Aardvarks forever November 14, 2007
Posted by johnph in Aardvarks forever.3 comments
Hugo; how can I ever thank you enuf? Since you took an interest in my plight, nothing but good fortune has come my way. It all culminated in the final few minutes of my life as a butterfly, when a beautiful Austin Princess kissed me and returned me to my former splendiferous existence. Then, out of the blue, I received an urgent email from another Princess who, poor soul, in spite of being fabulously rich is living in appalling conditions in Latvia, besieged by a hostile family and has two imminently life threatening diseases. To cap it all, she was advised only days ago that she has to give it all to a good cause or risk eternal damnation! And I was the first and only person she could think of. Unless she’s having trouble with her numbers too.
How she managed to find me I’ll never know, but rest assured, I immediately sent off all my bank details apologising for the delay in order to help this poor Princess. Apparently, within days I can expect to have £M62000,000. 19s 6p deposited into my petty cash account for use in doing lots of jolly good deeds and generally helping out those with less than the major nought situation with which we’re currently blessed.
However, she also points out in the email that since her husband would have been one if he hadn’t had the temerity to die before she did, and it’s only academic cos she’ll soon be popping her own clogs anyway, but she did say that she’d require proof that a large proportion of the money had been spent on widows. Now I’m all in favour of good causes, but where the hell are we going to find a bunch of comely widows at such short notice to waste 19/6d on? Bit of a dilemma what?
And finally, since she’s not been in touch for many years, she wants to be assured that we’re still regular in church, follow the thirteen commandments, do not covet our neighbour’s ox, refrain from fornication and generally remain all round good eggs. Don’t know about you Hugo, but I’ve only got trouble with the middle one.
Admiral Aardvark November 9, 2007
Posted by johnph in Admiral Aardvark.1 comment so far
Thank-you Thank-you Hugo’s Hugo for your wonderful offer to become my agent in this daunting contest. However, I was concerned to see that you’ll stop at nothing to be at the top of the categories listing chart and although I’m always first to occupy second place (goldfish/butterfly in-joke) I felt I should exploit my genus/surname combination to thwart this hitherto unknown, now manifestly dark part of your underlying personality. However, as I was saying, I was overcome by your kind offer and sent my trousers to the cleaners.
We need to address the remuneration issue before it gets out of hand. Lettuce pray. And lots of it. I love it. Can’t get enuf of it. I think we’re considering big leaves here – let’s start at four pounds a week for openers with a killer gran incentive. Whilst I will make myself available for pubic appearances, I don’t want to suffer from over-exposure and premature burnout like many Goldfly stars.
Finally, and I’m so sorry to put you under pressure here Hugo, but I’ve only got two and one divided by two hours to live. Besides earning enuf to keep me into old age (thanks to you), I’ve got to have a shit, shower, shave, shampoo and shag, inflict jeans, have another cigarette (yes I’ll be more careful this time) before chrysalising. Who said male butterfly’s were incapable of multitasking?
I appreciate you’re a busy man and I deeply apologise for the near inundation in Norfuk, but I hope you registered that it was only 9mm away from being over the top! A pretty significant figure I hope you’ll agree – one does one’s bit in a National Emergency. Good job I’m modest in all other respects; otherwise I’d be demanding a standing ovation from the nation (shame I won’t have time to publish “A lifetime of other rhyming couplets” before I shag, but that’s life I guess).
Time flies – so must I.
Allusive Butterfly November 9, 2007
Posted by hugo9 in Allusive Butterfly.add a comment
Wow! I didn’t know you were so influencial on world events and so knowledgable about the Welsh Dinar! For a Butterfly, you appear to be articulate and have a very high IQ. Inspired by your potential, I have entered you as a contestant on the popular quiz programme “Are Butterflies Really Thick”? You will be competing against Cabbage Whites so thier name suggests you’ll have an edge! The winner’s Jackpot Prize is ten days for two and all you eat on an Artichoke farm in Provence. I shall be happy to accompany you to share your winning feast.
On our return from He Haw, He Haw land, you’ll need a PR manager (me, Hugo’s Hugo, Agent to Star Butterflies Ltd) quite exclusive, as you’ll be my only client. We should exploit your fame as a celebrity, I’m sure you will be in much demand for photo shoots and chat shows etc! Have you considered plastic surgery? You could model your self on a bloke I know in Cerne Abbas, locals refer to him as ‘a bit of a headturner’ and he’s always big in the trousers. What you’ve always dreamed of!
It’s all my fault November 8, 2007
Posted by johnph in It's all my fault.add a comment
Little did I know that as I flapped my wings to escape before she closed her legs, I was starting a chaotic sequence of events that would result in the collapse of stock markets worldwide.
As a goldfish, I always used to enjoy a cigarette after sex, but those pleasures were denied me as a butterfly. However, I was content to do a fag-by-proxy. And this was where the whole thing began to unravel.
Espying a beautiful new Mercedes open-top sports slowing for a roundabout over the road from the lady’s garden, I beat my wings furiously to reach the safety of the other side of the windscreen in order to enjoy the rest of the drivers cigarette that he was holding in his left hand, whilst he completed his conversation with his broker on the mobile phone in his right hand. It was all a frantic shouting of “sell Dollars, buy Yen; sell Oil, buy Gold.” Whatever was said the other end was met by repetitive guffaws and “Yah …. Yah …. Yah!
Suddenly, and taking me completely by surprise, there was a gap in the traffic on the island and the sudden acceleration literally blew me into the driver’s eye. The impact caused every part of me to contract in order to protect my internal organs. Except the sphincter. There was a small escape of fluid. The rest is becoming history as I blog, and complex molecular biology by the second.
After a brief struggle between the drivers DNA and that of the butterfly (me), the outcome was always a foregone conclusion.
He zoomed off to London. I struggled to a place of safety in the increasingly violent winds.
Meanwhile, my earlier frantic flapping of wings to reach the Merc had caused a slight turbulence in the lady’s back garden which had joined-up with a gentle breeze to form a stiff one. The bloke that called me ‘an insect’ was met seconds later by a cold-front that, together with the stiff one, combined to produce an atmospheric turbulence. As the vortex began to swirl round, it was joined by a stronger wind from West to form a gale. The gale intensified and swept out to sea where it joined with an ever-deepening depression. This depression combined with other transatlantic weather systems to generate hurricane conditions which, being the eighth of the season, was named Hugo. It swept ashore with devastating ferocity and seriously damaged some very expensive yachts. Tragically, one of these yachts was owned by the Mercedes driver.
Upon hearing about the loss of his ‘bird puller’, he immediately withdrew all his funds from Northern Rock and closed all his positions on the London Stock Market at whatever price he could get. This had the same effect as my furious flapping of wings on his fellow investors who similarly unwound their positions. The exit became a rout and the Bank of England endeavoured to quell the burgeoning panic with the instantly calming words “Trust us.”
In the States, the escalating budget deficit together with the sinking of Hooray Henry’s yacht caused a run on the dollar that was countered by hurried moves to devalue the dollar against the Welsh Dinar (which still wasn’t ready). Not knowing where all this might end, the rest of the world responded in the only way they knew how.
The hunt began in every castle throughout the lands, for a butterfly called John.
Dogs in Malta November 7, 2007
Posted by hugo9 in Dogs in Malta.add a comment
I don’t know if you’ll remember me, what with your memory span not being so hot! 9 millimeters, pretty impressive! I’m glad to hear you’re not shy to put it to good use. I think I know someone with similar proportions that has a loyal dog, always waiting in arrivals to greet him when he lands in Malta.
The Pork dish, last night was a triumph so it must be Chicken this evening, as I’m driving to Holland and back on Saturday (now I think of it, that’s probably old news)! So you’ll want to hear about the time I was in the family home with my girlfriend. Mum and Dad invited us to go out with them for the day. We declined thier offer and they left us alone in the house. What to do! Hours later I was in bed sitting upright whilst my female companion was entertaining me beneath the covers. I heard the front door open as my parents returned home early. Although my mother would always tap on my bedroom door before entering, I turned the transistor radio on as a way of informing them where I was. My mother’s response was, silly Hugo, he’s left his radio on in his room, I’ll go and turn it off! She entered the room to the sight of her teenage son sitting behind a large tent in the bed covers with his eyes rolled back and a big grin! On hearing the bedroom door open, my guest said ” Who the fuck’s that? and emerged from beneath the covers with a very sticky face! Conversation between my mother and dinner guest was a little muted that evening. Happy days!
Last thoughts November 7, 2007
Posted by johnph in Last thoughts, Uncategorized.add a comment
As I hit the windscreen of your car, the last thing to go through my brain was my anus. And this turned out to be my saviour. In the twenty-four hours (have you noticed how people who’re desperate for word count, do numbers in letters?), I’ve been alive, I’ve seen, heard and experienced so much. It’s like being a goldfish that can fly. Except it’s far more socially acceptable, you get to wear a fabulous set of clothes and you acquire a whole new perspective on castles.
Yesterday, once my wings had dried out, I decided to do all the things I’d missed out on in my previous existence(s?). I know you’ll empathise with the statement that a goldfish can never have too much sex and the massive problem with the three (I’m not desperate any more but I didn’t want you to think I had both limited intelligence and the terrible numeracy limitations suffered by many goldfish) second memory span, but I’m unsure whether I’ve ever had sex, did I spend enough time in the arousal phase and why did I start this sentence in the first place.
Yesterday, there was this beautiful young lady just lazing on a swing seat in her garden in the late afternoon sunshine. I gently fluttered down and landed on her raised knee. She was utterly delighted and gasped at my beauty and bravery. Worried that she’d frighten me away, she immediately stopped stroking her pussy and thankfully remained motionless. She gave me a lovely smile and said that she was honoured that I’d chosen to grace her with my presence. I, of course smiled back but realised she would never know how much I’d come to adore her. Only having twenty4 hours to live means you have to make every second count!
Just then, a young man came into the garden. I suppose to some he may have appeared tall and handsome, but there was a lascivious edge to his smile that I didn’t quite care for. I know it was wrong of me, but I came over all jealously protective for this young lady, who’d shown me nothing but love and attention ever since I’d known her, which was now a significant portion of my life.
As he started towards her, she stopped him urgently with a whisper and then using her eyes, pointed to me on the point of flight, still on her knee. He became instantly angry.
“Are you honestly telling me that you put that bloody insect before me in your affections?” he said with undisguised venom.
“No, don’t be silly darling: it’s only a fucking butterfly” she said and savagely swatted me off her knee.
I was hurt; course I was hurt. But I’m not stupid.
Flew straight up her dress, gave the bitch the full 9 millimeters and went off to my next challenge.
What A Guy! November 6, 2007
Posted by hugo9 in What A Guy!.add a comment
Eee by gum, what a guy, I wish I were like you! Now, a beautiful butterfly with teeth like stonehenge and the breath of camembert (mmm lovely). I’ve listed you for sale on eBay without a reserve and so’s not to be accused of misrepresenting you, I’ve posted you in the Rubber Bunny category, able to perform non-stop for three and a half hours, whilst singing “squeeze my lemon ’till the juice runs down my leg’. But Gordon Brown should at least give us an opportunity to vote in a referendum to stay or to leave the European Community because Melba is becoming very vexed and insecure.
Psssst… Now, I have some very important ‘top secret’ information to pass on. It is essential you do not tell anyone. National security is at risk and I don’t have to remind you that you have signed the Official Secrets Act when you were in the Navy. I’m not one to drag things out and build up the tension to the point of “Go on, go on. What? What is it that is so confidential? So here goes! I can trust you can’t I? ……….. I like to leave people wanting more. Oh, alright then. Here goes. Tonight, I’m cooking Pork.
Fairy Nuff November 6, 2007
Posted by johnph in Fairy Nuff.add a comment
So I’m to be an EBay victim; bought and sold like a Labour politician; held up for ridicule because I’ve always had to struggle to get ‘the skip’ through the MOT, the children through a Harrowing experience before being sold into slavery, give my parents a funeral they’ll never forget and what good has it done me? You, like the mortgage company, just see me as a source of funds, a sub-prime ordial being, unworthy of the respect and love you’d freely give to an ant before you stepped on it without consideration or mercy. Have I really come to this? Where have my sponsors gone? Look at all the times I’ve freely given pennies to the poor people; look at all I’ve done for conservation with my semenary book “You don’t need an elephant in a fish Pie. It all counts for nothing. Players were right when they said it’s the tobacco that counts.
So that’s it. This brief note is to be my epitaph before the new being is born.
Suddenly I’ve got too much to do. I must plan the new me before I’m born, otherwise I’ll just be another version of the one I’ve just sold on EBay. What do I want to look like; what star qualities will I adopt; will both legs be the same length; where will my sparkling personality come from; what lucky woman will I choose to do the washing-up, make the meals, vacuum the floors, scrub the scullery, light the gas lamps, make the beds and shag me like a rubber bunny?
I’ve been liberated. That fool Hugo has bought a goldfish. I have emerged from my chrysalis a beautiful butterfly.
So what the fuck do I want with a rubber bunny?
And what a beautiful castle! How long has that been there?
Oops! My offer was a little low. November 5, 2007
Posted by hugo9 in Oops! My offer was a little low..add a comment
I do apologise for coming in with such a low starting price. Of course I was expecting to have to negotiate, perhaps you would be kind enough to suggest a figure of your true worth! Just to clarify matters, should I make this full and final settlement, this will mean I own you outright. You will be my slave forever and a day so you need to ask yourself if Hugo will exploit the situation or you could just take the £42.50 now and accept the label ‘Cheap’! Please don’t post (on this site) a photograph of a frightening man dressed as a member The Rocky Horror Show, that image will always haunt me!!!
Last night, undercover of darkness, I flew back to Cerne Abbas and sowed 8.3cwt of grass on the ‘Giant’s’ outline so no longer consider him a threat to my internals. Nerrrr! And what’s more. My dad’s bigger than yours.
I’ll have to go now, unlikely as it sounds, I’ve just spotted a man with a valid MoT. I know this to be accurate because he was being mobed by eighteen adoring groupies. One of them asked him if she could take her false teeth out to perform something exotic to bring a strange expression to his face. I’ll leave you with that nice thought.
Do you honestly think? November 5, 2007
Posted by johnph in Do you honestly think?, Uncategorized.add a comment
Do you honestly think that I’d be prepared to prostitute my caper bilities for a mere £42.50? Do you honestly think that my own self-worth is limited by this measily sum? Do you honestly think that I can be bought like a common monkey in a down-town Addis Abba Bar (nice little rhyming couplet there)? Do you honestly think my value to the world can be described by such a low rate of exchange as is obtainable through the Royal Bank of Scotland for the Welsh Dinar? And is it ready yet? Do you honestly think that this throbbing mass of creativity contained in an Armani suit is purchasable for something with so few noughts on the end? Do you honestly think the combination of money and exquisite poetry is suitable recompense for years of experience before the mast as both captain and crew in a single-handed sausage factory? Do you honestly feel (yes; your comment brought out the psychotherapist in me) that I would snap-up the first offer you made and count myself lucky? Just what kind of a man do you think I am?
Yes. You’re probably right. Cheap! But would you consider negotiating?
If not, you leave me no alternative but to instruct my lawyers to draw up a writ of Habeas Corpulent, and implore the Cerne Abbas Giant to pay you a visit with degenerate thoughts of impalement in mind. Further; should you not desist from imbibing noxious and fatty substances as ordered in previous directives, you leave me no alternative but to advise the appropriate DotGov department (Minister for all your Internal Affairs) that your plans to avoid clinical obesity before death by road accident on our criminally overstretched motorway system (not including the M25 since it is a contradiction in terms), have gone seriously awry to the extent that the Minister for Overlongsentences has been duly advised.
Wotcastle??
