the plight and sorrow of some

a young father of three was shot at after a party, a gathering of sorts, and a head wound appeared as a result. the entire head fell off shortly after, leaving a nasty stain on the carpet. many witnesses felt reminded of the recent warning by the government not to hang on to threadbare carpets. he had already lost part of his leg, and walked with the aid of prosthetic limb (which went missing ever so often) and a chinese prostitute (who always brought it back). wonders, reckons and reasons are out and raving to see if his head will be replaced by a plastic bag, as some say, or a nice cup of tea in the local pub, a solution favoured by most. a woman, who described him as a lovely chap, said he had to have part of his leg removed following a court order not to leave the room before certain issues were settled. offally does not need stories like that in times like this, said sponge, never did. sponge pouted. the man beside him did not. the contrast still did not make for a great picture. sponge always looks big in photographies.

plight of saints and sinners

ahh look, the mother said to her crying child, a drunk santa, would you like him coming through the chimney.
it wasn’t a santa though, just a very sick breadroll in a red bag with white vomit around his mouth.
the child continued crying and did not answer. ahh look, the mother said, you’ll see.

sponge is the plight almighty of the working class

why anyway are these people here why a shop that has no crisps but tweed in an area that cannot stomach anything heavier than a burger? a frozen pizza maybe to be extravagant in the summer know what i mean. sausage rolls. pyjamas, yes. but tweed? — english, the englishman said but he was not to appear for a while and neither did anyone else. having that settled we remain with:-


but the plight of sponge in a grey tracksuit as it goes without saying.

the plight of wood

block of wood had successfully assured himself that he had not been left out on purpose. he sat — lights on, lights off — at the table. lights or lice, he said, who cares. the itch still would not go.
better times are underway, scratch wood.
entry sponge. i am going to talk to this block of wood now, he says, it is not that hard to talk to a block of wood. easier than many of you might think.
oh yes, said sponge and did not further specify the meaning of his words.
there is none, said block of wood.
what, said sponge.
meaning, said block of wood, in your words.
oh yes, said sponge, no, none, but i’m hoping to get away with it.
i see, said block of wood, tea anyone?
don’t even think of making this a chorus, said sponge.

© the Book of Sponge and Others.