Bludgeoning the tin man until his springs pop out

The juice box at my side has just walked away, and I’d only half-finished the rotten thing.  Ungrateful bastard.

 

I mean to say, just what am I to do now?  I shall simply shoot it when it’s far enough away not to hear the bang of my blunderbuss.  Anyway enough of this rubbish…

 

Furthermore, gentle oglers, I would like to relate a tale to you all, which I hasten to add has no artificial preservatives or colours.

 

It happened to me today when I was returning the llama I borowed from the library.  Well how else will I get time to read all those books?  He read them for me and then recited them to me whilst asleep.  I awoke this morning knowing all about Pip, Stella and Miss Haversham and the story of Great Expectations.  Wot larks!  So anyway upon awakening to the strains of the Zambezi nose flute which the llama had stolen from a gypsy the night before, I hurriedly dressed and set off for work, amongst other things which are too numerous to go into here, but will form an Appendix later if you’re interested.  No?  All right then. (see Appendix 1 anyway)

 

So having closed the door with an almighty bang I ran for the bus and had to clamber onto the roof as there was no room inside.  I found, to my chagrin, that someone had waxed the roof so it was a little difficult to get a grip.  Anyway, halfway along the Edgware Road, a car braked violently in front of us and we were forced to stop sharply, throwing me off the roof and right into a concrete mixer by the roadside.  I was mixed with some sand and cement and churned up for about an hour until nicely smooth, then tipped out onto the Edgware Rd pavement, just outside Al-Maroushi, a Lebanese restaurant.  I’m now trapped between the paving stones and people keep walking over me without so much as a by-your-leave!

 

If anyone’s passing I would be very grateful for some crumbs or loose change.  Don’t bother to dig me up though as I rather like the view up the cassocks of passing priests.

 

 

Appendix 1

Brian also took a bath in a nearby mud geyser and dried himself in the crater of a nearby volcano.  He then brushed his teeth with grit and battery acid and took a breakfast of gin, gin and Stolichnaya.  He dressed himself in burlap and sacking and wore some pigskin shoes with laces made of lace and horsehair.  Brian is 103.

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