So there I was, sitting reading my favourite Sunday supplement, wearing what I like to wear on a Sunday.  Just a smile. (yes I do clean the seat when I get up) I know it isn’t a nice thought, but it is the only image I can give you.  As I sat there, I noticed the postman walking up the garden path and then knocked at my door.  Post?  On a Sunday?  I thought as I hurried to the door, realising half way there that all I was wearing was my “Sunday Best”. Giving me a smile and a dodgy wink, the postie gave me my recorded delivery.  Closing the door as quickly as I could before the local women’s institute Sunday march came past, I hurried to the kitchen to see what had been delivered with the excitement of a puppy seeing a leg to hump.  I cant lie.  There were puddles of excitement.  Anything that may have resembled a tail wagging is purely coincidental, and was just from how I was walking with no clothes on.  I like to strut.

“You are invited to Blog-a-Thon 2008!” the letter read.  It was a fancy dress fund raising thingie to help the poor and unfortunate in the world.  Those who needed help beyond all others.  This years sad unfortunates were the Ice Cream sellers of the Arctic.  The poor guys haven’t stood a chance since the mysterious flavoursome yellow snow appeared near the polar bears.  Nobody knows where it has come from, but it seems to replenish itself naturally.  Although it could leave the mouth a little dry, there was enough white and brown snow in the area to clench any thirst.  The brown snow, or the “coffee chip” snow as it had started to be known as, was also self replenishing, although there was remarkably less then the yellow snow.

As the day drew nearer, I arranged my fancy dress outfit.  I wanted something that said “cold”, or “Ice Cream” or “Tasty” or “Yummy to lick”.  So I decided on a Smurfette costume as it seemed all encompassing of my needs out of a fancy dress outfit.  (Note to self:  Check out why there were only 3 female smurfs in the village.  How did the relationships work there.  Is it worth moving there, or would my wife be thrown in to the small pile of available GirlSmurfs.  I mean, she is smurftastic and all, but I am not willing to share her with someone short and blue.  And if the female smurfs were to become infertile, what would happen.  Also need to check out what a smurfgasm would sound like.  Funny, serious or sensual?  I will ask Jeeves.)

On the day of the blog-a-thon, I got dressed up, and got the smurf outta there and headed to the venue. 

On arriving, I was given various pamphlets to tell me what was happening during the day, how the fundraisers would work and vouchers for money off of ice creams.  None of the yellow snow cones though.  It was all man made ice cream, like the good old days. 

I was teamed up with a guy dressed as Tinky Winky from the Teletubbies.  I am assuming that it was his way of telling prospective female attention that they weren’t in for anything fun.  But he was a nice guy, and once he realised I was a guy in a Smurfette costume, he stopped grabbing my arse constantly. (That or he actually knew how the female thing works in Smurfland…hmmmm)

We went round doing crazy things, raising money.  All in all we raised £11. 87 which although not a huge amount, didn’t stop us from becoming very popular.  I seemed to be a hit in my Smurfette outfit, and had several ladies, some dressed as Buzz Lightyear for some reason, lining up to buy me a raspberry ripple.  It was all going well, until I got very drunk on babycham, and started to play “Hide the raspberry ripple” with a young lady dressed as Slobodan Milosevic.  It just went everywhere.  She was in no fit state to try and hide the raspberry ripple there.  Honestly, who would put it near a heater!  Crazy woman.  So as the heater kicked in, it melted rapidly and the crowd were covered in rippley goodness. 

There was uproar, and when they realised I was part of the guilty party, I started smurfing myself something serious.  (I did later manage to clean the outfit before I took it back)

Running from the venue, I dropped a shoe.  A woman dressed as Prince Charming picked it up and shouted “Oi, Fat Smurf!  You dropped your size 11 boat!”.  I didn’t care.  I was outta there like a polar bear.

I get the feeling I wont be invited next year!

© 2008, Sy. All rights reserved.

Jim likes to give me words which are just plain hard to write about.  Why?  Because he wants to beat me.  And I think this time he might.  He has given me the words  “Verisimilitude”, “Travesty, sham, mockery = Traveshamockery” and “The Toxic Avenger aka Toxie”.  Yes really.  I am not even sure he knows what verisimilitude means!  I was thinking of asking Jeeves just to confirm that I knew, and then I thought “nah.  That is stupid.  It is a dance which the wombles do.  Everyone knows that”.

Anyway, thanks for this Jim.  And I really really don’t mean it!  But hell, lets give it a go.  And if I think it is rubbish, it may just never see the light of day!  OK then. 

As a child, Toxie had the odd issue with his bowels.  When I say odd issue, I mean he had the nickname of “Mr Windy”, “Toxie McFlatulent” and “Geez man, you stink!” amongst many others.  The kids would all laugh at him and call him names.  He couldn’t get a girlfriend because of his pungent smell and non vocal noises, and was unable to get his first girlfriend until he found a cure when he was 24 years old.   The cure was to stop eating nothing but broccoli and sprouts for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

Toxie wanted revenge.  To avenge those who had caused him the mental anguish as a child.  The travesty he had suffered as a child ran deep in Toxie.   He designed himself an elaborately stupid looking costume and called himself “The Toxic Avenger”.  He then hunted down each of those he went to school with.  One by one he would force feed them the foods he ate as a child.  He would then sit there with a gas mask on and point and laugh at them as they sat there with their turgid bowels firing on all cylinders.

The police were called in and the SPS (Specialists in Pungent Smells) division took over the case.  The lead on the case was Dr Olfaction (Ahhh yes.  The joys of a thesaurus!) who had experience in dealing with this kind of case, as he too had been taunted as a child over his abuse of eating too many radishes.

He put together a briefing pack for the other officers:

My fellow officers, we are looking for a man who had been made a mockery of his entire life.  A man who suffered travesty at the highest level and had people make a sham of his younger years.  This man is technically a candidate for suffering from the little known Traveshamockery disorder.   But his Traceshamockery lacks verisimilitude for he attacks those who attacked him.  This puts him in the same league as his attackers, and he must be stopped.  All we know is that he wears a lime green lycra outfit and has a blonde crazy flock of seagulls haircut.  He no longer resembles the images of his school years as the torment has driven him to squeaky insanity.  Approach him with care, as you too could earn the fate of his prey should he see you as one of them.

They then set an elaborate trap for Toxie by setting up a school reunion, knowing this would drive him out in the open as he could get so many of his foes at once.  They laid on a lavish buffet of broccoli and sprouts, knowing that Toxie would have to succumb to their gassy goodness, and a lot of nibbles for the other guests.

But Toxie had other plans and hijacked the delivery of nibbles for the other members of the party and soaked them in farting powder.   He waited until everyone had dipped in to the nibbles, and then he locked all the doors and closed all the windows, nailing them shut from the outside and stopped all the extractor fans.   Over a tannoy system, he spoke to his prisoners and told them the only food they would ever eat would be what he supplied. 

When the room full of victims was finally found some weeks later, it was labelled as having a half life of 500 years and a 10 mile exclusion zone was set up around the building.  The people in the room were left to spend the rest of their time in their group unable to leave due to the smell, and that opening the building would put a larger then large hole in the ozone layer.

Toxie blended back in to society, and hired out his services to other poor unfortunates who had been victimised as children.  He called himself The A Team, as no one had ever thought of a name like that.

So there you have it.  Why not to be a vegetarian.  Or to eat farting powder.

(This story was written about gaseous discharge as a welcome back to Kelly, my furting friend who was around in the early days of this blog, and then went and did some work stuff, but has reappeared.) 

© 2008, Sy. All rights reserved.

Donning his biggles-like goggles, Hamster climbed in to his winged contraption.  His fluffy fur waving in the wind like some confused jelly.  Could this be the one that makes the break through?

His began his run.  His legs moved with the fluid motion of a cartoon chicken down the runway.  Nothing.  No lift at all.  At the end of the runway was a sandpit which Hamster ran in to and promptly fell on his face as quickly as an elephant shot with an impressively large tranquiliser dart.  “Stuff it.  I should have stayed working at McDonald’s.  At least there was job satisfaction there.” Hamster shouted as he walked back towards his brother.  His fur covered in sand making him look like some deranged neolithic Mummy.

The brothers Orville and Wilbur Hamster had a dream.  Their dream was to deliver flowers around the world quicker then the current method, which was by sea.  Currently, the delivery of flowers would get to the destination as a bag of dead roses which resembled dust rather then the gleaming bunch of roses that they started out as.  This was giving “O & W Flowers Inc” a bad name at present.  Their dream of worldwide flower delivering domination was starting to fall apart.  Their biggest rival Outerflora had other ideas on how to get the flowers there and it seemed the battle was lost. 

The Hamster brothers decided that it would be a lot better if they were to fly the flowers to the other country, thus the creation of their hopefully one day flying contraption.   They called it the “plane”.  This stood for “Pretty Lame And Novel Experience” which they named after a weird circus going experience they once had.  They hoped that with the plane, their idea would take off in to a big business. 

After a while, they realised that they needed to jump off of something for their plane to take off.  They decided to do this off of the nearby cliffs and used test dummies to test the flight incase they crashed.  In the first case, the dummy was called Herbert, and after an unsuccessful attempt, a village was relieved of it’s idiot.  After several tests of jumping off of cliffs, and several more villages missing there idiot, they got a result.  They decided that instead of jumping in a spherical box, they would make it a more rectangular shape with wings and more bird shaped.  Orvillle convinced Wilbur to be the pilot of the next test.  This was done by the mathematics of W coming before O in the alphabet.  Wilbur never questioned this and climbed in the plane and Orville pushed him to the edge of the cliff after making him sign his life insurance to him in the event of an “accident”.  Much to Orville’s frustration, the plane flew and his dreams of settling down rich with insurance money and a Swedish Au Pair also flew away.

Trying to contain his frustration, he congratulated Wilbur on his flight and they did a couple more tests.  Realising that it worked, they decided they would now show the world their contraption.

On the 17th December, the Hamster Brothers unveiled their spectacle ”The flight of the Hamsters”.  They picked a glamorous location for the launch, which on this occassion was the Sistine chapel as they could get high enough to allow enough time to fly. 

It was a glorious day, and as many people who will read this turned out to see the flight.  All 3 of them stood excitedly waiting.  And then it happened.  The plane dropped from the roof and then glided away.  There were cheers of “He has my wallet! Stop him!” and “Can you see my house from there?” shouted out.

They decided to then do another flight with the flowers on board to show off how they would deliver the flowers.  Because Wilbur was flying, Orville pushed the wheelbarrow of soil and flowers up the stairs of the building.  As he reached the top, Wilbur told him to also fly the plane on their inaugural flower flight.  Orville agreed and climbed in. 

The plane with a now heavy wheelbarrow at the back crashed to the ground killing Orville.  Wilbur cashed in on this and forged his signature on the insurance paperwork and lived a life of luxury, giving up the flower game while his brother pushed up the daisies.  At least one of them stayed in the flower business.

The moral of the story?  There isn’t one.  BUT, if you remember to go to http://www.thebestofblogs.com/2008/05/13/funniest-blog-vote-here-2/ and vote for me, I will consider writing something funnier in the future.  If you don’t, you are gonna get the same old drivel everytime.  Your choice.  What is it gonna be?

© 2008, Sy. All rights reserved.

Anyway.  Where was I.  Oh yes.  Story time.  Mikiye, this is for you.  And the rest of the people reading this. 

Kenneth was a big woolly mammoth from the jungle.  But he was not like any woolly mammoth.  He was special.  What was special about him was that he was a reincarnation of Rock Hudson.  Rock (or Bessie as he liked to be known) was a famous Hollywood gay who died of natural causes.  By natural causes, I mean he was a bad bad man and got caught out by using too much lube and not enough protection.  But that is a different story which wont be written about unless I get the words!  But Kenneth decided to stay away from telling people of his past life and stuck with the present.  At present he was the chairman of the Woolly Committee.  The group who decided what was best for the jungle and just what should and should not happen.  On the side, he was also a part of a committee who decided who got eaten next.  It was always the buffalo.  But then, they deserved it.  They had stood against Kenneth because of his needs to move on in the world and leave the jungle. 

The years went by and Kenneth decided that his full potential was elsewhere.  The big city.  HOLLYWOOD!  Back to his roots.  So he packed up a buffalo skin bag and left. 

Arriving in Hollywood, Kenneth realised it was different for a woolly mammoth trying to make his way.  But he took a job in a local bar and hoped for the best.  

One night, while dressed in his work attire, a large fake female body suit with enormous breasts, his chance came. 

“Lady.  I wanna make you famous.  That beard and those hairy armpits, all four of them…and those breasts…well, I can make you a star!” the man said.

“Dude.  I am a goddamn mammoth called Kenneth.  This is a body suit.  I am all hair and no lady” Kenneth replied.

“Oh.  Well, in that case, I might just have the job for you!  How are your foreign language skills?”  the man replied.

“Ah yeah.  I got foreign language skills down.  I can speak koala you know!” Kenneth replied.

They exchanged details and the next day, Kenneth went to see the man.  His name was Doofus Tiddlywink.  His job was to rent out his staff to foreign nationals to show them round the city.

Doofus explained to Kenneth that he would need to lose weight in order to be employed.  But the offer of money was good, so Kenneth decided he would give it a go.  He was told to come back in a week to see how much he could lose in a week.

Kenneth went straight home.  He had heard that wrapping himself in sellaphane wrap could help.  He didn’t have any, so he used tin foil instead.  He sat by a warm fire to help him sweat.  What was that amazing smell?  He was just getting hungrier and hungrier.  Someone was cooking something but he couldn’t work out where it was.  The windows were closed and he was nowhere near the front door. 

He didn’t take long to realise he was cooking himself, and after a little munch on his leg, he stopped.  But he was so hungry, so he decided he had to eat.  But the cupboard was bare.  As was his leg now he had torn off the hair to have a light snack of medium rare mammoth.  He went to the shop but the lack of funds from not working and trying to lose weight meant he could not buy a thing. 

A week later, he went back to see Doofus Tiddlywink.  As he arrived, a young lady stormed out shouting “Doofus…you are such a…..erm….DOOFUS!” and left.  Kenneth walked in and sat down.  Doofus explained that he had a job, but the young lady who just walked out would not deal with the man.  Doofus asked Kenneth if he could sing and dance, to which Kenneth replied that in some places his dance moves are so hot that he is a fire hazard, and that he had a singing voice which was as sweet as that sound you hear first thing in the morning.  And want to shoot.  I am still asleep.  SHUT UP!!!  But nonetheless, to some people it is lovely.  Lets just say that with me, it is lucky guns are illegal in this country.  Doofus went on to explain that the job was for a man who always booked Geisha girls through his company, but no one was available but Kenneth.  Doofus also explained that the client had a few strange quirks.  Kenneth agreed to go along.

It was lucky that Kenneth still had his female body suit, so that night he donned it and met his client, Churny Butterkiss.  Churny and Kenneth had a wonderful night, and as the night neared it’s end, Churny decided to try and take it one step further.

“I want you to do something with me” Churny said.

“Ummm…OK, what is it?” Kenneth replied.

“I want to play the ‘how much peanut butter can you keep in your mouth at once’ competition” Churny said.

And out came a super large tub of Skippy peanut butter.  Kenneth started to sweat.  He had played this game in the jungle with the monkeys, and had been diagnosed with Arachibutyrophobia.  He couldn’t play the game, and continued to sweat even more.  His body suit became soaking, and Churny kept pushing Kenneth to take a big mouthful of peanut butter.  Part of his Arachibutyrophobia was that he would get very angry when being forced to eat the peanut butter. 

Kenneth jumped up, trashed the apartment and walked out. 

Realising he would never be able to work for the agency again, he packed his bags, and went back to the jungle.

The morale of the story?  If you are a man, woman, woolly mammoth or a Hollywood gay, sometimes people just don’t want a mouthful of buttery nuts.

© 2008, Sy. All rights reserved.