Archive for the ‘Creations’ Category


May 26, 2009

Flashback to 2006. History exam about Australia’s foreign policies between 1940 and 1970. Essay done (it wasn’t very good because it was supposed to be a formal essay and not contain humorous references to Michael Jackson’s face. Oops), I decided to have a little history-based stream-of-consciousness. The results were, well, interesting.
So without further ado, as I’m sure there will be enough of that later:

Formerly, “An example of what NOT to do with fifteen minutes of a history exam to kill.”
During 1940-1970, Australia was invaded by pink iguanas. Robert Menzies, who drowned in a banana while trying to catch fish using fluffy rabbits, tried to stop the invasion by turning to his left. That way he saw Madagascar, but it drowned too, so he looked to American, which fed him things on sticks. This is why he is a fatty. Big fatty fatty fatty.
After Menzies was Vietnam. He was famous and they let him on television. Television was invented by a great big baboon with furry noses called Fred. The baboon’s name was Humphrey and he was an antelope. So Vietnam was very thin, and so America went to him and tried to feed him things on sticks, but Vietnam protested and became French.
When Vietnam died in 1970, up came Thomas the Tank Engine, who was also known as Gough Whitlam. Gough Whitlam was also a big fatty fatty who tried eating coal but it didn’t work so he went to China. All of the Aborigines in China loved him because he was a big fatty. But the Governor-General didn’t like him, so he killed him. The Governor-General also was a big fat fatty fat fatty who married the Queen and told that to Barry Humphries.
After Thomas the Tank Engine, a drum was Prime Minister because he was also a fatty. This drum was a model and he also went on television. He liked to eat whales, but then the Japanese said “No we want whales” so America bombed Japan and gave the drum a stick so he could eat whales. Then it was 1980 and people were still big fat fat fatties.


Woody, I salute you, but I miss you.

May 26, 2009

Nothing beats Sleeper.

Nothing beats Sleeper.

Woody Allen was perhaps, besides any of my family members, my first hero, and I am proud to say so. Not Batman or Superman or Fatman or Pooperman. Woody Allen. From the moment I first set eyes on him in Sleeper (in my opinion his best work yet) and then read his attempts at Getting Even , through Bananas, Annie Hall, Zelig, Side Effects, Love and Death, I saw him as someone to whom one could look up. Now perhaps not literally, but still, each time I see his early work I want to hug him. No, I can’t say early work exclusively, because even as late as Everyone Says I Love You and Small Time Crooks has he demonstrated that being funny works. Lately he seems to have given up on the whole humour thing and that acting business. He can only direct well when he’s in the film! I can’t get enough of the neurotic New Yorker – a genius in small clothing – who rambles and witticises his way through life, which for him, is nothing short of a joke, something I believe everyone should recognise. So what if he’s in love with a woman half his age? At least he has the ability to love, to give and to receive love. He is not a monster for loving. Boo and poo to the media and to Mia Farrow and to his son Satchel (or Ronan or whichever of his middle names he’s going to use next) for making him out to be one. Little Woodykins is the absolute opposite of a monster. Whatever happened to the seductive neo-Groucho who would play on words and his clarinet simultaneously to have women swoon over him? I remember reading an interview in which he mentioned that he doesn’t act in his films because he is now too old to “get the girl”. Sorry, Woody, but you can never be too old for anything. Especially when it happens in a film. And you can definitely not be too old to be humorous.
Come back, Woody. Please.

Knock Knock!

February 18, 2009

A knock knock joke sketch. Caution: bad jokes.

CAPTAIN (GERMAN ACCENT) standing on deck smoking pipe.
Enter SAILOR, running.
SAILOR: Knock knock!
CAPTAIN: Who’s zere?
SAILOR: Alp us, the ship’s sinking!
CAPTAIN (to crew): Knock knock!
CREW (UNISON): Who’s there?
CREW (UNISON): Mandy who?
CAPTAIN: Mandy lifeboats, ze ship’s sinkink!
SAILOR 2 (offscreen): Knock Knock!
SAILOR 3 (offscreen): Who’s there?
SAILOR 2 (offscreen): Ron!
SAILOR 3 (offscreen): Ron who?
SAILOR 2 (offscreen, then runs through shot): Ron for your loives!
Enter SAILOR 4.
SAILOR 4: Knock knock!
CAPTAIN: Who’s zere?
SAILOR 4: Amanda.
CAPTAIN: Amanda who?
SAILOR 4: Amanda lifeboats, cap’n, now what?
CAPTAIN: Knock knock!
SAILOR 4: Who’s there?
SAILOR: Haven’t we already had Alf?
SAILOR 3 (offscreen): No, that was Al!
SAILOR: Oh right, sorry.
SAILOR 4 (to SAILOR): You dipshit! (to CAPTAIN): Alf who?
CAPTAIN: Alfigure somesink out.
Enter SAILOR 2, running.
SAILOR 2 (to CAPTAIN): Knock knock!
CAPTAIN: Who’s zere?
SAILOR 2: Adolf!
CAPTAIN: Adolf who?
SAILOR 2: Adolfin just swam past, maybe it can swim us to shore!
CAPTAIN (to SAILOR): Knock knock!
SAILOR: Who’s there?
SAILOR: Vera who?
CAPTAIN: Verare ve now?
SAILOR: Knock knock!
CAPTAIN: Who’s zere?
CAPTAIN: Nick who?
SAILOR: Nickaragua’s right over there.
SAILOR: Knock knock.
DRUNK: Who’s there?
DRUNK: Anna who?
SAILOR: Anna that’s the end of the story.
DRUNK: Knock knock.
SAILOR: Who’s there?
DRUNK: Cora.
SAILOR: Cora who?
DRUNK: Cora blimey, as my Italian friend says. *PAUSE* (whispering to SAILOR) Knock knock.
SAILOR: Who’s there?
DRUNK: Gordon.
SAILOR: Gordon who?
DRUNK: Gordonice pair’o tits that bird has. (to WOMAN, sitting): Knock knock.
WOMAN: Who’s there?
WOMAN: Joe who?
DRUNK: Joe fancy me?
WOMAN (indignantly): Knock knock!
DRUNK: Who’s there?
WOMAN: Paul!
DRUNK: Paul who?
WOMAN: Paul-eez!
DRUNK: Knock knock!
WOMAN: Who’s there?
DRUNK: Yuri.
WOMAN: Yuri who?
DRUNK: Yurilly don’t fancy me then?
WOMAN: Knock knock.
DRUNK: Who’s there?
WOMAN: Irma.
DRUNK: Is that a name?
WOMAN: Yes, it is.
DRUNK: Oh. Irma who?
WOMAN: Irma black belt in karate so you better watch out.
DRUNK: Knock knock.
WOMAN: Who’s there?
WOMAN: Ben who?
DRUNK: Ben a long time since you’ve had any, has it?
DRUNK: Knock knock!
WOMAN: Who’s there?
WOMAN: Abe who?
DRUNK: Abet I’ll have you by the end of this night.
WOMAN punches DRUNK to the floor.
DRUNK (holding mouth): Who’s there?
DRUNK: SUE WHO? You’re not going to sue me are you?
WOMAN leaves.
DRUNK (to SAILOR): Knock knock.
SAILOR: Who’s there?
DRUNK: Malcolm.
SAILOR: Malcolm who?
DRUNK: Malcolm real tough these days don’t they?
DRUNK leaves.
Enter DRUNK. FRIEND is sitting at the table.
FRIEND: Knock knock!
DRUNK: Who’s there?
DRUNK: Will who?
FRIEND: Will you look at that? What happened to you?
DRUNK: Knock knock.
FRIEND: Who’s there?
FRIEND: Don who?
DRUNK: Don worry, it’s nothing really.
POLICEMAN (offscreen, obviously): Knock knock!
FRIEND: Who’s there?
FRIEND: We’ve had Paul!
POLICEMAN 2 (also offscreen): What’s he saying?
POLICEMAN (to POLICEMAN 2): He said we’ve already had Paul. So how are we going to get to Paulice?
POLICEMAN 2: We can pretend we’re postmen, and use Percy.
POLICEMAN 2: Yeah, Percyl for you mate!
POLICEMAN: No, that’s stupid.. I’ve got it.. Mel! Then we can be Melkmen, geddit?
POLICEMAN 2: No, leave it to me. (to FRIEND) Knock knock!
FRIEND: Finally! Who’s there?
FRIEND: Tom who?
POLICEMAN 2: Tomen in blue! The police! Open up!
FRIEND (to DRUNK): Knock knock!
DRUNK: Who’s there?
DRUNK: Dave who?
FRIEND: Dave got us now, let’s jump!
FRIEND and DRUNK jump out of the window. *SPLAT*
POLICEMAN: Knock knock.
POLICEMAN 2: Who’s there Sarge?
POLICEMAN: Not you, them! Why aren’t they answering.
POLICEMAN 2: Knock knock Sarge.
POLICEMAN: What is it? Oh, who’s there?
POLICEMAN: Didn’t we have Art?
(voice offscreen): No, that was Al!
POLICEMAN: Sorry. Go on. Oh, right. Art who?
POLICEMAN 2: Arthink they’ve jumped down.
POLICEMAN: Knock knock!
POLICEMAN 2: Who’s there?
POLICEMAN 2: Den who?
POLICEMAN: Den let’s go down and see.
POLICEMAN 2: Knock Knock.
POLICEMAN: Who’s there?
POLICEMAN: Arnie who?
POLICEMAN 2: Arnied to go to the toilet first.
POLICEMAN (quietly): Be quick.
POLICEMAN 2: Nah, I didn’t need to, it just works with the name, see.
POLICEMAN (taking off helmet, and throwing it away): Oh fuck this, I can’t think of anything else.
POLICEMAN 2: Hey, but there’s still heaps! Annied to go too! Arthur lights on? Scott nothing to do with you! Alisonned to the radio this morning! Mikear’s broken down!
POLICEMAN (offscreen): Shut up!
POLICEMAN 2: Gladys the weekend! Harley ever see you anymore! Luke here mister! Justin time! Howard I know?
POLICEMAN: Shut up already!
POLICEMAN 2: That didn’t have a name.
POLICEMAN 2 (to camera): Sorry about that, he’s had a bit of a hard day. Hugh know how it is sometimes. Alexplain later, just.. erm.. move on to the next sketch please..

Untitled, Chapter 1.

December 4, 2008

The first chapter of an untitled work that may or may not be furthered.
Chapter 1
In which it is established that the author actually despises long-winded chapter names not unlike those exhibited by certain eighteenth- to nineteenth-century authors, and which usually unfold major plot details, and which could have ended at the conclusion of the chapter number. Carry on, what ho.

On a crisp spring Saturday morning in T’Worcestershireburgh, all of the citizens were bustling about their daily duties save for Pete, who was busy cutting his leg off with a chainsaw, as it was inseparably adhered to his left bedpost. Pete had stuck it there the night before, to see if his dog would take it off, but had absent-mindedly forgotten that Bruce was happily dozing in the kitchen, after gulping down a bucket of elephant tranquilisers, to which he was allergic.

Ignoring the aching pain coming from his leg, as well as the rivers of blood spurting from his chin, which Pete had confused with a similar-sounding body part, Pete busily sliced at his leg, until he heard a ring at the door. Not wishing to stray from this arduous task, and also being unable to stand up at that moment, he threw the first thing that came to his hand as he reached out to his bedside table. This turned out to be a small pencil, which Pete threw with great vigour at the door, hoping to knock it down so that the visitor, who turned out to be the butcher, but was actually the postman, could come in. Luckily for Pete, the pencil hit the peephole, broke the glass, and flew straight inside the postman’s eye, killing him in an instant. “Excellent!” thought Pete, and continued busily hacking at his shin, which was simply refusing to be cut.

Several hours later, with the first layer of skin nearly broken through, Pete suddenly had a comparatively bright idea – he should first plug the chainsaw in. After strenuous amounts of time spent still attempting the amputation, Pete decided to actually turn the chainsaw on. With a small ‘whirr’, the machine spluttered to life and the blades started spinning around. Pete, from a constant stare at the rotating spikes, or more likely from blood loss, went into a trance, one that he failed to wake up from. Well, until a piano fell on his eyebrow, anyway.

A creation

October 30, 2008

This is a comic I made a while back in the style of Cyanide and happiness.
© Zomg Mouse 2008