Not without its problems…

23 09 2008

More, more and a bit more. It's only wafer thin...

With 1,337,000 tins of Spork failing to sell, I was left with a predicament.  I could feed them to the snails, eat them myself, or use them as weaponry in my ongoing battle with the guy that smells of Marzipan in room 9.1b. 

As tempting as it is to put one over on the little guy with a surprise Spork related attack, he’s too easy to maim with far less valuable artillery.  Now the snails… they’re tempting.  You might think snails wouldn’t go for a meaty product like Spork, but the snails here are feisty and have been known to take down a cow if they get looked at a bit funny.  This one time, when Matron was hosting cow camp, 13 cows were slimed to death when the annual “Do your best Zoolander impression” contest turned ugly.  So anyway, whilst the snails could be fine recipients for my Spork, I didn’t really fancy encouraging their meat lust.  So that left me with just one option… I’d just have to eat them all myself.

Tin one went well.  I marvelled at the exquisite flavour.  My last minute decision to omit the Marmite was possibly my finest, though I did begin to question my sanity over the inclusion instead of the maggots.  No wait.  I definitely didn’t put any maggots in.  I remember now.  That is after all why I sing my maggot song everyday, reminding me not to put maggots in my food.  Hmmm.  Most odd.  Oh well.  Just more meat I guess. 

Tin two was less pleasing.  I was getting a real wriggly sensation in my stomach.

Tin three and my head was getting all spinny.

Tin four, someone was at the door.

It was Matron.

She didn’t look happy.  She took one look at my pile of tins and the maggot encrusted Spork around my mouth and she ordered me to head straight for room 102. 

I was to stop my stupid ways.  I was to embrace the way of the chocolate.  I was to lick it, lather it and digest it.  I was to consume vast quantities for her pleasure.

And so it began again.

I may never get to deplete my Spork mountain.

One day… one day.  So help me Gosh, one day.

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And so it dawned on me that I was not for this life…

13 06 2008

30 seconds earlier it seemed like a good idea

I was scared.  I was unsure.  Matron had always been so supportive; so understanding… but here I was thinking that she had somehow fooled me into a life of servitude – the recipient of a feeder… 

 

So I ran.

 

Not very far.

 

It took 83 minutes to nibble through the door of my cell.   But once that was done I was kind of on a roll.

 

Until I encountered the next door 3 feet away.  That only took 37 minutes to lick through though.

 

And then I was free…

 

The wind was in my hair, there was only a mild smell of sewage, my lungs were full with the air of freedom…

I was heady.

I won’t listen to her gorgeous stories anymore.

She lies.

She deceives.

 

She’s….

 

That was the moment, running chaotically as I was, that I realised I was no longer paying attention to basic life skills.  Things like don’t try to eat live crocodiles, don’t lick electricity and don’t fall off high bridges.  I did well on the former two life skills, but failed miserably at the bridge thingy one.

I knew I shouldn’t have gone out by myself.  Matron warned me of such perils.  How foolish of me to not heed her advice.

Silly me.  Silly me.  Silly me.  Silly me.  Silly me.  Silly me. 

Matron knows best.

Once I get myself out of this predicament I’ll never leave my Matron.

Never.

 





Cats on helium…

15 04 2008

Helium addict

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…

14 04 2008

What have I become....

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.