David the Monkey left the large conglomerate bank thinking he'd just got an excellent deal on a variable rate mortgage when he bumped into Phil the disembodied anus.
"Hey Phil, how's your pension scheme coming on?"
"Pretty good", said the anus in a modulated flatulence way, "I seem to be getting a fairly good return on my investment, the economic climate at the moment seems ripe for getting into pensions." So David with his new mortgage and Phil with his pension walked down the street on the way to David’s grandmas house. On the way they bumped into Frank the raccoon with a 10" penis. "Hey Frank, we're off to my grandmas, do you want to come?" "Why yes I would. Thanks to the high variable rate savings account I opened a few months ago I now have a relaxed attitude to life and can, of course spend my money MY way, I am feeling exceptionally fiscally viable!"
Phil farted in agreement. "With my pension scheme I feel my life is in safe hands"
"Good, Finances are our backbone and it's best not to forget them, even in our busy 21st century lifestyle!"
So our troupe walked to Grandmas house which was a nice house in the suburbs because Grandma had provided for her future with one of our clever share brokers.
"Hello boys"
"Hello", they said.
"Go and sit in the front and I'll bake you all a nice cake!" They sat in the front room and all of a sudden there was a bang on the door.
"I AM THE WOLF OF COMMERCE! I'LL HUFF... AND I'LL PUFF AND I'LL BLOW YOUR INTEREST RATES DOWN!!" Frank's penis shrunk in terror as he realized that his savings may not rise as well as expected. David looked on in joy and Phil was (strangely for an anus) not arsed as his pension scheme was not linked to the national interest rate in any way.
"Do your worst!" said David hoping he would blow them right down "No!" screamed Frank
"So?" farted Phil
The wolf blew and blew and blew until interest rates were at 1.9% "NO!! I'M RUINED!", cried Frank as David danced around the room in joy.
"We can take more than that", said David as Frank looked on in tears.. Through the tears he could see the joy in David’s eyes. The tears turned to anger...
The wolf blew and blew until interest was down to 0.9% David let a squeak of joy loose and this was too much for Frank. Frank set about in rage onto David’s throat, the blood curdling scream caused Grandma to run in and see her dead Grandson at the hands of Frank!
She screamed, "BANKRUPT! FORECLOSURE!", as she got her account closure forms out and signed them with wet ink.
Frank realized he'd lost all his savings and screamed in agony as his heart collapsed. Phil was left there floating with David’s Grandma and the wolf came to the window and smiled, "You have chosen wisely. Having an interest rate that is fixed keeps you protected from the ravages of the economy and you shall survive my boy".
He opened the door and Phil floated out and went home. He mourned the two friends he'd lost but realized the lesson he learned..
Phil lived fiscally viable ever after and had a very comfortable retirement.
Friday, 18 September 2015
Jack's Overdue Abortion
Jack always argued his first and worst mistake was being born. You see, Jack was in a fairly unique position in being able to remember life in the womb. That perpetually warm and comforting floating blanket where no effort needed to be spared even to eat or go to the bathroom.
He also remembered being violently pulled from that warm, suspended world to the cold, heavy, stinking world outside. He remembered the feeling behind his first throat ripping cry. It was like his whole safe universe had been taken away.
It had, in fact, made Jack quite a bitter and lazy person and how he'd managed to reach his 25th year was quite a quandary considering that unlike most people Jack found the idea of getting up to eat or go to the toilet reprehensible as he clearly remembered a time when he didn't have to do it.
He'd never found a normal job because he hated the idea of working and had gone through a phase of wearing nappies while curled in a foetal position on the sofa in an attempt to replicate what he had before.
But it still wasn't right. He just ended up with aches and a massive rash on his arse and that simply wasn't good enough. Mind you, Jack was lucky. Lucky Jack they called him in the newspapers. He'd bought a lottery ticket a few years previously on a rollover week during one of his rare trips to the shops and won 17 million pounds.
The newspapers called him a recluse because he was.
The newspapers called him boring because he was.
The newspapers called him secretive because he only allowed his newly hired servants into his house.
The newspapers eventually got bored, even with the added fricassee of secrecy, as even if you scraped the walls away, there was no good story there.
So for Jack life was pretty good for a while, he had servants for everything, to do his bills, clean up, cook his food then whiz it up into a kind of paste he could sip through his specially designed straw, an accountant who kept his money and slowly siphoned parts off for himself. He even had an extra-comfortable chair made with a toilet at the bottom so he could sit, eat and drink and go to the toilet without moving.
He put all this in a room with white walls and floor and no windows so he could try and replicate the womb. But it still wasn't right. He could feel gravity, he could see and feel the air on his body, sometimes the pain of unused muscles and that simply wasn't good enough.
He tried a sensory deprivation tank where he had a combined oxygen and food mask and a plastic nappy, which pulled away his feculence with a tube. The water was kept at body temperature to get as close as possible to the experience of being in the womb. He didn't know of course that some of that warmth came from the piss of his servants who took his social ignorance as scorn and decided to pour their own yellow steaming scorn back at him.
Jack didn't care. He couldn't feel it and the scorn of other people meant nothing to him. His tank was the closest he had been and as long as the money kept rolling his servants were happy to clean the empty rooms, cook and liquefy food before pouring it into the plastic container by the side of his black coffin and occasionally empty the opaque containers of their masters waste.
But it still wasn't right. He still felt the plastic on his skin, he still tasted food, he still had to breathe and he felt the pain of limbs that moved rarely and were always immersed in liquid and that simply wasn't good enough.
So he started to think about surgery and because of his money, doors opened that would normally remain closed and morals that would normally remain unbroken lay shattered on the floor. He had his nerves deadened for the most part to pain, He had his throat bypassed to a tube which came from his abdomen ready for connecting into his new world, he had his bowels and bladder bypassed via a tube coming from his lower back, he had a tube from an artificial lung plugged in to replace breathing and all areas around these tubes had all nerves removed so he would never feel them and to all intents and purposes he would be ignorant of their existence.
He finally got connected to his machine and was sealed into his soundproofed box, completely filled with warm liquid, no longer needing to breathe, eat or excrete.
It was right. His life could now return to the way it began and the way he had always wanted it to be. It was simply good enough.
Or at least it was.
Time has no meaning in Jacks world but one day after many many days he noticed something was wrong. He felt hungry.
In jacks new world he should never have felt hungry. You see, the accountant had done what people always do. He'd taken a bit and didn't get caught, so he took a bit more and so on and so on until Jack had nothing left.
And of course, people don't come to work if they're not paid, especially if they don't like their boss. And leading on from that everyone else assumed someone else would tell Jack and let him out to face the world. Nobody had.
Not that it would have mattered of course, Jack could no longer live as a normal human being. Besides, Jack was unaware of this, he just knew something was wrong. He tried to push at the door of his coffin but his weak, emaciated limbs could do nothing. His pathetic knocks made no noise in the soundproofed box
He attempted to scream but his movements were soundless because his lungs were bypassed. Had he known what was going on he'd have been aware that at least he was going to be able to continue breathing for his final hours, the electricity bill had been one of the final things to be paid.
Jacks hunger began to fade. He mistakenly believed that someone must have heard him. But it still wasn't right, what had actually happened was that his waste pipe had backed up and was feeding his own crap back into his stomach and it simply wasn't good enough.
He started to relax back into his womb as his excrement slowly poisoned him to death. Not that anybody noticed he'd died. His family hadn't seen him for years since he sealed himself away from the human race and, of course, nobody cares about a disappearing poor person.
It was only when his house was auctioned that someone finally found the body, pickled and stinking as it and the fluid from the small tank drained onto the floor. The body that flopped on the floor looked like a cross between Freddy Kruger and a bad sci-fi monster. The new owner was so shocked, she dropped her pot of begonias.
The funeral was pretty much a joke. There was nobody there and nobody to pay for it. They used the coffin he'd spent the last 20 years of his life in to bury him.
He also remembered being violently pulled from that warm, suspended world to the cold, heavy, stinking world outside. He remembered the feeling behind his first throat ripping cry. It was like his whole safe universe had been taken away.
It had, in fact, made Jack quite a bitter and lazy person and how he'd managed to reach his 25th year was quite a quandary considering that unlike most people Jack found the idea of getting up to eat or go to the toilet reprehensible as he clearly remembered a time when he didn't have to do it.
He'd never found a normal job because he hated the idea of working and had gone through a phase of wearing nappies while curled in a foetal position on the sofa in an attempt to replicate what he had before.
But it still wasn't right. He just ended up with aches and a massive rash on his arse and that simply wasn't good enough. Mind you, Jack was lucky. Lucky Jack they called him in the newspapers. He'd bought a lottery ticket a few years previously on a rollover week during one of his rare trips to the shops and won 17 million pounds.
The newspapers called him a recluse because he was.
The newspapers called him boring because he was.
The newspapers called him secretive because he only allowed his newly hired servants into his house.
The newspapers eventually got bored, even with the added fricassee of secrecy, as even if you scraped the walls away, there was no good story there.
So for Jack life was pretty good for a while, he had servants for everything, to do his bills, clean up, cook his food then whiz it up into a kind of paste he could sip through his specially designed straw, an accountant who kept his money and slowly siphoned parts off for himself. He even had an extra-comfortable chair made with a toilet at the bottom so he could sit, eat and drink and go to the toilet without moving.
He put all this in a room with white walls and floor and no windows so he could try and replicate the womb. But it still wasn't right. He could feel gravity, he could see and feel the air on his body, sometimes the pain of unused muscles and that simply wasn't good enough.
He tried a sensory deprivation tank where he had a combined oxygen and food mask and a plastic nappy, which pulled away his feculence with a tube. The water was kept at body temperature to get as close as possible to the experience of being in the womb. He didn't know of course that some of that warmth came from the piss of his servants who took his social ignorance as scorn and decided to pour their own yellow steaming scorn back at him.
Jack didn't care. He couldn't feel it and the scorn of other people meant nothing to him. His tank was the closest he had been and as long as the money kept rolling his servants were happy to clean the empty rooms, cook and liquefy food before pouring it into the plastic container by the side of his black coffin and occasionally empty the opaque containers of their masters waste.
But it still wasn't right. He still felt the plastic on his skin, he still tasted food, he still had to breathe and he felt the pain of limbs that moved rarely and were always immersed in liquid and that simply wasn't good enough.
So he started to think about surgery and because of his money, doors opened that would normally remain closed and morals that would normally remain unbroken lay shattered on the floor. He had his nerves deadened for the most part to pain, He had his throat bypassed to a tube which came from his abdomen ready for connecting into his new world, he had his bowels and bladder bypassed via a tube coming from his lower back, he had a tube from an artificial lung plugged in to replace breathing and all areas around these tubes had all nerves removed so he would never feel them and to all intents and purposes he would be ignorant of their existence.
He finally got connected to his machine and was sealed into his soundproofed box, completely filled with warm liquid, no longer needing to breathe, eat or excrete.
It was right. His life could now return to the way it began and the way he had always wanted it to be. It was simply good enough.
Or at least it was.
Time has no meaning in Jacks world but one day after many many days he noticed something was wrong. He felt hungry.
In jacks new world he should never have felt hungry. You see, the accountant had done what people always do. He'd taken a bit and didn't get caught, so he took a bit more and so on and so on until Jack had nothing left.
And of course, people don't come to work if they're not paid, especially if they don't like their boss. And leading on from that everyone else assumed someone else would tell Jack and let him out to face the world. Nobody had.
Not that it would have mattered of course, Jack could no longer live as a normal human being. Besides, Jack was unaware of this, he just knew something was wrong. He tried to push at the door of his coffin but his weak, emaciated limbs could do nothing. His pathetic knocks made no noise in the soundproofed box
He attempted to scream but his movements were soundless because his lungs were bypassed. Had he known what was going on he'd have been aware that at least he was going to be able to continue breathing for his final hours, the electricity bill had been one of the final things to be paid.
Jacks hunger began to fade. He mistakenly believed that someone must have heard him. But it still wasn't right, what had actually happened was that his waste pipe had backed up and was feeding his own crap back into his stomach and it simply wasn't good enough.
He started to relax back into his womb as his excrement slowly poisoned him to death. Not that anybody noticed he'd died. His family hadn't seen him for years since he sealed himself away from the human race and, of course, nobody cares about a disappearing poor person.
It was only when his house was auctioned that someone finally found the body, pickled and stinking as it and the fluid from the small tank drained onto the floor. The body that flopped on the floor looked like a cross between Freddy Kruger and a bad sci-fi monster. The new owner was so shocked, she dropped her pot of begonias.
The funeral was pretty much a joke. There was nobody there and nobody to pay for it. They used the coffin he'd spent the last 20 years of his life in to bury him.
Monday, 27 April 2015
Little Dog Lost
“5 minutes,
this'll only take me 5 minutes” he said, getting little bits of
blood and tooth on his pristine white doctors coat, “I'm nearly
done”.
A few flourishes of
the wrists, cuts and sutures later and he was finished. He stood back
to admire his handiwork. It may have looked like a torrent of bone
and sinew to a normal person but to him he had created art. Something
beautiful out of something horrible.
“One things for
sure, that dog'll never bother us again, right”. He laughed. He
was, of course not speaking to anyone at all. He'd spent most of his
life alone and was going to spend the rest of it alone too. He was
fine with this, it's not like he really needed people anyway. Well,
it was time to wait for the glue to set. More than enough time for a
cold can of beans.
He enjoyed eating
his beans cold, out of the can. It made him feel closer to nature.
After all beans came from a can, it was like picking fruit ripe from
the tree, wasn't it?
There was a THUMP
THUMP from the front door. He dropped some beans on his coat. Who
could this be? He answered the door to a burly man who looked
worried.
“Hello?”
“Hi, I'm sorry to
bother you, I was wondering if you'd seen my dog”. He handed him a
flyer with an printed picture of a dog on it, the ink was a bit
blurry and the toner was clearly running out on the printer but he
clearly recognized it and his face brightened.
“Yes yes!” he
did a little jump, “It was in my garden earlier, it made some
horrible noises and made a terrible mess, but don't worry”, he gave
a wide grin, “I've made it better”.
The man at the door
looked confused, “you did what?”
The white coated man
gestured, “come see, come see”.
They both walked
down the stairs to the basement. “it's not done of course yet, but
you'll see what I mean, much better... Ah... here we are!”
Smilingly he pointed
at the grotesque statue of sinew and bone. “Isn't it beautiful?”
The burly man walked
towards it with wettened eyes. He got closer and fell on his knees
quietly. He must REALLY like it.
“It took a while
to make of course, and at the start it was making all sorts of
noises, but it quietened down in the end. I'm really quite proud of
it, what do you think?”
The burly man was
shaking, “You sick... bastard.. I'll”, his voice was barely
controlled as he whirled round. “I'LL KILL YOU”.
He gripped the man
in the white coat and threw his head at the statue with such force
that a splintered femur that was hidden under a wrap of stretched
skin entered his eye and pierced his brain. His body was jerking and
he was making an awful gurgling sound until eventually he went limp.
The burly man with
tears in his eyes looked upon the horror in front of him. What was
left of his dog had merged with the body of the the sick artist to
create something worse.
After standing in
silence for a while he took out his phone and softly called the
police, telling them the whole story. Quietly and sadly he sat on the
floor waiting for his captors to arrive.
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