Monday, February 2, 2015

A Turnip For the Books

In response to a large number of reader's requests for more information about Turnip, the cat belonging to the uncle of James Cook Riddled is publishing extracts from the 7 volumes of the diary of  Nicholas Esquire, the uncle.
1 Jan 1730: Moar trubble wythe Turnip the Cat. Mr Thatcher did come and saye that Turnip is a devil cat and is going about Byting and Scatching peeple. He brought a mobbe of villagers wythe him and they shouted "Burn the cat!' "It is a witch" and such.
I larfed at there sillyness and threw cow pooze on them.
 Mr Thatcher sayed "This cat is evil and probably made the cobbler's sign falle on my head whenever that happyned"
The Mobbe sayed "Burn the cat" and "Boo down with thee cat" and "Don't throw pooze on us anymore, it is badde for our self esteeme"
I sayed to them "Mr Thatcher, the lady cat's notte for burning"
The crowd were silent as though expecting somethynge but nothinge happned.
Thenne Turnip appeared at a top storrye windowe and sayed. "Go home puny Humans orre I will eat yore eyes and make ratatouille with yore braynes instead of Aubergines"
The mobbe arked "What sorte of ratatouille? Provencal or Basque. because you carnt get black olives at the moment whatte wythe The War of Jenkin's Elbow."
Turnip sayed "Whatte is rong wyhte you peeple? Provencal ratatouille is awful. What the actual fuck?"
Mr Thatcher sayed "My motherre would not have a Provencal ratatouille in the hoyse. She said it was in all ways inferryorre to Basque"
The mobbe sayed "Pardonne us forre having an opinion, we wasse only saying as we findde" And went home in a grate huff.
Mr Thatcher watched them go and shook his head, "Inne, my day, a mobbe had somme staying power and woulde not go off in a huffe over a gastronomic disagreement" he sayed. Thenne he went away singing a songge about a cabinboy called Roger.
2 May 1730; A Mr Throgmorton Portcullis has been to see me about his ownership of Turnip the cat. He sayed "I wonne it in a hospital raffle and have thee tykett to prove it"
The tykett had a false dayte on it saying 2015. I sayed "You varlet, sir this is a wrong tykett"
"Noe" he sayes "Thisse is inne the future"
"Of corse" I sayye "Turnip is waitying for you behynde this door"
He steps through and thenne I hear the splash and watch him crawl out of the moat. Turnip appeers at  a crenlaytion and  shouts "Fuck offe Throgmorton!'
 Howe does shee noe his nayme? She sayes he just looks lyke a Throgmorton.
6 August 1730: A letter arryved from my idyot nefew Jaymes Cooke. I sent hym 6 pence and he says he will use it to equip 3 ships and sail South to find new lands for the Empyre. He is suchhe a dorke.
I wryte to Joseph Banks saying he should get in touche with Jaymes and go with him. I would payye 3 pounds to be ridde of themme both.


rhwombat said...

I well lyke thy stylle, Master Aye Kayye. Was Mr Thatcher, his namen, Denysse perchance?

ifthethunderdontgetya™³²®© said...

And where do you suppose Misters Jaymes Cooke and Joseph Banks ended up?

The Super Bowl!

Another Kiwi said...

Mr Thatcher's name, alas, is unrecorded but the descriptor "cockwomble" appears in the margins of the diary.

rhwombat said... Maggie's crutch was probably a descendant.

Another Kiwi said...