THE PARADOXICAL PARADOX PARADY

 THE PARADOXICAL PARADOX PARODY

To Manfred Specklecoch life was one constant paradox. 

He knew by instinct that he was his own father, and that he also was the crazed entity who would eventually extinguish his own life by ritualistic slaughter.

 To make things worse, he suspected that he was also his own mother and all four grandparents. It was for these thoughts that he occasionally resided in the Bethlehem State Institute for the Insane in uptown Turdoxville, Nova Neasdon, Gondwanaland.

Specklecoch had been born in to society that no longer tolerated family life, and had banned sexual liaisons between all sex's as anti social and abhorrent.

His birth record recorded his name as George Holding, born at Loampit Hill, South London in 1845.

The document, amongst others, was unearthed when a time capsule was dug up prior to the scheduled destruction of a Victorian primary school that he thought he had attended. He was unsure, as it may have been his sister who attended the school, but this was a muddled memory, because he also believed that he himself, was in fact his sister.

Other documents uncovered at the same time included three copies of his death certificate, all dated differently and with place of death in alternative locations. These were accompanied by a series of marriage certificates in which he married himself over a period of several centuries.

 Alarmingly, each of the certificates were witnessed by himself, together with faded photographs recording the signature and signatories. 

Unusually, Manfred had acquired his current name in a game of cards where he lost his name to a one-armed cryptologist seeking revenge for an ancient family feud involving self mutilation and revenge porn. 

The stakes were high, and after loosing his own name to the cryptologist he managed to obtain his current moniker by a deceitful hand of black-jack with a blind alcoholic bohemian infant from Upper Willesden. As George Holding , he had developed a taste for honey and was constantly on the search for a quick hit of this salivating bi product of Bees masterly behaviour. Loampit Hill was a semi rural location that had a high population of insects and in particular bees. 

To be continued.........

THE ACCIDENTAL IMBIBER

 THE ACCIDENTAL IMBIBER

The day started with a shock as a huge tremor shook the inhabitants of the sleepy coastal settlement. 

Sitting on a fault line meant that the towns residents were used to the occasional shudder, but this jolt was far more energetic than the standard quake and had had a profound effect on the local townsfolk.

Ron looked out the window to check on the local landmark's, and was pleased to see that the Lighthouse and pier were still standing. Although unsure if they were structurally sound, he was reassured by their enduring presence as he scanned the picturesque visage laid out before him.

 The see breeze was stronger than usual as it blew in from the frigid but ruffled ocean, and the gulls and shags screamed a shrill shriek as they took advantage of the uplift from the towering cliffs, and soared above the coastline and the communities startled brethren. Other than the rolling surf and the screech of the birds all seemed unimaginably still.

The local congregational church had been badly hit by the tremor and was suffering from fallen masonry and shattered windows. In particular, a large circular stained glass window was cracked at an angle of 66.6 degrees, and a scene of St Paul administering a psalm to the  crew of a stricken fishing vessel was in danger of disintegrating. The lead holding the sections together had become loose and appeared to have melted at various joints in the colorful glass jigsaw. However, most of the glass segments were still in situ and undamaged.

Ron was dismissive of the shock and was determined to continue his day as originally planed. After his morning ablutions and a rudimentary breakfast of coffee and cookies he quickly dressed and started for his front door, only pausing to quickly look down at his chest and the pendant containing a gold cross with a red garnet set in its center. His mind turned to the day his ex wife had placed over his head and a shiver passed through his body.    

Ron's family were originally from the western isles of Scotland, and had been prominent members of the local clergy, and in particular members of an insular sect that was influenced by its druid past. In fact, Ron was initiated in to the Druadic faith as a child and had trained as an apprentice Monk in a small Irish monastery on the island of Inniscock. 

After a couple of years of self denial and inhuman living conditions, Ron decided that the tonsure and habit was not for him, and began a slow but gradual accent in to the world of the unclean and nonreligious, whilst at all times retaining a sense of druidic well-being.

Leaving Inniscock in a small coracle and reaching out for his destiny, Ron initially arrived on the west coast of Ireland at a small fishing village on the Isle of Achill, and began searching for his true identity.

His druid instincts bestowed him with a feeling of belonging and trust in the local inhabitants, who unknown to him were directly descended from Iberian ancestors who spread their influence north with their beaker pottery and associated life-style.

The specific stock of Iberian people had also brought their DNA with them and an inherent genetic adaption that enabled them to ingest alcohol without any serious effect to their livers or other important organs.  

To be continued............

THE FLATULENT GARDENER

 THE FLATULENT GARDENER

Pete liked gas inducing foods and loved anything spicy and hot, and preferably would only consume non alcoholic drinks full of carbon dioxide, when not consuming his favourite pint of best bitter.

His digestive system was well adjusted to his flatulence inducing diet and had developed a capacity to cope with the copious amounts of methane produced. Like a ruminant animal, he had developed an additional stomach that enabled his system to process highly gaseous biomass and extract sufficient nutrition to feed its host. 

His digestive tract was like a specialised nuclear reactor, converting raw vegetable and butchered animal products into pure grade, highly flammable, explosive methane. In time, Pete would come to exploit this volatile gas but for now he would simply fart and all would suffer the pungent consequence.

The bi-product of this process was efficiently vented from his body via his overworked anal sphincter, that over time had developed a steel like structural membrane as a semi protective measure.However pain was still part of his life and a strong influence on his mental state, which at times verged on the criminally insane.

He had tried all the proprietary gels and ointments to alleviate the pain, but alternately he found that a crushed banana spread around and up his anus was the best cure, and prevented the metallic mesh from seizing or rusting. Even three occurrences of a prolapsed rectum and multiple cases of painful piles have not weakened the resolve to consume super flatulent inducing produce and products. 

Luckily for those who worked with Pete, he was a gardener who worked in wide open spaces most of the time. However, on the Manorial estate where he worked, he occasionally had to work a night-shift in one of the greenhouses that propagated sub tropical produce and frost intolerant species. It was in this environment that Pete set out his strategy for Banana domination of the world, or at least his small and insignificant, but painful, part of it.

It was at this time that he coined the phrase "Banana ! Ist Nicht Einfach", which became his war cry on his march to banana dominance. 

Pete was a regular at his local hostelry, and as an avid consumer of real ale he attempted to stabalise the fermenting bio mass in his two stomachs from reaching a critical mass.  A pickled egg was a favourite bar snack, but this could lead to complications due to the methane inducing tendencies of the egg and its embalming brine. 

The risk was maximised if Pete was intoxicated and changed his drink to a highly gaseous lager style beverage, and this unfortunately had occurred too frequently for many of the public houses former patrons, and the clientele of the establishment was at a post war low. However the landlord allowed his continued attendance, as he volunteered his methane by-product free of charge to the pub, which was used to power the kitchens cookers and grills, and was also tapped for future use as romantic gas lighting on the patio and in the garden.   

After a fulfilling night at the pub, Peter would often snack on a flaming hot curry or chili before retiring to bed. This of course led to many unfortunate experiences within the confines of the bed sheets. Despite wearing surgically prepared sleeping undergarments, his flatulent outbursts were able to escape the confines of the medical pantaloons, spreading an excruciating biochemical mess about the bedroom.     

To be continued........

THE BOOKBINDERS BALL

 THE BOOKBINDERS BALL

Billy Bob Boochmark loved books. 

He was born in to the profession of bookbinding and had spent his whole life creating, mending and extending books and manuscripts. His earliest memory was of receiving inscribed book-marks as birthday cards, and getting unintendedly intoxicated from the glue and resin infused leather. 

As an apprentice he worked as an indentured assistant to an aristocratic Bohemian from Prague. Manfred Glockenhunya was an unreformed bookworm and diarist, with unsubstantiated links to the aristocratic Hapsburg and Hohenstaufen families. 

Manfred Glockenhunya was just one of many bookbinding Barons who regularly attended the annual ball, which was set up by local dignitaries to honour their craftsmanship and wealth. The event attracted attendees from far and wide, and it was usual for delegates to arrive from each of the far flung outposts of literate society.

Ferdinand Von Iceburger was one of these intrepid patrons of the ball, who traveled up from the Cape to attend the annual extravaganza. His bookbinding skills were renowned throughout the industry, and his family were on the board of every bookbinding corporation throughout the world.

With offices in Beijing, Singapore, Pretoria, New York San Francisco, Paris, Moscow and London, Von Iceburgers grip on bookbinding was absolute and unrivaled. However, Billy Bob Boochmark was determined to undermine his vice-like control and establish the greatest bookbinding entity the world had ever known.

 Knowing that Von Iceburger would be his hardest stumbling block on the road to bookbinding domination, Billy had engineered a chance meeting aboard the steamship S.S Kreig between Von Iceburger and a distant cousin named Billy Joe Markboocher.  An ardent lover of Tripe, Markboocher was enjoying his dinner with Von Iceburger when he idly mentioned that he was interested in purchasing a consortium who imported salted barrels of Tripe from Argentina, for wholesale to the markets of Europe and beyond. Indeed, the Tripe he was currently consuming was imported to the steamship company via the very same consortium. 

To be continued.......