Missive From ‘Merica: “Four?” */buffs nails and waits patiently…*

*Thanks Clicky… /takes off glasses and rubs eyes…*

Four (n.,adj.)

Old English feower “four; four times,” from Proto-Germanic *fedwor- (source also of Old Saxon fiuwar, Old Frisian fiower, fiuwer, Frankish *fitter-, Dutch vier, Old High German fior, German vier, Old Norse fjorir, Danish fire, Swedish fyra, Gothic fidwor “four”), from PIE root *kwetwer- “four.” The phonetic evolution of the Germanic forms has not been fully explained; Watkins explains the -f- as being from the following number (Modern English five).

To be on all fours is from 1719; earlier on all four (14c.). Four-letter word as a euphemism for one of the short words generally regarded as offensive or objectionable is attested from 1923; four-letter manis recorded from 1920 (apparently as a euphemism for a shit). Compare Latin homo trium litterarum, literally “three-letter man,” a euphemism for fur “a thief.” A four-in-hand (1793) was a carriage drawn by four horses driven by one person; in the sense of “loosely tied necktie” it is attested from 1892. To study The History of the Four Kings (1760, compare French Livres des Quatre Rois) contains an old euphemistic slang phrase for “a pack of cards,” from the time when card-playing was considered a wicked pastime for students. Slang 4-1-1 “essential information” (by 1993) is from the telephone number called to get customer information. The four-color problem so called from 1879. The four-minute mile was attained 1954.

Dear Reader, now we have for you the last course of the evening. We hope you’ve enjoyed Cade à la carte. Word of warning: there will be something cheesy at the end. Enjoy!

*******

The other day, whatshername bought what is potentially the stinkiest and most foul smelling Christmas candle ever made. I’ve been nauseated and throwing up ever since I first smelled it. Of course, all of the stress of the past coupla weeks may also have played a role. Not to mention that my foot and leg cramps have been quite wicked over the past few weeks. But yeah…that candle she bought? Holy FUCK does it stink! Smells like some unGodly cross between pine a scented cleaner/disinfectant and modeling glue.

^beauty is the enemy^

While looking for pictures, I stumbled onto the above, and wondered what they were modeling. Luckily for me, Google Images provides a link to the source.

Structure of collagen adsorbed on a model implant surface resolved by polarization modulation infrared reflection–absorption spectroscopy

Hmmm…now why on earth, would someone be tinkering with collagen?

Collagen

I wonder as to the things that are found when tinkering at these levels, and these things came to be where they are so as to be discovered by those individuals that discover them? Lots to think about there.

^Animal Collective – My Girls (2009)^

LegIron made a rather awesome and awesomely interesting post yesterday.

The pointing finger points

That’s what set me to writing in the first place. I spared the comments section of his blog the majority of my verbal wrath, and saved it for RooBeeDoo’s blog. 😛

^Animal Collective – Golden Gal^

So in addition to LegIron’s blabbering, which in-turn inspired mine, someone posted a link to some Google Search results that got me to thinking about some stuff I’ve seen about what is going on in Africa. Much like Asia, Africa is also kinda “The West’s dumping grounds” with respect to not giving a flying fuck what is going on there. That said, I cruised some of the search results and came upon some interesting reading for anyone who might choose to read further.

The dystopian lake filled by the world’s tech lust

Where your computer goes to die: Shocking pictures of the toxic ‘electronic graveyards’ in Africa where the West dumps its old PCs, laptops, microwaves, fridges and phones

Do you care? Are the tiny bits of this from here, and the tiny bits from there important? I mean, we’re talking about finite bits of certain things in electronics…right? You yourself have little to no impact. Not to mention that we gotta keep the economy going…

right?
How many TV’s do you own?
How many computers do you own?

How many cellphones do you own?

How many houses are on your street?

How many streets in your neighborhood?

How many neighborhoods in your town?

Yep...shit gets exponential...quick.

I mean…you don’t think they sell sand by the grain do you?

^Black Sun Empire & Audio – Drizzle^

But what the Google Search results link really made me think of, was Tantalum.

Tantalum

Coltan

Columbite

Tantalite

Tapiolite

I saw a documentary sometime back that showed people walking for miles carrying this stuff to the border of a neighboring country, because it was illegal to export Tantalum from their own country. The country in which the Tantalum was sold, would then sell/export to France, who then sold it elsewhere. I can’t find the actual documentary I saw, but I found one that is equally disturbing, and both extremely uplifting and heartbreaking. Lot more to lots of this bullshit than just only minerals and money.

^Congo, My Precious. The Curse of the coltan mines in Congo^

I’m currently only 22 minutes in to the above video. And with all of the crap that I’ve seen in the above video thus far, one of the most horrifying is @ 22:14 where the narrator mentions that he started to work for MONUSCO.

MONUSCO

Wasn’t it The United Nations that got Congo into this mess in the first place?

Create the wound to create the cure?

One cannot know peace who does not know war?

Congo Crisis

There’s a nature within us to jump to one place or another. Belgium is all over this…

Belgian Congo

…kinda like France was all over Vietnam

French Indochina

France–Vietnam Relations

…and Britain was all over Malaysia.

British Malaya

Being an American, I know that there are schools of thought that sometimes believe that letting European nations flounder in their own messes is the correct course. But there is an underlying creepiness to some of these lines of thinking. As in, let the Europeans rot, then we can swoop in and take over where they failed. Who are we forgetting?

^Starsailor – Four To The Floor (Thin White Duke Mix)^

Q: Where is The UN located?

A: New York, New York, USA.

That’s weird. How can “United Nations”, plural, be centrally located? Not to mention, that if The United Nations is headquartered in New York? I think they’ve been stepping out.

^Joe Jackson – Steppin’ Out Lyrics^

Steppin’ out…branching out…whatevz. Gotta distribute those peace branches equally I guess.

United Nations

UNITED NATIONS OFFICE IN BRUSSELS

Brussels and the European Union

Brexit

Hotel California

“You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave.”

Roach Motel (Insect Trap)

“Roaches check in, but they don’t check out.”

Am I being too dramatic there with connections? Or not dramatic enough?

Passive-Aggressive Behavior

Passive–Aggressive Personality Disorder

Relational Aggression (Redirected from Abusive relationship)

Victimisation (Redirected from Victimization)

Aggression

I guess no one wants to give up what they’ve got. Or at least, not give it up without a fight.

From my cold, dead hands

I wonder how that type of thinking translates to other areas of our lives?

Come And Take It

Laconic Phrase

Nut

Anthony McAuliffe

Nut (Goddess)

If you want to get creative and/or clever, there are all kinds of ways of getting what you want. That can sometimes include letting someone else get what they want. Feel free to bend and twist that one six ways from Sunday if you so choose. Just maybe keep Pandora in mind here and there.

^Pink Floyd – Another Brick In The Wall (Vintage Culture Remix)^

If we humans can learn to do things from great distances both far and near, why is it such a stretch to think that other beings can do the same? Or is it because there is no proof that other beings exist? Maybe there’s a reason for that. We’ve gotten pretty high on ourselves. I can see there being the potential for conflict if one party or another is forced to start having to explain themselves. Things could get ugly.

^In-Grid – Tu Es Foutu (Hi Quality)^

Guess what? It’s now currently 11:30 in the morning on December 12th of 2017…and it would appear that I am now officially a published author!!!

Like…in a book!!!

<golf clap>

!!!BOOYAH!!!

“Let’s dance, let’s shout…shake your body down to the ground!!!”

^Showtek – We Like To Party (Original Mix)^

cYa | cFa

^The Jackson 5 – Shake Your Body To The Ground^

*******

Yes, Anthology IV: ‘The Good, The Bad and Santa’ is now available to buy, Dear Reader…

Underdog Anthology 4 Front and Back

 

*Interesting that the name of the restaurant I went to for Christmas lunch today, Clicky, is the name of a character in Cade’s story!*

And now for the cheese… As promised, from the Afterword of Vol. IV, corrupted lyrics this time. Festive one c/o Mssrs. Wells and Tormé… ‘The Fuckwits Song’… Enjoy!

 

Snowflakes melting at the tweets Trump fires

Putin laughing down his nose

“Russian hack!” sings the media choir

Addressing all folks like they’re Joe Schmoes

Everybody knows Kim Jong Un has some missiles too

Wants to set the world alight

Won’t be happy ‘til Japan is aglow

How do the Nips sleep at night

We all know that Brexit’s on its way

Except Remainers who still deny they’ve had their day

And every mother’s child has a new gender to try

We’ll see how that turns out by the by

And so I wonder about this coming year

Asking everyone I knew

I heard it said many times, many fear

2018 will be shit too

And so I wonder about this coming year
Asking everyone I knew
I heard it said many times, many fear
2018 will be shit too, 2018 will be shit too.

Dear Reader… Have a Song ❤

Past Presents Yet To Come…

Yesterday…

*Mellow, Clicky… Nice! …/lights up…*

The 8th December, was the anniversary of John Lennon’s death in 1980, Dear Reader. 37 years ago; I was reminded of that day whilst reading Blue Frank‘s post yesterday about May Pang, John Lennon’s girlfriend, briefly, in 1973…

*Weird, Clicky… /drags… Red Frank has a new MEROVEE post up today about a black hole discovery that’s puzzling scientists…/taps ash… created just after the Big Bang, like…*

Merovee The Grand Unifying Theory of Everything

*GUT of everything? …/drags… As John Lamb Lash mentioned at the end of his last talk… ‘See colon backslash’ …/blows smoke ring… The singularity… /stubs butt… I asked my good friend, ‘The Gut Doctor’ about 137 before, Clicky…*

u8la7yacohdfuy5se8crzu9h

*Roob-ID-I-um… /lights up…*

Rubidium-87 has a half-life of 48.8×109 years, which is more than three times the age of the universe of (13.799±0.021)×109 years, making it a primordial nuclide.

…Knot only that, Dear Reader, it was but a year ago, on December 8th 2016, that the very first Underdog Anthology was published. I was reminded of this reading Leggy update on the upcoming Christmas edition, posted last night…

The Good The Bad And Santa

*Leggy just emailed me a complete final copy, Clicky… /puffs merrily… It looks fucking AWESOME!!!*

Underdog Christmas Anthology Content

*That’s interesting, Clicky… /stubs butt… ‘Christmas Ever’ covers page 137… /lights up…*

There’s an additional treat included with three illustrations Leggy drew way back in the 80s. Three perfect Santa cartoons that illustration Christmas Past, Present and Yet to Come perfectly…

…And, Dear Reader, you may notice from the Contents page that a certain missive writer from Text US has a story included. I had the most enormous fun last weekend editing ‘Christmas Ever’, as Cade wrote it…

There is a real treat in this one for those who enjoyed Brian W. Aldiss’s excursions into the deeper, stranger SF regions. If you re-read his shorts such as ‘As for our Fatal Continuity’ and ‘Send Her Victorious’ (in ‘Comic Inferno’, well worth a read if you can still get it and the title story is in much the same vein too), and his novel ‘The Eighty-Minute Hour’ (which I read several times) then you are going to love this one. I’m not telling you the title yet, but I will when it’s ready to go.

*/squints… What’s that red book Cade’s using, Clicky?*

The Red Book Backdrop

*/rolls eyes… Figures… /continues to smoke…*

Sew… hopefully, Dear Reader, ‘The Underdog Anthology IV: The Good, the Bad and Santa’ will be available to everybody…

children warning

*/coughs… Don’t give Leggy ideas, Clicky!*

… Um, nearly everybody sometime before Thursday. I will post a link when it is and let you have a look at the Afterword corruption. In the meantime, have a good week, don’t be mean and… Have a Song… 😉

*/puffs… Clicky! I find the new title of that Song highly offensive… /streams smoke… Get another…*

Pinch, Punch…

I hope you had a sufficiently spooky Halloween yesterday, Dear Reader…

A prominent American television host has fainted live on air, returning just minutes later to host the remainder of her programme.

Fifty-three-year-old Wendy Williams fell to the ground during a live broadcast of her morning show, in a segment dedicated to her annual Halloween costume contest.

If I may direct your attention to the recent LoL post, ‘Miss Chief Maker‘…

*Overheated, my arse, Clicky… She looked like she’d seen a… mouse?*

The Underdog Anthology Three: Treeskull Stories

bookcovertreeskull

Not long now ’til Christmas, Dear Reader 😉 Have a Song…

 

Miss Chief Maker

Dear Reader, the wait is over…

bookcovertreeskull

… the third volume of the Underdog Anthology is now available to buy!

As well as having a Harry and the FAKkers story included, I also had the very great pleasure of writing the Afterword again. This involves mangling a poem of great repute, to pass comment on modern political climes. And as this is a Halloween themed book, really there was only one choice of poet and one poem to tackle…

bronze-plaque-of-new-colossus

*Eww, Clicky! Lazarus rose from the dead, but that’s a completely different story…*

So, for your pleasure, and in the hopes that it might tempt you to buy the book (‘cos there are some absolutely corking stories contained within), please find below, ‘The Nuke Allows US‘ by Roo B. Doo, with illustrative illustration by H.K. Hillman…

The Nuke Allows US
There's nothing quite like America's aim,
With squabbling pols and a media grand;
Hollywood productions meticulously planned
A mighty mushroom cloud, a torch whose flame
Issues irradiation, and its name
Mother of All Wars. From the blackened land
Glows world-wide wonder; hegemony command
The Cold War winner of that global game.
“Keep in our good books now!” cries Liberty
With weighty lips. “Give us your money, your ore,
Your oils and gases (excludes banking fee),
The wealth contained in your burgeoning store.
Send all these and receive Democracy!”
*.../Lifts up arm, hand drops MIC to the floor...*

The Nuke Allows US

Now, as an extra special treat for all you synchromystics and synchnauts out there, here is a short talk from John Lamb Lash that you may find of interest. Eye gno I.D.ed… 😉

Until next time, Dear Reader… Have a Song ❤

*******

*/cough…*

*thank you, Clicky…*

‘Morning Run’ – An Underdog Anthology Tale

Dear Reader, the next volume of the Underdog Anthology – Treeskull Stories – is on track to be published for Halloween…

UA3 cover

This time I have contributed one story and the Afterword, as well as providing copy editing services to Leggy. This is a pleasure, not a chore, as I get to read the fabulous contributions from the other authors first. And for free…

*Clicky, that’s free knot three…*

*/rolls eyes…*

In anticipation of publication, I thought I’d share one of my stories from Anthology 2 with you, Dear Reader. So here is ‘Morning Run’ for your entertainment… Enjoy! 😀

*******

MORNING RUN

By Roo B. Doo

Gasping with pain, Marcus pulled the graffiti daubed door open and peered into the murk inside. The hinges squealed their resistance in the spring morning that should have been filled with birdsong but was disquietingly absent. He sniffed in disgust at the dank gloominess but the room appeared empty, and Marcus was more than happy about that – the thought of defecating anywhere other than his own bathroom filled him with dread but he doubted he would be able to sprint back home in time. As if in agreement, his stomach growled noisily.

Usually Marcus picked up the pace when he ran past the public toilets on his early morning jog through the park. The low, stone structure, vividly tagged in garish painted symbols, sat at the far point of his circuit. Set back from the path and surrounded by shady trees, it had an air of quiet menace in its seedy isolation, a haven for druggies and vandals, pervs too no doubt. Today, however, a crunching gut spasm had assailed Marcus as he approached the building. He’d pulled up sharply, clutching his stomach at the sudden crippling pain.

Marcus swore at himself for thinking he could just run off the sluggishness he’d felt at the previous night’s overindulgence at the local curry house. And the beery one at the pub beforehand. For months he’d been on a strict diet regime in training for the London Marathon. It was just rotten timing that his best friend Craig had chosen Easter, the weekend before, to get married. As Best Man there was no way Marcus could miss the stag night, and a stag is a stag – there’s no point going if you didn’t stagger a bit as a result. It would be his only blow out and, besides, he’d have a whole week to recover before the big race.

Although his guts were wildly churning, Marcus remained reluctant to go inside. He was okay pissing in public toilets but shitting was another matter. He couldn’t stand the thought of exposing his backside to where other naked backsides had rubbed or smeared, nor the thought of anyone listening in, passively participating and passing judgement on the size of his bowel.

He briefly squatted down in the doorway to scan for the feet of hidden stall occupants, and instantly regretted it. The pressure inside him moved and there was an audible glug! Marcus tensed his arsehole; it felt like a splenetic Vesuvius ready to blow its top. With a final nervous glance behind to make sure nobody was about to follow him in, Marcus stepped inside.

The gloom deepened as the main door swung closed behind him with a creaking thump. Now the eerie silence was broken by a leaking tap’s plink, plink, plink from the wash basin to his left, accompanied by the continued rumble from his guts. There were three toilet stalls in front of him and he made for the nearest, dodging the dirty puddles strewn with litter, tugging urgently at the drawstring on his shorts. Marcus was determined to spend as little time in the place as possible.

The cubicle door swung open at his touch, revealing a filthy, shit filled toilet. A worn and dirty trainer, half submerged among the turds, listed near the top of the bowl. He moved on to the next but that too was blocked. Fresh beads of sweat prickled Marcus’ brow, his dread intensified – if the last one was in as bad a condition he didn’t know what he would do. However, the last stall at least looked relatively clean and it had a lock on the door. Bonus! Marcus thought as he whipped down his shorts, sank onto the toilet seat with a resounding thump and let go.

He braced his hands against the cubicle walls to hold himself up as he felt the world cascading out of his arse, before splashing back to soak his crack and balls. Both relief at the release and cold revulsion washed through Marcus, as his breath rasped with every squeeze.

“Arghhh!” he screamed aloud as his gut achingly contracted again, but by now Marcus cared little if anyone was there to hear him; he just had to get it all out.

He closed his eyes and swore again at his stupidity. He just had to play the big man, didn’t he? Buying another round of beers, choosing the hottest and spiciest dishes on the menu, followed by shots, lots of shots. True, it had been a hell of a fun evening but, by God, he was regretting his decisions now. Not to mention Craig’s wedding was later that day; he only hoped he would have sufficient time to recover before then. With a grimace, Marcus resolved to take a double dose of imodium and have a shower as soon as he got home.

He shifted his position as the stinging flow turned into a trickle, releasing a waft of putridity that made him recoil and hold his nose. Reaching for the toilet roll he found the holder sheathed only with an empty cardboard tube. He slapped at it angrily and looked around but there was nothing else to clean himself up with. Sighing loudly, Marcus pulled off his outer vest top, balled it up and started to wipe his backside. It was one of his favourites but he would have to leave it – there was no way he was carrying it back home.

Feeling drained, Marcus stood up and pulled hard on the toilet chain, eager to flush the contents of his bowels away, but the only thing it made was an empty clank. He pulled again and again. Nothing. Wrinkling his nose in disgust, Marcus peered into the toilet bowl as he pulled up his shorts. Shit splattered the inside and dribbled down into a dark brown pool of his slurry. He had to get out there fast before anyone else came by. Flinging the balled vest top to the floor he turned to leave.

The lock on the door refused to budge. Marcus rattled it hard but it was stuck fast. He tried ramming the door open with his shoulder before remembering that it swung inwards. He kicked at it in frustration but the door remained firmly closed.

“What the fuck?!”

Plop… The sound came from behind him. Plop… plop.

Marcus turned around slowly to see movement in the bowl. The shit pool bubbled and burst like the hot mud springs he’d seen once before whilst on holiday in New Zealand. He stood there transfixed as more and more bubbles broke through the surface. Plop pop plop…

A slimy brown finger poked up suddenly, followed by another. Marcus flattened himself against the door, staring aghast as a hand emerged from the mess, fingertips feeling out, looking for purchase on the porcelain. A second hand shot up and gripped the edge of the toilet seat, pulling, heaving first a shoulder and then an oozing head up and out of the bowl.

Eyes wide with horror and disbelief, Marcus turned and hammered at the door, frantically grabbing at the lock. “LET ME OUT!”

A horrendous sucking sound caused Marcus to turn around again and he screamed to see the abomination now had a torso, rippling turds for muscles. A fat, pink worm poked out of the head, like an obscene tongue, tasting the air. Reaching out with dripping hands, the detestation gave Marcus a shit-eating grin before emitting a thunderous burp, sending a foul spray of ordure with a stench like an eyeful of needles.

Marcus screamed again and dropped to the filthy, wet floor, squirming in a frenetic attempt to escape from under the door. He kicked out as slimy hands grabbed at his legs and he felt a squelching slap on the back of his thigh. With an almighty heave, he pulled himself free of the gap and out.

Howling in terror, Marcus picked himself up and ran.

*******

Dogma Shit Demon

*Alright! Sheesh… I’m new to this writing lark, Clicky, let alone horror fiction…*

*Well, let’s hope so, eh?*

So, if you’re in need of a book of short stories for toilet reading this Halloween, Dear Reader, I highly recommend you try ‘Underdog Anthology III’ from Leg Iron Books

Pounds. Shilling. Portents.

Dear Reader, this post was going to be about steam…

steam (v.)Old English stiemenstymen“emit vapor, emit a scent or odor,” from the root of steam (n.). Meaning “go by steam power” is from 1831. Transitive sense from 1660s, “to emit as steam;” meaning “to treat with steam” is from 1798. Slang steam up (transitive) “make (someone) angry” is from 1922.

Related: Steamedsteaming.

steam (n.) Old English steam “vapor, fume, water in a gaseous state,” from Proto-Germanic *staumaz (source also of Dutch stoom “steam”), of unknown origin. Meaning “vapor of boiling water used to drive an engine” is from 1690s, hence steam age (1828) and many figurative uses, such as let off steam (1831, literal), blow off steam (1857, figurative),full-steam (1878), get up steam (1887, figurative). Steam heat is from 1820s in thermodynamics; as a method of temperature control from 1904.

We have given her six months to consider the matter, and in this steam age of the world, no woman ought to require a longer time to make up her mind. [Sarah Josepha Hale, “Sketches of American Character,” 1828]

…Thoughtful Man suggested it to me yesterday evening after first reading Leggy’s review of Poundland’s E-cig, yesterday morning…

*/flicks lighter… A good review that I’m happy to share, Clicky, but vaping? …/lights up… Fuck off – they’re just Tobacco Control Lite… /drags… If I want to inhale steam, I’ll boil a kettle…*

…And then during the course of yesterday, Thoughtful Man learnt that Poundland is also branching out into other steamy areas…

*/thinks and smokes… Nooky… No. Oky… No. OK Y?… Nukey… New key… Newgate’s Knocker!… /smokes some more…*

Something else happened though yesterday, Dear Reader. Something unsettling. Yesterday morning, whilst Thoughtful Man read Leg Iron’s post, I was reading an overnight posting by Red Frank, in the Red Universe

Merovee Gateways.png

A bit of a sleb in the Synchrosphere had paid MEROVEE a visit and left a comment. ‘Goro’ is a name that has been spoken of somewhat reverently by a few of the regulars there during the 5 years I’ve visited the site. And I’ve seen the name mentioned in Dispatches elsewhere. A bit of coup for Frank, you’d think…

coup

*I dunno, Clicky, it could be one of those…/stubs out fag…*

Goro had popped by and, BOY, was he STEAMED with Frank and MJ!

*Perfect choice of Song, Clicky! …/pats snout… It turned into a screaming match… /lights up…*

I suggest you go read it for yourself, Dear Reader. It involves an accusation of plagiarism

*plak- (1)also *plāk-, Proto-Indo-European root meaning “to be flat;” extension of root *pele- (2) “flat; to spread.”

It forms all or part of: flag (n.2) “flat stone for paving;” flagstoneflake (n.) “thin flat piece,; flawfloefluke (n.3) “flatfish;” placentaplagalplagiarismplagio-planchetplank.

It is the hypothetical source of/evidence for its existence is provided by: Greek plakoeis“flat,”plax“level surface, anything flat;” Lettish plakt “to become flat;” Old Norse flaga “layer of earth,” Norwegian flag “open sea,” Old English floh “piece of stone, fragment,” Old High German fluoh “cliff.”

… Which was weird ‘cos MJ had put up a Flat Earth post the evening before yesterday at her site…

Start here – it was the very first comment! I won’t link to Soro’s site; he brought his own links to Frank’s place. I paid a brief visit there, having not ventured there before. I don’t think I’ll be going back… You’ve gotta pay to be a member!

*/sniffs… I don’t care for his tone either, Clicky… /drags… *

In other news, Dear Reader, I had a bit of coup (second meaning) myself this week, having my Afterword accepted for the Underdog Anthology III by Leg Iron Books. This time round each of the stories gets an illustration and so will the famous poem that I stole… to mutilate and use for my own ends at the end of the book. Thank you Emma ‘Dead Rising’ Lazarus!

Leggy has just sent through its illustration, hot and steaming off his virtual press…

The Nuke Allows US

*Oh, Clicky, that looks great! …/grins… Quick, go fetch that Song we like… /claps hands…*

That’s quite enough for one post, Dear Reader. Until next time at the LoL… Have a Song ❤

 

 

 

Box of Mystery…

Upon arriving home from work earlier, I found I’d had an unexpected delivery, Dear Reader…

Baby delivery.gif

*What? No, not a baby, Clicky! How the fuck d’ya arrive at baby?*

what-you-should-know-about_-sperm-2

*No, I know how to arrive at a baby, Clicky… /splutters… Just shut up will ya and let me tell the story…*

…A care package had come in the post from my good friend Poppy Sweet Pea…

IMG_1763

*/sings… Sweet peas are made of these… /shakes head… Clicky! What’s with you tonight? Got fun up your ‘ole tonight or sumfing?*

… A neatly packed cardboard box that Loopy had helpfully opened. It was filled with good things – homemade ‘Bounty’ bars, German nougat, treats for the pup, South Korean face masks, a *cries with laughter* cup 

giphy1

*… cuddly toy… NO! Clicky, not a cuddly toy, for goodness sake…*

… And some heavenly scented bath wotsits, one in the shape of Dave

tumblr_mhrh9er9gk1s4t08po6_500

*Yeah, it’s a good story… Like the rest of the tales in The Underdog Anthology…*

“Oh my god,” I said biting into a properly sized chocolate and coconut sweetie. “This is delicious! I’m gonna have to make something now to send back.”

Thoughtful Man laughed. The idea must have tickle him because he carried on laughing.

Loopy, who’d been hovering around the box of goodies, gingerly sniffed at the smelly flamingo – he’s at that awkward teenage, allergic-to-baths stage. “You can always make her a sandwich,” he suggested helpfully.

“A sandwich? I can’t make her a sandwich!”

“Oh,” Loopy said dropping the flamingo back in the box. “Well, can you make me one?”

original-grid-image-23801-1447317035-7

*I’ll have to think of sumfing, Clicky…*

I am now going to try out one of the face masks, Dear Reader, so I’ll CYA…

3w-4

*Or sooner…*

… Have a Song… 😉