Greetings, felicitations, and fluffy dice.

GREETINGS, FELICITATIONS AND FLUFFY DICE

Now, you probably don’t know me, so let me introduce myself. My name is Jack Rowlands, although people tend to call me Mad Jack. I can’t think why.

Anyway, for my day job, I am an Alley Cat. What’s an Alley Cat, I hear you ask? In a very strange voice, I might add. Well, the Alley Cats are the Bomb Disposal team of National Security Command. So, if you’ve got something that you think is going to blow up, just give me a ring.

It’s a real man’s life in the Alley Cats. We do real man things, like weight training, marathon running, knitting, and highland dancing. And don’t believe everything you hear. One ballet lesson, ONE. Do they let you forget? Do they drumsticks! So, by way of relaxation, I entertain the team with a few of my hilarious stories. Well, I think they’re funny.

In among my own totally awesome original stories are ones based on tales I have heard. Some of them could be described as traditional. My grandfather would have heard them. Others are more modern. Now, I have tried to establish the copyright of these stories, but I have not been able to trace the authors. If you feel I have breached your copyright, first know that it was not deliberate, and accept my apology. Secondly, please let me know, and I will be happy to amend future issues. Now, is that or is that not fair?

Wednesday 7 March 2012

The Tyrant

NOW LISTEN! HERE ARE MY DEMANDS!
When I want you I will summon you, day or night, and you shall attend me.
I will not tell you what I want, that is for you to determine. I may want food: if I enjoy it all will be well.
If I don’t, I will spit it out or throw it across the room.
I may want to be entertained: if so you, will humiliate yourself for my pleasure.
I may smile, I may laugh, and you will consider this reward enough,

I may throw things for you to retrieve, and you will do so for as long as it amuses me.
Whatever vileness my body produces, you will dispose of.
Whatever I take is mine and woe betides anyone that thinks otherwise.
I am my own universe, and what are you in comparison?
You exist merely to please and to serve me,

Yes I am greedy and selfish, yet in all you think me blameless
After all I am only a baby…

Monday 5 March 2012

Nativity

It was a Sunday afternoon in the middle of December. Hazel was so excited, all she could think of was her new job. No more teaching sniffly, screaming children. Her future was the fashion industry for a career in fabric production. Her head was filled with ideas for new colour combinations. For days now her food had gone uneaten and her untouched coffee went cold. Then she had a phone call from her best friend at the school.

“Hazel, we need you at the nativity.”

“I’m finished with school. I start my new job tomorrow.”

“Please. The person that was to play Mary has taken sick. We need you to replace her. You did it last year.”

“Please, don’t ask me. I’m feeling rough at the moment as it is.”

“I know how excited you must be. Have you been starving yourself? You do that when you’re anxious.”

“Yes. I haven’t had a thing for three days.”

“Please, Hazel. Just for me. Eat, drink and be Mary, for tomorrow you dye.”

Saturday 3 March 2012

Pig Prosthetics


This is another story based on one I heard a long time ago. Once again, I have failed to find out who wrote the original. Whoever you are, thanks.

Robert was taking his family for a tour of a farm In Dustham. All was well until little Billy ran up to him and yelled. “Daddy, Daddy! That pig has got a wooden leg!” Robert told him not to be silly, but Billy yelled again “Daddy, Daddy! That pig really has a wooden leg!” So the whole family went over to the pen and, sure enough, there was a pig with a wooden leg.

Robert called to the farmer and asked him “Prithee, Goodsir, methinks ‘tis odd that yon pig has a leg of wood. Pray, what manner of thing is this?” (Robert had mastered the local dialect).

“Well, mate, it’s like this, innit?” (The farmer was actually from Watford). “When me and the missus was just starting up here, all we could afford was that pig. Got him when he was just a piglet.”

“Verrily, Goodsir,” (Robert was a bit slow on the uptake). “But why the leg as wooden as any oak?”

“Well, mate, it’s like this, innit? In the first week we got him he starts nuzzling the ground by that tree over there. We starts digging and there’s this huge pile of Roman coins. We got £250,000 for that.”

“Yes, but why the wooden leg?” (By George he’s got it!).

“Well, mate, it’s like this, innit? Abaht 6 months ago a burglar broke in tied up me and the missus, took all our money and jewellery and ran off. That pig jumped out of his pen, chased after the burglar, knocked him out, got into the house, chewed off the ropes on me and the missus, went back and sat on the burglar until the police came.”

“But why the wooden leg?”

“Well, mate, it’s like this, innit? Only last month I was working the lower field, when one of the tractor wheels sinks into the grahnd. The whole thing tips over and pins me dahn. I couldn’t move. I thought I was a gonner, and no mistake. That pig jumps out of his pen and starts digging away at the earth around me and drags me out. I owe my life to that pig.”

“Yes, yes, yes. But why the wooden leg!!!”

“Well, mate, it’s like this, innit? Last Tuesday our niece went for a paddle in the pond. She slips and hits her head on a rock. That pig jumps out of his pen and drags her out. Then it does CPR on her. It saved her life.”

“Look, if you don’t tell us why that pig has a wooden leg, I’m going to beat you senseless.”

“Well, mate, it’s obvious, innit? You have a pig that good; you don’t eat him all at once!! Streaky bacon anybody? Fresh!”