22 September 2005

Patently Plagiarised Penguin Photograph

No, contrary to popular belief, I am not totally obsessed with anvils. I also like this penguin photograph. I hope that, technically, this isn't plagiarism because I haven't claimed it to be my photograph -- but I'm keeping this title as I like it. This programme is on air basically to keep Lucie quiet whilst I get my bearings and write longer anvil-related UnRadio programmes. I also hope those pesky owners and broadcasters don't get back in here for a while. Those old programmes were awful. Hardly any anvils at all...

02 September 2005

The Story Of Anvil Boy

Well, it seems some of you have been wondering what I've been doing in here all this time. The answer is, writing a story -- forging it by hammering it against my anvil. It goes like this:

Once upon a time, there was a little boy who liked anvils. One day he applied to take the BSc Study of Anvils course at the University of Anvilania. The University told him he would need to study hard at college to get a place, and he did. He worked hard on his Anvil Studies AS course but was shocked when he failed. He became sad and cried big salty tears onto his anvil, which started to rust. Then he had a good idea: He would take the Anvil exams again! This he did, and achieved enough marks to get a C grade, which made him happy. The C grade would be just enough to squeeze him into the Study of Anvils course he wanted. All he had to do was show the University the magical blue grade when he received the it. But when the carrier pigeon arrived, it brought bad news. The evil warlock Edward Excel had stolen his C grade and replaced it with an X, the Grade of the Damned. The University would not admit the little boy with his X. They said, "Begone! Do not darken the door of the Admissions Office until you have found this grade which you claim to be yours!" Once again, the little boy cried onto his rusty anvil. Oh, what could he do? His poor anvil rusted so much it fused to his other anvil, to which it stood next. Luckily, the little boy's teacher, Henry Strode, heard him crying and asked, "'Ello 'ello 'ello? What's all this then?" The little boy tearfully explained what naughty Edward had done to him, sobbing all the while. When he finished telling Henry, Henry was angry. "How dare Edward do such things? Do not fear, little boy, I will tell him off," he said. And with those words, the teacher thrust his magic wand into an electric wand sharpener and wrote letter after letter to Edward. But Edward did not write back. Suspecting something amiss, Henry picked up his cloak from the dry-cleaners and went to see him. When he got there, Henry saw the reason why Edward had not responded: he had been buried up to his neck in letters! The warlock could not even move his hands to cast a curse upon them all, and could only beg to be freed. Henry agreed to dig him out, but only on condition that the little boy got the C grade he so deserved. And it was so. And they all lived happily ever after -- even Edward Excel, who gave up his old ways and took up professional croquet, which is marginally less evil.

Paragraphs? What are paragraphs?