Sylvia A. Winters

If a cat is thrown a lemon, he builds a log cabin and spends the summer in Canada

Posts Tagged ‘kids

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A great many people write to me to tell me about the strange things that have happened to them. Every day I receive bags of post and always every letter I open bears a similar story.

Yes, you guessed it. Chupacabra attacks have been on the rise since 2009. Every day a person is mauled by one. Some escape with their lives, others aren’t as lucky. Now, the thing about chupacabras is that their teeth are not only very good for cutting up steaks with, but can be sold for a good deal of money, almost enough to cover your medical costs if you’re without insurance or the NHS.

Chupacabras are really very easy creatures to beat. Just make sure you carry a decent sized feather (i.e. crow, pigeon, sea-gull or larger) with you at all times, and you will be well prepared for that attack. Now, chupacabras have a tough, scaly body, but the flesh below their throat is as soft as a baby’s backside. Just tickle this soft spot with the feather and the chupacabra will seize up with laughter; its breathing will be restricted and if you keep tickling it for long enough, it will die. Then you can scrape off the scales and pull out the teeth and sell them on for a pretty good price.

Now, hopefully you will all take heed and I won’t have to spend so much of my time reading the same old crap.

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Written by Sylvia A. Winters

July 20, 2011 at 12:00 am

Pink Hat

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Alarm goes. Arms flailing wildly until a hand catches snooze for another ten minutes of blissful half-sleep. Alarm again. Roll out of bed, face to the floor. Hands over ears until moving is unavoidable. Alarm off but still ringing in tired ears. Crawl to the door and push it open. Slowly pulling up to stand on two feet with the aid of the banister whilst making the way to bathroom. Shower on, water rushing. Citrus-scented shower gel and apple shampoo foaming, then washing away.

Towel-dry, one wrapped around wet hair. Breakfast. Bread in the toaster. Coffee, two spoons, one sugar. No milk. Dog that, for a moment, convinces that he’s half-seal, half-hedgehog, stares up. Drop a piece of crust on the floor. Leave him dog biscuits in the bowl before you head back upstairs to get dressed.

The unmade bed, that lusty temptress, willing you to spend one more hour in her soft, warm embrace. She beckons. Pull clothes on quick to avoid further advances. Make-up. Hair-dryer, brush. Shoes, bag and lunch.

Then out the door, ready for a day of climbing frames and monkey-bars. Beneath the winter coat, the gun hidden calm against smooth lining. The kid with the pink rabbit hat and pigtails making faces. That hat is going to get it.

Written by Sylvia A. Winters

July 12, 2010 at 8:28 pm