Gootime Slim awoke to the sounds of cursing. Of all of the sounds he could have awoken to, this was his second-to-least favorite. His least favorite, awakening to the sound of an axe-wielding serial killer, was probably forgiveable.
He rolled over in bed and looked at his alarm clock, which to his eyes positively reveled in it's 3:30ness.
In the morning? the recumbent slacker thought.
He stumbled out to the source of the cursing, the kitchen, to find a tousle-haired, pyjamaed Captain Doobie flicking through the Yellow Pages.
"What the ruddy ding-dong is going on here?" he demanded.
Captain Doobie looked up and fixed him with a glare. "Aha! You might know," he told him, "How do I get in touch with the Postmaster General?"
While it really shouldn't have (given Goodtime Slim's long association with Captain Doobie's wierdness) this statement took Goodtime Slim by surprise. "What?" he asked, "Why do you want to get in touch with the Postmaster General in the middle of the night?"
"I've got something to ask him."
"Couldn't you ask him in the morning?"
Captain Doobie shook his head, unwittingly dislodging a piece of cake from his hair. "I can't get to sleep until I find out. To tell the truth, I haven't slept in tree days."
Goodtime Slim was somewhat uncaring about all this. "What," he jibed, "could possibly be so compelling that you have to ring up the Postmaster General at 3:30am to ask him?"
Captain Doobie looked at him resignedly, the bags under his sleepless eyes looming large under the kitchen bulb. "When the postie opens the mailbox, does it have a little light in there like the fridge does?"
Goodtime Slim began to scoff, but then felt with growing dread the enormity of the situation he had now landed himself in. "You bastard," he breathed, shaking his head, "give us the phone book. Maybe he's under 'Essential Services'."
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Random Doobings
After a breathless Goodtime Slim had rushed through the front door, Captain Doobie slammed it shut and locked it, even drawing across the small chain and snib. His hands felt the door shudder as the forms of several of the pursuing zombies piled into it on the other side. Both men looked at each other, worried.
"What are we going to do?" Captain Doobie cried, "they'll crack our skulls open and eat our brains!"
"You should be alright then," Goodtime Slim demurred.
"Oh, ha ha," replied Captain Doobie acidly, "Yes, it must be at least five minutes since you made that joke last. Now be serious. What are we going to do?"
"Don't worry," Goodtime Slim told him, "it's time we brought out the big guns."
Caoptain Doobie was aghast. "You don't mean..."
"Yes," replied Goodtime Slim, stepping aside to reveal a bright red 44-gallon drum with a picture of a sailing ship on it, "It's time to use the weapons-grade Old Spice we bought on the black market."
"What are we going to do?" Captain Doobie cried, "they'll crack our skulls open and eat our brains!"
"You should be alright then," Goodtime Slim demurred.
"Oh, ha ha," replied Captain Doobie acidly, "Yes, it must be at least five minutes since you made that joke last. Now be serious. What are we going to do?"
"Don't worry," Goodtime Slim told him, "it's time we brought out the big guns."
Caoptain Doobie was aghast. "You don't mean..."
"Yes," replied Goodtime Slim, stepping aside to reveal a bright red 44-gallon drum with a picture of a sailing ship on it, "It's time to use the weapons-grade Old Spice we bought on the black market."
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Swine!
I haven’t been at all well lately. I should probably say that right from the start. It started with a fever in the middle of last week, but there wasn’t much I could do about it at the time. Jobs like mine don’t stop just because you’ve got a sniffle or, in this case I suppose, an oink.
Turned out it was Swine Flu. Yes, the one you’ve all heard about. Turns out I was the first person to bring it into the country, then I spread it around. So, if anyone has died, they can blame me.
I didn’t mean to catch it. I haven’t even been to Mexico or wherever it started. I just like chilli. A friend of mine found a small stash of mega-hot chili in tins at the local discount store. I ate one, then the next morning I had the sniffles. I put my clown makeup on and went to work, handing out balloons to small children at the Zoo. It’s a living, but I should have called in sick.
The next morning I woke up thirsty, and hungry, and with a welter of large green spots where, to my best recollection, I’d never had spots before. This unnerved me somewhat, but the clown blouse covered the worst of it and I headed for the zoo again.
Big mistake. They say that children pick up these things more easily. I should have thought of that.
By lunchtime my big red clown nose had become somewhat superfluous given the pig’s snout that had grown underneath it. More disturbing was the hair on the palm of my hands and the small curly tail which now poked out above my coccyx.
At the time I took some small comfort in the fact that I was not the only one. By the afternoon the zoo was filled with small children who bore a close relationship to piglets.
I know that Swine Flu encouraged a metamorphosis in adults, but I don’t think anyone expected its effects on children. I’m no doctor, but I suppose it was a consequence of their faster metabolisms that the children didn’t just become hungry, they became ravenous.
In the absence of any other reliable food source, in children ranging from small infants to tweens, cannibalism soon became an option. Soon most unaffected adults (apparently it takes longer to incubate in adults) had been eaten, swallowed by the porcine aberrations that were once their progeny.
When the adults had been consumed they turned their bloodstained little faces to me, entreating the only authority figure they had for more food.
I did what I could, but I did what I shouldn’t have done.
“To parliament!” I cried, “there’s good eating on a politician!”
Through the zoo gates a tide of little pig-persons swarmed like locusts, eating everything in their path. Hobos, parking wardens, little old ladies out for a walk, all were relentlessly consumed by the pink tide.
I won’t continue with the details. Suffice it to say that I recovered, as did most of the children, before the week was out. The only detail I wish to add was that in no way did the Swine Flu engender any form of merciful amnesia in child or adult. We stand now, safe in our humanity once more, the taste of human flesh still uppermost in our children’s minds. Can these children, whose teeth have rent and swallowed the flesh of their fathers ever go back to the innocent pleasure of baked beans on toast for tea? Probably not.
Turned out it was Swine Flu. Yes, the one you’ve all heard about. Turns out I was the first person to bring it into the country, then I spread it around. So, if anyone has died, they can blame me.
I didn’t mean to catch it. I haven’t even been to Mexico or wherever it started. I just like chilli. A friend of mine found a small stash of mega-hot chili in tins at the local discount store. I ate one, then the next morning I had the sniffles. I put my clown makeup on and went to work, handing out balloons to small children at the Zoo. It’s a living, but I should have called in sick.
The next morning I woke up thirsty, and hungry, and with a welter of large green spots where, to my best recollection, I’d never had spots before. This unnerved me somewhat, but the clown blouse covered the worst of it and I headed for the zoo again.
Big mistake. They say that children pick up these things more easily. I should have thought of that.
By lunchtime my big red clown nose had become somewhat superfluous given the pig’s snout that had grown underneath it. More disturbing was the hair on the palm of my hands and the small curly tail which now poked out above my coccyx.
At the time I took some small comfort in the fact that I was not the only one. By the afternoon the zoo was filled with small children who bore a close relationship to piglets.
I know that Swine Flu encouraged a metamorphosis in adults, but I don’t think anyone expected its effects on children. I’m no doctor, but I suppose it was a consequence of their faster metabolisms that the children didn’t just become hungry, they became ravenous.
In the absence of any other reliable food source, in children ranging from small infants to tweens, cannibalism soon became an option. Soon most unaffected adults (apparently it takes longer to incubate in adults) had been eaten, swallowed by the porcine aberrations that were once their progeny.
When the adults had been consumed they turned their bloodstained little faces to me, entreating the only authority figure they had for more food.
I did what I could, but I did what I shouldn’t have done.
“To parliament!” I cried, “there’s good eating on a politician!”
Through the zoo gates a tide of little pig-persons swarmed like locusts, eating everything in their path. Hobos, parking wardens, little old ladies out for a walk, all were relentlessly consumed by the pink tide.
I won’t continue with the details. Suffice it to say that I recovered, as did most of the children, before the week was out. The only detail I wish to add was that in no way did the Swine Flu engender any form of merciful amnesia in child or adult. We stand now, safe in our humanity once more, the taste of human flesh still uppermost in our children’s minds. Can these children, whose teeth have rent and swallowed the flesh of their fathers ever go back to the innocent pleasure of baked beans on toast for tea? Probably not.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
New Zoo Hullabaloo Over Great Ape Caper
Adelaide Zoo: Zookeepers have today admitted that their strategy for catching the escaped Orangutan was fundamentally flawed.
Head Zookeeper Namby Treehugger said in a prepared statement today "The capture and rehousing of escaped animals is not a task that zoo staff are trained to do. When a proposal was put forward by a local firm claiming expertise in this area it was considered our best option. However, we now concede that the proposal should have been read in full before a contract was signed."
Security footage of the Zoo after dark has revealed a man dressed in a large banana suit and a man in a large pith helmet and wielding a large net, hiding behind a bush. Police have positively identified the two men as employees of DoobieSlim Enterprises.
While fottage of the capture attempt cannot be located, later footage showed the pair being chased over the Zoo's outer fence by an enraged Orangutan.
A spokesman for DoobieSlim Enterprises, the contracted firm, could not be located, although a woman claiming to be Mr Slim's mother has offered to leave a message for this reporter.
Head Zookeeper Namby Treehugger said in a prepared statement today "The capture and rehousing of escaped animals is not a task that zoo staff are trained to do. When a proposal was put forward by a local firm claiming expertise in this area it was considered our best option. However, we now concede that the proposal should have been read in full before a contract was signed."
Security footage of the Zoo after dark has revealed a man dressed in a large banana suit and a man in a large pith helmet and wielding a large net, hiding behind a bush. Police have positively identified the two men as employees of DoobieSlim Enterprises.
While fottage of the capture attempt cannot be located, later footage showed the pair being chased over the Zoo's outer fence by an enraged Orangutan.
A spokesman for DoobieSlim Enterprises, the contracted firm, could not be located, although a woman claiming to be Mr Slim's mother has offered to leave a message for this reporter.
Saturday, May 09, 2009
The Case Of The Feathered Filcher
“Stop that bird!”
The cry, strangely effeminate in its stridency, reached my ears just as I was about to tuck in to my usual corned-beef and mustard sandwich.
I looked up from my lunch only to see a large, camp individual running my way. As he ran waves of motion rippled across the broad expanse of his belly, which was clad in a light, tight shirt of silk. He appeared to be wearing jodhpurs, and a beret to boot. This ghastly apparition ran across Victoria Square, interrupting a bevy of lunch-eaters who, like myself, had chosen to partake of luncheon outside, a fine day as it was.
Sandwich forgotten, I simply stared. He ran up to where I sat and halted, about ten metres or so away. “Psst!” he stage whispered to me, “grab that bird!”
I stared at him, incredulous. “What bird?” I asked.
He winced at the normal volume of my voice. ‘SSSSH!” he almost screeched, “Not so loud, or you’ll frighten it off!”
All through his speech he seemed to have been pointing to the vacant part of the seat next to me, and I turned to see quite an unexpected sight. Next to me, quite unconcerned about the hullabaloo it was causing, sat a pigeon, cooing softly and wearing around its neck a necklace that even to my untrained eye seemed worth a bit, encrusted with precious stones as it was. I turned to the fat man. “Is this yours?” I asked.
“Yes!”
“Why is it wearing a necklace?”
“I was doing a photoshoot for the new Tiffany catalogue,” the fat man wailed, “we thought we’d put the bracelet around a birds neck, but the bloody thing flew away!”
“Right,” I said, “Worth a bit of money, is it?”
“Yes!” hissed the fat man, “now grab it!”
Gently, I put down my sandwich. The bird began to peck at it in an idle fashion. I slowly stood up, and took off my jacket. While the bird seemed distracted by the sandwich I held my jacket out in front of me like a matador’s cape. Sensing what I was about to do, the fat man drew a nervous breath. Behind him, a small crowd had gathered.
Swooping, I lunged at the bird, which in an instant went from eating a desultory lunch to being airborne. I landed heavily on the seat, feeling beneath me my sandwich, now thoroughly inserted into my jacket lining. The bird took off towards King William Street, chased by the fat man and the small crowd, who were madly hulloing up to it and trying to run whilst keeping an eye on its progress. They disappeared towards the end of the square as several car horns started blaring. I lay on the bench, my role in the affair forgotten.
I straightened back up and began to scrape the sandwich from my jacket, dislodging as I did so several hundred carats of sapphire, ruby and diamond bracelet. Idly I picked it up, then glanced down towards King William Street. The fat man and his entourage were no longer insight. I sighed, pocketed the bracelet, gingerly put my jacket back on and went to Macdonalds for lunch instead.
The cry, strangely effeminate in its stridency, reached my ears just as I was about to tuck in to my usual corned-beef and mustard sandwich.
I looked up from my lunch only to see a large, camp individual running my way. As he ran waves of motion rippled across the broad expanse of his belly, which was clad in a light, tight shirt of silk. He appeared to be wearing jodhpurs, and a beret to boot. This ghastly apparition ran across Victoria Square, interrupting a bevy of lunch-eaters who, like myself, had chosen to partake of luncheon outside, a fine day as it was.
Sandwich forgotten, I simply stared. He ran up to where I sat and halted, about ten metres or so away. “Psst!” he stage whispered to me, “grab that bird!”
I stared at him, incredulous. “What bird?” I asked.
He winced at the normal volume of my voice. ‘SSSSH!” he almost screeched, “Not so loud, or you’ll frighten it off!”
All through his speech he seemed to have been pointing to the vacant part of the seat next to me, and I turned to see quite an unexpected sight. Next to me, quite unconcerned about the hullabaloo it was causing, sat a pigeon, cooing softly and wearing around its neck a necklace that even to my untrained eye seemed worth a bit, encrusted with precious stones as it was. I turned to the fat man. “Is this yours?” I asked.
“Yes!”
“Why is it wearing a necklace?”
“I was doing a photoshoot for the new Tiffany catalogue,” the fat man wailed, “we thought we’d put the bracelet around a birds neck, but the bloody thing flew away!”
“Right,” I said, “Worth a bit of money, is it?”
“Yes!” hissed the fat man, “now grab it!”
Gently, I put down my sandwich. The bird began to peck at it in an idle fashion. I slowly stood up, and took off my jacket. While the bird seemed distracted by the sandwich I held my jacket out in front of me like a matador’s cape. Sensing what I was about to do, the fat man drew a nervous breath. Behind him, a small crowd had gathered.
Swooping, I lunged at the bird, which in an instant went from eating a desultory lunch to being airborne. I landed heavily on the seat, feeling beneath me my sandwich, now thoroughly inserted into my jacket lining. The bird took off towards King William Street, chased by the fat man and the small crowd, who were madly hulloing up to it and trying to run whilst keeping an eye on its progress. They disappeared towards the end of the square as several car horns started blaring. I lay on the bench, my role in the affair forgotten.
I straightened back up and began to scrape the sandwich from my jacket, dislodging as I did so several hundred carats of sapphire, ruby and diamond bracelet. Idly I picked it up, then glanced down towards King William Street. The fat man and his entourage were no longer insight. I sighed, pocketed the bracelet, gingerly put my jacket back on and went to Macdonalds for lunch instead.
Wednesday, May 06, 2009
He...has gone.
Regular readers of this emblogulatory entertainment will know that occasionally I will take the time to deviate from the usual hearty chuckles I give out to address a more serious topic. Today I was saddened to learn that Dom Deluise, the original jolly fat man, has passed away.
While I enjoyed Dom in many movies, such as Smokey and the Bandit Part 2, both Cannonball Run 1 and 2 and the immortal (and much searched for on DVD) Hot Stuff, I will forever remember him for his wonderful cameo in Blazing Saddles. Watch me faggots...
Stick out your chest,
poke out your tush,
hands on your hips,
give 'em a push,
Don't be surprised you're doing the French Mistake!
I think that if all you're ever remembered for is making people laugh, you've done something wonderful.
While I enjoyed Dom in many movies, such as Smokey and the Bandit Part 2, both Cannonball Run 1 and 2 and the immortal (and much searched for on DVD) Hot Stuff, I will forever remember him for his wonderful cameo in Blazing Saddles. Watch me faggots...
Stick out your chest,
poke out your tush,
hands on your hips,
give 'em a push,
Don't be surprised you're doing the French Mistake!
I think that if all you're ever remembered for is making people laugh, you've done something wonderful.
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