and so long beards grow in the spirit of things

another week passed and time stood still in fastslow passing. sponge grew a beard and breadroll a fungus that looked like a beard. that’s how it goes. said sponge, we’ve been good and are being rewarded with growth. bit itchy though, said breadroll. that’s to keep us on our toes, said sponge. we must not become complacent.

anything is good for something in the end

the thought of having to come up with something, anything, was too much. i can’t bear that, said sponge. breadroll entered the room and sat down. you are very formal today, said sponge, entering the room, like that. other people just come in. other people, as breadroll replied, also simply had enough, rather than claiming to be unable to bear an event or location. true, said sponge. they waited. perhaps something happens, said sponge, so that we do not have to come up with something. or anything at all, said breadroll, which, as they agreed, was a good way to end the conversation.

safety in certainty

if anything we should get going soon. we should, soon. we’ve been around an age and a bit. but we probably won’t get moving this time. it was worth mentioning though, it’ll be too easy a way out. way to easy. we’ll stick around for a while until it’s too late to leave in grace.
they won’t throw us out this time, said breadroll, but i’m not sure.

whatever it takes to get a word in for yourself

why are we talking about food so much, said sponge, is there something?
we are not, said breadroll, we mentioned the canteen recently.
a yes, the canteen. we didn’t mention it before. the perls.
says herr brekst, whenever i come i have a question and no answer ready for me. this is the state of thing and i will have to queue for an answer like anybody else here, if there are any left that is. is this queue for beetroot by chance? or chips? answers?
it is getting silly.

in nobody’s real interest

the train people once almost crucified a chap for not having a ticket, some spotty faced fellow, youngish, plastic clad. the guy wasn’t a saint for sure, all knew that, but people felt the reaction was a bit too harsh. the train people said it was a normal industrial action. wordsback and forth and an argument ensued. it got nowhere but we didn’t get to her the rest of the story as a result. that’ll be it.

like a block in the woods

remember the block, said sponge. no, said breadroll. gone a long time now, said sponge, we should leave too, but where too. we ask ourselves all the time, everybody else would have lost patience. not we, said breadroll. he tried to find the edge of the platform with his eyes. no avail, too vast it was. we’re lost, he said. big time, said sponge, that platform is a forest. would you believe, so vast and void. and insects, said breadoll.

sit tight in silence

no just don’t do anything, said sponge and used a cattle prod he had found in the stationmaster’s office on breadroll. it was in the stationmaster orifice, he said, you should be honoured.
stop that, said breadroll. that’s not so funny.
the cattle prod, train people issue, was of cheaper make than expected. it broke soon, having served neither purpose nor cause.

blowing wind not porridge in this context

we should take it to the streets again, said sponge, and not let fart jokes come our way. it is the day of labour after all a serious matter.
yep, said breadroll matter-of-factishly, the working class are the very group of people generally identified in marxist theory as the proletariat. you are right there, said sponge, i agree, but although they are in a struggle for power with the bourgeoisie, the members of the working class must, nonetheless, sell their labour to the bourgeoisie to produce the material needs for their society.
that make things difficult, said breadroll, you simply can’t have a revolution in a day.

about away as in gone

away, said sponge, yes. away. i told the media but they would not do a thing. bit by bit i shall tell you and – block of wood. where is he?
gone, said breadroll, not here.
sounds silly, said sponge, but i can see that.
they both nodded in appreciation.

in terms of fun a modest day

a man dressed as a santa walked by, followed by another santa and another one. block of wood counted them all.
it’s getting into season, said breadroll, always had, for a quite a while anyway.
the santas were mugging passers-by.
i wonder what their terms of employment might be, said sponge.
they usually use drug addicts for that job, said breadroll.
i wonder if their christmas party is any fun, said sponge, in their terms of fun.

we and i have a particular view of the world in common

are we second to none you think, said sponge.
no, said breadroll, not we, third maybe or fourth.
even fifth, said sponge. breadroll approved. probably sixth, he said.
that’s not too bad, said sponge.

even in the event that something ever might happen

brekst didn’t come in a while, said sponge, and not much happen since. a fly is a fly but for all i know it is an event. brekst with his cirpy voice, the voice that lingers on when he’s gone.
and even if something happened, said breadroll, what would we do?
about it? with it? for it? against it? i spin when i think about it, said sponge. you name it, said breadroll.

nice as in friendly not fiendish

he always does that, he always does that wrong, said sponge. and if i was to say that again it would be more like ‘he always does that, he always does that fucking wrong, said sponge’.

but difference in shit can spell lucky

same corner, did we say same corner. yeah well, same corner that’s what it is. it is my superior believe that we didn’t move a bit, abit and therefore didn’t get very far, said sponge. he made a point and breadroll made a comma whereas block of wood resorted to a semicolon. to be half-wit sponge then said that making a colon would have been really shitty. none of these comments really furthered anything but luckily wasn’t supposed to do so anyway and thus wasn’t filed as failure.
lucky that.

dada in this context was wrongly referred to for no reason

dada, as is work related, as in labour relevant, does fnothing for people and has no significance in industrial relationships other than being signifcantly present, in presence, past and future tensions.
bravo, said sponge, well done. the others say the same.
bravo, said breadroll, -(and so on).

balls in a box here

falafel is not what it used to be, said sponge, much dearer than back then.
i used to stuff them inside me, said breadroll.
very fattening, the fat woman said. too much carbs, i’d watch it if i was you.

dada or not, this novel is in a rut

you call this dada, said brekst in a sudden burst of mirth, this doesn’t make any sense. hah. – uneasy looks of course, no-one knew what to say, where to look, what will he do next, a german at loose with a dose of joy to spread, a melancolic poem perhaps he’ll burst into, some sort of militerischer gruppenubunk or kinds, leitmotif opera probably, perhaps we aren’t sure.
so then, herr brekt said, we shall proceed. a useful setting, not novel but suitable for one. second pun.
some sort of, said sponge.
idea, said breadroll.
dada is when we do add some message, herr brekst said. like the environment. we could also hurt religious feelings.
global warming, said sponge. splendid, herr brekst said. we won’t go any further.

three times british in a row

whoaw, said sponge, this time they’ll do it, britain for the cup. four times actually, in a row but not a queue
people do get that sense of humour, said breadroll.
couldn’t be bovver’d, said block of wood. now that we pinch a gag we drop it. this story goes nowhere mostly anyway actually.

sponge is challenged on his conduct of the storyline but people whose puns involve swaps of letters ay and al are not really experienced in challenging people

that’s like: lame. can we not have a normal story, with a normal setting? no?
no. a normal. as in norman, with an al instead.
i see what you mean. you have a point, and a leg to stand on. phrases. you’ve got to love them.

hope in the bleak country

tomorrow, the man said (not the man we were talking about), tomorrow, i heard, the government will be thinking about a new toilet. tomorrow.
i, too, have things to do tomorrow, said sponge.

announcing more movement does not set things in motion

i’d really like to get there, the man said and pointed towards the toilet, badly, he said. he got up and ran.
we should get going, said sponge.
two unrelated statements, made at different locations, at or around the same time, followed by diverse implementation.

somehow it is not him in shorts

there’s isn’t much left, said sponge, but the man is there.
not him, said breadroll, the man himself.
no, said sponge, not him.

meaning as in meaning it

q: as in fnnnn.
a: what? you didn’t ask me that, if i interpret you correctly that is.
q: i didn’t, you do, isn’t it? always the matter. did it come as a surprise.
a: no, not really. it was pretty predictable. we knew they would react like this and were prepared.
q: that is always something, to be prepared i mean. i really mean it.
a: it is.
there was some pushing and shoving going on which we missed, sadly enough. we didn’t understand the answer. either. but there it was.

any cheese in that context would replace something

herr brekst did not really care to get answers or attention, he did not really want all that, after all he was a chap to have a pint with, by fair and by square for all that matters or any other saying we could say to his defence on his behalf.
that — or so — was the general opinion, opionion was heard as well, some muttered an oponion, with a whiff of cheese and onion, any cheese in that context, for a crowd had gathered at the corner.
(this crowd then disappeared after herr brekst had paid the taxi driver who kept his mouth shut during the process. there had been some disturbance before which had gone unnoticed indeed by most of us bar that crowd that is currently being beaten up the lot of them. again open brutality prevailed over latent violence.)
breadroll and sponge thought it would be wise to take one corner at a time.
so, no chance for a shop here, said breadroll.
no, said sponge, sadly.

© the Book of Sponge and Others.