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Need more to be said?

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Anyone who disagrees with this, is a fool.

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Mr. Krumble’s Great Plan

Old Mr. Krumble had a blank stare,

A crooked, hooked nose and shaggy, loose hair.

He hated all children, they filled him with spite,

So he concocted a plan later that night.

The plan was quite simple, and that it was so,

To strap rockets to children - his ugly, little foe.

The children would fly and have such fun at first -

That was until the rockets suddenly burst.

They would never suspect that this old man of mirth

Would be the harbinger of doom they’d been warned of since birth.

 .

So old Mr. Krumble, with smile so mean,

Hurried into town to exact his diabolical scheme.

Purchased the rockets, paid all in cash,

And hurried to the park to show off his stash.

He set up a stall, with signpost so high:

“Try my new rockets and you’ll reach the SKY!”

He sat for a while to marvel at his work,

Whilst he ate his jam sandwich he could not help but smirk.

He launched off one rocket to draw in young fans,

The children were excited by the crude, old man.

All the little kiddies clamoured to the fray,

Completely unaware that they were running the wrong way.

 .

Mr. Krumble could not decide which child was worst,

That was until a small boy ran into him headfirst.

Mr. Krumble smiled and felt the lighter in his pocket,

And placed the small boy on a bright yellow rocket.

Duct tape and glue he then applied second,

And to the other children he continuously beckoned.

He pulled out his lighter, under-breathe he cursed,

When all of a sudden the rocket spontaneously burst!

 .

All were consumed in the explosions of fire,

Including Mr. Krumble, who being tall, burned a bit higher.

Let this be a lesson to all those whom plot and plan,

It is a fool who mistakes rocket fuel for apricot jam.

 .

-J. R. Newton (on his experience with rockets).

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WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE INANIMATE OBJECT?

A 1.25ltr cup of tea, inside a huge mug with a moustache.

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Life in Porridge

  I wish I was a porridge person, And lived in porridge land. Have a porridge hat upon my head, And some porridge in my hand. I’d swim the porridge sea, And dance the porridge dance. I’d fight in porridge tournaments, And spear with a porridge lance. I’d wave as porridge does. I’d bow like porridgers do. I’d build a porridge house, And have porridge in my shoe. And when porridge day comes to an end And porridge night does begin, I’d curl up in my porridge bed And wear my porridge grin.

  I cannot even express how smug I felt after writing this...

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For my first post (hello by the way) I am giving you a piece done by one of my favourite artists, Michael Leunig.