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.

Advertisements




Recharging…

21 09 2008

Recharging...

You know when you have one of those near death experiences and you see a big floating parsnip strangling a poodle?  …well, last month I went one better and actually died.

I was playing around with my lawnmower, trying to turn it into a powered toothbrush when one of the brushes I’d attached to the blades fell off heading directly towards my foot at the speed of gravity.  In fear of lightly bruising my foot I recoiled in abject terror and hit my head hard on a piece of Imperial Leather soap.  Death was inevitable and mercifully quick.  Maybe not the best way to go, but at least it wasn’t one of those namby pamby “scented with the organic blossom of baby elderberries” bars.

So anyway.

My soapy injuries were naturally horrific and not helped by Matron not discovering me for five and three quarter weeks.  Apparently it was only after she’d got through 17 cans of Febreeze that she thought it might be prudent to investigate the source of the rancid odour. 

I digress.

Not wishing to lose her license to Matron the institution, she set about reconstructing my failed body with some domestic strength wood glue.  Apparently it took her quite a while, and she tells me she only had a few bits left over. 

I think she did a pretty good job, although I’ve yet to try out all bodily functions.

Anyway.  After a quick jump-start I was left with the arduous task of recharging my brain back up to 30 percent.  Any more than that and things can go horribly wrong.  You wouldn’t like to see me when I’m 31 percent, let alone 32.

Splendid.





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.

 





Moving slowly…

14 05 2008

Moving slowly

Hmmm…

Well…

You see…

Things are moving altogether a lot more slowly since I suspended my highly calorific confectionery consumption.  You could even be so bold as to say that things have stopped entirely.  I don’t want to be caught out though – it’s best to remain at action stations just in case the torrent suddenly returns.  Wouldn’t want to be in the fish hook storage room when the bottom contractions begin.  Nosiree.  I’d surely catch a Mustad Model 91715D O’Shaughnessy Jig Hook in my elbow in the rush to the nearest toilet.  No.  It’s best that I remain sat here.

It’s been ten days though.  There’s not a peep of a poo and I’ve lost most of the weight I gained.  Matron won’t be happy.

I’m going to need to find some way to make it up to her.  I just don’t think I’m meant to make it as a feeder’s passion object.

*sigh*

 





Side effects…

4 05 2008

Lust

The highly calorific confectionery consumption has to stop.  Today I’ve gained 5 stone and 7 pounds and I’m beginning to find it difficult to deal with the quantity of what I don’t digest.  Initially it was fine, I just sat on the toilet, and so long as I flushed every 54 seconds, the waste wasn’t a problem.  But it’s not easy.  I have to carefully juggle intake vs. disposal. 

So as the highy calorific confectionery stocks started to deplete, I found I needed to run further and further to the back of the warehouse… with obvious ramifications…

First it was 53 seconds…

Then it was 52 seconds a bit later…

Then there was that crazy jump where it went down to 37 seconds…

Now it’s at 13 seconds and frankly the whole system has collapsed.

Matron won’t be happy.

I hope she doesn’t do that thing… again.

*sobs*





Mass consumerism…

2 05 2008

Mass consumerism

The chocolate ingestion is going swimmingly.  Who would have thought that 17 hours of non-stop highly calorific confectionery consumption could be so slippery.  I think every square millimeter of internal surface area is now a slick chocolately expressway.  I need only place a mars bar near to my lips and it slivers its way through at quite a pace.  In fact, in the name of science I thought it would be useful to time how quickly I can process a highly calorific confectionery item… 

So I attached a peice of string to a curly wurly (they have useful holes to tie string to) and set it on it’s merry way.  I love doing science.  Makes me feel all clever.

13.8 seconds later my curly wurly was out.  Well… at least… part of it was.  I’d clearly digested the bejeebus out of it.  Woot!.

Now this gave me an idea.  What if I was to tie the string ends together in a big loop and then use it to accelerate highly calorific confectionery through my body?  This would surely increase the weight gain process that Matron wants me to achieve?  I just had to give it a shot – you just don’t pass up ideas this good.

So I entangled 34 curly wurlys to the string and wrapped the other end of the string around a masonry drill. 

0.3 of a second after I depressed the drill’s trigger, 32 of the curly wurlys had made it through, partially digested.  Impressive, but sadly this is when I realised that my science experiment could have benefited from a little more design.  The 33rd curly wurly was in fact my tongue. 

*sigh*

Thankfully not that digested and suitable for  a quick spot of re-attachment.  Need to hold-fire on the highly calorific confectionery consumption whilst I await the glue to set.

Splendid.

 





Consumerism…

21 04 2008

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)