Tales of humour, whimsy and courgettes
“Kraken, you looked wrecked,” observed Black.
“Mate I tell ya,” sighed Kraken. “I spent the whole night arguing with the missus about laundry.”
“Oh aye?” pondered Black. “How’d that work out?”
“At 2 am,” grumbled Kraken, “I folded.”
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“What up, Lady Bug?” asked Monsta.
“Just back from the doc’s mate,” sighed Lady Bug.
“Oh dear,” said Monsta, “everything OK?”
“I’ve gotten a prescription of anti-gloating cream for my smugness,” grumbled Lady Bug.
“Ack,” replied Monsta. “I bet you can’t wait to rub it in.”
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The submersible reached the bottom of the trench. The trio cheered as the depth reading displayed 26,850 feet.
“We made it,” cried Raquel. “So few people have reached this depth.”
The cheering stopped when a voice came from the gloom outside, “you’re back?”
Shout out to the missus today for lending me a jelly painting for this story. I was faffing around with dark background jellies and Posca pens and it just wasn’t working. I went for a grumble to her about it and spotted her jelly painting on the wall. To quote those seagulls from Finding Nemo, MINE!
You can check her art out and say hello to her on Twatter at @DonnaMStrachan and you can nobble her art prints from Society6.
Thanks to Warren for the continued $10 Patronage.
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“Alright bruv,” said Blue. “You look a little rattled mate.”
“Well,” replied Black, “I’m reading a horror story written in Braille.”
“Oh aye,” pondered Blue. “Any good?”
“It’s OK,” said Black. “But something bad’s going to happen. I can feel it…”
I did say I wanted horror to return to the Fears… Although… Not really what I meant… *Grins*
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“Exactly,” said Spider. “So the square route of 169 is 13.”
“Erm, Spider,” interrupted Sprite. “What are you doing?”
“I’m teaching these here pygmies math,” replied Spider, lifting a leaf to reveal hundreds of tiny creatures.
“Why?” asked Sprite.
“Something my mother used to say,” pondered Spider. “Make the little things count.”
Sprite whined.
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“So the birds took over?” asked Yuffie.
“Yeah,” grumbled Claws. “A hundred pigeons led a violent uprising.”
“Oh dear,” said Yuffie. “Did they take legal ownership of your farm as well?”
“All seventy-six acres,” cried Claws. “I tell ya, it was a planned coo.”
For anyone in need of a laugh this morning, there’s a bird I follow on Twatter. Jon Pigeon. A biscuit obsessed London pigeon who can work social media. twitter.com/pigeonjon
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Jane looked at the cake in awe.
“Now close your eyes, blow out the candles and make a wish,” said Rebecca.
So Jane did, and she kept her eyes shut until her father stopped breathing.
Original photo by Markus Spiske on Unsplash. Thanks to Warren for the continued $10 Patronage.
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“No horse,” sighed Sprite. “Your spellings as bad as the illustrators.”
“Well, the English language is stupid,” grumbled Horse. “I before e my fuzzy mane.”
“It’s a given rule mate,” replied Sprite. “Except for when my foreign neighbour Keith, a weightlifting financier from Leith, was in a feisty heist with eight reindeer.”
“Oh, piss off,” growled Horse.
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“This is not what I meant,” growled Spectre, “and you know it!”
“Well I’m not taking it back,” sighed Sprite, putting the tortoise in a chefs hat onto the kitchen counter.
“I’m with Sprite on this,” said Yuffie. “I mean, you didn’t specify a brand or anything when you asked for a slow cooker.”
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“I’ve just seen the police knocking down Black-fish’s door,” sighed Blue.
“Oh no,” gasped White. “What happened?”
“Once the door was down, they went inside and began singing ‘Every breath you take,’” replied Blue.
“I see,” pondered White. “So it was a sting?”
Shout out to my new Patreon, Clare London of clarelondon.com and thanks to Warren for the continued $10 Patronage.
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Little Fears 