Monday, July 06, 2009

Gelatinous - I

Portrait of the artist as a banana

The adventures of the amazing CAPTAIN SPARKLYPANTS and Froobin the Wunderboy! - Part I

Once upon a time in a faraway land, it was raining.

Normally rain is not a remarkable phenomenon - we all know and accept the water cycle; revere it, take it as fact - we don't think twice about it, except when we with breasts are walking on the streets in white clothes.

However, on this occasion, the rain was rather unusual indeed.

For, you see, it was raining frog speens. (A/N: incidentally, DO frogs have spleens?)

The hero of our story after me, Gonnie Reah (a banker), darted across the street and ducked beneath the awning of a shop, just missing a particularly violent barrage of the aforementioned stuff.

"Good Morning, Mr.Reah!" called the shopkeeper cheerily.

"Not at all," said Gonnie gloomily. "I've a meeting in half and hour and couldn't possibly get there on time."

"Oh dear. Incidentally Sir, have you noticed the weather lately?"

"Yes. A bit choppy, isn't it?"


Gonnie sidestepped a falling spleen, which landed on a nearby sack of rice. He noticed this and frowned disapprovingly.

"Most insanitary," he said.

"Don't worry, Sir. I'll have it cleaned up in no time at all. OY!" he suddenly called, craning his cranium in the general direction of the jujubes.

I stepped out from my quaters, presently a fourth-hand cardboard box, bespattered in gecko excreta. The shopkeeper insisted he was a fair man, and that, as I progressed up the ladder of success, my living quaters would improve considerably in size and value. By the end of this year I expect to graduate from my shoebox to an altogether larger, roomier- preferrably newer - box.

"Cooroo, Mr.BossPerera," I said, saluting him cheerily with our traditional shop salute.

"Clean this up!" he snapped. "And take your fingers out of your nose!"

"Aye aye!"

I removed the offending appendages from my nostrils and flounced flambuoyantly towards Gonnie.

"Good morning, Leonard," said Gonnie.


"Have you noticed something strange about the weather?"

"Well it's raining frog guts, isn't it?"

"Most perceptive. I see you have grasped my meaning."

We fell into a meditative silence.

"Yeah, it's a bit dodgy," I said finally.

"Do you have an inkling as to why the heavenly weathermen are running amock?"

"I expect the union's on strike, Sir."

"Don't be an idiot, boy!" interrupted Mr.BossPerera suddenly. "If they were on strike then it wouldn't be raining anything at all!"

"Hmm," hmm-ed Gonnie, "You have a valid point."

"In that case it must be part of the masterplot of a super villain."

"But I thought Dr.StrangeGlove was on holiday in the Bahamas?"

"Oh no," groaned Gonnie exasperatedly, his brow furrowed like a country vegetable patch. "Don't tell me it's another impersonator? Last week's episode was bad enough."

"It took me ages to get those radioactive slugs out of my rose bushes," grumbled Mr.BossPerera wearily.

Again, the meditative silence. My thoughts began to wander down the street and up the skirt of the fishmonger's niece. She had hairy legs and lime green underwear. My mind's eye began to bleed, so it shut itself with due haste and retreated as a dog might under similar circumstances, yelping painfully as it did so.

Back in the shop, Gonnie Reah sighed resignedly.

"I suppose we'd better save the day again then, Leonard," he said.

"Probably, Sir."

"Shall I prepare your suit?"

"Yes. And you also, Leonard. Get ready."

As Mr.BossPerera dissappeared into the storage area to retrieve Gonnie's suit, I hastily changed into my own. I tied a tablecloth around my neck, pulled a pair of red panties over my head, and another floral-print one over my jeans.

"All done!" I said, glancing up to meet Gonnie's concerned and inquiring gaze.

"Flowers, Leonard?" he asked. His expression was sympathetic and slightly reflected his wonderment as to my sexual preferences.

"My other pair's at the cleaner's, Sir." My voice was muffled because I'd forgotten to cut a hole in my mask for the purpose of aiding speech.


Mr.BossPerera finally returned wth the garment, which, to Gonnie's dismay, was frozen stiff.

"BossPerera! Whatever happened!?"

"A lady customer walked in on me unexpectedly just after the incident with the slugs, and er...I hid your suit in the freezer."

"And then you forgot about it."

"Something like that, yes."

"In that case, I'd like a cup of tea as we wait for my ceremonal garments to thaw. Leonard, has it stopped raining?"

"No, Sir. But it's become more of a drizzle now. The guts are getting smaller and smaller."

We watched old Mrs.HootlePing open up her umbrella and listened to the calming sound of fresh meat hitting synthetic material stretched tautly across a wire frame. Little puddles of blood oozed from around the scattered piles of spleens. Gonnie took off his bowler hat and placed it on the counter.

"Excellent. Take courage, boy," said Gonnie with a flourish of his walking stick. His features rearranged themselves into one of cocky, playboy-esque charm, and his feet alighted upon an overturned soapbox, from which he continued his inspirational monologue.

"Today you are no longer a shopkeeper's apprentice idiot, Leonard. For the rest of this adventure, you shall be FROOBIN THE WUNDERBOY, sidekick to the amazing CAPTAIN F.S SPARKLYPANTS!"

"This is coming out of your pay, Boy," grumbled Mr.BossPerera.

But I could not wallow in my misfortune. How could I, when adventure lurked just around the corner like a headmaster lurking in the shadows, trying to catch truants? Adrenaline was surging through my veins, and the air was thick with the scent of testosterone.

Outside, it was still raining frog spleens.


Note: In the event anyone actually reads this let me express my mild surprise in advance.

Bad Poetry - Reflection of a dead brain in the late afternoon

It is a
Sunday afternoon

and sound
is muted
and dull

I can only hear
the hum
the buzz
of the afternoon haze

We are all drifting
and out
of consciousness

Surfing silver
dream waves
across the




Across the universe

In verse.


Writing a song
with no melody

Only words
connected by skeins of


Abstract thoughts
and barely-there
strands of
half-formed consciences.

We are all drifting in
with the tide
of our daydreams

What is
and is not real

Treads gently
as if on eggshells
the thin line
that seperates

Life as we know it

and life as it is.

Are we all delusional?
dengue-ridden pus-frothy
of our former selves

My lazy sunday afternoon philosophy
never made much sense to anyone but me

Especially when it is

In verse

At least poetry
doesn't need to make
grammatical sense.

Mills&Boon super sci-fi edition!

The Loveship I - In the Universe of Love and all things lovely

To Dami,
With hope that in the future
she will stick to the high quality
trash of AL Pieres and not of
women who think that men who
are over 35 and virgins are
cool and desirable.

"Captain T.S Sparklypants reporting for duty!"

He was tall and broad and bronzed like a greek god. His face was chisled and his features were striking. His hair was dark and curly and bounced attractively against his forehead like a pair of bunnies on LSD. He was the most stunning creature i'd ever seen, and i hated him more than a parent learns to hate Barney the dinosaur.

"What are you doing here!?" I cried.

He grabbed my wrist and stared deeply into my thighs eyes.

"I came here to find you, Agent Orange."

"I told you not to call me that anymore! And I'm done with that line of work. I'm through with it!"

"Orange!" he shouted, shaking a leg, "The fate of the known universe depends on you!"

"I can't! I took a sacred oath-"

"Frankly, m'dear, I don't give a damn!"

"Stop it, Sparkly! Those old gone with the wind role playing days are over! My work is here now, y'understand!?"



"It can't be done without you, Orange!"

We stared intensely at each other for 33.2 seconds. The two moons of the Planet Pseudogothica spun gently in the distance. The sexual tension in the air was unbearable. Somewhere in the background, Lt.Twirly began to dig his nose boredly.

I burst into tears. "Damn you to hell, Sparklypants!" I shouted, flinging myself into his arms. "Why did you take so long to come back!?"

"I needed to pee."

We proceeded to grope each other inappropriately. Lt.Twirly began to talk to his mother over the intercom about how his roses were coming along.

The gleam from Sparklypants' fuschia sequinned shorts and mickey mouse suspenders was hypnotic. His purple fingernails were psychotic, and his feathery kisses across my funny bone were electric.

I plugged a blender into my right armpit and it began to whir at full speed.

"You seem to have this weird effect on me."

"Oh, Orange!"

"You never told me what the T.S in your name stood for, btw," I said, between smoochies.


"Erm. Todd Spingstone."


"Totally Stupid."


"Thunder Stud?"

"Close, but no."

"Then I give up."

"Alright then, it stands...for...."


"Too Sexy."

"Oh, Too Sexy Sparklypants, I love you!"

"I love me too!"

Suddenly, the Universe was saved. No one knew how, exactly - we only knew vaguely that it had something to do with LOVE, the most amazing sunshiny, warmy happy feeling that was engulfing every fibre of Sparklypants' pants. Whatever plot that had existed before the moment of our lovemaking had completely vanished from the existance of existance itself.

"Oh, Look, Sparkly! Space snow!"

"Doesn't that green glow remind you of our first date at the radioactive turnip factory in 3042?"

As we drifted peacefully into the intergalactic sunset, Lt.Twirly logged into the ship's mainframe computer and began to play solitaire.

The End (sort of).


Write a note

Tell a story

Make it funny

Make it gory

Twist the pieces

Twist the truth

Most amusing

Most uncouth.

Monday, March 09, 2009

To siblings 1&2

Don't grow up.
Stay small.

Fight me every day.

These moments are fleeting,
barely-tangible things,
flying by fast
on silver-silhouetted wings.

Don't run.
Stay awhile.

Don't grow up
Or tall
Don't change at all.

Don't rush fate,
Or time;
Be late.

I'm in no hurry to
Let you grow
Let you go
Let time flow
Like a river

The goods.


Say that you'll be there
Ten years from now

Don't grow old
Stay small
Don't grow at all
Don't forget,
Or regret

Be as you are.

Fight me every day.

Only then can we cheat the murky, fleeting memories
That time threatens you will be.

Wednesday, February 25, 2009

An Ode to Hart

Hart, O Hart,
Succumb not to the brain fart
Ruining your mental facilites
With diabolical ease
Do not plague us so
Don't presuppose we know
Or understand
Your verbal diarrhoea
We'd rather not be here
It's true and a fact
We'd rather have none of that
Bull that you spew
The ounces of sense you make
Are alarmingly few
SPARE US the mental anguish
Allow us not to languish
In the recesses
Of your philosophical abscesses
O Hart, we cannot lie,
If you weren't already dead,
We'd will you to kindly fuck off and die.