Yule Brinner 2012

It came, it passed, and to be honest, I was quite underwhelmed by it all. What a load of rubbish!

I am, of course, talking about the much advertised 'end of the world' that was supposed to have happened today, which never did. And the fact that you're reading this blog days or months after the supposed 'event', kind of proves that humanity lived on and survived this. Maybe you're reading this blog centuries into the future, trying to understand what humanity was like right now. Wow. What a gem you've uncovered today. This is what people long dead got up to.

Anyway, I wrote a blog post recently, about something I did a year ago called Yule Brinner. To summarise, this is breakfast for dinner, on 21st December, also known as Yule, or Winter Solstice. Basically an excuse to devour some meat.

This year, we did it again, and it was great. Please note that if you want to celebrate Yule Brinner properly, make sure whoever's doing it is a decent cook. My wife, Heather, does very good brinner.

This is the action you have been missing out on.

A delectable meal, split into four quarters.

To the West, baked (not fried or grilled) chipolatas. My wife bakes sausages, which is a much neglected way of cooking them. It may take longer than the conventional methods grilling or frying (or even microwaving), but it makes for a much mightier sausage.

To the North, Heinz Five Beans (haricots, kidneys, pinto, cannellini and borlotti) - to add a bit of class without being too far away from the norm. Lovely.

To the South, creamy, delicious scrambled egg.

And finally, to the East, grilled streaky bacon. Yum yum.

Deliciousness in all directions.

Save it to say, Yule Brinner 2012 was a success. And just to recap, this is what we had last year, just to show you the variety you can have for 2013. Maybe Yule Brinner 2013 will be massive.

Shootings: Why why why?

Yet another shooting occurred in the US, where a gunman has left 27 dead at an Elementary School, including 20 children. This followed on from other tragic shootings earlier this year, where another gunman went on a killing spree during a screening of The Dark Knight Rises, back in July, and where another gunman killed six people at a Sikh temple in August.

This is not normal. People should not get massacred like this, especially not on such a regular basis. There is a major problem here, and it needs to be addressed.

As soon as this news story broke about this massacre in Connecticut, many, many people cried for tougher gun control, some calling for guns to be banned altogether. Let's explore gun control then.

Gun control

The US has a culture which is proud of its attachment to guns, which is upheld by it's most prominent and vociferal organisation, the NRA (National Rifle Association). At the time I write this, I do not know if they have made a statement (I go by Twitter) but I get the feeling that when they do (because they kind of have to), they will be on the offensive OR issue a statement saying their prayers and thoughts etc etc. The fact is is that the NRA are a powerful organisation and can influence quite a few politicians if they need to, to get their way. Hence, implementing tougher gun control in the US will be a very difficult task.

In my opinion, from over the Atlantic in the UK, tougher gun control is desperately needed in the US. But why? Because if less people have guns, less people are going to get shot. It is as simple as that. But why are Americans so reticent about losing their firearms? Let's answer those gripes.

1) I feel safe having a gun.

You feel safe having a gun, because it gives you a chance to shoot back, if some other guy has a gun and he's trying to kill you. Obviously, yes, you don't know whether some other guy has a gun on themself as a 'concealed carry' which he can whip it out at a moment's notice and shoot you dead. Of course, this means that if you do retaliate, you've got to be quick on the draw and paranoid about every other goddamn person around you. The postman - could be armed. The old lady you help with her shopping - could be ready to shoot you in the back for your wallet. What a tough dog-eat-dog world.

In a world where everybody had a gun, you'd feel safer if you had a gun too. And, yes, of course YOU'd be confident to say that, if you did get the chance to react and shoot back, that you'd hit your target before he can shoot you. You're like the Han Solo of real life. And that you would not, definitely not, shoot an innocent by mistake, because you're that perfect at shooting guns.

Let's imagine everybody has a gun. You'd imagine such a world to have a self-regulating system where everybody is just too intimidated to go gun people down, so it doesn't happen at all. If you take into consideration reaction times, accuracy, the fact that the gunman (or gunwoman) might be suffering from a disturbance of the mind that pressures him (or her) to whip it out and start blasting people, a wannabe spree-killer can get some deaths in before the force of retaliation hits back.

Let's say you're a killer in the middle of a bustling city. You've got people walking to and fro from A to B. You whip out your twin pistols John Woo style and start gunning down random people. Men, women, kids. It's a likelihood that you will not survive, as let's say 8-10 people begin shooting back seconds later. Some miss and hit innocents. Some more people start shooting as they think the retaliators are the killers. By yourself, you've managed to kill five/six people. Two men, a young woman, two kids. But the people who turned you into a bloody corpse killed ten or more.

And that's not taking into account the people who merely get injured.

Now who feels safe?

You take the guns away. Let's imagine this world now.

You're a killer in the middle of a bustling city. You've got people walking to and fro from A to B. You whip out your twin knives and start trying to stab people. You slash a woman across her chest before a man punches you so hard, you're knocked out. The police come, arrest you, charge you and so on. Nobody dies.

Now that's a better world to live in.

2) The Second Amendment to the US Constitution protects my right to own a firearm.

If you remember your History class, this amendment was in place for self-defence and for the protection of the state. It was, in summary, a measure for people to defend themselves and the state against the armies of King George III, a long-deceased British monarch, in the event of retaliation for losing the American War of Independence.

The current British Monarch, Elizabeth II, George III's Great-great-great-great granddaughter, has no desire to invade the US, neither does the UK Government. Officially, the US and the UK are very close allies and our relationship is very good. We even fight together in wars. The threat of invasion by British forces is nil.

The Second Amendment seems obsolete now, huh?

3) I gotta admit it, I just love guns.

People are recommended to have a pastime, I must admit. Some people like to collect stamps, some people go trainspotting, some go for long walks somewhere. Some people like to purchase some firearms to go out into the country and shoot some targets up.

I can't disagree on the fact that shooting stuff is fun. My dad had an air rifle and I used to spend quite a bit of time shooting inanimate stuff, tin cans, bottles, CDs I no longer liked (I used to like Oasis, until I realised how boring they were. So I took a few Oasis singles and blew some holes in them). But even an air rifle is dangerous.

One day, in my late teens, I was gripped with a sense of curiosity. What would happen if I shot a bird? I had spent a bit of time out in the garden waiting for a rat (which had somehow taken up residency in the garden) to come out from under the Sauna, and I was ready with the air rifle to snipe at it. I was running out of patience (I'm not a patient person), so I saw a sparrow land on the washing line, and I shot it. The pellet went straight through the sparrow's throat. It fell straight down onto the concrete slab, and I watched its last moments as it twitched, bled and defecated.

That's when I realised what power a simple air rifle had, and needless to say, I never shot at any living thing again. I still feel bad about what I did. But I know other people would, and this is what I'm talking about, a simple air rifle in the wrong hands is quite bad. There are countless stories of animals being wounded and killed by malicious attacks. And people too.

It is fun to shoot. But if you want to have an environment where you are allowed to shoot, and no one gets hurt, then you need it to be regulated and everyone needs to understand why that has to be the case. For example, if you owned firearms and they had to be kept securely at the local firing range, there's more chance the target is going to be paper than flesh. That way, you keep the fun, and people stay alive. Everybody's happy.

4) I won't ever go on a killing spree myself, so I don't see why I have to be punished for having firearms just because some dick with a problem went into an Elementary School to kill a bunch of kids.

Oh, that's great, that's really great. YOU won't go on a spree kill, so that automatically means gun control is unfair. YOU are part of your country, and the laws that govern it are for everyone, not just for individuals. If you want to be able to access firearms in exactly the same way you always have done, then that same rule applies to everybody else. Including guys who want to kill a load of innocent people. Shut the fuck up!

5) Gun control isn't going to curb killing sprees. If someone is determined to do it, they will find a way to get a gun.

Yeah, but isn't making it a lot more difficult the aim of this exercise?

In the UK, after the Dunblane Massacre, legislation was introduced to make private ownership of handguns illegal. Since 1997, there has only been one further killing spree in the UK, in Cumbria in 2010.

And before that, there was the Hungerford Massacre, which also prompted a review of legislation.

But this isn't just about gun control

You're right. Regulating gun ownership addresses only part of the problem. The other part of the problem is addressing why individuals feel the need to kill a bunch of people.

Mental illness

It is true to comment on the fact that spree killers tend to have disturbed minds, but it is not necessary for an individual to be actually suffering from a mental illness to go on a killing spree. They may have strong political/religious beliefs, or feel they have been pressured into a situation that they feel that a killing rampage is the only way they can get out of it.

Doctors have differing opinions as to which psychological problems Anders Breivik has.

All in all there are different reasons why people feel the need to shoot others and it is more complex than people may think. Each case is unique, but just because someone may have a disturbance of the mind does not mean that they cannot be treated. The ideal solution is to reach out to potential killers and help them before they kill. Everyone like this deserves that chance before it is too late.

It's a male problem

Please feel free to digest the statistics. Of course, there are more killings if you delve deeper, but from this list alone, pick out all the women.

OK, to save you the trouble, here are all the women in this list.

But you may ask, "This can't be it, and she was driving a car! There must have been some women who've gone on killing sprees with firearms!"

Brenda Ann Spencer is one. But you'd be hard pressed to find more, and while you spend time looking and reaearching, you'll go through countless records of killings committed by men.

So what is it about men that gives them the urge to kill?

It could be something in our genes which makes killers out of men. But how did we evolve to be this way?

Let's go back, right back into history to hypothesise.

Both men and women were responsible for the gathering of food, the so called 'hunter-gatherer' model accepted by many, with the men being the hunters and the women being the gatherers. Well, mostly, anyway. Experience of life tells us that not all men are the same, and the same goes for women - sometimes men have more 'feminine' characteristics and vice versa. You know this already.

OK, so the majority of the men would go off, with their weapons (throwing spears), to go and find a wild animal to kill. The majority of the women wouldn't be interested in that sort of thing, they'd be off looking for fruits and things (maybe even raiding a bird's nest for eggs), and being with the children. And then they'd all go home with their takings, and combine them for a delicious, tasty meal. The only thing is that the men have gone out to end a life, and do not care much about what they have done - it's brought home food, and that's a positive, right?

If out hunting the men were themselves attacked, then their stress response would be to either run and hide, or take a risk and attack. Testosterone levels, known for influencing risky behaviour, may have played a part in deciding what to do, and the most macho of the men would have stayed to fight, usually getting killed, but sometimes winning.

You can see it in the way men and women behave when they are given a bunch of random things to make something out of. Women would tend to make something useful, a utensil, or make something pretty. Men tend to weaponise anything they get a hold of. Wooden sticks get sharpened into spears. A strip of animal skin becomes a sling. You see it in prisons, men making shanks out of razors and melted toothbrushes. Most weapons are invented by men.

In more recent times, this ancient desire to kill also manifests itself in the video games that men and women play. Women tend to be drawn to less violent games, i.e. puzzle games, games with social elements, games where the need to kill is more absent and draws upon other skills instead. The shit you find on Facebook that attracts middle aged women in droves. Men tend to be drawn to violent games, like beat 'em ups and First Person Shooters, the latter of which has always attracted much controversy for the belief that playing such games damages one's personality, making them more likely to be violent people who go on spree killings. There was the belief that the FPS game Doom influenced Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold to go and do what they did.

Eric (as Rebdoomer) designed a level for Doom, and I actually played it. It was OK.

Don't get me wrong, I am not generalising either gender by saying all men do this, and all women do that. Some women enjoy violent video games too, and some absolutely own men when they play online FPS like Call of Duty. Some men wouldn't even dream of playing FPS. All this waffle about video games handlily links onto the next topic.

Do violent video games cause spree killings?

This topic polarises people. It is so controversial. In my opinion, as someone who has played quite a lot of FPS in my time, and thus can give a valued opinion on this matter, I would say no. Playing games can ease stress, and less stress means less cause to do something stupid. But there is the fantasy element, you go into a completely fictional world to kill fictional characters, over and over and over and over. You cause a lot of fictional bloodshed, that really is just a lot of 0s and 1s which cease to exist as soon as you turn the computer or console off. In a way, it addresses a need.

Playing FPS does put you into a protected bubble. Yes, you get shot at, but you don't feel physical pain. You don't feel real wind on your face as you traipse through open terrain. It's an alternate reality, but at the same time, while you can imagine yourself being there, it is far from real. You could argue that if someone is determined to kill others, they will plan it in whatever way they can, but spree killings isn't a new thing. It was not a problem created by violent computer games, neither will it be ended by them either. But the roleplaying element may reduce the need to do it in real life, just as people like to act out risque sex fantasies that wouldn't be acceptable if they were real. Why some like to watch porn and watch women getting badly treated instead of doing it in real life. But if someone is committed to doing the real thing anyway, a substitute reality may not actually be any hindrance or help. In essence, violent video games seem unrelated to spree killings.

Summary

What happened in Newtown is awful and we have only just been able to begin to understand what happened to cause this tragic and unique event.

The sad thing is that there will be more killings in the future, but understanding why, and doing something about it, will mean that they will be a lot less frequent. This means accepting some truths and dealing with them, no matter how inconvenient they are.

People should not have to die in the name of intransigence.

Yule Brinner - An alternative festive meal for all!

OK. Christmas Dinner. It's an event. It's your Sunday Roast gone crazy. Here in the UK, Christmas Dinner means lots and lots of roast meat (usually turkey), cooked and roast veg (yes, Brussels Sprouts are a Christmas veg), stuffing, pigs in blankets and a nice amount of indigestion remedies to fight the inevitable. Booze (lots of). Christmas pudding (also lots of, and you can even set fire to it, for all you wannabe arsonists). Christmas crackers with rubbish jokes and even more rubbish toys, all the way from China. And we guzzle the entire thing up and flop out infront of the TV. If you strip Christmas Dinner down to its bare turkey bones, it doesn't seem all that special. And I'm sorry if by reading this, I have truly spoilt Christmas for you, though I probably haven't.

Anyway, yadda yadda yadda, a few years ago, I had an epiphany. True, I was watching that episode of Scrubs where Turk has Brinner. For those who didn't watch that episode, Turk has breakfast for dinner. That's what Brinner is all about.

With Brinner, you can have anything you would normally have at breakfast time, but for dinner instead. This is the freedom offered by Brinner. You can be as healthy as you want, you can, if you want to, pour yourself a bowl of muesli, or bran with raisins and stuff, BUT, you can go right the way over to the other side of the health spectrum too! That's right, a full English. Or whatever regional variety you have (e.g. a full Scottish). You have any of sausage, bacon, black pudding, hash browns, fried bread, eggs cooked just the way you want them, AND you have health food too - mushrooms, tomatoes and baked beans. And it's all washed down with a mug of strong tea or coffee. A belter of a meal.

But why on Earth would you think I'd be bigging up breakfast for dinner, whilst slating the traditional Christmas roast? I know some of you are disillusioned with the whole Christmas thing too. But look here. Brinner can be festive too, and it would already have a catchy name.

Yes, it namechecks this guy. That's what makes it the new best thing ever.



 

(Yul Brynner)

So, you want an example of what I'm talking about? This is what my wife cooked for us last year and I totally consumed on 21st December 2011

And you know what? It was gorgeous.

And another thing, guys, due to Yule's position in the calendar, IF the Mayans are correct that the world is going to end on 21st December 2012, at least we'll all be incinerated and destroyed after eating the best meal ever. Sat down, with our families around the table, tucking into breakfast for dinner and having a jolly good time. This is what our last moments on Earth should be about, guys.

Yule Brinner. You know you want to.

Arse-trology

Back several months ago, when I was fairly new to Twitter, I began posting spoof astrology forecasts under the hashtag #LukeyStars. I saw people already doing something similar at the time (the most popular being @horrorsc0pes) and I thought about having a go.

Initially, I began firing them out on the way to work on a daily basis, all the way from Aries to Pisces, then realised it may be better (and to help assure quality over quantity) to put these out on a weekly basis.

This was at a time where I didn't have many followers, and unfortunately, it wasn't very popular. Favourites/Retweets were scant, if at all. I lost interest and #LukeyStars disappeared from popular view.

A friend of mine, who also uses Twitter, was probably my best fan and has asked when #LukeyStars is coming back. I've postulated over this and thought about the best way to resurrect it.

What I have noticed is that people tend to have their own account for general goofing around/serious stuff and seperate @s for themed comedy tweets. So, if I were to bring #LukeyStars back, it might work better with a separate account.

Yesterday, I set up @LukeyStars to post astrology tweets, which I could RT from my main account to popularise. I could promote the account through other means too.

I'm going to bring back when I originally intended to do - regular tweets, on a weekly basis, and try to keep it fresh, original and with the aim to raise a few laughs.

Let's see where this goes.

I think I have too many blogs

I have four, and I was thinking of adding a fifth. But they're like little kiddies, they need attention and so forth. I don't even know if anyone even reads them.

I was thinking of adding a reviews site, where I review random things I use, to see if that could turn into a little money spinner. But I don't know whether I should bother.

Naughtier than the Naughty Step (NSFW 18+)

This blog hasn't been busy of late.

For a while, I've been focusing on my other blog, where there is some kind of erotic story going down.

The story has started, and is building up momentum into something much more filthy. We'll get there, don't you worry.

If you're interested, you're not at work, and you're 18+ (at least) then check out the story so far at http://rubbisherotica.blogspot.co.uk/

Control (Part 1) - NSFW

My 'teaser' for my new erotic story is now online on my new fit-for-purpose blog.

Hope you like it, and there is a lot more to come!

http://rubbisherotica.blogspot.co.uk/2012/09/control-part-1.html

Rubbish Erotica

You know, kiddies, sometimes there are areas of the internets where you really shouldn't go. Where evil creatures lurk, lands of big pink snakes with loose skin, being eaten alive by bearded predators who slaver at the mouth. Over and over.

It's some crazy stuff and if you don't want to know about it, then save yourselves.

Basically, cryptic bullshit aside, I've created a new blog to post some rubbish erotica. Enjoyment is my middle name (no it isn't) and this is what I aim for in what I do.

http://rubbisherotica.blogspot.co.uk/

Tales from a failed world: Teacher I (an introduction)

(this is something I wrote just to introduce what kind of scenario I'm trying to portray here. I'll use parts of what I have below in the story itself, just to make it read better)

2nd April 2034.

I've been selected to go and help set a school up in what you could only describe as a city of Portakabins. This is all part of the Government's drive to re-establish education for the poor.

So out of the schools which we finally got to work, teachers (including me) were randomly selected to go spend some time out, accommodation sorted and everything, to go and teach poor kids who otherwise wouldn't have any formal education at all.

This is England, if you can believe it, that is. I'm fifty-five and I've been teaching Biology for thirty years. They thought I'd be perfect for this sort of thing, with my experience. I've tought endless amounts of bottom set classes and managed to get a few of them to shine over the years, some of them actually managing to get decent jobs. The rest of them, though, may have ended up in places like this. For the record, I'll tell you what happened.

All over the country, on the outskirts of many towns and cities, and on some inner city brownfield sites too, areas were designated as 'Overspill Estates'. They put down concrete footings, connected pipes up for water, sewage and electricity, then piled up stacks of what could only be described as modified Portakabins, as a modular solution to a housing crisis.

They claimed that two of these bolted together and linked by a staircase inside them would serve as a  two-bed house for a small family, say two adults and two children. They had two bedrooms, a bathroom, a kitchen and a living room. It was pretty pokey for four, and even more cramped for families of six or more, who weren't able to get a bigger house.

These 'Overspill Estates' were where families and couples would go who couldn't afford to buy or rent a house, the typical low-income category of people.

I remember, years ago, families like these used to get 'social housing' and rent from what were called 'housing associations' where you still had to pay rent (you could get help from the Government if you didn't earn enough) but it wouldn't be so expensive. That stopped when all the housing stock was all sold off to private investors, who rented them out for profit. And all the Government help dried up along with that as well, just to make things a little bit easier for people.

At the same time, there was a general housing shortage, not enough houses were being built to house an ever-growing population, therefore a crisis began to brew where either more than one family were sharing houses to save on extortionate rent payments, or they were out on the street instead (whole families), begging for money or resorting to crime.

There was a change of Government, and it sought to solve this problem. That was kind of prompted by a story covered by most of the national newspapers which referred to one and a half million homeless in total around the UK. When faced with this quandary, they knew they couldn't afford to buy old housing stock back or build new houses in the way we used to build them. Any new houses that were being built were just far too expensive for a lot of people to buy or rent. The option chosen was to quickly put up pre-fabricated housing, and move those families in there.

They became the new 'sink estates' and hardly anyone had a job, instead surviving on handouts. Disease, crime, the usual problems you could imagine, they flourished in these places, and the official line was to not  care too much about that. They didn't vote, they didn't talk a lot to people who lived anywhere else, they were put there to be forgotten about. It worked - apart from the stream of supplies in, regular visits by Police, fire crews and medical staff, not many other people went there. The overburdened education system, which I was a proud member of, virtually cut them off. The kids tended to be unruly, harbouring disease and responded poorly to attempts to educate them, so it was seen as logical to push them out and let them receive education from their family and peers.

Each area had a high, reinforced security fence around it, usually concrete. Not to stop anyone getting in, obviously, but to keep what was in there from getting out too easily. And now, with this change in Government, they wanted to open these places up and connect them with the outside world.

These walled cities of doomed prospects had been in existence for ten years now. Ten years is a long time and that can really change people. And the kids in there? At best, they spent most of their known life in these places, at worst, where they lived was all they had ever known.

Well, it's 6.30 am now. It's time to go and do this.

Post-apocalyptic storywriting

When you talk about writing a post-apocalyptic story, the general theme tends to be the ongoing struggle to survive after a huge event wracks humanity, tearing down civilisation as we know it. There are stories abound of this, where man is pitted against man, unspeakable mutated horrors, scorched and inhospitable landscapes, and from these darned hell holes are sprung heroes, who go around, doing what they do, bringing order to chaos.

A main theme in these stories does strongly assert itself. Hope. Hope from the rubble and mess; somehow humanity manages to rebuild itself and begins to become stronger in the process. As the saying goes 'What doesn't kill you, makes you stronger' and it couldn't be more wrong in these stories. It is a generalisation of course and sometimes humanity's struggle doesn't always go to plan, and sometimes it is a long and hard slog.

The most common cause of an imagined apocalypse is war. Specifically, nuclear war. Ever since the fact that atomic weapons actually existed had permeated into popular culture, many have imagined what would happen if nuclear war were to occur. What would spark it off? What effect would the war have? When would it start? And how would humanity pick up the pieces during and after the war came to an end? Typical stories focussed on all these aspects, with varying and imaginative results.

These stories exist in varying formats, as novels, short stories, comic stories and video games. For the last few months, I have been immersing myself in the very popular First Person Shooter game, Fallout 3. The game is set in the year 2277, 200 years after a nuclear war which began in 2077. This really helped put things in perspective, as you could experience a post-apocalyptic environment, interact with it and play your own part in the story. In all senses apart from smell, touch and taste.

I feel ready to write my own story, not to plagiarise what is already there, but to impart on the world my own take on the subject. For a while, I'm been playing with a couple of ideas in my mind, one to do with a massively destructive war, the other one isn't. That other idea is more biological, and imagines the world when a supermould destroys virtually all plantlife on Earth, leaving grey remains and choking dust. And a lot of hungry people.

For my war story, well war stories as it were, I plan to tell this from both sides, both before and after war begins. Before the war, I wanted to write a number of short stories, personal accounts of life pre-war, showing all the little facets of a timebomb ready to go off, to show how things fell, through the eyes of the people who would have to experience it. And after, something different, but that's all I'll say on that matter for now.

I'm going to go through my Mr Men stories and edit them. I've actually been reading them to my daughter as bedtime stories and noticed a few things I need to amend to make them more readable.

Things I'm up to

I'm doing a little bit of research for a future writing project of mine, and this story will be based in the Falkland Islands. In the future. Wow. And it will be a prequel to a much bigger story.

(No, it won't feature the Mr Men in it)

Without giving too much away, it will be a Sci-fi story with aliens and shit.

Little Miss Rainfall

Now, if you've read the story about Mr Science, you'll know that he built a machine to enter a parallel world, where things are a little different. And some people there are quite the opposite of people here.
Mr Science carried on with his work, and frequently travelled to the parallel world, to meet his counterpart there, Mr Magic. One day, Mr Magic told Mr Science that there was a Little Miss in his world, who could do with some help.

-----

Down, at the bottom of a gloomy lane, within a gloomy forest, lay a gloomy cottage. It was quite gloomy and dark, though it wasn't yet time for bed. Somebody was in that cottage, but you would have thought whoever lived there may have turned the lights on, rather than sit in the darkness.

This was the home of Little Miss Rainfall.

-----

Little Miss Rainfall sat in her dimly lit cottage, staring into space. This was how she spent a lot of her time. She didn't go out very much, didn't speak to many people, she didn't want people to know she was there.
Now, looking at Little Miss Rainfall, you might recognise that she looks like another Little Miss, Little Miss Sunshine. Little Miss Rainfall was not sunny in the slightest.

In fact, she was very depressed indeed.

-----

Her phone rang. Now, usually, when a phone rings, you or me would go to answer it.

Little Miss Rainfall didn't. She left it to ring and ring.

"Probably a wrong number. Nobody thinks I'm that important. Must be for somebody else. Nobody wants to speak to me." she thought to herself.

The phone kept ringing for half a minute and then stopped.

-----

Mr Magic placed the receiver of his phone onto the handset and turned to Mr Science.

"She's not answering. I hope she's ok. I wonder if she's out. Hmm."

Out of Mr Magic's pocket came a wand, and he drew a circle infront of him, while chanting some magic words. It was a window into Little Miss Rainfall's gloomy house and Mr Magic could clearly see her sitting there, looking very unhappy indeed.

Mr Science took a look.

"It would seem that Little Miss Rainfall is too unhappy to answer her phone! Maybe we could pay her a personal visit."

-----

Mr Magic agreed that they should go together to see Little Miss Rainfall.

One swift journey aboard a magic carpet later, and Misters Magic and Science arrived at Little Miss Rainfall's gloomy house.

Mr Science knocked on her door and waited. Moments later, they heard the sound of a key unlocking the door, which opened.

There before them stood the lonely, sorrowful figure of Little Miss Rainfall.

"Hello," she said, "Are you lost or something?"

-----

"Um," replied Mr Science, "I'm Mr Science and this is Mr Magic. We've come to pay you a visit. We both wondered if we could be of assistance to you. May we come in?"

"Ok." said Miss Rainfall, "I don't know why you want to help me, though. I'm not worth anybody's help."

Mr Science replied, "We would just like to talk to you for a little while."

"OK then. Come in." asked Little Miss Sunshine, gloomily.

-----

Inside, Mr Science explained to Little Miss Rainfall that he was from a parallel universe and that his counterpart here was Mr Magic. He talked about the many counterparts between these worlds.

"... And basically," Mr Science continued, "I would like to take you to visit our world. You have your opposite there too."

"She's probably always happy. She probably wouldn't want to meet someone like me. I'm not worth your trouble. I'm sure that she will be much better off to never meet me."

-----

A day later, after a few more telephone calls, there was another knock at Miss Rainfall's door. She went to open it, and there standing before her was Little Miss Sunshine!

Little Miss Rainfall stood there, totally speechless.

"Mr Science told me about you and I wanted to come and see you." said Little Miss Sunshine.

"Why am I getting all of this attention now? I was never important to anyone and I'm not now. You're wasting your time." Miss Rainfall gloomily replied.

Little Miss Sunshine still smiled infront of her, despite her gloominess.

"I just want to talk. I've never met anyone like me from a parallel universe before!" she said.

-----

Little Miss Rainfall gave in and let Little Miss Sunshine into her gloomy house. Everything was dark and grey here, and you could feel the loneliness and despair from just being here.

They sat down in the lounge with cups of tea (Little Miss Sunshine turned on the lights) and began to talk.

Little Miss Sunshine told her, "I drove all the way down here in my car. I just about managed to get it through Mr Science's portal! I want you to come with me, so I can show you my world, I think you will like it. There's lots of things to see."

"OK." replied Little Miss Rainfall.

-----

Miss Sunshine added, "There are so many places to visit, like Cleverland, Nonsenseland, Happyland and Fatland."

"OK." replied Little Miss Rainfall.

Little Miss Sunshine talked a bit more about her world and eventually, however reluctant that Miss Rainfall was, she packed and got into Little Miss Sunshine's car and they drove off.

-----

Later on, and one careful drive through Mr Science's portal later, they had a walk through Cleverland. It was a place quite unlike a place that Miss Rainfall knew in her world, Dizzyland!

After talking to a number of very clever (and talkative) animals, Little Miss Sunshine thought she noticed a smile from Little Miss Rainfall.

The birds there had all come together to sing a song for her!

-----

After that, both of the Little Misses took a drive to Fatland for lunch with Mr Greedy and Little Miss Greedy.

When they arrived, Mr Greedy announced "I'll show you all the meals that cheer me up!"

Now, being greedy sort of people, both of the Greedies were very speedy cooks (it was the only real way that they burnt off any calories) and quickly put together a huge range of meals, that smelt lovely and tasted gorgeous!

As you might have guessed, Mr Greedy and Little Miss Greedy ate most of the food, Little Miss Sunshine had some, but, Little Miss Rainfall only managed a little.

But, again, Little Miss Sunshine thought she noticed a smile from Little Miss Rainfall!

-----

After lunch, and leaving the Greedies to fill a rather large dishwasher, Little Miss Sunshine took Little Miss Rainfall to see Mr Funny.

Now, Mr Funny thinks he has the ability to make anybody laugh out loud. When they arrived, Mr Funny tried his funniest to make the pair of them roar with laughter!

He told his best jokes, he made the funniest faces, even a little magic act for the pair of them.

But only Little Miss Sunshine was roaring with laughter. Though, Little Miss Sunshine thought she noticed a smile from Little Miss Rainfall!

-----

Their next stop, and their last stop here, was in Happyland, at Mr Happy's house. Mr Happy had brought along a friend of his, Mr Miserable. Though, when you had Mr Happy and Mr Miserable together, they looked exactly alike, for it was the magical properties of Happyland itself which turned Mr Miserable's frown into a large grin.

Mr Happy asked whether Little Miss Rainfall was feeling any happier from being in Happyland.

Little Miss Rainfall still looked very unhappy indeed.

-----

Little Miss Sunshine took Little Miss Rainfall home, feeling rather let down that she couldn't make Miss Rainfall happy. But Miss Rainfall said something. Usually she wouldn't speak first.

"I guess this is the way I normally am. You're always happy, and I am always sad."

But Miss Sunshine explained, "I'm not happy all the time. Nobody is. Sometimes I feel sad too. But when I feel sad, I like to do my favourite things to feel better. If I can't, I like to talk to someone about what is troubling me."

"But nobody wants to talk to someone who is sad though.", replied Little Miss Rainfall.

"That's not true at all. There is always someone who will want to speak to you, even if you are really feeling the worst you have ever been. And you can always talk to me!" Miss Sunshine explained.

-----

Little Miss Sunshine dropped Miss Rainfall back at her house. She didn't want to leave Miss Rainfall there on her own, but she needed to return home herself.

-----

You may have thought that this was the last you would hear of Little Miss Rainfall. Well, she was still very unhappy at times, but she certainly did not return to her old ways.

In fact, shortly after Little Miss Sunshine arrived back home, her telephone rang. It was Little Miss Rainfall, just wanting to have a chat!

And the moral of the story is, if you are feeling down, or indeed very very down, there are no magic tricks to make you happy, but you must never ever suffer in silence!

THE END

Toastie Beastie

I invented this recipe as a quick meal to have for lunch. You don't need a toasted sandwich maker for this, or a fancy panini press (it may get messy if you do, due to the sauces used). You do it in the grill and oh it is lovely.

You will need:
Cheese (cheddar, red leicester, double gloucester or similar)
2 slices bread, for toasting
1 slice ham (not parma)
Tomato puree
Basil
Chilli sauce (tabasco, cholula etc)
Barbecue sauce

1. Preheat the grill until hot. Toast one side of the slices of bread to desired darkness. While the bread is toasting, slice enough cheese for just more than 2 slices and pull the ham apart into large pieces.
2. Once the bread is toasted on one side, turn over and spread some tomato puree on each. Sprinkle on a little basil. Cover with the cheese. Put under the grill for half a minute.
3. Add the ham equally across the two slices and some hot sauce. Return to the grill for another half a minute.
4. Add the rest of the cheese, and add some barbecue sauce. Return to the grill to toast fully.
5. Once toasted, put both slices onto a plate and lay one slice face down on the other. Press down lightly and serve with a side salad. Or crisps, you fat bastard.

Currently writing stuff

There's been a bit of a hiatus with a lack of free time to do stuff like writing stories and shit. Well, to be honest, I have had time for a shit.

An Easter Story

This is a work of fiction and no offence is intended. If you do feel offended, then you need to lighten the fuck up.

AN EASTER STORY

I must have passed out. I don't know when, but I couldn't remember being moved from there to here.

It felt like they had lain me amongst fur pelts, to keep me warm. I could not move, and I was stricken with pain from head to toe. My eyes struggled to focus, but I could make out the ceiling of a cave, illuminated by burning candles or torches.

The torment was over. I had carried that heavy cross amidst all the jeers, bearing the beatings that the people gave me, and I made my way to Golgotha. And when I was there, they forced me down, though I did not resist, and I calmly looked on at the Roman soldier driving the nails through me, fixing me to the cross. Every hammer blow that rained down, I did not show him an ounce of fear, or show him how much I was in pain.

And whilst I was up there, it seemed like forever, as my life began to slowly drain away. I cried out for my lord, the one who gave me my purpose in life, and asked why I had been forsaken. My will itself had been broken - it felt as if God himself had forsaken me and I felt alone and naked. I felt ashamed. How could it all have come to this?

My vision had began to cloud and all reality appeared to distort. I could feel the remaining blood rush around my body. Soon, I could not make sense of what was happening around me. And at one point, it went altogether. I don't know when, I could not remember. And then I ended up here, laid out to recover. But where was I? And who moved me here?

My eyes began to regain their focus. But I could not move nor lift my head. Nor could I utter a decipherable sound. What actually came out may have been little more than a mere grunt. I was helpless.

I heard a voice nearby. A patter of feet closing in.

And then a head leered over my own. It wasn't human, but visibly intelligent. It had brown, leathery skin and examined me with its large yellow eyes.

"He's alive." rasped the being.

I felt a hand touch and probe my body, which served to augment every ache as it did.

"The medicine appears to be working. I shall give you what little more we have."

The being skulked away and returned a moment later, with a cup made from a horn. It thrust the cup to my lips.

"Drink. You must drink." it implored.

I was powerless to refuse. After all, this being appeared to be tending to me, so I began to sip gently.

The liquid tasted like nothing ever I had tasted before. There was a sweetness to it, a milkiness too and an unknown element which invigorated me. From a glimpse, I could see that the liquid was a light brown colour. It was delicious. I drank some more and right away I felt my strength beginning to return, and then, all of the medicinal liquid in the horn had gone.

What was this medicine given to me? It was no herb or spice I had tasted. It was not even myrrh.

Then, I felt a jolt of memory return relating to how I ended here. My lifeless body moving. Taken down from the cross. I swear I could hear the voice of Joseph of Arimathea talking of hiding me, to keep my body safe from the Romans.

But where was I now? I tried to call out, but this was useless. I rested once more.

As I stirred, I could feel less pains and aches in my body. I could move my arms and legs slightly, yet I was still weak. Perhaps I could speak too.

"Hello? Is there anyone there?" I called out.

The being pattered back over to me.

"Ah. He has improved greatly. Welcome, human."
"Who are you and where am I?" I slurred.
"I am Squaup. You are underground, where no human has ever been for many years. We brought you here to get better and defeat the terror that plagues this place."
"I don't understand. What terror?"
"We listen. We spy on the human world and know its secrets. We know who you are, Nazarene. Only you can defeat him. He troubles your world, as does he ours."
"What? I cannot defeat anyone like this. I can barely move. My body is broken."
"Ah. But you accepted the medicine. And the medicine heals you. Look at your hands."

As it suggested to me, I brought my hands to my face. The wounds, where the nails were, had completely healed. No scars. It was as if nothing had happened.

And the whip marks across my arms had vanished. There was no evidence that they were even there.

In my life, people had attributed miracles to me. Seemingly impossible deeds beyond the capabilities of any man. A medicine that healed wounds in this way was indeed, miraculous. They said that I could heal the sick with my touch, turn water into wine, purge evil spirits from people and even feed over five thousand men with little more than a few fish and a few loaves of bread. Mere rumours, fantasy, a product of the hardships I endured with my people to elevate me above the status of men. Turned into weapons to make the Romans, and their corrupt allies in Jerusalem tremble in fear.

But this medicine was something else. And I wanted more. I wanted to taste more of this medicine.

"Do you have more of this medicine?" I asked Squaup.
"Alas, no. I have given you all that we have managed to scavenge. They say there is more, more of this medicine deeper in the underworld. More than the mere fragments I have given to you."

I felt an urge to seek out more of this medicine. As more strength returned to me, I began to attempt to rise to my feet.

I struggled and steadily I rose, shakily, like a newborn deer. I staggered and looked down at my carer. It stood no more than two feet high, less than half of my own height.

"And you carried me here?", I asked.
"I had help. There are more of us here. We used to live right across the underworld, before the terror came. Hundreds of thousands of us. Our numbers are vastly reduced, but we worked together to bring you here. The human who brought you left you in a cave, we opened the secret entrance and took you down. And then let you rest to make you better."
"This terror, does it have a name?"
"He does. And you know him. A vicious, wicked, ancient, serpentine thing he is. You know him as Satan. And once this world is his, he will rise and take your world too. I know it. He is utterly unstoppable. You will be our warrior. You are our only hope."
"Satan is here? Then I have to face him. If Satan is here, incarnate, then I will fight him. But I need more of this medicine."
"Do not underestimate him. But search for the medicine. Grow in power. Only then will you be strong enough to face Satan."

Squaup had handed me a gourd full of water, a torch and a crude pole. I walked steadily through their settlement, past the others of Squaup's kind. They looked upon me, like my own people did, as a symbol of hope in dark and desperate times. Only this time, the tyranny was not exacted by humans, but by something far more powerful and far more ancient.

At the entrance to the lower depths of the Underworld, the two guards, with their leather armour and barbed spears, parted for me to leave the colony. Whilst they said nothing, they bowed their heads in respect. Clearly word of my name had travelled far.

Before me lay miles of winding tunnels, the lair of Satan himself. But I craved more of this medicine, and knew that I needed more of this before I faced him. My lips slavered with hunger for it. That was, if I knew what exactly I was looking for.

I walked forward through cold, dark, damp, meandering and uneven tunnels, until I entered a chamber.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted something that appeared to not belong here. I turned to look at what this indeed, was. I could see seven, eight egg-shaped objects on the floor of the cave.

On closer examination, the eggs were a brown colour and appeared to have been laid by a beast which could only be larger than me. Could this have been the eggs of Satan? Lifting one of the eggs up, and tapping it, the egg appeared to be hollow. It did not feel like the shell of an egg I recognised and it felt as if it was melting by the warmth of my hands alone. After replacing the egg, I noticed that my hands were tainted with the brown shell. It felt a little sticky.

Immediately, I could smell the medicine in my hands and so, licked them clean. More.

I took the egg again in my hands and lightly crushed it. The egg caved in, fragmenting into shards, which I began to consume quickly. As I ate the egg, I felt stronger, more powerful. Yet, the craving for more of this substance did not abate. As I consumed more of the eggs, the craving for more consumed me also. Soon, all of the eggs were completely gone.

But, I wanted more. I felt great. I leapt to my feet and looked around for more eggs. As I had eaten the lot, I carried on, sprinting through these labyrinthine caves, with incredible speed, to search for more of these wonderful, amazing eggs. Every chamber I found had more of these completely edible, gorgeous eggs. When the torch burnt out, it didn't matter because I was so powerful I could now totally see in the dark. I even picked up a rock and pulverised it between my hands I was so strong.

The urge to eat more almost made me forget who I was. A while ago, I was close to death, now I felt absolutely fantastic. But my hunger could not be defeated, I was insatiable.

Deeper and deeper I went. For one, I didn't want Satan stopping me in my quest to eat more of these sweet, magical eggs. Eggs I would pick up and crush and push into my mouth, not even chewing properly so I could gorge on some more. My face was plastered with brown, sweet stickiness, which I licked.

A while later, after eating about fifty eggs, I reached a very large, torchlit chamber and I could swear that I saw a figure infront of me. A man. I felt as if I knew him.

Gritted teeth, reptilian eyes, scaly green skin and an aura of a totally bad attitude.

"Who dares enter my lair? Declare yourself." hissed this creature at me.

"Grrrrrrr!" I replied. I could say naught else.

"You-you've eaten all of my eggs! For this, I shall kill you slowly. You seem familiar."

"I am Jesus of Nazareth. Are you Satan? Were these your eggs? I want more of them."

"Jesus. Yes, I remember you. I see my eggs have turned you completely chocoholic. It has almost completely gripped you. I shall tell all those pitiful humans how low you became. You'll be an embarrassment. And then they will forget you."

"Let's get this over with, Satan."

"Very well, Nazarene.

Satan unsheathed a sword that glistened gold in the torchlight of the chamber.

"I see you failed to bring a weapon. I will make this quick."

I felt an urge to charge him, until I realised I actually was, crying out as I ran full pelt towards Satan. We crashed. Satan fell to the floor, as did I, but he kept a hold of his sword.

I rose to my feet, fists clenched. Before me lay a brown boulder, which I lifted and hawked at him, which he deftly dodged.

"You think you can really take me on, Jesus? I have lived many of your years, I have experience beyond compare, beyond the knowledge of even your wisest men. You may think you have the power of the chocolate eggs, but you really are pitiful."

The rage tried to consume and control me, trying to goad me, egg me on into throwing myself into him once more. I stared at him and grunted. But I began to regain some composure. Some discipline. Focus. Control.

We stared at each other for a few seconds, trying to gauge each other's thoughts. I realised that only intelligence and discipline would win this fight, I thought, and kept this thought in my head, running over and over.

I ran at him, and he stood ready to cut me down. As we met, I dodged his thrust and hammered down on his hand, knocking the sword from his grip. With alarming alacrity, that fist rose to smash into his jaw, and his answer was to lash out and slash my chest with his fearsome claws.

We paused for a quick moment, poised to strike, looking for a weakness. Instantly, I could feel those gaping slash marks across my chest heal up.

"Your move, Jesus." goaded Satan, provocatively.

I did not react. And then, Satan leapt at me, where I reached forward and grabbed his throat with my right hand, and pummelled him with my left repeatedly. I throttled him with both hands with my immense strength as he choked and slowly descended to the floor of the cave, totally unable to breathe. Yet, I could not break his neck.

I released him and he spluttered and writhed. Before he could stand, I raised from my knees and hurried to take his golden sword.

And as Satan wearily staggered slowly upright, I hacked his head clean from his body.

The head rolled away, as the body collapsed, spewing copious amounts of black blood everywhere. I then realised that Satan, such an old enemy, of even God himself, lay dead at my feet.

I took Satan's head and took this back to the colony, and presented both the severed head and his golden sword to their Chieftain. And everyone there thanked me for slaying the terror which plagued them.

I returned to my bed for some rest and slept some more. And it was Squaup who awoke me.

"Jesus. Wake up, Jesus.", a voice calmly spoke.

"What, who? Hello Squaup."

"You must return to your own people. Your work here is done."

While I slept, the craving had subsided, but I still felt strong. They led me to the entrance of the cave, where an enormous boulder seperated the secret underworld from Judaea.

I had but one question for Squaup.

"How will the people recognise me? My wounds are healed. They would think I am an impostor. They would surely not believe me."
"The healing power of the chocolate can be controlled. As well as healing your wounds, it allows a degree of metamorphosis. This is how Satan was able to walk amongst the world of men. Imagine how you looked before you came here. Focus on it."

I closed my eyes and pictured and remembered how I was upon the cross. Every wound, every mark upon me. Each time the whips came down. Each time the nails were driven through me. And even as a Roman spear pierced my side. I imagined the pain, though I did not feel it. On opening my eyes, I saw the many, many wounds that littered my body, making me a grotesque form of a man.

Squaup said his goodbyes and wept as he left, replacing the stones that hid this underworld from the prying eyes of man. Never would I see him again, and I was thankful for his help in saving me from certain death.

With all my strength, I pushed the boulder and it rolled away, effortlessly. I was in the world of Man again.

First, I went to find my beloved, Mary, and told her I had returned, and to get people together. As I walked the land, I told other people too, and for whoever believed them to come here to discuss a plan of revolution.

And my disciples, I burst in on their lunch, and they were terrified.

Of all the people I had gathered unto me, I would tell them of my journey and my newly gained powers. I felt these powers and invincibility would be enough to free my people at last. I would also tell them of my victory against Satan himself.

As I began to speak, I began to feel lighter. People gasped.

I heard a voice in my head. It was Satan. How could Satan be speaking to me?

"This is my sweet revenge."

My feet left the floor entirely as I levitated. The thousands of people watching on, looked in astonishment.

"He is risen!" they cried out.

Indecipherable cries of me being dragged up to Heaven filled the air, as I began to rise even further. I begged the people for help, to drag me down, but they merely looked on in awe. They did nothing to help me.

I was now several feet above the ground and accelerating.

"Can anyone help me?" I cried out, "Someone get a stick, a pole or something! Help me?"

"They won't help you." replied the voice, "You destroy my body, you set back my plan for conquest of the Earth, and you expect me to just accept it? What, you thought a simple decapitation would be the end of me? I am but here in mere non-corporeal form, but I will be back. The question is, what about you?"

"With God by my side, you can't possibly win." I muttered.

"Don't mock me with threats of God. As you have no possible way of winning, let me enlighten you on a few things. You are special, do not get me wrong, you have the gift of hearing what others cannot. Some call this the gift of prophecy. And you will be remembered as a prophet. What you have is what people of our level of knowledge call a genetic mutation. But it will be a long time before anyone down there understands what that means."

I looked down. I was beginning to get very high now. I could see ant-sized people looking back at me, watching me rise up. I could no longer tell who was Judaean or who was Roman any more. They all looked ever the more featureless.

"We, that is the being you call God, and my good self, are able to exploit this so-called gift. Through communication, we can command people like you to our will. And this gift has allowed both of us to control many other worlds. There is but one small problem, now, which complicates matters."

"You lie. God does not need to control worlds. God created all, everything, even you. I have no reason to believe any of this."

"You were nothing but a tool for his control of Earth. And now you have set back my plan, and over time his domination will be ever more the stronger. Why, a whole new religion will probably come out of this and spread across the planet. You may ask, why are you ascending?"

"Why?"

"You ate enough of the magic chocolate eggs to become virtually immortal. We, that is God and myself, are ancient alien beings with a wealth of incredibly advanced technology at our disposal. That is to you, something far beyond your capabilities with iron tools. Those eggs contained tiny machines that act as a restorative, repairing damage, increasing abilities, making one almost impossible to kill. You happened to overdose on them, you became addicted. And you became more powerful than even God. This is why I have to take you away from the planet. You could ruin everything."

"What do you mean?"

"I must be honest with you. There is enough of a power struggle between myself and God. You would be a... third party. And with you as a captive audience right now, I want you to listen to my plan. God and me are mundane beings, albeit with much power at our disposal. And God has deceived men as much as I have. With this power you have, you could join me and we could rule the Universe as partners."

"I'll never join you, Satan."

"Then you shall carry on upward. Bit cold up here isn't it? Air is getting to be a bit thin too. If you look down below, Judaea looks like a very small country now. To the left is Europe and the Roman Empire's dominion. To the right is Asia. And below is Africa."

"Satan? May I ask a question? I must ask now before I am unable to speak.", I wheezed.

"Go ahead."

"Is God not creator of the world?"

"Alas, he is not. This is part of the deception. In essence, while we know so much about the Universe, our own scientists are still analysing from whence it originally came. This is what I'm trying to tell you. God is a liar - If you make the people believe that their destiny relies on your very whim as he had done, they will fight for you. They will die for you. They will even destroy all that they love in sheer devotion to you. They will submit themselves entirely. This is how we make them do exactly what we want. The religions we create across the Universe are nothing more than our form of control. The question I want to ask is, are you with me or against me? I would suggest you decide quickly, as there is precious little air left."

"I will not side with you. Or God. And some day the truth will come out about the pair of you."

"I do not believe it is possible for you. We are soon about to enter space. Soon, your body will freeze rigid. You will still remain alive and conscious for the whole duration of what will happen from here on in. To give you an idea of time, the Universe is a very, very old indeed. We are not talking thousands of years. We are not talking millions. Or billions. Much, much older. And you will be alive for all of it, unable to do anything about it at all. Unless you side with me. There is no ultimate being, no omnipotent force, no intelligent designer who knows of our discussions here, there is no one else who can save you. The God as you know him does not exist."

I was totally unable to move or speak. And the freezing began. The pain was total, infinitely worse than crucifixion.

"The only thing you can hope for is if the humans reject religion. The religion we sell stifles development, hinders the advancement of science, keeps people back until all their natural resources are consumed and confines them to doom, failing to advance enough to escape this. You have to hope that they honour the ability to question all that they know, to better themselves in every way, and become a civilisation that will one day reach out into space. This is the only way they will possibly find you. But, of course, this is unlikely to happen. We can make people reject the truth even if it is all around them, even if it is so unbelievably obvious."

And then, Satan's voice fell silent, as I drifted through black space. For years I drifted in absolute silence. It must have been, it was so long that I lost track of time.

Eventually a large planet or moon came into view and I was heading swiftly towards it. As I landed on a distant lunar surface, I lay still for many centuries. Then the voice returned.

"Just to give you a glimmer of hope, someone called an astronomer has gazed on this moon. You are orbiting the planet Jupiter, and this moon is called Ganymede. Let's hope that science prevails and people can find the real Jesus. Or will religion prevent them from finding you? I mean, from your worshippers' point of view, you were taken up to Heaven to sit with God for all eternity. So, they're not actively looking for you, and for those that are, they're looking in entirely the wrong places. I wish you could cry, if you weren't a frozen body. It would bring me so much joy."

And so my body lay. Who could guess what happens next? Does Earth continue with religion and never find me? Or does it reject it altogether? Maybe the underground people can help. Maybe if I concentrate hard enough, I can call out to humanity.

It was the chocolate eggs which gave me strength. Maybe, this is what this time of year should signify - a delicious, chocolate egg for humans to eat together, united and strong. If they could not find the magic chocolate, maybe they could make their own and sell it, maybe, and this is how they could remember me.

Please come and find me. I'm on Ganymede. And when we do, we'll fight God and Satan together.

But if you can't, remember me. Buy a chocolate egg for someone. And if you receive one, eat it all.

THE END

Little Miss New

This is Little Miss New. But she wasn't always called Little Miss New, she used to be called something else.

Why wasn't she always Little Miss New? That's an interesting question.

Little Miss New has a story to tell, and this is her story.

-----

A long time ago, in a plain, ordinary town called Normalville, Mr. Nice lived in Nice Cottage, a beautiful and well-looked after house on Normalville's outskirts.

Normalville isn't known for anything out of the ordinary, and its people go about their everyday lives without any shock or scandal at all. Yes, bad things happen, but never anything too bad. It is quite the same for anything good too!

-----

Here is Mr. Nice. Now if you look at Little Miss New on the first page and look again at Mr. Nice, you might notice that they look almost the same.

You might ask whether Mr. Nice is related to Little Miss New.

For example, you might ask whether Little Miss New is Mr. Nice's sister.

Or you might ask whether they are cousins.

I'll tell you later.

-----

Mr. Nice was, as you might expect, a nice man. He was polite to everyone, helped out his family, friends and neighbours and was generally thought of as being nice.

And like everyone else in Normalville, he never did anything at all to stand out.

Here he is baking cupcakes one day to sell at the Town Fair. But nothing out of the ordinary here.

But some of you are asking, where is Little Miss New?

-----

One day, in Nice Cottage, Little Miss New went to her mirror. She stopped to admire herself. She was in her full attire, with her hat and dress, and full lipstick and makeup.

"I do look beautiful today." she said, as she adjusted her hat.

And suddenly, there was a knock at the door.


As quick as a flash, Little Miss New removed her hat, dress and makeup and grabbed Mr. Nice's clothes.

On went the trousers, the shoes and plain white shirt, and then she went off down the stairs.

-----

The door opened. It was the postman.

"Parcel for you, Mr. Nice!" said the postman.

"Thank you. I've been waiting for this." replied Mr. Nice.

But the postman noticed something different about Mr. Nice.

He asked "Mr. Nice? I couldn't help but notice, but you have something red all over your lips. Is that lipstick?"

"Lipstick? Oh no..."

-----

Mr. Nice thought quickly for an excuse.

"It must be the cherry pie I had earlier. I am sorry." said Mr. Nice.

The postman had a worried look on his face.

"Cherry pie for breakfast? That's not normal at all, Mr. Nice. Well, I would love to stop and chat, but I must simply deliver the rest of my round! Goodbye, Mr. Nice!"

Mr. Nice breathed a sigh of relief.

-----

Well, you might be asking questions yourself about Mr. Nice. Why was Mr. Nice wearing lipstick?

Did you know that Mr. Nice and Little Miss New are exactly the same person? Mr. Nice is Little Miss New, and Little Miss New is Mr. Nice.

But nobody in Normalville knew Mr. Nice's secret.

-----

Mr. Nice thought about what had happened earlier. If he told other people that Mr. Nice was wearing lipstick when he delivered his parcel, there would be concerns. There may be shock! There may be even panic! People would think this sort of thing isn't normal at all!

Mr. Nice spent a while thinking about what to do. He couldn't keep this secret forever as someone was bound to find it out.

He came to a decision. He would be brave and tell them his secret.

-----

Tomorrow was the Town Fair, and everyone from Normalville would be there. There would be games, food, drink and a big speech by the Mayor of Normalville.

And there, Mr. Nice would reveal his secret.

-----

Mr. Nice usually entered the annual cake competition at the fair. Only, this time, he would enter this year's competition as Little Miss Nice.

As this was to be such a special occasion, he created the most beautiful, wonderful, delicious cake, and it was the best he had ever made!

After finishing the last of the icing, he went straight to bed to get plenty of sleep for the big day.

-----

Mr. Nice got up, got dressed, put on makeup and became Little Miss New.

She checked herself in the mirror again, making she was as beautiful as she always was.

She had breakfast, and just as she finished her last mouthful, the doorbell rang again!

But this time, she didn't change her clothes. She went to answer the door as Little Miss New.

-----

It was the postman again.

"Just a parcel for y-... This is for Mr. Nice, madam. Would you make sure he gets it?" said the postman.

"I'll make sure Mr. Nice gets it!" grinned Little Miss New.

The postman didn't seem to recognise her at all, not one bit.

-----

Later that morning, Little Miss New left her house to take her cake to the Town Fair.

As she walked through town, she noticed that no one recognised her at all. Some of them asked whether she had just moved into town. And some of them said how delicious her cake looked!

She met the vicar of the town church, who was a friend of Mr. Nice's and he said that Little Miss New's cake reminded him of something that Mr. Nice would have baked.

But even he didn't spot anything different!

Little Miss New carried on, smiling. She felt like a completely new person!

-----

Little Miss New entered her cake into the competition and browsed the stalls at the fair.

Mrs Purl was there as usual, with her knitted dolls for sale.

And so was Mrs Lollipop, from the newsagents, with her 'Guess how many sweets are in the jar?' competition.

And Mr. Sausage the butcher served lovely, hot food from his barbecue!

-----

As the day went on, she did hear whispers amongst people, asking where Mr. Nice was. It was quite far from normal for him not to be here. He was there every year. And he hadn't even entered a cake into the cake competition!

Suddenly, a loud voice came from the Mayor's megaphone. It was time to do the annual tombola, so everyone began walking towards the stage, where the Mayor stood ready.

The Mayor said "I'd like to select a volunteer. And that volunteer just happens to be a rather remarkable person who has absolutely excelled at this year's cake competition. Would Little Miss New come to the stage, please?"

Little Miss New blushed, as the crowd applauded!

-----

As she stepped up to the stage, she turned and looked to the people of Normalville.

"Just before I do the tombola, I have something to say to you all."

The crowd hushed to a silence.

"You may not recognise me, and you may think I'm new to town. But the thing is, I know so many of you so very well and I hope you can forgive me for what I am about to do." she announced.

And just then, she removed her hat, and everyone there recognised Mr. Nice immediately, and gasped!

-----

The Mayor rushed to her just at once.

"Mr. Nice? Well, this... well. Oh dear."

The people of Normalville looked horrified. They had never seen anything like this before, not in a place like Normalville!

And then the Mayor said, "My friends. You may think we people of Normalville are certainly more normal than everybody else. People would think that a man who wants to dress, and live, as a woman is definitely not normal at all. What if I were to say that there are men and women who feel like they're in the wrong body all around the world? Surely if Mr. Nice feels more normal when he is Little Miss New, then this is the way things should be. After all, we like it when things are normal, so I think we should not be alarmed, and we should welcome Little Miss New as one of us!"

-----

And at once, the people of Normalville applauded them both.

And the important message is this. Just because you're different from everybody else, doesn't mean you're not normal. We can't have normality if we can't accept people who are different from us. If everyone was the same... well, that definitely wouldn't be normal, would it?

And the winner of the tombola? One happy postman!

Another Mr. Men idea.

I'll be putting together a full story soon. I've got another Mr. Men idea to add to the list.

Mr. Hero - Mr. Hero is the story of a soldier who suffers an unfortunate accident while on the field, losing his right leg and part of his right arm. Having being discharged from the army, the other Mr. Men help him adjust to everyday life and help him accept his disabilities.

Up The Magic Garden

Slightly autobiographical...

Hey, what shall we do today?
Let's go up the garden and play.

You don't need friends, there's plenty there,
Don't stop inside to stand and stare.

What is outside? Let's go and see.
Let's look under the magic tree.

Look, there is a spider here,
Come with me, nothing to fear,
Let's put you in a wooden box,
I'll leave you there for lots and lots.

Let's look now amongst the slabs,
You will see there's lots of ants,
To make sure they won't go far,
I'll put some ants into a jar.

A buzzing sound, I softly hear,
What can it be? I look and leer,
There's a wasp flying around,
It circles down to the ground.

I must be careful, wasps can sting,
They don't care; they'd sting anything,
I whack it with rolled up newspaper,
Just to stun it for my caper.

This next step is not for fools,
You will have to bring your tools,
A pair of tweezers will do you well,
And steady hands will surely tell.

The stunned wasp lies on the ground,
It does not know I am around,
I use the tweezers for these things,
I dismember all its wings.

A flightless wasp for me to keep,
In a box for a few weeks.

So many ants to play with too,
Let's see what body parts to lose.

Legs, if you can keep them still,
They walk as if they are ill,
If you take too many, just be wary,
It leaves them very stationary.

And if you try to take a head,
It simply makes that ant dead,
An antenna here that I have found,
Remove this, they'll walk round and round.

It starts to rain, it's time to stop,
Let's put away the jars and pots,
The spider box into the shed,
Forgotten now for weeks on end.

Remaining ants, I pour away,
Safe to live another day.
I take the flightless wasp inside,
It starts to stir while I spied.

In my room, I carry on,
The wasp walks around the box,
With tweezers, I grip and then,
I seperate the abdomen.

The wasp still lives, but only just,
Its fluids leak out like pus,
The abdomen, a strange thing,
It'll try to use its sting.

It tries to sting for two more weeks,
The wasp is dead, but this still lives,
It soon ends up in the bin,
But it was quite a curious thing.

The rain comes down in a thunderous spray,
I'll torture poor insects another day.

This ain't just about Mr. Men you know

Or indeed, kids books in general. Not as if I want to give the impression that I'm totally blasé about the whole thing, but on the whole, kids books do tend to be shorter than adult books. This does not make them easy to write, however, as you do have to tailor them for a particular audience. As is the case for parodies of kids books, as in kids books written in the style of kids books but for a more adult audience - re: 'Let's Shit'.

Parodies of this sort of thing are becoming to become more popular. You may be aware of 'Go The F**k To Sleep' which is a successful example of the genre.

I've given more adult books a go in the past, and I do have considerably high expectations of myself when I was. So high, in fact, that it battered my confidence to such a degree that I couldn't finish what I was writing. Even now, when I read back to what I've written before, I just think that I've scrambled together an awful piece of work, and I should use my time for more useful and productive ventures and the like.

I mainly enjoy writing Sci-Fi and Fantasy. It was only up to a few years ago, when writing a story about a being that can draw a portal to anywhere in the Universe that I realised that I should inject a bit of humour into the whole thing. But the main reason for focusing on Sci-Fi and Fantasy in general is that I like to create my own worlds and rules (though without becoming too unrealistic).

I started a blog two years ago with the intention of posting bite-sized portions of a Fantasy saga which I would update regularly. I didn't advertise it well, and again, the demon of low self confidence struck again with a killing blow that doomed the entire thing. Ideas for the story still run through my head, and I may just come back to this again, as there are some rather killer parts to this which I think to be fair should be exposed to the world.

Anyway, here is what I managed to accomplish, if you've got a bit of time to spare.

http://blatantfantasyrubbish.blogspot.com/

New Mr. Men characters

I've been thinking of new Mr. Men and Little Miss characters. They may not have the same level of poignancy as Mr. Gay, but you can't have that every time. This is what I've thought of so far.

Little Miss Transgender - Mr. Feminine doesn't feel as manly as the other Mr. Men and doesn't feel he is in the right body. One day, he leaves for a while, and later on, a new and mysterious Little Miss arrives in town...

Little Miss Art - Having painted portraits of a lot of people, Little Miss Art begins getting requests from some rather difficult clients...

Mr. Fit - Now that Mr. Science has opened a portal to a parallel universe, Mr. Fit trains harder than ever to challenge Mr. Strong in a strongman contest. But he injures himself badly and looks for help to get back in the game...

Little Miss Rainfall - Little Miss Sunshine visits the parallel universe to see her opposite number, Little Miss Rainfall. She hears Miss Rainfall is unhappy and tries to help, and learns that Depression is a serious condition and that these things take a lot of time and effort to resolve...

Mr. Science

Again, this is more Mr. Men fanfic. I hope you like it.

Mr. Science

Do you like Science? Do you like Science as much as Mr. Science does? Mr. Science loves Science. In fact, Mr. Science loves everything about Science.

---

Mr. Science lives in Progress Cottage, a futuristic looking house near to Mr. Clever in Clevertown. You can often tell that Mr. Science is up to something by loud noises now and then, and sometimes by the smoke rising from his cottage!

Mr. Science is always working on new inventions, and always puts on a clean, fresh, lab coat every day.

---

One day, Mr. Science had a visitor. He didn't know he had a visitor, as he had insisted on knocking the shed door instead of the front door. It was Mr. Muddle, and he had a concerned look on his face.

Mr. Science welcomed Mr. Muddle inside.

---

"How can I help you?" asked Mr. Science.

Mr. Muddle handed Mr. Science a letter explaining his problem. You see, Mr. Muddle has the habit of saying things the wrong way around, and doing the opposite of what people ask him to do. So, he asked a friend to write him a letter, explaining exactly the opposite of what Mr. Muddle told him!

---

The letter read:

"Dear Mr. Science,

I wondered if there was a way you could create a door into a parallel universe, to see if there is an opposite of me there. Maybe my opposite can help me to do things the right way round, and say things the right way round.

Yours,

Mr. Muddle"

---

Mr. Science thought. And thought some more.

"Yes, I would love t-" and then he remembered Mr. Muddle's way of understanding things.

"No, I would hate to give this a go. This is the dullest, most uninteresting idea I've had for ages. Maybe you should go home, and not stay to help me build the machine.

Mr. Muddle agreed to stay, and together they put together a machine to travel to a parallel universe.

---

Mr. Science activated the machine, and a window appeared into another world, looking kind of like this one...

Without hesitation, they went on through.

---

They exited into what looked like a magician's laboratory. Into the room came a man, looking like Mr. Science, but dressed as a wizard.

"Who are you, and what are you doing in my house? I'm a powerful wizard, you know!" demanded the wizard.

---
Mr. Science calmly replied.


"I'm Mr. Science, and this is Mr. Muddle. We have entered your world through a magic door into a parallel universe.

"Interesting. Well, my name is Mr. Magic. I suppose I'm your opposite here. As for this strange fellow, I don't know who or where his opposite is here. I suggest you go and explore!"

---

For days and days, they explored the parallel universe. They met some interesting characters on the way.

They met Mr. Fit, who looked kind of like Mr. Greedy, only much slimmer and much much more musclier.

"I know, let's go for a fifty kilometre run, followed by weightlifting and swimming. And for afters, lots and lots of yoga!"

As you would have guessed, they gave this offer a miss, so Mr. Fit went off on his run all by himself!

---

They also met Mr. Cough, who coughed and coughed like Mr. Sneeze sneezed. They told him to see a doctor!

He did not look very well!

---

They also met Mr. Careful, who looked like Mr. Bump, but without any bandages!

They also could not miss Mr. Huge, who was much more noticeable than Mr. Small.

And Mr. Generous was much more of a nicer fellow than Mr. Mean!

---

Even where Mr. Men thought they had their opposites in their own world, they even had opposites here.

For example, Mr. Fussy and Mr. Clumsy's opposites were Mr. Laid-Back and Mr. Graceful.

And, for example, Mr. Busy and Mr. Slow's opposites where Mr. Idle and Mr. Speedy.

---

They appeared to have asked everyone, but Mr. Muddle's opposite was nowhere to be seen. They even asked Mr. Know-it-all, Mr. Forgetful's opposite, but even he didn't know.

---

Not even the Little Misses could help. Not the least Little Miss Rainfall, Miss Sunshine's opposite, who was far too depressed.

---

Little Miss Magic's opposite, Miss Science could also not help, though she and Mr. Science had an interesting conversation about, well, Science!

And even Little Miss Unlucky did not have the misfortune to have bumped into Mr. Muddle's opposite.

---

Disappointed, they went home. Having explained their journey to Mr. Magic, they went back through the portal.

It was an interesting journey meeting all of the opposites here, but sadly, no opposite of Mr. Muddle to be found!

They went back home into their own universe...

---

And standing there to greet them, was a man who looked like Mr. Muddle, but entirely the right way round!

"I've been waiting here for days! Have you been looking for me? I came through just as the magic door had opened." said the mysterious man.

"We must have crossed over at exactly the same time! But what is your name?"

"My name is Mr. Organised. I'm guessing this young fellow is my opposite who wanted to find me. Well, let's see if I can help, I've got this plan ready made for this sort of thing, so let's begin!"

Eventually, Mr. Organised went home, but this wasn't the end of adventures in the parallel world...

Pornbots and Spam

This is a tribute to/parody of Dr. Seuss' wonderful children's book, Green Eggs and Ham (which actually is great for any age!). This is a 21st Century tribute based on the plague of pornbots/spambots on Twitter.

Seriously, if you have never read Green Eggs and Ham, or ever got into Dr Seuss, do it.

Legal: I’m not intending to get into any legal trouble writing this. If you wish for me to take down this blog post, please email me at storiesforfun@gmail.com and it will be removed within 14 days.

I am spam.

Spam I am.

That Spam-I-am!
That Spam-I-am!
I do not like
that Spam-I-am!

Do you like pornbots and spam?

I do not like them,
Spam-I-am.
I do not like
pornbots and spam.

Would you like them
on your screen?

I would not like them on my screen.
Kids would find this stuff obscene.
I do not like pornbots and spam.
I do not like them,
Spam-I-am.

Would you like them on a Mac?
Would you like to rub my back?

I do not like them on a Mac.
I do not want to rub your back.
I do not like them on my screen.
Kids would find this stuff obscene.
I do not like pornbots and spam.
I do not like them,
Spam-I-am.
Would you like to click my link?
Would you like to see some pink?
Not click a link.
Not see some pink.
Not on a Mac.
Not rub your back.
I would not want them on my screen.
Kids would find this stuff obscene.
I would not like pornbots and spam.
I do not like them, Spam-I-am.

Would you? Could you?
On your iPhone?
Have them! Have them!
Hear me moan!

I would not, could not, on my iPhone.

Please don’t try to be annoyed,
You can see us on an Android!

I would not, could not, on my iPhone.
Or an Android. You leave me alone!
I do not want to click a link.
I do not want to see some pink.
I do not want them on a Mac.
I do not want to rub your back.
I do not want them on my screen.
Kids would find this stuff obscene.
I do not like pornbots and spam.
I do not like them, Spam-I-am.

A PC! A PC!
Whee! On a PC!
Could you, would you,
On a PC?

Not on a PC! Not on an Android!
Not on my iPhone! Sam, I am annoyed!

I would not, could not, click a link.
I would not, could not, see some pink.
I will not want them on a Mac.
I will not want to rub your back.
I will not want them on my screen.
Kids would find this stuff obscene.
I do not like pornbots and spam.
I do not like them, Spam-I-am.

Say! With your friends!
Here with your friends!
Would you, could you, with your friends?

I would not, could not, with my friends.

Would you, could you, with family?

I would not, could not, with family.
Not with my friends. Not on a PC.
Not on my iPhone, not on Android.
I do not like them, Sam, you see.
Not click a link. Not on a Mac.
Not see some pink. Not rub your back.
I will not want them on my screen.
Kids would find this stuff obscene!

You do not like pornbots and spam?

I do not like them, Spam-I-am.

Could you, would you, take a blitz?

I would not, could not, take a blitz!

Would you, could you, suck my tits?

I could not, would not, suck your tits.
I will not, will not, take a blitz.
I will not see them with family.
I will not see them on a PC.
Not with my friends! Not on Android!
Not on an iPhone! I’m so annoyed!
I do not want to click a link.
I do not want to see some pink.
I do not want them on a Mac.
I do not want to rub your back.
I do not want them on my screen.
Kids would find this stuff obscene!

I do not like pornbots and spam!

I do not like them, Spam-I-am!

You do not like them.
So you say.
Click them! Click them!
And you may.
Click them and you may, I say.

Spam!
If you will let me be,
I will click them.
You will see.

*clicks*

Sam!
I feel like I’ve been hacked!
I do! I feel sick, Spam-I-am!
And you can hack my whole account,
And you can have the whole amount,
I don’t feel myself no more,
I now feel extremely poor.
Why did I click on that link?
Was it the promise of some pink?

I do so hate pornbots and spam!
F**k you!
F**k you,
Spam-I-am!