VISITORS’ BOOK

If you have just come from my main site: Fool’s Paradise – Infinity on a Shoestring: PAYTON L. INKLETTER

you are now at my VISITORS’ BOOK where you can say whatever you wish, and read others’ ten cents worth. If you arrived here some other way, and are confused, get on over to my main site above, check it out, then head back here. If you don't do as you're told, I’ll slap you on the back of your legs!

So, the deal is, just click on the ‘comments’ link under the posting below to open a page to write in.

This is for general comments, “Hello, I visited!”s, flattery, criticism, insults, threats: you name it, this is the place to record them. For some examples to prompt you, I invite you to read these suggested flatteries, brown-nosings, criticisms, veiled insults, insults, and threats.

Sunday, March 30, 2008

VISITORS’ BOOK for Fool’s Paradise – Infinity on a Shoestring: PAYTON L. INKLETTER

THIS IS PAGE ONE
You are most welcome to read various visitors' comments left here from March to September 2008. This page is now closed to new comments; however, you are cordially invited to post a visitor’s entry on PAGE TWO saying a simple ‘hello’ or whatever else you wish, regarding anything that moves, irritates, excites, annoys, titillates, inspires, depresses, energises, enervates, or otherwise affects you at the main Fool’s Paradise – Infinity on a Shoestring site.

143 comments:

Gladys Hobson said...

Were you born a bear or is your comfortable shape the result of eating jars of jelly beans and bars of chocolate? Methinks there is a man inside a bear costume. You just dress that way to gets lots and lots of hugs. Well, here's one from me — you cuddly creature mmmmmmmmmmmm
Oh dear, I think I have squeezed the stuffing out!
Sh.. !"

Payton L. Inkletter said...

I have gradually morphed into a koala bear; my diet has had no effect on my shape; I am still growing, thus I have need of a high daily calorie intake.

I don’t dress for hugs; I naturally get them because I am intrinsically irresistible, and I am blessed with lashings of modesty, to boot.

Gladys Hobson said...

Lashings of modesty? And 'to boot'?
I guess the boot is what you are likely to get if Mrs Inky catches you fraternizing with female koala cuddlers! Plus a few lashings, but not of the modesty kind!

Gladys Hobson said...

Marriage and Love
The print is so tiny for the best bit of writing I have read for a long time that I could only manage a small portion, but even that was a true delight.
All that I read - how true, how perfectly true.
When the froth of love settles we are left with the true flavour. When love and loving are worked at, the best is yet to come.

Geoff said...

Hello there, Payton. Your blog is angst hiding behind aussie humour and it is simultaneously excrutiating and hilarious. Maybe it's something to do with being upside down all your life - note how Clive James became less amusing when he turned the right way up in London?
One of my online friends has similar hoomer to you - Lutz Barz, who runs the publishing house
http://www.rspublishing.com.au/
Be my guest and link up with him - you never know what might come about. I'm always being told that success in writing is about networking like a bugger.

Anyway, I just wanted to let you know how much I enjoyed taking time out to read your webbie and then negotiate the minefield to write this comment.

May you develop a huge audience.

Buttered toast

Geoff Nelder

Payton L. Inkletter said...

Much appreciated Geoff. It could be living upside down for fifty years, or the repeated head droppings from my older brother when we were cubs.

Gladys Hobson said...

You have some interesting photographs and pictures. Are you a bit of an artist? (I expect you will tell me that you are one hell of an artist, that is for a koala bloke),
I am very interested in that close-up kissing photo. You see, Inky, I am looking for something for the cover of the E-book version of my Awakening Love. I thought that might be rather good for a post-war British story. What do you think?
Any chance of using it if my editor/publisher approves?
I would be forever on my knees, kissing your sweet little cheeks and murmuring sweet nothings in your ear.

Payton L. Inkletter said...

Gladys: I am definitely one hell of a crap artist, I grant you that.

The photo? The close-up kissing one: I cannot recall for the life of me where I got it from, but it isn’t mine. The only info with it is that it was modified on the 18th June 2005, and it is at full size – it’s tiny. Oh, and if anyone who claims it’s theirs wants me to remove it I happily will, or if they let me use it I’ll shout them to a virtual jelly bean.

And as for the kisses on my sweet little cheeks
if it was mine and I let you use it, I can stand on a table. And as for murmuring sweet nothings in my ear, I prefer sweet jelly beans popped in my mouth.

Gladys Hobson said...

Every time I come back to this crazy blog I find I have missed something when reading before.

'ruduculus' How very APT!
You are a master of the rudiculus! The word should enter the Weedypee encyclopadea (Or whatever it is called.) Well done, Sir Inky! Please accept a chunk of land and a crumbling castle on my vast estates.

As to preferring jelly beans to my sweet nothings — Philistine!

Payton L. Inkletter said...

Stop being so ruduculus Gladys! ‘Crumbling castle’ my parcel!

Gladys Hobson said...

Okay then, Sir Inky. How about a newly built castle, complete with UNION JACK? Turret at each corner of course?
I will send you one of those plastic sand castle buckets, and allow you to choose your spot on a bit of the local Commonwealth beach. Oh yes, and a nice little spade to suit your delicate little paws.
Oh I am just too generous, but I can't help it!
Queen Gladys

Payton L. Inkletter said...

You’re still being ruduculus Gladys! But listen, I understand it’s pretty cold in The Lake District, so how about a huge castle up at Mediobogdum, made of Lindt chilli-flavoured dark CHOCOLATE, which shouldn’t melt, and a super abundance of Beatties jelly beans stuck (loosely) into said CHOCOLATE as temporary ornamentation, such that their removal doesn’t threaten the structure?

If you will do this, then we’ll talk turkey.

Gladys Hobson said...

You've got it all wrong, Inky. We have had some hot weather up, enough to melt your chocolate castle — the jelly beans would be eaten by the wildlife. (Not the city sort) Our garden is drying out and we save our bath water to water my plants (not enough rain being collected from the roof) so just imagine all those yellow ducks playing with the robins, finches, tits (down boy! don't break out into a sweat) blackbirds, thrushes, doves, squirrels etc etc.
I like your new pictures and why the need for frozen peas to cool your head — is that 'God book' hot stuff?
As to your celebrity book — do your 'posh' friends know they are featured? And do they pay for the privilege of being in Fools Paradise? What a lark!

Gladys Hobson said...

I forgot - "talk turkey? - a lot gobbledegook!
Come on man - brace yourself! Let's have a battle of ferocious words! I am ready for a fight (having finally been reimbursed for that camera I did not receive — what an effort that was) and my intellectual muscles need exercise before they can wind down.
(Oops my crown has slipped.)

Payton L. Inkletter said...

Is there no end to your ruduculusnuss Gladys? Where to start!: ‘Hot weather’ my nether portions! – in summer here we do all our frying on the slabs outside, and that’s after dark; ‘Bath water’ my backside! – I have it on good authority that the British don’t wash (I even married a Pom, and some days my Janny is a mirage); ‘Wildlife’ my arts! Wimplife more likely – slaters would be about the wildest thing encountered, surely, in The Lake District.Try funnel webs and taipans, blue-ringed octopii and dugites. Next you’ll be claiming you have polahr bahrs scraping on your back door; My ‘posh friends’’ messages in the Visitors’ Book Celebrity Archive – what are you suggesting… that they don’t know? I only okay a fraction of these high profile hangers on, candidly, just between you and me. Phew! As if the fame they already enjoy isn’t enough, without them jumping on the Fool’s Paradise bandwagon.

Behave yourself for a change Gladys, you Cunning Cumbrian Cucumberless Cornucopian.

Gladys Hobson said...

Do all your frying on the slabs outside? Dear oh dear, what a way to get a tan! Pathetic I say. Especially as you complain about your nether portions — cover yourself up you bear-faced fool or you'll cook your goose! (And serve it as a kebab?)
What is more, I have no desire to bathwater your backside, ugh! As for we British (and proud of it) being unwashed, aussies wouldn't know a bath if they saw one - a billabong dip once a year is regarded as an overindulgent whim!
And you have no idea of the wild life we experience here — it is a wonder to behold. Come off it, Inky you have no idea what runs around without clothes in Cumbria. Stags are real, matey, not just males on the razzle! Those things on their heads are not for throwing your cork-bobbling head-cooler on, you know. Our birds are renowned for their beauty — that includes the feathered variety too. And you have no idea while lies beneath those dark deep lakes, so stop carping — be have bigger ones! What's more, we have a wild-life park a few miles away with lions and rhinos, giraffes and a whole host of tropical beasties. All you could show me is a jar of worms from your backyard!
As for your celebrity book, you never asked Queen Gladys to sign it, so it can't be the genuine article.

As for slaters — we have the best green slate in the world and it is a privilege to be a worker of such. Our slaters are kings among men — REAL men, with bulging muscles and rugged looks. But sunblistering aussies frying on paving slabs while supping their Triple X wouldn't know what I'm talking about.

Cunning I may be, cucumberless of course (what need would I have for one? Don't answer that!) and as for being a Cornucopian — really — what exactly are you implying? Well, I would rather be just that and overflowing with good things, than a stuffed koala sitting on a bbq ready to provide the sauce!

Huh!
Sir Inky, an apology is due. Especially to Janny!
Queen Gladys

Payton L. Inkletter said...

Your Royal Highness, Queen Gladys of Cumbria, if ruduculusness was currency, you’d be the richest woman in the world – hang on a minute…

I agree on the beauty of your birds: the one I married is very beautiful, if unwashed.

Tell me, do your slaters curl up in a ball when prodded?

Gladys Hobson said...

Dear, oh dear! I spend a few days visiting my upper kingdom and return to find insults from the one I so foolishly knighted!
As to whether our local slaters curl up into a ball when prodded, all I can say is:
although those males who climb ladders bearing slates have bulging muscles, and although the modern trend in hipster trousers may well prompt one to prod their approaching nether regions, one does no such thing — we are too well brought up for such sexually motivated practices.

Payton L. Inkletter said...

Your Majesty, Queen Gladys of Cumbria, you speak with the authority of experience with unnecessarily steadying ladders from below being negotiated above by strapping and fecund young men in the flush of nubility, oozing virility, and mocking sterility, and so go Gladys! Whoooeee!
However, I should like to know how many legs do your slaters have?

Gladys Hobson said...

I wish! At my age such activities might be a boost to failing physical power.
As to number of legs, I assume you have four-legged variety. One slater here has two legs but think what a slaters' rugby team has!

Payton L. Inkletter said...

Your Royal Highness, Queen Gladys, as your humble servant I shall endeavour to catch a slater and count however many legs I find, and report back with the result of the foray.
Alas, I have never, and could never, think about any of the physical assets of a rugby team, unless women are playing it now.

Gladys Hobson said...

Mm, I will see what I can do to get a ladies rugby team together. I doubt it will be their muscular legs you will be interested in. Does Lady Inky know of your predilection for female game players?
Enough of this young Sir Inky!
Find those slaters and do some arithmetic!

Payton L. Inkletter said...

Would you believe it? I set the trap, Guinness, and not a slater to be found. I’ll report on the leg number when I catch one.

Speaking of trapping slaters with beer, I would not be surprised to learn that Princess Gladys snared many a slater in The Lake District using this method in her youth, and got to examine its third leg, but this is not to impute any stain upon Her Majesty since marrying and assuming the Crown.

You speak of game female players, and rather than having a predilection for them, I actually am scared of them, Missus Inkletter being one of these and exacting her dues from me on a regular basis. Sometimes I just want to be held and nurtured, loved for being me, rather than the rippling scintillating stallion that I also am, constantly expected to perform.

Gladys Hobson said...

Aha! Little do you know about Princess Gladys. She was born in the industrial Midlands and dreamed that one day she might be able to go on holiday to the magical Lake District, never thinking of the possibility of actually living there! Not only that but the child was terribly ignorant and naive about sexual matters, so no naughty references to 'third legs' please!
You scared? Oh really what a laugh! Rippling scintillating stallion? You must have played the part of Roy Rogers' horse - Trigger! All he ever did (apart from being ridden hard) was stand on his back legs and whinny! No doubt you get lots of nurturing - cuddles and strokes. We all love you for being YOU, so gird yourself Sir Inky and lets see you perform at the lists! (Photographs please!)

Payton L. Inkletter said...

Trigger’? Janny has referred to me often as ‘Cannon of Spring Steel’, Your Majesty, Queen Gladys of Cumbria, but never ‘Trigger’ – the mere idea makes her snigger.

I’ll share a principle: while, for the ladies, a hard man is good to find, a good though hard man can never be over nurtured, over cuddled, or over stroked.

My slater hunt met today with success, against a clump of Dendrocalamus latiflorus, and without a magnifying glass, my failing eyes can report either twelve legs or fourteen, being not too sure about what appeared to be a pair of such pins up near its gob.

Gladys Hobson said...

Since you are too busy being over nurtured, over cuddled, and over stroked to have a really good look among your tasty bamboo growths, I can see I will have to do the research for you:

Slaters have oval-shaped, flattened bodies made up of 14 segments. They have seven pairs of legs and two pairs of antennae, although one pair of antennae is very reduced and difficult to see. At the end of their abdomens they have a pair of uropods, sensory organs that assist in navigation and are found on other crustaceans. They appear to be very good for the garden so I hope they too get nurtured in your back yard. Cuddling may go too far but maybe they would respond to a little stroking. That way, your yard will be full of the little creatures and your soil perfect for cultivating your favourite food. Although I am not sure that jelly beans grow on plants or trees. But maybe you could try planting a few and see what you get. (Swarms of ants I should think!) But then Koalas, such as yourself, are likely daft enough to do anything in Fools' Paradise. No doubt it comes from the diet you engage in.

Lady Inky spoils you, Sir! Be a man, bear!

Payton L. Inkletter said...

I am impressed, Your Royal Highness, Queen Gladys of Conundrum, with your research; I have lived with slaters all my life, but didn’t know the details of their anatomy, nor what those ‘uropoddy’ thingies were for. In my favour, I did know they were good for the soil, for long ago I noticed that their droppings were tiny colloids which aided friability and made the digested mulch more accessible to plants’ roots. Slaters have always been welcome in my garden. I don’t dream about looking up ladders at them as obviously you have done, but I count them as friends.

Wouldn’t you know it, I can teach you something! Jelly beans are from the pods of a leguminous vine (Phaseolus vulgaris vr gellicusbonzayoobyootii), planted Downunder in spring among the sugar cane plantations of Queensland. They symbiotically invade the roots of the cane and suck some sugar out of them while contributing some nitrogen, thus becoming sweet while they help the cane grow. They are allowed to dry on the vine, and are eaten raw. About one in ten is a black one. You haven’t crossed the threshold of manhood in Queensland’s cane growing regions until you’ve led your mates in a jelly bean raiding manoeuvre through a cane field, stuffing yourself silly while bagging swathes of pods for shelling at home.

And enough of this ‘Lady Inky spoils me’ malarkey, she just does what she should.

Gladys Hobson said...

Oh really, Sir Inky! Pull the other one — its got slaters on it!
As for "You haven’t crossed the threshold of manhood in Queensland’s cane growing regions until you’ve led your mates in a jelly bean raiding manoeuvre through a cane field," there was only one reason for you to lead your mate into the fields of cane! Some maneuvering that was to get a 'taste of honey'! No doubt your mates (how many were there I wonder) were rewarded with a prize jelly bean — grown in your wild imagination not the cultivated fields of Aussieland!
Come on, bear up and admit it. One day you will indeed be rewarded for your telling of tales in Fools Paradise, but you can't pull the wool over the eyes of Queen Gladys — hair neither since she hardly any on top!
As for Lady Inky doing what she should: huh! you would have eyes like those of a panda not a koala if she was not so ladylike and restrained. God bless her wooly bed socks.

KoolKoala said...

you strange you strange man payton l inkletter but baby inkletter so cute

more baby inkletter

more baby inkletter

oi oi oi!!!!!!!!!

Gladys Hobson said...

Golly, I come here to comment on the new addition to your family and see I an not the first.
Congratulations! He sure is cute - how did you manage it? I guess all those hints about you being a "rippling scintillating stallion" are true.
You should know by now where 'cuddling' leads to!
I guess he really is a chip off the old block!
Again
CONGRATULATIONS TO YOU BOTH!

Payton L. Inkletter said...

KoolKoala: My, what an interesting name you have; all the better to appreciate me with?

Yes, Baby Inkletter is cute, she’s almost 24 now, and thank God she got her mother’s beauty and her father’s brains, and her dad’s a good looker to boot.

I am strange, thank you for the compliment. Others have said ‘special’, ‘different’, even ‘retarded’. I like to think of myself as unique, lovable, moreish, and a million similar superlatives.

Payton L. Inkletter said...

Congratulations accepted Your Royal Highness, Queen Gladys, Monarch of the Numberless Cucumberless and Their Suffering Trousered Spouses, even if it’s 24 years too late. Her arrival was the happiest day of my life.

If I’m a rippling scintillating stallion now, I was an electricifying sexually charged bull koala then, and Missus Inkletter was the best loved gal this side of the rabbit proof fence, and still is. She is greedy, for she refuses to share me, but that’s okay, for I am now scared of females, due to her constant and relentless ravishing of me. I am resigned to my lot, cheerfully serving her baser desires.

You cast nasturtiums, Queen Gladys, upon my motives in my jelly bean raiding manoeuvring days, but fair crack of the whip!, honest injun!, it was just for the jelly beans. I happily note that by omission you have accepted where jelly beans really come from, and that is delightfully trusting of you. Come again.

Gladys Hobson said...

I know where YOUR jelly beans come from, you rippling scintillating stallion you. With all that sugar intake and size of a koala's evacuation tunnel, your nether regions clearly provide the local population with the sweetest jelly beans ever! Of course you engage in sweet talk (my lesser subjects have a cruder word for it) to fool the females foolish enough to enter Fools Paradise. As for poor Lady Inky: you lure her with your provocative koala scent (distilled from BBQ leavings?) and then claim SHE ravishes YOU! Come off it, Sir Inky — pull the other one, its got a fool-proof handle on it!

Payton L. Inkletter said...

I learn something new about you, Your Majesty, Queen Gladys of Cumbria, every comment; this time that you must have been, if not still are, a proctologist, given your technical observations concerning my evacuation tunnel.

I was asking for it, I suppose, given that last header with the photo of myself and Baby Inkletter, for it could be construed, out on the extreme edge of the bell curve, that I was not sitting on a jelly bean jar, but sitting on the can, Payton L. Inkletter pooing jelly beans?, particularly if one is still or was once a practising proctologist.

And I thought they were old nicotine stains...

Gladys Hobson said...

It is not unusual for 'droppings' of animals to be found delicious to eat by other animals. Sheep droppings were enjoyed by our sadly now departed border collie. Evidently they contain certain minerals and vitamins, or maybe dogs merely see them as their favourite brand of sweetie? Droppings from small richly-fed dogs also seem to be enjoyed by other dogs — as they were by our lovely golden retriever (that is, if we could not stop her in time). I have little knowledge of koalas, except the one dwelling in Fools Paradise, but it seems to us (the royal 'us' that is) that it is a highly environmentally friendly practice and one worthy of recognition. But please do not rob Fools Paradise by sending me a jar of your jelly beans, it is sufficient to be awarded one of your finest red beans, which, as everyone knows, are greatly prized throughout this planet earth, and for all we know, the whole of the Milky Way. Just maybe, they will find a few on Mars, (fossilised of course) and, once polished, they will become highly prized by billionaires - one might say rich deposits of greater value than gold?

Payton L. Inkletter said...

We aussies have always maintained that the poms are full of shit, and Your Royal Highness, Queen Gladys of Scatumbria, seems to be giving us a free kick. I haven’t seen Missus Inklepooh eat it in 26 years, but then I don’t sit on the toilet with her either. Maybe she is a closet coprophagist since immigrating to our fair clean land.

Now you have got me concerned on another front: that black jelly bean I awarded you has changed to red (it’s not just a case of your seeing red, is it?), so I’ll make a complaint to Beattie’s, because, frankly, it’s not good enough. They claim that they harvest the jelly beans fresh from vines of Phaseolus vulgaris vr gellicusbonzayoobyootii growing in the sugarcane fields of Yourland, and I happen to know that every tenth one is black. What I fear is that if yours has turned red then they are using cheaper synthetic ones, and palming them off as rijji dijj. They’ve seen me coming...

Gladys Hobson said...

Have no fears, Sir Inky, concerning the black jelly bean, which is safely stored among my treasured crown jewels. The red bean of which I speak is the one I EXPECT to be awarded for my most excellent rendering of the Maddington story. For indeed it was through this reading that I gained the title of Queen Gladys. Hence I CLAIM the award, Polished up it will do nicely for my new crown. (Presently being crafted and fitted so as to hide my thinning patch of hair. I speak in confidence — this must go no further.)
As to your personal relationship with your good lady, how you go about certain activities is none of my business. A cuddly creature, such as yourself, might well be taken to the most intimate of places for the most intimate of experiences. I have no wish to be concerned with the business of which you speak. And I suggest, your good lady is consulted before you ever mention such personal details to personages, such as myself, again. At least Lady Inky will know what is decorous.

Payton L. Inkletter said...

You are certainly on the short list, an extremely short list from an all but infinitesimally short selection list, Your Majesty, Graduated Princess Gladys of Cumbria, for the prize of one virtual Red Jelly Bean for your inimitable, nay – defying imitation, nay even – matchless, if not irreproducible or unique, rendering of ‘Maddington: World divided over writer’s sanity…’. And in the extremely unlikely event that you don’t win, I can feel it in me bones that an encouragement award could be in the offing.

Now it is heartwarming to think that you keep your Black Jelly Bean trophy with your crown jewels, but is that hygienic?

Gladys Hobson said...

This is extremely irksome, Sir Inky. I have already made a comment and had problems getting your silly system to accept it - unscrambling those silly letters running into each other was without doubt the cause. Half an hour of my royal time wasted. However, being magnanimous, I will again endeavour to make a reply.

Let us consider your first statement. An encouragement award? Stick that where your worms may devour it! Nothing less than the red jelly bean will do. As I have stated, I have it in mind as the centre piece for my new crown.

Now let us consider your final paragraph. Can it be that you — a most learned seeker of truth — are not aware of the benefits of the (shall we say for politeness) ' by-products' of the human body? Think man, if many women, and men too I understand, seek beautiful skin by using urine as a splash-on tonic, how much more beneficial will the jelly beans hobnobbing with my crown jewels be for improving my hair. You must realise my royal hair is so wondrously fine as to be invisible in places. Splendid this may be for the notion that baldness is a sign for a man's virility, I have no desire to see if females, queens in particular, are similarly regarded.
If you wish to remain a knight of my realm, you know what you have to do. Do I make myself clear?

Payton L. Inkletter said...

Thou hast informst mine oomble self, Your Royal Highness, Queen Gladys of the Umbrage, thatst mine comments form hadst word verification turnst on, and this irkst thou, as it shouldst, and wouldst mine oomble self likewise; alas, thine oomble servant thoughtst he hadst turnst it off in the original settingst up, but thought canst be a fickle thingst. Alas, that bothersomest anti-spam measure is now deadst. When nextst Thy Majesty stoopest to comment here, thou shouldst no longer beest aggravatedst by this fiendish toolst of the programmer withst not enoughst to doost.

Earlier I noted that Poms are full of shit, and now you deem it acceptable to take the piss out of me. Needless to say I shall not be splashing urine on my face, regardless of your eloquence in portraying its virtues. You might like to try some of Dame Edna Everage’sMother’s Spit’, which she assured an audience – of which I was a member (sitting high on Missus Inkletter’s shoulders) – some time back here in Perth that it was the cure-all for any skin ailment, and which she was planning to market.

Gladys Hobson said...

I note, your effort to please me (hands wringing in humility?) by speaking a language your ancestors may have been familiar with in those days of dark dungeons before 'your kind' were transported to the place where your abode is rich in red wrigglers, but that does not mitigate your rudeness in suggesting 'we' require the spittle of a man in drag to put hair on my head!
Of course, in Fools Paradise anything goes and no doubt you find the splatterings of an entertainer most beneficial — so much so, that Lady Inky carries you on her shoulder so that you can get a faceful of the sticky mucus when you visit the said Edna Everage. Hardly surprising you are a covered-in-fur koala. The process must have been going on since you were born! Your mother, no doubt, must have had a friendly relationship with the person of which we speak. Too close a relationship, judging by your appearance.
However, I am prepared to forgive this rudeness — this rush of blood to your head — that is, as long as I GET THE RED RUBY AWARD!

Payton L. Inkletter said...

For the richest woman in the world I am a tad perplexed at your insatiable lusting after the red ruby, being just another tidbit to accumulate in your treasure vaults, really I am, Your Majesty, Queen Gladys of The Lake District; having said this, I can understand the desire to have a Payton L. Inkletter awarded Red Jelly Bean, and especially given yourself having been the divinely favoured individual to win the first ever – and so far only – Black Jelly Bean, making you, as the millions of daily visitors to Fool’s Paradise are so up with, the proud bearer of the initials of title after your name (plus your interminable other ill gotten titles), namely: AMOBJRC (Ancient Mellifluous Order of the Black Jelly Bean - Roasted Crucifer).

Good luck I suppose is the best I can suggest, while assuring all that luck will having nothing to do with deciding the winner; sweets bribery maybe not, but then just maybe, flattery decidedly yes; sweets bribery AND flattery, and it’s in the bag. (Somebody should stamp out philately, it's so corrupting.) Now should more than one contestant stoop to bribery and flattery, it’ll come down to the size of the bag.

Gladys Hobson said...

No more Mrs Nice Gal!
Greed, greed, greed! You are a greedy, self-satisfied, presumptuous little toad! How dare you try to bribe a personage such as myself!
You will get no more than your due. Out of the goodness of my royal heart, I will consider having dispatched ASAP one hundred weight of Cadbury's milk chocolate. I will also consider allowing you to have my royal coat of arms on your cans of worms - that is worth a fortune in marketing terms.
As to why the red jelly bean award is important to me — you will never know the reason so just accept it.

Payton L. Inkletter said...

You are a greedy, self-satisfied, presumptuous little toad!”: that went well. “No more Mrs Nice Gal!”: you’ve been Mrs Nice Gal so far?, Your Royal Bribeness, Queen Guileless!!! of ElasticStandards.

Anyhow, be that as it may, all things considered, when the dust settles, when the kookaburras’ last laughs are sung, it seems a hundred weight of Cadbury’s chocolate is on its way my way I say oh happy day! Make it Lum n Laison will ya dollface?

Payton L. Inkletter said...

But if Lum n Laison is hard to procure, Lum n Laisin will do.

Gladys Hobson said...

You should have received your request by now. Be assured this is a 'one off'! And please refrain from calling me 'dollface'! Such disrespect is unbecoming of someone who is a member of the commonwealth. Be assured that my TOWER and chopping block awaits those who think they are cleverer than they are! Many a miscreant has ascended those stairs to sit and rue the day they gave me a wobbly instead of a jelly (bean - of the red variety).

Payton L. Inkletter said...

I should have guessed! Monarchs have been at it from time immemorial, fiddling the scales that is, and Queen Gladys of Cumbria is no exception, excepting that her exception is exceptionally exceptional. ‘One hundred weight’ of Lum n Laisin my big fat arts degree! Not only is what you’ve sent vastly under that rather sweet tooth titillating weight, you mercilessly expect me to turn the ingredients into my own Lum n Laisin. You may as well rub salt into my gaping heart. I will let my millions of daily readers confirm and share my disappointment by checking for themselves what you sent to me by clicking this link:
Queen Gladys’ light n lousy Lum n Laisin look alike

What I was naively expectantly expecting from this Monarch of the Now & Then was 203 blocks of Cadbury’s Old Jamaica, plus a fifth of a block – a genuine hundredweight – so to make it clear how cheated I feel, my dear readers can check the link below to see a one block example of what I was expecting (the block on the left):
dinki di Lum n Laison
My softly rounded coiffured appearance is at risk of emaciation, of becoming the resembler of a scared crow, and this will not do. Why burn up precious calories making Lum n Laisin when Cadbury’s are happy to do it for you?

So now I call upon my higher self to nevertheless honour the bribe and keep Queen Gladys of Cumbria on the shorter list, while awaiting her generous doses of follow up flattery, as well as any one else’s bigger and better bags of sweets. More sweets sweetcheeks (that’s you Queen Gladys (formerly ‘dollface’)!

My mother warned me to watch out for old queens bearing gifs.

Gladys Hobson said...

So your mummy warned you to ‘watch out for old queens bearing gifts’ did she? Meaning, one supposes, that you have been taught to be a greedy grasping creature that will do any favour as long there is a rich reward in sight! Light dawns and one can only shake one’s head in disbelief at such an upbringing. It becomes even clearer why you are an over-stuffed miserable bear whose imagination fails to get beyond stuffing himself yet further with sickening fare. How sad!

As to your claim that you are due 203 and one third blocks of Cadbury’s Old Jamaica chocolate. No such offer was made. One hundred weight of chocolate— that is, a one hundred grams bar — was indeed offered. The local area was searched for Old Jamaica (even though the product itself had not been specified in the demand made) but none was to be found. Likely it has all gone for export down under. A German brand of rum, fruit and nut was considered but for all we know Koala bears may be allergic to nuts. You see how considerate we are? Even though abuse is constantly forthcoming, we can still be gracious.

So we (Royal WE of course – do not expect others to be as kindly as myself) considered the next best thing was to dispatch a container of Cadbury’s best Hot Chocolate, a bottle of the finest Jamaican rum, plus a goodly portion of raisins to chew as the fancy takes you — preferably soaked in rum first. (That is the raisins soaked in rum, not a sozzled bear)

And what do I receive in return for my Royal Bounty? Well, I will leave your readers to judge for themselves the ingratitude of one Payton L Inkletter, koala bear most extraordinarily greedy!!!!

Should there be further insult to my personage, I am having my Tower prepared in readiness! Be warned it is stuck on a hill, which in winter is a bleak and desolate place to be incarcerated in.

Payton L. Inkletter said...

Oh mighty Queen Gladys of the Terrible Tower, I gave you only my mum’s abridged admonition; the full version was: ‘Beware my wondrous son than whom none are nicer than, of old queens bearing gifs, jarlspegs, and bitchmaps, nor get involved with their tiffs. They lure with their doctored up eyecandy mucheth dandy but stingeth mightily with their tail. There be doth no more dangerous cheese thaneth an old cheese.’

I will let my readership judge what a cruel old queen you must be, threatening to ensconce me in it unless I award you The Red Jelly Bean:
Queen Gladys’ Tower of Terror

Gladys Hobson said...

Quit the griping! Speak Queen's English too. Seems to me you are asking for a dark dungeon rather than the privilege of the tower.
Okay, you can keep the red jelly bean until you realise it is already mine by virtue of MY recording.
Meanwhile gird yourself as my knight, Sir Inky, rather than the snivelling wretch you are fast becoming! Get yourself to the lists with your lance and lick worthy opponents, instead of licking sugar sticks!

Anonymous said...

I have to agree with her Majesty. Your behaviour is not that of a loyal knight. I hope you grow your hair thick and long in preparation for being ensconced in the top of that tower. Maybe a friend will deliver you a pack of jelly beans.
Roger

Payton L. Inkletter said...

Rogeranonymous Harvey Hideandseekous: I grew my hair so long not so long back that one day (the day after Baby Inkletter's 21st birthday party) I had my dear mother plait it beautifully and got Missus Inkleslicer to hack it off with giant dressmaking scissors, for it had become a pain in the nether portions to look after. I beat the plait a few times to stun it, and it now resides in my filing cabinet in a cellophane wrapping. So even though my hair has grown long once more, it certainly won’t be allowed to assume Rapunzelian proportions again, so if I end up in Queen Gladys’ Tower of Terror, stiff cheese for me.
As for jelly beans for comfort during the impending incarceration, Pope Benedict has just given me a bag of golden ones: ST PETERS PASS: Pope Benedict XVI blesses Payton L. Inkletter, cotton socks and all

Anonymous said...

A pain in your nether portions? Some mop of hair that must have been! Take a tip from a fellow male, try growing it on your head next time, it would be less of a problem for performing the necessary act of evacuation. (It would become less tangled too)
Roger

Gladys Hobson said...

Roger is quite correct. I must give him a knighthood. As for stiff cheese, be assured cheese will not be part of your diet in my tower. By the time you have been there a few months, you'll be glad to scrape the pigeon droppings from the window ledge to butter your stale bread with.
As for golden jelly beans, they should keep you going as they pass through your upper regions, middle regions, lower regions — time and time again...
I hope you enjoy them — the time is nigh. Get Lady Inky to knit you a wooly hat.

Payton L. Inkletter said...

Observation: I have a pair of smart arses in Roger and Gladys; must be a pommy thing.
Rogeranonymouskouri: I will pay that: growing a plait from my bum is quite funny. Diarrhoea would add a new dimension to a bad hair day.

Queen Gladys: You forget, pigeon droppings would not pose a problem to a penguin poo eating lad like myself: DUMBLEYUNG: Writer Payton L. Inkletter a surprisingly good crap artist, but still has some growing up to do
You mock me over the papal gift of golden jelly beans, but I feel we may well be witnessing the fulfillment of an ancient Aboriginal Dreamtime legend of the koala that laid the golden egg.

Anonymous said...

As an observer of what happens in Fools Paradise, it seems to me that any koala who is silly enough to lay a golden egg is asking for trouble. Payton L Inkletter will most definitely be heading for that bitch's — oops,sorry — witch's tower. Payback until he produces that treasured RED jelly bean.
Have you never read:
Three golden eggs
in a Koala bear's belly,
Is worth a treasured bean
that's made of red jelly.

Confusion he always says: red jelly, pigs belly

Lily

Gladys Hobson said...

Oy! Who's this Lily woman?
Queen Gladys rules here — push off!

Payton L. Inkletter said...

Lilyofthefollymous: Thou doth giveth me pause… I will not consume the pontifical golden beans of substance jellicus, for what goes in must come out, and once out all hell would break loose, as one Gladys Rex surmises she’s chasing a special goose, a challenged X-chromosomal gander who’s got up his dander, yet no amount of ire could save this hapless fowl from the dire, nay, dreadful fate in preparation for the plate, namely a rough pluck for a most ruffled duck.

So ’tis with gratitude I thank thee one Lilynonymous Follykouri for warning me not to follow the fate of the Demon Duck of Doom, and dispense with all this Bullockornis dust, and keep those bright yellow jellos on my mantelpiece.

Anonymous said...

Hey Pay
I've been reading this bull excrement for a while now wondering from whose artifice it gushes most. Being a fellow countryman of this great land where koalas are are thick as flies and dwell in a fools' paradise, I have to say, Mate, you're getting the rosette! Keep it up, it's good for the garden!
Jake

Anonymous said...

I agree with Jake
(though I think he's a fake).
There a great production of fertilizer going on and most of it is being produced by that koala bear who stuffs himself with beans and chocolate.
Gladys is the only one that makes sense.

Rossley

Gladys Hobson said...

Ah, the readers decide and decide correctly.
But I will be merciful and forgive the presumptuous toad of a bear. He can also keep his red jelly bean, that is, until further notice.
Anyway, should I stick him in a tower, I would miss his ludicrous chatter.

Arise, Sir Knight, you are restored to my favour.

Payton L. Inkletter said...

Jakeifice Ruseymouskouri: It’s nice to have a fellow countryman offer support of cheeky if not ambiguous kind, even if he knows not his orifices from his artifices, so long as he knows his vegemite from his peanut paste.
Rossleymous Nanakouri: My what big BIAS you have, all the better to unseat me with.
Queen Gladys: How magnanimous of the Royal Highness. But I would have expected broadband in the Tower, thus ensuring no end of the ruduculusly ludicrous chatter.

Gladys Hobson said...

Broadband in the Tower?
And a Fake Jake Aussie who confuses words?
I rolled off my throne laughing!
The only broad bands we have in the Tower are metal — they hold you down while being tortured.
But the sun shines and my mood is good.
I have been entertaining visitors from your land and they have put me in the picture of the state of things. They also visited Fools' Paradise and found it highly amusing. Rest in my good humour. It does not last long!

Payton L. Inkletter said...

Queen Gladys of the Olus: Metal broad bands? I don’t mind the broads, I even married one, but metal music has me worried, unless you mean brass band or some such, rather than heavy metal. So to be held down by some broads while being tortured – maybe with feathers, maybe with lacy lingerie teased along my torso – doesn’t sound too bad a fate. A bevy of bassoon connoisseurs ravishing me could be worse. Why don’t you send me some photos, and I’ll consider voluntarily entering your Tower of Terror.

Good to hear you have some Antipodeans gracing your table. TIP TO WIN THEIR APPROVAL: supply plenty of Vegemite and Milo, and do shower daily. Greet them each morning with “Ow they angin?” or “Y’gettinany?

Gladys Hobson said...

Quit griping! By the time you view the torture tower, you will be glad YOU are NOT the one in metal broad bands, as much as you would enjoy Madam Metal, adorned with narrow bands of steel (whirled to fit her cutie forms), I doubt you would enjoy her tickling stick made of rod and metal strips!

Visitors have left. Life is back to normal. They received a royal welcome and a royal farewell, as indeed do all my guests — including those in the Tower. (Tower visitors, having lost weight, are catapulted out of the slit window)

Payton L. Inkletter said...

Queen Gladys of Cumbria, your Majesty, while no doubt persists as to whether I would enjoy Madam Metal’s tickling stick (I wouldn’t), there is no doubt she would enjoy mine, but access to it would have to be gained by force or the threat thereof, either to myself or my loved ones.

Gladys Hobson said...

That is very tempting. I am open to new experiences. But does your tickling stick really tickle, or are you using the said stick as a euphemism for something… shall we say… more ephemeral? Even if more exciting while it lasts?

I see you have a new photo. I hate to see food messed about with. Sitting on it is quite disgusting!

Anonymous said...

Hi, your mate Jake popping in again.
What's this you got going with that Sheila? You're in for REAL trouble if you mess with real queens, Mate. The fertiliser piles higher - I can smell it in Sidney! But keep it up it's good for the red wrigglies.

Payton L. Inkletter said...

Queen Gladys of Ticklumbria: What is it with the British? They have such dirty minds! I was referring of course to my tickle stick made of my homegrown bamboo, a piece of Phyllostachys bambusoides, or 'Madake' to we commoners. Its frayed end stroked lightly under foot or arm, back of knees or neck, is tantamount to an amount of tickle torture of terrifyingly tantalizing taste; take that you sullied Queen, and again, and again!

Jakeificionada Ruseydooseymooseykoorey: ‘And the winner is: Siddi Knee!’ As for your admonition not to mess with ‘real Queens’, dare I suggest – notwithstanding that had you said ‘drag’ it might’ve pained me somewhat to think of a fellow Aussie male being pinkblooded – you speak with the air of a man having experience of such matters. Have you crossed swords with royalty? May I be privy to your counsel on how to dethrone a smug pair of royal bum cheeks?

Anonymous said...

Oi! Who are you calling 'dirty minded'? We Brits pride ourselves on our sense of humour. Our 'Carry On' films made millions.
Lily

Payton L. Inkletter said...

Lilyofthefollymous Valleydilleydalleymouskouri: I rest my case. Carry on Lily. (No; anti-negative; affirmative; yes – great sense of humour I agree, being the source and inspiration of the Aussie sense of humour, only we have taken it so much further.)

Anonymous said...

"privy to your counsel on how to dethrone a smug pair of royal bum cheeks?"?
Really, Ink-spotted male in bear's clothing, This is turning into a farce of 'Carry On' proportions! No, I must correct that statement: Of 'Carry On Aussies' proportions. (Or however big you claim your proportions to be!)
Queen Gladys has been besmirched beyond belief! Yet the dear gentle queen merely threatened you, NOT punished you as deserved. You should be crawling on your belly, like the worms you breed,
and begging forgiveness.
Rossley

Anonymous said...

I'll have my pennyworth too.
Queen Gladys is the most royal, most regal, most beautiful, most considerate, most kindly of women.
I would willingly be her toy boy any day. BUT never will I have that honour.
So too, would I enter her tower and, on my knees, scrub it clean of the filth of foul miscreants. But, alas, I am too loyal and honourable to be allowed inside.
Shame on you! Repent and be flogged!
Roger

Gladys Hobson said...

Time we had our say.
It is good to have support. But we must be sensitive to the feelings of a bear devoid of good manners. He is not responsible for the manner in which he was raised — up a gum tree, or so we have heard.
To find oneself stuck up said tree for years must be hard to bear. I can only imagine how difficult it would be for a queen, even a queen of our stature.
And, of course if said bear was, and still is, constantly tickled with rude bamboo implement, then there is good reason to doubt his sanity and so forgive his rudeness to our personage.
Hence, a fine of 1,000,000 red wrigglies for my estates is all the punishment I shall demand.
Make sure each worm is at least six inches in length. Not a fraction over, not a fraction under.

Payton L. Inkletter said...

Yo Rogeranonymouskouri and Rossleymous Nanakouri: My what brown noses you both have! All the better to assuage the royal pugo with.
Queen Gladys of Fantasia: You shall have my worms over my dead body! I know them all by name and kiss them each to bed at night. Be content with your sixty odd million British subjects crawling on their bellies in your presence. Up yours.

Gladys Hobson said...

I have no desire to receive worms wriggling over a dead body. We will have to get your dander up and raise your blood pressure to normal levels. The whole idea of kissing worms suggests you are lacking that which only female company can provide. You poor man, to sink to such a level of existence. You are a man to be most pitied. Maybe I should arrange for you to spend a few days with Madam Metal in my high tower?

Payton L. Inkletter said...

Queen Gladys of the Tower of Tort: My dander is fine, Your Royal Lowness, up high and taut, because YOU got my hackles up suggesting I part with even one of my worms, let alone a million. And ever remember, as Foolish Earnest Lunatic Fool, current owner of Shady Acres, at Puppinyup, is wont to say, even before moving south to that famous property, ‘What’s goose for the gander is sauce for the duck!

As for a few days with Madam Metal in your Tower of Terror, she’d be a wreck, tickled mercilessly with one frayed Madake tickle stick, especially behind her knees. She is probably the sort that Dame Edna Everage first asks us what Madam puts behind her ears to attract men? – then tells us the correct answer: “Her ankles.” But of course, if she managed to overpower me and tie me up with a bowline, would I try to untie myself and get to her? – my answer: “Afrayedknot.

Gladys Hobson said...

We seem to have opened a can of worms here. Most distasteful!
I think you need a holiday. A few days in a British shower (rain, that is) should freshen you up no end.

Payton L. Inkletter said...

Queen Gladys of the Shower of Terror: ‘Give me rain, lots of rain, and cloudy skies above, don’t hem me in... ’ I would love a few days in a British shower! We are starved in most of southern Australia for rain these past few decades. And don’t even suggest putting my worms in a can, Your Lowliness.

Anonymous said...

i find payton to be a strange and unusual bear.... i think he would look much better (and more comfortable) in a dress.....


and maybe a nice pair of earrings? some heels? a touch of lippy maybe?

just MY ten cents.... and don't forget that Zaphod Beeblebrox agrees that two out of three arms are never enough.....

Gladys Hobson said...

Not sure Mrs Inkletter would agree with that, my dear. And, he might frighten his red wrigglies.

Payton L. Inkletter said...

Zaphymous Beeblekourboxi: Funny you should think that I would look better in a dress and earrings, for Nanna Inkletter BEARS a remarkable likeness to me, and she visited us the other day, so I took the opportunity to snap her with her favourite grandchild, Baby Inkletter, on the famous Player Recliner. You’ll find the happy moment just happens to be the new header of the moment at Fool’s Paradise’ main site. You must be psychic. You wouldn’t read about it…

Anonymous said...

Pity she didn't teach you old fashioned good manners!

Prudence

Payton L. Inkletter said...

Prudencymous Kircumspekouri: ‘old fashioned good manners!’: what are these? I have never heard of them. Are they children’s songs? Fairy tales? Please explain…

KoolKoala said...

He's wearing a dress now? Eh gats, I don't know, best just relax my nerves with some of my comforts, delightful jelly beans.

KoolKoala's Favorite jelly bean colours, in order of preference:

1. black
2. yellow
3. blue
4. red
5. pink
6. green
7. orange
8. white

And that's THAT!!!

Payton L. Inkletter said...

KoolKoala: No, as I said, that k-bear in a dress is Nanna Inkletter, visiting; she just BEARS an uncanny resemblance to me. Now tell me, what are the margins of preference from jelly bean colour 1 to 8? Hare’s whisker?

Gladys Hobson said...

Forget the red one — that is mine!

I agree with Prudence. You are clearly devoid of good manners. But then with role models like a certain Dame with whom you claim acquaintance (who also pretends to be what she/he is not) it is hardly surprising.

KoolKoala said...

Of all colors there is one I like least
But if given nothing else on it I would gladly feast
White is the poorest of poor taste
On it why would I my time waste?

Orange, green and pink
All do really stink
They do not even deserve
Their own paragraph, oh what nerve!

Red is quite special I’ll admit that
I would never hide one under the mat
Its potent chemicals alter my brain
And make me deliciously insane

For blue I would cross a busy street
Backwards singing Waltzing Matilda, oh what an awesome feat!

For yellow I would gather a harvest of corn with naught but a spoon,
For them I so swoon

Compared to a black my fondness for yellow
Is truly quite mellow.
For that corn I would carry to the highest peak
Till my limbs were sore and weak
And I’d carry that corn on my back
All that I would do for a single black

Payton L. Inkletter said...

Queen Gladys of Gripe: Dame Edna and I go back a long time, and she has a good head on ‘her’ shoulders. She is a fine role model. She doesn’t terrorize hapless innocent folk like myself.

KoolKoala: You are a poet, and by your verse you do show it.
Oh, and Her Royal Highness above has won from me last December a black jelly bean, inaugurating her into the exclusive order AMOBJBRC, Ancient Mellifluous Order of the Black Jelly Bean (roasted crucifer) , yet doth she still covet psychopathically a red one.

Gladys Hobson said...

Koolkoala — don't give up the day job! And keep your paws AND your mind of my black jelly bean, earned by hard graft.
Payton — stick to red wrigglies!
Jelly beans, red or whatever, have gone to your head!

If you're going to rhyme
do it in time.
Oh what a farce
coming out of your ... mouth!

Payton L. Inkletter said...

Queen Gladysillicitus of Advantagia: I thought I was the crude one around here: ‘...Oh what a farce, coming out of your arse!’. I’ve obviously met my match.
And for the record:
KoolKoala’s a pretty good bard
This fact sits with Queen Gladys hard
She ought buy a block of processed lard
By the name of Wondersoap, literally Sard
And wash her mouth out lest she be barred.

KoolKoala said...

my fragile ego has been broken
by cruelties jealously spoken
by the horrendously cruel non-koala
payton, its you, me and allah


prepare yeselves for a worldwide red-jelly bean shortage, i've made a phonecall..........

Gladys Hobson said...

After reading that...
I rest my case.

And please do not subscribe your rudeness to my personage. Clearly, you have no comprehension of royal diction.

Being a rough fellow, we will excuse you.

Gladys Hobson said...

Ha! Koolkoala is not so cool. He is somewhat heated under his koala collar.

Kool Koala said...

*chucks a gumnut at Gladys*

And for the record, I go nude. No collar's for me.... free and easy in the wind, that's my motto!

Gladys Hobson said...

The mind boggles!

A koala bare!
That must be rare.
Come sit with me
We'll have some tea
Discuss a situation
That could affect a nation.
Tourists from far and wide
Will want to see this bear's raw hide,
And photo this phenonemon
That eats beans jellied by the ton.
Yep!

Payton L. Inkletter said...

Queen Gladys of Averse: Behold the poet laureate by Royal Appointment to Herself!

Gladys Hobson said...

Don't underestimate a monarch
Whose words are of the finest tonic
To breath new life into a nation
With glasses raised in great elation.

Payton L. Inkletter said...

Don’t overestimate the envy green
Of a grasping, nasty, and savage Queen
Whose mind is one ginormous red jelly bean
And upon hapless subjects she vents her spleen

Gladys Hobson said...

Gladys is really sweet and gentle
Payton is the one that's mental.
He rages 'gainst this tender monarch
Who only gives him lively tonic.
Be at peace you bumptious bear
Or you'll find yourself without your hair!

Payton L. Inkletter said...

Whoops! I meant don’t UNDERestimate the envy green…

Anonymous said...

PLInky confuses
over and over
and red from green.
Colour blind or just obscene?
But listen here
and listen well
PLInky behave
Or she'll give you hell

Lily

KoolKoala said...

*gasps*

you wouldn't shave a koala bear would you?

that't truly terrible!

what's the world coming too?

Anonymous said...

He'd be the coolest bear ever!

Lily

Payton L. Inkletter said...

Queen Gladys of the Mental Table:
Yes, slightly mental I might be
But better this than EGADS! be thee
My subjects to a bear doth love me
And compared with yours mine are free
Hee hee!
Lilypillymous Follykouri: PLInky refuses to behave. It’s more fun being bad.
KoolKoala: My thoughts exactly.

Gladys Hobson said...

What tripe you bears all love to say
I'll come back here another day
When sense prevails and all I see
Are messages in praise of ME!

Payton L. Inkletter said...

Lilypillymous Follykouri: Nothing like a bit of fresh air around the Crown Jewels – I must recommend Queen Gladys shave herself as well.
Queen Gladys of Tripe: No, please don’t stay away that long!

Gladys Hobson said...

Since you request it, here I am
Don't delete, it is not spam.
I warn you bear, I am not pleased -
Queens do not care for being teased.
It's time we had a friendly chat
And not another dreadful spat.
My hand I offer out to you -
But first you have to kiss my shoe.
Then friendly we can ever be
To sweetly chat and drink weak tea.
If you refuse this offer kind
I will most surely change my mind.
You'll find yourself in tower tall
Where on your knees you'll have to crawl
Denied the jelly beans you crave
Until you learn how to behave

Payton L. Inkletter said...

Queen Gladys of Camelliachinensis: Phlewwaaaah! Weak tea is for pussies! I have at least three tea bags in a mug, and then suck them dry when the tankard’s over. Gggrrrr...

Gladys Hobson said...

Tea bags? Good heavens! What sort of tea do you call that? Mugs?
Proper tea in china cups is the only way to drink tea in my palace. Serviced with dainty cucumber sandwiches and Victoria sponge cake.

Payton L. Inkletter said...

Queen Gladys of the Teapotism: As I said, pussies! Only males light in the TEAderhosen would eat dainty cucumber sandwiches and Victoria sponge cake, sipping weak tea from pinky winky tiddler china cups. I eat jarrah leaves (a famous hardwood eucalyptus in the Southwest of Australia) on dry black bread, swilled down with tea so strong a Massey Ferguson could run on it.
And sure, tea brewed in the pot is better, but you’ve got to have the time, and real men have barely got time to bark their requirements to their missuses, who are busy cooking breakfast, lunch, and dinner for us, so tea bags it most often is.

Gladys Hobson said...

Oh no! Not another male who thinks he is a super-duper high Testosterone tough guy. Have you been reading the poems in that book you advertise - The Primrose Path? Methinks that Bob Taylor has been a dreadful influence down under!
Huh! if the tea was THAT strong you would want a Massey Ferguson to pull it!
Come off it koala bear - you're no match for royalty. ADMIT it and hand over that red jelly bean!

Payton L. Inkletter said...

Queen Gladys of Redjellybeanobsession: Bob’s alright, leave him alone, and leave him out of it. He is well aware that women’s feet are shorter so they can stand closer to the sink, but don’t hold the simple state of awareness of reality against him, nor me.

As for a Massey Ferguson pulling strong tea, it couldn’t pull my tea; an Australian tractor would be needed for that, better still, a Western Australian Chamberlain donkey is about the only one with the guts commensurate to the task. Gggrrrrrr...

Gladys Hobson said...

An interesting reaction. Typical of a male chauvinist — all TALK. Comes from drinking too much of whatever brew delights them. I expect in the Aussie case, males are like that donkey - just another ass!
Keep off the jelly beans — they are too strong for a mere koala.
No doubt about it, Robert Sewell has been giving you lessons in dealing with personages such as myself. Unless, of course, you are a descendant of a Yorkshireman sent out to the colonies all those years ago? Maybe you are related.

Payton L. Inkletter said...

Queen Gladys of the Meanersex: Yes Bob Taylor, Robert Sewell, and I are cousins, almost twins and a sibling if not triplets, as are all misunderstood, unappreciated, taken for granted men, and we usually don’t wake up to the enormity of the con wrought upon us till late in life. When we finally do, we begin to assert our biological superiority, mental superiority, emotional stability, you-name-it superiority, and invite our bitches (thank you Ali G) to return to their rightful places.
Just thought you’d like know.
(Dee: '"Is he joking?" Di: "Maybe, bit strong though." Do: "He's got balls , you've got to admit." Dum: "Mmmm..., maybe it's his sense of humour, love of political incorrectness, stirring nature?" Janny [Missus Inkletter]: "I'll hang, draw, and quarter the bastard! Can hardly wait to see what Queen Gladys has got to say about this latest taunt.")

Gladys Hobson said...

I fell off off my throne laughing!
I told you to keep off those jelly beans, they've gone to your head and made you wobbly.

De, Di, Do, Dum
Inky's trouble when his humour's rum.
He's got balls? Whether red or blue
I'll boil them up - he'll drink the brew.
Superior male? What a laugh!
He'll pay for making that daft gaff!

My Tower awaits!

Payton L. Inkletter said...

Queen Gladys of Torchuremuch: How terrible! You threaten me with an unspeakable act, with flame and boiling water, cauldron and ash, committed upon an unmentionable part of me, before forcing me to drink the tincture of my most sensitive of nether portions.
That’s paying alright, simply for a shade of chauvinism; no wonder revolution! Beware Bob and Robert, manly twins, kin of mine.

KoolKoala said...

i'm a girly man!


.......and loving it!

Gladys Hobson said...

When near here, drop in for tea and you can try on my new dress. It has bells on it!

Anonymous said...

It's time you stopped pussy-footing around with this nagging Nottinghamshire bitch, cousin Payton. Cousin Geoffrey would have dented her crown with his cricket bat a long time ago, while cousin Fiery Freddie – if he were still around – would have bounced the red jelly bean right up her nether regions… at great speed! Cousin Arthur would have called out his pickets, surrounded her castle, scaled the walls and roasted her on a spit over a coal fire!
The antipodal branch of the family has spent so much time upside down that your balls have disappeared up your arse. Can't see any chance of you guys retaining the Ashes next time around – you've all lost your balls!

Regards

Cousin Robert

Gladys Hobson said...

Well spoken, Inky's cousin Robert. As everyone knows, including a dog's mate from Nottinghamshire, you can't play cricket without balls, no matter how many stumps you have — even bails won't bail you out! NO sir!
Geoffrey, Freddie and Arthur? All good strikers but little else! Lots of huff, loads of puff and much of the rough. Get real, where are they without their balls?
Queens don't strike, they rule with equanimity and grace, Just watch it, young Robert, step into my territory and you'll be joining Inky in my tall tower to face Madam Metal's tickling stick!
YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED1

Payton L. Inkletter said...

Roberticous Couscous-Ini: Great to hear from you again Cuz, you old son of a gun, chip off the old block, tom bowler, the duck’s nuts - Ow they angin?; y’gettinany? Ow’s the missus?
Now I’ve got a big brittle bone to pick with you, kerosene kin of mine: look, you’ve just basically blown my carefully crafted cover, coz Cuz, I’ve long now been the peasant pleasurably and pleasantly playing the duplicitously diplomatic cardboard card, you know, a charm offensive chapter from a tragedy tome of twist and turn with the crotchety Queen Gladys Hasbeen of NOTHINGhamshire, and she’s been lusciously lulled and loosely led into a false but full-feathered stupefying sense of seeming security right royally. I was more than happy to lose the bloody battle to win the wuckin war, you know, feign fear of her mamby pamby Tower of Terror and all that foul goose duck down, her laughable unbackable threats, her fussy fulminating at shifting shadows, but this well oiled scintillating strategy may very well be about to seize up thanks to your well intentioned but positively precipitous left-footed leap to the redundant rescue.
There still is hope, for I doubt she can read, and the jaded jester who passes on these quixotic comments may very well neglect to pass this one on, or change it such that she still thinks she’s on a winner with her laughably and ludicrously lame two-bit tactic of smoke and quivers, given that he’s likely to be looking ever eagerly for episiotomical emancipation from the nasty clutches of an archaic prosaic monarch butterfly – nay, mesmerized mouldy moth, spiraling hypnotically in towards my arcane lamp – and whose time was up when he was still in nippers’ nappies.
If we get away with your incredible indiscretion fair Cuz, do be a little more cautiously cryptic lest the old battered and buggered buzzard pull her broken crowned head out of the black and blue backside of the latest well-ripened road-kill out back of her caustic castle and cotton on to my creative capers. Anyway, copulator!

Gladys Hobson said...

Such ranting. One wonders where a simple koala bear picked up such language! Maybe he was dropped on his head in the middle of the Outback when trekking across country looking for exotic worms for his wrigglies' colony. What did you swallow, apart from much dirt? Never mind, we can forgive such indiscretion — as long as Mrs Inky cleans your mouth with soap and water, and swills it out with caustic soda - (suitably diluted lest you lose all powers of speech) if you err again. Clearly you have been influenced by that foul-mouthed cousin of yours. Cut out all Yorkshire influences, (including their puddings.) Men who treat women with disdain can hardly complain when they get treated in kind.
I will be gracious to whom I will be gracious. Improve your language and I will see to it that you will have a bunk to sleep on when you are incarcerated in my high tower. And you might get weak tea occasionally instead of murky water.
You have been warned.

KoolKoala said...

methinks i am in a land of quite unrest and certain strange. the only thing keeping my sanity is my delicious new discovery.... cheese flavoured jelly beans dipped in crushed eucalypti oil and swallowed by the dozen.

*drool*

Gladys Hobson said...

Sounds like an effective laxative. I must make sure I don't walk under a tree you are sitting on!

KoolKoala said...

for you mizzzzzzz hobble-poo, i will package one of my special surprises up and send it to you via the postal service.

such is my dedication to the cause of p.., erm, you!

Payton L. Inkletter said...

My how things are beginning to pong! There’s just no accounting for poor waste

Gladys Hobson said...

Whether waste or taste, anyone visiting this site will indeed think he/she has entered a fools paradise! Just as well they can escape to my kingdom!
On the other hand, he or she may be glad to escape the mad world outside and live where fools KNOW exactly what they are! To thine own self to true — not much of that around these days.

KoolKoala said...

to mine own self do poos!

Gladys Hobson said...

I guess that must make you a very lone ranger of the outback!

BoyKoala said...

Payton, mmmmmmm! What a stud!!!!

You are one sexy beast! Just seeing your pictures is enough to make me swear off all other bears for life!!!

Your nose, your hairy ears, your pudgy little pants, you are the complete package Mr Inkletter...... mmmm-row-sah!

Anonymous said...

boykoala must be just out of nappies. Where has he been all these years? Mummy koala keeping him from the girls?
Open your eyes, youngster, what you're looking at is a stitched-up bag of jelly beans, bristling with grey hair! Pudgy pants? You can say that again! A complete package of ... you name it, he's got it!
A stud? I've seen better stuck in the noses of adolescents! Grow up kid! Come and see ME sometime… I'll show what a REAL sexy beast looks like, sounds like, smells like, and feels like — and it aint that Inkletter.
Signed:
KoalaBearWithGumInHisHairGotWhatItTakesToGiveYouTheShakes

KoalaBoy said...

mmm.... payton ye are the boy for me!

it has been such a lonely life living as a bear inclined tpwards the perverse, but now i see you and i realise happy koala bear man, can make it success!!!!

your pants show such promise of coming off.... mmm..... show me tiger....!!

Anonymous said...

I expect any paradise to be a happy place, whether for fools or otherwise, but this one appears to be positively gay! I find the language of some of its residents hard to grasp. Are we to assume there is a tiger in residence disguised as a koala — not a mean achievement.
Methinks the residents have changed their allegiance from Jelly beans to wine gums — and in massive amounts.
I wonder what Mrs Inkletter thinks about all this shenanigans.
Impartial Observer

GayBear said...

I too have enjoyed the visual pleasures of said payton bear.

Please post nude shots post haste so I can saite myself and my desires..... anything involving a pineapple would be greatly appreciated!!!!


Boy oh boy, what a BOY!!!!!

KoalaSense said...

Payton put an end to this madness!

You are a red blooded bear who loves floosies and beer, not whoopsies and pineapples!

End your silence! Put those who fantasise about folly asunder!

Payton L. Inkletter said...

KoalaBoy [aka BoyKoala; aka GayBear?]: Aren’t there sites for bears like you, you know, with the pretty pink edges? And hey there GayBear, sorry to dash your hopes – and I can understand how attractive you must find me – however, I am a red blooded bull koala, STRICTLY a crumpet man. Hot, buttered on both sides, but crumpet only.
KoalaSense: You observe well and wisely.
Impartialus Observymous: Missus Inkletter is smugly pitiful of these straggler bent bears, for she knows only too well that I only have eyes for beavered bears. She keeps me very busy trying to satisfy her, and if I have made a mistake, it was in setting the bar so high, for now anything less than gold winning performance is ho hum.

Anonymous said...

Huh! She likely set the bar high because you were trying to limbo dance! Get real, Payton L Inkletter lest Mrs Inkletter demands the goods!

jothiek said...

I suppose you'd put quite an effort in here. There is so much to read and see I hardly know from where to start. Take CAre!

Payton L. Inkletter said...

Anony Mousy Koury: A low bar limbo dance would be relaxation compared to the demands of Missus Inkletter. But one mustn’t complain.

Jothiek: Great effort ’tis true, not the least getting the accursed Blogger editor to turn out well behaving pages. Most of my energy has been spent coaxing Blogger to perform, with head under the bonnet tinkering with arcane HTML, which I know about as well as Plutonian tectonics, with very mixed results.
Thank goodness for cocoa, which I have been driven to drink at strengths which would kill most folk, and maim the rest, and I’m grateful for jelly beans. Between the two, that’s about 98% of my diet.
Things on the site have slowed down since April, when Baby Inkletter loaned (she’ll never get it back) me Richard Dawkins’ 'The God Delusion', for I am writing a merciless and devastating critique of it, in which I will repeatedly smack the venerable Oxford don on the back of the legs for being so unforgivably sloppy, shoddy, and small.
As to where to start? Well, you could do worse than listening to the first of THE DISCARDED DRAFTS of 2006, (page down to the posting titled ‘PINJARRA: THE DISCARDED DRAFTS: further evidence, if any needed, that Payton L. Inkletter is ga ga’ and clicking on the audio link at the bottom of the short description), and begging to have me upload the next one, and the next, and the next, if you get my drift. Those discarded first drafts of my novel Fool’s Paradise – Infinity on a Shoestring Volume One are testament to the effect of seriously strong cocoa on the human brain, not even tested on animals.

Oh, and good luck with your studies Jothiek, and thanks for dropping by.

jothiek said...

Thanks. I'm downloading the audio and will be listening to it very soon. I'm sure I'll beg for more, and more. My exams are just around the corner, so I'd be taking a little break from the online world.

Take care and good luck with your critique.

Payton L. Inkletter said...

Nice to hear Jothiek. Just one suggestion: make yourself an extremely strong cocoa and imbibe it about 15 minutes prior to listening, during which ear exercise make sure you have a second similarly appointed cocoa to sip. As a cocoa virgin, you may not sleep for days.
By extremely strong I mean a very heaped – the powder should hold onto itself so that it forms a veritable gravity defying mountain – TABLESPOON of cocoa powder in a soup mug, ‘bamixed’ long and thoroughly with sugar or honey to taste (you’ll need a lot to kill the bitterness), and about 6 heaped teaspoons of skim milk powder. Start with just a little water to avoid it splattering out of the mug all over the place, and then heat it till near boiling, and top it up with boiling water. The resulting elixir, known here in Inkletterville as +paytonted with love+ cocoa, is deep chocolate brown, thick, deadly, and worth killing for.
Only men can handle it, and only the toughest of these. I wrote and recorded THE DISCARDED DRAFTS under the influence of this concoction. This will serve as a singular warning against giving children cocoa.
If you have any nieces or nephews, confiscate any cocoa and cocoa making and imbibing paraphernalia they might possess. Giveaways are cups or mugs with brown stubborn stains. Plead with your siblings not to give their children cocoa. If they love their children, they will heed your advice. If they are skeptical, simply get them to listen to what it did to Payton L. Inkletter.

Payton L. Inkletter said...

And so ends this page of comments, all 143 of them, ranging from the sublime to the ruduculus, plumbing the depths along the way, scraping the barrel and disturbing a few bottom feeders, myself included, but nevertheless we all got through with a semblance of dignity, relatively speaking.
A few notable rogues are worthy of dishonourable mention: Queen Gladys of Cumbria, with her illusions of grandeur; KoolKoala with his confusions of gender preference and his talent with verse (particular mention must also needs be paid on this front to one Gladys of former depiction); Cousin Robert with his predilection for blunt prose; and ‘Anonymoi’ (plural of ‘Anonymous’!) for their hit and run below the belt whacks of critical verbiage.
Honourable mention needs to be paid to Geoff Nelder, who wished me ‘buttered toast’, a delightful invocation I’ve never been given before, as also to Jothiek, whose fine manners left us all self consciously blushing.
Anyone who feels they deserved a particular mention, honourable or otherwise, please accept my apologies, and feel free to tackle me on it on page two of the VISITORS’ BOOK. Thank you one and all for sharing your time, your wit, and your thoughts with me on this page, which is now closed to new comments.
I invite and welcome you to keep contributing on PAGE TWO.