Archive for the ‘nursery rhyme’ Category

So, I managed to read a book in under a week, which is kinda YAY me. Time for a review in the second book in Soman Chainani’s The School For Good and Evil series, A World Without Princes.

A World Without Princes

A World Without Princes

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One day, Mr and Mrs Bear went out for a walk. The tragic events that occurred next might shock you, terrify you or leave a bad taste in your mouth.

It certainly left a bad taste in mine.

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Baa Baa Black Sheep
Have you any wool?
Yes sir, yes sir,
Three bags full.

One for the master,
One for the dame
And one for the little boy
Who lives down the lane.

So basically, you have no wool available?
Well, yeah, sorry, it’s all pre-ordered and that.
So you were lying when you said you had the wool?
No, no, I actually DO have the wool. Here, look.
It’s just… well, you can’t have any of it.
That’s no way to run a fucking business is it?
I’m sorry, really I should concentrate my entrepreneurial skills on monetising the fact that I am a sheep that is somehow able to speak and understand the English language, and is capable of growing and selling my own unwanted body hair to such an extent that when you want to purchase said product, demand outweighs supply.
Yes. You should do that.
Sorry.
It’s ok. I understand it is difficult since your wife left you. What reason did she give?
Well I kept trying to communicate with her in the English language and her being your average sheep, well she had no clue of what I was saying or that I was actually even making more than a series of seemingly random noises.
Oh, that’s quite sad then.
No, it’s ok, I’ve got myself a little portable DVD player, watching myself this Breaking Bad that everyone is going on about.
I’ve never seen it, is it any good?
How the fuck would I know? I’m a sheep.

Here’s a nice story to tell your kids before bed. They’ll be pissing their sheets for weeks.

Once upon a time there was a woodcutter and his wife. They lived in a forest or something. I think everyone lived in forests back then. It was before cities and pavements and Starbucks and that. Everyone still used 5 1/4″ floppy discs and such. IT WAS THAT LONG AGO.

Anyway, the woodcutter obviously wasn’t very good at wood cutting because when he got his wife up the duff he found he was really poor and couldnt afford to bring up the kids. They called them Hansel and Gretel because they wanted them to be bullied at school.
Now, he seemingly managed ok for a good five to ten years, because the kids developed an adequate sense of reasoning and independence, but I dunno, he wanted to save up some money to go and visit his mate Barry who lived in a warmer forest so he decided to get rid of the kids.
Despite owning all the tools of a woodcutter, axes, saws, checked shirts, he couldn’t bring himself to humanely kill his kids while they slept, so decided to dump them in the forest so they could starve to death or freeze or get eaten by a bear or something slow and painful. He was basically a cruel, sadistic bastard.

One morning, he took the kids out into the wood and dumped them a few miles away. Little did he know that Hansel was onto his plan and had been dropping little pebbles along the entire route, and no sooner had the woodcutter arrived home then the kids showed up, boasting about their pebble scheme, pissing him right off.

The next morning he made sure Hansel and Gretel didn’t have any stones and dumped them in a different part of the woods. This would have been fine had Hansel not for some reason been carrying a loaf of bread. Hansel had left a trail of breadcrumbs behind them, with the intention of following them back home again. This is where lazy tv show plots get the idea from, but both lazy tv writers and Hansel and Gretel forget that breadcrumbs are really tasty if you’re a bird.

Hansel and Gretel tried to follow their trail of breadcrumbs home, but the birds had basically just scoffed the lot. Greedy wankers. So Hansel and Gretel were lost in the woods. They probably didn’t have any bread left either, stupid little Hansel wasting it with his obviously flawed plan.

They wandered about the woods, probably tried eating some poisonous berries, getting the shits and that, cursing their dad for not letting them watch that episode of Ray Mears where he is lost in a forest without any bread or whatever.

After an unspecified amount of time, let’s say two days, they wandered upon a house made out of gingerbread and sweets and such. Poor building materials, and a waste of rare cooking materials in my opinion. They kids decided that they would just break into the place, eat the walls and furniture and that. As you do.

After eating loads of bits of house, Hansel was sucking on the door’s knob and knockers, Gretel was munching on a rug (this was before innuendo was invented). The owner of the house, a witch (we shall call her Maureen) showed up. Maureen wasn’t in the least bit annoyed that the kids were eating her house and possessions and instead encouraged them to eat as much as they could.

So it turns out that despite living in a house composed entirely out of foodstuffs, Maureen was hungry for something more savoury. More specifically, she wanted to eat Hansel and Gretel.

So after being fattened up, the kids were told to look in the oven for some reason, and as Maureen went to push the kids into the oven they moved out of the way and the cannibal witch burned to death in some sort of really horrible nasty way that didn’t traumatise the kids in any way. Her eyes probably burst and that.

Hansel and Gretel then found a load of money and a sat nav and managed to find their way back home, and held no bad feelings against their father who had tried to kill them. At least not until a few nights later when they sliced his face off and left his rotting faceless corpse nailed to a tree as a warning against passers by.

Hansel and Gretel then died too, because all that sugar from the witch’s house had made all their teeth rot and as this was ages ago they quickly succumbed to infection and snuffed it pretty rapidly.

Their mother, who as yet only got a brief appearance then took the money and invested it wisely and she lived a happy life until she was run over by a tram on her 36th birthday. Her innards burst all over the road, and were left there for fourteen weeks, and this was how the plague started.

Sleep well kids.

The End

Once upon a time,
Before pop stars they did mime,
Lived three little pigs,
On the hunt for adequate digs.

One pig, let’s call him Jim McGraw,
Built a house made out of straw.
He settled down with his pipe,
Making sure the walls he did not ignite.

The next pig, his name was Andy,
With wood, his skills they were more handy.
His home he built from lots of sticks,
Using rope and twine and other tricks.

Pig number three, a clever dick,
He built his house out of brick.
His talents clearly well above those,
Of his fellow porcine bros.

So all the pigs were settled in,
Eating pies and drinking gin.
Their fates of which they were unaware;
The wolf, nearby, they should beware.

The wolf was know as big and bad,
Known as Paul only to his dad.
His favourite food was roast ham,
But he’d settle for raw, if in a jam.

To pig one’s house, he did arrive,
I don’t know how, he couldn’t drive.
His deep dark voice came with a bellow,
“Come meet with me, you little fellow.”

The pig put out his pipe and hid,
His head covered by a dustbin lid.
“Begone you fiend!” He squealed out,
His safety here, he did not doubt.

The wolf did laugh and with a blow,
A gust of wind began to flow.
The house of straw fell to the ground,
The pig was eaten, without a sound.

The wolf burped loud, but pined for more,
And noticed the house that was next door.
Pig number two’s house of wood,
Thought the wolf to himself, “oh that’s good.”

Pig two had seen the bad wolf feast,
His brother, swallowed by the beast.
He composed himself and closed the shutters,
“not getting in here…” he tried to mutter.

But before the pig could show defiance,
The wolf was blowing like a garden appliance.
The house of sticks destroyed throughout,
And the pig was gone, save for his snout.

Pig number three was safe and snug,
Warm under a sheepskin rug.
The wolf approached and took a breath,
The house of bricks, he planned its death.

The bricks were strong and held out,
His blowing useless, the wolf did pout.
Seeing the chimney, he formed a scheme,
A bacon joint, his ultimate dream.

The wolf began his final descent,
The pig aware of his foe’s intent.
He lit a fire using a barrel of oil,
And the wolf screamed as he began to boil.

In moments the wolf was truly dead,
And the pig made a trophy of his head.
The moral of this story, six words,
SPONSORED BY THE BRICK MARKETING BOARDS.

Once upon a time (ie. Ages ago, before stories were supported by facts),there lived three bears.
There was a mummy bear, a daddy bear and a baby bear. For some reason they lived in a well-maintained two-floored cottage rather than a cave or hole in a hill or something. We can only assume that the bears had recently attacked and killed the previous owners and, enjoying the benefits of central heating and windows and such, they probably decided to stay.
One day, the mummy bear decided to abandon her natural salmon hunting instincts and using some sort of freaky überknowledge, never before seen in bears, she made some porridge.
Now, obviously, her genius knowledge was flawed as the porridge was much too hot, and rather than adding some cold milk the bears decided they would go for a walk in the woods until it reached the desired temperature. For some reason, the bears dished up the porridge before leaving the house, which is a bit confusing.
Aaaanyway, while the bears were off walking in the woods, not hunting salmon, a cheeky little blonde girl called Goldilocks approached the house. Now obviously, like all girls given novelty names, she was a bit of a chavvy rogue, and thought nothing of entering the bear’s house without permission. The insurance company would no doubt say it was the bear’s fault for leaving the door unlocked, but obviously since they had killed the previous tenants and were technically squatting, they probably didn’t have any keys.
There was no bodily remains of the last tenants, nor had the bears left any evidence of their existance as bears, as goldilocks’ suspicions as to the possible threat from giant furry beasts were not raised. However, she did see the porridge, and being a cheeky chav with no knowledge of hygiene or an awareness of the morality of theft, she decided to eat the porridge.
Now at this point we need to clarify the fact that three bowls containing the porridge were all made of difference materials, each with different thermal properties. This explains why when tasting Daddy bear’s big bowl ofporridge discovered it was much too hot; mummy bear’s medium sized bowl was freezing cold, and baby bear’s small bowl was at an acceptable temperature. One can only assume that mummy bear’s taste in cold porridge is not completely bonkers.
Anyway, chavpig that she was, goldilocks ate up all of baby bear’s porridge. This is described as a somewhat gluttenous act, even though we are initially told that baby bear’s bowl is incredibly small. He’s probably still being weaned off salmon.
Like any good greedyguts, Goldilocks decided that she might as well sit down, and spotting the bear’s three chairs decided to try them one by one. Now, Goldilocks is obviously a right fussy bitch, and daddy bear’s chair was considered to be too hard, and mummy bear’s chair was too soft and lumpy, like a bean bag or something. Can you imagine taking her to DFS for a new three piece suite? She’d be a bloody nightmare.
Then she sat on baby bear’s little chair. Now obviously goldilocks was quite a hefty girl, as any bear, even a baby one weighs quite a considerable amount. Quite why goldilocks’ fat ass is able to break a chair capable of supporting a bear is one for dieticians and weighbridge owners to discuss ad finitum.
So the chair broke, and foregoing any ‘where there’s a blame there’s a claim’ shenanigans (again, legally dubious given the bear’s squatter status) Golilocks decided she’d go upstairs and have a lie down.
Again, there were three beds, again the parent bears’ beds were unsuitable for some incredibly fussy reason. Why the parent bears had separate beds is another story, probably involving that dirty slut bear who took advantage of daddy bear’s drunken advances at the christmas party, purely for the purposes of taking revenge on her arch-rival mummy bear, who spelled her name wrong in the parish newsletter in 1998. Like i said, it’s a whole different story.
Anyway, goldilocks was obviously very tired from all her porridge and chair testing activities and she fell asleep.
And then the bears came home. And well, then they killed goldilocks. Because they were bears. Killer bears. As established early on in the story. Oh, they probably wondered about why some of the porridge was eaten, or why a chair was broken, but they were probably more likely to obey their baser animal instincts and eat the chav. Who probably tasted a bit like salmon.

The End