Random acts of stationery #30

*cracks up*

Darling — Thanks for hav­ing the cour­tesy to leave me instead of chop­ping my head off. Please remove your golf paraphernalia from the gar­age before I set it ablaze.
Love & Smooches

oh, i had one of these, once. albeit sub­sti­tut­ing some­thing else for the severed head.

happy days!

Miss Ver­tigo — Sorry. That often hap­pens when vis­it­ing this site.

Ker­mit — Golf? GOLF?! Do I look like a per­son who would wear checked trousers and a Pringle sweater?

Miles Away — Ah, but it’s the severed head that makes it fun, par­tic­u­larly if they have taken the trouble to prise the mouth open and stick an apple in it.

It’s that mad Mavis again, isn’t it?

Arthur! Back under the floor­boards, dear. Did I say you could come out? Hon­estly, how many times do I have to hit you over the head with the shovel.

Are you get­ting out enough?

Wow! and I thought romantic guys don’t exist anymore.

blue­seaurchin — Me? Out? Enough?

miss july — yes, it is a rare breed of man who can stow a mother in the freezer compartment.

aren’t you man­dated by the queen to like golf against your will and bet­ter judg­ment? i thought so, but what the hell do i know, i am in the colonies.

it’s most sens­ible of you to dis­like golf and golf­ing paraphernalia. it won’t get me to stop believ­ing that you poisoned the din­ner in the freezer, though. i’m onto your shenanigans.

So is this the place where we sup­posed to come for the free “how to stow your friend’s mother in the freezer” les­sons? ‘Cause the guy on the bus said it was here?

Bril­liant.

I knew I could find some new usage to that freezer.

Put­ting din­ners in it!

That is SUCH a good idea.

You know, if you asked nicely we could all club together and get you checked trousers and a Pringle sweater…

Ker­mit — You’re onto my shenanigans? Oh good. I’m glad that someone finally is.

miss july — Oh yes. How to stow your friend’s mother in a freezer. How to tear out somebody’s eye­balls. How to kill a horse. All use­less things that you can find out on the web­site that is An Unre­li­able Witness.

Chloé — Hello and wel­come. Yes, nor­mal uses for freez­ers. Stun­ning idea.

Cheer­ful One — It would rather suit me, wouldn’t it? I’d look so classy.

What is for dinner?

Would you please stop doing this? I warn you, I’m not going to take you back next time. I’ve run out of rel­at­ives for you to chop up, anyway.

ha ha, my hus­band wouldn’t care about any of it…as long as the din­ner was edible and hadn’t been in dir­ect con­tact with the bloody head.

you might have cut my head off but I can still see you (and your blog), even from the fridge

You know what I’d really like to read is one of those lovely animal fables…

Man: Rub­ber ducky, I love you!

Rub­ber duck: I’ve met someone else.

Clarissa — Somebody’s mother. With chips.

Melo­grana — There’s still your Auntie Beryl.

EmmaK — I do not wish to test the the­ory with your husband’s mother, though. I am not that cruel. Really.

THOTMIF — I’m scared now.

FHNIL — Wouldn’t we all? Unfor­tu­nately, I think there has been some sort of dread­ful cull of wild anim­als in the Unre­li­able Wit­ness Menagerie.

[And if people keep using such long pseud­onyms, com­ments on this blog may just turn into a mass of acronyms]

Ben — You’re scar­ing me too. I am not talk­ing to your rub­ber ducky. No way.

I am so pleased mother’s head wasn’t found at the bot­tom of the bed.

I’d of had to look away.