Directory of Humor Blogs
Tiny Libbedy and The Mudmonster
Tiny Rumpus Libbedy Spider was dreaming. The poor dear had spent far too much time (practically the entire morning) wondering exactly how she was going to get organised, with the result that she had rather exhausted herself and drifted off into a sleepy daze. “I’ll just lie down for a bit,” she yawned, “and close my eyes. (yawn) What with everything that’s happened, I’ve come over all dizzy. Perhaps (yawn yawn) if I look at a magazine and drink a cup of tea, I’ll be able to relax. I’m soooo sleepy. If only I could go to sleep… sleep… sleep (yawn yawn yawn) I’d wake up all (yawn yawn yawn yawn) alllll bright ‘n’ shiny and know what to (yawn yawn yawn yawn yawn) dooooo.”
Libbedy reached up and unhooked her rucksack from the peg on the door (even though in the manner of dress and musical affections she was a punk rocker and sometime hip hop hottie, by nature she was an exceedingly tidy young spiderling). She rummaged through it until she found the magazine she wanted (the latest issue of PondPunk Unzipped), then lay down on her bed (well, it wasn’t really her bed, so to speak, in that she’d decorated it in sunshiny pinks and yellows and golds especially for her beautiful mother, Olivia, who always surrounded herself by such shades of happiness). Libbedy had to admit that the new bed (made from the softest possible moss) was cosy soft, just like a cloud. In fact, the instant her head touched the pillow she was in dreamland.
*Libbedy’s Dream*
Perhaps as dreams go it was not particularly memorable. After all, dreams are dreams and are as insubstantial as mist. This one was really more a series of tiny snippets really. Tiny Rumpus Libbedy led such an active and enthusiastic life, and her brain was (at times, or so it seemed) so completely used up and, well, exhausted, that by the time she finally went to sleep there simply was not a single remaining kilowatt of energy with which to power exuberant flights of fancy (and the like). The cerebellum (and its helpers) knew full well (from past experience) that what it really needed most of all was rest and plenty of it. The following day would be upon it within a blink of an eye, and without all the mettle in the world, it would not last an hour. For this reason, when Rumpus Libbedy Spider (as on this particular day) exhausted herself into a nap, her picture album had very little of value to show her.
Pipsqueaky images, mostly, there were, of friends and family and past events, such as Owld Misther Bucket’s kindly face looking exceedingly odd, with his eyes turning purple and bugging out like two gooseberries who’d just seen a crow about to eat them. She saw millions and millions of teeny tiny pinprick holes, all over the old gentleman’s sides and bottom, and liquid gushing out as though from a demented sprinkler. And wasn’t there the strangest, roundy, leering face, and waves and torrents of crystalline water gushing over her, sweeping her head over heals down the bohereen? Clumps of goo and mud splotting her face, and then again that roundy leering countenance. What a stranger than strange world it was…
Then quite suddenly, the dream blossomed into something altogether more mysterious. Bigger, brighter, it became, with flashing lights and surround sound and oscillating ring tones squeaking in her ears.
Tiny Rumpus Libbedy Spider was dreaming. The poor dear had spent far too much time (practically the entire morning) wondering exactly how she was going to get organised, with the result that she had rather exhausted herself and drifted off into a sleepy daze. “I’ll just lie down for a bit,” she yawned, “and close my eyes. (yawn) What with everything that’s happened, I’ve come over all dizzy. Perhaps (yawn yawn) if I look at a magazine and drink a cup of tea, I’ll be able to relax. I’m soooo sleepy. If only I could go to sleep… sleep… sleep (yawn yawn yawn) I’d wake up all (yawn yawn yawn yawn) alllll bright ‘n’ shiny and know what to (yawn yawn yawn yawn yawn) dooooo.”
Libbedy reached up and unhooked her rucksack from the peg on the door (even though in the manner of dress and musical affections she was a punk rocker and sometime hip hop hottie, by nature she was an exceedingly tidy young spiderling). She rummaged through it until she found the magazine she wanted (the latest issue of PondPunk Unzipped), then lay down on her bed (well, it wasn’t really her bed, so to speak, in that she’d decorated it in sunshiny pinks and yellows and golds especially for her beautiful mother, Olivia, who always surrounded herself by such shades of happiness). Libbedy had to admit that the new bed (made from the softest possible moss) was cosy soft, just like a cloud. In fact, the instant her head touched the pillow she was in dreamland.
*Libbedy’s Dream*
Perhaps as dreams go it was not particularly memorable. After all, dreams are dreams and are as insubstantial as mist. This one was really more a series of tiny snippets really. Tiny Rumpus Libbedy led such an active and enthusiastic life, and her brain was (at times, or so it seemed) so completely used up and, well, exhausted, that by the time she finally went to sleep there simply was not a single remaining kilowatt of energy with which to power exuberant flights of fancy (and the like). The cerebellum (and its helpers) knew full well (from past experience) that what it really needed most of all was rest and plenty of it. The following day would be upon it within a blink of an eye, and without all the mettle in the world, it would not last an hour. For this reason, when Rumpus Libbedy Spider (as on this particular day) exhausted herself into a nap, her picture album had very little of value to show her.
Pipsqueaky images, mostly, there were, of friends and family and past events, such as Owld Misther Bucket’s kindly face looking exceedingly odd, with his eyes turning purple and bugging out like two gooseberries who’d just seen a crow about to eat them. She saw millions and millions of teeny tiny pinprick holes, all over the old gentleman’s sides and bottom, and liquid gushing out as though from a demented sprinkler. And wasn’t there the strangest, roundy, leering face, and waves and torrents of crystalline water gushing over her, sweeping her head over heals down the bohereen? Clumps of goo and mud splotting her face, and then again that roundy leering countenance. What a stranger than strange world it was…
Then quite suddenly, the dream blossomed into something altogether more mysterious. Bigger, brighter, it became, with flashing lights and surround sound and oscillating ring tones squeaking in her ears.
***
Copyright 2007 JA Weeks
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