Tales of humour, whimsy and courgettes
“Oh, he didn’t?” sighed Fuen.
“Afraid so” said Sprite. “Ate half the castle while he was at it.”
“Such a shame, poor Turtle,” lamented Fuen.
“Did you know his father was a 3 times world champion skier?” asked Sprite.
“Really?” asked Fuen. “What happened to him?”
“Oh, you know,” said Sprite. “He went downhill fast.”
~
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“OK,” said Fuen, “but why is Hydra howling at the moon?”
“He’s just a bit upset at his PC breaking” replied Red.
“Can’t he fix it?” asked Fuen.
“Doesn’t look like it,” said Red. “He keeps getting stuck during the trouble shooting.”
“Which bit of trouble shooting?” asked Fuen.
“The last bit,” replied Red. “He says his keyboard doesn’t have an ‘any’ key.”
Fuen winced.
~
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“Well, you could use a photo copier,” suggested Spider.
“Never happenin’,” sighed Gecko.
“Why not?” asked Spider.
“Our office copier is possessed by the spirit of Bob Marley,” replied Gecko.
“Oh wow,” said Spider, “how do you know?”
“Because” mumbled Gecko, “it’s always jammin’.”
~
Doodle and tale by Peter Edwards with his Posca Pens.
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“So, there’s this SEO expert right,” said Snake.
“Right,” replied Spectre.
“And he walks into a bar,” said Snake.
“OK,” said Sprite.
“Bars” said Snake.
“Mmhmm,” said Spectre.
“Pub. Public house,” said Snake.
“Oh god,” sighed Sprite.
“Irish bar, beer, drink, alcohol, wine, liquor, spirits,” continued Snake.
“It’s like being on LinkedIn,” whined Sprite.
~
Doodle and tale by Peter Edwards with his Posca Pens.
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“Murdered!” gasped Fuen.
“Afraid so,” sighed Cloud. “Officer of the law, I believe.”
“I can’t believe it,” said Fuen.
“I’m afraid it’s true” said Cloud. “He shot the font in the back before making his escape on a duck.”
“Wait,” paused Fuen, “he shot a font?”
Cloud nodded. “He shot the Serif.”
~
Doodle and tale by Peter Edwards with his Posca Pens.
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“Deer, your puns are awful!” cried Sprite.
“Hey,” said Deer, “there is a fine British art to telling a good groaner.”
At that moment, the past and the future approached from opposite directions. Their paths crossed right where Deer and Sprite were standing.
The future bumped into the past, they turned to face each other, growled and postured in a grumpy fashion, then walked away up different paths.
“Wow,” said Deer, “that was tense.”
Sprite whined.
~
Tales and doodle by Peter Edwards using Posca Pens.
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“I just don’t get it,” sighed Cloud.
“What’s that?” asked Spectre.
“Well sunflower oil comes from sunflowers, right?” said Cloud.
“Yeah,” agreed Spectre.
“And olive oil comes from olives, yes?” affirmed Cloud.
“Mmmhmm…” mumbled Spectre.
“Then where the heck do they get baby oil from?” asked Cloud.
“Oh god,” muttered Spectre.
“Humans are monsters,” observed Cloud, floating away on a breeze.
~
Tales and doodle by Peter Edwards using Posca Pens.
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“I can’t see him,” said Agent.
“You know,” said Spectre, “we might have a better chance of catching him if you put some running shoes on.”
“Oh, I don’t wear shoes,” replied Agent.
“Why not?” asked Spectre.
“Not sure,” replied Agent. “I stopped wearing shoes years ago, because I had big feet and it just became a bit of a hobbit.”
Red groaned out loud.
The chase continued.
~
Tales and doodle by Peter Edwards using Posca Pens.
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“God, you’re heavy,” groaned Sprite.
“Quit ya whinin’ and pull me up!” yelled Spectre.
“You know,” hollered Sprite, “a wise man said, man with an unchecked parachute will jump to conclusion.”
“You don’t need a parachute to go skydiving,” yelled Spectre.
“Oh really?” called back Sprite.
“Yeah,” replied Spectre, “you just need a parachute to go skydiving more than once.”
~
Tales and doodle by Peter Edwards using Posca Pens.
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“Am I dead?” asked Hydra.
“Looks that way,” replied Fuen.
“I wonder if I’ll meet my cousin here,” pondered Hydra.
“Recently deceased?” asked Fuen.
“Yeah,” sighed Hydra. “He was an Italian master chef.”
“What happened to him?” asked Fuen.
“He pasta away,” smirked Hydra.
Fuen paused to look at Hydra.
“Cannoli do so much,” said Hydra.
Fuen grimaced.
“Still,” said Hydra, “his legacy will live on as a pizza history.”
~
Tales and doodle by Peter Edwards using Posca Pens.
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Little Fears 