Consumerism…

So today Matron thought I should learn more about the lifestyle that I’ll have to adopt once I’m deemed ready enough to brave the outside world.  Matron explained that it’s appropriate to supplement my daily diet of multi-coloured splendid pills with as much highly calorific confectionery as I can get into my body in 17 hours.  She went on to explain that it may be necessary to liquidize said highly calorific confectionery to optimise the restrictions brought about by orifice circumference shortcomings.

That sounded like a challenge to me.  I don’t need to stinking liquidize anything!  I’m proud of my highly developed and delicately honed massive chew sets technique.  The only liquid that’ll pass by my resplendent lips will be weak lemon drink and paint… and none of that cheap rubbish neither.  Nosiree.  Only the very finest crusty and lurid lead varieties thank you very much. 

*hurrumph*

I digress.

So anyway, 17 hours of sickly chocolate ingestion later, Matron says I’ve shown some real promise.  I’ve managed to retain 16 kilos of weight, and if I can keep this rate of weight gain up, I’ll soon be bedridden and unable to escape her clutches.  Apparently that’s really good.

Woot!

Can’t wait for tomorrow.  Matron says I can up my ingestion to 17 hours and 3 minutes.  By my reckoning, that’s another 14 Mars bars.

Double Woot!

 

(and splendid)

Juggling judgement error…

Matron suggested that as part of my new rehabilitated life on the outside, I’d need a few life skills.  Now initially I’d thought I should do something worthy, like design software or something – but that’s just altogether too sensible.

In my mind I should aspire to something truly splendid, like mime, clowning or gurning.  Sadly my initial attempts at the afore mentioned skills were marred by controversy.  In my earlier life I once hosted a children’s party where I was performing a death row execution of Biffo the clown.  The children failed to see the artistry and beauty of my excrucitiating death by electricity.

After several law suits I decide to change track… 

Juggling. 

Everybody loves a juggler.

But er… practice makes perfect.

Macro photography…

I spent some time in room 27b of the asylum.  I tend to find this room cloying – the humidity is high and Matron just hasn’t kept on top of the weeding.  But I’d heard on the rumour network that some of the rarer strains of rhubarb were failing to breed with the llamas.

Ordinarily this wouldn’t be a problem, but Matron and I had been banking on breaking into the exclusive superfood market with our inspiring, spitting rhubarbä.  So Matron sent me in to get to the root or the problem. 

That was easy.  I uprooted our prize rhullama specimen and immediately found the roots Matron asked me to seek out.  But in a frenzy of spittle the rhullama effectively exploded before me.  Some got in my eye.  It stung a bit.  I felt mildly super.

Think we need to work on that.  We’re after a bit more supery.

Anyway… so I thought I’d delve into the fauna to check the faltering of the superyness.  The mini Flibblettes that are meant to ensure the llamas find the rhubarb attractive were looking a little meek.  Need to find some way to make them more sexy somehow. 

Think we need to get them some vivid orange pills.

Rhullama sorted. 

Splendid.

 

Cats on helium…

I spent the day experimenting.

At the asylum we have a couple of cats – and this is George sucking down his 14th helium balloon.  Now Matron had bet me that there’s no way that after 14 helium balloons he’d still be on terra firma.

I win, although George looks a little shwoozy.

My prize was to leave George in Matron’s quarters …hungry.  Muhahahaha (Evil laugh).

Now my cell is pretty padded, but even I could hear the high-pitched wailing from 33 cells away…  I’m so going to be able demand a few gold slinky pills from this, seeing as I know the secret to a wail free George.

Splendid.

 

Reassembly issues…

Matron finally got around to reassembling me after my head relocation issues earlier this week.  Now, I’m normally a huge fan of Matron’s surgery skills, but it wasn’t long before I had my suspicions that things hadn’t gone quite according to plan.

My pink and yellow pills didn’t cause my ears to shrink anymore. 

*Feeling of dread building up in pit of stomach*

So after 37 minutes my ears had reached the size of a small Labrador.  Those extra pinner dimensions were significantly amplifying sounds – like the rattle of my pills in their tubs.  That made pill selection nigh on impossible, so it was unsurprising when I couldn’t pick out my green knobbly nodules.  So of course, then my elbows started foaming.  I’d need to sort that out sharpish because the last time that happened I almost drowned. 

Panicking now, I had to think quickly. 

…or… I could forgo the thinking and just trust to my inner Flibble voice.  After all, thinking takes time and effort, neither of which I had.

It took a further 3 hours and twenty-seven minutes for my inner Flibble voice to say anything.  Apparently, as my voice later explained, it had been taking part in a sponsored mime.  *sigh*  The advice? 3 shots of weak lemon drink and some of the vintage maroon lead paint from 1972.

Worked like a charm.

All systems back online and purring like a rabid Siamese.

Splendid.

Self preservation…

Well, apparently Mrs. Flibble had no idea how to re-attach my head.  

Splendid. 

So as to ensure that I remained suitably fresh my head got unceremoniously dumped in the fridge, awaiting the head re-attachment skills of Matron.  It’s now been nearly 47 minutes and I have to say my ears are getting a touch chilly.  It’s not all bad though  – 10 minutes ago I managed to scare four fellow inmates as they each tried to steal an egg.  Fools.  I can still hear the screaming (because I at least still have my ears attached).  Oh, and another bonus –  I’ve also got as much celery as anyone could possibly stomach. 

Splendid.

Bit bored though.  After the excitement of learning that the light does indeed go off when the door is closed, everything else is dull in comparison.  The lard especially so.  

*tries to blink in an exciting way to reduce the boredom*

*fails*

I don’t even have any thumbs to twiddle. 

*sigh*

It explains everything…

Things weren’t running smoothly.  My nipples had been singing Celine Dion songs when they were under direct orders to stick to Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds.  So when they reached the highs of “My heart will go on”, Mrs. Flibble took immediate and decisive action to fix things.

A quick rummage later, the source of the problem was obvious.  My obfulcantonator had become tangled with my nongle.  That’s pretty serious and if it hadn’t of been caught in time, my nipples could have moved on to Dolly Parton.

Now er… well… um… Mrs. Flibble may have introduced a few more problems with her pioneering surgery technique.  I’m sure Matron will have me back in working order in no time.

Splendid.

 

 

Dreading the spin cycle…

One minute I was happily loading in my socks, then a strange sensation of being kicked, then darkness.

That’s when it started getting wet.

…and now I fear the worst… I’d set it to heavy soil.  Where’s Matron anyway?  Surely she…

Oh.

I understand now.

*sobs*

Being vacuumed up yet again…

If there’s one thing that Matron likes, it’s a good clean mental facility.  Apparently section 14 is a spotless triumph, clean enough to manufacture the circuitry in my head.  Although I’ve never been in there, I guess I’m living proof that the quality of the chip manufacture is top notch and error free.

Sadly, that can’t be said for any of the other sections.  Section 27b for example (the place where they clone washed up B list celebrities from the 1980s) is pretty atrocious.  My heart sank today when Matron told me it was my task to give it a good scrub, so to keep my spirits high, I made sure I had a deluxe pack of 47 broccoli pills at hand.

Initially things were going well.

I managed to sneak past at least 14 Bob carolgees’s before they started wiggling their moustaches and the throng of Paul Daniels and Debbie McGee’s were mesmerised by my giant interlocking metal hoops.  I only had a couple of metres to go before I reached the cleaning cupboard when a stray Debbie managed to dazzle me with her sequin leotard.  Momentarily blinded, I was forced off target and ended up feeling altogether woozy as I stumbled into the human cloning machinery.

It was ace.  Best thing that’s ever happened to me.  Especially now that my head feels altogether more spacious after the machine crashed when cloning my brain.  Good job that Matron was savvy enough to program it to share things equally between the two er… “results” if things go wrong.  Splendid.

With two me’s, the B list celebrities didn’t stand a chance.  I swallowed half the broccoli pills each and was able to start the vacuuming whilst simultaneously the other I could distract the celebs with the promise of a new Saturday night prime-time TV show.

That’s when I made a schoolboy vacuuming error.   In an effort to speed things along, I turned up the power for a bit of industrial strength carpet sucking…

*sigh*

Third time this week I’ve vacuumed myself up.

 

The new prototypes have arrived…

 Matron’s just let me try one of the new prototypes.

*simper*

The specification is truly splendid. They’re meant to keep my knees from shrinking, keep my ear wax production in check and (this is the bit I’m most excited about) prolong that feeling you get after taking one of the pink and yellow pills. I can hardly wait.

*dribble*

*looks at dosage advice on the side of the crate*

“Adults should take 37, every hour. To be taken with weak lemon drink. Failure to drink weak lemon drink may result in elbow itching. Do not eat. May contain nuts.”

Nothing out of the ordinary then.

Splendid.