A Tale of Wisdom, Warning, and Woe...

Tears were streaking down my ruddy british cheeks as I related my tale to a foul mouthed fawn. I was stuck in a cell made of ice and if I didn't speak he promised to mate me w/ the goblin in the picture. I don't even know if it's female. I begin my sad tale on the happy grassy fields of Mossburry lane. Lucy had just fallen in the cockelberry bush and was running to the house. Indubidably to have her head shaved once again. The cockleberry never leaves on it's own volition. She looks like more of a boy than I do when this happens. Peter was somewhere playing hoopscitch, and Susan was out collecting on her illegal gambling ring. But all of that is just pithy bother. What's important is that I was all alone. I had just ate 5 jars of marmalade and had quite the stomach ache!!! At that moment I declared that never again would I eat that sweet which in my tummy turned so sour. But this left a void!!!! lil' Eddy without a sweat!!! Why that is like the manor's ball without the foxtrot or the deval-buscheigh!!! It was at that moment of indecision that I heard a voice; warm, familiar and wise! It said, "sweet hard candy never made the boy a witches dandy!!" Sweet hard candy? the very opposite of mummy's warm liquidy marmalade? I turned to see the man behind the voice and to my surprise only saw a plate of sticky, warm, somewhat covered in hair ribbon candy!!! A faint sent of lathered horse could be smelt upon the air. This is the treat I would turn to. As i put forth my eager, trembling paw to partake of the hard goodness I caught a sight alltogether different out the corner of my eye! It was cubed, like Peter's ugly square face, and covered in powdered sugar. Really, Turkish Delight!? I've never had such fancy fare!! Pulling my hand back from the true and wholesome ribbon candy I reached for the sultan's sweet....Hmmh Sultan. As my hand grew ever closer I heard the voice again, "Sweet hard candy never made the boy a witches dandy." To my sadness I ignored it...and ate the Turkish delight. Now I've sold out my family and live in an ice cage. Possibly to be forced to sire a race of large goblin men. Please people, listen to the voice!!!

dare ye ol' hobo hope?

My day had gone better than planned. I had just caught a chipmonk and when he wouldn't speak, or respond to Alvin, I did the next best thing. I ate him. At least this night I wouldn't have to swab the ol' meat locker cart w/ my bandana and suck for protien. I decided that it was time to take to take a nap. With the sounds and sights of the train yard soothing me to sleep I closed my eyes. Hoping for dreams of golden rail cars and night watchmen who left 5 cent recycleable cans. I hate having to steal cabbage for lunch. Sleep came quickly, the nightmare had to wait til I woke up...Wake I did. When my eyes opened my heart shut closed. I had hear the saying "As sad as a hobo who just lost his last pare of britches." I didn't hear it now...I just felt it. That along with a cool breeze gliding across my now bare white thighs. No britches = no hobo smile. And somewhere a dove cooed. Crying, I sat in my cart thinking about the adventures my pantalones would have without me. I was lost in despair. Right then I said out loud "I forsake the hobo life for ever!" I will now devote my life to cowboy poetry!" I thought at first it was just a whispering on the wind. A ye ol' brittish whispering? Then I turned my non infected ear to the open door and listened closer. To this day I swear I heard someone say. "Noble sir of Car # 13 manor, please the world needs your ticklish tales! Children weep when a hobo frowns!" Plus the train watchmen will cry if he has not a hobo head to knock before he sleeps!" That voice, that fatherly voice was like caffiene to my soul! With confidence renewed I leaped for joy. Subsequently hitting my head on the door and knocking my self out. When I woke I blinked and looked around. Wet, horse sented ribbon candy was in my hands and to top it all an old potato sack w/ two holes cut for my legs was by my side. Using my meat swabbing bandana as my belt I hitched my britches and continued on my journey. A Journey that would have ended except for the help of some mysterious benifactor!

Horse Sense

Yes, I was crying. I wasn't really hurt. The tears that streaked down my dust-covered cheeks we tears of shame. "Pippy doesn't have an onion! Pippy doesn't have an onion!" The other kids had stopped hucking dirt clods but the taunts continued to come. You see it was the fashion of the day to wear a yellow onion tied to one's waist. My folks were out of work and we had narry an onion to spare. As I looked down at my scuffed knee and muddy knickers I saw a shadow pass over me from behind and I caught a sweet sort of horsey-sweat scent in the air. "Why of course ee has an onion!" I looked back and perchance I imagined it, but me thinks I saw a wink come from that monocled eye. "But his onion is a red candy onion" he said as he produced what looked like a magical red onion the likes of which the King of Sheeba would have tied around HIS waist. When I looked closer I thought I saw chunks of hard candy and lint covering the onion. "Well I want one," said Jiffronson, the biggest of the boys. The kindly man smiled and handed it over. Jiff took several big bites then started crying. It was just an onion after all. "My mouth tastes like horse hoof" he yelled as he ran away. Before I could thank the man I hardly knew, he was gone, but a REAL red onion fell in my lap. I quickly tied it around my waist and, from that day on, when the other kids admired the cut of my gib, I thought of that kindly man what comes and goes leaving a trail of sticky lint behind.

ribbon candy

I don't know how to start...Do I know the elusive Penny Fathrington? Can a man know a voice on the wind? Can you inhale the signiture smell of horse and ribbon candy that trailed the great man? Much like the stank that follows a dead moose. We all know the signs of him, but no, I don't know the famous benifactor. My tale starts with a downturn. An early frost had killed a part of my crop and I didn't have the heart to tell my wife. Gout had been particularly bad for her this year. So I went to the farmers market to buy more seed and see Hogzilla. To my despair Hogzilla had broken free, ate a farmer and then not satisfied he ate all the seed. Hogzilla, that beautiful beast, had run free to the wild...and the seed was all gone. Pulling my overalls over my head I began to cry. That's when I felt a sticky hand on my head. Pulling my hair as he removed it. I heard a voice of ye ole British angel...one Penny. Pulling my head out of my overalls, getting stuck only one on the shoulder loop, I looked up. The sun was shining brightly so I couldn't get a good look at his head. What I did see was a hand, a hand w/ ribbon candy in it. So willingly given. As I took the ribbon candy I noticed 2 things. 1. His hand was stained w/ the color of the hard candy. 2 the ribbon candy had paper and hair stuck to it. I believe as the legend goes that he keeps a handful in both pockets for just these occassions. Pushing my tears aside I stood to thank that mysterious benifactor. Only he was gone...After that the sun was brighter, the moist furry candy was sweeter, and I heard that Hogzilla would be back tommorrow. Bless that Penny, bless that Penny!!!!

A Man he was and the man he was destined to become: A tale of a Penny Fathrington

For not long ago in ye days of yore, there lived a quiet, humble, but brave man by the name of Penny Fathrington. Penny had many a journey and many an encounter with his fellow men, but today we tell the story of his humble beginings, for as time goes on olde Penny's stories grow a tad more mischievous.