Election results 2017

It’s been an exciting campaign, most of which has happened away from The Beans since the election was first announced back in April which is why we haven’t heard anything about it here since it was first called. But the day is finally here, and the results are in. Let’s go now live to the civic centre in South Beans for the results as the candidates take to the podium.

“I, Professor Louche, being the Returning Officer for South Beans constituency, hereby announce the results for the election of the Member of Parliament for South Beans.

King, Saint Jim Wilkins: eight thousand, four hundred and twenty nine.

McJEEFY, EEFORD RONALD ALOYSIUS WILKINS, commonly known as EEFY McJEEFY: four thousand, nine hundred and three.

Cockall, Nonnington Nen Nay Wilkins, commonly known as Nonny Cockall: four.

Lady, Sexatronic Wilkinia: six thousand, two hundred and eighty three.

Kitty, Flat: twelve thousand and thirty two.

Flat Kitty is therefore elected as the member of parliament for Beans South. Thank you.”

Well, there we have it! An astonishing result for Flat Kitty, bringing her agenda for high-speed pancake delivery to the front of mainstream politics. There will be a lot to discuss in the days to come but for now we will all begin by pledging allegiance to our new MP and overlord. Or possibly overkitty.

Flat Kitty – Presidential Candidate

On the eve of the US presidential election, some might say that attempting to put yourself forward as a candidate now would be a foolish exercise.

Such tomfoolery, however, has never been too far outside the realms of the Beans though. One who is strong of heart and stout of mind can achieve great things even with very little time to do so. It is with this in mind then that my fellow flatmate, Flat Kitty, would like to offer herself for this very prestigious of positions.

Why would she be the right person or squashed fabric soft toy for the job? What qualities does she possess that make her better than Clinton or Trump? I’m glad you asked because I have the bullet points directly below to answer those questions:

She has an honest face;
She is an ex-celebrity following the success of her Bosnian Herzegovinian smash hit of a television series with millions of fans;
Though she may not have an actual voice, she has a “voice” that can empower the smallest of people and inspire the brightest of voters;
There is nothing that she is not willing to do to get your vote;
She once popped a wheelie at the Royal Variety Performance (sources still waiting to be confirmed at this point).

As you can see, there is enough scrabbled together here to convince even the most sternest of individuals that Flat Kitty is a candidate that you can trust and is, ultimately, whom America is crying out for to lead them to a three dimensional multi-faceted glowing shoebox of tomorrow.

That and she makes a mean salad nicoise.

29 Cats

29 Cats
Were sitting in a tree
Spread out on the branches
Drinking cups of tea

One little cat
Had enough to drink
Climbed up to the top
And had a little think

That little cat
Decided he should wee
But was very lazy
So did it in the tree

28 other cats
Sat lower in the tree
Now all wet and pissy
Decided they should flee

One lonely cat
Relieved but now alone
Sat atop his lonely tree
Reading Twitter on his phone

The Timps Chea Party

It was a small gathering, but it was enough to garner interest from the highest rungs of society’s ladder. That was always the case for the Timps Chea (pronounced “Chi”) Party.

Bolderville sniffed at the contents of his cup and scoffed; a little noise emanating from the back of his throat, “Is this what counts as an acceptable blend these days?” Emmental peered up from the book she was sifting through, mid-sip of her own drink, and shot a daring, lacklustre look in his direction. This was not the first time Bolderville had interrupted her book, her story, her line of thought. His opinions could be heard from the other side of the room, even through the most heated of debates. Once something upset his tastebuds, or his stomach, he was first to announce it and always at the top of his voice.

“If you don’t want it you are more than welcome to try to find something more to your tastes in the back of Nanny’s cupboard. I think she still has some Oakenfold Harbinger from her trips to the Ivory Coast. It goes remarkably well with civilised company,” she quipped, hoping to dismount his verbal attack before he even had a chance to regroup his efforts. Bolderville didn’t even bother to acknowledge her remark; he was too preoccupied with the flavour rolling around his mouth. Usually he had ripped the drink to pieces by now.

Could it be that he had changed his mind and the chea was growing on him?

“I’ve tasted better down the crack of even the most slimiest, more repugnant shops in the sweatiest districts of Backgammon. In fact, the last time I threw up I’m almost entirely sure it had the texture of this!” That was more like him. Those were the words of a blunderbuss, a person botherer, an unpleasant, parsnip-twitching, egotistical hammock of a man.

Emmental sighed. Her own chea, a blend she had cultivated herself after long afternoons in the portland stiles, was as light and bewitching as the eyes of the black kitten Nanny had given her just the other day for her twilight birthday. Between the two of them they had enchanted just about every member of the Tripod Dynasty, even burned out Haggard McPondPoodle. The chea reflected her personality. It gave good lips and a savage grace. There was no point wasting any on Bolderville though; he would not understand the subtle nuances, and fake a gagging noise to attract attention from the clot of Susan beasts in the courtyard.

No, today was her book and her chea. Let him with his he and his ho waddle in the puddle of his own discontent. Let him dampen the air with foul language and disharmony. Crash away, my good man, Emmental thought, for you have no business here.

Only one problem but remained; nobody knew what a Timp was.

Spread the Word

From the recent statistical analysis, and customer satisfaction questionnaire, carried out earlier on this year it is quite clear that the average number of visitors to the Beans on a weekly basis has reached it’s highest numbers since the ‘zorse years’. It is estimated that approximately six people, including Kev, come to read and sometimes share their thoughts with the Beans collective. Now I’ve never been known to shunt a positive acumen up the ajax but with winter fast approaching and nobody having suggested any zany ideas for a while I feel we need to double or possibly triple those numbers in order to justify the size of Chris’ dance studio and Kevin’s virtual poodle bar.

Having briefly glanced through a list of possible ideas with which to boost the visitors to the site, it has been decided that I should venture forth to the small village of Ivalo in Finland in the hope to gaining their sponsorship and their patronage.

Ivalo is a village in dense region of Inari, Lapland. It currently has a population of just less than four thousand and, as of 2003, includes the benefit of a small airport. It is this very airport I am hoping to fly to in order to encourage the mayor of Ivalo to seal a deal in a wigwam and have hundreds of Finnish tourists knock knock knocking at the doors of the Beans. All I will need is a small contribution from the kitty and I’ll be on my way.

I’ll meet you in the first class lounge on C deck.

Unknown Pleasures (again)

Carrying on my trend for utilising other people’s work in my own posts (Chris, clearly you’re next), as promised here is the second song in a collection which is steadily showing improvement in both tone, texture and content. The rhymes, though simple, display a mature approach to song-writing. The universal themes everyone can identify with. It is a cornucopia of marvels, a stimulating ensconcing whirlpool of wonder, a haven for intellectual satisfaction on a grand scale.

Presented in its original form, sup deep from the cup of lyrical nourishment:

Jumped of a Train

Chourus – I jumped of a train. I ended in the rain and I was fuLL of pain.

Yestersterday I got mugged by an eel,
It wasent a fair deal
I didn’t have a meal

— Chourus —

On my birthday, all I ate was hay,
A Horse came along but he didn’t singe me a song
But he did a big pong

— Chourus —

So I jumped of a train x 4

My life’s such a pain.

I only wish the Beatles could have written something as timeless as this.

Unknown Pleasures

It seems as though most of my posts this month have merely been transcribed moments of wonder from other people, and who am I to change the habit of a lifetime? Besides I’m too busy writing new songs for the Papples, or scratching myself using pointy kitchen utensils, to actually come up with anything myself. I might toss off a photo or something just to make up the numbers.

Anyway, onwards and upwards. I stumbled across this the other day. It is a song written by Reuben presumably just after waking up because not a lot of it makes sense, but these are the things that will be framed and handed out to his friends when he reaches some embarrassing age yet to be determined by me and a case of Jack Daniels.

There isn’t any music so you’ll have to imagine the tune yourself. I’ve copied it word for word, including spelling and grammatical errors. I think it’s much better this way:

I Sang To The Kitty

I sang to the kitty and, He trumped in my face.
So I ran to the kitchen and he followed my trace.

I gave the kitty pie’s and he trumped in my eye’s.

So listen hear Child, most cats are realy quite mild.
So listen hear Child, most cats are realy quite mild.

What I most love about it is that he is trying to educate his peers like he is a wise man or some sort of Shamen; you must watch out for felines farting, it’s a common concern about the pre-teens. In fact I shall be launching a poster campaign along those lines within the coming weeks.

Coming soon: another song I found with a spectacular misspelling of the word ‘yesterday’.

Father’s Day

I’m not really one for days of celebration; there are far too many to keep up with. For every distinct, sincere and sensible one there are seventeen other silly ones that some berk in a beard in a boardroom decided was a great idea such as Spinning Teatowels Day or Tap Someone on the Shoulder and Wink at a Vegetable Day. These continue to regularly appear on my Twitter feed as though I should give two hoots. I wouldn’t even give one, barely half.

So when it comes to Father’s Day I suppose I should offer up both hoots, and I do. I load up both barrels of the hoot rifle and let rip with all the riposte and energy I’m known for. It was to my complete amusement and amazement then when the following item was placed in my hands by Reuben approximately two days before it was even Father’s Day. He was that excited he couldn’t wait until the correct day:

What does one say when presented with a set of marshmallows containing one’s son’s face in various different guises? We took the piss out of my brother for wanting a cake with his own face on, which he eventually managed to obtain thanks to Asda, and this is essentially the same technology. So why is it different? John did always love himself and this was something more honest, more wholesome and less narcissistic. The boy had come up with the idea all on his own. Where he had heard that someone could scan an image of his face onto confectionary I don’t particularly want to know, but what a present!

I’m almost hesitant to actually eat them. Luckily you’re also given a scan of the individual photos so that once you do pop them in your face hole you can remember them forever and always. You will forgive me then if I do disappear in a timely manner to attend to an unconfirmed previous engagement…

Pouring
Beans

Category: Kitty