The Monk’s advice to a bunch of Fairies.

They sat in a lovely Fairy Circle, with the Monk E at one corner, confusing the dimensions of the place. The Fairies had enjoyed the tale as far as the bit about the 4th and 5th dimensions, as they really could not visualise these two concepts. They had, however, discovered that the Monk E was here to help and he seemed to have some good knowledge about Witchland.

And these facts, he was more than willing to share.

“There are even some Wizards in these parts who have turned to the bad. Not an easy place for five fine Fairies to go prattling about, waltzing to and fro like a dynamo. Even luscious battle readied Sankyu Fairies hell bent on completing a Quest, could come across beasts so awesome that their courage could fail, faces go pail, so they quickly set sail!” As he said all of this the eyes of the Monk shone bright with deep passion, enrapturing his quintet of warrior princesses.Fairy Thanthat

“And yet,” he continued; “and yet the Universal Spirit has dropped you here in the swamps and forests of Witchland just as the Mystical Monk E should happen to be passing. Somewhere out there in the great unknown a greater thinking thing has planned this meeting!”

The girls snorted in derision.

Except for Lara Llama; she snorted a massive bogey onto her arm.

“Oops!”

Mutch scornfully surveyed the Monk, who had by now tossed back his cowl. The revelation meant all fives babes looked at him mockingly. The guy had a long face topped with a mass of grey, curly hair, which made him look like an Old English Sheepdog that had been plugged into the mains supply. The midst of his face was crowned by a nose that said ‘I love my wine; its throbbing red veins indicative of many years of over indulgence. Yet his eyes; gorgeous blue pools of happiness, deep windows into the soul of a survivor.

He appeared to be wearing some kind of outdated dispersal pattern material, better known as camouflage, a word derived from French meaning to ‘flage a camou’. He also carried with him a large backpack, apparently made of the same material.

“What’s in the bag?”  enquired Lady Stuppence.

“I haven’t got a clue,” replied the Monk. “We were all given one and told to use it when needed. All sorts of shite is stored in here. There was one time I stuck in my thumb and pulled out a plum and I heard a sound of a man shrieking in pain. On another occasion there appeared to be disco music emanating from my sack, so I looked in and saw a whole pile of fish dancing. I put my hand in to investigate and pulled a mussel. The there was the time I felt the need to eat some pork so I looked inside and pulled a hamstring. Last week I heard horses moving inside, some walking, some trotting and some going like the clappers; so I delved in and pulled a fast one.”

“Are you going to keep trying to do funny jokes?” asked Noor Kaneye. “Because you’re just not funny.”Fairy Hanny

“Funny as flu,” said Bumblefoot.

The Monk stopped talking for a while. He wondered if there was about to be a pause in the narrative.

No such luck.

“And what type of assistance could an old fart like you give to us Five Fully Armed Killers?” ridiculed Mutch.

It was the Monks turn to snort, even though he was trying to give up the habit.

“Let me ask you,” he began, “do you know how to mesmerise a Witch?”

“Cut its head off!” said Lady Stuppence.

“Or how to disorientate a rogue Warlock?”

“Cut its head off!” said Cyrena Bumblefoot.

“Or discombobulate a Vampyre?”

“Cut its head off!” said Noor Kaneye.

“Or to confuse an Estate agent?”

“Cut its head off!” said Lara Llama.

“Or pacify a rampant Zombie?”

“Cut its head off!” said Mutch.

The Monk paused, gave a wry smile. These Sankyu Fairies where a bit too single minded for dealing with all the close encounters they might encounter during this encounter. The Monk E looked to the sky, wondering if the Thesaurus had just broken down.

“Not bad; three out of five. But you’ll need to learn some more techniques when you’re dealing with Witches and Warlocks.”

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The Dark Side of Uranus

Moving on tonight with Fairy Hanny and her crowd of weird friends.

I created Lady Stuppence from an expressions used by my son Ben – it’s a bit rude…

The Monk E.

 

“Dear luscious Maidens,” continued the Monk. “I see outrage turning to a glow as your blood begins to flow. I am the Mystic Monk E! What more is there to say? Try it like ABC!”

“123! That’s how easy life can be!”

“And you five sexy birds have found me sitting upon my trusted steed, the three legged Donkey known as Wonky; and you ladies make me feel so unreal. But that is probably because I am,” continued the weirdo.

Mutch lifted her sword high again, a threatening gesture that would have caused a sphincter to loosen in Wayne Down.

“Come on Monk, out with it!”  demanded Mutch.

The Monk opened his blue eyes as wide as possible, then gave a lascivious wink.

Mutch coloured like a lobster in boiling water.

The tittering Fairies, Lady Stuppence and Cyrena Bumblefoot, had to work hard to stifle their laughter. Noor Kaneye and Lara Llama wanted to laugh too, but they were guarding the rear just in case this mad Monk had assassins trying to slip in the back way.

Mutch was much too serious.

“Do not mock Mutch, Mystic Monk E; if you aren’t careful you will lose your crown jewels!”

Mutch thrust her sword forward, causing a glint in the eye of the beholder. The other four could no longer help themselves; tittering turned to tottering turned to giggling turned to guffawing.

“Speak quickly, Monk or I will dispose of you like a punk! Go on make my day!”

“How many times must the cannon ball fly before you can call him a man?” asked the Monk.

“What?”

“If tomorrow wasn’t such a long time, would we still be watching the river flow?”

“What?”

“Am I on the road to know where? I need to find out how much is owed to a Greek Urn. I am desperate to find out if many a muckle makes a mickle!”

“You are feckin bonkers!” declared Mutch.

“If you insist!” laughed the Monk.

In a trice he was off his Wonky, sidestepping the angry Fairy; then with a magical flick of the wrist he disarmed her, spanked her bottom with the flat of the blade and gave her a kiss.

Dropping her sword to the floor the Monk bent low to bow.

“Ladies I am the dishonourable Monk E, at you service. Wit, storyteller, guide and soldier. The last of the Knights that went dark,” he stated.

“Monk who and what?” chorused the buxom babes.

“Monk E,” he repeated. “Not a monkey but a Mystic Monk in the land of the heathens!  A light in the dark! A walk in the park! A ‘What’ in the land of Witch! In short, a saviour in the nick of Time!”

“Does Time have a prison?” asked Noor Kaneye.

Mutch looked aggrieved; she crossed her arms and puckered her lips so tightly they could have been mistaken for a cats arse with severe ceramics.

“Meaning exactly what, old man?” asked Fairy Bumblefoot.

The clearly Mad Mystic Monk E smiled disarmingly as he returned the sword to Mutch. He was faster than intended, so apologised.

“Was that too much Mutch?”

The Wonky limped around a bit. Wonky’s do that sort of thing. When it was younger it walked with a lymph – which is a limp with a lisp.

“How does that Wonky walk?”

“He’s basically a biped with three legs,” explained the Mystic. “A sort of moving stool.”

“I stood in one of them once,” said Noor with a look of disgust. “Horrible sticky thing and it smelled really bad.”

“Witchland is a rather dreadful, gruesome place for travellers,” began the Monk. “Very dodgy for the unwary. There are many spies and servants of the Witch King; there are estate agents looking for the unwary to be duped by King Grumbleflick.”

“Who?”

“Grumbleflick, the winking wan King of the Witches. In one guise he goes about as an estate agent and alleged developer of the shitland which is Witchland. He gets unsuspecting tourists, keen on watching Ogres in their natural habitat, to make a financial commitment to a piece of bog land in the depths of the Witch Kings realm. He claims it will double in value every seven years. Then fecks off and leaves them penniless! Nasty piece of work,” explained the Monk.

“Would anyone ever fall for that sort of thing?” asked Cyrena. “I cant believe it Noor Kaneye.”

“Well yes we had worked that one out,” pursued the Fairy with the cat’s arse.

“Which one did you work out?  The nasty piece of work or the moving stool,” asked Lara Llama.

“It’s always good to work out the moving stool,” said Monk E. “Once you’ve got that clear you can relax and enjoy the rest of my story.”

“Are you going to tell us a story?” asked Noor Kaneye, her eyes glowing with anticipation.

The Monk sat on the ground. The Sankyu Fairies followed his lead; not Mutch.

“But there are Witches! Ogres! Vampyres! Zombies! Letting Agents! And Warlocks!”

“Warlocks!”

“No let’s not do that joke; it’s seen better days,” said Mutch.

“Let me tell you about the Mystic Monks. There are five of us and we all exist in different dimensions. We were sent here to be on hand when tales start to go awry, like Dragons that can swoop in and eat the bad lad when the hero seems to be stuck in an impasse,” explained the Monk.

“What kind of hero would get himself stuck in an imps ass?” asked Lara Llama. “And what kind of story are you planning on telling us? Will it involve pixelated privates?”

Lady Stuppence chuckled at that.

“Is the author going to keep revisiting the same crap jokes?” asked Bumblefoot.

Monk E decided to continue with his tale.

“In the beginning there was nothing,” he began.

“How could there be nothing?” enquired Lara. “If there was nothing then someone must have noticed there was nothing so there must have been something just before that, otherwise nothing would mean nothing at all!”

The Monk looked at Lara like a Maths teacher who has just run through the proof of the quadratic formula for the eighty fifth time.

“As I was saying; in the beginning there was nothing, which was just a little something but not much,” he said glaring at Lara.

“So you weren’t there either,” she said, looking at Mutch.

“ said not ‘much’ not not ‘Mutch’” fumed the Monk.

“I still don’t get it,” said Bumblefoot. “There wasn’t anything there, not even Fairy Mutch. What kind of story is this?”

The Monk bit his bottom lip and looked to the sky.

“Do you want me to tell you about the Mystic Monk and where we come from?” he asked.

“Well so far you’ve talked about Mutch and nothing,” said Lara.

Mystic Monk E looked slowly between each of them. Were they being thick or obstreperous? Fortunately he had the patience of a saint; in some universes he was actually worshipped a s a saint, so that explains where the patience comes from.

“Once upon a Time,” he began, and noticed the Fairies sat misty eyed. Aha, he thought, I’ve started a proper Fairy story.

“In the beginning there was a vast tin of primordial soup; nobody knows what type of soup it was as the label had fallen off on the way home from the supermarket. From this soup there emerged Five Mystic Monks. Was it the heat and the electricity that caused the combination of RNA and R’n’B to form these Mystical beings?  Was it the suggestion that maybe it was actually Mulligatawny Soup and anyone who messes with that deserves all they get?

Nobody knows.

Suffice to say, out came the five Mystic Monks. Now, as it was such a long time ago and nobody had as yet opened a registrar for Births, Marriages and Deaths, then nobody had a clue about names. And so with the expedite of necessity the five were merely labelled A, B, C, D and E. And lo! The Monks went out into the dimensions to help people in need, fighting greed with the knock kneed, and eating seed to see where it might lead! They were great times!”

The Fairies remained seated, chests heaving with excitement; Monk E did his best not to ponder on the distractions of the flesh. He merely cast his mind back to the Time he sat behind two bald headed men at Wimbledon.

“Tell me more!”

“Tell me more!”

“Tell me more!”

Things were getting greasy.

“Each of us moved into different dimensions. Monk A went to the first dimension as he liked to get straight to the point and keep things in line. Monk B went out to the second dimension as he was haughty and a bit of a square. Monk C was cast into the third dimension as he was more of a rounded character. Monk D went into the fourth dimension!”

The Fairies all laughed derisively at this.

“No such thing as a fourth dimension,” snickered Mutch.

“Be careful with your snickers, they were clean on today,” tittered Lara llama.

“No such thing as a Sanity Clause either,” declared Cyrena.

“What do you mean by a fourth dimension?” aske the very sensible Noor Kaneye.

The Monk looked at them earnestly.

“Don’t let Ernest see you doing that,” said Mutch.

“Homophones,” muttered the Monk.

“And we will have none of that talk either! It’s not that kind of book!”  continued Mutch.

The Monk looked at her. He wanted to say that actually it is sort of that kind of book, what with all the females being large breasted and most of the males seemingly useless; he decided it was best to just get on with his story.

“Imagine a cube,” he said.

So each of the Sankyu Fairies sat with puckered brows as the earnestly imagined a cube. Lara puckered so much she stepped on a duck.

“Oops,” she giggled.

The Monk continued in a tone vastly affected by the fact that he was holding his nose to avoid Lara’s air biscuit.

“Imagine a cube,” he continued. “And each face of the cube is a cube. So the two dimensional face is a three dimensional space!”

“Oh I get it now,” shouted Lady Stuppence.

“Really?” enquired the Monk.

“Do I feck!” she said.

“Ok, then try this; an enclosed room full of cat’s farting. That could be the fourth dimension!” tried the Monk.

“Sort of three dimensions but with noises?” asked Bumblefoot.

“Yes!”

The Fairies looked at each other and nodded in agreement that this description of four dimensions was good enough. Erwin and his cat would have been horrified; or maybe not.

“What about you, Monk E; where do you come from?” asked Mutch.

“I am from the fifth dimension,” he replied matter of factly.

Mutch laughed uproariously.

“Is this the dawning of the age of Aquarius or something,” she screamed.

“Are we expecting Jupiter to collide with Mars?” asked Bumblefoot.

“I think that should be ‘align’,” explained Noor.

“Collide sounds better though,” added Lara.

“Fair point.”

“And is it you who let’s the sunshine in?” asked Noor.

“Actually it is me; I am the light at the end of the tunnel. Every morning when I wake up I have to walk five hundred miles to let the Sun Shine.”

“500 hundred miles?”

“It’s part of that fifth dimension thing. Everything in fives.”

“Do you do High Fives?”

“Yes.”

“And then are you up, up and away?”

“Yes!”

“And you have a beautiful balloon?”

“No I just like to eat lots of cake; five slices a day is the well balanced way.”

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Dealing with Critics

I got it again recently.

Criticism.

“Your books just aren’t funny”

“Your writing is crap”

“My five year old can do better than that”

I am sure every writer has had this kind of criticism.  And it usually hurts most when it comes from friends and family.

Though it is actually very easy to hit back at the critics.20100425132030!Hieronymus_Bosch-Removing_the_Rocks_from_the_Head-Detail

So I said, “Thanks for those comments, let me see how you do it.”

This gets a blank look.

“What?”

“Show me how you structured you book so I can see the best way to do things, considering my writing is so bad.”

And what happens?

Nothing.

These critics have never written anything of any value.

So tell them to take a long walk off a short pier.

And just carry on.

“Lives of Great Men all remind us,

We may make our lives sublime,

And departing leave behind us,

Footprints in the sands of Time.”

Hawkwind.

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Another Physics Joke

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Crap Physics Joke

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I still laugh at farts

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It’s Giggle week – just jokes this week

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The meaning of life!

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Android in Spain

 

You called me, I camerumi

Studio in Tenerife, inbuilt roaches

Sandy sandy sand

Towels and bowels and trowels.

 

I didn’t enjoy it

The long walk

All uphill against a tide of disinterest.

 

“Hey how are you doing?”

“Not that I care”

 

Karaoke embarrassmentHieronymusBosch-473265

“There must be one song you know”

I know lots but do not wish

To perform

Public

Hare Kari

 

That’s what she said but I missed it.

 

Time went forward and I looked backward

“Look at this beach!”

I burned my toes in the water

And on the hot sand

Unpronounceable name

It´s a Caravan!

A Caravanserai

Full of Oil

Full of port!13

 

So to the peaks and the shanty town

“We´ll get rid soon, 007”

We need more space for the tourists!

 

I cycle to the Mall

Crammed my helmet in my pack

Nobody will steal it

Nobody wants it

Nobody wants me!

 

Christmas Cracker.

“Hey Santa, go over there!”

No laughter

Santa, bemused, sat in the rain dear.1150373_650389471648734_1847698816_n

No laughter.

Rudolf the well-read.

No laughter.

It was a joke, Christmas.

 

Winter solstice takes three days for the dead to rise

All hello’s Eve – Adam sends his best regards.

 

In Istanbul I plied my troth

Wishing for a Visigoth

To raid the City and tear apart

The Kazakh girl who stole my heart.IMG_1146

 

No beer, no wine, no women.

Humour!

Recovery!

Shoe shine for blue suede!

 

Walking home in the rain she declares her gratitude!

Haggia Sophia, Ayasophya, Blues, Sulemye.

Galata Bridge watching the hopeful,

Knowing the salesmen.

Sell fishing rods not fish!

Jesus said it, one Friday morning whilst eating a hamburger.

 

“I like this” she said

Stripping naked in the cold room

Sharing towels and body fluids.

 

Old blankets.

“I´m tired” she says, expectantly.

Six months later she is still sitting there.

The sun was never enough to warm her heart

 

Sandy sandy sand.

You could live here with me.

Sandy cold heart.

The tourists need me

They never really leave this

Place

Micro continent.

 

Clothes for sale, I cried

Who wants my bike?

Nobody came

Nobody cared.

 

Do you do home delivery?

Frost

When the word came from the East

It took my breath away

And left me with a coating of nostalgia.

 

Anonymous whinging

“It’s not true!” I declare.

“The customer!”

No, just you Morgana.

 

Quizas Quizas Quizas.

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Friday Smile

Laugh

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