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In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
Hang on a minute, Sam said to the Nanaconda. I’ll be with you as soon as I’ve dealt with this bucket of dung.
The rainbow Nanaconda raised her eyebrows (or gave the impression of that facial expression, at any rate).
As Sam tipped the bucket out, hundreds of dung beetles scurried in every direction.
Whoa! exclaimed Sam, taking an involuntary step backwards.
Nanaconda sniggered in a somewhat sinister fashion and said, Ah, the Symbolic scarab beetles strike again.
As Sam stood transfixed by the sight of the beetles running in all directions, an extraordinary thing happened. All the beetles stopped moving, as one, and then with a seemingly united purpose, they all started moving in the same direction. Within seconds a long black army of dung beetles marched off across the field.
Sam picked up the empty bucket and followed them.
Nanaconda followed him, grinning wickedly.
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
In the middle of the Aborigines Village in Tasmania, Sam was carrying a heavy wooden pail of kangaroos shite to spread on the crops of the Dreamtime.
Looking at the scene, a Tasmanian Devil was laughing frantically.
— Hinhiiinhiiiin, that old woman was tricky wasn’t sheeeeeee?He was now standing in front of a huge rainbow-coloured Nanaconda.
In reply to: Snooteries
Dear Snoot,
Something else just happened on the same dog bed: Henry was sick on it. Is it because I haven’t been allowing my cleaning aspect enough?
And not only that, Snoot, it’s a Sick Sync: I woke up this morning with stomach pains and diarrhoea! Is it a release of the grey energy blockage?
Weak and Bafffled in West Barfland
