Classic Canaries 2: Trying to talk to Buckle.

He treads across the floor to a corner of the squalid room which does indeed contain a cage of fine contented chirping birds before cheerfully scattering a handful of seed for them.

Bikle:                “By pride ad joy!” he almost simpers over them

Buckle:             “Yes dey are pretty Bikle, dough I ofted think subthig is bissing about dem.” Buckle looks ponderously on

Bikle:                 “Dot likely Buckle, dese little critters are aboud perfect, and dey certaidly don’t deed your frasistance!” Though before Bikle has even finished, Buckle has lost interest and is back to the fridge ‘Vwukk Barvellous!’ and on it goes.

Bikle pulls on a fresh cloak and continues to speak

Bikle:               “Dow listed hear Buckle, dever bind about dat cheese fridge busidess, dis is important.”

Buckle:              “Ho what’s dat Bikle? Is it about cheese, because let be tell you!”

Bikle:                “Do do Buckle, forget de fuckig cheese! Dis afterdood is the bird show at de village fete and I’b reidig champion. However I do have to go oud for a bit dis borning so I’b tellig you dow, whilst I’b out, whatever you do leave by prize cadaries alode!”

Buckle:             “What’s dat Bikle?”

Bikle:                “By cadaries!”

Buckle:              “What about dem Bikle?”

Bikle:                 “Leave dem alode dats what!”

Buckle:              “Ho what do you bean?”

Bikle:                 “Just don’t touch bore even look at de cadaries whilst I’b out!”

Buckle:               “Why would I touch dem Bikle dere your prize cadaries, in fact listen, What cadaries? I don’t see ady cadaries? Maybe you bean de alleged cadaries eh Bikle?”

Now Bikle is vaguely taken aback, as knowing his brothers stupidity he becomes unsure as to whether Buckle has genuinely forgotten about the existence of the birds, or whether he is actually making some kind of humorous pretence that signifies his compliant understanding. “

Bikle:                 “Umm Listed Buckle, if you see adythig dat looks like cadary whilst I’b out, leave it alode! Is dat clear?”

Buckle:              “Yes Bikle, but just so were clear, what does a cadary look like?”

Bikle:                 “For fucks sake you dibwit, by prize cadaries, de birds in de cage over dere, leave dem alone whilst I’b out!”

Buckle:                “Ho birds id a cage, dey do look pretty! Do wonder you like dem so buch, by I bet you could wid a prize wid cadaries like dat!”

Bikle:                    “Give be stregth! I’b goig out, if anything happeds to dose birds I’ll burder you!”

Buckle:               “Yes Bikle, defidetly, cad I go back to de fridge dow!”

Nearly sobbing, Bikle acquieces, puts on a fresh cloak and leaves the flat to the partially reassuring sound of ‘vwukk ‘Barvellous!’ Vwukk ‘Barvellous!’

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Published in: on September 21, 2015 at 11:35 am  Comments (1)  

The Classic Canaries 1: Bikle’s Barvellous Morning.

Bikle is sat at his mahogany desk, tapping away cheerfully at his state of the art computer, when a lovely blonde pops her head around the door.

Girl:                        “French bread pizza for dinner darling? It’s Findus.”

Bikle:                     “Ho is it indeed you little binx! Den it’ll be fun to eat, a bit like you! O,O.O.”

The blonde laughs delightedly and returns to the kitchen. Gradually Bikle becomes aware of a faint series of noises. First a soft rubbery sucking sound, then a voice saying. “Barvellous!” then a quiet slamming noise. This goes on and on until he can no longer concentrate on the screen. Vwwuk. “Barvellous!” Slam. Vwwuk. “Barvellous!” Slam. Vwuuk. “Barvellous!” Slam. Vwwuk. “Barvellous!” Slam.

Bikle:                     “What IS dat doise? Ad why is it suddedly so cold id here?”

Irritably he turns back to…the computer, only for it to start emitting a regular beeping noise.

Bikle:                     “Ho why dat souds a bit like by alarb clock!”

As the beeping grows louder and more insistent, the awful truth begins to dawn on him. The smart flat, the sexy blonde, the expensive computer…

Bikle:                     “Ho I dod’t wadt to wake up, I bust keep dreabig!” he shouts, only to find himself sitting bolt upright in his sagging, stained single bed.

The daylight is streaming through the holes in the tattered black curtains. His dream flat has vanished, and been replaced by the everyday benefits funded squalor of his mundane reality.

Bikle:                     “Ho bollocks! Sdill alive and in dis shithole. Ho well.”

He switches off his alarm and, swinging his long legs off the bed, begins to dress himself. Strangely he can still hear the odd sequence of noises. Vwwuk. “Barvellous!” Slam. Vwwuk. “Barvellous!” Slam. Upon reflection, it seems to be emanating from the kitchen/living room.

Bikle:                     “H’what de dickids cad dat doise be?” he wonders aloud.

Pulling on his pixie boots he walks through into the other room. His brother is kneeling down in front of the rusty under the counter fridge.

Buckle:                 “Ho Bordig Bikle. Have you seed dis? You oped dis door, (Vwwuk) ad idside, dere’s cheese! Barvellous! Den you shut it, (Slam) and oped it (Vwwuk) ad dere’s cheese! Barvellous!”

Bikle:                     “Ho by god! Buckle you bastard, you woke be up wid dis dodsedse! And I was havig a bagdificedt dreab!”

Buckle:                 “Ho, was I id it Bikle?”

Bikle:                     “Dot likely! Ho well, dow I’b up I bight as well feed by beloved cadaries.”

Buckle:                 “You do love dose cadaries dod’t you Bikle?”

Bikle:                     “Dot half! Dere de odly bright sbot id by bonstrously biserable bexistadce. What I’d do widout dere adorable little faces I dod’t dare to think!”

Buckle:                 “Dod’t forget about be big brother, I’b dot goig adywhere! I’b goig to stay wid you forever!”

Bikle:                     Choking back a sob. “Dod’t you ever say dat! Dow, let’s take a look at by little treasures.”

To be continued

Published in: on September 18, 2015 at 11:27 am  Leave a Comment  

Classic Canaries Preamble.

Gentle reader, it is many years since the ‘classic canaries’ sketch was first constructed. The premise is simple and will be familiar to all aficionados of 70’s and 80’s sitcoms. Someone entrusts someone else with something precious and then they leave the scene, with hilarious consequences. With Morris and Yolanda dominating the airwaves nowadays it is easy to forget that it was Bikle who was the original denizen of this world and even his imbecile brother Buckle is longer present therein than Morris.

For a simple recap of the characters, Bikle is a very tall grumpy bespectacled goth with pincers for hands who lives in squalid flat. Buckle is his idiot brother famous initially for the catchphrase ‘Ho I thought you’d be pleased!’ which mutated along a rhythmic/homonymic axis into ‘I thought there’d be cheese!’ The new semantic content was then actually applied and this formed his expectation that in any given instance there would be a certain dairy produce present. In this was he follows the ancient teachings of Ithodthebeches, an ancient greek philosopher whose single fragment, though possibly lost to us now signals a very similar doctrine.

In height and long hair, glasses, Buckle resembles Bikle, though there it ends as Buckle’s clothes are often a strange assorted ill fitting jumble, whilst outside we’re oft to find him sporting a parker or maybe a cagoule -your imagination may create you your own personal Buckle and that of course is fine.

The other salient thing to remember about him is his trombone, which may or may not feature in the forthcoming ramble. This deadly device is prone to ‘buckling’ anything to which its blast is directed. This verb usually results in the erstwhile thing now being combined with a tool and a horse (a well known ‘bad combination’) much to the infuriation of the proprietor of said thing.

Anyway enough enough.

On with the show…

Published in: on September 18, 2015 at 9:38 am  Leave a Comment  

Saturn Retrograde Supermarket

Yolanda:               “Morris, I’m just popping out to Freshways, do you want anything?”

 

Morris:                 “No no Yolanda, I will not hear of it. It is an ill starred venture, and no good shall come of it.”

 

Yolanda:               “But Morris, we need lots of things, there’s hardly any coffee or breadsticks, and there isn’t an onion left in the house.”

Morris:                 “Very well, my sweet. This grocery based excursion is of your own choosing, but you have been warned!” (Exit Yolanda) “Now then, Portent of Doom Johnson go and hang around in the freezer aisle looking gloomy.”

 

Later, at Freshways PoD Johnson is hanging around said freezer aisle as Yolanda rounds the bend to it. He has painted some poorly applied magpie stripes to himself and a sampled sound of a great bell issues tinnily from some small electronic device about his person.

 

Yolanda:               “Oh for fuck’s sake Johnson, can’t you go and portend somewhere else? It was bad enough having Johnson of Ill Omen sat behind me on the bus with that terrible cough of his, without you obstructing my access to the potato waffle section.”

 

PoD Johnson:    Gloomily “Mwaaerk!”

 

Yolanda sighs and manages to work around his obtrusive presence. The task done she returns home and is just bringing the shopping into the house when she sees Morris at work on the hob with a frying pan, he seems to be singing the tune of three blind mice until she draws closer.

 

Morris:                 “Three fried mice, three fried mice, served in a bun…”

 

Yolanda:               ‘Morris what are you doing? Wait a minute is that my mice in that pan?”

 

Morris:                 “Why yes it is my little parakeet impersonator, would you care for one with onions and a boiled egg? Maybe a glass of sparkling Prosecco to wash it down though I am well aware of the wastefulness of the word sparkling involved as a predicate for Prosecco, its function was merely to inform you, were you were not aware of the sparkling nature of the beverage.”

Yolanda:               “Morris my mice!! First Blossom, then junior, now my poor mice.”

 

Morris:                 “I cannot pour the mice Yolanda unless I liquefy them which would probably involve adding some kind of extra liquid for I do not forsee the current fluid quotient being sufficient to create more than an oily paste, you will note in saying that I am presuming we blend the fat in the pan and said rodents. Possibly some of this soya milk would render them sufficiently fluid, though I rather had my mind set on the bun thing than a smoothie.”

 

Yolanda:               “Morris what the fuck are you talking about, I don’t want the mice blended or fried, I’d like them back alive in there little house with their wheel!”

 

Morris:                 “As you desire my little dramatis personae, I’m sure Johnson can help us out with this one. However, in the meantime, you cannot after all say that you were not warned. Had you not taken that fateful excursion to the supermarket then in all likelihood your trio of rodents would still be merrily scampering around in their makeshift play area of cardboard tubes, instead of rapidly congealing in a pan full of hamster fat.”

 

Yolanda:               “Morris! Not Squeaky too!”

 

Morris:                 “I am afraid so my little partially depleted strategic diesel reserve, but never mind, I will provide you with more furry playmates…”

 

He waves a hand and Hard Of Hearing Johnson limps in dressed in a brown nazi uniform.

 

Morris:                 “NO JOHNSON, I SAID COME DISGUISED AS SOME GERBILS!”

Published in: on September 14, 2015 at 1:37 pm  Comments (1)  

Broody Awful.

Yolanda:               “Morris, I think I’d like to have a baby”

Morris:                 “No sooner said than done my sweet, now let me see who is available: biting the hand that feeds him Johnson, sumo Johnson, utilising everyday objects as lethal weapons Johnson, infectious skin disease Johnson? Any of these take your fancy my little pomegranate express?”

Yolanda:               “Morris, can’t I have a real proper baby?”

Morris:                 Checking in some kind of ragged catalogue “Hmm it would seem cute little thinks he’s a baby Johnson is currently supervising my campaign against the poisonous warcrabs of Atlantis. There may have been some kind of mix up there. How about gluttonous breastmilk fetish Johnson? He might be just what you’re looking for.”

Yolanda:               “Morris! He sounds horrible. No I want a real baby!”

Morris:                 “No worries my sweet, by fortuitous serendipity a real baby Johnson is free to come to your aid indeed you may hear his edacious ululation emitting from the nursery even now as awaits his dinner! You better hop to it!”

ARB Johnson:    “Mwaaerk!” (high pitched)

Morris:                 “On a further note relating to that might I suggest you eat only baked potatoes from now, as otherwise junior may well be less than keen on your lactatious offerings!”

Yolanda:               “Morris!”

Morris:                 “No my sweet thyme and nettle dumpling, there is no need for thank you, your happiness comes before all, now off you hop, I am attempting to watch Miss Marple Johnson’s latest murder mystery.”

She huffs away. After some time she returns looking clutching her breasts with a pained expression.

Yolanda:               “He’s erm a bit big, Morris”

Morris:                 “Is he indeed my little paperweight? Well health of newborn size is supposed to correlate to long life so that is all in his favour.”

Yolanda:               “Well I’m not keen on nurseries and cots so I’ve put him in our bed to settle, co sleeping is so much healthier for babies.”

Morris:                 “Yes my dear, book club next Thursday, Son of Dracula Johnson says he’s coming.”

Yolanda:               “I’m not doing this on my own Morris. You can take him to the park tomorrow in the buggy.”

Morris:                 “Would you look at that! It was Johnson that did it!”

She sighs and goes to bed. The scene cuts to tomorrow morning. A hefty looking Johnson in cute baby blue outfit is tenuously strapped to a buggy which Morris is attempting to heave out of the door.

Yolanda:               “And no nanny Johnson, or Mary Poppins Johnson Morris, it’s important he spends time with his dad!”

Morris:                 “Yes *huff* my sweet platelet cell, no *grunt* problem.”

Eventually ‘Junior’ is shoved out of the door where the going is much easier in taking him down the path to the park. At the park Morris sits around whilst, ERB Johnson sits in the buggy, after a while he notices the ice cream van and begins to point.

ERB Johnson:     “Mwaaerk!”

Morris:                 “Oh ice cream is it Johnson very well you may have a mini milk!”

ERB Johnson:     “Mwaaerk!”

Morris:                 “No you may not have a flaked whippy ice cream, that is not suitable for a child your age!”

ERB Johnson:     “Mwaaerk! Mwaaerk!”

Morris:                 “No Johnson, and cease with this racket or you will have no ice cream at all!”

Johnson:              “Mwaaerk! Mwaaerk!”

Johnson begins to thrash around in an unseemly manner, knocking himself and the buggy over, continuing his screeching. Morris looks on with disdain.

The scene returns to Morris returning home alone.

Morris:                 “A terrible tragedy has occurred my dear. I’m afraid Junior has been burned to death. To spare you the trauma of a funeral I rolled his smouldering carcass into the duckpond and weighted it down with the axle shaft of an old Austin Princess. Anything worth drinking in the fridge or should I send Johnson down the Spar?”

Published in: on September 4, 2015 at 2:23 pm  Leave a Comment  

Breakfast note.

breakfast

Morris’ penchant for an all day breakfast goes back a long way. No one knows quite from whence it came. The problem with it for him, as with some other phrases, is that he tends to get stuck whilst saying it. The issue lies (as with ‘Try telling that to Johnson, Johnson, Johnson… ad infinitum) that if he says ‘I will have an all day breakfast all day…’ the second ‘all day’ immediately invokes the next ‘breakfast’ which in turn brings about a further ‘all day’ and so on, until like the unfortunate Johnson in ‘Trevor’s Breakfast Quest’ someone gets him out of this cycle.

Published in: on September 4, 2015 at 9:54 am  Leave a Comment  

Cheese/bedcloth combination

cheesetang

Sourced here: http://www.tylervigen.com/spurious-correlations

Published in: on September 3, 2015 at 5:49 pm  Comments (1)