Directory of Humor Blogs
Evil Days and The Horrible Horrible Horribles
While Peveral Murkin and Ermentrude Pinkley and Daff Maud Bunkum were busily rushing off to the Lending Library to look up the evil sisters, simply looking up at anything at all was something the sisters themselves wished they could do. Instead, it was very much a case of “scrunch scrunge podge splaack sploock,” noses first, into and through the muck and the slop. “Just you wait!” rasped the eldest, the lovely Muffin, before being thrown into an even deeper puddle. “Argh, murgh mooeagh…” she gargled as she spat out a good three gallons of cow spillage, “Whooomever is responsible is (gasp) going (gasp) to be very very sorry! They’ll wish they’d never been… gruggle murphl spaack” shouted she, taking in another copious mawful.
“Oh, I don’t know,” gurgled her younger sibling after politely clearing her throat, “at least we’re not being taken into the Larder like before! Remember the sound and stink of thim hogs being rendered in the caldrons, and how Herself didn’t put them to sleep first because it was too much bother? And remember last December, when…” at which point she was plunged into a particularly succulent pig wallow and quickly (and just the teeniest bit too late) closed her mouth.
A moment later, there was the ghastly sound of something exceedingly heavy and unnaturally old (being The Miss Havering Ma’am Mountain Monster) dragging itself over a stile, at which point the evil sisters Welliffomething-ffomething were plunged down into the upper end of the greater of four bog pools, directly in front of Mr. Jerushaleh Worm’s garden gate.
“NOT AGAIN,” sounded the alarum, clear and ear-piercing, from young Bart-the-Snipe, as he shot up into the air with a mighty flap-flap-flap-flapping of wings. “THEY’Z COME!” he whistled and blew his trumpet. “EEVUL DAYZ IZ HUMPONUS!”
And with that, a cloud descended upon the sweet, ancient bog, and a horrible horrible gale swept in from the sea.
While Peveral Murkin and Ermentrude Pinkley and Daff Maud Bunkum were busily rushing off to the Lending Library to look up the evil sisters, simply looking up at anything at all was something the sisters themselves wished they could do. Instead, it was very much a case of “scrunch scrunge podge splaack sploock,” noses first, into and through the muck and the slop. “Just you wait!” rasped the eldest, the lovely Muffin, before being thrown into an even deeper puddle. “Argh, murgh mooeagh…” she gargled as she spat out a good three gallons of cow spillage, “Whooomever is responsible is (gasp) going (gasp) to be very very sorry! They’ll wish they’d never been… gruggle murphl spaack” shouted she, taking in another copious mawful.
“Oh, I don’t know,” gurgled her younger sibling after politely clearing her throat, “at least we’re not being taken into the Larder like before! Remember the sound and stink of thim hogs being rendered in the caldrons, and how Herself didn’t put them to sleep first because it was too much bother? And remember last December, when…” at which point she was plunged into a particularly succulent pig wallow and quickly (and just the teeniest bit too late) closed her mouth.
A moment later, there was the ghastly sound of something exceedingly heavy and unnaturally old (being The Miss Havering Ma’am Mountain Monster) dragging itself over a stile, at which point the evil sisters Welliffomething-ffomething were plunged down into the upper end of the greater of four bog pools, directly in front of Mr. Jerushaleh Worm’s garden gate.
“NOT AGAIN,” sounded the alarum, clear and ear-piercing, from young Bart-the-Snipe, as he shot up into the air with a mighty flap-flap-flap-flapping of wings. “THEY’Z COME!” he whistled and blew his trumpet. “EEVUL DAYZ IZ HUMPONUS!”
And with that, a cloud descended upon the sweet, ancient bog, and a horrible horrible gale swept in from the sea.
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