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-Dawn-
In the kitchen of number 13 Brandybuck Crescent, Billy Jurter wolfs down his favourite breakfast bellytimber of lumpy porridge engulfed in a five second squirt of tomato ketchup, followed by a meat pie squashed between two doorstep-sized crusts, washed down with four mugs of strong sweet tea.
-Mid Morning-
Tapping his chockablock tum, Billy wombles outside to the sun-drenched greenhouse, where [mid some surprisingly large tomatos] he pens a letter to his Turkish cousin who lives in Hungary.
-----------
Dear Muzzy,
I trust all is well.
Please find enclosed a transcript of my latest essay: 'Of Wasps, Twigs & Pandemonium'.
Regards, B.J.
p.s. Within the pages of the essay there is a photograph of my wife's plump rump and bullet-sized nipples [as requested].
------------
-Late Morning-
The phone rings. Billy picks up the receiver: "Hullo?"
[Sexy female voice]: "Hi loverboy. Listen carefully. Meet at Trickstone Glade at 'sunset'. No questions. Just be there. Don't be late." *hangs up*
"Hmmm," Billy muses: "news spreads fast round these parts.... some of the local lovelies must have already heard about an unusually large todger...."
-Noon-
Billy settles down to munch his favourite lunchtime fodder: twelve rashers of bacon drowned in thick creamy custard, followed by a full chocolate gateaux, washed down with four litres of dandelion & burdock.
-Mid Afternoon-
Billy trims his tash, takes a bubble bath, towels himself down, then slips into his favourite pink shirt which he overlays with his most expensive tweed suit.
-Late Afternoon-
Smoking his pipe in the drawing room, Billy comtemplates who the foxy lady on the phone might be: images of a young scantly-clad Dolly Parton flood his mind....
-Sunset-
At the meeting point - Trickstone Glade, all is quiet. Billy checks his appearance on the still surface of a small freshwater pool. Then, in the corner of his eye, he notices a gleam in the shade from a silvery blade. Billy turns. But it's too late. A sword swung by somebody unknown takes his head clean-off. Billy's body slumps to its knees, and his head spins in the air then thumps on the leafy turf and comes to rest amongst some scented tulips. Billy's killer flees the scene.
-Early Evening-
The moist snout of a hound sniffs out Billy's corpse, collects his head in its jowels and scurrles off to its master - Wynbar the wretched witch of Wickerwillow Way. On eyeing her prize, the witch immediately drops the dead-head into a pot of bubbling liquid.
-Late Evening-
Holding aloft Billy's now skinless skull, Wynbar recites a sallow incantation:
"Body of this head, come to me,
By hook or by crook,
Over leaf and twig, field and fen,
Find a path to me,
And become my
Denizen!"
-Midnight-
Back at Trickstone Glade, Billy's headless body begins to twitch. His fingers extend then grip.... and as a small regiment of crows alight themselves on the out-stretched arms of a nearby scarecrow, billy's undead frame rises to its feet and stumbles in the general direction of the witch's dismal hideaway. Beneath the light of a cradle moon, the dark and unsavory fate of Billy Jurter unravels....
-Postscript-
And the moral of the story: "Never lose one's head in the presence of strangers, as you'll more often than not 'live' to regret it."
In the kitchen of number 13 Brandybuck Crescent, Billy Jurter wolfs down his favourite breakfast bellytimber of lumpy porridge engulfed in a five second squirt of tomato ketchup, followed by a meat pie squashed between two doorstep-sized crusts, washed down with four mugs of strong sweet tea.
-Mid Morning-
Tapping his chockablock tum, Billy wombles outside to the sun-drenched greenhouse, where [mid some surprisingly large tomatos] he pens a letter to his Turkish cousin who lives in Hungary.
-----------
Dear Muzzy,
I trust all is well.
Please find enclosed a transcript of my latest essay: 'Of Wasps, Twigs & Pandemonium'.
Regards, B.J.
p.s. Within the pages of the essay there is a photograph of my wife's plump rump and bullet-sized nipples [as requested].
------------
-Late Morning-
The phone rings. Billy picks up the receiver: "Hullo?"
[Sexy female voice]: "Hi loverboy. Listen carefully. Meet at Trickstone Glade at 'sunset'. No questions. Just be there. Don't be late." *hangs up*
"Hmmm," Billy muses: "news spreads fast round these parts.... some of the local lovelies must have already heard about an unusually large todger...."
-Noon-
Billy settles down to munch his favourite lunchtime fodder: twelve rashers of bacon drowned in thick creamy custard, followed by a full chocolate gateaux, washed down with four litres of dandelion & burdock.
-Mid Afternoon-
Billy trims his tash, takes a bubble bath, towels himself down, then slips into his favourite pink shirt which he overlays with his most expensive tweed suit.
-Late Afternoon-
Smoking his pipe in the drawing room, Billy comtemplates who the foxy lady on the phone might be: images of a young scantly-clad Dolly Parton flood his mind....
-Sunset-
At the meeting point - Trickstone Glade, all is quiet. Billy checks his appearance on the still surface of a small freshwater pool. Then, in the corner of his eye, he notices a gleam in the shade from a silvery blade. Billy turns. But it's too late. A sword swung by somebody unknown takes his head clean-off. Billy's body slumps to its knees, and his head spins in the air then thumps on the leafy turf and comes to rest amongst some scented tulips. Billy's killer flees the scene.
-Early Evening-
The moist snout of a hound sniffs out Billy's corpse, collects his head in its jowels and scurrles off to its master - Wynbar the wretched witch of Wickerwillow Way. On eyeing her prize, the witch immediately drops the dead-head into a pot of bubbling liquid.
-Late Evening-
Holding aloft Billy's now skinless skull, Wynbar recites a sallow incantation:
"Body of this head, come to me,
By hook or by crook,
Over leaf and twig, field and fen,
Find a path to me,
And become my
Denizen!"
-Midnight-
Back at Trickstone Glade, Billy's headless body begins to twitch. His fingers extend then grip.... and as a small regiment of crows alight themselves on the out-stretched arms of a nearby scarecrow, billy's undead frame rises to its feet and stumbles in the general direction of the witch's dismal hideaway. Beneath the light of a cradle moon, the dark and unsavory fate of Billy Jurter unravels....
-Postscript-
And the moral of the story: "Never lose one's head in the presence of strangers, as you'll more often than not 'live' to regret it."
I love the way that you have contrasted the mundane with the fantastic. This whole piece made me laugh.
What?
-Dawn-
In the kitchen of number 13 Brandybuck Crescent, Billy Jurter wolfs down his favourite breakfast bellytimber of lumpy porridge engulfed in a five second squirt of tomato ketchup, followed by a meat pie squashed between two doorstep-sized crusts, washed down with four mugs of strong sweet tea.
-Mid Morning-
Tapping his chockablock tum, Billy wombles outside to the sun-drenched greenhouse, where [mid some surprisingly large tomatos] he pens a letter to his Turkish cousin who lives in Hungary.
-----------
Dear Muzzy,
I trust all is well.
Please find enclosed a transcript of my latest essay: 'Of Wasps, Twigs & Pandemonium'.
Regards, B.J.
p.s. Within the pages of the essay there is a photograph of my wife's plump rump and bullet-sized nipples [as requested].
------------
-Late Morning-
The phone rings. Billy picks up the receiver: "Hullo?"
[Sexy female voice]: "Hi loverboy. Listen carefully. Meet at Trickstone Glade at 'sunset'. No questions. Just be there. Don't be late." *hangs up*
"Hmmm," Billy muses: "news spreads fast round these parts.... some of the local lovelies must have already heard about an unusually large todger...."
-Noon-
Billy settles down to munch his favourite lunchtime fodder: twelve rashers of bacon drowned in thick creamy custard, followed by a full chocolate gateaux, washed down with four litres of dandelion & burdock.
-Mid Afternoon-
Billy trims his tash, takes a bubble bath, towels himself down, then slips into his favourite pink shirt which he overlays with his most expensive tweed suit.
-Late Afternoon-
Smoking his pipe in the drawing room, Billy comtemplates who the foxy lady on the phone might be: images of a young scantly-clad Dolly Parton flood his mind....
-Sunset-
At the meeting point - Trickstone Glade, all is quiet. Billy checks his appearance on the still surface of a small freshwater pool. Then, in the corner of his eye, he notices a gleam in the shade from a silvery blade. Billy turns. But it's too late. A sword swung by somebody unknown takes his head clean-off. Billy's body slumps to its knees, and his head spins in the air then thumps on the leafy turf and comes to rest amongst some scented tulips. Billy's killer flees the scene.
-Early Evening-
The moist snout of a hound sniffs out Billy's corpse, collects his head in its jowels and scurrles off to its master - Wynbar the wretched witch of Wickerwillow Way. On eyeing her prize, the witch immediately drops the dead-head into a pot of bubbling liquid.
-Late Evening-
Holding aloft Billy's now skinless skull, Wynbar recites a sallow incantation:
"Body of this head, come to me,
By hook or by crook,
Over leaf and twig, field and fen,
Find a path to me,
And become my
Denizen!"
-Midnight-
Back at Trickstone Glade, Billy's headless body begins to twitch. His fingers extend then grip.... and as a small regiment of crows alight themselves on the out-stretched arms of a nearby scarecrow, billy's undead frame rises to its feet and stumbles in the general direction of the witch's dismal hideaway. Beneath the light of a cradle moon, the dark and unsavory fate of Billy Jurter unravels....
-Postscript-
And the moral of the story: "Never lose one's head in the presence of strangers, as you'll more often than not 'live' to regret it."
In the kitchen of number 13 Brandybuck Crescent, Billy Jurter wolfs down his favourite breakfast bellytimber of lumpy porridge engulfed in a five second squirt of tomato ketchup, followed by a meat pie squashed between two doorstep-sized crusts, washed down with four mugs of strong sweet tea.
-Mid Morning-
Tapping his chockablock tum, Billy wombles outside to the sun-drenched greenhouse, where [mid some surprisingly large tomatos] he pens a letter to his Turkish cousin who lives in Hungary.
-----------
Dear Muzzy,
I trust all is well.
Please find enclosed a transcript of my latest essay: 'Of Wasps, Twigs & Pandemonium'.
Regards, B.J.
p.s. Within the pages of the essay there is a photograph of my wife's plump rump and bullet-sized nipples [as requested].
------------
-Late Morning-
The phone rings. Billy picks up the receiver: "Hullo?"
[Sexy female voice]: "Hi loverboy. Listen carefully. Meet at Trickstone Glade at 'sunset'. No questions. Just be there. Don't be late." *hangs up*
"Hmmm," Billy muses: "news spreads fast round these parts.... some of the local lovelies must have already heard about an unusually large todger...."
-Noon-
Billy settles down to munch his favourite lunchtime fodder: twelve rashers of bacon drowned in thick creamy custard, followed by a full chocolate gateaux, washed down with four litres of dandelion & burdock.
-Mid Afternoon-
Billy trims his tash, takes a bubble bath, towels himself down, then slips into his favourite pink shirt which he overlays with his most expensive tweed suit.
-Late Afternoon-
Smoking his pipe in the drawing room, Billy comtemplates who the foxy lady on the phone might be: images of a young scantly-clad Dolly Parton flood his mind....
-Sunset-
At the meeting point - Trickstone Glade, all is quiet. Billy checks his appearance on the still surface of a small freshwater pool. Then, in the corner of his eye, he notices a gleam in the shade from a silvery blade. Billy turns. But it's too late. A sword swung by somebody unknown takes his head clean-off. Billy's body slumps to its knees, and his head spins in the air then thumps on the leafy turf and comes to rest amongst some scented tulips. Billy's killer flees the scene.
-Early Evening-
The moist snout of a hound sniffs out Billy's corpse, collects his head in its jowels and scurrles off to its master - Wynbar the wretched witch of Wickerwillow Way. On eyeing her prize, the witch immediately drops the dead-head into a pot of bubbling liquid.
-Late Evening-
Holding aloft Billy's now skinless skull, Wynbar recites a sallow incantation:
"Body of this head, come to me,
By hook or by crook,
Over leaf and twig, field and fen,
Find a path to me,
And become my
Denizen!"
-Midnight-
Back at Trickstone Glade, Billy's headless body begins to twitch. His fingers extend then grip.... and as a small regiment of crows alight themselves on the out-stretched arms of a nearby scarecrow, billy's undead frame rises to its feet and stumbles in the general direction of the witch's dismal hideaway. Beneath the light of a cradle moon, the dark and unsavory fate of Billy Jurter unravels....
-Postscript-
And the moral of the story: "Never lose one's head in the presence of strangers, as you'll more often than not 'live' to regret it."