News from the world of science today; Top researchers at Cambridge University declared they have successfully identified the gene for male pattern baldness.
In other news, riots broke out today at laboratories of Cambridge University when news of the cure for baldness sent thousands of hysterical men clambering for follicles.
David writes things he finds funny. Sometimes they’re funny.
Then I think
Y oh Y do I bother.
When I’ve slapped myself good and proper,
Other ideas come
Ring my bell
I don’t know now
Every word seems trite
So what the heck; I just type. Cheers Ronald Chilcutt; nice.
David usually sends custom bios, but forgot this time, so I’m writing some nonsense for him. Nonsense like this: Grimbledorf.
Clinging to the cliff’s edge by his finger tips, James oddly found time to think. He considered his position and in retrospect, he regretted his decision to split-up with Tina near a waterfall. He was never a huge fan of water and was fast losing his love of heights.
David is getting older by the day.
In the end nothing would remain. Faerie and all it had ever been would now seep into the soil and the streams, filtering down over rocks into the villages below.
Its ether would become something foreign to men. They would call it imagination, but we would always call it magic.
David recently won a competition and then another and now he’s gonna be a Dad… He needs a drink.
Easter came with a furry furor.
Their padded toes marched two by two and on the streets of capitals, the blood ran sour and crimson.
Eggs spattered and bucked teeth sank deep into ankles, then thighs, then more.
The homo-sapiens now languish in their runs and suckle at their bottles.
David Wing was desperately awaiting Easter. (But the Editor had too many submissions, so he didn’t get this one up in time for the holiday!)
Of all the despots, megalomaniacs and common or garden dictators, Fluffy was the least objectionable. Her demands were few: a little salmon here, a subservient bow there, and as an afterthought, the total and complete dominance of the Human race.
It was for their own good, after all, wasn’t it?
David is a creative writing student and recently won two flash fiction competitions back to back. He’s rather pleased with himself.
It had started out as a cry for fairer wages, better living conditions, and dental. Then the revolt had become inevitable.
Santa sat in his cell and ate his microwave Christmas dinner. His wife had led the charge, and now she flew the sleigh. It was better that way…
David is a fan of Christmas, honestly. Last year he made his own crackers, minus the ‘crack’.
As the comet streaked overhead, the most extraordinary thing happened.
The turnips rose.
They pulled themselves from their beds and made their way to the streets.
Carrots followed and then potatoes, courgettes…
At some point we knew the vegetable revolt would come, but we imagined the sprouts leading the charge.
David is a vegetarian; he fears the coming storm.
A rather short gentleman.
Answers to the name Shamus.
Wears an emerald green suit, a buckled hat and black shoes and won’t stop smoking his pipe in the house.
Keeps on about his pot of gold but refuses to kick in for the groceries.
If he’s yours, please claim — soon.
David is a writing student, has had work published on a few sites, and seems to be on a supernatural kick at the moment.
He stood there and waited. The dark encroached, then bathed him. It was there, it was coming, it was watching. Its eyes radiated in the near distance, its fur bristled and shimmered in the Moon’s gaze, its legs arched in readiness.
Then it pounced!
“Argh! Hello Fluffy, got me again.”
David enjoys writing random stories and playing with his terrible hounds.