what does rain mean to us

rain. more rain. so it goes.
not a satisfactory answer, said sponge, then again, the question was somehow cryptic. brekst does not really ask any questions.
yet it is his big entry, said breadroll, i came to ask a question. it is terrible. the train is late. statistically it is on time though. if two trains are due at 17.30 and one arrives at 17.25 and the other at 17.35 both are on time statistically.
that is how success is made, said sponge. they do apologise for any convenience caused.

let’s terminate shall we

utra-violent, said blokk, smash and maim and have moloko.
pheww, said breadroll, that’s as blunt as blitzkrieg and we would try that either.
but do we ever get to kill, blokk wondered, when sponge sparked hope by being very negative again. capital-very. maybe get to take him out, blokk continued wondering.
moods change quickly and soon blokk considered dogs scum of creation for their fowlings.

let’s go let’s go (they did not move)

once again the sun shone on the alternative, for the sake of it, that was very much like the corner before. sponge had a scarf wrapped around his neck, copycat, for no other reason than today being today and the day that was in it; he stood there, nervously rocking back and forth and starred at the window of the shop.
breadroll sang: around the corner we go and around and around till we’re round and you’re round and we all drop like flies at the corner and around and around we go … an old carvery rhyme or nursery song, written in the country’s barbaric tongue.
we’re here now, said block of wood, the corner shop.
is this the corner shop or a corner shop, said sponge.
i wouldn’t know, said block of wood. it is a corner shop.
what did he say, said sponge, which corner shop? did he give further advice? they say they are selling chairs.
no, said block of wood. i’d love a monster munch. or these ripply things.
so it may not be this shop at all at all?
we should look at other corners. shop around.
we could.
let’s go so.
that’s what i think. —— sound. a very poetic word. this language, i add three dots …

one of the classic jokes for us all to relax

breadroll on entering the room, lightly populated by sponge and more recently, block of wood:–
now, what am i doing here?
i don’t know, said block of wood, get out.

let us write the book of sponge

the book of what? not often have we seen breadroll so surprised. what do you want to do that for?
the same question was put to the man in the coffee shop who wanted to pay later. equally he knew no answer.

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.

help us

silence had the episode and its inhabitants in her iron grip.
pheeeew eew eeeee ewwww pheeeeeeeew toktok knok nokk pheeeeeeeeoooow ooooow tokrok tokk togg
(all they could manage …).
calls to the international community had been fruitless; nobody seemed to be at home or otherwise contactable, things would probably less desparate if creationism or islam or scientology had taken hold of this entertainment crew and their regular show. all by smart design.

gissus a hug

completely forgot to comment on yesterday’s sunrise. said sponge.
too late now, said breadroll.
better now, said sponge.
than never, said block of wood.
that’s us, said sponge, back on target. i can feel the vibes moving synergetically, can you?
one acknowledged, the other summarised. obviously all would be wrapped up nicely in a report and send off for review and all that shit.

now let’s review this

and, the man said, i just came to look after the sheep. is she alright?
yes, fine, said sponge.
we’re all fine, said breadroll.
she just wouldn’t open, said block of wood, not for a pack of crisps while we’re waiting.
that’s something we need to address, the man said and walked away.

fable us

it is a bus, said sponge, and not a myth. you do not have to slay the driver and steal his ring. just give him the fair fareinstead of a maiden and we’re off.
after the break, said the driver.

© the Book of Sponge and Others.