About This Blog

This blog was originally started as a thread on the forum pages of an animal rescue site. Now it's here!

The articles you find in here are purely for entertainment (yours and mine) and (with one or two exceptions) are all tongue-in-cheek chronicles of the World (my bit, anyway) as I see it.
No disrespect is intended towards anyone unless I make a mistake and make it too obvious.

I hope you enjoy my offerings. Feedback and comments of any kind are welcome.

Friday, 8 April 2011

Homer & Marge (Part Four)

Usually I would allow The Mad Lady the honour of posting this (to be honest I forgot about it until this morning) but she is a busy lady and does have her 'bump' to contend with.

The fridge door slammed.

Homer woke up and rolled over in bed, falling into the depression that had been left by the bloated body of his heavily pregnant, and absent, wife.

Hauling himself out of the crater wasn't easy as the memory foam mattress was trying desperately to recover it's shape now that Marge was no longer on it. That was one mattress suffering some pretty severe memory loss!

There was a sucking sound,  like a rubber boot being pulled out of mud, as he finally dragged himself out.
"God-damn woman!" he moaned.

Downstairs there was a clanking of pots and pans.  Homer looked at the clock. It was 3am.

Half asleep, he lurched down the stairs and into the kitchen. "What the hell d'ya think you're doing? D'ya know what time it is?" he growled.

"'m'ungry!" said Marge with a full mouth. "Made mythelf a ham and pineapple piztha with exthtra anchovies".

Homer's bleary eyes scanned the scene in front of him. He flicked some spat-out pizza off his chest.
"I take it that the pizza is somewhere under the ice-cream and chocolate sprinkles?" he hazarded.

"No, they're under the sponge pudding, which is under the ice-cream and sprinkles" said Marge.  "I was hungry and it's all you fault, Mister Can't-Keep-IT-In-His-Pants!  Because of you I look like a Zeppelin, my back is killing me and I have to walk like a duck.  If that ain't enough, I have cravings! CRAVINGS! I haven't had a craving since I met Mister Crawford, my high-school drama teacher.  Hehehehehe! Boy, did I crave!"

"That is disgusting! I think I might throw up!" said Homer as he sat on stool at the breakfast bar and scratched his head. "You know you'll wake the kids with all the racket you're making, don't ya?"

Marge turned and looked off the page and said "No I won't!  Tell him Mister Author."

They went to the movies some time ago.

"And?" barked Marge.

'I forgot to write that you went to collect them'.


'So they are, er ... technically that is ... still at the movies!'

"Ta-dah!  Case closed! Kidless!"

Homer, who was idly scratching the cause of Marge's current physical condition and looking slightly confused said "Who you talking to?"

"No one of any importance." came Marge's smug reply. Another slice of her pizza was pushed into her mouth whole.

"Marge?" said Homer.

"Yeth, Oh pain in my ath?"

Homer's stomach rumbled. "I reckon, y'know, if'n I closed my eyes, I reckon just maybe I could manage a little slice of pizza".

"Dream on Mithter Drippy-Wing-Wang*!"

* Wing-Wang = the name given to the male appendage, and action thereof, when said male runs in the nude.


  1. Why is it that pregnant women always blame their husband or boyfriend for their condition when it really takes two to tango :-).

  2. LOL! A little slice of pizza...


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