FROM CHAOS

 

FROM CHAOS

From low, the semi-elongated-dwarf–bird-cat looks up at the absurd magnanimity of the metropolis and sighs. A cloud drops low and showers the steps before him. He will go no further.

Up in a bone tree in the high part of the city, a squat owl surveys everything. He has nothing wise or profound to say. He is looking for mice.

It is left to a parakeet busy sucking on the trail of a tsetse fly to explain but it’ll take a near eternity to hear his words, as birds either cannot speak or we cannot understand them if they do.

No matter, we know a bird who swallowed a fly . . . 

JAZZ ROCK

 

JAZZ ROCK

The cry of a trumpet: ‘I beseech you to go JAZZ’, it says and the spiky tail rocker transforms into a giant, pubic fuzz ball.

‘You is scrambling my brain in pussy weed, my horny friend,’ says the rocker.

The jazzster keeps blowing those difficult notes and the shaggy rocker rolls off, all hairy biker and tumble thatch.

‘Look at her go,’ croons the trumpet, suddenly sad and slow. ‘She’s got a bearded mass and a furry ass!’

‘Not she, I’m he,’ says the rocking fur ball, spitting hairs. ‘Just stop the jazz!’

And the horn is done.

LITERACY AND GOOD MANNERS (COUNT FOR EVERYTHING UP NORTH)

 

LITERACY AND GOOD MANNERS (COUNT FOR EVERYTHING UP NORTH)

The giant bad ass Penguin (call me Admiral) stomps forth.

On the way he meets a basking whale.

‘Heh, Penguin, where you heading?’ asks the whale.

‘Call me Admiral,’ says the Penguin.

‘Admiral, where you heading?’

‘Where am I heading?’

‘Yes, where are you heading?’

‘North.’

‘Give my regards to the Polar Bears.’

‘Yes, I will.’

The giant bad ass Penguin (call me Admiral) stomps north.

On the way he meets a spoilt child.

‘Heh, waiter, bring me lollypop,’ says the child.

‘Call me Admiral,’ says the Penguin.

‘Admiral, bring me lollypop.’

‘Bring you a lollypop?’

‘Yes, bring me a lollypop.’

‘No.’

‘Give my regards to the Polar Bears.’

‘Yes, I will.’

The giant bad ass Penguin (call me Admiral) stomps, and stomps.

The Polar Bears wait on an ice cap.

‘Heh, Admiral, it’s good to see you,’ say the Polar Bears.

‘Thank you for your literacy and good manners,’ says the Penguin.

‘Come closer so we can shake your hand.’

‘I’d be pleased to.’

‘Sorry, but this may hurt.’

‘Ouch, go easy if you will.’

‘We’re hungry, please don’t take offence.’

‘None is taken.’

CLOWNING AROUND

CLOWNING AROUND

Coco was more than usually annoyed; he was downright angry: ‘which of you freaks called me a clown?’ he barked.

It was Bum Face Martin but he was never going to own up so the swans confessed instead.

‘I knew it,’ said Coco. ‘Never trust a bird that’s named after matches.’

Bum Face Martin sniggered and whispered ‘clown’ but Coco didn’t seem to hear, he was busy banging on about swans: ‘evil critters with long beaks and stupid feet!’

Bum Face Martin wondered about saying ‘just like clowns’ but he thought better of it, there was no way of knowing how Coco would react when he was in this kind of mood.

After enduring a tirade of insults the swans flew off and Coco turned to Bum Face Martin and said: ‘I knew it was you, Bum Face, but I just don’t like swans!’