Loading...
Menu
Ebooks   ➡  Fiction  ➡  General  ➡  Mashups

Nonsense and No Sense

Shakespir License Statement

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Shakespir.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

 

 

Nonsense and No Sense

 

A bit of light/heavyhearted stuff by: Jonathan Antony Strickland

 

 

INTRO

 

Just a quick introduction for a few light/heavy-hearted pieces I have written and decided to compile together here. This includes poems, riddles and a short silly story-like-thing called “The Egg”. A longer (though still fairly short) story called “Doobie Of Death”, and a short story entitled “Fucked (well and truly)”

 

 

 

POEMS

 

The poems need little explanation, though the poem entitled “Dragon” is perhaps the oldest thing I have found to place here. It was composed many many moons ago. I believe I was about twelve when I wrote it, and although it is but a mere three lines I still have a soft spot for it. Other poems are more current and can best be described as “a bit of daftness to hopefully amuse the odd dreamer like myself.”

 

 

RIDDLES

 

Riddle 1 and riddle 2 where written when I was around fifteen (though I have added a little bit more to riddle 1 to make it a bit easier to solve). As for the others, I wrote these on nights when I was accompanied by large tasty bottles of cheap (though potent) red and white wines, beer, cider or strange smelling cigarettes.

 

Below each of the riddles is the answer, though I have purposely hidden it in the simplest of ways. To get the answer all you have to do is to alphabetically minus one from the letter from the jumble of nonsense described as the answer to the riddle. Thus B would become A, C would become B, and so on and so forth.

 

So if the answer to a riddle was “FROG” then the answer described below the riddle would be “GSPH”. The F becoming a G, the R an S, O a P, and the G a H.

 

……………………….

 

Intro to “The Egg”

 

When reading “The Egg” you might come to the conclusion that this is the biggest pile bollicks you have ever had the misfortune of reading. And indeed you would probably be right. But there is an explanation for its being, and knowing this may improve it for what it is!

 

“The Egg” came about a few years ago when I used to play a free online poker game. Whilst playing the game, a small chat-window could be used to converse with fellow players, discussing bluffs, hands played and folded, tactics used, the meaning of life, why do fools fall in love, do donkeys enjoy wearing hats, is smoking lettuce leaves good for you, if a tree falls in a wood and nobody witnesses “said falling” should we then make up some profound bollicks just for the hell of it… etc… etc. This however was rarely the case. What usually would happen was some arsehole (who considered himself the greatest of the great) would join a table and mock everyone else in their own un-unique way. Indeed, this very un-unique way was something done by a million other arseholes who no doubt thought about their own alleged greatness in a likewise manner.

 

This so-called mockery involved questioning players sexual preferences, colour and various sizes and shapes of a certain part of their anatomy, plus a host of other lame-brained waffle put-downs that they felt needed to be shared with the table of players.

 

My reply to these individuals was to tell them the story of “The Egg”. This may seem a little strange but as I pasted line after line into the chat-window, the resulting confusion to the surreal conversation of two people discussing “The Egg” was in itself worth it.

 

On one such occasion I can remember one of the arseholes (as I’ve mentioned above) actually got so confused that his only repost was to question my sanity (followed by my sexual preferences for sheep). Then as he released that his words where falling on deaf ears, and the only reply to his “witty” comments where from further lines from “The Egg”, he upped and left the table, taking with him his un-unique commentary as he went!

 

So… To sum up… The moral of the story is this… Never… I repeat NEVER underestimate the power of “The Egg”.

 

 

…………………………

 

The Egg

 

By: Jonathan Antony Strickland

 

……..

 

You have the egg?

 

Yes I have the egg

 

So where is it, let me touch it. Let me see the egg

 

You need not see it, nor may thee touch it, let it be, the egg is safe with me

 

Give me the egg

 

You may not have the egg as I do not know what you may do with it

 

GIVE ME THE EGG!!!!!

 

No… Take comfort that the egg is safe… Safe with me.

 

GIVE ME THE FUCCCCCKKKINNNNGGG EGG!!!

 

Up yours, the egg is mine.

 

ARRRGGGHHHHHHH….. I want the egg. Just let me see it. Touch it. Hold it…… GIVE ME THE EGG TWATFACE!

 

I can’t give you the egg.

 

WHHHHHYYYYYY… why oh why…. give me the egg……. please please, I beg thee. I… I take back what I said before. I’m sorry, so very very sorry that I called thee a twatface. But I beg of thee, give me the egg.

 

Hmmmm…. I see now how desperate you are to get the egg. And I feel within the tones of thy voice that you bear no malice towards the egg.

 

Malice…. no…. God no. I would never hurt the egg. I would rather stamp on kittens, drop kick puppies, or play a game of subueto using live gerbils as players and a spiked metal ball with tiny writing on it saying “fuck all gerbils” than hurt the egg. So please, on my hands and knees I beg thee….. give… give me the egg.

 

If I could give thee the egg, then I would give thee the egg…. but alas I cannot…. I cannot give thee the egg.

 

WHYYYYYYyyyyy…… why can’t you give me the egg….. surely the egg is for everyone…. the egg is everything and all. Wholesome and good, mighty yet sleek, sturdy but fragile.

 

The egg is not everything and all…. the egg is an egg.

 

HOW DARE YOU SPEAK OF THE EGG BEING BUT AN EGG. Now I see you for what you are. And I know now how you feel. You never loved the egg, did you. You never dream of the egg, think of the egg with every living breath you take….. HA…. YES… I do know thee. Oh yes, I know thee very well, and let me tell you. You are a twatface after all… Give me the egg NOW or you’ll regret it.

 

Regret not giving you thee the egg. Why should I regret not giving you thee the egg?

 

BECAUSE IF YOU DO NOT GIVE ME THE EGG THEN I WILL TWIST OFF YOUR NOSE, THEN CUT OFF YOUR STUPID FUCKING EARS AND SELOTAPE THEM TO YOUR ARSE AND BALLS!!!!!

 

Hmmmm…. Taking into account this threat and all you have said I still cannot give you thee the egg.

 

You make no sense…… why, oh WHY, oh why, can you not give me the egg….. speak now or forever hold thy yolk.

 

I cannot give you thee the egg because I have eaten the egg….for my breakfast (with three rashers of bacon, a sausage, two slices of toast, a dabble of ketchup, and of course a steaming hot pot of lovely golden tea)……. and very tasty it was as well.

 

ARRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH……. GRRRRRRRRRRR….. FNNAAARRRRRRRR….. ARRRRR….. the egg is gone….. NNNNNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!NOOOOOOO… NO… no.. … … .. . no! The egg be gone and all that is wholesome and good is gone with it…We are now nothing…. We are…. DOOMED!

 

Doomed… Doomed you say… Don’t be so fucking daft. After all, it was only a bloody egg!

 

……….

 

And that ladies, gentlemen and universal egg lovers, concludes the story of the egg….. Find more great tales of similar quality on my Shakespir page!

 

……….

 

WARNING!

 

I FEEL I MUST POINT OUT THAT NOT ALL STORIES TOLD BY ME CONTAIN EGGS

 

I AM SORRY IF THIS CAUSES ANY STRESS OR PAIN. MY ONLY SUGGESTION TO YOU IS THAT YOU SEEK FURTHER PLEASURES THAT DO NOT INCLUDE EGGS.

THOUGH HOW ANYONE COULD TAKE ANY KIND OF PLEASURE FROM SOMETHING THAT DOESN’T INVOLVE EGGS IS BEYOND ME!

 

 

You have been warned!

 

 

THE END

……….

 

Riddle 1

 

By: Jonathan Antony Strickland

 

 

I sit above your head when all is lost

A cold gray sentinal telling the world all about you

Surrounded by my fellow comrades

I wait, silent and still

 

What am I?

 

 

ANSWER: hsbwftupof

……….

 

DRAGON

 

By: Jonathan Antony Strickland

 

If you see the dragons cave, you must not go inside

If you see the dragon, you must run away and hide

If you see the dragons mouth, then your head will be inside

 

THE END

……….

 

Doobie Of Death

 

by : Jonathan Antony Strickland

 

 

Although in stature and physique the man was nothing, he was powerful. His power lay in some frivolous little country on the borders of Russia, and although not a superpower, could still hold its own in a world full of war and disease while simultaneously offering great riches to the wise and devious.

 

The darkness outside was good for him as he surveyed a tiny part of his beloved land. He moved quickly away from any prying eyes that may have spotted his wanderings, darting swiftly into the shadows, hiding himself behind a small wooden out-building in the majestic grounds of Hoppinghall Palace. Once he was confident of his position he took a few quick looks around to make sure nobody had seen him, then lit up the cigarette.

 

For forty seven years, not once had any kind of drug, especially nicotine, been inhaled by Prime Minister Brabble. He’d always found the taste of the tobacco revolting and had to force himself to take another draw, then another and another. He felt a strange nauseous sensation come over his person and he literally had to cover his mouth and fight back the sensation as a gut full of vomit threatened to escape from him. You would think after experiencing all of this he would throw the cigarette away but in fact he was quite happy with his unwell predicament. You see this feeling of sickness was only to be expected as this was no ordinary cigarette. The skin on the palms of he’s hands became moist with sticky sweat, this he was most pleased with as the sweat would be his means of assassinating the King.

 

“One cigarette will be enough. One dirty doobie is all you’ve got to smoke.” he thought to himself. “Besides I couldn’t stomach another one of those revolting things.”

 

Earlier that year a group of American underwater explorers had discovered a strange blue plant that grew only on the edge of deep volcanic sea vents. The plant was found to be deadly poisonous even to the touch as it secreted a transparent fluid which could enter through the pores in a mans skin causing a terrible chemical reaction and bringing on a painful and incurable death in but a matter of minutes.

 

Later, after several months of research on the plant a new breakthrough was discovered in its properties. The deadly plant, if treated in the right way could be mixed with tobacco and smoked quite safely. This would produce a unique rich taste and smell like no other tobacco, but with one major side effect. The poison would expire through the pores in the individuals skin and although the person had now themselves become immune to that level of virulent poison they had absorbed into their blood at a safe and slow rate, others who would touch them would not be so fortunate. The amount of plant smoked would make the persons sweat more deadly and quicken an individual’s death who’d touched the infected person. Once the poison was in the system, immunity to it was guaranteed, though only immunity at the level he or she had smoked. If you smoked over twenty a day it was said that you could kill an elephant ten times over with a simple touch. Eventually though, after a few hours, the individual would sweat it all out until it had completely left their body. Prime Minister Brabble however was only interested in killing the one man and so the one cigarette was all that he needed and that to the Prime Minister was what was important.

 

You might find it strange why a Prime Minister should be at all bothered about a King. Put simply the King still had power, and Brabble had encountered this on various occasions. There was the time that Brabble had wanted to put up taxes only for the King to declare in a public announcement that the countries economy system was better than ever and the proposed tax increase was a disgrace meant only to bleed the people of their hard earned cash and to fill the pockets of the already greedy rich. After this the country threatened to erupt into chaos and civil war looked likely. In the end it was Brabble who backed down and the King was hailed a national hero for standing up to a tyrant.

 

This is just one of the examples of how the pair had come to dislike each other so much, for their feud stretched back years and as time went on the pair found that they couldn’t abide the others presence until eventually they avoided one another completely. Brabble also knew that if the King was out of the way his successor to the Throne would be his six year old son. Brabble knew a six year old would obviously not interfere in politics and then Brabble would be able to do what he wanted. And what Brabble wanted was money, power and total control. Many of the smaller countries around his were desperate for medical supplies. The King he knew would offer these supplies as a gift, not wanting anything back in return.

 

“With the King out of the way those poor little bastard’s will pay an arm and a leg for food, medicines, clothing… Yes, even weapons! I’ll be rich and as an added bonus my own country far better off”, Brabble thought rubbing his slimy hands together. “King Malbarrow……Pah, I’ve tolerated that intolerable prat for far far far too long”.

 

Brabble had to admire his own ingenuity. To kill the king in such a way was to him a stroke of genius. He had tried in the past to hire a hitman to do the job for him but not one of the deadly killers would accept. They all claimed the risk was far too great as the King was constantly surrounded by a posse of bodyguards which amassed to a small army. Even when Brabble had put it about that a king’s ransom was on offer, nobody from the dark underworld of death came forward to claim a prize worth more than his weight in gold.

 

So Brabble had decided to do it himself, having found out about the strange cigarettes which where a national secret in America, thus he had had to buy them on the black market were they cost him one hundred grand for ten.

 

He exited the shadows and approached the Palace. A meeting had been arranged between him and the King which was to be televised to the nation. Each one would give a speech on how the tourist trade was bringing money into the country and providing more jobs. The King, he knew would claim (as subtlety as possible) that the country possessed was one of the oldest and noblest Royal Families and this presented a great interest to the average tourist willing to pay great amounts for the privilege to see them. Brabble of course thought this was complete and utter bollicks, and in truth he was probably right.

 

He entered the main gate and was shown by a servant to the great hall of the Palace where the King and the cameras awaited. He glanced at the king not wanting to meet his eye in case he saw the gleam of hatred and horror that sparkled in Brabble’s and guess something was up. He also kept well away from everybody else in the procession around him as he was as dangerous as a gigantic South American arrow frog, knowing full well that anybody touching his skin would die a painful and hideous death.

 

The speeches lasted longer than imagined and Brabble felt nervous as he addressed the crowd. This nervousness though was not because of stage fright, fact was speaking to a crowd such as this was a common day occurrence for him. It was the fact that he was about to commit cold blooded murder that bothered him. After a good twenty minutes of speaking apiece, addressing their nation as was rightly expected (though in Brabble’s opinion both men filled the air with bullshit and false truths) he prepared for the moment when himself and the King would approach each other and shake hands in an act of good will. Their bitter rivalry had not gone unnoticed amongst the countries hordes and slander was spreading fast of the rift that was opening up, becoming an all too obvious maw of disgust between the pair.

 

First the King approached the audience to have a few words with the general public and it was at this point that Brabble could not believe the bad luck that was about to be dealt to him. As the King reached out his hand to shake hands with members of the audience, Brabble noticed the white leather glove adorning the kings digits. Brabble’s face dropped, all the planning, all the scheming had been in vain. It was a rare occasion that he got to meet the king, this, as mainly stated before because of the two men despising each other and keeping well clear of the others company. Brabble couldn’t hide his despair and when the king approached him to shake his hand, Brabble grimaced and had to clench his teeth to stop himself from swearing out loud at the shite card fate had dealt him.

 

As he looked down he froze at what he saw, the Kings hand was bare. It was then he realised that the King was only wearing a glove on his right hand, obviously he had a touch of the Michael Jackson’s and did not want to pollute his hand when wandering amongst the crowd fearing their germs would infect him. Brabble could actually relate to this as he found the average member of public a walking diseased infested death trap of common germs.

 

Brabble not believing his luck grabbed the Kings clammy hand firmly and shaking it up and down said: “Your Majesty today is a great day indeed, for too long has our country…erm sorry, your country not seen the pair of us together. Showing them that if we can get along then anyone can. From this day forward I swear to you my allegiance to the crown and will serve this country well.”

 

The King smiled as the pairs hands moved up and down in a gesture of good will.

 

Brabble continued: “I hope you all the best in the future my King and wish you a long and happy life. I as the Prime Ministeeerrrr of…ahhh, shit, ow, oh, ah, er, what’s going on, I feel (vomit).”

 

A look of realisation spread across Brabble’s freshly drained face as terrific pain spread through his body, twisting and contorting his features.

 

“You bast… You sly old bastarderrrd” he managed to squeeze out as his life slipped from him.

 

Later that night the Queen went to see her husband in the Royal rest room. The King had just settled down into his favourite place of rest, a twelve thousand pound rocking chair covered in endangered fox skin. It was the one place he could get a little bit of piece and quiet as she didn’t like the collection of animal heads he kept as trophies. To tell the truth he did not like them much himself but it did keep her away. But tonight however, she had entered.

 

“Ar husband. There you are. I bring you grave and tragic news about the Prime Min…”.

 

The Queen stopped in mid sentence and sniffed at the air.

 

“Good grief what’s that horrible smell.” The King smiled, and lit up another of his cigarettes.

 

“Really darling”, continued the Queen. “You should stop, you smoke far too many and by the smell in the air your onto those expensive extra strong foreign ones again. You should try and give up, or at least try and cut down. Forty a day just isn’t healthy. One of these days you’re going to get one of those horrible diseases there always warning you about on the television.”

 

She shook her head and coughed as the king just smiled and blew out a purposeful lungful in her direction.

 

“I tell you one, sooner rather than later they will be the death of you… Still why should I care, all you do is sit about and mope all day anyway. So go ahead and smoke if you want to. Go on you stupid old git… Smoke yourself into your early grave and see if I care.”

 

Chuckling to himself the King put his feet up onto the small foot rest that had been stuffed with the feathers of ten large owls and took a long hard draw on his beloved cancer stick before stubbing it out.

 

“No, perhaps your right my dear, they are bad for you. And another thing, they are rather expensive. Well these ones anyway… Even for me.”

 

 

The King then went over to his wife and taking her by the hands, kissed the annoying nagging bitch for one last time.

 

 

THE END

 

……….

 

 

Riddle 2

 

By: Jonathan Antony Strickland

 

 

In some countries I am conisdered the greatest of all jewels

But once lost, I can never be regained

 

What am I?

 

 

Answer: wjshjojuz

……….

 

A Stolen Song

 

by: Jonathan Antony Strickland

 

Where have all the zombies gone?

Gone to heaven everyone!

Who now will I use my shotgun on?

Who will I use my shotgun on!

Wrote this song last night. Then from out of the blue (pardon the pun but it was a big blue box), some guy with a bad perm and overly long multi-coloured scarf, claiming to be some kind of medicine man in a booming voice, jumps out and grabs those very lyrics out of my hand and before I could say “Hey! Come back with my song lyrics you time travelling git!”, he travels back to the 1960s and hands the lyrics over to some American geezer, who has the audacity to change them into some namby-pamby soft pop song….Grrrr.

Top of Form

 

 

Where have all the flowers gone? Doesn’t even make any bloody sense! Double Grrrr, with a smothering of Grrrrr on top.

 

The End

……….

[++]

The Unvicious Circle Of Silliness

 

By: Jonathan Antony Strickland

 

 

:- A tale was told, a tale to me, a tale on a summers night

 

The knight was brave, and tall, and grave, and fought for all things right

 

So I turned this right, and turned this left, and headed off happy and homeward-bound

 

But as the rope bound tight about my legs, I fell down hard-upon the ground

 

So I ground up the grain within my dish, and sold it for a nice new shiny pound

 

And as I did approach the canine pound of yelps and barks and howls, a little dog inside a cage looked sad, then looked up at me and wagged his tail

 

A tale was told, a tale to me, a tale on a summers night

 

The knight was brave, and tall, and grave, and fought for all things right -:

 

THE END

……….

 

Riddle 3

 

By: Jonathan Antony Strickland

 

 

Like a proffesional spy I mark your every step

Clinging to your every move

Then like some scheming murderous stalker I cover up the evidence

No doubt sending a cold tingle down your spine as I go about my buisness

 

What am I?

 

 

Answer: Topxgbmm

……….

 

Stupid Bloody Bollicks

 

by: Jonathan Antony Strickland

 

 

Night

Bright

Sunlight

 

I’ll wash out your ears with a carving knife

Then I’ll bring back rudeness, make foulness shine

Eat an evil turnip that once boasted a spine

Eat

Meat

Treat

 

I’ll wage war on your granny with neon toads of shite

Then I’ll beat-up hatred, make beauty cry

Drink from a stone boulder that once quoted a lie

 

Drink

Sack

Attack

 

I’ll dance my jig as I spit on your destiny

Then I’ll stand on fear, as I march over ten thousand men

Award a gold medal to a gormless old hen

Award

Drop

Stop

 

I’ll cry tears of venom into your bloodstream

Then I’ll fart the fandango, while applauding the one sock

Jump on a black-hole that’s been cooked in a wok

Jump

Thin

Win

 

I’ll scratch your head on a nails of blackest white teeth

Then I’ll sleep on a fish tank, fowl, green and rotten

Then I’ll be done, and all will be forgotten

 

THE END

……….

 

Riddle 4

 

By: Jonathan Antony Strickland

 

 

What cums over your mother twice a day?

 

 

Answer: Sgd rdz. Enq lnsgdq dzqsd hr sgd lnsgdq sn tr zkk.

……….

 

Fucked (well and truly)

 

by: Jonathan Antony Strickland

 

In a darkened corner of a dingy old pub a man sat dressed in a long black raincoat, wearing a large brimmed red hat above his long gray nylon false beard and black sunglasses. It was pretty plain to see to anyone observing the man as he sipped his whisky on the rocks and typed on an old blue type-writer that he was clearly in heavy disguise. But who this man was and why he was in disguise is something that no one here will ever know (That’s right nobody. Not even yours truly, and I’m the one writing this nonsense).

 

All we do know is that the man in question is very very important. And we can only surmise as to what position of power he holds, be it a king, a President or Prime-minister, perhaps even a religious leader or leading scientist, or someone who has simply found themselves in the position to have their finger on the big red button.

 

Make your own mind up… GOD DAMN IT!

 

But as he sat and typed, what I can tell you is that below are the words he wrote:

………..

 

Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck. Oh fuckedy, fuckedy, fuck fuck. FUCK!

 

Things are fucked. Things are mega fucked. I’ve really gone and fucked things up this time. Fucked things up big time…….oh Fuck!

 

Things are looking so fucked that I could continue and use the word fuck or fucked throughout the next ten to twenty thousand words that this whole story will take to tell, that one word repeated over and over again would be a very good way to describe what I’ve just gone and done. That’s how fucking bad things really are!

 

Instead though I might as well go on and tell you how and why I’ve fucked things up. Fucked things up not only for me though understand, but for you as well. And everyone you know. And anyone they might know. Plus everybody else in this big fucking world of ours. Before I start I would just like to say sorry and apologise to everybody on the planet whose lives are going to end in the most miserable and painful way possible that you, me or anybody else could ever possibly dream of imagining.

 

And all of this, all the forthcoming pain and terror, the disaster and the disease, followed by the slow lingering death, all because of what I’ve done. My fault….Mine!!!!

 

All of it, all my fault. At this moment I realise you haven’t a clue as to what I am wittering on about. All now will be explained, though it will be hard for me to admit all truths to you. I’m so…so ashamed of what I’ve done………So very, very sorry!

 

It all started several days ago when I……………..Hey, hang on one god damned fucking minute here. What am I saying sorry for? I know it’s my fault, but it’s done now. And repenting my sins and apologizing to the likes of you isn’t gonna make one fucking jot of difference. In ‘fact by the time your reading this you’re going to be so near to death that nothing matters anyway and the recounting of this story and how I’ve gone and brought on the downfall of civilization, and with it me, you, and the rest of the human race will be completely pointless and a waist of the precious few meagre hours I’ve got left.

 

(Ha Ha)…So instead of an apology, spending several long painful drawn out hours moping over this type-writer, crying to you over my one big mistake. The mistake which means people like you will be nothing soon but a bloody awful pulp of rotting diseased flesh festering away in the early morning summer sun for the beasts, bugs and buzzards to feast on. Instead of saying all that, I would instead like to take this opportunity and the time I have left to tell you all to FUCK RIGHT OFF!

 

 

THE FUCKING END

……….

 

They Call Me Randy Stodgeflaps

 

By: Milthy Swinebuckle

 

 

They call me Randy Stodgeflaps

I have such a wicked chin

And above my chin

Sits a wicked grin

Which unfolds and becomes perverse

 

They call me Randy Stodgeflaps

My cat sat on the mat

But the mat was wet

So the cat did fret

Which made the dog say “Well how about that!”

 

They call me Randy Stodgeflaps

I like to exercise

Sometimes on a bike

Or perhaps a long hike

It’s no wonder I have such excellent thighs

 

They call me Randy Stodgeflaps

And I can drink anyone under the table

Unless I drink beer

In which case – OH DEAR!

I put on a dress and call myself Mable

 

They call me Randy Stodgeflaps

I know what’s when nor where

But if where was when

And when was where

Then that be neither here nor there

 

They call me Sandy Mudflaps

What’s that? That’s not my name!

My name be Randy

You daft foppish Dandy

So cut it out, for your mockery be lame

 

They call me Randy Stodgeflaps

And everything you have ever read is untrue

Except this one statement

I found scribbled on a wall in Gods basement

It read “Remember, all cows should eat grass and go Moo!!!”

 

They call me Randy Stodgeflaps

You should never feed me after midnight

But unlike a gremlin

I be completely without sin

It’s just that it makes me burp, fart and shite!

 

They call me Randy Stodgeflaps

My arch enemy is a low down stinking dirty rat

He also hates a guy called Borris Pranger

Who’s apparently a shit-hot Morris-dancer

So technically that means that the enemy of my enemy is a twat!

 

They call me Randy Stodgeflaps

Though I be no malicious Jack the Ripper

In fact I once flashed a whore

But as I did, heard the sirens of the law

Then panicked, catching my thingy in my zipper

(NOT NICE!)

 

They call me Randy Stodgeflaps

At last the penultimate verse

It endeth soon

This awful tune

A rhyme so trite that I curse

 

They call me Randy Stodgeflaps

Hold on, hold on… I urge

There’s been a mistake

A penultimate fake

For we carry on with this bloody horrible dirge

 

They call me Randy Stodgeflaps

And in a way I am glad there is more to be penned

For I have an important thing to say

Upon this dark sullen day

And that is_OH BUGGER, this cannot be_

 

THE END!

……….

 

Let God Be My Witness

 

 

By: Jonathan Antony Strickland

 

 

 

Then who’ll be your judge?

 

 

THE END

……….

 

Riddle 5

 

By: Milthy Swinebuckle

 

 

I smell of armpits

Hold my stance like a log

I taste of turnips

And bark like a dog

 

You should not fight me

Even though I be weak

For what we are about to receive

Is not of what I speak

 

I stir yellow custard

While waxing my legs

Even though I remain unspoken

I still remember every word I have said

 

Let terror walk within me

Let death become my soul

Let me drown between twin mountains of flesh

Let me not grow gray and old

 

And so concludes this riddle

Can you unravel what I see

If you have indeed managed to work it out

Then you’re a better man than me

 

 

What is it that I talk of?

 

ANSWER

 

(Uifsf jt op botxfs. Jn kvtu tbmljoh cpmmjdlt…ib ib)

……….

 

Jonathan Antony Strickland‘s Awesome Test!!!

by: Jonathan Antony Strickland

 

We spend our lives trying to be something we’re not… Why? Why try to be something else when inside you might be AWESOME!!! What I want to know though is: HOW AWESOME ARE YOU?

Take the simple test below. Pick an option from 1 to 5, then read the results that are even further below the stuff that’s above it to find out your result!!!

 

The Awesome Test!!!

 

1_I’m not awesome… Not awesome in slightest.

 

2_I’m just me and I’m reasonably happy being just me. Claiming that I’m awesome is stretching the truth quite a bit.

 

3_ I'm just me and I'm happy being just me. Claiming that I'm awesome is stretching the truth a little bit.

 

4_I’m quite awesome. Perhaps not as awesome as I could be, but still… quite awesome nonetheless.

 

5_I’m AWESOME… No two ways about it. I’m the best of the best and I don’t care what anybody else thinks… I’m AWESOMEHELL YEAH!!!

 

Awesome Test results!!!

 

Now read the number below that corresponds with the number you chose for your results (Haven’t I explained all this once already to you? You know, you really need to listen more!)

……….

 

1_You miserable fucking turd… For God’s sake, take a look at yourself, crawling about the world feeling sorry for being the person you are… “I’m not awesome… Not awesome in slightest.” Well let me tell you something pal… YOU’RE NOT FUCKING WRONG!!! You sad slimy little shit!!! For fucks sake stand up for yourself. For once in your miserable little life grow a pair and man up(or woman up… Though in this case it’s probably best not to grow a pair!)… Pathetic twat!!!

 

2_Oh!!! You’re reasonably happy are you? Reasonably happy… Reasonably happy being a fuckwit!!! Well good for you… You fuckwit! You’re reasonably happy just strolling through life, keeping your head down while the rest of humanity spits on you. Still reasonably happy now are we fuckwit, now that I’ve pointed out just what you are? Well? Are you still reasonably happy? You…you… you probably are… Pathetic twat!!!

 

3_Yeah… I dig you. What was it you said again: “ I’m just me and I’m happy being just me. Claiming that I’m awesome is stretching the truth a little bit.” Yeah, I can dig that… Dig it like a dead man digging down into the shit filled hell of Satan! Or in other words, I don’t dig it!

And I certainly don’t dig YOU!!! I mean listen to yourself blathering on… “I’m happy being me, accept me for what I am!” Well I don’t fucking accept you. The mere thought of you fills me with so much disgust that I’d rather sandpaper off my face than spend one second in your tepid company… Fact is, I can see through your mask. See through to the pissy shitty freak in hiding… The grotesque fuckwittedness that lays beneath its soiled half-hearted grin… Pathetic twat!!!

 

4_What! You picked four! Of all the numbers to pick, and you picked four. Fuck me, this dick picked four. No, he couldn’t have possibly?… Yes, really he did! He picked four…Ha ha… Jeez that’s funny. You think yourself “quite” awesome… HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA… You of all people think yourself “quite” awesome… (Oh my God, I cannot take it)… That’s just soooooo funny. This means that you’re the type of person who wakes up in the morning, looks in the mirror and winks at yourself thinking: “Not bad… not bad at all.”

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Fuck off you TIT!!! Fuck off you… You… Pathetic twat!!!

 

5_Yes… Yes Yes YES… You picked it. You only went and picked it. That’s awesome dude. Truly awesome. Truly truly truly AWESOME!!! Awesome in a way that makes you the most AWESOME interplanetary diseased ballbag to ever spread his or her fowl filth across this good clean earth.

WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU??? Wasn't it obvious... Wasn't it as plain as the nose on your face that I was being sarcastic with this daft, stupid test? And yet you still went for the option that only the biggest loser would ever choose! There's an old saying that goes "You're no better than the rest of us"... but in your case that saying should be changed to "Your less better than the rest of us"... Awesome indeed (Pah)!!! If you were to vanish tomorrow, I could use my arse to replace you and not a soul would know... At worse they would perhaps think that you were improving slightly as it was now just shite that you spewed out, instead of your usual war cry of "Hey everybody, I'm awesome" ... Pathetic twat!!!

 

 

 

  • ………*

 

And Now for Some of My Quotes!

 

by: Jonathan Antony Strickland

 

When your down, your down.

But, when you’re up….then you should always keep an eye out for that unexpected kick in the balls that can unnervingly strike at any time.

At least, that’s what the drunken man in the mirror told me anyway!

………………..

 

Shit fuck arse bastard bollocks! Bumwipes ninnyhammers stodgy-sniffers crack-plasterers toe-rags! Boobs bums balls bottoms breasts!

And finally I just like to finish with: Farts whiffy-bits stinkers itchy-mongers and crap-pots!

Because sometimes it just needs to be said!

………………..

 

We shouldn’t eat meat….blah….blah….blah. Meat is murder….blah bloody blah. WHAT ABOUT THE POOR FORGOTTEN VEGETABLES. WHO GIVES THEM A SECOND THOUGHT. So spare a thought this Christmas, and save a sprout.

………………..

Look to the left and apparently you’ll see red….Look to the right and apparently you’ll see blue…I’m not sure if these two statements are true but the one thing I have learned in my forty years is that if you look down the toilet after eating a particularly nasty curry the night before, then you’ll see every politician that this land has to offer!

………………..

A step in the right direction can still be the death of an ant….

………………..

And the lord did say that thou shalt not post on Shakespir while being pissed out of one’s head after supping off a bottle of wine, finished with a few chasers of whisky….To which I did sayeth, Oh bollicketh…There goes yet another commandment “given by some up his own arse deity” that I’ve gone and just broken’th.

My only reply to said deity being……..shit, arse, fuck, twat, arse shit, bollicks, balls, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fucck….fuck….fucking….fuckkkkinggg hellllll…shit, arse and bollicks!…..Please let me into heaven when I eventually pop my clogs….I’m only an atheist shithead because I know you don’t exist…but apart from that…..?

 

( I kind of remember writing this…but I couldn’t remember what I’d actually said! Now that I’ve re-read it I can only conclude that all the greatest prophets throughout history have been nothing but a bunch of slimeball piss-artists like myself and every other wine-guzzling, beer-downing, turps drinking deadbeat…In other words, come Monday, I’m heading straight down the jobcentre to see what prophesying jobs are currently being advertised.)

………………..

Which one of you filthy swines just farted?

………………..

I know my writing does not follow with the recent wave of erotic fiction that has sprung up, so to make it more appealing to that type of reader I shall have to lie a little about its contents and claim it’s a lot like Fifty Shades of Gray but with extra cocks!!!

………………..

You know that poem “if”, what a load of crap! Kipling got it wrong! What he should have said was “If you can portray the idea’s you get to a sober man (no matter how shit those ideas may be), and keep a straight face. Then you’ll be a man MA SON!

………………..

I be the king of the idiot’s ma lad. Thick as a picture and as pretty as a plank….that’s me……..Aw wait a minute that should have been as pretty as a picture and as……AH what the fuck! If the shit fits wear it!

………………..

HMMMMMM……..I think I’ll eat my socks!

………………..

YUM YUM….cheese and onion flavour…. NNNNNNNIIIIIIIICCCCCCCCEEEEEE!!!!!

………………..

It’s official…..Ikki The Ball-stotter has shagged your wife!

………………..

A joint, a joint….my kingdom for a joint!

………………..

As far as I am concerned you should not judge a fellow person on their looks, sex, race or beliefs. There are only two types of people:

1_Everyday ordinary people who just want to get on with their lives and not bother anybody else.

2_The preachers, the arsholes and the gobshites who want to tell you what you should do and how you should be doing it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hmmm… Nothing to see hear. Read no further… Please go read something else.

 

Thank you!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

You’re still reading aren’t you?

 

Bugger!

 

Oh Well, here’s some more random stuff

 

  • ………*

 

Being Jonny has always been a problem for me. Just today I was looking at facebook and noticed how many pretentious pricks are being given a worldwide voice! I was going to write something like: “WOW… How lucky we all are to have social media in our lives. What a bunch of total utter complete brilliant people share and post their amazing and wonderful thoughts on here! Before the world wide web, nobody would have known about this untapped knowledge that we now take for granted.” And yes you guessed it, this is my attempt at ironey”.

 

The problem (as you can plainly see) for me not posting this genius statement is that I can’t spell the word irony! And if I was to post it on here I would be totally embarrassed by the fact that people would notice my humiliating mistake. So I ask you… Please can you help me spell the word irony so that future generations can share in my humble (though quite brilliant) insight.

 

………………

When a man loves a wombat… When a princess beats the crap out of a frog… When a sock has his life spun around by a sexy little washing machine… Then and only then will we know that the time to talk in riddles is most defiantly upon us

 

The saying goes that “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.” I once looked into the beholders eye and all I found was a contact-lens!

And the moral of that story for me is this: No matter what I do, no matter who’s eye I look into, at the end of the day I will always be… HE who found a contact-lens… That and an ugly twat!

 

…………………….

What strange things do you remember doing as a youngster?

One thing springs to mind for me, though I can’t fully remember why! Nor indeed can I explain why other members of my family (I’m sorry to upset you all but YES there are others… We have bred!!!!!!) also used to indulge in such a strange practice

All I remember is being around 10 yrs old on holiday at Pontins. We’d then (for some bizarre reason) go skulk around the chalet/bungalows, well after midnight, when everyone was in bed… And then we’d shout out as loud as we could… “JOCKY WILSON ISN’T FAT!” Over and over until chalet lights came on.

 

Then we’d run off giggling as angry campers came running out looking for the daft idiots making strange claims that the legendry darts player (who was clearly quite a bit over-weight) was NOT fat!!!!!!

 

Such was my childhood!!!!!!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Back again…eh!

 

You really want some more?

 

Okay… Here’s some more stuff then.

 

……….

 

Who Hell Me?

 

by: Jonathan Antony Strickland

 

And on that day God created animals.

 

“Roar”, said the lion.

 

“Woof”, said the dog.

 

“Hiss”, said the snake.

 

“Moo”, said the cow.

 

“Quack”, said the duck.

 

“Meow”, said the cat.

 

“Caw”, said the crow.

 

WHAT THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO BE?”, said the duckbilled long necked three legged funky feathered rhino ape!

 

THE END!

 

…………………

 

PERSONAL STATEMENT BY MY PERSONAL SELF

 

Today I lost the use of my fingers and have had to type this message using another part of my anatomy. This of course is bad (well… for me at least). However, on the plus side (again for me at least) this technically makes you a dirty bastard for reading it!

 

P.S… You’d better pray that your eyes can’t catch an STD!

 

  • ………*

 

BELOW: Some Thoughts That Escaped From My Rambling Head

 

Everyday when we wake up we swim through an ocean of shit in the hope that we reach a land full of fragrant roses!!!
…………………………………………
P.S… The above statement is some of the purest and vilest hippy dippy bullshit that I could think up at the time. The point of me saying this pointless “so-called” profound piece of arse vomiting garbage is that it’s apparently cool to write profound twaddle that a two year old can comprehend and post it on a social media network, as though I’m some kind of massive Guru, God bothering, plant licking, animal bumming, bollicks believing, ghost hunting, alien abducted, tosspot talking….. TWAT!!!!

P.P.S… Please post this statement everywhere!!!

P.P.P.S… The reason for me wanting you to post this statement everywhere is… YES you guessed it… I’ m Jonny Strick… Duke of Bullshit… Lord Baron of all Idiots… Prince of the Dickheads… And not forgetting… KING OF THE TWATS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

……….

…….

….

.

Hello! It’s that time of year again when we can reflect on the big issue affecting YOU!… ME!… and EVERYONE else in this big old world. You know it and I know it… So what am I talking about…YES you guessed it… WAFFLES, that’s what! So, if we’re going to get along with one another, as one people with no forms of discrimination then we need to find some form of identity that we can all identify with! Waffles (I believe) are that thing!!! Let’s face it, who doesn’t like a good waffle now and again… I know I do!

 

So first let’s discuss the different types of waffles and how they can help us take that first step to achieving world peace. First up you have the traditional plain waffle. This waffle is your standard….////@@‘213“£^^($)($)_+12436745dfddkjku4367………..Mynme is globorate sdolfdnote kolborate drexlo, and I have hacked into this pathetic humans speech channel just to tell you what we aliens think of you… So here goes… I would like to take this opportunity for myself, my race, and the one million two thousand six hundred and seventy two other known intelligent races, who have formed an Intergalactic Federation, to tell YOU the human race what we (the rest of the known universe) think about you! Ah hem… Here goes: FUCK OFF, {PISS OFF, GO FUCK YOURSELVES, FUCK YOU AND THE HORSE OR OTHER RELEVANT NONE INTELECTUAL BEAST YOU RODE IN ON!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

 

And now… Back to waffles…

……….

…….

….

.

 

……….

 

It’s been scientifically proven that humans have their origins in shit! Darwin has proclaimed in the Origin Of Species that all humans derive from shit!!! This is a scientific fact and cannot be argued with (even though I’ve just made this shit up!) no matter how SHIT your own argument is….Fact… Humans are shit! YOU are SHIT!!!….HA HA…..You’re shite and there’s nowt you can say or do to stop being shit!!! As for me I’m not shit.

 

"WHY? HOW COME? WHO HELL YOU??? HOW YOU NOT BE SHIT LIKE ME????????????" I hear you ask. I hear you ask twice!!!! HAHA... I'm not shit because I be something else my shit evolved friend.... I be waste product... I be dispensable... I be excrement left over... Unwanted molecules... The dredging of stomachs... An ever constant growing inward fart... Something that amounts to nothing... I BE? I BE?? I BE??? I BE???? BE?????

 

I BE SHIT??????

 

I’m shit aren’t I!……………………………. FUCKING SHIT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

……….

 

Who are you voting for? If you have any sense then you’ll vote Conservative.

“But why Jonny? Why vote them lousy posh twats back into power”, I hear you snivelling bunch of pathetic bitches ask.

 

Let’s face up to some facts people… This countries fucked. Being nice and normal is just not the British way (it once was, but hey… things change right!). Let’s stamp on the oldies (nothing but a bunch of bloody coffin dodging gits anyway)… Let’s spit, piss and fart on the unemployed (bunch of scrounging scumbags)… Let’s fuck the planet right up for the future generations to come (I live in the here and now, whatever happens after I’m gone is not my problem).

 

Let’s vote Conservative… Why? Because the countries fucked…

 

But it’s not yet quite fucked up enough. There’s always a slim chance someone else might get in and sort out the mess we now find ourselves in. Someone might get in that cares for the old and young, gives two hoots about the predicament of the working classes and the poverty they find themselves in down to no fault of their own…

 

Let’s not let this happen… VOTE CONSERVATIVE… Let’s fuck things up forever!

…………..

 

FUCK OFF WITH WITH YA FUCKING, BASTARD, TWATING, SHITTY-ARSED, LOW DOWN, FILTH SPREADING, GOOD FOR NOTHING, BALL-BAGGING, CRONE LICKING, HORSE SUCKING, BRAIN REDUCING, OH… LOOK AT ME I’M SO INTELLIGENT, FUCKWIT BREEDING, ELBOW NUDGING, DIARRHOEA GARGLING, UPPERCASE WRITINGBLOODY BLOODY BLOODY POLITICS

I hope the next dickhead who posts their tosspot views onto social media catches seventeen thousand strains of anal worm…

That said… Vote labour!

P.S… Hmmm… I was wondering, does anyone out there have any worming tablets?

 

……………….

 

Lend me a tab mate? No!!!

 

What about a pint then? No!!!

 

Erm… Lend is a quid then… What… No again!!!

 

Lend me a potato… Not even a potato!!! Please… Pretty please with sugar on top! (no puns about sweet potatoes needed by the smartarses out there, thank you!)

 

Well then, lend me something… Anything!!! I’m not bothered what! Be it your clothes, your boots or your motorcycle!!! Your dog, your cat, your budgie etc… Your blood, your brain or your beating heart. GO ON… LEND THEM TO ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

 

[THE REASON I WRITE THESE WORDS IS TO WARN THE HUMBLE AND GULLIBLE OF BLOODY BORRORWERS! I HATE THOSE BASTARDS, CONSTANTLY BEGGING YOU FOR STUFF!!! GET YOUR OWN BLOODY STUFF!!!

 

AND ANOTHER THINGWHY ARE THEY SO SMALLLIVING IN YOUR FLOORBOARDS, SPYING ON YOUDIRTY LITTLE PERVERTS… You know, I’m feeling very confused today!]

 

……………….

 

 

There’s loads of different days: Mother’s day, Father’s day, Christmas day, New Years day, World peace day… etc.

Here’s some of my suggestions: Punch a twat in the face day. Spit, piss and fart on a Politician day. Kick a hippy in the nuts day. Throttle an arsehole who likes to write a lot of shite day (hmmm… should of thought that last one through some!)

…………………

 

Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your clothes, lend me your boots, lend me your motorcycle! Shakespeare… done Schwarzenegger style.

 

 

 

 

 

 


Nonsense and No Sense

A few light-hearted pieces I have written and decided to compile together here. This includes poems, riddles, quotes, short stories and a silly story-like-thing called “The Egg”. If anyone reads this, then I would much appreciate a review (be it good or bad) as any feedback I consider most helpful. Enjoy! Or don't enjoy! Download it. Print it out. Then turn it into toilet paper. Totally your choice! P.S_ Are you bored. Then do what I do. Take off all your clothes and paint your face and arse bright blue. Then run outside and shout abuse at passers-by... Passes the time if nothing else!

  • Author: Jonathan Antony Strickland
  • Published: 2017-08-21 01:37:17
  • Words: 8693
Nonsense and No Sense Nonsense and No Sense