Very calm, rarely does he gainsay, except when vehemently against the month of May: a month most vile unto him because of events in evenings dim when he was but six and was beaten with sticks by elves with a bloodthirst on May the first.
By the second they'd almost drunk him dry, making them for one week high. While our boss-to-be survived on moss and wee before he could flee with the help of a pea.
While at seven he was almost sent to heaven on a bank holiday trip to Devon when all at once upon his bonce fell a rock the shape of France that made him do a silly dance the became known as The Prance but failed to fell our gentle lance.
At eight he walked the devil's gait and awoke to find a demon reasonably irate and he only escaped a grisly fate as the demon was not yet alert enough to feel hate.
At nine, that May was fine and quite benign.
When ten he nearly fell upon and beyond Big Ben when pushed by a force completely un-Zen but was saved by the ghost of Saint Stephen, who was dismayed by this curse of May.
At eleven much like when he seven, he met horrors in the land of Devon. While making a boast about the Jurassic Coast, he heard the roar of a dinosaur with a giant jaw that swooped and missed after feeling it had been dissed and called up a dino army soon defeated by a plan real barmy.
At twelve again it was elves that sought to undo him themselves with wicked malice and sawn-off shelves. Again they drank, again they sank, and older as he was and bolder as he was, our boy broke free once conscious and drank no pee.
Throughout his teens the May malice mock-sheened, repeatedly attacking his spleen like an out of control annual machine. One time it was a vampire, another a mad dwarf looking for a sapphire; once a zombie surgeon, then a mutated land sturgeon.
It only stopped when at university where he found a charm that worked universally. A few years of carefree Mays followed until he lost it to vandal swallows and the horrors once again began with an attack on the hood of his man.
Since then he has faced monsters of every shape and description - to this day his months of May are littered with events not on his prescription. And worse they grow looking for his ashes to sow.
So all year he riles in fear of May, never knowing exactly when or in what way misfortune will come unto him on May evenings as it grows dim.
Now you may be a disbeliever but if you are a newspaper reader then look out for the strange reports and never let out that snort for you may yourself receive this curse - and possibly even much worse - for our boss did chide when he was five when he heard of a man attacked by a hive - and see what happened one year later? Look out for the dissipater!
Note: entire blogpost may have stemmed from a misremembrance of the definition of gainsay....?
By the second they'd almost drunk him dry, making them for one week high. While our boss-to-be survived on moss and wee before he could flee with the help of a pea.
While at seven he was almost sent to heaven on a bank holiday trip to Devon when all at once upon his bonce fell a rock the shape of France that made him do a silly dance the became known as The Prance but failed to fell our gentle lance.
At eight he walked the devil's gait and awoke to find a demon reasonably irate and he only escaped a grisly fate as the demon was not yet alert enough to feel hate.
At nine, that May was fine and quite benign.
When ten he nearly fell upon and beyond Big Ben when pushed by a force completely un-Zen but was saved by the ghost of Saint Stephen, who was dismayed by this curse of May.
At eleven much like when he seven, he met horrors in the land of Devon. While making a boast about the Jurassic Coast, he heard the roar of a dinosaur with a giant jaw that swooped and missed after feeling it had been dissed and called up a dino army soon defeated by a plan real barmy.
At twelve again it was elves that sought to undo him themselves with wicked malice and sawn-off shelves. Again they drank, again they sank, and older as he was and bolder as he was, our boy broke free once conscious and drank no pee.
Throughout his teens the May malice mock-sheened, repeatedly attacking his spleen like an out of control annual machine. One time it was a vampire, another a mad dwarf looking for a sapphire; once a zombie surgeon, then a mutated land sturgeon.
It only stopped when at university where he found a charm that worked universally. A few years of carefree Mays followed until he lost it to vandal swallows and the horrors once again began with an attack on the hood of his man.
Since then he has faced monsters of every shape and description - to this day his months of May are littered with events not on his prescription. And worse they grow looking for his ashes to sow.
So all year he riles in fear of May, never knowing exactly when or in what way misfortune will come unto him on May evenings as it grows dim.
Now you may be a disbeliever but if you are a newspaper reader then look out for the strange reports and never let out that snort for you may yourself receive this curse - and possibly even much worse - for our boss did chide when he was five when he heard of a man attacked by a hive - and see what happened one year later? Look out for the dissipater!
Note: entire blogpost may have stemmed from a misremembrance of the definition of gainsay....?
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