Li'l Donk

8/3/2019 Li'l Donk

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8/3/2019 Li'l Donk


onkA little story about #$%&@! Christmas

by

Stumpy OGrawp

Abooks heading your way soon.

You may download, print and share this book for free,but if we catch you trying to make money from it we

will set our wookie on you.

www.humandbug.com

©Hum and Bug 2011. Some rights reserved.

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Hook your own damn nose up to the mains every night and then well see who deserves all the frickin mince pies.

Rudolf to Santa

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Life was simple back in the time of dirt. Most,

however, called it boring. The masses were forming,

and all around the young and tender planet of Bubbly

Butt (as it was then known) people were desperate for

something to do. They had built the pyramids, made a

splendid hanging basket in Babylon, constructed a

long wall, and stoned to death the man who

suggested they all just sit down and chat.

They threw themselves at the feet of their

king, some looking to his wisdom, others because it beat

standing in the sun.

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The king could not abide whining, and

suggested more pyramids, building a really wall or

going to war. But the peasants looked on in anguish.

They needed more. And then, just as the king was

about to suggest they all sit down and chat, in ran one

of the only people in the whole of Bubbly Butt with

something to do.

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carpenter are you? How do you plan on supporting

wi

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this here dirt when it dawned on me that the baby

no naughty

The king looked at the carpenter. And then

to the peasants who were listening to the story with

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The king grinned and twiddled his beard.

child is to be celebrated by the entire population of

The carpenter curled his lip in confusion.

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you peasants, scatter among the land and tell every

soul.

must celebrate now and on this very day for the rest of

time. Tell the kings and wise men. All must bear gifts.

The peasants whooped and left with the

carpenter. Finally the king had some peace.

And oh for the problems this caused.

It took hours of squabbling and a number of

public executions before the name stuck. But in the

jump up and down for the ba

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the baby

simply had no meaning. And so the proud mother,

. The king approved, as

did the carpenter. What better name for a mass held

only they knew the true meaning or the true father,

for ine and her seur had been terribly,

terribly naughty.

Holes were adorned with trimmings; fires

roared, and in the absence of turkeys, grandparents

willingly roasted themselves to a crisp. Children hung

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ecstatically, waiting for the arrival of the present

bearer, a slim young reindeer farmer by the name of

Santos Claudios. But off to bed they were sent, full of

promises that a chimney and mantle piece would one

day be invented. A buzz of excitement filled the night

air. People cheered at the demise of boredom.

And like a snake occupying an empty hole,

something far worse slithered in to stay.

Along they came, mumbling about the

navigational shortcomings of following an enormous

star. Their eyes were heavy, their beards dusty. Their

camels looked thoroughly lost. But in front of them lay

a baby, suckling on his mother

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wondrously at a rippling masseur. The wise men

glanced at each other. After a trip like that, a baby

donkey would look like a messiah. And so with a jar

of rejuvenating fermented dirt in mind, they presented

their gifts: gold, frankincense and myrrh.

Which left Christmas forever tarnished.

across the desert, made me camel ready fer the

The following year, as the messiah was

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approaching his first birthday, the three wise men sat

pondering over their invitations for a jelly and ice cream

calendars were full. Office parties, family commitments,

charity functions and burning of witches. There was

simply no space for a party surrounded by screaming

toddlers. Christmas was a busy time. And what would

they bring?

The wizened chap who last year had allegedly

brown-nosed the king with his giant lump of gold was

in a right state. No way was he going to push the boat

out this year. A book voucher would do just fine. But

he knew, , that if he was to send a mere

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selection of vanilla and peach incense sticks, his

conspiring neighbours would delight in sending a golden

obelisk, crusted with gems and wrapped in a ribbon.

And what of the Christmas post? What

bother. A giant lump of gold would never get there on

time. And as for the cost. He shuddered, his hand

trembling as he attempted scrawling something

a one-year-old could read. He misspelled

he checked his sundial.

The shops were shut.

Slowly, but ever so surely, with every tantrum

and fit of rage, those infamous words of festive

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enlightenment were bubbling their way to the surface.

He sat there, nibbling his fingernails and staring at the

card. Christmas day was only three hours away. His

37 th wife walked behind him, balancing a steaming

platter of dirt on her bosom. She leant over his

shoulder, snorted and told him the bleeding obvious.

never get another one now, you know. The shops are

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-in-

there be dirt everywhere. She bunched her robe

around her knees and made to leave, mumbling about

the questionable aptitude of her apparently wise

He sat there, seething, his hands raking

through the roasted dirt. The words spewed out like

an involuntary encore of his lunch. Words that within

a wisp of an age would be translated into every

language and broadcast into the atmosphere with

ferocious amplification.

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UCKIN

And the rebellion had begun.

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Like this?HUM&BUG are holding Mr Stumpy OGrawp captivein a room filled with cold turkey meat and ham bones.

We make him write with the promise of one dayallowing him to hook Rudolf s nose up to mainselectricity. So he waits, he writes and you get more

books like this.

Visit our site for news of the latest releases, or like uson facebook get regular updates.

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Li'l Donk

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