Wed, 22 May 2013
Little boxes, little boxes,
full of shoes and socksies,
straight from little boxes.
Full of bix and chocksies,
scoffing in our socksies,
out of little boxes.
Also lots of clocksies,
going ticks and tocksies,
inside little boxes.
All in little boxes, crazier than foxes.
Forget fezes or bowties. Boxes are cool ;-P
17 Feb 2013
What Will I Be?
What will I be when I grow up?
A fireman, a soldier, a candlestick holder.
What will I be when I grow up?
A driver, a drover, a man who falls over.
What will I be when I grow up?
A tinker, a tailor, a world famous sailor.
What will I be when I grow up?
I will never grow up, just older.
5/7/12
Portait Of A Manger
The stable was getting pretty crowded.
A handful of shepherds had brought some sheep, they’d wanted to give a fleece, maybe some Lanolin but eventually decided to offer their best wishes as they truly were a bunch of cheap bastards.
“That is one cute baby” said Balthazar, a Wise Man.
“He is pretty cute. Got his mothers eyes.” said Melchior, another Wise Man.
“Isn’t he adorable?” asked Mary, the childs mother.
“Look,” said Gaspar, yet another Wise Man. “I consider myself to be a pretty clever bloke. He’s a fairly cute little thing but I am not going to be forced into saying he’s adorable. No-one, I repeat, NO-ONE is going to make me adore the little shite. And if that’s going to be an issue then I’m taking my Frankincense and I’m going to bugger off back East.”
That killed the conversation stone dead.
Gaspar grabbed his Frankincense and left them with one final thought as he left. “Screw you guys, I’m going home!”
THE END
The One Ring
19/11/12
It’s the place all fighters come to eventually. Regardless of their experience, everyone will fight here at least once. For the less fortunate, at the most, once.
Don’t say you aren’t a fighter, never ever tell them that. It’s the one surefire thing to make them pick you for the very next bout. Lie if you must, say you’ve been fighting for years, say you’ve been winning for years.
But never make the most fatal mistake. Never tell them you’re unbeaten. Or it’s your turn next.
I can hear them announcing the next fight now. It’s not for me. I’ve already won my bout for today, I get to live to fight another day.
It’s for you. Die well, stranger.
THE END
You Don’t Know Jack (c) Ray Daley
17/10/12
This is the castle that Jack stole.
This is the cat that starved on the mat that died in the castle that Jack stole.
These are the bones that rotted alone, that stood in the castle that Jack stole.
That was the goose laying Golden eggs sliced open in greed & totally dead inside the castle that Jack stole.
There stands the wreckage that once was a beanstalk that led to the castle that Jack stole.
Remember the castle that Jack stole.
Because the winners write the stories.
28 Jun 2012
“Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star” she sang to herself as she looked out of the window at the night sky.
“That’s wrong” said a male voice from behind her.
“What is?” she asked.
“Stars, they don’t twinkle” he said. “It’s the constant orbit of large solid celestial bodies such as planets in front of them blocking their light source intermitantly. It’s an optical illusion, easily explained. They merely appear to twinkle”
“Oh,” she said. “Another dream ruined.”
11 May 2010
“Welcome to Element Of Doubt Burger, how may I help you?”.
“Whats the element of doubt?”.
“If I’m going to spit in your food or not. Should I expect a tip?”.
“Yeah, eat elsewhere”.
3/7/12
A Mistranslation, A Flash Fiction Story by Raymond Daley
“We are very happy to meet you!” said the Earth Embassador offering his hand to the Grelvinian leader. Who promptly bit it off and ate it.
Guns were cocked and aimed, it took a calmer head to call for peace.
To find out what went wrong and why.
Time passed……
“You see sir, it was the translation circuits.” explained the head scientist.
“But what happened? He ate my hand!” said the Earth Embassador, nursing his bandaged stump.
“Ah, that’s quite a funny thing” said the head scientist. “despite what you said, he heard you saying you were happy to be meat for him!”
THE END.
The Naval Engagement, A Flash Fiction Story by Raymond Daley
The initial contact had been made.
The President rolled off his back onto the First Lady’s stomach.
It was a true all out Naval Engagement.
THE END.
raywriteswrongs 