Sylvia A. Winters

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

Posts Tagged ‘People

Return to Sender

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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.

Written by Sylvia A. Winters

July 20, 2011 at 12:00 am

The Sorry Tale of the Panda

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A word of advice for you all: Never, ever trust a panda. Especially if he (or she, I don’t want to sexist here!) is smoking a pipe. It doesn’t matter what kind of pipe, tobacco, crack, whatever. A panda with a pipe is a panda with a pipe no matter the minor details.

I once had the sad misfortune to come across a panda with a pipe. My car had broken down in the pouring rain and the nearest building was a slightly dilapidated looking bar by the name of ‘Cuthbert’s’. I walked in, hoping to borrow the use of their phone, and thought that while I was at it I ought to buy a drink, because I was rather thirsty.

So I ordered my half-glass of tomato juice and sat at the bar sipping it, glad to be out of the rain and hoping that my hair didn’t look too atrocious.

After a couple of minutes, this panda came and sat down on the stool beside mine and ordered a whiskey. He brought out his pipe and started puffing away at it. Now, I didn’t take much notice of him until he leaned in toward me and said “I hear you got car trouble,” in very gruff, deep tones, rather like the new batman voice of Phil Mitchell from Eastenders.

“Why, yes,” I said, nodding. “I broke down not ten minutes ago. I haven’t any idea what’s wrong with it.”

And he told me that he was a mechanic, and would take a look for me. So I abandoned the last of my tomato juice and he swigged the last of his whiskey and we headed back out into the rain.

He took my keys from me and tried the engine. He lifted the bonnet and rummaged around for a bit, and when he tried the engine again, it ran as smooth as a glass of Bailey’s.

I made to thank him, and take the keys back, but before I could he shut the car door and took off. Just like that, in my lovely little Ford Anglia.

I have seen neither hide nor hair of this fiend since, and I fear that my darling car is lost forever.

I spoke to the barman and he said that the panda was a renowned car thief, and that I ought not to have trusted him. Well, I was pretty angry at that, because he saw me talking to the panda, and he never said a word to me!

I tell you this tragic tale in the hope that my sore misfortune will warn others to take care against the danger of such creatures, and to prevent it happening to them.

Beware, readers. We must be extra vigilant.

Written by Sylvia A. Winters

September 7, 2010 at 10:44 pm

The White Kitten

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Billy and Margaret hold hands whilst walking in the park.

Billy feeds the ducks and Margaret stares into the water, watching their reflections.

Billy and Margaret kiss by the side of the road, ignoring the amused beeps from passing cars.

Billy and Margaret are walking home one night, when Margaret sees at the side of the road a small, white kitten.

Billy suggests they take it home and so Margaret picks it up and carries it close to her, then lays down a saucer of milk once they’re inside.

Billy makes up a bed for the kitten, and then he and Margaret sit on the sofa together and watch it leap about the living room.

When Billy and Margaret are fast asleep in bed, the kitten creeps into their room, edging the door open with a tiny, white paw.

Billy’s snoring annoys the kitten, who was trying to sleep, so the kitten leaps up on to the bed and swipes a claw at his face.

Billy screams. The kitten mewls and claws at him over and over.

Margaret awakes to the sound of Billy screaming. She turns over, and thinking he’s had a nightmare, she turns on the lamp and goes to shake him awake.

Then it is Margaret screaming, for Billy is torn to shreds, a bloodied mess at her side, the white sheets soaked with blood.

The kitten sits there, licking its blood-stained paws with a tiny, pink tongue, its blue eyes bright in the lamplight..

Written by Sylvia A. Winters

August 23, 2010 at 4:58 am

Pancakes are for Pancake Day!

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It absolutely astounds me that some people have the sheer cheek to continually flout the rules. However, flout they will. This continual disregard for what is right and proper will eventually result in disorder and chaos if we let it continue, and so, I implore any and every reader, to do something.

I don’t care how it’s done, but the making and eating of pancakes on a day that is not pancake day, must be stopped as soon as possible.

My own mother came to me today and seriously suggested that we make pancakes, using a packet mixture, no less! Naturally, I was horrified, and did only what a good citizen can do in these situations. I told her, her sins must be atoned for, and so I erected a stake and surrounded it with straw, tied her to it and had her burnt.

Of course, it was terrible and my heart aches greatly, but it was for her own good and for the good of my country.

For that is the way to deal with these hooligans. We can not allow our society to be overrun with such people.

Pancakes are for pancake day. That is how it has always been, and how it always should be. If not, well, I dread to think of the consequences.

Written by Sylvia A. Winters

August 19, 2010 at 2:50 am