I love The Beatles and I love nonsense so this was a perfect match. When you feel you've been thinking too much for one day this is the book to read it is just pure fun. The little short stories just make you giggle even if you're one of those people who never laughs when reading. This book also makes John Lennon seem more human since he has become this legend you get to see this silly but still genius side to him. Just a warning don't try making sense of this book it will just give you a headache just read it for kicks. To quote dear Mr.Lennon "this correction of short writty is the most wonderfoul larf I've ever ready."
Stories and Poems from
God help and breed you all.
Good Dog Nigel
No Flies On Frank
'I carn't not believe this incredible fact of truth about my very body which has not gained fat since mother begat me at childburn. Yea, though I wart through the valet of thy shadowy hut I will feed no norman. What grate qualmsy hath taken me thus into such a fatty hardbuckle.' Again Frank looked down at the awful vision which clouded his eyes with fearful weight. 'Twelve inches more heavy, Lo!, but am I not more fatty than my brother Geoffery whise father Alec came from Kenneth -- through Leslies, who begat Arthur, son of Eric, by the house of Ronald and April -- keepers of James of Newcastle who ran Madeline at 2-1 by Silver Flower, (10-2) past Wot-ro-Wot at 4/3d a pound?'
He journeyed downstairs crestfallen and defective -- a great wait on his boulders -- not even his wife's battered face could raise a smile on poor Frank's head -- who as you know had no flies on him. His wife, a former beauty queer, regarded him with a strange but burly look. 'What ails thee, Frank? she asked stretching her prune. 'You look dejected if not informal,' she addled.
"Tis nothing but wart I have gained but twelve inches more tall heavy than at the very clock of yesterday at this time -- am I not the most miserable of men? Suffer ye not to spake to me or I might thrust you a mortal injury; I must traddle this trial alone.' 'Lo! Frank -- thous hast smote me harshly with such grave talk -- am I to blame for this vast burton?'
Frank looked sadly at his wife -- forgetting for a moment the cause of his misery. Walking slowly but slowly toward her, he took his head in his hands and with a few swift blows gad clubbed her mercifully to the ground dead. 'She shouldn't see me like this,' he mubbled, 'not all fat and on her thirtysecond birthday.'
Frank had to het his own breakfast that morning and also on the following mornings.
Two, (or was it three?) weeks later Frank awake again to find that there were still no flies on him.
'No flies on this Frank boy,' he thought; but to his amazement there seemed to be a lot of flies on his wife -- who was still lying about the kitchen floor. 'I carn't not partake of bread and that with her lying about the place,' he thought allowed, writing as he spoke. 'I must deliver her to her home whore she will be made welcome.'
He gathered her in a small sack (for she was only four foot three) and headed for her rightful home. Frank knocked on the door of his wife's mothers house. She opened the door.
'I've brought Marian home, Mrs. Sutherskill' (he could never call her Mum). He opened the sack and placed Marian on the doorstep.
'I'm not having all those flies in my home,' shouted Mrs. Sutherskill (who was very houseproud), shutting the door. 'She could have at least offered me a cup of tea,' thought Frank lifting the problem back on his boulders.
The Moldy Moldy Man
I'm a moldy moldy man
A Surprise for Little Bobby
All his life Bobby had wanted his very own hook; and now on his 39th birthday his pwayers had been answered. The only trouble was they had send him a left hook and ebry dobby knows that it was Bobby's right fist that was missing as it were.
What to do was not thee only problem: Anyway he jopped off his lest hand and it fitted like a glove. Maybe next year he will get a right hook, who knows?
Nicely Nicely Clive
To have and to harm ... til death duty part ... he knew it all off by hertz. Clive Barrow seemed oblivious. Roger could visualize Anne in her flowing weddy drag, being wheeled up the aisle, smiling a blessing. He had butterfiels in his stomarce as he fastened his bough tie and brushed his hairs. 'I hope I'm doing the right thing' he thought looking in the mirror, 'Am I good enough for her?' Roger need not have worried because he was 'Should I have flowers all round the spokes?' said Anne polishing her foot rest. 'Or should I keep it syble?' she continued looking down on her grain haired Mother.
'Does it really matter?' repaid her Mother wearily wiping her sign. 'He won't be looking at your spokes anyway.' Anne smiled the smile of someone who's seen a few laughs.
I Sat Belonely
I sat belonely down a tree,
I'm looking up and at the sky,
'Speak up, come forth, you ravel me',
Such sofly singing lulled me sleep,
Then suddy on a little twig
PURCHASE NOW AT AMAZON: In His Own Write
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