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Probably the most interesting thing about Gary Smith Family Butcher, is the way in which he was conceived. His father was an angry bus driver called Ian. Ians life was, by all available accounts, as dull as a washing machine beasting a stoat in a plastic bag. His days were spent driving buses around Oxfordshire and shouting at children. In the evening, due to some sort of trauma in childhood, he dreamed about driving children around Oxfordshire and shouting at buses. It was not a happy life at all.
One cold winters morn there was an implosion at the Harwell Experimental Mouse Factory and the roads were teeming with mice. This made Ian rather angry. The Daily Mail said that they had strong evidence that the explosion was caused by an immigrant single mother with links to Al-Queda who “would probably have voted Labour is she hadn’t been too busy blowing up experimental mice factories”. This made Ian angry too. By the time he stopped in the small village of Cholsey he was in a foul mood. A fine and handsome teenage boy attempted to get on the bus, but Ian was having none of it (since he strongly suspected anyone with long hair of being either a single mother, a terrorist, or a seller of either).
“Good morning to you sir” said the polite, tactful boy.
“Show me your bus pass” bellowed Ian.
The boy showed him the pass, which he kept with him for occasions such as this.
“This is an incorrect pass” bellowed Ian.
“No it’s not” said the boy.
“Yes it is”, bellowed Ian (he did so like to bellow). “All passes must have the aroma of lavender. This pass does not have the aroma of lavender. Get off my bus”. The boy started to protest (something about essential work towards the cure for cancer), but Ian pre-empted him. “Ask Mr Horseman about it, he’ll say the same. No Pass, No Travel”. Forlornly, the boy stepped from the bus into the sea of mice. Some of the mice were walking on stilts. This made the boy very sad. His beautiful face inclined toward the floor and his golden locks fell across his face. He tried to fight it back, but a tear trickled from his eye, down his nose, and onto the floor.
The next day, the boy put 30 grams of magic mushrooms in Ians coffee. Ian went funning mental. It was fine at first. He didn’t mind that his steering wheel had started talking to him. When the gearstick mutated into a stick of french bread he thought it was very funny, and he even coped with the greek sculpture in his rear-view mirror. In fact, he would have been fine, had all of the traffic not turned into enormous goldfish.
Ian pulled the bus over and ran off of it. He soon found himself in a forest, which he thought was a medieval village, where he made love to a golfer, which he thought was a beautiful woman. Gary Smith Family Butcher was born to the golfer (or golfess) on the 19th of July 1984. Due to the chemical state of his father, there were significant problems in the birth process. Quite why remains a mystery, but Gary was born a golf club.
It was not a bad life. was initially shunned by his classmates, but he soon became popular once the Great Bacon War of ‘89 got underway. Children used him to hit small ducks and scotch eggs at the enemy. Once the girls started to reach puberty, he was the most popular kid in school. Unfortunately, as his popularity reached it’s zenith, post-Neitzschian feminists embezzled him in a Swiss bank account on suspicion of ‘crimes against Pope Rold Dhal and his merry band of anarchist sheep’. It is from here that he writes these articles. When he is not writing he likes to fish, read, and spend time with his dog Kipper-Chin.
One cold winters morn there was an implosion at the Harwell Experimental Mouse Factory and the roads were teeming with mice. This made Ian rather angry. The Daily Mail said that they had strong evidence that the explosion was caused by an immigrant single mother with links to Al-Queda who “would probably have voted Labour is she hadn’t been too busy blowing up experimental mice factories”. This made Ian angry too. By the time he stopped in the small village of Cholsey he was in a foul mood. A fine and handsome teenage boy attempted to get on the bus, but Ian was having none of it (since he strongly suspected anyone with long hair of being either a single mother, a terrorist, or a seller of either).
“Good morning to you sir” said the polite, tactful boy.
“Show me your bus pass” bellowed Ian.
The boy showed him the pass, which he kept with him for occasions such as this.
“This is an incorrect pass” bellowed Ian.
“No it’s not” said the boy.
“Yes it is”, bellowed Ian (he did so like to bellow). “All passes must have the aroma of lavender. This pass does not have the aroma of lavender. Get off my bus”. The boy started to protest (something about essential work towards the cure for cancer), but Ian pre-empted him. “Ask Mr Horseman about it, he’ll say the same. No Pass, No Travel”. Forlornly, the boy stepped from the bus into the sea of mice. Some of the mice were walking on stilts. This made the boy very sad. His beautiful face inclined toward the floor and his golden locks fell across his face. He tried to fight it back, but a tear trickled from his eye, down his nose, and onto the floor.
The next day, the boy put 30 grams of magic mushrooms in Ians coffee. Ian went funning mental. It was fine at first. He didn’t mind that his steering wheel had started talking to him. When the gearstick mutated into a stick of french bread he thought it was very funny, and he even coped with the greek sculpture in his rear-view mirror. In fact, he would have been fine, had all of the traffic not turned into enormous goldfish.
Ian pulled the bus over and ran off of it. He soon found himself in a forest, which he thought was a medieval village, where he made love to a golfer, which he thought was a beautiful woman. Gary Smith Family Butcher was born to the golfer (or golfess) on the 19th of July 1984. Due to the chemical state of his father, there were significant problems in the birth process. Quite why remains a mystery, but Gary was born a golf club.
It was not a bad life. was initially shunned by his classmates, but he soon became popular once the Great Bacon War of ‘89 got underway. Children used him to hit small ducks and scotch eggs at the enemy. Once the girls started to reach puberty, he was the most popular kid in school. Unfortunately, as his popularity reached it’s zenith, post-Neitzschian feminists embezzled him in a Swiss bank account on suspicion of ‘crimes against Pope Rold Dhal and his merry band of anarchist sheep’. It is from here that he writes these articles. When he is not writing he likes to fish, read, and spend time with his dog Kipper-Chin.
It's the turns of phrases and use of language that I enjoy
Emitime wrote:
> Wtf?
>
> That was awful.
>
> What happend to being good?
Balls to you!
> Wtf?
>
> That was awful.
>
> What happend to being good?
Balls to you!
Wtf?
That was awful.
What happend to being good?
That was awful.
What happend to being good?
Back on form, oh Mouldy One...Mexcellent...
I believe the term "surreal" covers it. Surreal but good. I enjoy reading these...
Probably the most interesting thing about Gary Smith Family Butcher, is the way in which he was conceived. His father was an angry bus driver called Ian. Ians life was, by all available accounts, as dull as a washing machine beasting a stoat in a plastic bag. His days were spent driving buses around Oxfordshire and shouting at children. In the evening, due to some sort of trauma in childhood, he dreamed about driving children around Oxfordshire and shouting at buses. It was not a happy life at all.
One cold winters morn there was an implosion at the Harwell Experimental Mouse Factory and the roads were teeming with mice. This made Ian rather angry. The Daily Mail said that they had strong evidence that the explosion was caused by an immigrant single mother with links to Al-Queda who “would probably have voted Labour is she hadn’t been too busy blowing up experimental mice factories”. This made Ian angry too. By the time he stopped in the small village of Cholsey he was in a foul mood. A fine and handsome teenage boy attempted to get on the bus, but Ian was having none of it (since he strongly suspected anyone with long hair of being either a single mother, a terrorist, or a seller of either).
“Good morning to you sir” said the polite, tactful boy.
“Show me your bus pass” bellowed Ian.
The boy showed him the pass, which he kept with him for occasions such as this.
“This is an incorrect pass” bellowed Ian.
“No it’s not” said the boy.
“Yes it is”, bellowed Ian (he did so like to bellow). “All passes must have the aroma of lavender. This pass does not have the aroma of lavender. Get off my bus”. The boy started to protest (something about essential work towards the cure for cancer), but Ian pre-empted him. “Ask Mr Horseman about it, he’ll say the same. No Pass, No Travel”. Forlornly, the boy stepped from the bus into the sea of mice. Some of the mice were walking on stilts. This made the boy very sad. His beautiful face inclined toward the floor and his golden locks fell across his face. He tried to fight it back, but a tear trickled from his eye, down his nose, and onto the floor.
The next day, the boy put 30 grams of magic mushrooms in Ians coffee. Ian went funning mental. It was fine at first. He didn’t mind that his steering wheel had started talking to him. When the gearstick mutated into a stick of french bread he thought it was very funny, and he even coped with the greek sculpture in his rear-view mirror. In fact, he would have been fine, had all of the traffic not turned into enormous goldfish.
Ian pulled the bus over and ran off of it. He soon found himself in a forest, which he thought was a medieval village, where he made love to a golfer, which he thought was a beautiful woman. Gary Smith Family Butcher was born to the golfer (or golfess) on the 19th of July 1984. Due to the chemical state of his father, there were significant problems in the birth process. Quite why remains a mystery, but Gary was born a golf club.
It was not a bad life. was initially shunned by his classmates, but he soon became popular once the Great Bacon War of ‘89 got underway. Children used him to hit small ducks and scotch eggs at the enemy. Once the girls started to reach puberty, he was the most popular kid in school. Unfortunately, as his popularity reached it’s zenith, post-Neitzschian feminists embezzled him in a Swiss bank account on suspicion of ‘crimes against Pope Rold Dhal and his merry band of anarchist sheep’. It is from here that he writes these articles. When he is not writing he likes to fish, read, and spend time with his dog Kipper-Chin.
One cold winters morn there was an implosion at the Harwell Experimental Mouse Factory and the roads were teeming with mice. This made Ian rather angry. The Daily Mail said that they had strong evidence that the explosion was caused by an immigrant single mother with links to Al-Queda who “would probably have voted Labour is she hadn’t been too busy blowing up experimental mice factories”. This made Ian angry too. By the time he stopped in the small village of Cholsey he was in a foul mood. A fine and handsome teenage boy attempted to get on the bus, but Ian was having none of it (since he strongly suspected anyone with long hair of being either a single mother, a terrorist, or a seller of either).
“Good morning to you sir” said the polite, tactful boy.
“Show me your bus pass” bellowed Ian.
The boy showed him the pass, which he kept with him for occasions such as this.
“This is an incorrect pass” bellowed Ian.
“No it’s not” said the boy.
“Yes it is”, bellowed Ian (he did so like to bellow). “All passes must have the aroma of lavender. This pass does not have the aroma of lavender. Get off my bus”. The boy started to protest (something about essential work towards the cure for cancer), but Ian pre-empted him. “Ask Mr Horseman about it, he’ll say the same. No Pass, No Travel”. Forlornly, the boy stepped from the bus into the sea of mice. Some of the mice were walking on stilts. This made the boy very sad. His beautiful face inclined toward the floor and his golden locks fell across his face. He tried to fight it back, but a tear trickled from his eye, down his nose, and onto the floor.
The next day, the boy put 30 grams of magic mushrooms in Ians coffee. Ian went funning mental. It was fine at first. He didn’t mind that his steering wheel had started talking to him. When the gearstick mutated into a stick of french bread he thought it was very funny, and he even coped with the greek sculpture in his rear-view mirror. In fact, he would have been fine, had all of the traffic not turned into enormous goldfish.
Ian pulled the bus over and ran off of it. He soon found himself in a forest, which he thought was a medieval village, where he made love to a golfer, which he thought was a beautiful woman. Gary Smith Family Butcher was born to the golfer (or golfess) on the 19th of July 1984. Due to the chemical state of his father, there were significant problems in the birth process. Quite why remains a mystery, but Gary was born a golf club.
It was not a bad life. was initially shunned by his classmates, but he soon became popular once the Great Bacon War of ‘89 got underway. Children used him to hit small ducks and scotch eggs at the enemy. Once the girls started to reach puberty, he was the most popular kid in school. Unfortunately, as his popularity reached it’s zenith, post-Neitzschian feminists embezzled him in a Swiss bank account on suspicion of ‘crimes against Pope Rold Dhal and his merry band of anarchist sheep’. It is from here that he writes these articles. When he is not writing he likes to fish, read, and spend time with his dog Kipper-Chin.