Yellow Monster

Oh dear, Blue Monster is starting to sound a little tetchy. Perhaps he should read Red Monster’s beautiful piece about the red van.

It might distract his thoughts from anti-Lepidoptera writings.

I think that this week you should all think of some equally silly daft enunciation and spend 5 minutes writing about it.

Daft Enunciation

The old grandfather sat beside the table with a three old granddaughter on his lap and a soppy grin on his face. He was discussing wild animals with her. “Do you know,” he asked, “that leo-pards are one of the most dangerous of the big cats?”

His wife looked up from her knitting and raised her eyebrows, “Leo-pards?” she repeated, as she shook her head sadly and returned to her knitting.

He ignored her and continued talking to the girl, “Yes, they pounce on people, knock them over, grab them with their forepaws and disembowel them with their claws.” Unfortunately the child lost interest in the conversation after the first six words and had pushed five coasters into a line, which she declared was a train. The old man smiled happily.

In response to Red’s and Blue’s blog posts: I am not very mellow; in fact I am just a bit miffed by Blue’s heartless comments on my literary efforts. As I have said before, Red’s comments are the only ones to take notice of.

Look at Red’s deeply moving story with its almost sinister sub plot compared to Blue’s tale of… well… I mean…. well…. marbles. :/

Anyway this week I suggest you think about some item you have picked up needlessly in a charity shop and write about it for 10 minutes.

The Rainbow Newt

An elderly bald gentleman and his delightful daughter were out in Cheltenham, when they came upon a charity shop. They decided to enter and gaze upon the many and varied articles displayed there in.

As they slowly made their way around the shop looking at odd shaped bowls, hideous ornaments and ancient videos, like ‘Battlefield Earth’, something caught the father’s eye. It was a purple bag with what looked like a multicoloured lizard on the front. Knowing that his daughter’s favourite colour was purple and that she was as soft as butter when it came to soppy looking things like the bag, he casually stepped in front of it, in the vain hope that she wouldn’t see it.

However as she was of a distrusting frame of mind she peered around him, and squeaked pathetically before picking it up and stroking the quilted stuffed creature.

“Oh no” groaned the man, shaking his head sadly “You don’t really want a purple bag with a rainbow newt on it do you?”

She treated him to a manically happy grin as she nodded her head vigorously, while hugging the bag with a hint of desperation.

He adopted a pained expression, “Do you really need a thing like that?” he asked with a touch of panic in his voice.

Still hugging the bag and grinning she answered like a small child, even though she was in her mid twenties, “But it’s a rainbow gecko!”

The man put a hand over his eyes, taking care not to smudge his glasses, and slowly shook his head. “I can’t believe you actually want it,” he said with a heavy sigh.

The girl slowly deflated, her shoulders sagged. Her smile faded and she slowly hung the bag back where she had found it.  “I suppose I shouldn’t buy it really,” she replied sadly.

Dad watched his daughter and his mind treacherously transported him back in time some twenty years and he saw before him a sad six-year-old girl.  “Oh God,” he muttered, “just buy the thing.”

She smiled happily as she carried the bag to the counter and handed it to the assistant. Then she turned a rather guiltily gaze on her father, “Er, have you got any money, dad?” she asked.

The old man stared back with an air of resignation, “Have I… you mean… ooooh! Arg!!! Wretch, ok how much is it going to cost me?”

“Seventy nine pence,” she answered quietly, “I’ll pay you back.”

They left the shop, the girl carrying the bag and grinning happily. The dad with a carefully blank expression because he knew only too well that he would never see his seventy-nine pence again.

Hello again. I feel that I must reply to the rather dubious introduction that I received from Blue last week.

As you will have undoubtedly realised Blue has little or no sense of humour at all and is equipped with a barbed wit. Which, I might add, is rarely put to good use.

So if I were you I would only take notice of Red’s comments.

This week’s story is called:

The Owl

Bertie and Osmond were walking through the forest one dark and moonlight night, when they heard the call of an owl. “Terwit too-woo, terwit too-woo.”

“‘ere. What’s that then Bertie?” said Osmond. 

Bertie raised one eyebrow and looked sadly at Osmond. “That’s a badger, that is,” he replied confidently.

“You sure?” asked Osmond.

“Oh yes,” answered Bertie.

And the owl called again.

“Twit!”

Write your own humorous play on sounds and words.

Hello, I am Yellow; I am a Regurgitation Monster, and I am new to this Internet malarkey.

I got the idea from Blue and Red who are of course Gurgitation Monsters, who have, I might add, developed the unpleasant habit of calling me Mellow Yellow. As you can imagine, this is such an awful and unwarranted thing to call any monster. Especially me.

As you may have noticed, I am a little different to those two. This is because I am a Regurgitation Monster, which means that I write the stories that I hear in many and varied places – and times for that matter.

I feel that I must add that these stories are, for the most part, things that have really happened to people.

I will deliver to you a few of these worthwhile and earnest ditties shortly.