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Origin

ORIGIN

 

Copyright by Frankie Lassut 2016

 

Published by Wonky eBooks at Shakespir

 

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 recipient. 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.

 

 

Napoleon Bonaparte: “History is written by the winners”

History:

late 14c., “relation of incidents” (true or ‘false’), from Old French ‘estoire’

 

 

 

THE AMATEUR NATURALIST’S MONTHLY

 

This month we have done a special article on a newly discovered species, the Galapagos Intelligent Pygmy Tortoise.

 

The Galapagos Islands find fame

 

The Galapagos islands were made famous by Charles Darwin who visited them way back when. Charles Darwin the famous occasional naturist (you read it correctly) lived in Down house in Kent. As a young man he was interested in naturism and liked to study nature, especially finches. He called himself a naturalist in order to save himself from any embarassment because back then it wasn’t so accepted; he did it in secret (I will mention it no more).

In order to do this (study finches, clothed in birdwatcher’s gear) Charles had to see them up close and so he attempted to trap them. Finch trapping though died out in the sixteenth century because they were very hard to trap and most finch trappers went bankrupt and ended up leaving finch trapping and getting proper jobs. Many of them got jobs on poultry farms collecting eggs to be hatched for chicks, but many farmers went bankrupt and laid the egg pickers off, simply because they didn’t have the cash to make hens meet. Charles’s finch trapping method one was to sling his father’s strawberry nets across two trees and catch the finches in flight. He actually managed to catch a ‘few’ but failed miserably … but, let me explain

In the angling world, anglers who don’t like fishing with rods can use a set line. This consisted of two or more metal or wooden posts stuck in the sand at a chosen place which would be covered by the tide. A line was tied to the two posts which in effect joined them together. A series of much shorter lines were tied along the long line. Each shorter line had a hook tied to the end of it; these hooks were baited and then covered with a handful of sand to protect the bait from predatory gulls.

The point here is, the ‘set liner’ who needed the fish for the omega 3 to make his kids brilliant with huge briains like those aliens with huge heads who were then in with a better chance of getting a decent job in a local supermarket, unlike him, a hedge fund manager. Really, if it wasn’t for omega 3, factories would be full of sweeper uppers because no one would be clever enough to tackle anything else such as lathe engineering jobs or production line operative work. This is why those other jobs in factories requiring great knowledge and skill are taken by pupils from private schools, especially places like Eton or King Henry VIII in Coventry; the students parents have large, juicy, expensive cod (which isn’t for the working people) flown to their homes by private helicopter.

 

If the set liner fisherman failed to get to the line when there was still a foot or so of water covering it, he may be treated to the sight of gulls flying off with his fish, or any other opportunistic predators that were in the vicinity. Luckily for the fishing fraternity, crocodiles tend not to hang about British shorelines. Saying that, if you’re a fisherman and are set lining near a sewer pipe, indicated by the abundance of turds, remember also that some people put pet Nile crocodiles down the toilet. Please don’t put your crocodile down the loo and save set liner’s from their powerful jaws by realising that a Nile crocodile is for life not just for Christmas.

It isn’t funny going to the set line at 5a.m. and finding a twenty five foot Nile cocodile feeding on your catch. Nile crocodiles who have been caught doing this by naturalists are found to have a high I.Q. due to the omega 3 from the fish and not the digested set liner.

Tip: If you’re a person who sells apples but you haven’t done any market research but you want to send your child/children to private school because they want to be naturalists, you will want tons of cash which means selling tons of apples, then do some research you lazy ass, it’s easy. Pack your lunch box and go and sit by the end of a sewer pipe. Cover yourself with a camoflauge net so any passing twenty five foot Nile crocodiles don’t see you; don’t forget to put eye holes in it.

Have your note pad ready …

A stool will come past and if the person is an apple eater (as an apple a day keeps the NHS away), there will be a sticker on the stool. This is because most people forget to peel the little sticker off the apple, or, it is awkward to get off if the person has no nails … they simply swallow them. If you have done your homework you will only have to see the colour i.e. pink for Pink Lady, green for Granny Smith. If the sewer is huge and you can’t make out the label because the stool is too far away, you will need a telescopic fishing net and probably a pair of marigold gloves (which you must remove before you make your note in your note book.

Charles had the same problem as the ‘late to line’ set liners, as before dawn if it was an early morning tide, his strawberry netted finches got eaten by a local peregrine falcon which preferred netted finches to diving out of the sky at one hundred and eighty miles an hour only to smash into a pigeon … it may look spectacular to naturalists and members of the RSPB, but it ain’t no fun. Some peregrine falcons actually have pigeon phobias and as feral pigeons taste of garlic; peregrine falcons don’t like garlic. He lost his finchy study samples to hungry grey squirrels, cats, rats and escaped ferrets, which are good climbers and can negotiate nets, especially strawberry nets.

Charles’ second method was one where he could be present i.e. the old favourite of propping a dustbin lid up with a stick which has a long string tied to it which Charles could run through his window, putting him in charge as the head trapper as he sat there, waiting, holding the string and munching an apple (as his parents were apple sellers). But!

When Charles went to the pet shop to get some finch food to use as bait, he found that he couldn’t say finch and instead ‘fish’ came out, which was a really annoying speech defect in the circumstances. He gave up after buying five tubs of fish flakes; he wasn’t happy but his fish were (he was studying fins as part of his degree).

Charles was now getting desperate and so frustrated that he was forced to go down his local pub on his horse Gwendoline, whose pedigree name was Gwendoline Darwin of Down House Stables. One night he was almost crying over his tenth double Drambuie, when the landlord noticed his less than happy state. “Something amiss Mr Darwin?” asked Edward A Chinf. Charles told him of his terrible plight and Edward who was a caring, helpful bloke said “give me a minute” and he disappeared.

‘Exactly’ one minute later (the first person in history ever to accomplish the promise) he reappeared carrying … an air rifle.

“Study them dead Mr Darwin. What does it matter? They’re of no use anyway.”

Charles brightened up. ‘Ah! Someone who understands the study of natural history!’ he thought.

“Here you go, it’s yours. I got done by the feds for watching my neighbour undress through the powerful telescopic sights. It’s a gift to help you advance naturalism and fish knowledge (he had a speech defect as well). Here are some pellets too.” Just think, if things had happened differently and Edward had accompanied Charles to the pet shop and said finch instead of Charles saying ‘fish’, things would have been a lot different. Charles got home on the fed up Gwen and polished his new ‘finch collector’.

The next day, he got up early for a naturist with a hangover i.e. 10 a.m. and went out finch shooting. Finches can talk to each other ‘obviously’, so here is a little conversation:

Finch 1: “Oh no! He’s got an air rifle now! With powerful telescopic sights”

Finch 2: “What’s an air ri …”

Finch 1: “Duck!” … but he was too late with his warning.

 

There was a puff of feathers as Charles bagged his first specimen which would have its beak studied at length later before he binned it. The warning probably wouldn’t have worked anyway, as can be proved beyond any shadow of doubt, by this part of the conversation which would have happened if the warning had been espoused and heard while Charles was still trying to steady the rifle and aim.

Finch 2: “That’s ok, we aren’t scared of ducks, just human naturalists, peregrine falcons, cats, ferrets or grey squirrels… ‘then’ there would have been a puff of feathers, which all goes to prove that when your number’s up, your number’s up.

Charles began studying the beaks of different finches a/ because he was a naturalist and b/ because he had far too much time on his hands. Friends said to him “Charles, we’re getting worried about you a/ because you wear a T shirt with the picture of a birds beak on it and b/ your refusal to get a proper job which doesn’t help either the government or the economy. And we hate you because your family has loads of cash from eating loads of omega 3 when they were young and so being clever enough to sell apples while t’t likes of us have to sweep up around t’t feet of those Eton wankers in supermarkets for a penny a week. How did your parents do the apple market research? We might want to do it as well”

Charles though liked the money part of his life, because he lived in a lovely house and drank lots of expensive Drambuie, while his friends lived in wooden shacks and drank nail polish remover and paraffin to get happy. He didn’t tell them the apple market research secret (why tell the competition? Especially those who say t’t). But, one night at roost time, the boss finch looked at their dwindling numbers. He called everyone together and they had a meeting. At the end of the meeting, they all took off and the cloud of surviving finches flew really high and got in the jet stream where they travelled to pastures bushes and trees anew; ok, a few got chewed up by Virgin jet engines, but a finch isn’t as big a problem as a swan. Actually, it’s a good job they didn’t have jets in the stone age… “Mayday! Mayday! Grunt. I have a pterodactyl in engine three! Grunt!”

The next day, Charles now wanting to study finch legs, went out with his air rifle to bag a few specimens but was dismayed to find that all the finches had buggered off. That night he went to the pub and told Edward of his troubles. Edwards mate Henry a sailor was in, and Edward introduced them. Henry told Charles about the Galapagos Islands and all the finches there. That is why naturist Charles Darwin packed his jacket, underpants, long johns, vest, shirt, one hundred and fifteen bottles of Drambuie and important air rifle and went to the Galapagos islands. Anything else you read about this subject i.e. history, is made up crap.

So, Charles began to study finches on the Galapagos, some of which had been talking to the finches from Kent. The Kent finches told the gapapagos finches about the human creeping around with the gun and a sketch pad, and how they had escaped which is why they were there.

 

Kent Finch: “Oh no! It’s him again with that bloody gun!

Galapagos finch: “What’s a gun?”

Kent: “He’s pointing it at you! Duck!”

Galapa: “Where’s the duck? I aint scared of no duck!”

There was a puff of feathers …

 

The finches had flown high above Kent and joined the jet stream. It had been really cold even with feathers, but, anything to get away from that maniacal gun-happy naturist. At a time that had felt right they dropped back down to earth, right onto the Galapagos island, ‘Chatham’. Charles when he arrived, then began to shoot some of the same birds he was shooting back home. There were quite a lot of other finches on the islands which had escaped for the same reason, amateur bloody naturalists. No matter, Charles Darwin got the finches he wanted even though they flew from island to island; he didn’t actually know that quite a few of them were his old prey from Kent, which wouldn’t have made a ‘apple sticker stickered stool’ of difference anyway. To chase the finches around the archipelago, all Charles did was have a word with the captain and one of the sailors rowed the landing boat while Charles shouted at him from the back end through a cardboard loud hailer. They chased the birds until the remainder got fed up and came back home. A lot of the finches in Kent had fore fathers (and foremothers) who lived and died on the Galapagos.

Archipelago = a group of Islands

Archie Pelago = A Scottish bloke from Glasgow with a Spanish dad.

Lord A. Masters = An associate of mine who is a Lord of Glencoe after he bought himself a title to impress Billie Piper. His alter ego is a hero called The Black Grouse. See our book of the same title.

To get the finches back from the Galapagos islands, Charles regularly visited the ships many toilets and collected toilet roll tubes from the waste paper bins … he popped the finches into these, plugged the ends with cotton wool balls and put them in his case like that. So Charles logged the species of finches and wrote down and drew beak shapes telling how each one had a beak which had adapted over trillions of years to meet the eating requirements of its food; he did the same with legs, wings etc. The interesting one was the falcon beaked Galapagos finch which killed and ate galapagos rabbits. There was also the Galapagos Chicken finch which was flightless and lovely roasted, which the sailors had for Sunday dinners. Unfortunately, no one knew how to make gravy.

One interesting finchless story, is that of during night times. Charles and the sailors were sat on the beach. They were drinking cheap rum and making merry. The sailors found that monkeys who lived in the trees would come onto the beach and join the sailors drinking rum. Charles wrote as to how the next day the sailors and the monkeys had hangovers, but that night when the hangovers had gone the sailors began to repeat the process, but the monkeys wouldn’t touch the alcohol again. He said how infinitely more intelligent the monkeys were as compared to the humans. Mind you, there was a pile of monkey corpses after a while i.e. those who tried to steal Charles’s Drambuie … all had an air rifle pellet hole in their heads.

Charles Darwin then wrote his thesis on finches beaks and in the process became famous and dodged all attempts by the church to kill him because his work was obviously blaughsphemy. All those working people who read his scientific extravaganza found their lives changed dramatically when they could get together and talk about finch beaks i.e. they teamed up and went to avian based pub quizzes on finch speciality nights … prize? A tenner. A WHOLE tenner!

 

GALAPAGOS TORTOISES

 

Galapagos tortoises grow very big. This is partly due to the fact that there are no pet shops on the islands and therefore humans can’t buy them and the kids therefore can’t use them as cricket balls. The tortoise protection society had Galapagos Council refuse permission to let the shopkeepers open pet shops, which in turn destroyed the Galapagos cricket bat industry and the Galapagos baseball bat industry.

There is though a Galapagos tortoise few know about, the Galapagos Pygmy tortoise. The Pygmy tortoises have very high intelligence levels, I know this because I know one (it’s true). They think like humans from private schools, which therefore makes them highly intelligent. That’s because part of their brain is human. How can part of their brain be human? I hear you ask. Well, obviously one or more of the giant tortoises bred with a human. There isn’t anything strange about that, it’s like a human breeding with an alien. The question is, now that we know that one or more of the big tortoises bred with a human, who was that human?

Our scientist thinks that the Pygmy tortoises haven’t been around very long, so Charles Darwin is out. Charles was too busy chasing finches anyway to be bothered with tortoises and a spot of tortoise Don King. I use the term Don King so as not to say bon king, which would be unsuitable for a natural history text which would be read by serious scientific minded people who didn’t like human pleasure, just scientific things with logic attached which isn’t very sexy at all.

If Charles Darwin is out, so must be Sir David Attenborough, for if Charles was still alive, he and Sir David would both be the same age and so not capable of chasing and Don King; they would need a crash team and the BBC don’t supply them. It must then have been either Ray Mears or Bear Grylls, so with a process of logical deduction, it must be Ray Mears. Why Ray Mears? Well, Ray was all over the TV screen like a rash and then Bear came along and put him in the shadows. Ray wondered what to do, and after a long wonder decided to father a species of tortoise that would take over the world and then only agree to give up control when Bear Grylls was rationed in his airtime and not allowed to make fire on TV as that was Ray’s party piece. The one thing that Ray didn’t want to do was eat big squashy slimy gutted bugs or jump into a minus temperature stream and then dance on the bank trying to get warm again and still smiling. Was that two things? Sorry.

Ray decided that the only way to do this was to make news by kneeling down behind a giant Galapagos tortoise and making intelligent creatures that could think like humans. The one thing that Ray didn’t realise was his hybrid offspring would ‘want’ to be human, because with their half human minds they could still see that humans had it easy; if only they would realise.

That said, this story of wonderful natural history will enter the world of the unbelievable soon, simply because you probably will maybe find it hard to absorb what I tell you. That said, your teachers tried to tell you things too yet you still ended up not loving what you do.

Before Ray left Galapagos to take over from Bear Grylls who had now become a cleaner, he introduced his children to a couple of books which he had acquired from the dusty crypt library of the Natural History Museum in Blackpool; the one in London is a decoy to keep us all ignorant and thinking we came from monkeys, which is imposible as monkeys are cleveverer than us are. More about the books later.

The Galapagos Pygmy tortoises knew they wouldn’t get much fun on the Galapagos islands because they were populated by animals that were very laid back. They wanted life advice from their parent but all their parent did was walk around slowly, eat leaves and look sleepy and uninterested. One of the little ones on day asked his mother “Who was my dad?”

“I’m not sure dear they were behind me at the time after having snook up on me, but I think it was Ray Mears judging by the size, but it might have been Bear Grylls only he was in the Arctic lighting a fire after jumping in a minus fifty two degrees centigrade pool as the pissed off looking BBC cameraman filmed him. It’s ok, Ray may live in the shadow of Bear, but he’s nice and he got his eleven plus.”

You might be wondering why, if it was Ray, Pygmy tortoises are Pygmy? Ray Mears is over five foot tall after all. The answer is ‘they just are’.

 

Of course, any natural historian worth his or her salt will know that tortoises don’t speak English (they may think it though and that’s a good start), but worry not, Ray knew that and had made provision for it as you already know. Ray had the very, very rare book, Teaching a Tortoise How To Effectively Communicate With Humans Using Talk, by Irish tortoise expert Shelley Titrose O Blighters. The books special techniques taught how to teach a tortoise to use their ‘squeaks’ combined with telepathy, because as stated previously, animals ‘think’ in human and this can be telepathically projected into a human mind. So, they would squeak and transfer telepathically thought at the same time so humans would swear they were talking to them. So far so good. Ray’s other book was called How to Speedily Hypnotise Humans When You’re a Tortoise. This taught the teacher how to teach the tortoises to mass hypnotise humans into seeing and believing the tortoise was a human, which used the basic technique of making a human think it was a chicken, or eating a non-existent apple holographically. The book was by hypnotist Paul McHenna who was a professional hypnotist and a shampoo manufacturer.

So the Pygmy tortoises got fed up of being tortoises on Galapagos, what with walking around slowly each day and eating boring food, having the occasional toilet stop and then repeating the whole process. They wanted to be human because from what they had heard, humans had it very good indeed but didn’t realise it. Actually, humans have a lot in common with tortoises, they walk around, eat, shit and then repeat the whole process, while all the time counting down to retirement. When they retire, they walk around, look bored, eat, shit … etc. Actually, human naturral history shows us that humans, work in miserable jobs for forty years, retire, and then think… “Ok, that’s the hard bit done, now it’s time to live, live! Live! Then they walk around, eat, shit and look bored. Old people now can have an exciting post-retirement life by taking a college course in something like ‘How to Effectively Talk About Other People With Other People you Don’t Talk About’. In grim reality, human natural history tells us that life begins when you finish the bit you should have actually lived, during’. The Pygmy tortoises got itchy feet and fancied a change from Galapagos, although they thought it might be nice to come for holidays.

 

One morning Ray was on the beach packing up his gear as he was leaving. He had heard that Bear Grylls was going to Ibiza for a holiday so Ray planned to go to his house and squat, eat his food, maybe light the kitchen stove with pieces of craftsman made pieces of wood rather than with an ‘easy life’ flint; which even depressed celebrities could use. The one thing Ray was really careful about was not to get sand in his spare underpants, because that was always really annoying when he donned the spare pair. However, before Ray climbed onto the raft that he’d built from driftwood, one of the tortoises asked him how they would get off Galapagos and come to England for an easy life as a human?

Ray told them to go to the top of a cliff and wait until a naturalist came to study the cliff face i.e. fossils and stuff and to see where the silt layer was forty million years ago in case the question came up in a pub quiz. The tortoise would then jump off the cliff as the clever naturalist chipped away with his or her small hand sized pickaxe. If the tortoise was a good aim it would land in either a pocket, or in some cases a trouser turn up. The population would be in trouble if one of them missed and splattered itself on the rocks, because if the naturalist picked up the blood soaked mess and tasted it, what if they thought the meat really yummy? The next thing the naturalist would do would spend the rest of the grant on booze, and then commercialise Pygmy tortoise meat.

 

Imagine the riches from this lot:

 

Tinned Pygmy tortoise meat

Pulled Pygmy tortoise meat

Rack of Pygmy tortoise ribs

Pygmy tortoise soup.

Pygmy tortoise jerky (to sell in pubs as snacks)

Crunchy Pickled Pygmy tortoise heads

Powdered Pygmy tortoise shell (a powerful aprodisiac … 1 spoonful in a glass of water before nookie. Especially good for Viagra users or anyone over 85 who fancies some loving).

 

With that lot on offer and millions in the pipeline who wants to chip away at cliffs looking for fossils, or collect finches to study their beaks and legs? That information on a terrible percieved vision of the future both scares a Pygmy tortoise and sharpens its aim. However, one tortoise needed to ‘test the water’ and that tortoise would be Gilly (he was actually named later on, but we can use the name here)

This little tortoise went to the top of a cliff, one that had plenty of juicy fossils in the face, waited for a nauralist to come along and start chipping dreaming of fame, probably from the finding of a never before known about stone skeleton. The tortoise jumped and landed in the pocket of the naturalist’s jacket. Luckily, naturalists have empty jacket pockets because they don’t need change as there are no parking meters on Galapagos; or any traffic wardens for that matter. It could be different now though as Richard Branson may have put some Virgin coke machines here and there as naturalists tend to get thirsty and apreciate the caffeine and the sugar boost which combats boredom.He may also have stuck a few airports here and there too, but, even with big car parks nauralists still don’t need change because they travel like Ray Mears, by driftwood raft; they can’t afford airplane travel and big four wheel drives anyway because their grant money is for fags and booze (just like Charles Darwin and the sailors).

I’m sorry, I apologise, but I forgot to tell you that one of the special talents of the Galapagos Pygmy tortoise is its ability to jump around like a frog, which can come in handy. So the little tortoise began to make its way to England. It didn’t however get into the pocket of a naturalist, but instead got into the pocket, or jumped into the trouser turn up of a tourist. This was because it didn’t fancy a ride on a driftwood raft, but instead an aeroplane ride. On the plane it used both techniques Ray had taught it and it blagged its way across as human Mr Gilroy, a naturalist. It nearly got kicked off the plane because the pilot, a keen amateur naturalist who hated finches knew that naturalists never trvelled by aeroplane, only driftwood rafts. How did Mr Gilroy pay? Well, using telepathy talk and hypnosis, he convinced the check in girl that he had a fistful of pounds when he didn’t (actually, he didn’t even have a fist, which is the power of hypnosis). Just to put the point home, he thought the girl looked a bit thin and hungry and gave her a holographic apple, a pork pie and a tin of holographicVirgin coke. Hypnosis can be a very handy thing for Gapapagos Pygmy tortoises.

It was then very simple. Because he was really a tortoise Gilly could sleep rough and as it was Britain, he could be as warm a s toast underneath a pile of crap on the pavement. He then went to the job centre and got a job in a Coventry city office.

 

One day, he was photographed by Lily and Laura of Anateur Naturalist’s Monthly Magazine. It should be noted that when Gilly went to work on his first day, he had hypnotised many people and they thought him a normal human, so, if you can, please can you do just that here.

He hadn’t been there an hour, but when the boss disappeared, Gilly was already up to no good, recording his backside.

 

 

 

He hopped onto the machine which just goes to show how useful his ability to jump like a frog is.

 

 

Here, he is phoning a customer

 

And then …

 

 

 

Such a heroic workrate needs energy to be sustained, thank God for lunchtime!

 

Professionals like Gilly need a relaxing hobby so as to let their hair down and chill out … Here, Gilly is being a bumble bee. He likes to wear this disguise and hang out in people’s gardens, undetected; it gives him a buzz

 

 

 

Keeping records of sales

 

 

 

 

Toilet break (you can tell he isn’t a busdriver … they don’t get to pee, or two)

 

 

 

 

A
t last! Hometime! This takes magnificent balance. If the office job doesn’t work out, maybe he could become a circis tightrope walker?

 

 

 

 

 

Then, in a state of high mental fatigue, he can relax with a sip of ‘water’ and watch Hollyoaks

 

 

I have the feeling that you are wondering how the tortoise got the name Gilly?

Well, there is a pub in Coventry called the Whitefriars where they held an open mic night. I was there one night when this Galapagos Pygmy tortoise wss performing. I thought it great that a little tortoise would be performing, while everyone else of course thought he was a human. I had a little interesting chat to him that night. I asked him what hs name was? It turned out he didn’t have one. As he was singing the famous song Gilly Gilly Ossenfeffer Katzenellen Bogen by the Sea, I named him Gilly. If he ever goes into any tortoise competitions he will use the full title as his pedigree name.

 

 

***

 

 

PS:

This isn’t in yhe official history, but, eventually, Charles Darwin got fed up of finches. Experts say that this was obvious when Charles wrote to the head of the Natural History Museum and said “All of these bloody things look the same after a while, like bloody warblers. I have now decided to study field mice, especially their teeth, which will make a refreshing change from bloody beaks; once you’ve seen one beak …

Blah, blah, blah …

 

But, there was a problem, Charles you see had stored all of his air rifle acquired specimens in toilet roll tubes.

 

He wrote:

 

“Every bloody drawer I open is full of bloody finch filled toilet roll tubes! I have no room for tubes filled with field mice.

 

Charles then had a brilliant brainwave. He acquired many jars and bottles of white vinegar. He then plucked many finches, removed the beaks and dropped them in the jars. He then had some labels made i.e. Darwin’s Pickled Finches … ideal for picnics. He was then left with a few bags of feathers and beaks. With the beaks he had made by a jeweller friend ‘finch-beak necklaces’. With the feathers he had brooches made and also several limited edition pillows.

 

He then wrote again to the museum.

 

Dear …

 

I, Charles Darwin wonder if you would like to purchase the following items to sell in your gift shop?

 

1: Pickled finches (ideal for picnics or children’s parties).

2: Finch-beak necklaces.

3: Finch feather pillows.

A while later he tried the same with field mice …

 

Isn’t history much more fun when you hear the actual truth.

 

***

 

 

Have a splendid day.

 

www.wonky-ebooks.com

 

 


Origin

It was Napoleon Bonaparte who said, “history is written by the winners” ... but shall we believe that? I (me, me, me) believe that history is written by anyone who fancies their chances at making a bob or two by writing a book for gullible history fans, especially historic novels and, having a resultant ‘easy life’. Take the Bible for instance, is it history? Well, it happened in the past so that makes it history, but how are the ‘facts’ collected? I believe that there is a school for scribes that trains and then releases scribes to follow historic figures around incognito, noting everything said and done ... the ‘beyond top secret’ scribe school has been established for a very long time of course. If, for example, you see a picture of Jesus surrounded by his disciples to whom he is giving a ‘know it all’ lecture, well, in the tree in the picture, or behind the wall, there has to be a scribe, scribbling down in shorthand the conversations etc, how else to get it accurate? Natural history is easier, but requires the writer to act on common sense regarding the behaviour of characters or animals i.e. the history writer human or natural could ask ‘what would I do in this situation if I were this character?’ ... and the story will then write itself. I am glad to say that this work, which is half recent-historic and half contemporary, is as accurate as a set of hi-tech laser sights on a modern sniper rifle. This then, exhaustively researched work, is a mixture of ‘recent historic well documented facts’ and what happened last week. The best part is that it is the account of a familiar, yet new species that is extremely intelligent. I would be grateful if you could read this and then, by whatever means are necessary, recommend me for the Nobel Peace Prize or the New Year’s Honours List and maybe some sort of precious metal medal with an inlaid jewel? Whichever can bag the most cash. That would be very nice and I wouldn’t have to claim jobseekers allowance anymore (please check dates and times so that I don’t have to go to the Palace or Geneva on signing day). I was joking there of course. Someone told me they give the Nobel Prize to the winner, in Geneva; or was that the Eurovision Song Contest? Oh! My! God! Does Brexit mean that GB can’t enter the Eurovision anymore?! Does that mean we won’t come fifty sixth again!?

  • ISBN: 9781370382743
  • Author: Frankie Lassut
  • Published: 2016-08-29 18:05:17
  • Words: 5488
Origin Origin