Sunday, February 21, 2010
Saturday, February 13, 2010
A HEARTFELT VALENTINES DELIGHT
Hello, lovely readers. I am here today to celebrate the wonderful Valentines day. I wish all lovely things on your family. I wish to spread them across their slippery shoulders and caress it down their chest with my index finger and then circle their bellybutton.
Here is a poem.
VALENTINES DAY - By Jace Van Kaathoven
Poo, bum, fuck, farts,
Valentines day is full of hearts.
Dick, shit, piss and wee,
I hope your valentine is me!
Happy Valerties from everyone here in Crogabond! Don't let any fat men rape you!
Here is a poem.
VALENTINES DAY - By Jace Van Kaathoven
Poo, bum, fuck, farts,
Valentines day is full of hearts.
Dick, shit, piss and wee,
I hope your valentine is me!
Happy Valerties from everyone here in Crogabond! Don't let any fat men rape you!
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
The Excellent Fishing Tale
On a fine midsummer’s eve, I was with my old fishing pal Shiddlecart Lamingtons and we were fishing for a variety of fish. Or so we thought.
“Aye,” Shiddlecart interrupted the long silence of purgatory that was fishing. “There be none o’ these fishies around.” I answered with a fisher’s grunt, shrugged my shoulders, and pressed my hat harder onto my cranium.
After two days of eating bits of our lovely boat, The S.S Boat, for survival, we saw small bubbles coming from the water. We both gasped in surprise, followed by a fisherman’s congratulatory high-five. Which is really more like a brisk handshake, but we call it a high-five none the less.
The bubbling continued ripples of water following quickly across the bubbles roamed. They gradually became closer and more audible. In one swift flick of the rod, I lifted up our anonymous little catch and screamed. It was a gigantic squid.
There were rumours about this catch. In the fisherman’s bar Lamingtons and I frequent, The S.S Fisherman’s Bar, all the fishermen talked about it. They called it Squiddlesby. It is a dang huge squid, about the size of me, if I was one thousand feet tall. Which I am not. So, I guess it is not the size of me. It is all a shade of purple, all except the tentacles, which are all a shade of green. And here it was, about to eat me, Shiddlecart and the S.S Boat. We sure were in a pickle.
At this point, most people would either choose one of three options. Number one being: Die. This option is not extremely difficult; you just get Squiddlesby over there to do all the work. It may hurt a bit though.
Number two, maybe the wisest of the bunch, is to run away. Although this would be very hard with a giant squid a bit too uncomfortably close to you, but hey, you never know. Maybe you will get picked up by a sea astronaut. And then he might take you to the beach and go windsurfing.
But probably not.
The third option is one of the offensive assault type, and the idea is to attack the aforementioned giant squid. This is, of course, impossible, but you could give it a shot. The only thing on the line is your life.
All these three options are what people usually conform into doing, really. It might be that they have no choice, but all the fishermen would choose to do either one of these three. I decided to do something never tried before, do something different. I decided to try communicating with Squiddlesby.
“Um. Hello there!” I shouted at the squid. “How are you on this fine evening?” The squid replied by spewing mucus at me.
“Oh. Well, eheh, I don’t think you are a bad squid, by any means. You look like a nice dude, really!” Squiddlesby replied with a questioning sound.
“Okay, let me be honest with you.” Lamingtons was looking at me in wonder and awe. “We don’t want to hurt you. In fact, why don’t we be friends?” The squid looked at me delightfully, and grabbed the boat and placed us on his head. Shiddlecart and I looked at each other happily as Squiddlesby swam us back to shore.
To make a long story short, Squiddlesby took us back to the beach where there was, coincidentally, Sea Astronauts. We all shared high-fives, went windsurfing and drunk milkshakes.
ENDE.
“Aye,” Shiddlecart interrupted the long silence of purgatory that was fishing. “There be none o’ these fishies around.” I answered with a fisher’s grunt, shrugged my shoulders, and pressed my hat harder onto my cranium.
After two days of eating bits of our lovely boat, The S.S Boat, for survival, we saw small bubbles coming from the water. We both gasped in surprise, followed by a fisherman’s congratulatory high-five. Which is really more like a brisk handshake, but we call it a high-five none the less.
The bubbling continued ripples of water following quickly across the bubbles roamed. They gradually became closer and more audible. In one swift flick of the rod, I lifted up our anonymous little catch and screamed. It was a gigantic squid.
There were rumours about this catch. In the fisherman’s bar Lamingtons and I frequent, The S.S Fisherman’s Bar, all the fishermen talked about it. They called it Squiddlesby. It is a dang huge squid, about the size of me, if I was one thousand feet tall. Which I am not. So, I guess it is not the size of me. It is all a shade of purple, all except the tentacles, which are all a shade of green. And here it was, about to eat me, Shiddlecart and the S.S Boat. We sure were in a pickle.
At this point, most people would either choose one of three options. Number one being: Die. This option is not extremely difficult; you just get Squiddlesby over there to do all the work. It may hurt a bit though.
Number two, maybe the wisest of the bunch, is to run away. Although this would be very hard with a giant squid a bit too uncomfortably close to you, but hey, you never know. Maybe you will get picked up by a sea astronaut. And then he might take you to the beach and go windsurfing.
But probably not.
The third option is one of the offensive assault type, and the idea is to attack the aforementioned giant squid. This is, of course, impossible, but you could give it a shot. The only thing on the line is your life.
All these three options are what people usually conform into doing, really. It might be that they have no choice, but all the fishermen would choose to do either one of these three. I decided to do something never tried before, do something different. I decided to try communicating with Squiddlesby.
“Um. Hello there!” I shouted at the squid. “How are you on this fine evening?” The squid replied by spewing mucus at me.
“Oh. Well, eheh, I don’t think you are a bad squid, by any means. You look like a nice dude, really!” Squiddlesby replied with a questioning sound.
“Okay, let me be honest with you.” Lamingtons was looking at me in wonder and awe. “We don’t want to hurt you. In fact, why don’t we be friends?” The squid looked at me delightfully, and grabbed the boat and placed us on his head. Shiddlecart and I looked at each other happily as Squiddlesby swam us back to shore.
To make a long story short, Squiddlesby took us back to the beach where there was, coincidentally, Sea Astronauts. We all shared high-fives, went windsurfing and drunk milkshakes.
ENDE.
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