inflate or deflate or put on another show

breath in, said sponge, you look too thin. your head looks big. breath out. your old self. don’t hold your breath. that’s my advice. then again, you might hold your breath for something. or someone. there’s a queue. wait a minute. that will be a short story, that there is the end.

on rain and being rained on

he spoke fondly of his brollie. how he forgot it one day and had to go back to the house, how he couldn’t find it at first and he looked in the kitchen, just to make sure he had explored all options, but it wasn’t there either, at least he couldn’t see it, so he went back to the sitting room, and, and after only a quick search, some swift browsing, as you might call it, while he thought he had to go and search in the kitchen again, under the old newspapers as it had just come to him that he hadn’t looked there previously, there it was, on the sofa, no idea why he hadn’t seen it before. although it didn’t rain that day at all, it would have worked for most types of rain, he said, urban rain of course. in the country they call them bumbershoots, hand carved and knitted they are, else the downpour would dent the farmer’s head. they call it just rain though.
those farmers, said sponge, are not like the peasants of old.
certainly not, the man said, but these bumbershoots can be very good. this brollie is very good, too. i try to bring it every day and most of the days i succeed although i do have to go back to the house every now and then. just like the other day, when i had to search high and low in the kitchen to no avail. i’ll remember next time.

sentence on faith

pussywillow woodget could not believe her eyes when she saw the mess workmen had left in her kitchen after fixing something in the bathroom, i swear to god, the mess. even years after the event she denied to have any knowledge of it. i don’t believe it, she said, just can’t believe it.
yes, herr brekst said, i heard.
sponge said nothing. he watched a cyclist instead. the bus moved on. nothing more to add.

dada is cheese on breadroll for those who can afford it

it took a long time to be still not finished. we should have started to finish earlier. right after finishing preparations to discuss the next step or two. between meeting to form the committees and before the blustering speeches and long, long before the biting speeches, right after the initial throat clearing to, as a bare minimum, have the stage before the previous one finished but this way it’ll take some time to be at the planning stages.
i’m aiming to have tuna then, said sponge.

war on terror training

nothing to report. all quiet on the western front. all the other front are pretty easy, too. the train people certainly are on the edge. nobody else takes notice. the platform seems empty. people hide and take in platform camouflage. apologies. a determined young lady. a young one now but a train slap later. she’ll be trained in saying sorry sir and deadly with the ol’ nothing-i-can-do-about-its.

from passion to passion people go on posters

when they had a leg of lamb, and joe said he didn’t like it and mary tried to make peace but it was too late joe had already left the place, had packed all his stuff, which wasn’t much, and left. just like that. mary followed, all the time trying to talk sense into joe. they wandered around, took it easy and did some music gigs on market places to get get some coins for food until the police came to beat the holy crap out of them and they always decided to move on, who wouldn’t, until they came in to this idyllic village, which they both liked, and that’s where they settled.
there was no mention of the leg of lamb or the lord.
or beef on the bone.
joe got friendly with the publican and helped out every now and then, got free drink for it. one night he didn’t pull out in time or so they think, anyway, it happened: baby jesus was underway. they were pissed off with each other and got pissed. that night they decided to stay together and have the baby despite the excellent reputation of the roman angelmaker as joe pointed out. mary rubbished him; some of mary’s friends pretty face an ugly makeover.
they decided to stay together and have the baby. you believe that. GETOGETHER everydays 10ish. weekends on appointment.
great story, said sponge, but too much text for an advertisement. that won’t work. people will hardly notice let alone go for it.

more on that

the train people take it easy, says sponge. easy, says breadroll. they sit while numbers change on the electronic dashboard. we didn’t really talk about train people before, did we?
no, said sponge, train people. something went wrong. he didn’t say much after that.

an agenda to count on

where should we go now, said breadroll.
let’s see, said sponge. after a while: we had this corner and the other, that corner, the pointy one and the one in need of repairs. but there always another one.
there is always one, said block of wood agreeingly.
shall we go then, said breadroll.
they went.

the world on a someday

in china somebody got married, a child was born in peru and urinated on the mother’s belly straight away. the mother being somewhat overwhelmed as she had not expeted that, a russian housewife burnt the dinner, however, but this turned out not to be an overly serious incident as the husband had had a serious accident and did not come home for dinner this evening and a long row of evening in future, spent the next seven weeks in hospital instead and after being released he could only take in liquid diet for another six weeks, and an irishman with an poorly grown moustache walked into a pub and proceeded straight to the counter.
all these are very sad stories, said sponge. but i love you all.

my myself sponge sponge on sponge

just a break here, said sponge. fnnnnnn. the interviewer. so far not much. sponge.
q: didn’t think we would get the chance really, fnnnnnn. the deflation gets me al the time, i know it’s not funny. should i swear. bloody feck feckin. fnnnnn. i’m being comical. what about you? (block of wood quite appropriately declines to do anything anal or analogue with or to the interviewer.)
a: nice morning to be enjoyed and off to new boundary, warp or not, mankind will get to places but this isn’t really about sponge, is it?
Q: not quite no. not here on my script anyway.
we got it wrong this time, vile, if you ask me, said sponge, ah well, shall i do the honours? sponge sponge sponge, hooray. sponge, yeah. sponge. we support sponge. (fans go mad.)

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.

when counting on people for consistency and repetition

not much use with these people, quite useless as a population, barely suited for genocide, we might get a decent mass murder out of them though.
says sponge in reply to breadroll’s remark one should knock down a corner or two and commit a few atrocities after all this would draw crowds, just look how popular everything is with hitler and the nazis in it —and ends the discussion.

drinks are on the house

but there are no drinks, said breadroll.
of course not, said sponge, it’s early morning. they are hidden somewhere.
we would hate to share, said block of wood, shall we go?
we can’t, said breadroll, some reason. we wait for drinks shall we? and a shop.

why not talk big during innovation and on-target demand

the spirit comes not down from above, or below, up then, said sponge, that spirit which is to purify our project, which with its iron besom is to purify the great sty of the department ultimately. pupupurify our essence. our precious fanatically.
and to do that is the task of our movement, said breadroll, the movement must not rust away at this corner, it must not spend itself in superfluous battles of words, but the banner with the white circle and the black dot will be hoisted over the whole of the project on the day which shall mark the liberation of us all.
nicely put, said sponge. i must rest now.

next big thing on screen

i hate to say that ,said sponge, everybody who knows me now that i would not make a lame joke if i didn’t have to, but that’s what i call a big thing on screen. — he points at a squashed flesh fly on the screen. see, i had too.

what else did we lose on the way

we pissed the viewers off didn’t we?
nnnnn-o, said sponge. he had put thought gehind his reply. i am not saying this to merely to calm you down, breadroll, if you don’y mind me calling you that —–
i would not wish people to know, said breadroll, ralf or maybe rolf is far less a commitment, normal is hormonal as they say.
and what now, said breadroll, ready to come up with the same question again.

placing a cuppa on a table

here you go, said breadroll, some bisquits?
no thanks, said block of wood, we have to do this more often.
we do, don’t we, said breadroll.
that is about all there can be said about serving tea.

they are ganging in on us

didn’t say that. i didn’t say that, said sponge; he acted nervously.
you will draw some kind of suspicion on you, said breadroll, and you should inform the government about the gang thing.
what gang thing, said sponge.
the headline thing, said breadroll.
ohya that, said sponge, that was a scare.
good, said breadroll, for headlines are friends not stalkers.

charges on jars

it is that time again, herr brekst said, that we should use to down a few.
an outrage the money they charge these days, said breadroll, makes you sick.
nonetheless, said sponge, i think we should, go i think. just a few.

more on words

if we enjoy them we should complain, said breadroll.
we should, said sponge, but we can’t. it is all about policies and there is none for complaints. at least not to-date.
no policy, said block of wood, are you sure?
sure, said sponge.
they had tea.
the dialogue had come to an end.

a few words on loss

they said, said sponge, the lost episode was a particularily good one.
always the case, said breadroll.
typical, said block of wood.
even though they generally enjoyed these dialogues they also never complained about them coming to an end.

stirring on poetry

we have to stop missing the title so grossly, said breadroll.
true, said sponge, there is an issue, would you do a little writeup on it?
pff, said breadroll.
i think we got it quite well there, said block of wood, back then.
does he have to read a poem every now and then, said breadroll.

glitched on the platform

lights on, gradually. chair, table, yucca tree.
lights on, gradually. chair, table, yucca tree.
they never had it twice before, said breadroll.
no, said sponge, never.
that’s a novelty, said breadroll.
lights on, gradually. chair, table, yucca tree.
lights on, gradually. chair, table, yucca tree.
lights on, gradually. chair, table, yucca tree.
i think we better go, said breadroll. ever.

margarine is a smack on the gob

that is was mean and wicked, breadroll had to remark, and highly uncouth to lash butter on him like that, not a lowfat product at all …
wasn’t it margarine, said sponge.
having been interupted breadroll looked startled (puzzled, flabbergasted, surprised, startled.). err, he said, i’m confused.
margarine, said sponge, is not supposed to be very good for you.
butter, said block of wood.
much better for you, said sponge.

© the Book of Sponge and Others.