sponge wants to be a socialist

we’ve got to get this to work, said sponge, it’s not fair.
(having found the old chocolate vending machine he thought of the days of the upright and standing and those who fought and did not claim back any overtime. that’s off record now, just in case.)
we sincerely want to thank the shock workers brigade, which had to do all this without medication.

wanting to have brekst fast

and when he drawer is still locked, said breadroll.
jammed, said block of wppd, should be fine.
jammed then, said breadrool, you have been typoed.
so have you, said block of wood.
a draw, said breadroll.
today was not the first time they did not notice their porridge being reduced to cinder on the cooker.

another effort carny folk if you want to be republicans

still holding a cutlet and some sausages in one hand and a mixer in the other plus some added cocktail sauce, sponge says: splatter without blood is nothing at all fer sake; and pours a pint of stage blood on the stage. get this: stage blood on stage, as if it was made for it. mad action all together.

who wants scones

i would not want to be a scone. would you want to be a scone?
who wants to be a scone?
nobody i know, said breadroll.


we wanted to start the classical way, the standard opening lines:
that’s interesting, said breadroll.
then we’d move slowly towards the climax:
they are supposed to do that, said sponge, didn’t you get the memo. it was circulated for quite some time.
really, said breadroll.
finally we wanted to end and round the story with a witty but familiar line:
tea anyone, said block of wood, or coffee?
but, alas, we won’t. not today.

© the Book of Sponge and Others.