Tales of humour, whimsy and courgettes
“They were dark days for smart birds,” remarked Clouds.
“What’s that?” asked a passing Clouds.
“Just remembering what it was like before crowbars were invented,” remarked Clouds.
“Most crows could only drink from home,” smirked Clouds.
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“I think bangs would look good,” remarked Steph as her scissors danced around Becky’s hair.
“Watch it!” gasped Becky as the scissors nicked her ear.
A rumble came from the basement. “Sorry,” sighed Steph. “They always get rowdy when they can smell blood.”
Shout out to the missus today for lending me a vampire illustration for this story. Once again, I was faffing about for a horror image and everybody loved her last painting, so hey, she’s back again this week. You can check her art out and say hello to her on Twatter at @DonnaMStrachan and you can nobble her art prints from Society6 and you can buy her a cuppa on Ko-fi.
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“Was that Desmond?” asked Lucy.
“Yeah,” replied Ant. “Didn’t think I’d see him again after he stole me tiny antique globe and left the country.”
“Aha,” chuckled Lucy. “He should have known it’s a small world.”
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“Mate,” said Ptera, “you look peeved!”
“I’m furious,” grumbled Yuffie. “Just left a restaurant where we ordered oven baked giant-duck.”
“Didn’t it taste very nice?” asked Ptera.
“It was alright,” sighed Yuffie, “but the bill was huge.”
I’ve mentioned before that I make far more content than I need. Doodles, stories and new characters. I create at least twice as much as I will use and discard the stuff I won’t use. I’ve got a couple of folders for stuff that I might use someday but not yet.
In a week-long display of disorganisation, I’m convinced I’ve used the last five pictures before, but I’ll be darned if I can remember when and where. Better planning in future required, I think!
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Story by Anony Mole
The all-night theatre felt empty. Yet, behind the curtains lurked he who had witnessed every performance, heard every catcall, every boo. The applause. No Guy Fawkes, but still, a spectre bent on teasing emotions from the viewers. Fewer these days. And so the cravings grew, a drought having starved him. So much so that, at 3:33 am, he slipped forth, bared his talons and dug his way into the bowels of the young woman, her mate screaming at the sight. The mineral taste would do, for now.
Thanks to Anony Mole of anonymole.com for the, quite frankly, gruesome and visceral tale. I know some of you are eating your breakfast while reading this, and will absolutely love it. How’s that rhubarb on porridge looking, huh? Cheers, Anony!
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“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.
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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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Little Fears 