Depressive Cats Won't Jump

How did cats get down from trees before the fire service was around?

I doubt that there was an epidemic of cat corpses stranded in trees, all abandoned in oaky graves.

Does this suggest that cats would have engineered their own escape from their branchy prison?

Or does curiosity conclusively kill the cat?

Would an animal seek tree adventure so intently as to risk its own mortality?

If so is a cat in a tree engaging in a complex expression of cat consciousness? The cat cry of escapism, suicide?

How paradoxical then that in their display of angst they wont jump, only climb?

Inverted Suicide?


How inconvenient they have to do it 9 times...

Cows eat their own placenta after giving birth to their young...

Is that cannibalism?

Are cows cannibals?

Is that what the laughing cow is laughing about?

The cunning cannibal cow combination of cheese and afterbirth?

I bet those anchor cows are in on it too.

The bastards.

Cubicle Conditioning

I often wonder why the men who approach a crowded urinal move to a free cubicle only to shut the door?
A moment prior they were going to slap the chap out amongst an intimate row of men, but now they need privacy?
I shall call this cubicle conditioning; part one of observational toilet behaviour...

A Bran for spelling

More often than not we need an eye for spelling.

But when our eye fails us it can lead to some interesting discoveries:

A simple misspelling of "Brain Tumour" today created havoc.

Without the i for spelling I suddenly had an irrational fear of All Bran.

Someone should warn of this scary cereal build up as Kellogs are keeping it quiet.

Maybe for the best cereal should be Spelt, right?

Jesus Clamp

As I was walking through the church car park today I noticed that they had a sign up saying

“No parking – Clamping in Operation”

I often wonder, what would Jesus do?

Would he clamp?

I can’t imagine that at the feeding of the five thousand.

“You lot all fed?”

“Yeah..? Satisfied?”....

“Now, have you all paid and displayed?”

I suppose that’s how he got money back to pay for all the food.

Cunning Christian Clampers.

Boyvril

I just supped down a hearty cup of Bovril, each velvety gulp warming my hibernation. The novelty of dipping soft buttered bread at my desktop filled me with boyhood glee.

Beef extract extracts the boy within.

BOYvril.

Mmm...

Boy extract.

Medium Pan

I've cooked all my meals today from one trusty medium sized pan.

Breakfast Porridge - Medium Pan.

Lunch Soup - Medium Pan.

Dinner Pasta and Sauce - same medium pan.

Reliable, obedient utensils please me.

What To Do When Sad

I encourage you to shout "Jumboli!"
Even though you might feel silly,
But you'll notice a strange whirring,
That my friend's the laughter stirring,
Inside the belly trying to get out,
But it'll only happen if you shout:
JUMBOLI!

Tatoo or not Tatoo?

I like the thought of a tattoo provoking an emotion or thought….

I’m always unsure about drawing on my canvas, my mind changes too much. My opinions always evolve, likes and dislikes always dance around together so I can’t tell what’s what anymore. It’s like the seasons I’m on about, always growing. Hmmm I‘d like to see my mind grow into a mighty oak, (I feel I may be at a small sprouting tree so far) but would be worried about adding the teenage carvings at the base of my trunk. Marking my beginnings...

I’d love to be a tree… but let me be clear, I don’t mean that because I want kids to play on me

Lamb Factor

Well…

The majority of my being is thinking about more duvet time, though, yesterday’s walk home did prompt the following question:

If “Mary had a little lamb” why was there never a “Mary had a full grown lamb” follow up single released?

I hate these inconsistencies.

Simon Cowell wouldn’t stand for it…

Though, Louis Walsh might.

Red Rubix

A few faces evade

as the puzzle turns over,

Yellow precedes the red.

As I thumb the gift,

Cautionary sabotage,

There’s more red in my red Rubix heart.

Wordy Clip

It’s not often that we get chance to make merry with words, so when the opportunity arises I let my fingers do the talking.

I often wonder that, is it my fingers or my mind that types so rapidly and intently over the little black buttons?

Each button carefully caressed; coated in a strange little symbol that I’m told to call a letter. Why a letter? Isn’t that the name of a document we send? If a composition of letters is a word then why is a composition of words a letter? And further more, why is it that these buttons are called keys? Do they unlock something? Do they unlock words for us? Words held hostage by the Microsoft paper clip?

I knew that wirey Bastard had an agenda.

Plim-Soul

You got me to thinking…

The bottom of your shoe holds it all together, it’s the most important part, hence its name as the soul - the essence of shoe.

Is that why we call it soul?

Who came up with that?

Nike?

I knew Nike would have us walking on our souls eventually.

But if we already have soul, what is “plim”?

Red Vice Versa

The age old adage of life imitating art or vice versa…

Do you think if you write a story so intently that in creating your romantic ideal you’ll wish the story to blossom into reality … just not cherry blossom.

You can end up writing your life, a victim of self for filling prophecy. This is where romance can let us down, the illusion. The personification of our desires hardly stands up to what we expect or hope and when it doesn’t we question.

But I like the romance, the merging of desire and actuality, it can be pure enough as long as it doesn’t blind us. Those are the moments, when our vision is tainted, that we see what we think we want through a veil of red.

Duck

I wish I were a duck today,

I wish I were a duck,

With all this stupid rain I’d say,

I don’t’ give a … care in the world because I’m waterproof and people feed me Hovis bread on the canal on Wednesdays

Wilma

Tis harder for me to shimmy the window to pen these days, as it is often closed due to an administrative life maelstrom. I hate having no window openings, it makes me feel like i'm actually working. Stuffy. Gone are the days when i could casually swan about, swaying from department to lift, spreading my love and hate equally amongst the fellow ranks. No more naked toilet time. A chapter closed or just freudian repression? Only time will tell. Maybe i will get naked more in my social life...Of which i hear are the meetings of God, when ones eyes are truely shown, these moments help to comfort the amour of present and help to drop armour of the green heart, a messy buisness of which no-one likes.

So, any plans for the weekend??

"Ha!" she scoffs, that we not talk of such, not in this ivory tower of ours. No, no, we shall discuss the merits of the ivory. How it was fashioned from that elephant. You know the one, the one in the room that the more observant social poachers plundered. Damn their condescending blunderbusses...

Well the hunt horn sounds in true flintstones fashion and it is with that i shall shout yabber dabber do, slide down th ol brontosaurus tale and make merry.

I miss my Wilma

Canal Part Two - Snuff

It finally happened,

My hot sunny walk to work was tarnished by corpses. I knew deep down that one day this would occur, but alas, i was still not ready for it. Scattered, slumped and strewn haphazardly across the embankment, the once romantic idle of the canal was tarnished by mallard murder.

We both know who and what is the guilty party. Those Snuff loving ducks.

Morn with me, morn.

Canal Part One - That Elton John Coot...

I wander lonely as a clown,
drifting,
drifting,
Canal as company, the unpainted underbelly of plastic ducks as hand mirrors.
Buffon, buffed.
Duck, replaced.
A happy circle of exchanges that was once (and only once) highlighted by Elton john.
Screw the Lion King.
Elton John coupled with a swan.
The true seedling of exaggerated poetry planted in the murky depths of canal slurry.
As i was walking I thought to myself, i have neglected the prose.
At this exact same moment a swan and a coot turned their bills in unison to look at me.
It was if it suddenly all became clear to everything in the universe that stupidity had been neglected.
The circle complete.

Ornithological enlightenment.

I have vowed to boil the banter broth and pour
out wordy nourishment for dehydrated, dry, dusty comedy...

Jumper Baby

I had an insight this morning, let me explain…

Routine as ever, I woke in the shower. As I lovingly laid my soapy hands on my body I found myself thumbing the belly hole. With skilful eviction I prized out a blue belly button baby then watched with glee as it swirled helplessly down the plug hole. A sudden sense of guilt emerged…

That wooly embryo could have turned in to something beautiful; a jumper, a fleece, maybe even a tank top…

Reckless Abortion.

May we all learn from this.