Posts filed under 'Bedtime stories'
Once upon a time there was a lonely old man who lived on a planet all by himself. He would wander the vast sparse landscapes collecting pieces of wrecked star ships and other erroneous metals that littered the floor. By the time the man reached fifty he had a grand total of two thousand tonnes of metal. It was then that he decided he would use some of the metal to build a warehouse to put the rest of the metal in. With only his crude work tools after several weeks the warehouse stood aloft for all the bottom-feeding stench maggots to see, that is if they were less concerned about the tasty, tasty algae used to make stews and sandwiches. The man was surprised he had the strength and the skills to make such a thing, and then wondered what else he could make.
First came the more practical items, such as a sprinkler system, a flagpole and a bath mat. Next, more throwaway devices such as an all-terrain Jeep, a pair of tap-dancing shoes and some pelican bullets. After slogging away for a year the man stood back again to gaze on everything he had built, and there was plenty to see. The most intriguing was a robot he had put together in his free time in-between plenty of moments of soul-searching and bouts of madness. It had arms and legs, a head and limbs, and all that. He hadn’t managed to make it work though and so it stood motionless behind the riot gear and the foot massager.
(to be continued)
July 19th, 2011
I’m not one for showboating, that is no more than several monkeys that have been tied together and set on fire in the hope of getting the attention of anyone, anyone walking past. So that might be a yes. I want to step to one side of all the pressure, stress and little matters of today to look back at a couple of characters from my childhood who never seem to crop up these days. They appear to have been lost somewhere, possibly down the back of the sofa or in that dark alley you walk past but never peer into. Rather than a standard list I will name the parties and offer my comments:
Rupert Bear – clearly too queer for the 21st century, which is a shame because he solved a lot of crimes with the help of a badger, a mouse and an elephant. I’d wear a yellow scarf if I could get away with it. They should include him as a secret character in Gears of War 3; watch his popularity soar once he’s armed to the teeth.
The Raggy Dolls – am I squinting too much through the rose-tinted glasses or were they really that good? All I can remember is Sad Sack, a personal hero of mine. There is nothing more depressing and yet also uplifting as a gingerbread man-esque creature walking this earth; there’s no chance any kid is ever going to play with him but by Jove, it makes my life seem like a holiday.
Freakazoid! – I remember less of this other than what he looked like and most of the lyrics to the theme song. After checking wikipedia apparently there was a cat in it called Mr Chubbikins. That’s a double thumbs up right there. It was silly and sarcastic and it taught me what the word ‘unemployed’ meant.
One more…
Ollie The Ox – the main character of Ox Tales which seems to have been shown exclusively in Yorkshire as only myself and my counterpart Tina from ‘Uddersfield can remember it. Check your watch: are you less then ten years old? Is it the 1980’s? Is it the summer holidays? Then watch ITV in the morning and you should find Ox Tales. If however you are stuck in 2011 like me then I dunno try Youtube.
Gentlemen and ladies, I personally salute your efforts. You made me the work-shy, layabout loafer I am today.
June 22nd, 2011
Title – Boy In A Bag
Tagline – ‘Bag yourself a winner’
Plot – Raymond Man is a boy who has lived in a sleeping bag since he was a child. Now, afraid to live in the real world, he refuses to get out and continues his existance inside. Everyone thinks it is to do with a phobia but secretly it is because of a huge boil on his back. With not many employers ready to offer a job and having left school with little experience Raymond, in his bag, sells boil in a bag food to passers-by on the high street. That is he does until he meets Kalindra Matte, a beautiful woman with a can-do attitude and a healthy smile. They become friends and Kalindra has to do whatever it takes to convince the boy in the bag with the boil on his back to leave his bag and stop selling boil in the bag.
Budget – Possibly in the region of five million clams.
Actors – I would love to see Gary Wilmott as the boy in a bag but as he’s pushing towards the outer limits of boyhood that might be difficult. Second choice would have to be Gary Oldman with Kerry Katona as the love interest.
June 15th, 2011
Very strangely I start the dream in a wheelchair. I appear to have found my way up onto the first floor of the Gate in Newcastle, which is a giant multi-complex of all the dreams of drinking, gambling and Frankie and Bennys you could hope for.
I am on my way to the cinema on the second floor when I find Ryan Kwanten, the guy from True Blood, hiding behind a plant. He seems a little scared at first but then comes out. I ask him if he wants to come see a film and he’s up for it. Our problem is that the lifts have gone missing and the access to the cinema is on some sort of rail system. This is the only way my wheels are going to get up there. So Ryan being the good sport pushes my wheelchair as high as it can go, and it’s a good effort however its an impossible task.
So we sack off the cinema and decide to go to Wilkinsons instead (?). We’re halfway through the store, which is in a different location in the dream to where it should be in real life, and the layout has changed, when we’re suddenly hiding behind a trolley. Neither of us knows why.
I’m pretty sure something else happened, probably involving the wheelchair. It’s like the dullest bro-mance film you’ve ever seen.
June 9th, 2011
Dear McVities,
My eyes haven’t been off the packet since I went to the shops. I have been lustfully staring at them with the intent to tear it apart and eat everything inside. Don’t think of me as a glutton, I’m not usually, but when I saw the Go Ahead Crispy Slices I couldn’t resist.
I like everything about them; they way they look on the packet, the scent of them as you bring them up to your nose, and then the rolling taste, the rolling taste of red cherry. I even like the massive pictures of cherries in the background on the front of the packet too. I assume that this is a close-up of cherries and not some massive cherries that you, McVities, have managed to grow. I know that British weather is a tad unpredictable but I’ve never known it to facilitate the growth of gigantic fruit. Do we even grow cherries in this country? I’ll have to find that out later once I’ve finished stuffing my face.
I went through a similar phase when I discovered the Yoghurt Breaks. I remember buying at least ten boxes of the strawberry flavour and piling them up top of the fridge in the kitchen. It was such a wonderful sight I didn’t want to disrupt it however I succumbed to temptation and went through them in less than a week.
I want to know how you do it. How does a multi-national (I assume?) company such as yourself manage to create something as satisfying yet low in all the bad stuff? Are you keeping things from us all? Are you lying to me, McVities? I don’t think you are… yet. I have no scientific equipment of my own to confirm either way. I want to believe you McVities, that every time I put a Crispy Slice into my mouth that I’m better than them people troughing on crisps and those massive massive bars of chocolate. Double Galaxy in your face, no thanks. If I’m being honest even if it did come out that Crispy Slices were weighing us down with all the calories I wouldn’t mind. They’re too good.
I thought you should know…
Many thanks
Ian McIver
June 8th, 2011
Reports are flooding in from the North-East of England of a man going around the area and offering his services for what are mostly services and jobs which are way too difficult.
The first report came from members of the public at the Theatre Royal in Newcastle upon Tyne, which is currently being modernised and updated. “I was stood taking pictures of Greys Monument when I noticed that there was a man climbing up the scaffolding at the side of the Theatre Royal,” said Keith Arborium, local photographer and all round nosey parker, “He eventually got to the top, strode over to the foreman and said, “Leave it to me, I’ve got this!” Quite what he thought he was able to do nobody could be sure. He picked up some pipes, struggled to know what to do with them, gently dropped them on the floor and raced off down the hill.”
It didn’t stop there.
“It was in the afternoon and we were quite busy for a Thursday when this guy just pushed his way in front of me, grabbed the scissors and said, “Leave it to me, I’ve got this,” wailed Mavis Davis, hairdresser to the stars, “He then proceeded to attempt to cut this poor woman’s hair only to cut most of the length, stared into the mirror at the disastrous results, smiled like a simpleton before running away down the hill.”
Police are baffled as to why this man would be putting himself into these situations when he clearly does not have the mad skills or expertise to carry them off. Concerns were raised as to the safety of the general public however since the initial reports arrived the man has disappeared. We would urge anyone though who knows the whereabouts of LITMIGT to come forward and expose this idiot for the moron he is.
May 19th, 2011
Winking through the Northern grit,
A beauty of some description sits,
Lost for words, the moments drip,
All because her face didn’t fit.
Dirty eyes are watching, need
To look away and just believe
That one day through a gentle deed
A home is found for broken seeds.
Tip-toe Charlies scuzzing fast,
She’s picked up, flung, a gulp, a gasp,
This treatment hopefully won’t last.
Once she was Queen in the distant past.
May 11th, 2011
I know I know, another one so soon after the last one. Usually I don’t remember dreams however recently they seem to be coming in and invading my thoughts when I wake up. This particular dream is relatively short. I could couple it with the other bizarre one I had at the start of the week in a Logical Dreamscape double bill. I could but I won’t:
I open my eyes and I’m in a queue waiting to see My Morning Jacket. I’ve waited ages to get in so the mood of the people stood with me are exciteable to say the least. When the doors are flung open we politely rush in and take our seats and that’s when I get a little suspicious. Rather than being a huge arena or stage it’s a tiny room that looks as though it’s used for church proceedings, and we’re all sat on those plastic chairs you had at school. Everyone else doesn’t notice. The room fills up quickly and someone appears at the front.
The man looks like the singing guy from the Lighthouse Family albeit without the suit, and he doesn’t do any singing. He instead pulls out a watermelon and taps on it. A faint rain then falls from the ceiling. The crowd claps and cheers at this; I stare on in disbelief.
So what does it all mean?!?
April 7th, 2011
As with most dreams I appear in a place where I have no idea how I got there. This particular time it is a bus rolling through some city centre, and as I stare around trying to make sense of what is going on Nancy from Hollyoaks pops up from the seat in front and kisses me. Half of her hair is blonde and the other half is red. As soon as she has started though she is done and disappears, leaving me sort of kissing the air in quiet bewilderment.
I find some papers on my knees; official documents I think. Then a guy sitting on the other side of the bus, who looks like an old prospector, comes and sits next to me. He tells me that I’m on my way to Sheffield City Council and that the bus should arrive in the next half an hour or so, even though there’s no mention of why I’m going there. We sit and discuss numerous things. The scenary is nice.
Then when I least expect it Nancy from Hollyoaks pops up again and this time grabs me by the shoulders and pushes me into another kiss. This time it’s longer. As a precautionary method to try and stop her disappearing I wrap one of my arms around her back but it’s no use. She’s gone shortly after. The prospector, who stopped talking, now continues as though it never happened.
He gets off the bus leaving me and a few other passengers. The sun shines through the window and we’re no longer in the city; we’re rolling through luscious green valleys and hillsides. I close my eyes and forget about where I’m supposed to be going. Sadly, Nancy doesn’t come back.
But what does it all mean?
March 23rd, 2011
…
A young woman is sat in a restaurant. She’s sipping a cup of coffee, she’s got so many problems going around in her mind and she doesn’t know what to do.
Woman: God damn, I’ve got so much going on in my head. I can’t seem to focus on anything.
Takes another sip of her coffee.
Woman: Today is not a good day. I need something to take my mind off of…
All of a sudden her attention is diverted away from the hot brown grit in her cup, there’s a pungent aroma floating through the restaurant. She sniffs the air.
Woman: Hmmm, what’s that?
The woman walks down the centre aisle of the restaurant. There is a man sat at a table about to take the first sip of his soup.
Man: Yes? Can I help?
Woman: Oh sorry, I thought you were eating a sandwich.
The man shoots a confused look her way.
Man: What made you think that?
Woman: It was the pungent smell, it reminded me of a sandwich I once knew.
Man: Take a seat, and tell me more. In fact let me crack open a Pepperami whilst you talk. Excuse me.
The man opens a Pepperami and offers a bit to the woman.
March 9th, 2011
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