Piggott Adventures: The Death of God

We crossed the bridge. My mother, father and I.
Up until this point there had been no wasps. This was a good sign.
We decided to leave town after the first wave of incidents. Various apocrita based disasters had been occurring all over the neighborhood and we thought it best to leave while we still could. They called it the day of the beas.
The prophecy appeared to be coming true.
I thought of this as we crossed the bridge, the bumpy car ride interrupting my train of thought. As we crossed the border into Birmingham, England, my father spoke three words that would change my life forever.
'God is dead.'
'Pardon?' I said, mystified by the illogicality of the statement.
'God is dead. He died just now.'

'What relevance does this have to our trip?' I asked belligerently. Ever since the first wasp attacks, he'd been acting increasingly ignorant, almost up to the point of unbearable.

'More than you can possibly imagine. The forever equinox is upon us.'
Then the screaming began.

A Thank You

Just a small thank you to everyone for reading my blogs and watching my videos. I really appreciate the support and want to show my appreciation a little better. Thank you:D
I will shortly be making a thank you video to show my further appreciation so keep watching the sky...

Sir Spoonington's Box of Clocks

He sailed the Grand Rapids in a happy chair while his dog counted from a bag of rice. Sir Spoonington was ready for almost anything.
Although his fingernails were bloody and his eyelids, rotten, Spoonington felt no pain. Only love. And specks of ice cold water from the Rapids. It was strange then that it should be something close to revenge that fuelled his mission. Someone had fondled his clocks and it was up to Spoonington to issue his own brand of justice- by chopping off the perpertrator's hands.
The Grand Rapids were coming to an end. Soon he would reach the mines. And the perpertrator. He readied his axe and removed the rice from the dog's paws.
It would take the combined skill of both of them to locate the perpertrator.

Business Pope: The Pope of Business

It's a tough job being Business Pope-

constantly having to shift your clerical duties and financial obligations can take quite the toll on you. That's why I keep a constant supply of Methadone on my person at all times.

It pays to be thorough, especially when you're dealing with absolutions and insolvencies like me.

Would you look at the hour?

I believe it's time for my fix.

Communion wafers and heroin substitute-that's my evening sorted.

Eyes Happening With Smoke In Deep Water

Everything and nothing in a world where you are who you are and never will be anyone else. Question yourself so others won't.

Jonathon Spanley Denzen

Eggs, eggs, eggs. That's all he ever talks about.
Jonathon Spanley Denzen that is.
With his giant spear and his monstrous pazzuli, he is truly a man of clarity.
He strides through life with the greatest of acknowledgment. His very presence causes such intrigue, such curiosity, that life itself begs to know his secrets.
Does he know god?
Does he understand the relevance of Pie and Chips
Is he truly a man of the hour?
The answer to all is yes. But the answer to all is also no.
Does this upset you, pazzo?

The Bus: Part One

Waiting for the bus is not particularly fun on the best of days.
However, with the introduction of a large, man eating sparrow, it can take a dramatic turn for the worse.
I was checking my watch when I sensed it's presence...saw it's shadow...smelled it's feathers...

The stink of rotting human flesh made me gag as I tried to escape from it's talons but, alas, I was too slow. It swooped and grabbed me by the shoulders.
But this was to be the beggining of the journey. Next stop: Communist Russia