The adventures of Stickman in Stickland upon the advent of a year in limbo

WRITTEN BY TAMMY, THE SAGACIOUS ONE
..
..

hey i started this in JULY 2006, and its taken this long for me to get of my ass and type it to u...

The Adventures of Stickman TM in Stickland:

Upon the advent of a Year in LimboPurpose or Literary Intent: TO Delight the life and times of ANjalie Leonora Pieres

The Beginning

Yet another sunny day dawns in Stickland. Stickcrows tweet and warble like they have nothing better to do and poop freely on unsuspecting passers by. Stickorganisms accept this with little rancour because the guiding principle to a happy and content sticklife is to accept that stickshit happens.

Unfortunately, for Stickman, all is not well with him. He plods along the dusty road (plod plod plodplodplod plod ploddle plod.)

Stickmans facical expression is decidedly morose.

Sorrow and a fair degree of despondency waft from the crown of his head in creamy clouds. Stickman coughs because he inhales bits of cloud and this gives his nasal guardians migrane.

Whilts plodding along, Stickman encounters a fair number of Stickants. Luminous blue with orange pinstripes, they are easily spotted. (Except when ones eyes are closed).
The Sitckants march in a highly efficient and rapid manner with a discreet glint of mania in their shiny pink eyes. Stickman pauses for thought, slightly to the Right of the Great Column of Advancing ants.

Stickman thinks with even more gusto than usual (still maintaining a despondent air, if such an attitude is possible.) Circles of So Pink scented smoke begin to emanate from his ears and he has to sit on a conveniently located mound for extra support.

Stickmans thoughts and ruminations are as follows:

" The ants... they live such an orderly life. They march, in unity, together, in a unidirectional formation. Their very tread imposes a tangible rhythm to the comparitively chaotic lives of Stickpeople. Above all, they are Ants with a Mission. They know where they are going, and where their destiny lies."

Drumroll

(Stickmans voice has cracked in 3 places. It has morphed into the voice of God in a 1950s movie-eg. the one where Charlton Heston is Moses)

"Thus the ants march on. Assured certainty in this tremulous world of Stickshadows. They each have a small role to play in the Grand Ant Plan and the fate of each any is inscribed on the earth it treads on.

Enter the voice of Bart Simpson as the Voice of Stickman

" I, on the other hand, am seated on a mound of dust, watching the ants go marching one by one (HooraHH, hooraHH). I have no purpose , no function and I am decidedly deficient of purose and function."

Exeunt B. Simpson

At which point, Stickman is drained of all testosterone. Assuming the God voice has drained him of all of it. Stickman now has a voice that is completely indistinguishable from Stickgirl's.

Stickman continues to perch upon the mound and keeps as quiet as possible and tries to think positively about the situation.

"I am doomed doomed doomed doooooooooooooooooomed!!!!!!!!!!!!!! How can I ever show my face in Sticktown again? My brotherhood will laugh at me and no Stickfemale will have a straight face when Im around, besides my great Aunty Ethel!!!" (Great-Aunty Ethel is as deaf as a coconut.)

At this point, Fate casts a benevolent eye on Stickman and sighs. A gentle warm wind ruffles stickmans ears. Fate then giggle and prods Stickgirl onto the scene.

The column of Stickants, has, incidentally, marched deep into the bowels of Anthill 73B for collective swigs of icey Elephant House Ginger Beer which is what makes their sting...sting.

Stickgirl staunter jauntily onto the scene, Heavy Duty Feather Duster in hand.

" wow. dig the atmosphere of gloom and dispair!" she remarks astutely.

Stickman realises that she is near and tries to look invisible. Stickgirl squeaks as she sees stickman with a rapidly vanishing left foot. Stickmans concentration is interrupted by Stickgirls shrill shrieks which occur at a frequency of one every fifth second. So he scowls at her instead.

"Dont you SCOWL at me Stickman".

Stickman, gathers what little dignity he has left and slings it over his shoulder. He then tries to walk away in a studied manly fashion.

Stickgirl is deeply offended and displays her irritation by picking up a handfull of dust and flinging it at Stickmans head. Stickman has his back to her and is blissfully unaware of the very real danger he faces of being Clobbered from Behind.

As the handfull of dirt makes contact with the base of his skull, Stickman is greeted by his old friend, Ye Olde Orange Crate. It lands squarely on him like a crate of falling oranges. Stickgirl, a hardened madam, turns around and trips off into the sunset.Oh heartless world.

The orange crate begins to hum the "Dont worry, be happy" tune and stickman begins to realise that he has been hit by an orange crate that fell at terminal velocity. Feeling slightly annoyed, politely bids the orange crate to fuck off and die.

The orange crate, being in a relative position of power begins to whistle Good Vibrations (by the Beach Boys).

As stickman lies there, a prone and 2 Dimesnional mess of crushed bone, muscle and nervous tissue, he drifts off to the land of nod.

Big mistake.

Stickmans life force begins to seep away from him, into the ground and Stickman is drawn into the black hole that is Death. So you really cant blame him for missing the approaching boom of a flock of airborne Stickchickens breaking the sound barrier.

Drawn by the luminous orange of the oranges in the orange crate and the stickmans glistening body fluids that are oozing from the crate, the Stickchickens swoop and dive towards the splodge that was once Stickman.

It took a couple of minutes for the Sitckchickens to realise what had happened, but when they did, the gathered around Stickman , clucking anxiously. Pale blue tears of sadness trickeld fromt he eyes fo each bird as they realised that the central figure of Chicken-Toe Veneration (Stickman--honourary head of the Chicken-Toe Cult) was almost no more.

Stickbirds on the whole are not famed for their mental acuity, but in times of trouble, a Stickchicken can usually be relied upon to do the right thing. Slowly, the birds formed a circle around their idol. A single deep cluck of sorrow emanated from each feathered gullet and each stickchicken glared with beady eyes at the offending crate.

The crate began to realise that all was not right, and ceased to hum. Frankly, the crate felt threatened. Crates are not intrinsically evil (Bar the Arms Crates) but are not particularly sympathetic to their victims either. However, under the gaze of thirty seven stickchickens, the crate began to quail.(who wouldnt?)

Within 3 minutes of this visual attack from the chickens, the crate had experienced a substantial range of unpleasant physical phenomena. (eg: goosebumps, pins and needles, pruritus (itching), nausea, IBS, hot flushes and a runny nose). The crate felt its slats expanding and contracting and the oranges huddled even closer together because they had a nasty feeling that their number were up.

Some of us in life always display a certain degree of orange-ness...characterised by a 'go with the flow but end up in the shit' Life Pattern.

The crate began to quiver gently in the still air and stickman felt his life forces returning. The crate began to tilt and shiver violently. The oranges were terrified. One small orange began to leak juice. The crate gave an anguished yell and fell to one side.

The oranges all died.

Stickman, however, rose gently from the ground, fully restored (except fro the fact that he was 2 dimensional) and smiled benignly at the stickchickens.

Amazed by their own powers, the stickchickens began to hoot with glee and affectionately pecked at stickmans feet, before flying off into the sunset.

The oranges were still dead. sorry everyone.

Fin

The Adventures of Anj and Tammy Chapter 5

Chapter five

...

...

“Have a nice day!” I said, plastering a stupid grin on my face.

Tammy was not in the best of moods. “Why the hell do we have to go undercover as McDonald’s employees?” she asked, dusting sesame seeds off her hands.

“ONE, we’re getting paid, TWO, we’re getting paid, and THREE – McDonalds is the forefront of Dr. Alikakka’s evil scheme!”

“Ah. Now tell me why we couldn’t have just snuck into his lair via the sewer?”

I rolled my eyes. This child clearly did not get it.

“ONE, because we’re getting paid, TWO, because we’re getting paid, and THREE – because I just did my hair and I wouldn’t really appreciate it taking on the odor of human fecal matter.”

“Ah.”

“Tammy! Anjalie!” called Mr.BossFernando, the manager of the Kollupitiya branch. “Bring up another six boxes of hamburger patties from our holding area in the sewers!”

“Aye aye, Boss!” I said, snapping my heels together and giving the man a quick salute. “Come on, Tammy!” I said, grabbing her wrist. “This is the chance we’ve been waiting for!”

“I thought you wanted to avoid the sewers at any possible cost?” she said sarcastically.

“Aaaapo! If you want to be all high-and-mighty then you’re free to go to Arpico, hari da, missy?”

“What? Anj, I-”

“Sssshhh!!! Follow me!”

With a dramatic flourish of my right arm, I threw Tammy through the back door and bounded in after her. Needless to say, the result was not pretty.

“URGH!” she exclaimed upon landing in a pile of pig muck.

I rolled my eyes. “Can’t you be serious for once? Look where you’re going, will you?”

“Oh, sure!” she sneered. “After all, you always know what you’re doing, right?”

Now you know me, no? Sarcasm rolls off me like water off a duck’s back. I didn’t know what the hell she was talking about.

“Huh? Yeah, I usually do.”

“Oh, God. Nevermind.”

I shrugged. Really, sometimes Tammy was just too strange. Like her reaction that day in Form two when she found me eating peanut butter and poll-sambol sandwiches; or when I wore my underwear over my trousers and a nose ring to scare away the evil spirits living in the canteen…and lets not forget the day she made Milo™ with TWO SPOONS OF CHOCOLATE ONLY! (dundundunnnn!!!)

“Anj? Anj? ANJ! I’ve been talking to you for the past ten minutes! I bet you weren’t listening to a word I’ve been saying!”

“I WAS!” I cried indignantly. “You were talking about Merl Aunty’s thyroid condition!”

“No, I was actually wondering how much time we have left before the hamsters are released.”

“Oh. Well, I’m close enough.”

“Indeed.”

“What were you saying again?”

“I said, I was wondering how much time we have.”

“We have until four hours after the next power cut.”

“Four hours until after the next power cut?”

“Four hours until after the next power cut,” I replied, nodding. A sick sensation was spreading through every fibre of my being like tuberculosis in a washing machine. Something was defenitely wrong here. I could feel it.

“Four hours until after the next power cut…” I repeated, scratching my chin thoughtfully.

“Four hours until after the next power cut!!!” cried Tammy in panic.

Oh no! I thought. Not this again!

Concentrating all my energy into a little plastic teacup, I realised that the only way to get through this was to communicate telepathically with Tammy.

Tammy! I telephathicky-fied.

Anj? Anj, wtf is going on??AAAAIIIIIEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

You need to calm down, woman. If you don’t, it means Dr. Phlemulus has already won!

You’re right! She thought, and paused to contemplate the absurdity of the situations we end up in.

Can you explain this strange phenomenon? I asked.

According to my calculations, she thinked, it would appear that the odiferous fumes of this sewer are interrupting the impulses in our liddle neurones, hence we cannot communicate with each other through speech…and all we can say is ‘four hours after the next power cut.’

But why that?

She shrugged. I dunno.

A pause, then;

I have an idea!

What? I asked.

I brought with me these custom-made gas masks from that time we posing as sewage technicians to steal the Jade Buddha back from George Bush and return it to China in return for our bounty of bounty!

I like bounty, I reminicised. It tastes nice, for coconut.

Here! She said, throwing me one. Wear this!

Thanks.

Once we were properly attired, I opened my mouth to speak.

“That was a great idea, Tammy,” I said, patting the lass on the back.

“I know,” she said, grinning (although I couldn’t see this since we were both wearing gas masks).

Suddenly, we heard voices approaching fast around the bend. “Shit!” hissed Tammy as we both ducked behind a pair of large plastic C.M.C garbage bins.

“What men aiiyo come what, no?!” exclaimed one.

“Aney what will you men what come, so?”

“No, meya! Big Boss hari ants in his pants-la itsims.”

“They’re Dr. Alikakka’s evil Henchaiiyas!” whispered Tammy. “Daymn! And they’re speaking in some strange primitive language! What do we do now?”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “Let me handle this.”

“Anj, NO-!”

But it was too late. I stepped into the light and view of the three evil henchaiiyas.

The tallest one, the one with a handlebar moustache and a blue sarong raised his head to greet me.

“Aah, Nangi!!!”

…

To be continued…

Under the sea

Untitled for the meanwhile

The adventures of Anj and Tammy 4

Th Adventures of Anj and Tammy

Chapter 4

...

The cheque lay in my hands like a little neon Pink Made in Taiwan Handwarmer.The Velvet Hippo Accountant (Rupert), usually an amiable fellow, glared at me from amongstthe surrounding (metaphorical) shards of fractured Productive Employee Image that Anj and Ihad so casually destroyed.
He was also very very jealous of the money that i was now thedoting owner of.

''You and I will go far my friend,'' i whispered to the cheque.

"PSSSSSST!!!!"

Anjs forehead and eyes peered over the windowsill.I frowned. This was not right, our office was on the 7th story above the Galle Road, therewas no WAY anj could have...

''SCALED THE WALLS USING A ROPE MADE OF DENTAl FLOSS!!!!!!!!!!???????????'' i shrieked, ever the one to err on the side of caution.

Anj sniggered at my utter gullibility.

''no, you fool, i came up in the lift and THEN climbed out of the next door window.''

Anj and i had relocated from the window to a store room, one floor below. At this rate wewould never get out of this building.

''At this rate, we'll never get out of this building!''

''Well, at least listen to what i found out when i PRETENDED to be a lil crazy...dont COUGH at me like that!!..''

''Ok, so what DID you find out? By the way, Mr. BossPerera gave me a cheque for $100.''

''ReeeeallY,,we need to cash it SOON!'' Anj explained, eyes widening.''Everythings starting to make sense now...rememeber the Saustifigous Plague Bearing Genetcially Modified Hamsters...''

''Yes, anj, that image remains vividly imprinted on my retinas.''

''Well,'' she enthused, waving aside the sarcasm stemming from not having eaten for the last12 hours. No marmite, remember? '' After I fled the building, i saw the Evil White Catstaunter past, and i followed it...to the Lair of Dr. Phlemulus.''

''HOW??? You were only gone for like 7 mins!!''

''...TIME WARP,random physics phenomena, time flies when youre having fun, tammy, i DONTKNOW! it just happend!''

''ok, ok, so, and THEN????''

Anj paused for thought and breath. She sat down on a convenient box, and solemnly watcheda startled familly of hoonas scuttle out accross the floorboards.

'' Phlemulus has amassed all the hamsters in holding area under Mc Donalds. Theres a swarmof THREE THOUSAND of the vicious sqeeatures, waiting for Phlemulus to unleash them intothe water system. I SAW THEM!!!''

''Sqeaking masses of fur, fleas, leptospirosis and Saustifigous Plague?''I inquired politely.

''YES!!!''

''****!!!!''

''Finally, i managed to sneak away unnoticed, although i did see that diabetic white felinetwitch suspiciously. BUt, i DO know when they will be released, 4 hours after the next power cut.''

''And when exactly is that?''

''Four hours after the next power cut.''

''Aha. I see.''

There WAS a flaw in this statement, i was pretty sure, it was just proving difficult to see Where exactly...

''Four hours after the next power cut.'' I muttered to myself.

''Four hours after the next power cut.''Anj repeated after me.

''Four hours after the next power cut.'' I turned and glared at her.

''Four hours after the next power cut?''She stAred back at me, a puzzled look on her face.

''Four hours after the next power cut!!!''I raised my voice in panic.

Eyes wide with fear,we both screamed.''FOUR HOURS AFTER THE NEXT POWER CUT!!!!"

Why do I keep saying that? I thought,as blood rushed to my frightened brain. I tried tospeak that very thought aloud, instead, i yelled.''FOUR HOURS AFTER THE NEXT POWER CUT!!!!''

With a crushing feeling of dread, that was mirrored in anj's eyes, i realised that these were now the only words i was physically capable of uttering. Roll on Saustifigous Plague..........

The Adventures of Stickagent Man2

The Adventures of Anj and Tammy - 3

Chapter three

......

“Tell me I’m dreaming.”

“You’re dreaming.”

Tammy turned to face me, aggravated. “Gee, thanks!” she said sarcastically.

“You asked.” I said, shrugging. “Now, are you ready to listen to my theory?”

“Shoot.”

“Okay. So, we both know that the evil genius, Dr. Phlemulus Alikakka lives in a secret laboratory under a bush in Peru, right?”

“Right.”

“And do we know what his uncle does for a living?”

“He’s a….plumber?”

“Exactly!”

“Oooookaaaaaayyyyy……”

“And what is his favourite animal?”

“The…umm…uh…”

“Take your time.”

“Hamsters?”

“Very good. And what are Hamsters?”

“Cute?”

“Besides that.”

“Furry?”

“Nope.”

“Small?”

“NO!!!”

“Then!?!?”

“They’re rodents!”

Comprehension dawned on my companion’s features. “Ooooh!” she said.

“Indeed! And what do we know about rodents?”

“The plague!” she gasped, and clasped her hands over her mouth in horror.

“Exactly!”

“So what you’re saying is that Dr. Phlemulus is planning to release little hamsters infected with the plague into the plumbing of this city and unleash a wave of terror to turn its populace into mindless flesh-eating zombies?!”

“Yes!”

“NO!”

“Yes!”

“NO!!”

“Yes!”

“NO!!”

“YES!”

“NO-”

“Look here, ladies,” interrupted our boss, who’d been observing our diatribe for the past fifteen minutes, “either get some work done, or get out. Labour’s expendable, you know.”

“CAPITALIST!” I screamed.

“Plebian.”

“CORRUPT, BIGOTED MISER SCUMBAG-”

“Anj!” wailed Tammy, embarrassed.

“-ANTISOCIAL REPUBLICAN-”

“Slave.”

“-TERRORIST SATANS INCARNATE-”

“Flunkey.”

“-PROCRASTINATING NARROW MINDED IMPLODING-”

“Lapdog.”

“-CHICKEN HEADED SMELLYFACE SPOOTHEAD!!”

“Imbecile.”

“MEASLES!”

With a final cry, I threw myself out of Tammy’s cubicle and ran down the stairs, raving like a lunatic.

Sighing, my boss gave Tammy a cheque for a hundred dollars. “Here,” he said. “Get yourself some sleeping tablets. And while you’re at it, get Anj some professional help.”

“I think she’s beyond that, sir.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Indeed, sir. Goodbye.”

.........................

NOTICE : It's come to my attention that people are taking offence at the title of my blog. Therefore I'm open to suggestions. Seriously, this is getting annoying. Grow up, will you? I'm not a satanist!

Stick(agent)man, Episode 1

Episode one of the new and improved Stickman!!!

Click to enlarge

Hands

The adventures of Anj and Tammy 2

Chapter Two

...

a continuation, while taking a break from practicing eeeeeeeevil bmat questions which should be banned as an instrument of long term torture and causative factor of profound psychological damage.

ahem....excuse me, this is the first thing creative ish tht ive written for about ...er.mmm/...you can guess how long...so edit as u wish as long as u dont kill me off by fire, water or surgical maggots gone wrong.( im writing as me, btw, as in...from iinside tammys mind)

ahem. (again)

"No Marmite."

"...Marmite"

"...ite..."

Those foul words of doom seemed to resonate inside my skull and i felt as though i was drowning in a sea of Marmite-less-ness trauma. Waves of pain engulfed my toes and my head began to throb, as Anjs voice seemed to recede into the background. A red and magenta haze surrounded the office and everything turned blurry.

(Cue for Puddle of Mud background music)

Indeed.

From the depths of my shock induced loss of consciousness-as-such, i felt a slap accross my face. Thwacked out of this state of Marmitelessnessfreakedoutedness, I opened my eyes wide.There was Anj, raising her hand to slap me again.So, i poked her.

Now those of us who know/love/loathe/pluck the eyebrows of (take your pick) anj, know that, when poked, she emits a new sqeak/squeal evrytime. This was Squeak Of Outrage No. 78643, Version F.

Facing each other, and realising the Gravity of the Situation at Hand, we put aside a small difference in communicative style. For, what is a poke/slap/potato kokis amongst friends? Nothing. (well,maybe not the potato kokis.)

Slowly, we exhaled.

Exhales

inhales

exhales

inhales

inhales.........

woman, ur turning a darker shade of purple

EXHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALES.

"The time," I muttered, "has come for us to make a plan".

"A WHAT?"

Yes, we have to resort to organisation. Psych urself up...or, down, as it were.So, (speech marks irritate me, sorry anj,)

T: We have no marmite. What are the implications of this besides not being able to make marmite sandwiches?

A: "Not make marmite sandwiches"???? How can you SAY it so calmly????Dont you realise, freakling, we are doomed doomed DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMED!!!!!!!!

(Anj begins to wail) (I begin to wail) ...female sympathy pains.

T: enough of this wailing men, theres something worse than not being able to make marmite sandwiches.

A: Worse??? What do you mean WORSE???? there is nothing worse!!! NOTHING I TELL YOU, NOTHING!!!!!!!!

(anj looks at the water cooler for inspiration.) (American Water looks back and sighs.)

T: Oh yes there is, you know what i mean.

Evil music and white fluffy cat belonging to Evil Genius wanders in.

A:Gasps

T:Yup.

A:GASPS

T: I KNOW.

A: NO.T

T: yes.

(guys who are getting a sense of deja vu...deal with it...tis a girly thing and wont change anytime this side of the next millennium)

A: Well. Well...I think i know how to deal with that.

T: (Now its my turn to gasp) You do??? What? HOW?

......Please wait till episode3 for the absolute genius and general smart-ness of Anj to be revealed.

The amazing misAdventures of Stickman continue!!

The product of my Common Law class. Click to enlarge.

The Adventures of Anj and Tammy

Chapter One

...

It was a dreary October afternoon when I stumbled into that office, drenched in sweat. I remember the dull hum of ceiling fans, circulating the same rancid air and not really being of very much use to anyone. I remember the sound of my heart, beating fast and loud, drowning out all coherent thought. I remember the look on her face, twisted with worry. She opened her mouth to speak, but I heard nothing. I’m not exactly sure as to whether she said anything at all; but that day – that day – everything was different.

“Anjalie?” I finally heard her say. “Anj, what’s wrong?”

Still unable to respond, I flopped onto her desk, paying no heed to the paperclips that dug into my flesh. I may have bled, but who knows?

“Anj,” she repeated. “Anj, talk to me. What happened?”

I sat there for what seemed to be an eternity, staring blankly into the depths of her eyes, gaping like a fish out of water. My life had turned to clay. Everything was stagnant. It was almost as if time had stopped. I could no longer hear the ticking of her broken clock, the one that looked like Mickey Mouse but was actually Bruce Springsteen. The clacking of fingers on keyboards seemed to have ceased, and I could see no evidence of life on the street below. I could feel little rivers of perspiration running down my back and pooling in my underwear.

“Anj!”

I finally found the strength to speak.

“W-water…”

“What?”

“W-w-wat-water…”

With that worried expression still etched onto her features, she dashed towards the filter and returned with a plastic cup filled with icy-cold H2O. At that point I paused to appreciate the nature of the cup. Closing my eyes, I observed that it had an exceptionally positive natural energy, very much unlike that of my boss. Running my fingers over the rim, I noticed that this positive energy was being nulled by the presence of an uncharacteristic chip – that is to say, a stumbling block in that little cup’s walk of life. Its weathered exterior, once displaying a bold motif of Tweety Bird, was now-

“Anj, you’re drooling.”

Aah, my saviour. She was always doing this; rescuing me from the forces of ignorance.

“Tammy,” I cried, clasping her hand.

“What?”

“Tammy!”

“What?”

“TAMMY!”

“WHAT?! Ew, Anj! What did you just wipe on me-?”

“TAMMY!” I screamed. I was getting desperate. If Tammy didn’t pay attention to the fact that I was crying hysteria into her bosom, then no one would. Granted, she was the only one who tolerated my melodramatic outbursts.

“Uhm…are those eggshells in your hair?”

“Never you mind the eggshells,” I said, and, gazing determinedly at her skeptical expression, pulled a couple of slimy pieces from my head. “We’ve got a crisis on our hands.”

“A crisis?”

I nodded.

A pregnant pause followed in which we heard nothing but Thareef giggling excitedly as he raced past our cubicle towards the ladies toilets with his camera in his hands.

She slapped her forehead. “Oh, God. What have you done this time?”

“I was innocent!” I cried, and beat my breast.

This defensive mechanism failed to work, however, and Tammy threw the Tweety Bird cup at my head. It missed and hit the accountant, a pink velvet hippo named Rupert. In this way the object lost a lot of its positive energy, and having gained much of Tammy’s negative, became a destructive force, one that was particularly harmful towards pink velvet-

“I KNEW it! I knew something would happen. Why, Anj, WHY!? It hasn’t even been a week since that last escapade of yours!”

“Look, it’s like I keep telling you – I never aimed that giant wad of putty at the Spanish Ambassador, okay?”

“Yes, but while that’s true, you can’t overlook the fact that you were actually aiming at the Orphanage!”

“HEY! They were getting on my nerves!”

“Just because little Billy didn’t lend you his crayons!?”

“They need to learn how to share, al’ite?!”

“He’s six years old, Anj!”

“So?! When I was six I lived in a cardboard box with sixteen other little siblings. We had only one crayon between us all, and we still managed to share!”

“That’s bullshit. You have two sisters.”

“Yes, well, a little putty never hurt anyone.”

“Explosive putty?!”

“Whatever,” I said, and returned to the topic at hand. “Like I said, we’re in the midst of a crisis.”

“I don’t care. I’m not going to help you this time.”

“But you must!” I exclaimed. “The fate of the world as we know it rests upon your weary shoulders!”

Tammy ignored me and continued to ramble to herself. “How was I to know that she was trying to demolish the orphanage? Why does this sort of thing happen to me? Why am I cursed with a friend like her? Did I remember to hang the washing out to dry? When did I-”

I grabbed her hand again and gave her what I hoped was a pained expression. She snorted. Chortling inside, I knew she had given in.

“Alright, you’ve got me,” she said. “What’s the big emergency this time?”

“You might want to sit down – this may come as a bit of a shock.”

“I gathered as much from your emotional display,” she replied, amused.

Taking a deep breath, I counted to ten. Then I let her have it.

“There’s no more Marmite™.”

Her scream resounded like a tidal wave crashing against the shore.

To be continued...

Poochie

Happy Birthday to the littlest sibling, Poochie! Of course you won't be able to read this (at least not now, seeing as you're only three), but in due course, when you're thirty, balding (Thathi's defective genes'll probably get you, knowing our family's luck) and well endowed in the midrif area, we can both take a trip down memory lane.

It terrifies me a little, how fast time flies. Moments are fleeting, intangible things in our world. Like the day I first saw you. I thought: 'damn, are all babies that ugly at birth?!' and then had to reprimand and remind myself that you were my sibling, and that I had to be nice. Of course I never bothered to think like that when THE Sibling was born, but I was only five then.

Will you remember when I first held you, and worried that I'd let you fall?

Will you remember when F, A and I made all those special trips to Thathi's place, just to watch you sleep?

Will you remember that pillow I sewed for you on your first birthday, that was really uncomfortable and unbelievably ugly?

Will you remember when Sibling made you cry, and then squealed and poked you some more because she said your lower lip did that weird pouty thing that made you look so damn cute?

Will you remember that day you found a slug and called it 'Poochie'?

Will you remember running to Thathi every time G, Sibling or I did something you didn't like, and then complained that we were 'troubling you'?

Will you remember that time Haalmassa and I fell asleep and you couldn't stand the thought of being alone so you jumped on our backs and pretended like you weren't trying to wake us?

Will you remember pointing at L's dog's crap and screaming: "PUDDING!" ?

Will you ever remember the atrocities you commited regarding a certain kitty by the ungainly name of 'Chicken'?

Will you remember that you cried everytime we left, even though we promised to come back?

I hope so. Because moments like these mean everything.

Here's to the littlest Poochie.

Happy Birthday :)

Moonlight

Shadows

Head

Jungle

Completed at work. Yes, i know- I'm a very efficient and productive person. Thing is though, why bother working when there're other people to do it for you?

Icky Icky

Frog

A frog, by my cousin chaya!

Anime

This little obsession was all Anya's fault. I swear. It has nothing to do with me! Okay, fine. Maybe it does have something to do with me. But just a little. I drew these about two years back, so forgive the somewhat...stunted style.





Vash, from Trigun. Honestly, everyone should read that manga. It's something something something; a mix between the wild west and star wars. It's one of those psychologically screwed up comics, with a healthy dash of blood and gore. Thoroughly enjoyable.



























This was initially supposed to be a character sketch of Cain. The manga, by Kaori Yuki (the same woman who did Angel Sanctuary, for those of you who care), is as messed up as anyone could imagine. As you may tell, i tend to enjoy psychologically screwed, thriller-type...stuff.














A character sketch for a comic i was supposed to develop with a friend. Nothing came of it, though. Such a shame...

12am

Tis a pig! I think...















Mother Nature, perhaps? God knows...


















I will not take any credit for this pic...it's actually Himansu's. He hasn't put it on his blog, though, so i thought i would...and yes, i know it looks nothing like me! Oh well.



















Joblessness abounds at 12am :)

The God of Carrots

Disintegrate

One of those days...

Kaleidoscope

In our darkest hours

Nostalgia

I discovered my f4 almanac within the depths of an ancient cardboard box last night and couldn't help feeling incredibly old. I mean, this was three years ago. I hadn't even taken my OLs, and now...I'll be leaving behind the monotony of school life forever. Kinda depressing, actually. Anyway. I thought i'd share some extremely random things (no wonder we're considered the 'reject class'!!) with the rest of the world. Bear in mind that they are, as i have already mentioned, extremely random. Revel in our randomness! MWahahahhaaaa...
…………



Tammy's hand!! 100%BS :P
Try figure out what it says. I can't, and I have the original!
And people tell me I think too much...


















Rasha's logic. Don't even ask.








..................

The amazing (mis)adventures of Stickman™ continue!!


After his last tiresome adventure, Stickman™ decides to venture towards greener pastures by educating himself in the art of nasal decoration. His faithful pet, Stick-bat™, roosts peacefully from the brim of his hat in a desperate attempt to keep away from the light. For, as Stick-bat™ discovered, little illumination can irritate one whose eyes are closed. Stickman™, who is still pining after Stickgirl™, somersaults gracelessly over a stampede of wild Uranium Stickchickens™ (famed for laying platinum eggs) and lands SPLAT in a mud puddle. Stickman™ bursts in to tears. Feeling sympathetic, a chicken makes its way towards him and…craps on his toe. Stickman™ squeals with disgust and Stick-bat™ is woken from his dream about flying maggots. Sniffling in surprised drowsiness, Stick-bat™, unaware of his surroundings, lets go of Stickman™’s hat and plummets earthwards, landing headfirst in a pile of chicken deposits. Slightly miffed, Stick-bat™ gazes Stickman™ with an expression of puzzled devotion. Stickman™, on the other hand, is not puzzled. On the contrary he is pretty pissed off. He yells. He screams. He wrings the neck of the offending stickchicken and is brained by a blizzard of 2lb platinum eggs.

Dripping gray matter and cerebrospinal fluid, Stickman™ staggers off
and collapses on a nearby…pile of manure. He shakes his sticky little fist at the sky and curses the heavens, daring the deities to make his life even more miserable than it already is. That’s when Stickgirl™ saunters by, her BATA™ flip flops a-flipping and a-flopping on the pavement. She sees Stickman™ sitting in a pile of manure and utters a loud and degrading “GROSS!!” before clamping her nose shut. Stickman™ colours and is just about to explain when a large ORANGE CRATE™ (filled with oranges) falls from the sky and flattens him. Manure flies in all directions, and a generous portion lands on Stickgirl™’s new dress. She wails in anguish, and with one last pitiful moan, turns on her heel and flees, only to be intercepted by…

…StickBulldog™, who, lathering at the mouth (he swallowed a can of shaving cream), lunged for Stickgirl™’s slender throat. Stickgirl™ let out a supersonic wail and sprinted for the nearest tree. StickBulldog™ galloped after her, baying as he went. Stickgirl™ reached the nearest tree. Alas! It was a 20ft coconut tree!

“Daymn!” yelled Stickgirl™, stamping her BATA™ slippered feet. Suddenly, out of nowhere, Stickman™ appeared. Bespattered in the excreta of various species, Stickman™ lunged at StickBulldog™. StickBulldog™ paused in mid-bark. He took one sniff at the aura surrounding Stickman™, turned tail and ran like heck across the street. Stickgirl™ turned to face stickman.
“Is that a new cologne?” she asks, ‘cuz it stinks like shit!”

Stickman coughs to hide his unease and mumbles something about heavenly punishments. Stickgirl™ finds herself in an awkward situation. Just because it’s polite to kiss the stick-chap who saved your life, it doesn’t mean it’s very pleasant. Anyway, like an answer to her prayers, an ORANGE CRATE™ falls from the sky and flattens him. AGAIN! Stickgirl™ this as an opportunity to flee, and races as far as possible from her putrid-smelling admirer. Just then, when Stickman™ wonders if things can’t get any worse a thunderstorm breaks out and its starts to rain…

The rain falls down on Stickman™, washing away excess orange pulp. Suddenly Stickman™ realizes that the rain is washing away all the colours in Sticktown. Stickriver is awash with a multitude of hues and three stickpeople bathing in it come out indigo, blue and cyclamen. Stickman™, on the other hand, is preserved from the redistribution of pigments and remains his original colour. Peeping out from the depths of the ORANGE CRATE™, Stickman™ gets a splash on magenta on his nose. Stickgirl™ is now nowhere to be seen. Registering this obvious fact, Stickman™ pauses. Then he bursts into tears. Stick-bat™ squeaks sympathetically. Sitting down on the ORANGE CRATE™, Stickman™ ponders his next move.
Just then, Johnny Depp saunters by, and who, being a super-hunky superstar has also been spared of the overall redistribution of pigments (Stickman™ is spared only because he is the tragic hero of this tale). Anyway, chance has it that Stickgirl™, just returning from the public showers and also preserved of re-colouration, spots Johnny Depp from 150miles away. She squeals and runs after him, and upon interception is asked for her hand in marriage. She, being a devoted fan of the character, accepts. Unfortunately this whole scenario takes place in front of Stickman™, who, upon the exit of the happy couple, rips off his big toe and chucks it into the river. He curses God before proceeding to the nearest cliff. Yes, suicide is clearly the best option.

Stickman™ stares down the crevice, hot, salty tears pouring down his sticky little cheeks. He takes a deep breath in preparation to jump and curses heaven one last time before…a large ORANGE CRATE™ falls on his head. Stickman™, who had not really the guts to commit sera puku, screams as he is shoved off the cliff. He plummets a squajibillion feet before he is blinded by a sudden flash of light….

And Angelina Jolie appears. Lara Croft (aka – Anj Jolie) causes Stickman™ to levitate three feet above a rocky precipice (cross Lara croft with Harry Potter and see what you get). Stickman™ dangles unconscious, so close but so far from his doom. But then Lara Croft gets hit in the face by a southward bearing wind, carrying Stickman™’s unique perfume of eau de orange et shit (the thing is, no matter how bad a guy looks and how crap his personality is, a bad smell is definite grounds for dumping him). Angelina Jolie does just that. Stickman™ hurtles towards his doom at terminal velocity. Luckily today is, as has been said, not your average day in sticktown. It is the day of the annual stickmattress carnival, where stickmattresses of every shape, size and density converge down in stick-gorge for their annual celebration of the unique nature of their species. Fortunately where Stickman™ is about to fall to his death is the site of the164th weight competition, where the heaviest, softest but fluffiest mattresses gather to judge their own greatness. Yeah, but then they all see Stickman™ hurtling downwards and move out of the way as they dislike blocking the path of continuity.
The background music becomes sad and sorrowful as Stickman™’s mangled corpse is squished by the heavy mattress of the year. The ORANGE CRATE™ descends, slowly, but with a sad air of fatefulness, and drops for one last time (in this episode at least), landing upon Stickman™’s shattered cranium.

HOWEVER WE OVERLOOKED THE SMALL PRINT IN THE CONTRACT(stickman™ is immortal) SO DESPAIR NOT, FAIR READERS, AND WAIT IN ANTICIPATION FOR THE NEXT EPISODE OF STICKMAN™!!!!!
.........

The logic of a 14-year old...

1. The sudden death of the Tellitubbies has not been solved due to the fact that most people hate Tellitubbies.

2.J'adore les jellybabies

3.'Chemistry' is just another way of teaching kids chemical warfare.

4.Coffee drinking makes you legally high.

5.HaNdWrItInG Analysis is AlL BALONEY

6. You are made of endorphins. When you grow they get erased.

7.As you get older your sense of gravity opposition weakens. You sag.

.....

I...can't think of anything else to say....

Life

My life in a nutshell.

Beast

Doodle

Yes, i know i shold be studying, but i can't resist a doodle now and again. God knows what the heck it is... Vine lady? The unincredible bush? Boob tree? We can only assume so much...

Pandemonium

Aah, Vijay. Who could forget this brown-nosing assistant librarian? With his good looks and boyish charm, he's always the centre of attention. This attention may be mostly negative, but that is of no concern to us.

Himmy and i really went to town with this :D
True, my almanac's rating has suddenly shot up to "R", but one cannot deny that if you squint really really really hard, this could actually look like Vijay! Pardon the fact that this caricature is 'anatomically correct' (is it though?)

We really need to find something more constructive to do with our free time...







The God of Carrots! I must say, DW looks smashing!
(DW, Tammy and I)


















Sketch of a model from a random magazine. Speaking of mags, doesn't it piss you off that all of them consist of 95% ads, 3% editor's notes, and an additional 2% of articles addressing issues that nobody cares about!?
Yes, i know that this woman looks disfigured. So sue me.









Aah, my baby. Our piece for the art exhibtion- a 6ft box. All sorts of paint - acrylic, watercolours, wallpaint - on plywood. We discovered too late that the wood absorbed most of the paint, making the scenes seem dull. Sighs. Damn our cheap-ass school to hell. Himansu and i really did a lot better than i anticipated. GO, TEAM!
(Special thanks to everyone else who helped, too!! Rarararara ; Zainab; Lakmini...etc)








Mucked around with Himmy's 'Transformation of the Parasite'. Sorta looks like it's on fire...
















xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx.............................xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A Levels began on the 15th of May...i'm going insane. So far i've messed up History unit3, and Bio W1. Joy!
Also, I am moulting.
NOOOOOOOOO!!!!!

Was really flattered when Charlotte pointed out that someone (Dilsiri, right?) liked my art enough to put it up on his blog. God, i love you. You are the cream in my cream bun, the mango on my mango tree, the issa on my isso vade, the -

Ookk....and here i am descending into mental freakoutedness. I'd better sign off before it spreads.

Until next time,
Farewell.

Monotony

                  

I did this in response to the start of a new school term sometime last year.

Chaos

Singing mushrooms!

True to my Form 4 almanac, circa 2003.

...

There was a pink velvet hippopotamus called Rupert. One day he was sitting on a log and thinking about life. He sneezed violently and a wad of fairy dust flew out of his nose. Suddenly the air was filled with the sound of Singing Mushrooms™ . They sang and danced around the log in red and yellow polka dotted skirts. They sang:

"Rupert Boyle, Rupert Boyle, he freed us from the dreaded mosquito coil, Rupert Boyle..."

Rupert was amazed, and even a litte jealous. He had never in his life been the proud owner of a red and yellow polka dotted skirt. His rage consumed his being, and he, opening his mouth wide, ingested them entirely, destroying an entire civilisation of mushroom thingeys.

Suddenly his stomach began to rumble, the seams of his velvet skin broke under the pressure and...the Singing Mushrooms™ erupted out of his stomach.
The Singing Mushrooms™ saw nothing but hatred, and, taking out tiny little weapons of mass destruction, blew the pink, velvet hippopotamus up into smithereens. Bits of blood and flesh flew around the clearing, staining the little mushroom's skirts bright blue. His polystyrene innards cascaded out. They reacted with ions surrounding the mushrooms and depolymerised to form poly 1,2 diethene. A sweet scent erupted from Rupert's bloodied carcass. The Singing Mushrooms™ narrowed their eyes. The fragrant fragrance that transpired into their surroundings, reminding them of Mushroomland™ in the springtime, could only mean one thing. This was the work of an ester!

"Come out!" called mushroom#1.

"Not on your life, buster!" bawled chief mushroom#2. "Poly 1,2 diethene is a deadly toxin! I don't want to die, but...ARRRGH!"

M2 was dead (so was M1). The other mushrooms cowered into the voluminous-ness of their skirts. Tears poured from their tiny liddle eyes. Their leaders were denatured. They were a stateless, leaderless species. What was to become of them?

"What is to become of us?" they wailed.

Then, from the violet tinged clouds came the answer to the questionability of their fate....

"YOU WILL DERIVE THE KINETIC THEORY OF MATTER!" boomed a loud voice from the sky.

"We will what?" asked mushroom#3, whilst the rest of them quivered in fear.

"YOU WILL DERIVE THE KINETIC THEORY OF MATTER!"

"WOW," gasped mushroom#4. "A talking cloud!"

Just then it started to rain. It came down in buckets, flooding the clearing to such an extent that Bangladesh looked dry in comparison. The Singing Mushrooms™ panicked, for, if exposed to excessive amounts of H2O, they would turn into varying different species of plants and animals, ranging from polpala to uranium stickchickens™ . They had not, however, forgotten about the violet tinged cloud, trailing its cool misty fingers through the forests ferny floor.

"Aah," said mushroom#27, an expert on biochemistry. "It appears that our purple saviour is slowly (but surely) respiring anaerobically to depolymerise to form varying compounds of which the main components present are H2O and sodium stearate!"

And surely enough, little soap bubble formed in midair, bursting to release a gentle fragrance that would have put Givenchy™ out of business.

"FOOLS!!" thundered the voice.

The little mushrooms (now differing species of plants and animals) jumped; those with poor balance landed on their heads and died. Then, as the fog thinned, the Singing Mushrooms™ spied the graceful, majestic figure of....

(To be continued)