Month: May 2016

Letter home

My dear Maggie

I’m warin’ the karker you give me for I’m feelin’ my ‘ed summat froze. This blasted winner dont never seem to wanner end. Mebbe I shud of come ‘ere in zummer, for winner in Borston is bitter cold and theres no jobs for love nor munny.  I ‘ad to sell my ‘ammer and chizzle for to eat, that was last sarterday. They ‘ave rooms ‘ere like you said but again its the munny.

I ‘ope your all well there. I will sign off now and dont wurry.



No change

— Well, slap my ass and pop the toaster! It’s you, isn’t it?

— It’s me.

— Well, blow my horn and steam the chittlins! How ya doin’?

— I’m ok.

— Jeez, it must be, what… twenty years?

— Must be.

— You haven’t changed a bit! I’d know your ass in a sack o’ melons!

— Sure.

— I can’t believe it…. I was just thinkin’ about you the other day!

— Course you were.

— No, I was! I was driving through the Appalachians, and something about the shape….

— So, what’ll it be?

— What?

— What’ll it be, mister?

— Like I said: slap my ass and pop the toaster. You still at Steamies?

— This way.


According to Crabbe, the fornix is an elongation of the corolla, which covers the forpine glute. However, Nettlefold disagrees, and claims that it is actually underneath the umbo, where it forms the convex cap  of the ostrea.

Today, we must wonder exactly what kind of bicycles they were riding.

Founding story

Matthew Peachoo
travelled far among
the tribesmen of Peroo,
until he met the Incas
and then at once he knew
that he would stop and settle
with Co-axial Pot and Kettle

Sweet age

— Cup of tea, Grandad?

— No, no, don’t mind me. Look after yourselves first. You young people represent the future now: bright beacons of hope and glory, in sharp contrast to my dying embers. I’m happy to cower in a cold ditch as you youngsters march boldly past along life’s great highway, bearing aloft the fluttering flags of all that’s pure and noble in man’s relentless quest for meaning.

— You take sugar?

— Four, please.

Cork limerick

There was a young dork from York,
who would only eat pork with a fork.
If the pork was too tough,
he’d say ‘I’ve had enough.
It’s more like cork than pork!’


In the shade of a manchineel tree, Leonora and Miss Andrews were sharing delicious nuggets of gossip, and buzzing like happy wasps.

Quain brought them a salver of arrowroot biscuits, just in case.