last year I had kidney stones, and as I lay there wishing for death to take me I can assure you that the last thing I wanted was to be regaled with humorous tales.  What I wanted was drugs, and lots of them.  Ideally I wanted them administered intravenously but I was quite open to the options of those taken orally or as suppositories.

In a near state of collapse as I was I would happily have allowed passing strangers to ram as many fist fulls of whatever took their fancy up my bottom if it came with the promise of even a modicum of relief.

Now I appreciate that there is an argument here on the effects of dopamine on the body, but my counter argument is that were I a syphilis infected crack fuelled man whore on death’s door then I would surely seek respite of an opiate nature in lieu of watching box sets of Black Adder.

Not yet convinced?

Picture if you will a small village in Africa, and in a small mud hut in this village lives a man.  Let’s call this man Ebeneezer.  Now Ebeneezer has a son who, due to a most awful set of circumstances, is riddled with aids and malaria.  Sadly he also suffers from malnutrition, his little belly so terribly swollen and his face crawling with flies.  His son is in a rather terrible way and Ebeneezer calls for a doctor, and as it transpires the red cross are in the area and send one over straight away.

“Oh thank you doctor” says Ebeneezer gratefully, “please can you give my beautiful boy medicine to help with the pain?”

Now obviously what Ebeneezer is seeking is something to make his son comfortable, so you can imagine his consternation when he is instead presented with a DVD of the complete works of Monty Python.

“Watch this twice a day” says the doctor “and he will be right as rain in a jiffy.”

I imagine that Ebeneezer was not best pleased, especially given that Ebeneezer does not have a television, let alone a DVD player.


 

Want to read more of my stuff?

This is kinda funny

and this kind of sad

This was just fun


Https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/casual/

Rehash Saturday

I’ve been doing this for about a month now, and there are some posts from the first few days which have not really been seen by anyone.  Now and again I think I shall share a few.

I’ve been doing this for about a month now, and there are some posts from the first few days which have not really been seen by anyone.  Now and again I think I shall share a few.

This one was one of the first ones I did in response to the daily prompt.

I loved writing this one – it was pointless and headed nowhere but I really enjoyed not having to have an ending or a beginning.   Just a middle…

Michael


More?  Try this or this

Photo courtesy of pixabay

In the news this week…

Trust me these are all on the BBC website!  Kind of.  Okay, maybe not in limerick form…

Trust me these are all on the BBC website!  Kind of.  Maybe not in limerick form…


Zac Makwala, a Botswanan runner

Ran 400 in world champs this summer

But he got bottom squirts

And excluded “It hurts!

Its unfair, wrong and oh such a bummer”


A bastard it seems, name of Gus

Got quite fat and his wife made a fuss

So he went for a run

got upset and for fun

pushed a lass passing by ‘neath a bus


Kim-Jung and Donald you ought ta

Stop waffling on about slaughter

Cos the Donald will win

‘Leash his nukes with a grin

Then fondle Kim’s wife, gran and daughter


 

Want to read more of my stuff?

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/29/a-collection-of-miserable-limericks/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/14/probing-a-cautionary-tale/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/03/first-blog-post/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/14/we-unlikely-few/

You did what to my Gran!?!?

Consider if you will, how easily a message is transformed by a casually mis-typed emoji.

I’m sure we are all familiar with the tale of the mother who assumed that LOL meant ‘lots of love’ and sent a message to her son informing him of the death of his Grandmother signed off with LOL.

Consider now if you will, how easily a message is transformed by a casually mis-typed emoji.

No?  Let me give you an example or two.

wp-image-1226434679

I saw your gran last night 🙂   is wholly different to  I saw your gran last night 😉

You accidentally add a winky face to that and it gets rather uncomfortable for me.  I’m suddenly wanting to know where you saw her because she should have been at bingo.  Then I want to know why you were hanging around her and why to god you added a winky face which can only mean something a little sexy.  I do not want you having any sexy time with my gran.  Good heavens.  Stick to a nice smiley and we’re still going to be friends.

God forbid that comes from like a parent or a sibling, that’s a whole new level of messed up and there is no way I can spend Christmas with you all.

More?

wp-image-1755908686

Now imagine you were to send the following:

I saw your sister and her husband at the park yesterday.

If you add the tongue out winky face instead of the regular smiley face then again I am wondering wtf, was getting sexy with my gran not enough for you?  I am then forced to ask what in the blazes happened with my sister and her rather dull accountant husband Greg that required any sort of tonguing?  They’re not the tonguing type of people.  Please stop.

At this point I am considering having to ask you to leave me and my family alone.

 

wp-image-1226434679 wp-image-1755908686  wp-image-1729823862

There are lines one should not cross, and I think careful typing is essential to ensure that you do not send the message below with the smiley icons above:

Hey stranger, popped round to your place but you weren’t in.  Was great to see your mum and dad after all these years  

That is too far, I mean sweet Jesus what sexy stuff did you do that made you go all winky face and then then cry?  Was it both touching and deviant?  Were there  cuddles?

I now want you to delete me from your phone and call the authorities.

So there you have it.  Just a few tips…be careful out there.  Next week I intend to explore the incorrect use of the abbreviation for ‘At The Moment’.

Michael

 


Want to read more of my stuff?  No.  Don’t blame you, no offence taken.

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/29/a-collection-of-miserable-limericks/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/14/probing-a-cautionary-tale/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/03/first-blog-post/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/14/we-unlikely-few/

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/casual/

 

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/casual/

Title photo courtesy of JohnHain @ Pixabay

More miserable and inappropriate limericks – Not for the kiddies

Limericks about the darker side of life….Today I think I shall perhaps write about sexual harassment in the work place.

Limericks about the darker side of life….Today I think I shall perhaps write about sexual harassment in the work place, prison abuse and the evils of drugs.  All of which I know absolutely nothing.     Remember, It’s not big and it’s not clever…any of this.


A lass at our work called Tallulah

Approached a young lad with a ruler

proclaimed “Three and a half”

He:”You’re having a laugh, 

and it’s cold so do not let that fool ya”!


 

 

A young lad caught fiddling the books 

got locked up with the rapists and crooks

spent his days filled with dread

frightful thoughts in his head 

pretty mouth, lovely hair, rugged looks


A woman I knew, Enid Black

smoked some weed for an ache in her back 

then she dabbled in coke 

which she got from “some bloke” 

Now spends all day selling boobies for crack


 

There was another here but I think it goes too far but I struggle with boundaries…so if you choose to read it you have to scroll and scroll and scroll. 


 

Want to read more of my stuff?  No.  Don’t blame you, no offence taken.

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/29/a-collection-of-miserable-limericks/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/14/probing-a-cautionary-tale/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/03/first-blog-post/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/14/we-unlikely-few/

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


Husband wants rape sex role play

“Bloody hell no!” says wifey “No way!”

“That the spirit!” he cries

all ‘Trumpesque’ grabs her thighs

Now hes single, in jail, wife turned gay


 

I seem to be on a diet

I was tempted to toss the strawberries and a couple of meringues directly into my mouth and top it up with the can of squirty cream that’s in the fridge…

I wrote previously about being fat,  and since that post – despite great consideration – did precisely nothing about it.  Unless of course you were to count the two meals below, which I think may actually have had exactly the opposite effect of a nice salad and a walk in the park.  I am no nutritionist though, so cannot be absolutely certain on that point.

wp-image-1377538404

The feast above was enjoyed (and shared) at Miller and Carter in Huddersfield, and whilst there is an abundance of Salad I imagine the benefits were likely undone by the lashings of dressing and the presence of an entire deep fried crab.  Again, I would welcome a steer on that point from someone in the know.

Now the next meal I enjoyed at the Bottomley Arms in Halifax, and the ultimate burger seems something they are rather proud of.

wp-image-717850989

After eating as much of it as I could, washed down with a cheeky gin and tonic or two, I realised that perhaps any item of food that has the word ‘Ultimate’ in the description is unlikely to prepare one for a lengthy session in the gym.

Equally, another indication as to its inappropriateness for exertion of any type other than the loosening of one’s belt and sweating on the way back to the car may have been the use of the phrase ‘…and even more onion rings and cheese…”

I’m pretty sure it had pulled pork on it.  I vaguely recall the use of the words ‘succulent’,  ‘juicy’ and ‘hand pulled’ at some point in the evening.

Anyway, I checked both Slimming World and Weight Watchers websites in the hope that perhaps I could pass them off under a few ‘healthy B’s’ or maybe they might come in under a daily ‘points total’ but alas not.  Both sites simply confirmed that not only am I big boned with a healthy appetite but I am also somewhat delusional.

So, that being said I awoke this morning and for some reason thought, “why don’t you get on the scale.”  You want to know the number don’t you.  Yeah well I think perhaps I’ll keep that for another day but what I will say is that I decided that I would have a go at not having bacon for breakfast and take it from there.  What I did have was this:

wp-image-607609497

It was ok I guess, for a breakfast that was not pork based.  What I will say is that I didn’t need a lie down after it so that’s something right?

Admittedly, I was tempted to toss the strawberries and a couple of meringues directly into my mouth and top it up with the can of squirty cream that’s in the fridge.  I was worried though that should I have a stroke and fall down dead at that very moment it would scar the kids for life when they found me lying there, clad only in my underpants,  Eton mess spilling from my mouth and looking like I’d succumbed to rabies.

So we shall see how it goes, and I will continue to share.  I may well have to change the featured image in this photo if I get a chance later because I feel like that woman with the fruit is just mocking me.

Fatties in space – not one for the kiddies

He devoured her like so many delicious cream buns that had gone before…

So I have this idea for a story right, but I think writing about the idea may be more fun than writing it – for now at least – because my kids read my blog sometimes and it would/will scar them.

Anyway…

The idea is a simple one.  It’s a tale of a company that flies particularly portly people to space so that they can have sex, unencumbered by the forces of gravity which must so inhibit those of a most enormous girth.

Now don’t get me wrong, this is not about fat shaming and I am not talking about your average fat person here, of which I am one, I am talking about your truly rotund specimens that might currently require a small winch to get out of bed or a wall removing from the house should they wish to go out to the shops to buy a sandwich.

Some of the lines I scribbled  down that I wanted to use were …

  • He devoured her like so many delicious cream buns that had gone before.
  • Her high pitched squeals of delight filled his mind with a craving for bacon
  • His heaving mass of desire floated towards her
  • somehow I wanted to work in …when she moved her bottom looked like two piglets fighting in a sack
  • she caressed each of his chins gently, staring into his chocolate pudding eyes
  • Locked together like lust filled sea creatures they drifted through the inky blackness oblivious to everything but the throbbing of…well actually I just had this desire to use the word throbbing in some capacity there.

I’m sure you get the general idea.  It’s very much a tale of passion and desire and fulfilment and there is a scene where our star crossed lovers Barry and Janet float across their chamber of love with him positioned behind her, hands on her hips and a large bowl of pudding in the very large small of her back.

Admittedly the idea needs some work but as a general idea I think its quite an evocative one.  Perhaps its chocolate dipped strawberries – that might work better.

So one for more consideration I think, it might make it to my blog it might not.  time will tell.


 

 

Want to read more of my stuff?  No.  Don’t blame you, no offence taken.

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/29/a-collection-of-miserable-limericks/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/14/probing-a-cautionary-tale/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/03/first-blog-post/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/14/we-unlikely-few/

 

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/lust/

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

More sombre limericks…kind of.

Today I’d like to explore the frailty of our existence. through the medium of limerick.

I’ve rather enjoyed the attempts at sombre limericks of late and being a little pushed for time to write this week they still give me chance to write as they don’t take long.

Today I’d like to explore the frailty of our existence. through the medium of limerick.

So here you go, another 4…though these will be the last for some time as they’re getting rather dark and a bit weird if I’m being honest.


A lass I once worked with called Jane 

Had a tumour removed from her brain 

She went to celebrate 

Thinking yeah this is great 

But got hit on way home by a train 


My friend knew a girl, quite the dancer 

Really hot so he thought he’d romance her

Woo’d her hard, they got wed 

Had two kids then dropped dead 

Nobody knew she’d brain cancer 


 Mum loved  chicken and steak, cheese and bread 

Quite often ate cake in her bed 

Scoffing chocolate and sweeties 

Got real fat,  diabetes 

Lost 3 toes then one summer fell dead 


Old dame lived alone in a flat 

Had no family or friends fancy that

Fell, banged her head on the ground 

3 weeks ’till she was found 

Decomposed, face chewed off by her cat


 

Want to read more of my stuff?  No.  Don’t blame you, no offence taken.

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/29/a-collection-of-miserable-limericks/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/14/probing-a-cautionary-tale/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/03/first-blog-post/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/14/we-unlikely-few/

 

A collection of hopefully sad limericks.

Limericks are so playful and whimsical and done right, usually rather funny.  My aim is to do quite the opposite. How did I do?

On Mondays I like to allow myself a little more freedom from the discipline of the more structured writing schedule that I have set for myself.  

Last Monday I explored the idea of the inappropriate Haiku which you can read here

Limericks are so playful and whimsical and done right, usually rather funny.  My aim is to do quite the opposite.  So, can the limerick be sad?  Perhaps you’d like to leave your own in the comments?


A young lad I knew as a senior

he got cancer, I think ’twas leukaemia

the treatment it failed

he got thinner and paled

and then died and his wife got bulimia


My dad was a drunk and a cheat

every weekend my mother he beat

took her cash to do drugs

bringing home sluts and thugs

’till we all ended up on the street


First time we met how I tried

not to love, but I made her my bride

then the marriage it failed

when her sister I nailed 

Took her life, overdose, suicide


My dog, my best friend always true

dedicated to me through and through

Drunk, I left the door wide

and she ran straight outside

got ran over and died now I’m blue

 

A chap that I know who loves choir 

had to quit giving up his desire 

he could not harmonise 

when he lost both his eyes 

and his tongue when he fell in a fire 


I think I’ll stop there, I’m not sure that I’m trying hard enough to make them sad.  Or maybe I should blame the limerick, either way I hope it’s not too inappropriate and I think it goes to show that even the most serious of subjects find some lightness in a limerick.



Want to read more of my stuff?  No.  Don’t blame you, no offence taken.

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/14/probing-a-cautionary-tale/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/03/first-blog-post/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/14/we-unlikely-few/



 https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/harmonize/

A letter to the council – An Armitage Tangent

Secondly, and perhaps more obviously, I would again press as to why my husband is now on what is quite obviously a dangerous undertaking.  He did not take either a proper coat or sturdy shoes,

The Cottage

79 The Crescent

Little Norwood

West Yorkshire

 

To whom it may concern

I would write to you in the strongest terms with regards to the recent treatment of my husband, Mr Armitage Shanks, of the address noted above.

Two days ago My husband attended your offices and was informed by the receptionist that in order for his family to continue to receive our support he would need to support one of your apparent operations within The Rift.  This really is most unacceptable and not how we should conduct things as the last bastion of organised civilisation.

To this point I would ask a number of questions.

Firstly, who the devil is this receptionist.  Whilst the world may have gone to hell (please forgive my language, but this matter has me most vexed), surely one would require far greater authority to compel my husband to risk life and limb that that possessed of a mere receptionist.

My husband is a weak willed man and I can only assume that she is one of these modern liberated types who, feeling empowered per some council agenda, feels that she can order people to their doom willy nilly.  This simply will not do and on that matter I would ask that you escalate my concerns to the highest possible authority.

Secondly, I would again press as to why my husband is now on what is quite obviously a dangerous undertaking.  He did not take either a proper coat or sturdy shoes, instead choosing a light summer jacket and a pair of tan brogues.  Can you assure me that you have provided his with suitable apparel.

Lastly I would again insist that you return him home as soon as is possible.  He is in no way prepared for an endeavour of this basis and not capable of a great deal more than some light gardening and the occasional trip to the pub.  He has also not yet fitted a shelf in the kitchen over which he has been procrastinating for some time and I must insist that should anything untoward happen to my husband then I will hold you responsible for not only the welfare of me and my family but you will also need to put up that shelf as I currently have nowhere for my pans.

I anticipate your swift response.

Yours Sincerely

Katherine Shanks

 


If you want to read more about Armitage Shanks please take a look here.

Armitage – Part 6

“Imagine the world as a sheet of double ply toilet paper.” Ichabod continued, “This world is one sheet and the other sheet is one of countless others.  I exist in-between those two sheets.”
“As scientific explanations go” Armitage snapped, “that is bloody awful!”  His breathing quickened, his head started to pound and he started to feel sick again.

Armitage awoke from a rather pleasant dream where he was not in a military compound waiting to pop into a space time rift on the whim of a council office receptionist.  It involved cups of tea and pottering around the garden for the most part.  There may have been croquet at one point but he was too busy tending to his roses for that.

He opened his eyes slowly and realising where he was mumbled an “oh bugger me” before closing them again in an attempt to at least pretend that he was still asleep.

“Excellent, you’re awake!” Came a reply.

It wasn’t Goodwin.  This was a new voice and one wholly more friendly and upbeat than either Goodwin or Koala.  It sounded excited almost, which Armitage found most annoying.

“I was just about to wake you” the voice continued quite chipper.  “You need to get ready, it’s nearly time”.

Armitage sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes.  He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, he had intended to try and get hold of his family, protest loudly but politely about his current situation and try and get hold of a tooth brush as he had neglected to brush this morning.

“And you are exactly whom?” he asked turning towards the source of the voice.

“Turner” came the reply, “Ichabod Turner, please to meet you”.

There was nobody precisely where this somebody ought to be.

“Why can I not see you? Armitage puzzled, already fast acclimatising to the new ridiculousness of his post-council-office-trip life.

“Oh yes, sorry I do forget sometimes” came the disembodied reply, “the easiest way to explain it is that I exist in a place between your world and a million others.  Went into into a rift a few years ago and came out like this.”

Armitage said nothing, waiting.

“Imagine the world as a sheet of double ply toilet paper.” Ichabod continued, “This world is one sheet and the other sheet is one of countless others.  I exist in-between those two sheets of toilet paper.”

“As scientific explanations go” Armitage snapped, “that is bloody awful!”  His breathing quickened, his head started to pound and he started to feel sick again.

“Yeah my wife said something along those lines when I told her” Ichabod replied. “Well, in between the screaming and the crying and the insisting that she had told me something like this was bound to happen if I insisted on wandering onto rifts.”

Armitage thought he sounded like he was smiling.  He wondered if his own wife was destined for a similar fate.

“I probably need to rethink how I explain myself to people” Ichabod continued, then paused for a moment whilst Armitage put his head in his hands.  He really needed a nice cup of team and another lie down.

“Come on Armitage” he insisted “we can’t be lingering here all day we have places to be.  Lets have you, chop chop.”

Armitage struggled to his feet, head spinning.  “Ok, where are we going?”

“Oh this is going to be fantastic”.

“I very much doubt that.”

Ichabod laughed.  “Do you want to put on those fatigues?”

Armitage had no intention of putting on the fatigues and boots laid out on the green trunk at the end of the bed.  “I was supposed to be repotting my azalea today you know!” He complained loudly. “It isn’t flowering and it really needs looking at.

Ichabod didn’t reply.

“You know what” he said, “I think I shall remain in the clothes I am wearing thank you very much.”  He folded his arms in as much of an act of defiance as he could muster.

“Suit yourself, follow me” instructed Ichabod.

Armitage followed Ichabod’s voice as he was lead between the tents and to a small door in the side of the stadium.  There were surprisingly few people to be seen.  He had seen a couple of heavily armed thick set men milling about outside one of the large green tents and a small squad of around a dozen men could be seen running at the far end of the row of tents but that aside it was by no means busy.

“Could you get that?” Ichabod asked.  “I seem to be struggling with my hands in this reality a little today.”

Armitage pulled the door open and they passed through inside, Ichabod leading him through a series of winding corridors until they appeared at another door.  Armitage pulled it open without being asked.

The first thing he saw when he passed through the door, hearing it clang closed behind him, was Koala Jackson deep in conversation with Goodwin.  They were just a few metres away on the edge of what was once the pitch inside the stadium, but the grass was mostly gone now and more tents were scattered across it’s surface, with one particularly large one squarely in the centre.  Masses of heavily armed troops littered the place and there was a real thrum of activity wherever he looked, with crates of what he assumed were weapons and ammunition being moved about.  Much of the seating in the stands had been removed and what looked like sand bag emplacements and bunkers took up much the space where the seating had once been.

“Good heavens!” he exclaimed loudly.   “What the bloody hell is this?”

“Armitage, Turner, over here” boomed Koala Jackson.  “Front and centre, sharp!”

Armitage really did not like being barked at.  It made him feel most uneasy given that he was by nature a more collaborative sort, prone to problem solving through the sharing ideas and the exchange of dialogue.  Judging by the look on Koala Jackson’s face she didn’t seem to be in the mood for anything other than him being front and centre, so he hastily obliged.

First thing Armitage noticed was that she seemed to be carrying an inordinate amount of weapons, which surely did not bode well for the rest of the evening.  Not that he knew anything about armaments, but they certainly looked rather dangerous and not something you would need were you pottering in the garden or making jam.  There were Pistols in holsters on her belt, those he could recognise, and there were a couple or large pointy ones on her back which looked most unpleasant and which might take an eye out if you weren’t careful with them.   Add to these the one strapped across her chest and the one in her left hand and she looked prepared for something that he was not.

“Is all that not heavy?” he asked, the words spilling from his lips without thought.  Jackson didn’t bother with a reply.

“Gentlemen” she said with a certain menace that Armitage had not noticed earlier “Inrift into  exactly ten minutes time we shall be entering Rift 1979.”  Four heavily armed men in worn fatigues had joined him and Ichabod and they stood waiting for Jackson to continue.

Armitage felt sick again

Jackson stood to her full height, addressing the group but speaking to him directly.  “Armitage, you are our key and are going to help me and my team pass through Rift 1979.  Once inside the  Rift you will remain with us whilst we complete our mission at which point you will accompany us back through again.  Is that understood?”

“Well actually…” Armitage began before she interrupted him.

“You don’t need to ask questions” she snapped “you simply need to do as I tell you and stay close to Mr Goodwin.  He will ensure nothing terrible happens to you.”

Armitage did not like the word terrible one bit.  He had once spilled paint on the stair carpet, and that was about the extent of his definition of terrible. He feared her definition was somewhat significantly worse.

“Ichabod will be our guide between dimensions and the 4 magnificent specimens you see next to you are there just in case we need to negotiate with the locals.”  Armitage looked at the one closest to him and he had to agree, he was rather magnificent.  Not the sort  you would have round for a spot of brunch but he hoped most certainly suited to something as ridiculous as whimsically popping into a space time rift.

“Now, if you all want to follow me we really must be going” she said sharply and headed off towards the large white tent in the middle of the pitch.

Goodwin grabbed his arm and pulled him after him as he hear Ichabod proclaim “Oh I love this bit.  You’re going to love this Mr Shanks, just you see!”

Armitage doubted that very much.  Approaching the large white tent he noticed Jackson’s team visibly tense.  “What happened to your previous key?” he asked cautiously.

They looked at one another but didn’t reply.  He was about to protest most vociferously when he suddenly found himself inside the tent, Goodwin’s hand still around his arm.  He had anticipated a head quarters of some sort, or perhaps an information desk where he cold lodge a complaint, but this really was not what he expected.

Standing in the middle of the tent, the only thing in the room, was a door.

Now as far as doors go this one was for the most part a rather regular and unassuming door, the type you would find on any street. It was 8 panelled with a  brass handle, letter box and knocker and painted jet black with a number two positioned slightly off centre to the right about three quarters of the way up.  That was it, just this door.

He wanted to ask why there was a door, it seemed the natural question to ask, but given how the last few days had panned out he waited as someone would tell him eventually.

“Welcome to Rift 1979!”  Jackson seemed rather proud suddenly”Oh yes, baby!” Ichabod exclaimed.

“I expected something a little more…” Armitage paused. “Well a little less door like really.  Maybe a little more Hollywood.”

Jackson glared at him.  “The door is a containment field Mr Shanks.  Our alien friends were so kind as to leave us with this before they disappeared with our tea and biscuits.”

“Very kind of them” he mumbled.

Koala took his arm and pulled him towards the door.  ” Now all I need you to do is to open it for me and step inside.”

This was all happening way too fast he thought.  This sort of thing did not happen to people like him.  People like him tended their gardens and contributed to the general well being of the village and drank beer and played darts in the pub on a Friday .

“And how exactly do I do that ” Armitage asked, hoping that there would be some complex ritual which he could make a mess of to delay what felt like the inevitable.

“Its a Door Armitage” Goodwin interrupted.  “Turn the handle.”

“Well I could” he said, “But I really do not think that …”

“Open the bloody door Armitage!” Jackson demanded.

She scared him into action and before he knew it he had reached out turning the handle.  It clicked, just as one would expect of a door and slowly he pushed against it.  Before he had time to ask whether he might perhaps remain behind given his splitting headache he felt was a shove in the back and he tumbled through the door, the others bursting past and stepping over him.

After that it all got a little weird.

 


Want to read more of my stuff?  There’s a few links below you might like.

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/14/probing-a-cautionary-tale/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/03/first-blog-post/

https://afterwards.blog/2017/07/14/we-unlikely-few/

On being really fat

They say one should write about what one knows, so I I think I shall perhaps write about being fat.

They say one should write about what one knows, so I I think I shall perhaps write about being fat.

Now, I don’t yet know if it will be a cake and pork fuelled celebration of my wobbly belly and chafing thighs or whether I shall use this as a shameful catalyst to stir me in my eternal attempt to lose weight.  I haven’t quite worked myself up to a commitment one way or another yet having only just penned the thought, plus I have a rather nice hot beef and mustard sandwich that needs to be eaten before I do any sort of serious decision making.

Now if I was to attempt to lose weight, which I indeed might but let’s not be too hasty as we are still working through the premise for this piece, then It obviously goes without saying that typing will not help me shed a single chin.  I am also pretty sure that a few of the particularly energetic amongst you may well be thinking that I should simply stop typing right now, wipe the quite delicious beef juice from my chubby little fingers and get myself on a treadmill or go for a nice walk.  I won’t argue against that point, and the matter of the treadmill is one I will address another time most likely, but for now I think I shall  either, but I shall persist with writing something first at that was my aim when I sat down.  That and to eat my rather delicious sandwich which I have done whilst typing this.

So where to next I ask myself.  I am not certain yet but how about I float a couple of ideas to see whether any of them stir me as to my preferred course of action:

·       When bending over to pick things up became an embarrassment to my children.

·       Why my jeans need pulling up whenever I stand.

·       Failing at not being fat.

·       Stamina, what stamina.

·       I woke up with a lollipop stuck to my jumper

·       What do you mean I have piles!

·       Late night eating by refrigerator light.

·       Please put a shirt on the neighbours might see you.

As much as that feels like Weird Al album track listing,  I think I might have enough ideas to take this somewhere you know. 

Perhaps I will see you next time when I tackle the difficult subject of ‘Why my bathroom scale hates me and lies just to make me feel bad about myself’.

 

 

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/Lollipop/

Soil – An Armitage Tangent

“A scotch egg is not a fruit!” Wednesday insisted forcefully, “it is an egg wrapped in sausage meat then crumbed and deep fried!”

 “A scotch egg is not a fruit!” Wednesday insisted forcefully, “it is an egg wrapped in sausage meat then crumbed and deep fried!” 

“All I’m saying” replied Thomas, “Is that if you use your imagination, and think of it maybe as a meat apple then it maybe could be.”  He paused for a moment.  “Don’t you think?”

Wednesday did not think.  Not for one moment. 

“Why do you insist on being so completely ridiculous?” He ranted, face flushed and his jaw clenched.  “I swear you do it just to annoy me!”

“What if I gave you an apple flavoured one?”

“That’s a bloody apple!” Wednesday raged.  “We’ve got a job to do here – stop going on about scotch egg flavoured apples and apple flavoured scotch eggs and dig!”

“What about an orange flavoured one?”

“Ok, you know full well  that an orange flavoured apple flavoured scotch egg is a bleeding orange!”  A vein pulsed just above his right temple.  “Just keep digging and stop being an idiot.”

Thomas allowed himself just a little smile.  He loved Wednesday deeply but he was a frightful bore at times and took things far too seriously.  No imagination at all sadly.  “It’s nature’s goodness Wednesday” he grinned, attempting to push the large brown pork ball into his friend’s hand.  “Here”, he said “Take a bite they’re delicious!”

Wednesday hit Thomas’ hand away and the scotch egg fell to the floor “Stop it!” he shouted, “I don’t want a bloody pork apple!”

“So you admit it then!”  Thomas laughed in delight, picking up the scotch egg from the floor “Oh Wednesday, you are funny.  You won’t grow if you don’t eat your vegetables” he teased.

Wednesday did not find any of this funny at all.  His sense of humour was not his strong suite.  It served very little purpose in his line of work.

“Just keep digging the hole and then we’ll get out of here” he said thrusting a shovel into Thomas’ free hand.

“I don’t see why I always have to do the digging “ said thomas “you could help”.

Wednesday rolled his head, bones cracking in his neck.  “You dig because I do most of the killing” he replied curtly.  “If you want to do more of the killing then I will quite happily dig but if you insist of eating scotch eggs and being an idiot then you get to dig.”

“I only asked, bloody hell mate” Thomas said “This should be deep enough anyway, drag him over I’ll get him covered up.”

Thomas shovelled the majority of the soil over what was quite obviously the body of a rather portly gentleman, a single polished shoe protruding from a thick white wrapping that did very little to hide what was inside.

“Job Done” Thomas said satisfactorily, brushing the dust from his clothes.

Wednesday smiled “You got any of those scotch eggs left, I’m starving.”

 

 

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/soil/

Armitage – Part 5

Koala Jackson was consumed by exactly none of the fear or trepidation that filled Armitage whenever he considered what lie before him.   In fact, she possessed mostly none of the attributes which made Armitage the opposite of whatever would likely pass as perfect for this mission.  Not to say he did not have admirable qualities, he did, but the ability to work with spreadsheets, support charities or put up a small shelf in the kitchen were highly unlikely to be required at any point in the near future.

With Close to two dozen rift missions under her belt, Koala was as close to a veteran of these things as you were going to find.   At 6 ft 2 she posed a striking figure, especially for a woman – which she quite obviously was.  Throw in piercing blue eyes, broad shoulders and a rather intimidating yet situationally perfect crew cut she was not to be trifled with.  Drop her into military fatigues and pop a couple of weapons in her surprisingly elegant hands and trifling was the furthest thing from Armitage’s mind.  This was most certainly a non trifling situation.

“Shanks!” she shouted over as Armitage stepped from the car, “Front and centre.  You too Goodwin!”

Goodwin scurried over, pulling on Armitage’s sleeve to hurry him along.  He’d seen enough television to know what she meant by ‘front and centre’ he just never quite imagined he’d need to be either front or centre and the confusion showed on his face as she barked again.

“Move it Shanks, we don’t have all day!”

“I really do think there has been a terrible misunderstanding ” he said gingerly, his feet shifting uncomfortably as he spoke.

“Did the receptionist send you?” she asked

Armitage confirmed with a nod and mumbled unintelligibly about clerical errors and voices in his head.

“Then there is no mistake.  The receptionist does not make mistakes!”

It was at this point, looking about, that he realised that a couple of slices of marmalade on toast and a cup of tea were not going to get him through the day.   He knew where he was, but it was very much changed from the last time he was here.  The Local football team ground had been commandeered by the Rift Police and the large car park to the front of the ground, where he now found himself, was now home to row upon row of military green tents.  Large stacks of crates were dotted about here and there and the place swarmed with gnarled looking , heavily armed, military types.

“Don’t look so worried shanks!” barked Jackson loudly, “What’s the worst that can happen eh?”

Armitage was pretty sure that she was making a joke, but the stony look on her face quite the opposite and he wondered for a moment whether this was a question.  Armitage had a good imagination, and right now he could picture plenty of things that would be considerably worse than that which he would have imagined were he asked the same question less than 24 hours earlier.

Jackson continued, addressing both Armitage and Goodwin jointly.  “Now I imagine you want to know why you’re here”.  She did not wait for him to respond.  “You have been  been chosen by the receptionist to accompany me and my team into the rift at 18 hundred hours. ”

Armitage felt suddenly rather unwell.  His brain insisted, quite elegantly and persuasively,  that it was simply a ludicrous idea to even consider such a thing, and who the devil did the council think it was to be asking perfectly unassuming members of the public to undertake what was quite obviously a military mission.  It was not on and he would like to speak to whomever was in charge because this simply would not do.

Unfortunately, all of this came out as a rather unconvincing “Mnneeegghh”.

“Excellent” she said, “well now that that is all squared away Goodwin will show you to your tent and get you settled” and with that she strode off purposely towards the tents and disappeared.

Armitage stood for a while then looked across at Goodwin.  “This way then Armitage” he said, almost cheerily, and set off in the same general direction as Jackson.

Entering the large green tent it was everything he had ever seen on television, back when there was any television to speak of.  Two rows of four beds lined each side of the tent and to the right of the head of each bed there was a small metal cupboard and at the foot of the bed a large green metal trunk.  Piled neatly on the end of the bed was a sheet, blanket, pillow and pillow case.

“Pick any one ” instructed Goodwin, waving a hand towards the beds “might be worth making up the bed too in case you want to grab some sleep before things get a bit crazy.”

“Why am I here?” Armitage asked emptily.

Goodwin chuckled and sat on the edge of one of the beds, his hands folded in his lap.  It was always the same routine.  The Receptionist picks them out, lands him with them and he has to explain why some poor regular run of the mill nobody is about to pop into a rift in time and space.

“Pretty simple really ” he answered, “Turns out you’re most probably genetically predisposed to rift travel.”

Goodwin paused for dramatic effect, his slightly too apart eyes not blinking to heighten the tension.  This was his favourite part.  “I say probably because it did go wrong once and …” He paused again.  “Well lets just say that should this not go well your wife will receive a rather nice bouquet of flowers and a card expressing the council’s sincerest condolences. ”

Armitage thought he was going to be sick again.  He seemed to be feeling this way a lot today and he was pretty sure that it was nothing to do with the marmalade.

“There are things to see and places to go in this universe Armitage,  well beyond that which you could ever comprehend” he continued, “and we need your unique genetic code unlock the rift to allow Jackson and her team to pass through.”

“Oh this is bloody stupid” he replied, the combination of nausea and confusion overwhelming him somewhat.  That was all he could muster other than “I really don’t feel well at all”.

“Lie down a while” replied Goodwin still smiling “It will be fine.” He paused again.  “Probably”.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Image :https://www.bing.com/images/search?view=detailV2&ccid=e48dXtHN&id=A5ABBE65EF8506F45F1B27322227D48F9A7408A2&thid=OIP.e48dXtHNxGyT3KHbFDIFngEkEs&q=another+dimension&simid=608012592998056987&selectedIndex=77&ajaxhist=0

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bernard and Charles – Daily prompt

“Ill tell you what Charles” said Bernard, shuffling his newspaper and staring out of the large communal room window.  His eyes followed an older woman in a blue dress being walked by a small pack of dogs on the lawn outside. “Things are a lot better than they used to be you know”.

“Uh-huh, is that so?” replied Charles distantly, not looking up from his cross word and scratching his head through a thick mop of white hair.  He was having a real problem with three across.

“Oh yes, absolutely” Bernard insisted.  “Look at the world now.  It’s not like in our day Charles.  Kids don’t know how lucky they have it.”

Charles muttered loudly “20th century Canadian Liberal, four letters”?

Bernard wasn’t listening, intent only on voicing his opinions whilst continuing to watch the woman in the blue dress, who was now struggling to disentangle herself from the dog leashes which were now wrapped around her legs.

“They never had to deal with any of the things we had to deal with in our day you know!”

Charles lifted his head from his crossword.  “And what was it we had to deal with Bernard?” he asked.  Three across was really starting to frustrate him.

Bernard fell quiet, staring out of the window, his eyes fixed somewhere in the distance.

Charles knew it was mean of him to do that, he knew that Bernard wouldn’t remember.  He never did.

The woman in the blue dress had lost her battle with the dogs and was now attempting pick up a jack Russell in one hand and at the same time prevent the Chihuahua from attempting to mount a rather indifferent looking Rottweiler with the other.

Suddenly Bernard returned to the room, his face animated.  “Now that’s ambition Charles” he exclaimed, pointing towards the woman in the blue dress.

“Look at that, that little bugger doesn’t know it’s a Chihuahua!  It thinks it’s a Rottweiler Charles!”.

Charles looked over, smiling at his old friend.  “Indeed it does Bernard, indeed it does”

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/grit/

 

 

 

 

I don’t have a dog called Caper – Daily prompt

I do not have a dog, and his name is not Caper.  That is to say If I did have a trusted canine companion, then I am sure that Caper would be his name.  Not Brian, nor Carl.

 

 

I do not have a dog, and his name is not Caper.  That is to say If I did have a trusted canine companion, then I am sure that Caper would be his name.  Not Brian, nor Carl.

We do not go for long walks, and I do not have a special stick that I throw for him which he retrieves with such pleasure, dropping it at my feed for a treat and great praise.  If though , as I have supposed,  I did have a dog – named Caper (not Brian nor Carl)  – then we would most definitely enjoy the outdoors more than I do now and he would always be there for me through thick and thin as only a dog called caper could be.

I do not have a dog named Caper and Caper and I do not sit on the couch on a Saturday night and watch television and eat pizza together, but if we did it would definitely be pepperoni because that would be his favourite I am sure and Caper would almost certainly eat the crusts that I leave.

Because I do not have a dog named Caper, each morning I am not awakened by him, and he is not happy to see me as much today as yesterday but not quite as much as he will be tomorrow.

I do not have a dog, and his name is not Caper and he did not run out into the road in front of a car.

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/caper/

via Daily Prompt: Caper

 

Welcome to Afterwards

You won’t leave feeling affirmed or inspired but you might just crack a smile at something you shouldn’t, and that is okay because I wont tell anybody. Someone even laughed out loud once but then had to pretend it was something funny they read elsewhere because it was wholly inappropriate and they were a bit ashamed but mostly amused.

You won’t leave feeling affirmed or inspired but you might just crack a smile at something you shouldn’t, and that is okay because I wont tell anybody.  Someone even laughed out loud once but then had to pretend it was something funny they read elsewhere because it was wholly inappropriate and they were a bit ashamed but mostly amused.