Anna loved nothing more than a good old sun tan.
Even if the weather was bad she’d have a gorgeous
orange complexion by using all the snazzy sprays on the market.
On her last holiday, she lathered herself in vegetable oil and headed straight to the beach.
Unfortunately she passed out through heat exhaustion and remained unconscious for four days.
She’s now back in England with
third degree burns
and looks like a Pepperami.
© Carl Burkitt 2013
Last night, by myself, I watched the film ‘Memoirs of a Geisha’
Because my girlfriend’s celebrating our four year anniversary with her six best friends in Croatia.
© Carl Burkitt 2013
For four years now you’ve wanted my legs;
their length and stride impressing you.
Sure, I can skip over tall skyscrapers
and could be used as a bridge
for all kinds of capers,
but I fear the beauty of your pins, your pegs,
your magic pocket legs,
are something you haven’t thoroughly thought through:
Remember the time we hung out in the fridge,
daring each other
to run through the butter?
Well I went first, breathing in through my nose,
but my huge feet squashed the tub,
smearing Lurpak all over my toes.
Then you giggled a giggle, did a sweet pirouette,
and glided across like a
butterfly mid- flutter.
How about the time, after years of hard work,
when we were chosen by NASA to explore
the vastness of space?
We had picnics in our rocket and
floated all day, but when it came to
bedtime my legs were in the way.
Rather than moan and kick me out of bed,
you created more space by curling up your legs
and sleeping inside your pillowcase.
What about the day we walked in the forest
and I accidentally crushed the Smurf village
and its people?
The noise was dreadful as things set on fire;
lots of men died
and poor old Smurfette just cried and cried.
But your tiny frame meant you were at their level,
so you helped calm them down and rebuild their town,
including a gorgeous church steeple.
And don’t forget that day when you
challenged me to a race;
requiring us both to be a jockey on small a black cat.
My awkwardly large legs got instantly tangled,
leaving me and the poor pussy
uncomfortably mangled.
Yet like a little Barbie doll, you sat astride your beast,
and darted the 100 metre distance in 10 seconds flat.
So whilst it’s true that my legs are both massive and long,
do you really wish yours were like these?
Because my clumsy limbs,
all gangly and thin,
leave me as agile as rigid oak trees.
I’d say it’s far more attractive to be lovely and small,
like plug sockets or wooden pegs,
because if you weren’t so small,
and were in fact quite tall,
you wouldn’t have your magic pocket legs.
© Carl Burkitt 2013
Henry’s parents stood in his bedroom doorway, looking at what was left of their son.
The teen’s body was slumped directly in front of the blaring television, his eyes perfect squares.
His trousers hugged his ankles as his played-with penis, sliced cleanly from its home, lay on the floor beside him.
The wind continued to blow in the wrong direction as Henry’s face remained locked in an odd position.
Henry’s father stepped into the room, crouched beside his son and whispered: “I told you so.”
© Carl Burkitt 2013
Samuel just adored his extensive stamp collection.
Days, weeks and months of love went into collecting them.
More often than not he’d just sit and look
At the old ones, new ones and Christmas novelty ones that lay in his book.
His favourite had drawings of Piglet and Winnie the Pooh,
No, wait! He also loved the Roald Dahl range and one with Dr Who!
Aargh, there were just too many from which to choose,
All he knew was there was not one he wished to lose.
One night Samuel’s mother saw him kissing the stamps on every page,
She thought it cute he’d found love at such a young age.
The next night, she caught him rubbing his willy on a Harry Potter stamp.
She grabbed the book, set it on fire and sent him off to boot camp.
© Carl Burkitt 2013
The world’s tallest man finally set up a date with the world’s shortest woman,
after two long years of talking online.
People laughed at this unlikely love story, but if she talked as sweetly as she typed
he knew they would be fine.
The world’s tallest man sat in the restaurant and slowly got drunk. They arranged to meet at six,
but it was now nine.
Furiously, he bent a teaspoon, just like that, settled his bill and screamed:
“She was supposed to be mine!”
As he kicked the door to leave, it sent the person behind it flying across the road,
crash landing on a double yellow line.
He approached the squashed, bloodied body and began to fear the worst:
“Oh Christ, is that you, Caroline?”
The world’s shortest woman, struggling to make out his far away face, uttered these final words,
before dying of a broken spine:
“I was here at six…
but I couldn’t reach the door handle.
I guess this was an unlikely love story,
my sweet Irvine.”
© Carl Burkitt 2013
As he dipped his Kat Kat finger deep into his gaping cup of milk, he shuddered at the memory of Michelle.
As he nibbled the end of the chocolatey shaft, he winced at the memory of Gabriella.
As he slid the whole thing down his throat, he smirked at the memory of Chantelle.
As he took the milk into his mouth and swallowed every drop, he nodded at the memory of Alexandra.
And as he stared at his empty cup, he bowed his head at the memory of his wife
and wondered how he could win her back.
© Carl Burkitt 2013
The week was a tough one for poor, stressed Ella.
The things she went through were like a downbeat novella.
First came the rain as she lost her umbrella,
Then big tummy pains caused by bad salmonella.
Her house was a state, like a run down favela,
She felt achy and old like Nelson Mandela.
Her workload was more frustrating than a broken patella,
She just wanted putting down, like rabid Old Yeller.
But before giving up and drinking a whole crate of Stella,
She received a call from her handsome, warm fella.
He said: “Listen to me, poor, stressed Ella,
You’re as beautiful as freshly bloomed prunella.
Things may look tough, my sweet Cinderella,
But you’ll get through this, and shine like Capella.”
© Carl Burkitt 2013
M
mo
…Moo!
…
Mo
© Carl Burkitt 2013
I was in love with a girl called Emily Angel,
And I lived with a guy called Danny Pickles.
I now love a girl called Emily Pickles,
And I live on my own.
© Carl Burkitt 2013
