Monthly Archives: December 2009

2009 – A bad year.

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I thought that what with it being the last day of the year, I should post up a summary of exactly how the year has gone. It’s probably fair to say it’s not been the best year I’ve ever had. At the beginning of the year I made some resolutions, well, not resolutions as such, but I wrote myself a list of things that I wanted to achieve this year. There were about 8 things on that list, and I’ve not achieved one of them. I don’t know where it all fell apart, but somewhere along the line it did. Hence, it has not been brilliant.

Back in January, I was still on the dole after about 6 months of joblessness, which was broken up by a week where I worked in a bottle factory screwing the lids on bottles. Oh, the times we had. The japery we got up to. “Hey! Screw those lids on those bottles!” “Ok.” Ah, banter. This was made more disappointing by the fact that the end of 2008 had been so promising. I’d had a series commissioned by Channel 4, I’d won an award and been nominated for another. It kind of felt like things might be ok. They were not. Obviously, the series commission fell through because of a lack of money, but as well as that, I don’t think I capitalised on what I’d achieved enough. I kind of sat back and hoped that somebody might notice me. This was a mistake, since nobody did. Also in January, I actually did professionally produce the ghost stories I’d written with Demus Productions in Glasgow. This was hugely important, since whilst their production was spot on, I managed to mess up what had been good through changing what worked, based on feedback I’d received from some judges at the Student Radio Awards. This made me realise what a thin line there was between something that works, and something that doesn’t, and it’s something that since then has almost driven me to obsession. If you were to read back through my blog posts throughout the year, you’d see just how much I’ve talked about a sitcom I’m writing, and how it was ‘nearly finished’. It’s been in this state of ‘nearly finished’ since about April or May, simply because I’ve become obsessed with every aspect of it being perfect. Not perfect in the sense of ‘oh, this is the best thing I’ve ever read’, because I’ll be honest, it’s not The Sopranos or anything. It is, however, what I want it to be, and this may be all I want. I’d sooner have something brilliant that never makes it to TV than compromise and produce something I wasn’t happy with simply for the sake of having my own show. It actually is finished now though, or at least, the first episode. Over the next year I’d like to do something with it, hawk it about to some companies and see if they’re interested. I don’t know what’ll happen, but at least it’ll be something to keep me occupied in 2010.

I had some job interviews this year too. I’d do a roll call of companies who have turned me down, but you’d just be scrolling down the page for days if anybody does read this. It would have been nice to have one of those jobs, if just for the improved quality of life, but in all honesty, I’m not sure that’s what I want to do. I’ve never really known what I want to do as such, all through my life I’ve thought “Well, I’ll work it out soon.” When I went to university, I thought that by the time I came out I’d have worked out what I wanted to do with my life, and I still hadn’t. Thankfully, because of the economic crisis, this wasn’t a problem, as there weren’t any jobs anyway, so I still had time to think.

Have I mentioned that I ate two pieces of fish today by the way? I did. That’s not what I wanted to do as a career, but it’s an interesting aside. After one piece of fish I started to think ‘can I really get through the second, and all these chips?’ And I did. If only I’d written this on my list of things to achieve at the beginning of the year then I could have at least ticked one thing off. I’ll put it on my list of things to do in 2010, then I can consider myself to be a success next December. It would count as cheating if I were to add ‘eat a Kinder Bueno’ to my list of things to achieve in 2009 now wouldn’t it? I’m going to do it anyway. I smashed it yesterday. A genuine sense of dread spread across my body as I realised I’d crushed the Kinder Bueno in my bag with a bottle of water. These are the issues that really hit me hard. Crumbly Bueno. I’m practically Jeremy Paxman with my no nonsense grasp of the world’s real issues.

Anyway, I digress. I think I may now have worked out what I want to do with my life. There are certain things I truly love, and comedy is one of them. It really does make me happy (that’s kind of the point of comedy though I suppose). I’d like to commit more effort to pursuing this in 2010. I get the feeling that if I don’t give it a real go, then I’ll just look back on this with regret when I’m older, and I’ve already got more than enough regrets to last a lifetime. I’ve had a lovely time doing stand-up fairly casually this year, and even though I’ve had some catastrophic gigs, I do think I’m improving quite well now. I think one of my highlights from this year was the stand-up course I did, which really did help me realise where I was going wrong and helped me develop. I’m starting an advanced version of the course in about a week or so, and I’m quite excited. I’m not sure where I’d like to be in a year’s time in regard to stand-up, as there’s no marked-out path as such. I’d love to be on a bill with a professional comic or two though. That would be brilliant. I’d like to make that happen. Maybe it will.

I realise that things might not be good at the moment, working part-time at One Stop was never exactly my dream, but I genuinely believe that it’s still possible to turn this round next year. I’ve been ridiculously lazy this year, and I’d like to think that next year I’ll work harder (despite saying this at the beginning of every year, a resolution that typically lasts for a good 3 weeks before I get annoyed and sit about watching repeats of Friends and eating marmalade cake. Though I have also got into Countdown a bit this year, because it’s brilliant. I also resolve to get at least a 7 letter word at some point). If at the end of 2010 I’m still in this same position, I’d like to at least know what it wasn’t through lack of trying, which is what really annoys me about 2009. Good riddance to you 2009! You rogue!

So, in conclusion, my resolutions.

1. Eat two bits of fish again. Maybe video tape it?
2. Eat a Kinder Bueno.
3. Get at least a seven letter word on Countdown.
4. Discover a secret cavern full of treasure.
5. Sell some treasure.
6. Buy lots of Kinder Buenos.
7. Dole out Kinder Buenos whilst shouting “They Kinder Buenos are on me!”
8. Deal with lawsuit from the Milky Bar Kid.
9. Counter-suit the Milky Bar Kid.
10. Taunt the Milky Bar Kid.
11. Visit the Milky Bar Kid in jail. Bake a cake for him with a file in.
12. Wait until Milky Bar Kid escapes from jail.
13. Hunt the Milky Bar Kid for sport.
14. Capture the Milky Bar Kid.
15. Place the Milky Bar Kid in Alcatraz.
16. Wait for Milky Bar Kid to take over Alcatraz, despite it being abandoned.
17. Dress as Sean Connery and break into Alcatraz to try and take him down.
18. Deal with lawsuit from Sean Connery.
19. Try some eggnog?
20. Counter-suit Sean Connery for all the eggnog he’s got.
21. Buy a garage for all your eggnog.
22. Field questions from the press on ‘why does your garage smell of eggnog?’
23. Stop listening to ‘A View To A Kill’.
24. Reverse the polarity of something. Maybe a lute.
25. Connect 5.

I think that’s about enough resolutions for one year. Looking back, this hasn’t been so much a summary of 2009 as it has been a rant about the things I’ve ranted about all year. Suffice to say, this is why I won’t be appearing on Jools Holland’s annual Hootenannay this year. “Yeah Jools, and do you know what else I hated about 2009? Screwing on bottle lids! Yeah, you heard me! Anyway, let me tell you about my sitcom…”

[2 hours pass]

“… and if I could be a bit better at stand-up, that would be cool too I suppose.”

“We’ve missed the clock hitting midnight thanks to you you stupid bastard!”

“Oh shut up Jools! It’s not even New Year’s Eve! IT’S NOT EVEN NEW YEAR’S EVE YOU FRAUD! IT’S OCTOBER NOW! IT’S PRE-RECORDED!”

“I’ll give you pre-recorded!”

“Bring it on you jazz hobbit!”

[Cue brutal bloody battle]

I’d watch it if it were like this. Anyway, happy new year to everybody. I hope you all have a good year.

The Destruction of Donald Buttercups Part 6

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“What the hell is that?” I stammered.

“Oh, this?” Said Donald, pointing to the monstrosity that stood before us. “This is what you can do with a little imagination.”

I stood in front of what can only be described as a mutant mushroom. It was at least 10 foot tall, muscular and with two hideous mouths. Thankfully, it seemed to be sleeping. “Is that Jonty’s mouth?” I asked, though I think I already knew the answer.

“It is.” Confirmed Donald. Turns out my answer was incorrect. “And that’s just the beginning. When we’re finished with you this thing’ll be unstoppable. Who can stop a beast with so many limbs? With so much power!”

“But why?”

“Why? To crush the parsnips, that’s why.”

“But why crush the parsnips? They’re a lovely people, they gave us chicken drumsticks!”

“Drumsticks…” Donald paused. “Schmumsticks?” And there it was, a mistake. Donald had broken his cool, he was no longer the untouchable he had once been. This was my opportunity.

“And what’s your surname, Donald…” I thought for a minute, I couldn’t use Smells again. As hilarious as it had been the first time, I needed something stronger.

“Andy, use the swearsies!” Shouted Carl.

“I can’t use swearsies, it’ll corrupt us both!” I protested, but I knew I had to. It was the only hope. Now if only I could think of a swearsie that would fit with his name. Something that rhymed with butter, or maybe the cups part was the best opportunity. I would require a swearsie that began with C, something so brutally harsh that when utilised it had the possibility to take down 10,000 Daily Mail readers at 100 paces. But what could it be? A c word, a c word… come on Andy, think! And then it hit me. I smiled, ready to unleash my devastating force against Donald.

“Donald… Buttercups?” I laughed, then realised I’d failed miserably. This actually was his name. I cursed myself, but had to plough onwards.

“You’ve let yourself down Andy. Now, are those your last words?” Sneered Donald.

“No.” I said, proving myself right through the very utilisation of more words.

“That’ll do.” Said Donald, as he pushed a button next to the mushroom. There was a roar as the mutant mushroom awoke, and got to its feet. It towered over us now. It’s fists were the size of my fists. Times 15.

“You know what this reminds me of?” Said Alan. “Resident Evil 1.”

“I was thinking more Return to Castle Wolfenstein.” Added Hank.

“This is no time to be demonstrating how geeky we are!” I shouted. “Run!”

We turned and ran back into the corridor. The mutant mushroom threw a fist that smashed the wall behind us. This attracted the attention of the mushroom party next door, who also ran out into the corridor to see what all the fuss was about. Unfortunately for them, it turned out that the mutant mushroom did not discriminate between who was or wasn’t on its side, and crushed them underneath its feet. We bundled ourselves through the exit door to find ourselves in a large courtyard. 200 yards in front of us lay the drawbridge. “This way!” I shouted as we all ran towards our escape. The mutant mushroom was too fast for us though. He leapt in front of us and prevented us from reaching the drawbridge.

“Any ideas?” I said. Then there was a scream.

“Yeeeeeeeeee-haaaawwwwwwwww!” Shouted Old Man Parsnip, as he came swinging down from nowhere! “I’VE GOT BARBECUE SAUCCCCEEEEE!” We watched as he swung triumphantly towards the mutant mushroom. Then we all watched as he swung triumphantly past the mutant mushroom. Finally we watched as he swung triumphantly into the moat of lava and triumphantly went up in flames.

“Right, any other ideas?” I said. Everybook shook their heads. This was not good news. The mutant mushroom raised its large fist as we all huddled round and prepared to die. Then, a bang. A single bang this time as I don’t need to string things out so much. A hole had been blown in one of the castle walls. And through that hole strode the most magnificent machine we’d ever seen.

“BEHOLD THE ROBOT ANDREI KANCHELSKIS!” Shouted the Parsnip King, as both machine and Parsnips began to stream through the hole. The robot Andrei Kanchelskis advanced on the mutant mushroom at a pace that fitted entirely with the blistering pace of the real Andrei Kanchelskis. A single punch to the chest was all it took as the robot’s fist crashed through the torso of the mushroom, who collapsed to the floor, dead.

“MY MOUTH!” Thought Jonty, who was still unable to talk.

“Thanks King Parsnip!” I shouted, as I ran across to high five him. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some trash to take out…” I said, utilising a piece of dialogue that wouldn’t have been out of place in a 1980s Sylvester Stallone film, as I flicked my cigar across the courtyard. The parsnips and the mushrooms were now engaged in full-scale battle. I ran across the courtyard and back to the laboratory, where Donald was hastily packing away his stuff.

“Going somewhere Donald?” I said, as I picked up a cigar and then flicked it away again from dramatic measure. Donald looked up and smiled.

“Oh Andy, are we really going to have this duel?” He laughed.

“I was rather hoping so, it would seem like a good end to the story don’t you think?”

“That depends on your weapon of choice.”

“Well, swords are probably too stereotypical. Maybe pistols? But that’s a bit cliched as well… I don’t know, fireworks?”

“We don’t have any fireworks Andy…” Said Donald, always the pessimist. “What say we settle this with our fists?”

“Oh do we have to? I’m useless with my fists. Alright, so I’ve got a green belt in Karate, but that was over 10 years ago, I’ve forgotten it all now.”

“We settle this like men Andy.”

“Oh fine.” I said, as I put my dukes up. The very fact that I was referring to them as dukes should have made clear that I’d never really done this before. We circled each other for a while. I stubbed my toe on a chair as we did. Donald punched me in the face.

“You bastard! I stubbed my toe! Didn’t you see?”

“There are no rules against toe stub hits in this battle Andy.” Said Donald.

We began to circle each other again. Once more I stubbed my toe. Donald hit me swiftly in the ribs.

“DAMNIT! Can’t we just move these chairs? They’re really hindering me here!” I asked.

“Deal with it!” Shouted Donald, as he swung another punch towards me. This time I dodged it. Donald went flying past me. This was my opportunity. As he toppled past me, I picked up the chair which had been so bad to my toes and crashed it down on him. His head did something that can only really be described as exploding.

“Christ, this has ended a lot more brutally than I’d been expecting. This certainly isn’t going to make for a very good children’s story…” I said. With that in mind I made sure to kick his now headless corpse in the groin on the way out. “Take that Donald…” I thought for a moment. “Buttercow.” I gave up. I was never going to nail this punchline, no matter how many cracks at it I had.

As I made my way out of the laboratory and back into the courtyard, I was relieved to see that the battle was over. The mushrooms had surrendered to the parsnips, their King and many of their soldiers having been slain by the Andrei Kanchelskis robot.

“So this is the end of the story?” I said, as once more I high-fived the Parsnip King.

“I guess so Andy.”

I sighed. Then a voice in the distance. “Andy!” It shouted.

“Shesnip!” I said, as I ran over to hug the Shesnip.

“My name’s not Shesnip! If you don’t give me a name now then you never will!” She said. And she was right. I thought about all the horrors we’d seen over the past 6 days. We’d all suffered, but one more than most, and in their honour, I was going to name this Shesnip.

“Your name…” I said. “Is Jontina.”

“You know what, I think I preferred Shesnip.” Said Jontina.

“Well, it’s your own fault.” I said.

And so it was that Donald Buttercups came to be destroyed, and the mushrooms fell from grace. The Parsnips ruled over the land now, in their own friendly way, and all vegetables learned to live together in peace and harmony. As for me and Shesnip, we split up a week later because it turned out she’d didn’t like waffles, and there was no recovering from that. Myself, Jonty, Carl, Hank and Alan all returned to our own land shortly afterwards. What a magical adventure we had had.

And that really is the end. I hope you’ve enjoyed it. I have, but then I would, I wrote it. I’m forced to like my stuff my default.

Bye!

The Destruction of Donald Buttercups Part 5

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“Ok, this wasn’t part of my plan.” Confessed Jonty.

“DAMNIT JONTY!” Shouted Hank, in what was fast becoming a kind of catchphrase for the series. We found ourselves chained up in what can only be described as a stereotypical dungeon. It was dark, it was cold, it was a dungeon. There was maybe an old, dead, shrivelled parsnip in the corner. I don’t know, just imagine a stereotypical dungeon and you’ve basically got what I’m thinking of.

“Soooooo… anybody got any ideas?” Said Carl, more out of hope than expectation.

“Ain’t no point tryin’ to get out o’ here!” Said a voice we hadn’t heard before.

“Who are you?” Said Alan, unable to turn to face the voice as he was too busy hanging upside down.

“The name’s Old Man Radish! Been here for so long I can’t even remember anymore!” Said the Radish.

“You know, you sound surprisingly like you come from Texas.” I said.

“Darn tootin’!” Said the Radish. “Would you like some barbecue sauce?”. He’d fast become an entirely different character to the one I originally envisioned.

“I’m not sure that’ll help right now, but you know, maybe later I suppose…”

“Sure thang! I’ll be branding cattle if you need me!” Said Old Man Radish, as he began to hum the theme tune from Dallas. Solitary confinement had obviously driven him crazy. This would probably happen to us in time. Maybe we’d all be Texan in a month, we just didn’t know. We would have to keep our minds active somehow.

“Does anybody fancy a game of twenty questions?” I said.

“I suppose may as well, doesn’t look like we’re going anywhere.” Said Hank.

“Ok, ok, I’ve got one.”

“Is it a mineral?”

“Nope.”

“Is it a vegetable?”

“Yep.”

“It’s a radish isn’t it?” Sighed Carl.

“IT IS! YOUR GO!”

Before we’d had chance to move onto round two however, the dungeon door swung open. “That one.” Said a voice. Two mushrooms came in and began to unchain Jonty.

“What’s going on?” Said Carl. The guards didn’t respond. “What are you doing with Jonty? Jonty! JONTY!” Jonty was taken down and dragged away. The dungeon door slammed again. We hung in silence for a while. Nobody really wanted to ask what might be happening to Jonty. Apart from Alan that is.

“What do you think might be happening to Jonty?” Said Alan, almost as if he’d been reading the previous paragraph. There was a silence. Hours passed. We began to suspect we were never going to see Jonty again. Then the door crashed open again. In the light we saw the silhouette of Jonty being dragged back into the dungeon and chained back up. Then the mushrooms left.

“Jonty, what the hell happened?” Asked Hank. There was no reply.

“Jonty?” Said Carl. There was still no reply. Then we managed to turn our heads just enough to find out the horrfying reason why.

“JONTY’S GOT NO MOUTH! WHAT THE HELL HAVE THEY DONE WITH JONTY’S MOUTH?!” I screamed. Jonty was obviously unable to respond to this, since his mouth had disappeared off his face completely. He looked somewhat strange, sort of like an uncomplete Mr Potato Head. The mushrooms had even given him a bowler hat to add to this look. The scoundrels.

“We’ve got to get out of here. First they steal Jonty’s mouth for who knows what, then what? They’ll take Hank’s eyebrows? Where does the horror end?” Said Alan.

“Ain’t no way out o’ here!” Shouted Old Man Radish again. Adding a yee-haw before he clicked his spurs.

“What was that?” Said Carl.

“If I’m not mistaken, that was the distinctive sound of some spurs clicking.” Said Hank, who was familiar with such a sound. Hank line-danced every Wednesday night. He once owned a shop that specialised in cowboy boots. He wrote a musical entitled ‘The Sound of Spurs Clicking’. In short, he knew what spurs clicking sounded like. Then, the idea hit us.

“We’ll use the spurs to pick the locks!” Shouted Carl.

“It’s easy to say that Carl, but I think it’s a hell of a lot harder in practice.” I said.

30 seconds later, we were all free from our chains.

“Ok, I suppose I was wrong.” I admitted. “But now what?”

“Now we gon’ have ourselves a rooting tootin’ barbecue sauce party!” Said Old Man Radish, as he put his boots back on.

“You’re really not going to let that go are you?” Said Alan.

“Darn tootin’!” Replied the Radish.

“Ok, well, you stay here and have a… ‘rooting tooting barbecue sauce party’ was it? We’ll go look for a way out.” I said.

“Darn tooti-”

“Shut up.”

“Ok.”

We approached the dungeon door, opened it as slowly as possible, and peeked into the corridor. It was a long corridor, full of doors. An unremarkable corridor, with lots of doors. There were many doors, and not much that stood out about the corridor. It was the kind of corridor that in retrospect, probably shouldn’t have been described in text. It was however, empty. We began to slowly creep down the corridor, afraid that at any moment we could be ambushed by mushrooms. We figured the door at the end was the exit. It was larger than the other doors, the oak wood that it was crafted from was noticably worn around the edges, the handle had taken on a much duller tone, almost as if it was used more frequently than the other doors. All these were signs that suggested that this might be the exit. The green exit sign above the door was also a clue of sorts, but detecting this wasn’t quite as Poirot-esque. We would have to sneak past several other doors to get to this exit, many of them ajar. Were these rooms full of mushrooms? Who knew? Should we gamble?

“GAMBLE!” Shouted the studio audience, who, up until this point, we’d been completely unaware of.

“I think we’re going to gamble Vernon.” I said, to rapturous applause from the assembled berks who were always going to recommend we gambled because they had nothing invested in the story. We continued to slowly creep along, passing door after door. In one room, there seemed to be a party going on. I recognised the sound of the cage dropping onto the mouse in Mouse Trap. I’d once written a musical called ‘The Sound of the Cage Falling Onto the Mouse in Mouse Trap’. Between me and Hank, we’d written a number of wildly unsuccessful musicals. No wonder we were so hideously poor. As we approached one door though, I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was Jonty. he was pointing to his mouth, and then to the door. “What is it Jonty?” I said. I suddenly felt like the boy from Lassie. Then I realised. This was the room where Jonty had been taken. A chill spread across my body. What was in this room? Surely it was only wise to take a look?

“Andy! Come on!” Whispered Carl, as he and the rest of the group reached the exit door, but it was too late, I’d already begun to inch the door open. As I peered through the gap, nothing could have prepared me for the horror that I saw.

And that’s where it ends for today. Many people would say ‘Wow Andy, well ended on a cliff-hanger there, it’s almost as if you got to that point and then hadn’t actually thought about what you saw and needed time to go away and maybe think about what it was that you saw’, to which I would reply ‘Well that’s a long sentence. And yes’. Anyway, I have other things that need finishing. This story may even end one day. Who really knows anymore?

The Destruction of Donald Buttercups Part 4

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We stood at the door to the Parsnip Kingdom whilst the banging continued. Bang bang bang it went on the door. Then bang bang bang again, which was shortly followed by another bang bang bang. “I think they’re battering the door down” Said Jonty, helpfully. Then it banged again. Bang bang bang.

“This banging seems to be going on for a long time don’t you think Andy?” Said Alan, confused.

“Hey! You try writing over 1000 words a day without stringing it out a little bit Alan!” I snapped back, as we reached the 96th word.

“You should hide! They’ll be looking for you!” Said the Parsnip King.

“Hide from some mushrooms? How scary can they possibly be?” Said Hank, who, let’s not forget, was the owner of Hank and Alan’s Mushroom and Onion shack. He’d seen more than his fair share of mushrooms in his time, and only three of them had been particularly scary. The ratio of scary mushrooms to non-scary mushrooms was probably only 1:50,000. Hank fancied his chances.

“You don’t understand! Just hide! Quickly!”

“Fine, we’ll hide, but where? Shesnip, where can we hide?” I said.

“If you follow me, there’s a secret passage behind the King’s throne. If you follow that you’ll come to a secret library. Push the third book from the left on the top shelf and another door will open. Go down the slide and take the lift down into the catacombs below the castle. Nobody will ever find you there.” Replied the Shesnip.

“No, wait a second, I’ve got another idea!” Said Jonty.

30 seconds later the Mushrooms broke down the door and began to stream in. They were scary beasts, the kind of beasts that rendered Hank’s ratio completely redundant. Seemingly hundreds of armed guards swarmed into the castle, surrounding the poor parsnips. They were followed in by a much larger, regal mushroom with an imposing presence who smiled at the Parsnip King menacingly. “Ah, Gordon, we meet again. And this time, not in a soup.” He said.

“Bernard…” Said King Parsnip.

“Tell me, where are the beasts who slayed the giant?” Asked the Mushroom King.

“They’ve gone! You’ll never find them now!” Laughed the Parsnip King, defiantly.

“Is that them underneath the tablecloth over there?” Said the Mushroom King, pointing to a shape that looked decidedly like five people covered in a sheet.

“DAMNIT JONTY!” Shouted Carl, as he threw off the sheet that had been hiding us so poorly.

“How the hell was this better than the catacombs?” Said Alan. Jonty shrugged.

“So… these are the people who slew the green giant are they? They look decidedly thicker than I’d expected.” Said King Mushroom. “This one seems to have got grease stains on his trousers.”

“I dropped a chicken drumstick on them.” Said Alan.

“Don’t you have Persil where you’re from… Alan is it?”

We were stunned. How dare he accuse us of not having Persil. We’d all heard of Persil. It could get stains out even if you did a cold wash apparently. We were just ready to hit him with these facts when we realised we were probably stunned about the wrong part of that sentence. We should probably be more concerned with how he knew Alan’s name.

“Of course we’ve got Persil. We’ve got about three different types of Persil actually. There’s regular Persil, Pers-”

“Shut up Alan. How did you know his name?” Said Hank.

“I think I can answer that.” Said a voice from the back of the crowd. He slowly moved through the guards, who parted either side in a fashion that was far too overly dramatic and cliched to actually feature in the movie version of this tale.

“Dennis…” I gasped.

“It’s Donald actually. My name’s in the title.” Said Donald, as he brushed a fly from his waistcoat.

“I know, I was just trying to be condescending.” I said, as I glared at Donald.

“Well it didn’t work.” Said Donald, as he flicked a cricket from his trousers.

“Really? Well then, what’s your surname? Donald…” I thought for a minute. Or five. “… Smells?” I chuckled to myself, knowing that this devastatingly witty remark would surely hit him where it hurt.

“Is that the best you’ve got Andy?” Said Donald, as he slapped a slug from his sock. Donald was covered in a surprising number of animals today.

“Actually it was.” I said, disappointedly. I was stunned that he’d managed to brush off such a cuttingly brutal remark, but that’s the kind of man that Donald was. He deflected criticism like he deflected slugs. With his hands.

“But where have you been?” Asked Carl.

“A good question.” Replied Donald. “You see, the thing is, I’ve been here before Carl. I discovered this world weeks ago, when you were all too busy playing Truth or Dare, before it got boring. Alas, there were problems. I stumbled upon the Mushrooms Carl, and let me tell you, they’re not a good people.”

I knew it. I’d always suspected that mushrooms were rubbish. Now I had actual fact to back it up.

“Anyway, they’d never seen anything like me before. Turns out that not many humans pass through this way. They wanted to kill me there and then, but I convinced them that it wouldn’t be in their interests. I could bring them more people. You see, there are better uses for humans here, the possibilities are endless.”

“What do you mean?” Squeaked Alan, as his less than manly vocal cords reminded us of his previous life.

“You’ll find out soon.” Laughed Donald. “Take them away.”

We were seized by the mushroom guards and put in more shackles. We’d spent a surprising amount of this story shackled up. Heck, we were more shackled than Shaquille O’ Neal doing the Shake ‘n’ Vac with Shakira to the music of Chaka Khan. We were pretty shackled.

“I’ll be back for you Shesnip!” I shouted as we were led away.

“My name’s not Shesnip!” She shouted. It was. That was how history would record her until I actually thought of a name.

“Whatever!” I said, as I made a W with my hands despite being pretty damn shackled.

“Jonty, I can’t help but think that this is your fault somehow.” Said Hank.

“Don’t worry, this is all part of my plan.” Whispered Jonty, as the mushroom people marched us out of the Parsnip Castle as their prisoners. Exactly how this was all part of the plan would remain to be seen, as we unexpectedly head into the 5th part of this seemingly neverending story tomorrow. I should be applying for jobs you know. I’ve got other things to do. Is this my legacy? A story about vegetables?

Perhaps it is, and you know what? I’m ok with that. That seems like a fair way to remember me when I’m gone. ‘Andy Ward: He was hideously useless in the real world, but boy did he know how to write stories about vegetables’. I’ll be back tomorrow.

The Destruction of Donald Buttercups Part 3

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“You came here through an onion you say?” Sneered the Parsnip King. “A likely story.” We had been thrown into shackles and taken to the palace of parsnips. We kneeled in the royal court as King Parsnip sat upon his throne, listening to our explanations. Whilst he did, he continued to flick through the pages of his Premier League 1994 sticker album. Over the years he had collected all the stickers, partly to prove his influence throughout the land, partly because he loves stickers. He paused for a moment, and then thrust the album in Hank’s face. “Tell me, what do you see here?” He asked.

“It… It’s a shiny Denis Irwin sticker…” Stammered Hank.

“Yes… a shiny Denis Irwin sticker. Do you like Denis Irwin Hank?”

“I don’t have any feeling about him either way really…”

“Tell me, what do you think of his spell at Oldham Athletic Hank?”

“But Sire, hardly anybody remembers Denis Irwin’s career at Oldham Athletic.” Interjected a parsnip aide. He was right. This was getting obscenely niche.

“SILENCE!” Screamed King Parsnip, as he slammed his sceptre down onto the floor. “I’ll ask you again Hank. What do you think of Denis Irwin’s spell at Oldham Athletic?”

“I… I… don’t know your majesty…”

“Don’t know eh?” The Parsnip King got out of his seat and strode menacingly towards us. “Well you will Hank, let me tell you, you’ll know. SEND IN THE ROBOT DENIS IRWIN!”

There was a silence.

“Sire, we don’t actually have a robot Denis Irwin…” Said the aide.

“Hmm… I suppose you think you’ve got away this time then Hank.” Said the Parsnip King. “Well, you haven’t. Oh no, you haven’t at all. SEND IN THE GARY PALLISTER DROID!”

“Sire, I don’t think you quite understand…”

“THE STEVE BRUCE CYBORG!”

“Sire. We don’t have any of these. I’m not entirely sure where you think we are.”

“Very well. You win this time Hank. You win this time…”

The Parsnip King sat back down on his throne. “So tell me again, what is your purpose in being here?”

“Well your majesty” I began, “we were just hoping for a bit of an adventure when, as I said, we happened to fall into this onion, and then suddenly we found ourselves here. We met a green giant…”

“You met the green giant? How is he?” Said the King.

“He’s err… he’s… fine?”

“We shot him.” Said Jonty. The Parsnip King drained of colour, which was pretty hard for a parsnip as they never really have any colour to begin with. He was now pretty much transparent.

“YOU SHOT THE GREEN GIANT?” He screamed.

“If it’s any consolation, I think he was ok…” I said, trying to calm him down.

“He wasn’t. We burned him.” Added Jonty.

“DAMNIT JONTY!” Shouted Alan.

“So the green giant is dead?” Said the Parsnip King, hesitantly.

“Yes.”

The King sat in silence for a short time, evidently deep in thought. He rose from his throne again, and slowly approached the group of us, still nervously kneeled before his throne.

“Then you are friends of the Parsnips!” He said, suddenly. “Release their chains!”

The guards who had escorted us this far helped release us from our shackles.

“The green giant has been terrorising us for years. If he had his way we’d all be trapped in a tin and sold us to the highest bidder. Finally we’re free, and all thanks to you! We must celebrate! And surely you shall be the guests of honour at our feast! Now let us make haste, for there is no time for spare!”

The Parsnip King exited the hall, his aides in tow. “You are free to go.” Said one of the guards, and so we left. We exited the royal court and ventured out into the parsnip world. Word had quickly got around that the green giant was dead, and a party atmosphere spread throughout the streets. We were local heroes. If only Donald had been around to enjoy this. He was at the back of our minds now though, we were too busy enjoying ourselves.

That evening, the Parsnip King did indeed put on a celebration for us. It was a lot like a medieval banquet, insofar as that’s the only image I can conjur up to accurately describe what it was. It was a medieval banquet. There was lute music, there were jesters, who were rubbish. None of them had any jokes about posting peoples lungs, and the parsnip people had turned out in force. Truly, everybody was having a magical time, and we were at the centre of the celebrations, sat at the King’s table.

“So what do you think of the parsnip party?” Said The Parsnip King, nudging Alan.

“It’s good. Thankyou.” Said Alan, as he took another sip from his pitcher of ale. We were all having a fun time. We’d never partied with parsnips before, but boy did they know how to party. Some said that they should perhaps be called partysnips? Get it? Partysnips? Instead of parsnips? Partysn- you know what, forget I said anything.

It was when I was enjoying a turkey drumstick that it happened. I felt a tap on my shoulder and heard a voice “Excuse me, would you care to dance?” It said. I turned around to be confronted by the most beautiful parsnip I’d ever seen. It was like a parsnip with hair. Beautiful hair. A lovely she parsnip. “Yes, I’d love to dance, but… I don’t know how…” I confessed.

“It’s no problem, just follow my lead.” Said the she parsnip, who will henceforth be known as Shesnip until I can actually be bothered to think of a name that would be appropriate for a female parsnip.

“Righty ho.” I said, as we headed to the dancefloor, and I nodded to the lute player in a motion that said ‘Play that David Bowie song from a Knight’s Tale.’ And he did. I have absolutely no idea what happened next, the dance was but an adrenaline-filled blur that I’m fairly sure incorporated the running man. I think this is what happened, I can’t remember, I was pretty drunk, all I remember is that when we’d finished dancing there was a round of applause.

“Andy you dance like a Parsnip!” Said the Parsnip King as he slapped me on the back. “Please, accept this key to the city!”

“Why thankyou Sire! But please, I wouldn’t have been able to do it without this Shesnip.”

“Did you just call me Shesnip?” Replied the beautiful parsnip.

“I still haven’t thought of a name for you yet.”

“Ok.”

“Why this is no regular Shesnip…” Said the King, as he put his arms around us both. “This is my daughter!”

“Oh boy!” I said, as the lute player played the theme tune from Quantum Leap.

“Now come Andy, we have much to discuss. But first, let us all raise a toast! To the adventurers who slayed the green giant!”

The assembled crowd of parsnips all raised their glasses and began to drink. Then, a noise. A bang. Somewhere near. Then it was louder. A bang again.

“What’s that?” Said Carl.

“Everybody run!” Shouted the King! “It’s the mushrooms!”

And that’s the end of Part 3 of this story, which is fast becoming a very long tale with no end in sight. We’ll see what happens tomorrow shall we?

The Destruction of Donald Buttercups Part 2

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We fell into the onion for what seemed like days. It wasn’t actually days though, this was an exaggeration, it was probably only for about 20 seconds, but in falling into onion terms, that’s days. Traditionally, falling into an onion just involves slapping your face against it on a chopping board, and that only takes a fraction of a second. Anyway, yes, it felt like days before we crashed to the earth. “Where the hell are we?” Said Alan, as he picked himself up and dusted himself down.

“I think I’ve swallowed a stamp!” Coughed Carl as he got to his feet and began to retch.

“Don’t worry Carl!” I said “That just means we can post your lungs!” This made absolutely no sense, but that had never stopped me before. I left a ten minute pause for laughter, which, unfortunately, was not forthcoming, and we were forced to continue the conversation. We very quickly realised that something was missing however.

“Where’s Donald?” Said Hank. It was a good question, and not one that we had the answer to. I’d pushed Donald in by the face, and had followed him shortly afterwards. The rest of us had all ended up in the same place, whatever had happened to Donald?

“DONALD! DONALD ARE YOU HERE?” We all began to shout. “CARL SWALLOWED A STAMP! I SAID WE SHOULD POST HIS LUNGS!” I added, hoping that the laughter that such a funny quip would produce would surely enable us to identify his position. Alas, it was just as funny the second time, and another 10 minute pause for laughter passed silently. Donald had seemingly completely vanished. Maybe he had made his way out of the onion and was back in the bar. Maybe he was lost within the onion and trying to get out, we just didn’t know. We were going to have to explore the land more if we hoped to find him again. It was a strange kind of place, the like of which we’d never really seen before. We appeared to be stood on what looked like a road made of sweetcorn. It looked a lot like the yellow brick road from that other story about the Wizard. The Wizard of Oz, that’s it. But it was made of sweetcorn. We knew this because Dr Hank ate a bit and said “Mmm… that’s some sweet corn.” He was a scientific mastermind, he really was.

“Hank! Don’t eat the road!” Screamed Jonty.

“Why not? I’m hungry, it’s sweetcorn. It just makes sense.” Said Hank, as he picked up another bite and began to devour it.

“Hank! Stop it! Look what you’ve done!” Said Jonty, as he pointed to a gaping hole in the road that used to be sweetcorn.

“Oh who’ll ever know anyway? This place is deserted.” Said Hank. Then we were interrupted by a booming voice.

“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO MY ROAD!” Said the voice. We all turned to be confronted by what can only be described as a green giant.

“How the hell did nobody notice him before?” Said Alan, slightly confused.

“YOU’VE EATEN MY ROAD. DO YOU KNOW HOW LONG I SPENT GROWING THIS ROAD?” Shouted the green giant, angrily, as he smashed his fist down, causing the whole floor to shake. He did seem somewhat disappointed, it was hard to know how he was going to react now. Perhaps he would kill us. Perhaps he would not. Perhaps he would spin a roulette wheel and decide whether he would kill us or not. Perhaps he would not spin a roulette wheel and not decide whether he would kill us or not. Perhaps he would let us pick a card out of a pack of cards and if it were the Ace of Spades he would kill us. Perhaps he would not let us pick a ca-

“Andy, stop writing this down.” Said Carl. “Do something. The green giant likes jokes, and you’ve done stand-up comedy haven’t you? Distract him with something so that we can make our escape.” Carl was right. I had done stand-up comedy, and had a number of very funny stories in my repertoire. I knew just the tale to distract this beast.

“Good evening! My name’s Andy Ward!” I began. “So, the other day I had this friend who swallowed a stamp, and I said ‘Hey! You should post your lu-”

“Andy for fuck’s sake, it hasn’t worked twice already, just give it up.” Interrupted Carl. “Have you got anything else funny?”

“No…” I was forced to confess.

“Great? Anybody got any other plans?”

“Well, I’ve got this gun…” Said Jonty. Nobody knew quite where Jonty had acquired a gun, nor why he was carrying it around, but we were all thankful that he had it. And so it was that we shot the green giant and ran away.

“That seemed like a bit of an anti-climax.” Said Alan, “I was expecting some kind of brilliant Hustle-esque idea to get us out of that situation, what happened?”

“I couldn’t think of anything, and it seemed to be dragging on for an overly long time.” I confessed. They all nodded in agreement, it had been dragging on for an overly long time and hadn’t progressed the story at all. We were now roughly 900 words into Part 2 of the tale, and we had achieved practically nothing. At this rate the story would be stretched out to the length of an actual novel. “Anyway, I guess we should get walking.”

We walked South-West (or Shredded-Wheat depending on which version of the compass you’re using) for around 5 hours before we came across a large castle that seemed to be located in the middle of nowhere. It was much like a traditional castle, the kind that might turn up in The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time, or something like that, except without a drawbridge. We approached the heavy wooden door and began to bang on it.

“Hello? Is there anybody in there?” Shouted Jonty. There was no reply. He banged again. “Hello? Is it me you’re looking for?” He tried, hoping that perhaps they were aware of the music of Lionel Richie or else they wouldn’t get this reference at all, even though it probably didn’t make any sense in this context. Again, silence. As we turned to walk away however, the door slowly began to creak open. We stared through. The castle appeared to be empty, the streets deserted and silent. We slowly edged our way inside. “Hello?” ventured Jonty again. Then from nowhere they descended upon us with their bayonets. Before we knew it we were surrounding by very pale, unrecognisable creatures. “PUT YOUR WEAPONS DOWN!” Shouted a voice. Then, from the shadows, a figure emerged. Another of the pale creatures, though this one was dressed far more regally.

“Who are you?” I said.

“I… AM THE KING OF PARSNIPS!” Screamed the figure.

Anyway, that’s the end of Part 2, in which we haven’t really achieved anything. I’ll probably be back for Part 3 tomorrow. Or the next day. At some point anyway.

The Destruction of Donald Buttercups Part 1

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I thought that whilst getting this story off my chest, I might as well share it with the world, thus allowing me to finally be free from the burden that I’ve been carrying around for years. It’s only a matter of time before the press get wind of it anyway, and I’d prefer to break the news on my own terms. The background to this story is that a few years ago, whilst me and a few friends were hanging around at ‘Hank and Alan’s Mushroom and Onion Shack’, things quickly got out of hand, and… well, it fast became a tale of love, betrayal and finally, revenge in the world of vegetables. You’ll see.

It was a Friday. We could tell this because the hour hand on the clock was pointing to Friday, and the minute hand was on o’ clock. It was Friday o’ clock. We’re not entirely sure what the precise time was on Friday, since our clock wasn’t yet that advanced, but it was dark outside, so was probably evening. There we were, in Hank and Alan’s Mushroom and Onion shack, just like every Friday night. The whole gang had turned up, me, Hank, Alan, Donald, Jonty and Carl. We were like the three musketeers, were there to have been an additional three musketeers. The six musketeers is what I think I’m getting at.

“What are we going to do tonight?” Said Carl, as he licked a stamp. Carl loved licking stamps, even if he had nothing to post. Sometimes he’d just lick stamps until his tongue became glue. That was the kind of man Carl was. Donald threw a dart at the dart board. Triple 17. 51.

“Fifty-one.” Said Donald. He then subtracted that from the 501 score that you start a traditional round of darts with. “Four hundred and fifty.” Added Donald. His dialogue had, thus far, been very boring.

“We should do something exciting.” I said. “Like go outside of this place.” This was typical of me. I’d been attending the Mushroom and Onion shack for over 30 years by this point (don’t ask how), despite not liking either mushrooms or onions.

“You always say that Andy.” Said Hank. “I don’t know why you bother coming here every week, since you like neither mushrooms or onions.” Little did Hank know that I’d explained this point prior to him actually bringing it up.

“I just think we’ve seen enough mushrooms and onions to last us a lifetime. There are only so many times we can sit here and play Truth or Dare without it getting boring. We’re not 14 year old girls anymore.” I was right, we weren’t. Nor had we ever been in fact. Apart from Alan, who was once known as ‘Eileen’, but that’s a story for another time.

“How dare you slander Truth or Dare!” Shouted Carl, as he spat stamps everywhere. “It never gets boring!”

“Doesn’t it?” I said.

“Truth or Dare?” Replied Carl.

“Truth.” I said.

“Do you like mushrooms?” He asked.

“No. Dare.”

“I dare you to try an onion.”

“You see what I mean? It’s the same every time! Let’s just go out for once and do something exciting!”

Jonty banged his fist on the table to remind everybody that he was still in this story despite having no dialogue from the outset. “Damnit, Andy’s right!” He said. “We should do something fun! Let’s have an adventure!”

Donald continued to play darts. He hit a double 12, then accidentally threw the other two darts out the window. “Twenty-four.” He said, as the scream of a man whose ear had just been penetrated by a dart became audible in the distance. Donald approached the dart board and removed the single dart that remained. “Fine. We’ll go out.” He grumbled.

“But where?” Said Alan, in a shrill voice that betrayed the fact that his hormone therapy was not working properly.

“Paulton’s Park?” Said Hank.

“Is that the place with the owl?” Asked Jonty.

“Probably.” Replied Hank.

“Then no. I’m allergic to owls.” Jonty was right. He was allergic to owls. He had learned this during his time working at the owl sanctuary. He had a lot of days off sick.

“Then where else?” Said Hank.

“Maybe we should just stay here after all.” Said Carl. “Donald, Truth or Dare?”

“Dare.”

“I dare you to tell me whether you like mushrooms.”

“Oh for goodness sake!” I screamed as I stood up. “We’re going out and that’s the end of it! I’m not staying here talking about onions!” And with that, I picked up an onion from the basket of onions kept on the front desk and threw it against the wall. It shattered into a thousand pieces. Minus 998. It shattered into two pieces. A perfectly split onion, lying on the floor. Only this was not like any other onion. The onion that had shattered appeared to be glowing on the floor. “Alan, turn the lights off.” I said. Alan did as he was told. The onion was glowing. It’s centre emitting some kind of aura.

“What is that?” Stammered Hank.

“It’s an onion.” Said Donald, sarcastically, as he finally managed to drag himself away from his boring game of darts.

“Shut up Donald! Or we’ll boil you!” I said, making reference to a previous story that many people will have no idea about.

“It’s not a regular onion…” Added Hank, helpfully “Regular onions don’t glow.” Hank had a PhD in Chemistry, so his opinion was of vital interest, and if Hank said it wasn’t a regular onion, it probably wasn’t. He should really be referred to as Dr Hank, but that would take at least 2% longer to type.

Then, suddenly, a howling wind passed through the bar. It seemed to whisper to us. “Come into the onion…” It said.

“Did anybody else hear that?” Said Jonty, nervously.

“Hear what?” Said Carl.

“The onion spoke.”

“How could it speak? It’s a fucking onion.” Said Donald. Our jaws dropped. Alan fainted.

“Donald, you can’t use swearsies!” I said.

“Swearsies? What are you eight? I’ll say whatever the fuck I like.”

“But Donald! What if this adventure were to eventually be adapted for children! How would they censor your foul-mouthed dialogue?”

“They’ll just have to live with it won’t they?”

“Donald, I have to say, you’re fast becoming the villain of this piece.” I said. And I was right, he was.

“Oh fuck off Andy, it’s just swearing, give it a try!” He snarled back.

“No! I won’t! This is a beautiful story and I don’t want it getting an 18 certificate because of your rude language!”

“Tits.” Blurted Jonty.

“JONTY!”

“Sorry, I couldn’t help myself.”

“That’s it! Everybody into the onion before this becomes Goodfellas!”

One by one they jumped into the onion. Quite how is anybody’s guess, but they all did. Vanishing into its core. Apart from Donald. “Get in the onion Donald.” I said.

“What’s the magic word?” He replied.

“Get the fuck in the onion.” I said as I pushed him in by his face and resigned myself to the eventual 18 certificate of the movie version of this tale. Little did I know that it would only get more hideous from here.

Anyway, that’s the end of the first part of this story. I might be back later with the second, it depends on how much free time I have*.

*Lots. I’ll inevitably be back later.