Tag Archives: comedy

Day fourteen: ‘Cracking job Scribbler’

The flurry of snow didn’t quite cause the tizzy I had hoped for.  That tizzy being a day off work.  Instead the staff-room was the usual draining affair, menopause and diets (spat through biscuits) and gossip over who may be the female phantom 2pm pooer. I do most of the draining I am sure, the miserable bastard who doesn’t like hearing about labour pains or massive poos whilst he eats his sandwich…call me touchy!  The rest of the day involved a meeting in which, quite frankly, I wasn’t in, but I was, but wasn’t at the same time, it passed me by like a Big Issue Seller.  The remainder of the day consisted of talks about our moral compass: mine is pointing North West due to the Big Issue seller.

pg-28-wallace-and-grom-paI avoid the changing rooms these days, you only pick up influenza, athletes foot and a sight for sore eyes from Talc-Tackle-Ted & his scrotal spectacle…enough to scare you stiff. On editing that is a poor word choice. I’m talking of the gym, from whence I have come, which was done after my boring day and beans on toast.  Wallace & Gromit: The Wrong Trousers was on the gym television, a source of enormous motivation to all. Call me a Doubting Thomas, but that on its own is hardly a surge of adrenaline but the fact it had subtitles several seconds behind the plasticine animation hardly made me row quicker.  The Roly-Polys enjoyed it as they sat on the bikes, made a screening of it in fact, sausage roll crumbs and cheese & onion fingers washed down with an energy drink.  The peddles were glad of the rest I am sure.  I suppose they are easing themselves in, and I am sure they had to do that on entrance: greased the door frame and went in with the second class post and a good kick.

This moaning is all part of my crisis by the way: it defects from the arthritic pains and growing weakness that is catching me.  It creeps up on you like the hair on your bum, which as we know is tugged from your scalp.  In a sick turn of events I am booking myself back for a Tabata session, perhaps I didn’t make it clear to them first time I am actually this fragile.  I wonder, if I ask nicely, do you think they will put Wallace & Gromit on?

You have called me Touchy and a Doubting Thomas today, stop it.

I am the Scribbler.

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Filed under 2013, 30's, animals, Culture, Writers

Day seven: The cat taketh over

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He made it then, my owner, made a big song & dance didn’t he?  Anyone would think it was him who had to lick his anus in the hope of jump-starting his bowel movements. He came in all a fluster not long ago, 6PM our time. Looked thoroughly pi hissed off, like someone had farted as he pulled up his socks, that sort of look.  I must admit it was nice to have the pair of them out of the house, they’ve been under my paws these past few weeks, three’s a crowd and when you’re ill you don’t want people encouraging you to take a shit every few minutes.  I can’t believe he’s been wasting time rambling writing scribbling about it on here to be honest, no wonder he was flipping-a-lid last night mumbling  ‘I’m not ready, I don’t wanna go back, I hate it, is it really Monday?  ARHHHHHHH!!! Where are my work pants?’ Pathetic really, I told him as much.

It’ll do them good to work, she went back too, earn honest money to pay for my dentures – which I presume I will receive in due course after having my chompers torn out last week.  I like licking my gums though, you know, where the holes are, kinda painful but kinda nice…you keep going back for more – like Pringles.

I thought about going outside to stretch the joints but just one look at the weather and my nipples went dense, as solid as brass buttons.   I ran a bath and had a long soak instead, thought, whilst the cats away this c…a…t      w…i…l…l    p…l…a……… that doesn’t make sense, must be the dope the vet has asked them to ‘hide’ in my food.  I didn’t even have a bath.

I did really.

I didn’t have bath.

Anyway, after my bath, he returned, looking thoroughly cream-crackered, I don’t know what it is he does but it does nothing for his sense of humour.  I begged for some biscuits, some crunch to work my jaw…
but he said I’m still not allowed.  bastard. I’ve sprayed all over his beer bottles as he lead me to believe he’s not drinking alcohol this month, so if he lapses, …..WHEN he lapses, justice will taste sweet (and the beer will taste of piss).

Considering I only have paws I think I may have done rather well here.  I’m going to log out as I have some hair to strategically place on the pillows and cushions and those trousers he is getting prepared for tomorrow.

Over and Me..owt.

P.S: I have attached a picture of me pre-op (not that sort of op!! har har) sat on the books that my owner was supposed to do something with but had ‘better’ things to do over his two weeks jollies,  like write to you lot.

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