It Just Doesn't Make Sense

"But it just doesn't make sense Antonio!" exclaimed Fabio to his fellow passenger in the cab of the recycle truck.
"Can't you just let it drop Fabio; just give it a break will you."
"I can't - I just can't!"

This was the final conversation they were ever to have. The truck hitting the wall with such sickening impact meant that their last words would be, 'you' and 'can't' - but they never knew that of course. 

Meanwhile, the twerps who were indirectly responsible for this tragedy were entirely oblivious. Although famished as they walked past the bottle bank that night, they just knew that it had to be done. Without speaking one of the twerps tipped their untouched takeaway into the bottle bank and they both shook with laughter at the absurdity of what had just transpired. 

Six hours and twenty three minutes later Fabio was staring in disbelief at the spectacle of the discarded spare ribs and egg fried rice, all still packaged up, nestled in amongst the empty bottles. As his colleague, Antonio, approached Fabio shook his head, adding,
"it just doesn't make sense..."

Whilst Antonio tried to dismiss this reckless act of abandonment as the drunken act of some poor bewildered fool, Fabio just couldn't let it go. Why? Why would someone throw away perfectly good food like that! 
"It just doesn't make sense" said Fabio to his wife later that day. 

It didn't make sense within his swirling dreams of abandoned takeaways. It didn't make sense to the strangers he told in the bars. It didn't make sense during all of those weeks of sleepless nights as the mystery ate away at him. And finally - and fatally! - it didn't make sense as he fell deeply asleep at the wheel of the truck. 

Hatch & Most

Context: we can reveal that the transcripts from phone conversations between esteemed composer Tony Hatch and musical impressario Micky Most have recently come into our possession...

Tony Hatch: 

Micky, let me read the lyric I was telling you about...

'You only love me when I'm laughing!" crooned the drunk baboon, don't make a monkey out of me... 

and tease me for my tune.

That's a PG tip, 

make no mistake,

gyrate a hip

and get a grip

I'm a blooming blubbing baboon...

Why-Oh-Why-Oh-Why-Oh-Why [beating chest] 

d'you make a monkey out of me?

Why-Oh-Why-Oh-Why-Oh-Why [beating chest] d'ya leave me swinging

from tree-to-tree.'

Micky Most:

Great! Do we repeat and go round again or is there another verse?

Tony Hatch:

I suggest a low tuba line coming in for the chorus

Micky Most:

No problem. At this point we have to make a decision. Do we move on to other love starved animals, or do we stick with monkeys?

Tony Hatch:

I've got another lyric that I've been sitting on for some time now Micky. It goes like this...

'Neighbours,

Everybody needs good

Neigh-bours,

With a little understanding etc'

What d'ya think Micky?

Micky:

That could be a great theme tune for a soap opera about people who live in the East End of London.

Tony:

Back to The Baboon Tune: potential performers? My initial list of contenders are:

- Mike Read ('Runaround')

- Art Garfunkel

- Iggy Pop

- Stephen Fry

- The philosopher and cultural commentator, Irving Berlin

- The Artist Formerly Known As Prince Naseem Hamed

- Harry Rednapp

- The newsreader, Robert Dougal

What are your thoughts Micky? [...]

Micky, I was sipping a martini when I had a brilliant idea for our Baboon performer! Babs Windsor!!

Twinkling Toes!

The evening was so boring that I kept nibbling. And then I overdid the dancing. I did the stomp, the twist, the barnacle. I danced for my life. I danced for England. I put on 'Just Dance 4' on the Wii and did a bit of Scissor Sisters. My toes were twinkling. My feet were shuffling, my hips were gyrating, my arms were locomoting. I was 4 years old again, trying to get my parents' attention. 'Look at me Mum?' But nobody was watching.

Cyrus' Accidents - Banana Skin

Crime - Top Tips!

We have noticed a few things about victims of serious crime. Here are a couple of our recommendations:

- If you see the outline of a body on the pavement, DON'T lie down in it

- Always use your name. We have noticed that many victims of crime have not yet been named

A Spaced Place

Crowded...
"This weedy ole shack is getting pretty crowded. What are we to do? What are we to... got it!"

There was a to-ing and a fro-ing; a frantic folding of boxes; a light sweat on the brow. Footsteps on boards. 

The idea! 

Interviewer: "So what did you decide to do?"

Cyrus Ballsack: "I tell you what I diddled - I thought inside the box!"

Interviewer: "Inside the box?"

Cyrus Ballsack: "Yuppers!"

A Space Solution...

It transpires that Cyrus' idea was to go outside with an empty box, put some of the outside space inside of the box and then bring it inside the Weedy Shack.