The Banal Pig Book of Little Stories and Big Puns

by Steve Tillotson

A collection of stories and puns by Steve Tillotson Contents 3.

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Mystery Ghost House Round Lionel Richie’s House On Ghosts, On Fizzy Drinks Spiders Man Round Winston Churchill’s House On Biscuits, On Eggs Dress Round Jean Claude Van Damme’s House On Noses, On Green Vegetables, On Roads Round Rod Stewart’s House A Miscellany of Puns Round Michael Douglas’s House Doodle

all contents copyright S. Tillotson 2013

Mystery Ghost House Four “teenagers” are investigating a mystery. They are in a scary looking house, ripped curtains, cobwebs, dust, broken windows, everything.

They split up, which is their first mistake. One of the boys, who has a dog, is left downstairs while the other three, two girls (one attractive, one plain) and the other boy look for clues upstairs.

Time passes. The boy with the dog has stopped looking for clues (he is the least enthusiastic mystery solver of the group) and is sat near the kitchen table, eating a hot dog he has procured from somewhere. He is disgruntled at being left with only a dog for company. The dog also eats a hot dog and then proceeds to sniff around. Suddenly, the dog starts barking at something over the boy’s shoulder. He turns around and to see a man in a crude monster costume heading for him. The boy fails to see the gravity of the situation. He is grabbed by the masked figure who easily overpowers him. The boy stumbles in the struggle and as he falls, cuts his head on the edge of the table. He is knocked unconscious. The dog, although large, is not aggressive and clearly disturbed by the scuffle, tries to hide underneath the table. The dog cowers and involuntarily shits.

The costumed man runs upstairs to hunt down the others.

Round Lionel Richie’s House So we’re round Lionel Richie’s house. It’s a nice place with big windows that look out onto the sea, one of those futuristic looking houses on the edge of a cliff with the little sticks underneath for support. Lionel’s not around so we start looking at his stuff. We decide to read his memoirs (seeing as he’s always going on about them) but find it very difficult to turn his computer on. It’s like no computer we’ve ever seen before. We give up.

I could do with a drink or something, and we both agree that Lionel’s hosting skills are somewhat lacking.

Eventually, he comes back, and he’s got his tigers with him; three normal ones and a white one. I start to stroke one of the orange ones and we’re having a good time but then I stroke its fur the wrong way. It turns on me, biting my hands and pawing me and that.

They may look like normal cats only bigger, but tigers can be very dangerous.

ON GHOSTS how does a ghost like his steak? medium SCARE! what does a ghost insist upon when checking in to a hotel? a room with a WOOOO! What budget car does a ghost drive?

A DaeWOO! Matiz What luxury car does a ghost drive?

A B.M. Double-WOO! What’s a ghost’s favourite 1980’s soul combo?

GHOUL and the gang!

ON FIZZY DRINKS What is the rare and exotic pop that faces extinction?

The Bengal TIZER! What is the hilarious comedy starring the pop Richard Pryor?

IRN BRU-sters millions!

Why was Marlon Brando satisfied with the orange pop he bought from the Centre Pompidou?

Because it was the LAST TANGO IN PARIS! What was the fizzy pop Eurovision also ran?

ORAN-GINA G! What’s a pop’s favourite game show?

The Price is SPRITE!

Spiders Man

After seeing the Hollywood blockbuster film “Spiderman”, I decided to perform an experiment upon myself. In “Spiderman”, the hero gets bitten by a spider, which gives him tremendous powers such as building climbing and casting webs.

It looked brilliant. Therefore, I started a dedicated attempt to be bitten by a spider in the hope that it would give me similar powers.

My first attempt at getting bitten was, in hindsight, naïve. It consisted of me putting my hand in a spider’s web, but that just scared it away.

I had to become more sophisticated in my approach.

So, realising that spiders eat flies, I drew a fly on my hand in biro. This didn’t work either, but I was onto something with the fly idea, or so I thought.

Some days later, I had perfected my bait. The “fly” I had created was actually an intricately painted rice krispie (a generic supermarket brand, not Kellogg’s), stuffed with a tiny piece of minced beef.

I placed this gently on the web of the spider I had been observing, and to my amazement, it took the bait. Unfortunately, I didn’t react fast enough and the spider had retreated before I had a chance to offer it my hand.

This failure caused me to take a more offensive approach. I captured the spider I had been concentrating my efforts on, which was quite large, and put it with a few small ones in a sandwich tub with tiny holes for oxygen. I then tipped them into a jam jar (a small one escaped) and stuck my hand in. After ten minutes nothing had happened so I shook the jar to agitate them. More minutes passed and after accidentally crushing one of the small ones I was ready to give up on the whole thing, and then it happened. Best of all, it was the big spider that bit me.

I decided to keep the spider as my companion in the hope that I could communicate with it and thank it for my super powers after they had taken effect.

Unfortunately, after a few days in the sandwich tub it died, even though I regularly fed it on my puffed rice and beef flies. I think it was because after

it had transferred its life force to me it knew its job was done, and it definitely looked satisfied as it passed on.

Round Winston Churchill’s House So I’m here with Winston and his friend Phil in the drawing room (his dog’s in the corner as well). This one of many rooms in this large country retreat- I’m staying here tonight, and I feel very eager to impress.

Winston and Phil are smoking cigars, and he offers me one. When I politely decline he seems terribly offended, and at once his attention turns from me and I am excluded from the conversation. Five minutes pass and I continue to be ignored, so I decide to ask for a cigar after all. Winston’s demeanour changes at once. His focus reverts back to me and he watches with delight and expectation as I light the cigar. Unfortunately I disgrace myself as the pungent smoke makes me gip and cough, and I am unable to prevent a considerable string of saliva from exiting my mouth and lowering itself onto my tie.

The next morning, Winston and Phil have already breakfasted when I get downstairs, and rather than cause a fuss, I go hungry.

ON BISCUITS Which popular biscuit duo were formerly in 10cc and had hits including “Cry” and “Under your Thumb?”

Godley and CUSTARD CREAM! What is biscuit christmas also known as?

The DIGESTIVE season!

What was the famous scottish biscuit prince?

BOURBON-nie Prince Charlie!

What was the famous trilogy of nonsense written by the biscuit JRR Tolkein?

Lord of the COCONUT RINGS! ON EGGS what does the egg lord of the manor not tolerate in his grounds?

POACHING! what does the egg frank sinatra sing? come FRY with me! what do the egg smiths sing? that YOLK isn’t funny anymore! whats the popular song sung by timon and pumba in the egg lion king? hakuna FRITTATA!

Dress It’s the morning after your amazing date with the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen. It went much better than you expected, and you’re happy, smitten, but there is something troubling you. Just a little thing. Something you can’t identify. It was your first date, surely all your apprehensions can’t be laid to rest in just one date, in just a few hours?

It’s the morning after your second date, and it went even better than the first.

Everything was perfect and you even made love. It was the best you’ve ever had; you were tender and yet audacious. You surprised yourself. Just one thing put a blight on the occasion, a tiny thing, but you are petty at times. She was wearing the same dress that she was wearing on your first date, and when you met her for that matter. Who cares? She embodies everything you find attractive in a woman, and that dress makes her look great.

It’s early in the morning following your third date. She seems more beautiful and charming every time you see her, but she was wearing that fucking dress again. You thought that she might be offended if you mentioned it and now you’ve been up all night thinking about it. She made it plain that she wanted to make love with you again (and who wouldn’t? You were great last time) but you made your feeble excuses and left.

It’s three days since you saw her. You’ve not phoned her and you’ve done your best to ignore her efforts to contact you. You’re upset. Your concentration is not what it should be. You decide to go round to her flat and tell her exactly what is on your mind.

You’re knocking on her door. You hear her inside. You pray that she isn’t wearing that dress. She opens the door, but the chain is on and you can only see her face. She is amazingly beautiful and your anxiety vanishes. She is happy to see you and opens the door fully. She is wearing the dress. Your voice cracks as you say “sorry” and leave.

Round Jean-Claude Van Damme’s House

I never wanted to come here in the first place. I like JC but his in-your-face sexuality is too much for me at times. I’m from Yorkshire. The dinner party he had planned for the evening started off well enough- everyone else was there already and we had some Liebfraumilch and cheese straws.

The drawing room was tasteful enough in it’s décor, wood panelling, nice big telly, but the glass case full of pewter dragons with jewels seemed slightly incongruous (he later explained they were his ex-wife’s, and he didn’t have the heart to get rid of them).

So the first course, moules marinieres- I said “are these mussels from Brussels?” but no-one seemed to find it funny. The dining room has an impressive glass table and he has a bang and olufsen stereo (they cost a bomb!). Main- CoqAu-Vin. A bit heavy on the wine but eatable. I got some gravy on my shirt which made me self-conscious and started to get the impression everyone was staring at me. Pudding- Knickerbocker Glory. Delicious.

It was obvious that everyone was much more drunk than me and the party became ever more racy as the evening went on. One of the ladies started to take her clothes off. Although I am a red-blooded male and a fan of the female form, this was getting too rich for my blood. JC poo-pooed my protestations that this was getting out of hand- it seemed he was actively encouraging this sexiness.

By this time other revellers were getting involved and I was getting very uncomfortable. I asked JC what his daughters would make of this debauchery, and shouted at everyone, calling them disgusting perverts or something (I was raging, I don’t know what I said exactly in the heat of the moment). He tried to calm me down, saying he thought that I would enjoy it, that I should “loosen up”, and so on. I left, and told JC not to call me again.

When I got home, I realised what a fool I’d been. Why do I always ruin sexy parties?

ON NOSES Why are noses not that good at golf?

Because they always get a BOGEY! What do do if the Nose asks you to join his strike?

PICKET! What do tramp noses sell?

The Big TISSUE! Why did the nose’s mother think he might have a future as an athlete?

Because he was always RUNNING! ON GREEN VEGETABLES how did victorian leafy greens get around london?

-hackney CABBAGE! why was the leafy green ill at ease at the fancy dress party?

-because he looked RADDICHIO-ulous! whats the leafy tina turner song?

-simply the CRESS! why did the leafy green titanic sink?

-because it hit an ICEBERG LETTUCE! ON ROADS What does a road say when he wishes to thank you?

TAR! What’s a Road’s favourite Grandmaster Flash song?

WHITE LINES!

How does a baby road learn to walk?

By KERB CRAWLING first!

Round Rod Stewart’s House I was surprised when Rod asked me round especially as we had what could be described as a “fracas” last year. He said he wanted to “clear the air” but when I asked him what he meant he changed the subject.

His Mum and Dad were in so we went up to his bedroom, but this was a little bit awkward as the room was very small. He said he needed a shit so he left me alone for about half an hour, so I looked at his CDs and videos. They were all rubbish.

When he returned we played on the computer, but I’d never played the game before so I struggled, and he’d obviously played it a lot (as far as I could tell it was the only game he had) so he thrashed me every time. He was very ungracious in victory I thought, and his behaviour made me wonder if this was the reason he’d brought me here.

His Mum made us some Lasagne, which had something in it which I’d never tasted before and didn’t like, and then his Dad gave me a lift home (I wasn’t offered any pudding).

The day has made little difference to our relationship- he still winds me right up.

A MISCELLANY OF PUNS Why doesnt bobby brown like tropical bird tennis? because TOUCANS PLAY THAT GAME! what do you do if you have a boil on your medical journal?

LANCET! Why were surgeons cautious about Debbie Harry’s cardiovascular surgery?

They were concerned she may have a HEART OF GLASS! My doctor gave me these extremely large pills to cure my scepticism.

I find them hard to swallow!

What did john mcenroe say to the cloud umpire that he had issues with?

You cannot be CIRRUS! What did the simile say when it bumped into the analogy?

HAVE WE METAPHOR? !!!

Have you heard about the japanese soup that’s a powerful aphrodisiac?

It’s called MISO HORNY! Whats the name of the lorry that was the father of science fiction? HGV WELLS! A Buffalo and ex-Nottingham Forest striker Brian Roy are in involved in a singing competition, they have both chosen to sing the song “Pretty Woman”. Who will be judged the winner- ROY OR BISON? What did Bruce Forsyth say to the prehistoric fish?

Nice to COELACANTH, to COELACANTH nice!

What did the fridges say to the washing machine who wanted to hang out with them? “Sorry, FREEZER CROWD!”

Round Michael Douglas’s House

So me and Michael were out at the disco, having a good time, dancing and all that but I couldn’t enjoy myself entirely, because I had lost all my money on the fruit machines, and so wouldn’t be able to afford a taxi home (It was too far to walk).

Michael could see I was a bit upset, and asked me why. When I explained, he smiled, and in his booming voice he said “don’t worry Stevo, you can kip at mine tonight”.

Well, that was a relief, and with the weight off my shoulders I danced with all the girls until the wee small hours. Michael finally came up to me and said “we’re off!”- I could have gone on partying, but he was the boss tonight (plus he looked proper rough).

A short taxi ride through the mountains and we were there.

The house was very very tall and thin, or at least it seemed that way in the dark. We went inside, the front door went straight into the living room, which was extremely small- you could nearly touch both walls if you stuck your arms out. Michael was strangely silent and walked off, returning much later with a small piece of very burnt cheese on toast. The way he looked at me meant I had no choice but to eat it.

Michael went to bed without saying another word and I tried to get comfy on the rug. I fell into an unpleasant sleep and woke a short time later, feeling as cold as I had ever been. I put the rusty gas heater on to warm up and the next few hours passed in a terrible black haze.

The harsh sunlight of morning stirred me, and I decided to have a look round.

I followed the narrow staircase upstairs, but it seemed like it terminated at a small toilet. For some reason at this point I suddenly felt dizzy and nauseous, and could have easily been sick, but I willed myself not to. You’ve got to be the master of your own body. I paused for a moment, and went back down stairs, no longer in the mood for investigating. I went into the kitchen, and saw that there were piles and piles of burnt cheese on toast all over the worksurfaces.

Why had he only given me one piece then?

Doodle

Just over a year ago, I was delivered the news that my wife was having an affair. This information I took to be true as the messenger was my wife herself, who chose to ring me at work at 1.07pm on a perspirant Monday. Before she broke the news I detected a tension in her voice and she seemed vague and troubled, but at the time my only concern was for her, and I asked what was wrong. Had I realised what was to come, I would have put my pen down and braced myself for the imminent and inevitable reaction stew of nausea, anger, humiliation and disbelief. Instead, believing this phone call to be nothing out of the ordinary, I was contentedly putting the finishing touches on a cartoon drawing of a man with a fancy top hat and huge comedy nose.

This may seem like a somewhat trifling detail compared with the news that the woman I loved was about to ruin my life, and so it should have been. But as my wife finally confessed I stared fixedly at the drawing, admiring its graceful curves and sublime blend of humour and pathos, and I couldn’t bring myself to feel anything. It was as if I had forgotten what it was like to feel emotion.

At this point, a sceptical reader may suspect that in fact I did not love my wife and my lack of concern was due to an ambivalence towards her. I assure you this was not the case, and although I cannot claim to be the most sensitive male on the planet, at the time I was deeply and honestly in love with her.

Seconds, minutes passed and my wife took my lack of a response for stunned silence. In reality I was in a state of bemusement waiting for the emotional numbness to give way to a terrible swelling of hatred or disgust, or anything.

As I felt I needed to give some kind of response I gently put the phone down and sat back in my chair.

I thought that it must be shock and that at any moment I would burst into tears but my mind was as clear as it had ever been. I even tried to make myself angry by picturing my wife in the process of cuckolding me, but I remained strangely serene and all I could really think about was my drawing with its cheeky face.

I thought at first this lack of negative emotion was some kind of blessing, after all who wouldn’t prefer to strike misery from their roster of feelings? However, it was soon evident that happiness and satisfaction were also lacking from the place they formerly occupied in my life. All feeling gone from my life; with one exception.

I felt something, like none of the old emotions, like a mixture of a mild orgasm and a sick feeling, but with many more unfamiliar and indescribable ingredients. And it was all when I looked at this drawing, this crumpled piece of notepaper, and the feeling was strong and palpable. When I looked away or shut my eyes it was gone within seconds, when I looked back at the paper there it was, strong, dark and addictive.

My life was much better when I was looking at the picture than when I wasn’t, so I took to staring at it for long periods; hours, days. I was aware that the cheap paper of the drawing was rapidly deteriorating into furry dust as I was handling it so much. I took photographs but the pictures didn’t have the same effect. They just looked like poor photographs of a scrag of paper. Photocopies were the same. It was the original or nothing.

I was resigned to losing my drawing to the ether, but before it went I decided to make the most of it and prepared myself for a marathon looking session. Finally, after four and a half days, my eyes burning and crusty, my bones aching and my skin raw, the picture finally vanished.

I fell asleep for a while, and had a shower. I thought to myself that I really should go back to work.