My hairless doggy humpty back sailor suit

[thoke]

‘My hairless doggy humpty back sailor suit went missing on that cold July day in snowy Africa. His top was leaden like a dusty flock of beetle brains creaming up the hallway cabinet chest nipple. All the kitty frogs were hopping and bopping to the beat of the whale’s tail and all was splendid up in the monkey puzzle trees. The ceilings danced and dated and died, the floors they fell and forever the inside of Sheffield City Hall was dripping sheets of clay mush. Pencil skirts abound.

‘Cherrund Hobbletoff was cleaning his plimsolls when he heard a knock upon the plate glass of his visor. He blinked a slice and uttered a shy grin of mistrust which said, “Who is you who tapped me facemask and stirred me truly?” And a voice responded, “Gerbil chapter audience dimpled porter, your brain melts today.”

‘Stomach juices bubbled within her pale frame as she moved her eyes to lock with his. Cold feelings made their creep inside, through the propped open and up to his wool. She sat on the edge of the cradle, smiles and noses, anticipatory. He leaped towards and pinned her, she smiling sarcastically knowing the symmetry of the situation.

‘Her name was Jack James Jones and she had an MA in ruined buildings where crows caw and pigs take down phone messages and stick them up granny’s fanny. They usually use wax to divide apart the offices and sometimes fleas crawl through little holes and start conspiracies and resistances that don’t get seen. I know about them because I am one. Fleas can use computers. Fleas can use English. Fleas eat rice.

‘So you see?’ I say.

‘Yes I certainly do,’ she says, ‘I understand completely. Did you know that I only wear green? It’s a colour that nobody likes except you. I am here to please you. I can give you what you need. Shower gel specially catered to your personality type. Your circumstances seem inescapable and you feel stuck, but I can steam you off the envelope. I can take off your wet clothes and warm you up a bunch of dusty red hooves in a vat of pink chocolate pieces unable to melt unless you taper them with quick-death. June we’ll be horrored like sepia-toned rat queens and we’ll churn out potato jams like nobody’s tomorrow. Generally speaking, we’ll be up a coupla mushroom crisps and all the barkings will be of the kind you like.’

‘This is pleasing to my gut,’ I reply. We stand up and shake hands, and then she crawls back under the table and starts singing:

Wishy washy socks are mouldy,
Blue-eyed boy, you smell like damp.
‘Not a chance,’ I say. You tell me,
‘Only way is out and camp.’

We pitch a tent, I wear your boots,
I cake them with cake and we cake a cake on the caker.
Tra la la la la!!!!!!!

I laugh until it hurts, and then I climb on the table and make an announcement: ‘Beans!’

[cameron]

Good read thoke: weird, wacky, nonsensical but fun. Love "MA in ruined buildings".

Why does every para begin with '?

Cam

[thoke]

Why does every para begin with '?

Those are meant to be speech marks. The first four paragraphs and "so you see" and "this is pleasing to my gut" are spoken by me, and other bits are spoken by her.

[Lubesh]

she smiling sarcastically knowing the symmetry of the situation

.

That alone had me in stitches despite your other chaotic nonsense...really great to read and a lift from the mundane. It also reminded me of Alexi Sayle when he was. The the visor or the name followed and the image stuck and brought back good memories. I would say though there is a comparison your work was a little more ambitious in the whacky department. Great stuff

[thoke]

Thanks, I'm glad you like it.

I'm not so keen on a lot of this now. I posted another version called 'Nobody's Tomorrow' where cut a lot of it out. Most of this is completely meaningless and kind of pointless, except I do like the third paragraph because I remember it being more grounded in reality. It's as strangely-written as the rest, but yet I take that paragraph quite seriously because it actually has a purpose and a meaning - or to me it does, anyway.

Ben