30 January, 2004 
Comments Off now that we are framed, said breadroll, why don’t we fade out.
we didn’t get dusted this morning. block of wood seemed tired. i am tired, he said, sick of this.
finally a final decision was made.
we fade, if it is approved, said sponge.
29 January, 2004 Comments Off breadroll, sponge and block of wood had been framed.
oak: sponge.
beechwood: breadroll.
larch: block of wood.
on the wall in a row they were lined up, and sponge said he was glad that a frame had eventually been set. a framework was needed.
nursery, said breadroll.
rhyme, said block of wood.
28 January, 2004 Comments Off now. we count, said sponge, one. that’s it.
two, said breadroll.
tee, said block of wood.
good work, excellent, said sponge, we work on it a bit, some minor points, and then send it off. but for now, we ought to dribble.
27 January, 2004 Comments Off let’s play golf, blokk said and hit breadroll against the wall with a 7 wood.
that’s not good, said sponge, not good at all at all. today’s assignment is to list all types of red excluding all sorts of shades of red. not golf at all.
and 7 wood wasn’t the right club anyway, said breadroll.
26 January, 2004 Comments Off did you have a good weekend?
yeah, was great.
what did you get up to?
not much, really, just took it easy.
well, breadroll, you being one of the mtv generation youngsters, what made you do that?
blokk had precautiously applied severely sore looking headlock to sponge who was about to ask further questions and joyfully proceeded to wash the wall with sponge.
why can’t you be a breadnut, he said.
sponge, breadroll and block of wood sat on the couch.
sponge, breadroll and block of wood sat on.
sponge, breadroll and block of wood.
gosh, this morning is a bit sluggish, said sponge.
i stepped on one this morning in the back garden. a subtle little sound they make, said breadroll.
and now we sit here and wait, said block of wood, sponge, you did wetten yourself, did you.
yep, said sponge.
couch after all had decided to stay as she felt needed and wanted and wanted to be sat on.
don’t wetten yourself, sponge, she said.
we have to get those piles off the desk at some stage, said sponge, yes, i suppose, he looks terrible.
so the strike is over then, is it?
couch had packed her parcels, bulged her bags and fitted the suitcases. she was ready to go bar sponge, breadroll and block of wood sitting on her.
yep, it is over.
pretty much so.
kind of, i’d say.
they did not move.
earlier this morning sponge had said that their hats may look rather silly, but this aspect had not yet been fully discussed and considered.
breadroll, sponge and block of wood will go on strike. not today though. tomorrow perhaps.
sponge said: if we do not do it soon, we will be doing it much later which would not be good.
i am the emperor of rome.
right. and i am the pope of china.
sponge was a little bit envious as the pills his two colleagues had to swallow due to the most recent poetry incident seemed to be a rather pleasureful pieces of medication.
they’re bitter though, breadroll whispered through a straw.
no please, nobody wants a repetition. it has been a success, people liked the poem a lot and people felt the heartfelt feeling but people do no wish a repetition.
three on the couch, one in the middle.
tikilililil oo kop terri hililililili
riiiiiitiiiii kok utuul waaaah
riiiiiitiiiiii kok utuul waaah
riiiiiitiiiiiii kok utuul waah
riiiiiitiiiiiiii kok utuul wah. kekk.
(mtokk nokk) when police and fire brigade had gained access to the flat they found sponge sitting on a couch (smooshch), on a plate before him block of wood stuffed into breadroll.
my friend plate and i are having breakfast, sponge said, would you care for a bite?
sponge, breadroll and block of wood sat on the couch.
kekkekkek utuul goh, said breadroll.
rrrrrrot dadida dada ffroll, said block of wood.
my word, said sponge, there would have been a time for such word, my word. this is sofa. sofa, take a bow. sofa does not move, you see. let us go now.
sponge, breadroll and block of wood sat on the sofa.
a red stain of jam on a silvery blade of knife pushed breadroll’s bewilderment beyond the faith of lord angels. sponge had to soak it in a drink of water to clean the blade and breadroll’s nose alike. they spent hours and ages and yarns to discuss the quality of jam to no avail.
a wave of woffle, a plenty of paper, a flood of letters is filling the desk, sponge said, and none to keep it at bay.
damnit, said breadroll.
i know, said block of wood with the faint smile of somebody who has had an idea just in this instance and is about to share it with friends, we set the table on top of things as that is what we are.
all agreed and so it was done.
what do we have here? it is a new year. breadroll took a bow and cheered his performance.
shorter, sponge said. o dear, a new year. that’s modern, that’s vibrant and new. besides, we’re late, as in late late. better go to the threadmill.
blokk craved the poems in breadroll’s crust. i put me shoes on, he said.
