Dave the Crab and the Giant Called Ned

Here is a children’s poem wot I did.

There once was a crab who lived under a rock.

He had a nice sofa and a grandfather clock.

It was big and proud

And ticked ever so loud

And stood atop an ornate marble block.

The crab was called Dave and he was ever so brave,

For he once fought a giant called Ned.

 

Ned was huge and ugly to see,

And refused to let good people be.

A tattered old cap sat atop his big head

And he needed nine mattresses to make up his bed.

He’d growl and he’d roar and with one rumbling snore,

He could shake the whole Earth to its molten rock core.

He wore no shoes for his feet were too big,

And weighed him down when he did his giant’s jig.

But he wore one large and heavy and ever so smelly

Polyester and cotton blend sock.

It may sound silly, or come as a shock,

But the one thing he feared was a grandfather clock.

 

Ned came thundering along the beach one morn,

Swinging his club and blowing a big brass horn.

And anyone he should chance to meet,

Narrowly avoiding being crushed by his feet,

He’d bend over and shout right in their face:

“Get out of my way, make some space!

Get off my beach right now I say.

This is not a place for children to play.

I shall smash any sand castles on my way to the sea,

And anyone that should try to join me, I shall gobble them

Up – I’ll eat them for my tea!”

 

Now Dave worked nights, so was attempting to sleep.

He’d never been in a fight and this record he wanted to keep,

But a rude man eating giant was something he could not abide,

This brutish bully he would not let slide.

So Dave poked his head out from beneath his rock,

He strolled up to Ned’s tattered and horrible sock

And gave his toes one heck of a pinch.

But the giant did not move not even one inch.

Ned scooped up Dave and looked him in the eye

And said “Silly crab, I will make you cry!”

 

He gave a big laugh and he raised his club,

“any last words before I make you blub?”

 “Yes,” said Dave as of his life he took stock,

“Please take good care of my grandfather clock.”

Ned paused and he spluttered, he stammered and stuttered,

He whimpered and shivered until at last he muttered:

“don’t mention them or I’ll knock of your block.”

Dave said “Just listen, you might hear a tick-tock.”

Ned pricked up his ears and listen he did,

And from under the rocks from where it hid

He could hear those doleful tones of the grandfather clock,

He could hear every tick and every tock.

Dave, well he couldn’t believe his luck,

And like a chicken he began to cluck

“Mr. Giant I don’t mean to mock,

But imagine being scared of an old silly clock.”

 

Ned dropped Dave back onto the sand

And covered one ear with one very big hand,

And said “never again will I come to this land!

Get away Mr. Crab, get back under your rock,

Attend to that terrifying grandfather clock.

One second it ticks and another it tocks

It never ends and it never stops

The tolling of hours, oh that nasty chime,

The constant plodding of unending time!

It makes me shiver, it makes me feel cold,

Reminding me that one day I’ll be old!”

 

And with that Ned left never to return,

All the beach goers need fear now

Is a spot of sunburn.

So, when next on the beach,

Give Dave a thought,

Should there be a giant you need to thwart,

Make sure a grandfather clock is in reach.

 

 

There weren’t that nice? My collection of ridiculous and utterly pointless short stories is currently free to download, so if you don’t you’re a fool.

Recreating Success.

My collection of short stories The Tiny Compendium of Ridiculousness has sold around 50-60 copies. This means I only need to sell about 700-800 more for it to be considered a catastrophic failure.  It is perhaps very niche in its appeal and marketed entirely on this blog and my Instagram account, so 50-60 copies is surprising. Whilst I attempt to find an publisher for my actual hard work and full serious novel (three rejections so far), I keep myself sane by writing more short stories. Therefore, it is a joy and a privilege to announce that there will indeed be a follow up to The Tiny Compendium of Ridiculousness called The Minute Collection of Absurdity.

This is a work in progress at this moment and I can only confirm a handful of the short stories that will be appearing in it. They are as follows:

The Man who Believed he was an Octopus:

This has appeared in an early draft on this very blog if you were paying attention, which of course you were not. It got 8 likes, 8!  It follows the story of a young boy growing up and struggling to accept himself for who he truly is, which is an octopus.

The Establishment’s Eating Habits.

Frank works in the Houses of Parliament. He regularly sees, and sometimes interacts with, members of the governing elite. Had this been published sooner I’d be hailed as the genius who correctly predicted the EU referendum result and the American Presidential Election.

Anyway, Frank works in the Houses of Parliament. It is a cold winter, a now independent Scotland is clamouring for war. They finally got what they wanted, only to find that reality is always a bitch. Frank begins to grow suspicious of the elected officials he works for. He always sees them with food, but never eating. Against the advise of friends and colleagues he investigates to find that it’s not just their own heads that they constantly shove up their arses.

The Woman Who Has Everything and is Incredibly Happy.

Money cannot buy you happiness, but it can buy you things and that’s pretty much the same.

The Life Lesson.

Various people from various backgrounds all do shit and learn something.

The Snake Summoning Tennis Racket.

Jamie Kendall wants nothing more than to win Wimbledon. She asks her local demon to grant her this one wish. The demon gives her the greatest tennis racket that ever did exist, forged from the spine of an angel and the guts of … I dunno… Jesus? she cannot lose if she uses that racket. However, every time she hits something with it, it summons snakes.

 

and maybe some more, who knows the last two were just made up on the spot.

Download the Tiny Compendium of Ridiculousness.

 

 

 

Rejected TV Shows.

After losing my job for using company software to instigate office wide rap battles, I have decided it is time to start acting my age and enter the real world. So, with that in mind I have been pitching television ideas. Here are some that have been rejected.

 

Conformity:

A children’s TV show teaching the value of conformity. The tag line is “There is no greater feeling than fitting in.” It has an educational element, using maths and statistics it teaches that with 7 and a half billion people in the world, it is highly unlikely that everyone will be unique and that realistically most people will be dull and uninteresting. Striving to achieve dreams ultimately leads to disappointment and unemployment, whereas simply turning up and doing your bit without pomp and ceremony leads to a steady income and a reliable economy.

 

The Team of Global Stereotypes:

A bit like the X-Men, only every character is a stereotype of some description… so actually quite a lot like the 90s version of X-Men. Led by the bowler hat wearing, tea swilling English leader “Joseph Badteeth”  Chad ‘Gun Toting’ Americanson from the deep south must lead his team of borderline racist caricatures against the evil Gwylim the Unboxed, who cannot be put into a box and his team of Quirkies.  There were talks of getting Christopher Lee to come back from the dead to voice Gwylim, but ultimately they fell through as he was demanding the power to change the script. He wanted to change ‘maybe’ to ‘perhaps’, fucking diva.

 

The Community Support Officer:

The wannabe policeman Derek Swaby is a high functioning alcoholic community support officer who gets results. He deals with loiterers and litterers with his unorthodox mix of violence and psychological games. Not being an actual police officer he has not the power to arrest. One day, he moves along a group of loiterers, unaware that they happen to be the notorious “Stabby loiterers”. He goes home to find them loitering in his own house having stabbed his family and littered for good measure, that’s when he decided to take the law into his own hands. He rejects the role of Community Support Officer, and instead becomes ‘The Officer who Supports his Community.”

 

The Butcher, The Baker and the Candlestick Maker:

Like Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy, but with the above professions. Obviously, there will be no spying, but they do have a punch up in a car park.

 

LoserChef:

A cooking show that takes it back to the basics. Episode one: How to Boil Water, is a 45 minute step by step guide detailing the process of boiling water. Episode two:  You Did it Wrong Didn’t You? Another 45 minute episode repeating the steps of water boiling for those that couldn’t manage it.

 

Future Archaeologists:

A group of archaeologists sit at a dig site simply to show that they are in fact archaeologists. They are tasked with describing what the far future will be like, based on wild assumption and absolutely no evidence. These assumptions are then submitted to the government who have to make decisions based on these predictions because science.

 

The entertainment industry is a ruthless one. Only those willing to persevere in the face of failure and rejection can succeed. One day I will be a rich TV man and you’ll all be clawing your way through the muck and grime of normal life. Fighting over the scraps we members of the cultural elite deign to give you.

2018 – The Beginning of the End!

I haven’t posted in some time in fact, my last post was in August so some time in this sense translates to 2 months. This is primarily due to the fact that internet blogging is a futile endeavour and I was a fool to ever start. It’s like throwing a handful of your own shit at a mountain made up of thousands of other people’s shit and expecting everyone to take note of your shit, except less satisfying. Yet, here I am again because there’s only so many times I can listen to my own internal monologue.

So it is the Halloween weekend and Diwali weekend I’ve been led to believe, so happy Halloween or Diwali, depending on your preference. It seems since I’ve been away from the world of the internet, the people that live in the physical world have grown bored and decided that it’s probably about time for another World War, thereby completing the trilogy and getting some well-earned closure. Though this one will probably be more about the special effects than believable characters and well thought out plot.

Every so often we get those apocalypse predictions that spread around the internet and everyone gets really excited and it never happens, as is the nature of prophesying doom. So I’m going to make my own prediction, in the hope that having predicted it, I will avert disaster. So here goes. 2018 will see WWIII kick off which will spark nuclear conflict which will kill us all. There – it’s out there now, stock up on canned goods and a grab a makeshift weapon to deter looters.

Once again Russia and America are threatening each other with a beating with their nuclear stick. Putin has unveiled his Satan 2 Missile. Unveiling a missile does make it sound like it was hidden discretely underneath a white sheet for some time, before Putin dramatically whipped it off. Some have reported this missile as being powerful enough to wipe out an area the size of the UK. I happen to live in the UK which is also roughly the size of the UK so that sounds a touch worrying. The Mirror has even done a chirpy little interactive article where you can “discover your fate” should good ole London get nuked [http://www.mirror.co.uk/news/uk-news/what-would-happen-nuclear-bomb-8514152]. You can have a look if you like, but no matter where you put down, the result is ‘you are incinerated by a terrible explosion. If you aren’t you’ll wish you had as you slowly succumb to radiation and/or starve.’

Of course this is working under the theory that Nuclear war will just involve one pot shot. Realistically we can expect at least two thrown at us, maybe one from France as well. According to Business Insider 9 countries have nuclear weapons, possessing “Approximately 16,300” between them. Which would mean around 1,811 nukes each if shared out evenly, which they better be, fair is fair. Of course these are just the ones everyone is being open and honest about. My dad’s been spending a lot of time in his shed recently, what’s he up to? Of course you could question how Business Insider came about this knowledge, it seems unlikely that they phoned up each respective government to ask them about their nuclear arsenal and that said governments were all too pleased to provide this information. More to the point, why would Business Insider need to know this information. Anyway, it was a lazy Google on my part.

I recently watched a video of Putin giving an impassioned speech to journalists about the risks we face and giving his justification for whatever it is he’s doing. I suggest you all watch it, it’s rather interesting. He talks about the necessity of the balance of power and how for the last 70 years peace has been ensured by this said balance, and how America is constantly trying to tip the balance with subtle little manoeuvres, and how if the balance is skewed it makes a nation more likely to try and do naughty things. He almost comes across as a rational human being – unfortunately for him he bears too much of a resemblance to Dobby the House-elf to ever be taken seriously. That and he’s a mad man.

Alas, we live in an age where all the major players are destined to be run by madmen, except the UK which is soon to have no government at all as none of the parties can seem to agree on anything long enough to put together any reasonable plans. British politics currently resembles a large argument over a restaurant bill, which you know will only escalate until it’s resolved by a free-for-all in the carpark.

Soon, that perpetually confused and angry nation, the United States of America, whom can barely get its trousers on in the morning without firing a missile, will have to vote for their next President. They have the choice between a sociopathic racist, who’d struggle to answer the question 2+2 without first yelling at some Mexicans and making a crude sexual remark. And then they have a corrupt warmonger who as far as the rest of the world is concerned has already been president twice; and she’s currently being investigated by the FBI.

America is a truly mental place, where anyone can be President – even if you really, really shouldn’t.

It reminds me of those questions you ask a mate when you’re bored, a ‘would you rather question.’

“Would you rather have John Goodman sit on your face for fifteen minutes after a long run, or have to watch every single Adam Sandler movie in one go?”

“Would you rather have The Mountain from Game of Thrones shove his entire fist up your arse, or have that weird bloke that works in my office shit on your chest?”

“Trump or Clinton? – is death an option? Well at the rate the world’s going it’ll probably be enforced.”

England, France and Denmark will be sending troops, tanks and planes to Estonia to show ‘military presence’. Time and time again people are being quoted as saying ‘they do not want another cold war’ and on both sides the word ‘deterrent’ is being thrown about, which always annoys me. If you have a rat problem, you don’t deter them by adding more rats to the situation, that’s just going to make the problem worse!

France went and tore that lovely camp down earlier in the week, displacing the refugees again for having the audacity to be refugees. Every European nation is doing their best to pretend they’re not in so they don’t have to deal with the problem, which only stands to cause mischief. Isis is still messing about and will no doubt capitalise on all this global civil unrest and those guys are nutters.

So yeah, 2018 – the beginning of the end, note it down if you’re planning a holiday.

Except of course everything will be fine. Because of my prediction. So you’re welcome.

The Fuzzyrambler

Well it wasted a bit of time.

I haven’t posted in a while, mainly because it seems an exercise in futility, but also because I’ve been busy with work and life (which is mostly work). I have an Instagram (@entirelyforced) for my ‘art’ as I realised using a blogging platform to show off pictures was foolish when there is a tool especially for that, which has a bigger market too. Anyway, I recently sent a novel off to a literary agent and I thought as a way to cope with the imminent rejection I’ll write my own rejection letters.

Here’s one that made me chuckle (yes I laugh at my own jokes, as some one has to).

 

Thank you for your interest in our company and the submission of your manuscript, we thoroughly enjoyed reading it. Unfortunately, it is not what we are looking for at the moment. You see, publishing is a dying industry. Had things been different and your work was published you would not have earned any money from it anyway, it would have been copied and put on the World Wide Web in pdf format, the most disposable of all formats.

However, these are trivial matters considering the environmental challenges humanity faces as a whole right now. Arctic sea ice is at an all-time low, and global temperatures are rising faster than scientists previously predicted, as a result, harvests around the globe have suffered. We are vastly over populated, stretching our extremely finite resources to capacity. The planet is dying, and we all played our part in its death, hastening natural temperature fluctuations and failing to do a thing about it despite dire warnings. So publishing your book ‘about some bloke doing a thing’ would seem a rather trivial thing.

Even if the world survives its current plight, our doom seems assured. Petty disputes and wars occur each and every day. Religious zealots pray on the young, the isolated and the vulnerable, rallying them to an absurd and destructive cause in which the result is always the deaths of innocent bystanders. As a result the displacement of people is so severe that the infrastructure of neighbouring countries simply can’t handle such a sudden influx – though more distressingly they don’t want a thing to do with these poor unfortunate souls who had the audacity to be born in another country and have no right to a life in another.

Social media and the constantly connected world has left those not in immediate danger of death, has left them isolated and crippled with insecurity and severe neurosis. Body dysmorphia is currently more prevalent than it has ever been 50% of the western world are prescribed anti-anxiety or anti-depressant medications.

The future is a bleak vortex of doom at best and humanity is no doubt in its final and desperate stages. We are soon to shuffle off this mortal coil making way for the next dominant species. The whale perhaps.

So no, we shall not be publishing your ‘funny’ novel as we see nothing to laugh about! We suggest you give up, purchase a gun, crack open a bottle of Macallan and save yourself.

Yours sincerely,

A Redundant Figure.

Throw Enough S***.

EPSON MFP image

 

This is a famous moose, it is Famoose. A variation of this drawing is on an old entry of this blog somewhere, so if you were looking at it and thinking – that is entirely plagiarised, it is. I plagiarised myself… and anyone else that’s said Famoose before, which I’m assuming is quite a lot of people.

 

Throw enough shit and you’ll eventually hit someone you dislike.

That’s a family motto of ours, my kin and I have always been angry, bitter and hate filled. However, the general point of the motto is, perseverance is key. Keep working away at something and eventually you’ll get somewhere. This is a common theme. Perseverance is the key to success. If at first you do not succeed, try and try again.

And yet, it is said that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result. So, logically speaking, the key to success is insanity.

Insanity is all well and good in and of itself, but it’s not really sustainable, it’ll get you killed in the end. So, in that case, what is the key to success? More to the point, if success is what we all crave, why do we keep it locked away with only one key cut and then lose the key? We humans are ambitious by nature, back in the day when most mammals looked at large and dangerous predators they thought ‘fuck that, let’s run away.’ Whereas humans thought ‘One day, I’m going to punch that so hard in the face that it dies, and then I’ll wear its skin as a symbol of my power!’

We succeeded in that, or at least some of us did otherwise we wouldn’t be here – or at the very least there’d be more predators running about – like sabretooth tigers and that, not those weird aliens from the Arnie film and a string of other shit films.

That was a time when success meant survival. These days survival is sort of expected, in fact with the emergence of takeaways it’s really easy – you don’t even have to leave the house. If you find yourself dead at the end of any given day, then you’ve obviously done something very wrong, or stupid.

So, what do we mean by success these days?

It’s either lots of sex or lots of money.

With free to use online dating services becoming readily available, it’s now fairly easy to get sex (depending on your standards of course) and you only have to leave your house once. So money, money is the mark of success now and very few of us have any.

There seem to be many ways of making money, I was speaking to someone the other day who was earning enough money to pay his rent and bills with his own jam making company. So he was making and selling jam. JAM!

So, why aren’t we all making Jam? It can’t be that hard.

Where I work, those at the top are on a tremendous sum of money. I sometimes see them about the place, with self-satisfied grins on their faces and taking long, elegant and expensively trousered strides. One would suspect, given their high salaries that they have difficult and stressful jobs. They do not. From what I can tell, their jobs are to tell others to do some work and to walk around looking important.

So how come they are successful? Have they spent years and years flinging shit in the general direction of people they don’t like? Who knows? I’ll ask them one day.

I’m just bored and had nothing to do, my Xbox broke.

The FuzzyRambler

 

 

 

 

What Will Trump Say Next?

Even he doesn’t know. When you watch him speak, he seems perpetually surprised that his lips are able to flap about like that, and like a giant toddler first learning the basics of speech, with every word he seems to express a great deal of self-satisfaction. Unlike most politicians, who have a team of speech writers, a director, make up artists and special effects team, Trump appears to enjoy the old school approach of just winging it.

In some ways I respect that. I adhere to that school of philosophy myself, just opening your mouth and hoping for the best. The ‘let’s just do it and see what happens’ approach to life is an admirable one. Unless you happen to be a deluded, bigoted, self-righteous cunt. In this case, the “see what happens” aspect of the ethos is easy to guess.

I thought Trump had lost it when one of his major proposals was to build a huge wall to separate America and Mexico, to stop those pesky Mexicans coming in and doing whatever it is that they do that the American populace hates so much. In particular the bit where he suggested that the Mexican government would be the ones footing the bill. A part wants him to become president, just so I can see this plan put into action and watch the farcical nonsense unfold, like a sit-com episode from the 70s. It could be called ‘To Be Trumped’ … or something better, that was just off the top of my head and I’ve only just woken up and not had coffee yet. Trumped should definitely feature, it makes it seem wittier.

I can only imagine the way that conversation will go.

‘Mexico, I’ve started work on the wall to stop you lot just wandering in and seeking a better life. Can we have the first payment?’

‘Who is this?’

‘The President of the United States. We need you to pay up now, because those building the wall have unionised and are demanding money. If only we had hired some hard working Mexican immigrants.’

‘What’s to stop people just tunnelling under this wall?’

‘Beg your pardon?’

‘Never mind, cheque’s in the post.’

There was once a time when a weird, startled manatee of a man would make these sorts of pledges and be laughed at. World wide we be joined in ridicule, it’d make us glad to be alive. Alas, we seem to have entered a dangerously, bitterly angry time in which people vote for them instead.

Recently, Trump has been seen telling mother’s to remove their babies, who we can only assume were crying because they could see their future being shat upon by their grandparents and their parents. And he has also compared any sort of sacrifice he made to make money from real estate to that of a soldier giving his life for his country, and subsequently his family losing their son. I don’t know quite what sacrifices he is referring to, or if he even knows the meaning of the word sacrifice, to quote the man himself:

“I think I’ve made a lot of sacrifices. I work very, very hard. I’ve created thousands and thousands of jobs, tens of thousands of jobs, built great structures. I’ve done ― I’ve had ― I’ve had tremendous success. I think I’ve done a lot,”

Donald “The Bloated Manatee” Trump.

Of course it’s easy to do a lot in real estate if your father is already rich and well known in the construction industry. This is perhaps typical of self-righteous rich white men. Of course they will not know what personal sacrifice means, they’ve never been exposed to it, it is a concept forever out of reach of their limited understanding.

Whereas any sensible politician (and I am aware of how cynical I sound) would have seized an opportunity  in the case of the Khan family and adopted a sense of faux sorrow and solidarity and praised the sacrifices of a brave soldier and invited his parents around for dinner. Trump chose to insult them and insinuate misdeeds. Of course they weren’t white enough for Trump so he wouldn’t let them in his house. They also had the audacity to be Muslim and we all know where he stands in that regard.

And to quote the man himself:

“They’re not coming to this country if I’m president. And if Obama has brought some to this country they are leaving, they’re going, they’re gone.”

Donald “The Bloated Manatee Fuckface” Trump.

Imagine if they were Mexican?

Again, in a different time these actions would probably have him removed from politics and locked away in some kind of hole somewhere, a racist hole – for racists. Incidentally that will be another television show I’ll be working on ‘The Racist Hole.” Instead, he still stands a good chance of becoming the president of one of the most powerful nations on the planet. If Theresa May (British PM – I know, I keep having to Google it to remember too), has no qualms with sentencing hundreds of thousands of people she doesn’t know and have done her no harm, to death by nuclear devastation, Trump would probably drop the bomb himself riding it “Dr Strangelove” style, probably onto Mexico, stating all the while “this is a good thing. Oh yes, I think it’s a good thing, I’m not worried at all.”

In his great delusion, he probably won’t even fear his own death, as he probably thinks he can rise again.

And to quote the man himself (probably, I’ve grown bored of research):

“Actually, I have a lot in common with Jesus. We both worked in the family business…”

Donald “The Bloated Manatee Fuckface Jesus (apparently)” Trump.

 

To be fair to him on this occasion, the pair do have a fair bit in common – neither he nor Jesus would have gotten anywhere if it wasn’t for their fathers. Now, if only we could nail Trump to something.

… I may have just lost my moral standing on this one. Criticizing the man for bigotry and then belittling the death of Christ. But at least I’m aware of my own hypocrisy. It’s fine, you’re allowed to insult the Christians without fear of recompense, because Jesus told them to turn the other cheek. If they don’t they’re being bad Christians, and Jesus will judge them! The only thing that made him mad was setting up market stalls in a church. Imagine that – going to a place you know people will be and trying to earn a living… this was in the depths of history too in a land where basic amenities were scarce and expensive. Selfish entrepreneurs trying to provide for themselves and their families.

Anyway, I got side tracked.

I can only hope that this is all a bit of satirical performance art, and if Trump gets to the White House, he’ll grin rip off his face and it’ll turn out to be Sacha Baron Cohen and we’ll all have a good laugh. Unfortunately, I feel satire is lost on most Republicans.

I’ll leave you with this last quote from the man himself:

“I’m a massive tool and I like to put vegetables up my wrinkly ass. I think it’s a good thing. I’m not worried at all. I murder puppies with golden hammers in my big house. I sneak into your children’s bedroom at night and urinate in their face.”

Donald Trump.

 

I feel in the interest of transparency, a lot of the quotes were lifted straight from newspapers, and of course as such, could well be misrepresented or false as we all know journalists have their own political agenda to promote. I have done little in the way of verifying these quotes were actually said, and I can say for certain that one of them is definitely made up.

 

TheFuzzyRambler.