Tom’s Sausage Lion

“What is this?” you may ask yourself, whilst sitting next to a roaring fire with a brandy in the your hand. I know that this is the way that Chris normally spends his evening and, thus, I assume everyone does the same. What you are staring at is a book, one of those things with words in that people store on shelves to look intelligent. It’s a book by a man and it was written some time ago. You can tell that because the picture on the front looks like it was from the 1970’s (although according to Wikipedia it was written in 1986).

Now it’s not that it is a bad story. It’s a very short story and interesting enough to keep your attention for the hour or so you will spend reading it. It is, however, not worth reading a second time. Here’s the plot:

Tom is a boy. One evening he comes across a lion eating sausages in his back garden. Nobody believes him (a la The Boy who Cried Wolf) and so he tries to track the lion down so that he can prove everyone, including his parents, his peers and the teachers at his school, that he is telling the truth. The lengths that Tom goes to to prove this are quite remarkable; in this most modern of nows right now, as in now 2018, he would have given up and gone back to playing Puzzle Blox or whatever bollocks was currently trending at the time on his I-Pad. That said, the ending is pretty flaccid. Despite what a comment on the back of the book says (hilariously “the climax is breathtaking!”) he finds the lion, parades it around in front of everyone to show he isn’t a liar and then the owner turns up to take it back. That’s it, about seventy odd pages. It is a kid’s book so nobody expected it to be the length of ‘The Stand’ by Stephen King.

The reason Kev bought it for me was due to the ridiculous title. It would be easy to think that it was some kind of porno without the picture of the child trying to entice a lion, tucking away on a string of sausages. I read this while I was donating platelets at the blood clinic. The nurse who was keeping an eye on me couldn’t believe that such a book did exist and, as I pointed out to her also, I did not know it existed until it arrived in a padded envelope through my front door.

Would I recommend it? No. Would I read it again? No. Would I say it’s a bad book? No. I give it a hearty two stars out of five; it loses a third star for not including a lion made of sausages. The title is very misleading. One of these days I may write a book called Tom’s Sausage Lion which will include a lion made of sausages. It’s a work in progress.

‘Janu-Hairy’

What does winter bring you? Christmas? Inner peace? Chilblains and a bad case of the sniffles? Whatever it does bring you, you can guarantee it doesn’t bring you respect.

Winter does not respect you. It will blow you over, blow you down, freeze your chinchillas off and then demand a thousand pounds. Try as you might, there is no easy way to appease winter unless you’re hiding indoors under a blanket hoping it goes away. Wouldn’t you like to give the harshest of seasons what for? Don’t you want to stick twos up at winter and laugh in its cold, dank face?

Look at you; you’re covered in hair. What you need to do is get more of it. ‘Janu-Hairy’ is the newest thing to ever be a thing. In line with other charity-based events, such as ‘Movember’ and ‘Decembeard’, ‘Janu-Hairy’ plans to raise money for people who don’t have hair. Wigs and hairpieces will be distributed amongst those in need, like a wiggy Santa Claus.

How does one help then? By being sponsored to grow as much hair as possible between 1st and 31st January. It’s the easiest thing to do because your body does it anyway, and the more unnecessary hair growth in all your sick and disturbing places the better. That means more cha ching for worthy causes.

Being Hairy on the go, of course I will be participating because I’ve got more hair than all three of the Beans Team put together. I will grow the shit out of my hair for thirty one days in the name of good will toward men and women, whomever needs my hair.

It would be nice if we could use seminal Papples classic ‘January’ as the theme for the event, possibly changing some of the words to fit the occasion. It’s playing in my head now and it’s still lovely.

If you would like to participate then do let me know.

Mackers – International Trendsetter

Hello.

When I get given a job to do I ensure that I do it to the best of my abilities. Yes, this sound like a job application but I will have you know that as IP McMackers, 2018’s most stunning new trendsetter, I take my role very seriously. People are relying on me to tell them what the new things (THINGS!) will be not only now but in the very near future. If you are going to stay ahead of the other sheep then you need to know what’s happening on the street, and if that were a little bit snappier than it would be my motto.

Check it. So what’s new? What’s in? What’s out? Do they still shake it all about? Here’s the rundown for all you clowns:

Fashion – built-up domingo trousers are out and red felt jumpers are in. If you’re seen wearing a crimson woolly pull over then you will be in seventh heaven, baby. Catch two sock akenfolds round the ankles and it’ll seal the deal in a wigwam. Chas Henry was caught trying to sneak into a club in a skin-tight elephant bold trio top and was snapped by the paparazzi; how embarrassing!
TV – the latest now is actually yesterday. Repeats of old television programmes are flying under the radar however soon to hit the top of the schedules. An episode of ‘Follyfoot’ from 1972 last week received thirty five million viewers, mainly because people got confused and were tuning in to watch the ‘Bellew vs Usyk’ fight and instead were treated to a gentle children’s drama about horses. Risqué comedy ‘Calamity Trousers’, banned for the last twenty years or so due to questionable jokes about men’s genitalia, has also seen a rise in viewing figures;
Art – he may be known mainly for his poetry but Arthur “Lemon” Lemonson has strode well and truly into the 21st century with his art emporium ‘Wicked Snakepipe’, located in the more fashionable section of Hampstead Heath. Along with works of his own, he has recently displayed a number of stunning pieces by etiquette lesbian Jemima Quandry, foible godfather Ronny Biglake and genius water feature Romily Snaft. The current gallery hosts an exhibition about the struggles of cleaning a sieve and why pineapples struggle with karaoke;
Film – look away into the distance as the pull of New Zealand cinema is strong during the latter half of 2018. The seminal three hour documentary ‘Loincloth’, winner of three Sundance awards already, about the demise of the one fashionable item of clothing, is about to hit key cinemas around the country in the coming weeks. You are strongly advised to book your tickets now because this is going to be an onslaught of a film. Critically acclaimed drama ‘Your Fingernails are Uncanny’, following the slow degeneration of an office worker and how she struggles to cope with typing at 50 words a minute or more, will be sweeping down in the UK just this side of Christmas. Finally shock comedian Bawdy Moonpacket’s fifth foray into cinema, ‘Saucepan Solar Eclipse’, will be edging its way towards you like a woodlouse on a mission at the beginning of December. Following a full 40 minutes being removed from the original director’s cut, it has been able to secure an 18 certificate to allow it to be shown in UK cinema. You’ll thank me for this one.

So there you go.

As well as this, to get ahead of the crowds, perhaps you’ve got this weekend free? If so, dip down to Doncaster where the latest sport, sheep flipping , is taking place. Can you turn a sheep 360 degrees in mid-air and have it land on its feet? Would you like the opportunity to find out?

That’s all you need right now to show how much you are right on the fashions. I will be back again soon to lead you up the garden path of trend, like the angry daschund I am.

Good night.

Imposter!

These are sad, sad, dark times.

Now we are all partial to a little Smidge Manly impression every now and then. In fact as soon as anyone utters the word, “Right…” I am quick to repeat the same in my head using that voice. It’s now an impulse reaction; it happens no matter what I do. If you want to land smack dab right in the middle of Smidge territory you reach for a solitary, “Right…” and it will send you straight there.

A couple of years ago I managed to unearth an advert over in Europe where Smidge was being illegally used to sell ‘Coco Loco’ (see HERE with your seeing eyes). Following a class action lawsuit, justice was served and the ads were promptly removed through the actions of our legal representative, Nicholas J. Wolfwood (attorney at law). It seems as though this is not the only improper use of our hero floating through the cosmos.

Photos have recently emerged of a Smidge Manly double roaming the streets of Sunderland, Tyne and Wear. I set my “team” the task of doing the ground work to try and flush out this charlatan. A tip was received earlier on this week and we set the biz league into focus (what?). I myself tried to apprehend the culprit but he managed to run away and out the door before my tiny hands caught him. Had I not had to remove from trousers, which were caught on the door handle of a badly-positioned meat factory, I would have smashed the fiend.

Each and every double Smidge walking the streets is taking money from the mouth of Mr Manly. Rather than include actual physical evidence I have instead included a drawing of the imposter literally stealing food from Smidge. Literally. I cannot stress the proper use of that word enough.

Look at how forceful he is. Look at him stealing Smidge’s taco, a food I’m sure he eats on a semi-regular basis. Take a good, hard view of his harsh tone and capital letters of filth. The swine.

If anyone has further information that may be of use to the police or “the team” then do let us know.

Keep watching the skies.

Town Meeting

Good day gentlemen.

You have been invited here to address the fact that Chris doesn’t know who Steve Martin is.

Given the multiple film, stand up, literary and other banjo accolades Steve Martin has achieved in his 40 odd years in the limelight, Chris must have hidden his face in a wardrobe all this time. We all know that if he watches any films he will explode but there are other means by which to know of the name Steve Martin.

Please feel free to also bring to light any other matters worthy of discussion. Zingers aimed in the general direction of Kevin are positivity encouraged.

Dear Beans… Keen Conundrum

Dear Beans,

Let me start by saying that of all the people in the world, I’ve seen keen. I’ve also seen eager, yearning, longing and a level of impatience that put impatience on the map. The map of keen.

The other day though, well, it’s hard to put into words exactly what happened. There was a press release for the new anti-matter water, the third kind of water, that is due to hit shelves in the next few weeks. The sheer volume of hysterical people hit an all time high. Most of the time the level of keen can be read in the face (eyes, mouth, cheek bones etc.) but as soon as these monkeys saw the article their whole bodies were keen. Have you ever seen a keen elbow? A keen shin? I have and I’m worried that now there is nowhere else for keen to go.

By keeping it primarily in the viso/volto it kept keen under control. This is a whole new set of rules for keen and I don’t think the human race is ready for it.

What on earth should we do?

Yours worriedly

Flanpax Moonio

Flimsy Floppy Bendy Batman

Everyone needs a mascot, everyone needs a prop. When you’re doing things with people (waaaaaaaaay!) it’s always good to have one particular item that everyone can focus on or channel their thoughts into when times are hard. The best example of this would have to be Dr Who, whose exploits of an eccentric flopping through dull science fiction stories would be even more boring had he/she been doing it on their own.

Heading down to Didsbury for a large selection of pints with scale perfect philanthropic Mexican-Chinese genius Kevin and grey-haired family man and insurance savage Tom, I decided that we needed something to drag along for our adventure. I already had a wealth of junk in my pockets (because that’s who I am) so I was immediately drawn to Lego Santa Claus. Yes, he’s small and likely to get lost however he’s made of the firm stuff: he can take twelve hours of drinking, easy to transport, brimming in playful colours and millions know who he is.

Cut to Tom’s wife Claire practically handing me an item that she is done with. “I don’t want to see it again, I don’t want it back. Please take it with you.” It’s a kid’s toy; Stretch Armstrong but it’s Batman. Bendy Batman. What possible harm could this have done to Claire? What evil lies within this rubbery realm of innocent fun? It didn’t occur to me, I placed him in my coat pocket and we left.

As it happens, even with my poor memory, I struggle to remember most of that Saturday. The tweets I made are baffling even by my standards. Photos are non-existent. Vague, sepia-tinged memories of being too drunk to go in the Slug and Lettuce, someone needing a jump start for their car outside a restaurant and pretending to care about football in the most crowded pub on the whole street are all that remain. Floppy Batman was there for all of it. He survived the night and came back in one piece, like a boss. There is a lot to admire.

As it happens, a few weeks later, I’m driving home from work and what do I see? An advert for Very.co.uk virtually on every single bus stop showing, in all his glory, Floppy Batman. It could have been another Batman toy, as there’s many many out there, but no, it’s him, the one and the same. Now he’s whoring himself out for Christmas everyone is going to have one soon. He’ll be accompanying other goons on other alcohol-fuelled Saturday evenings. It’ll take away the magic once the world is doing it. The tart.

I should have stuck with Lego Santa.

Table for Two?

Good Evening, Monsieur and Madame. I trust you are having a pleasant Thursday evening? It is the perfect time for a get together of food, wine and conversation the likes of which have never been seen before.

Here, please let me take your galoshes and wellington boots, and you can have a seat towards the back of the restaurant, where the smell of the food barely covers the scent of faeces, wafting from the gentleman’s you-know-what’s.

May I recommend that before I take your drink orders that you take a look at the menu? Our chef has made some recent alterations that I think may interest you. It’s a little more adventurous than you’re possibly used to but I can assure you that you will not be disappointed. I will place your possessions in a badly-lit broom cupboard near the barely visible ‘Fire Exit’ sign and come back in five minutes to help with anything that I can.

Please feel free to help yourself to complimentary aniseed ball-bearings to help cleanse the pallet before the real action starts:

Evening Menu

Starters

Herb-coated shenkles of pen lids, rocket, arse shavings, child-wept tomatoes. Silly oil and three whole lemons – £15.00

Charred and badly-burned damp sewer wood wrapped in posh ham, silver spank noodles and basil wet bags, disgusting reduction – £24.00

Crab, leftover curtains, nose hair and avocado bruschetta, fingered aioli – £19.00

Mains

Duck cocks, pissy ash puree, wilted bin mugs and breakfast pan juices – £30.00

Smoked sorcery eyes, chorizo and beach cable risotto, poached eggs barely audible – £42.00

Spaghetti with handcuffs, flange, chilli garlic, cracker dust, leather concave bisque reduction – £35.00

Lunch specials

Roasted fly thighs, dolphin panache, bat shit chasseur sauce on a crushed Henderson suit bread – £26.00

Buffed fish, hand cut bastard nugget portions, sinister tomatoes and Enya thermidor height sauce – £30.00

Limp bollock dross and balls, savage pasta bound in Napoli drippings, topped with existential phone nubbins and a space rollercoaster – £27.00

And for desert? I am sorry, Monsieur and Madame, desserts are sadly off the menu for this evening but I am sure that I may be able to find something in the condemned freezer next to the warm raccoon cage. Let me get back to you on that one.

Pouring
Beans

Author: Ian “Air Travel Regulations” McIver