THE ABCs OF A PECULIAR LIFE // Earwig & Excitability (Katzenjammer in E sharp minor)

It was early morning, but Frau Earwig felt quite on edge already. She was rolling her eyes, wringing her wings and snapping with her forceps every few seconds. This was beyond her endurance! She, an honoured artist, drama teacher and fourth generation member of the intelligentsia should never have had to bear with the likes of these insufferable dormitory neighbours!

These vagabonds had lost all sense of shame. They indulged in binge drinking sessions every day, and organised vulgar karaoke competitions. They even brought home heavily rouged hussies to join the festivities. Who would’ve thought that such outwardly respectable looking kittens would turn out, in fact, to be lowdown bastard scum?

Frau Earwig sighed and took some valerian drops with her brandy, but this didn’t seem to help. Firmly resolved to end this crap, Frau Earwig flung a boa over her shoulders and took up a reticule. She then wended her way over to her loutish neighbours’ place.

The door was open, and through the crack seeped dirty jokes mixed with roars of laughter. Frau Earwig stepped cautiously past the threshold and let out a squeak. “Hello? Anybody home?” Of course, this tentativeness didn’t pan out as well as she’d hoped. She swallowed nervously. Frau Earwig forced herself to inch along, step-by-step, until she finally reached a spacious—though fuggy—sitting room. The atmosphere made her choke with a sudden fit of coughing.

That was when they finally noticed her.

“Hey, floosie! Get your ass over here and drink with us!”

Frau Earwig’s offense was betrayed by a gasp. It escaped her mouth before she could think to stop it. What? Floosie?! Then she heard another rude voice say, “Leave it, Fyodor! Don’t you see? This ‘hoptoad in fichu’ is a major bigwig! She’ll never hit the bottle with the likes of us! We’re too… lowbrow.”

What?! Hoptoad in fichu?!

It’s hard to say what happened next. After the red mist had passed from her eyes, Frau Earwig shook her head and took in her immediate surroundings. She was holding a Victorian hat pin in her trembling cercus, and a pungent smell of blood pervaded the room…

Dead bodies. Punctured bodies of dead kittens everywhere.

It seemed her Family Psychologist may have been right after all. Frau Earwig really did need to work on her anger management issues. Of course, she could always call the clinic the next day and arrange a follow-up visit with Gal. But as for here and now…

Frau Earwig stepped over to the nearest body and kicked it lightly. Actually, the fur had hardly any holes in it. Nice. It could be the perfect new boa…

 

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2017

SPAM® Sushi #13

 

Remarkably, when Ellen awoke the next morning, she was sensation somewhat happier, but her mammy insisted they safeguard their appointment. Ingest crucifer and kale, likewise as condiment green and vegetable.

EinarMult

 

Dear Einar,

We know this story pretty well. It was in all the evening papers just a few short years ago. It’s such a sad story too, although some would label it a ‘cautionary tale’ featuring cannibals.

As we all now know, Ellen was a very sick little girl. Like… sick in the head. She was undergoing aggressive medical therapy. It has been well established by experts in the field that she was a sociopath who was against the slaughter and consumption of fruits and vegetables. The mere thought of these doomed innocents would plunge Ellen into depression for weeks on end. Imagine the poor girl’s feelings when her mammy repeatedly forced her to, as you so quaintly put it, “Ingest crucifer and kale, likewise as condiment green and vegetable.” It would have been a nightmare!

So, is it any wonder that she finally cracked, and bludgeoned her sweet mammy to death with the business end of a colander? Yup, she even made her dead mammy wear it as a hat, and sat her in ‘time out’ to have a long, hard think about what she’d been doing to helpless plant life for all those years. And when it seemed as though her mammy hadn’t learned her lesson at all, Ellen simply et her.

And when Ellen awoke the next morning, she was sensation completely happy, despite waking up in a madhouse. A cautionary tale indeed!

Tati & Tony (Two Nuts Who are Desperate to Find Inspiration for Yet Another Brilliantly Silly Story Even in Spam)

 

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2020

ABSURDIS EXTREME // Case Study #3 [6/11/1978] by B.A. Loney

This is the story of three syllogisms: the valid one, the reasonable one and the one with a correct conclusion.

The one with a correct conclusion kept said conclusion to itself because it wasn’t friends with the other syllogisms. In fact, they were mortal enemies. So, you see, it would mutter the correct conclusion under its breath, over and over. “Some yellow pencils are green.” But not loud enough for anybody to hear—especially not its hopelessly wooden-headed rivals.

The valid syllogism didn’t mutter to itself, or to anyone else. No, it roamed the streets instead, yelling like a crazed vagrant. “All good debaters have a sharp point, dagnabbit!” It scared away passersby with its spittle and shambolic gesticulations, and trod on stray cats’ tails to boot. “Listen to me, you fools! Some green pencils are blunt!” Then it stopped, raised its hands to the heavens, and declared solemnly: “Therefore, some green pencils suck at debating. Don’t mess with them green pencils, I tells ya!” Its beard flapped in the wind like a long grey scarf, and its eyes were deep and empty as it nodded sagely to itself.

The reasonable syllogism closed its second storey window. It needed to complete another letter to the editor of its favourite local gossip rag, but some idiotic shouting from the street was hindering its creative flow. It shook its head as if to clear it, then kept writing. “So, for the reasons outlined above, it’s evident that some pencils turn bright red when sharpened.” Laying down its ballpoint pen, the reasonable syllogism nodded to itself with a smug air of superiority. Who could fail to see this logic? Only one without eyes. It was all there on the page in immutable black and white. The other two syllogisms would shrivel up and blow away in the wind like so much piffling detritus as soon as they read this!

Meanwhile, on the other side of the city, a John Doe who’d hidden his colour blindness in order to gain employment at a pencil factory was preparing for his first day of work. He couldn’t know that in eight short hours a green pencil would become rather agitated and, shall we say ‘pointed’, about a particular point it was going to make. It would insist on not being put in the same box as some idiotic yellow pencils. “I am a noble green! Not plebeian yellow!” And it would aggressively jab John in the chest in order to make its point, right until the point at which he bled out and died. Poor John Doe! How tragic that his life would end with him toppling onto a conveyor belt, spilling his fresh blood over freshly sharpened pencils.

So, what’s the moral of this story? We don’t need one—only naked facts. This is scientific research, baby, not a fucking fable.

 

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2019