Tag: humour

Black Cat Stories: hard to home and just as likely to honk in your shoe as purr in your faceLeave a comment

Five Shades for Greg 

Suzanne Conboy-Hill

I pulled him closer, my hands almost greedily devouring his body. I had to get this right. I had to make these darned things fit around the bulging muscles of his arms and, oh my, the bulging muscles in his thighs. I would think about his bulging manhood later, right now I had to concentrate like I’d never concentrated before. I pressed my lips together into a hard line and rolled my eyes. It was going to be hard, very hard – and that was a promise! I smothered a smirk. ‘Stand up, Greg,’ I ordered. It felt very nice … Continue reading Five Shades for Greg 

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Black Cat Stories: hard to home and just as likely to honk in your shoe as purr in your faceLeave a comment

Prune-Ella, Queen of the Dessert

Suzanne Conboy-Hill

Cynicism. A withering of the heart through repeated, constant, undeserved criticism of genuine and meritorious effort? Well not desolation or abuse that’s for sure; those give rise to defeat, hatred, uncomplicated self-destruction by the slow degrees of personal deconstruction. No, cynicism has a sense of survival to it, vengeance even. It is veiled power, happy to bide its time, content to stalk its target until the moment and the words are most apposite. Cynicism is miserable nastiness out in a posh frock and allowed to mix with its targets. Ah but bitching, that’s a much more entertaining option. Perhaps bitching … Continue reading Prune-Ella, Queen of the Dessert

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Black Cat Stories: hard to home and just as likely to honk in your shoe as purr in your faceLeave a comment

A very particular view

Suzanne Conboy-Hill

We thought they’d never get this far; that they’d self-destruct or get bored. Or just take long weekends to go shopping in Wal-Mart or Ikea and leave the ‘where do we come from’ pile of shit alone. I mean, we gave them enough scripts, and plays, and performances, and fables to keep them occupied. Or so we thought. The heretics, smug bastards, have been banging on forever about how, all the time we were busy putting together some flat-out awesome scene, like the aurora borealis for instance, they were niggling away at the cosmic onion and peeling bits of it … Continue reading A very particular view

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Not Being First Fish – second edition with illustrations and six new stories

Suzanne Conboy-Hill

I don’t have to launch my books, they just slip their moorings at dead of night and sneak off. This one, ostensibly by the elusive P Spencer Beck, made its escape yesterday. Described by one reader, who may or may not be a friend and who may or may not have been referring to letting it get loose at all, as ‘sheer lunacy’, this is a work of non-fiction. Little diary snippets reliant on the single perspective and grossly biased memory of the one observer so most likely of dubious veracity.  Not exactly fake news, more hake news, i.e a … Continue reading Not Being First Fish – second edition with illustrations and six new stories

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‘Not Being First Fish’

Suzanne Conboy-Hill

A wasp drops onto the pond, flails about a bit in an unequal struggle with the surface tension and, GLOMP! A fish snaps it up and disappears.  Then – Splash! Thrash! PWARGH! Wasp floats to the surface, not so lively but still kicking.  Another fish eyes it up.  GLOMP! Then PWARGH!  And back comes the wasp, this time with distinctly critical vital signs.  Fish Number Three approaches, gets a bead on its profile and GLOMP! Fish disappears. I wait.  No regurgitation; this wasp is being recycled. To recycle a wasp, it’s smart to be Third Fish.   From Not Being First Fish by P Spencer-Beck.  Available … Continue reading ‘Not Being First Fish’

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‘Poetry is Weird and Quite Possibly Illegal’

Suzanne Conboy-Hill

I have found that poetry describes itself in terms of both feet and meters, thereby flouting European Directives on measurement, which may still be a hanging offence in parts of Scotland[1]. Worse, I discovered that poets communicate using an exclusive and arcane language that looks like a hybrid of algebra and a medieval incantation. There are iambic pentameters, metonymys, tankas, and tragic flaws. There are also words I’m pretty sure have been made up and get changed, like code, so that only insiders know what they mean. I’m onto them though. These are some of the ones I think I’ve … Continue reading ‘Poetry is Weird and Quite Possibly Illegal’

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‘Fish and Chips’

Suzanne Conboy-Hill

There are days when, having polished off your last borrowed book and even cast a worryingly enthusiastic glance over Alan Titchmarsh’s column in Radio Times, there’s no other way of avoiding the stack of unopened Scientific Americans than checking out the Parish magazine[1].  In the last issue there was an invitation to write in with a send-up of a local business.  At least I think that’s what it said.  Anyway, inspired by the floods that had paralysed the village some while back, I get cracking on a description of ‘my’ micro-chipping service for fish…   Fish n Chips Fish n … Continue reading ‘Fish and Chips’

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‘Trapped by a CAJE’

Suzanne Conboy-Hill

After an unenthusiastic flurry of activity, job descriptions are submitted to a central panel for the purpose of matching them to particular pay bands.  Equal pay for equal value – a fine and admirable principle.  Well yes, just so long as your job description is not being analysed by a psychotic software package keen to wreak revenge for unspecified wrongs perpetrated on its mother – in my case a Commodore 64 upon which I once wrote a programme that scrolled bugger bugger bugger on a loop like a set of vindictive credits. CAJE is a semantic analysis package which responds … Continue reading ‘Trapped by a CAJE’

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‘When the Borg Took Our Payslips’

Suzanne Conboy-Hill

I have occasionally been accused, by the terminally unwise it has to be said, of showing a preference for the sci fi fantasy world of Star Trek over twenty-first century reality.  You know reality: that’s where the cat throws up over your foot just as you sit down to eat and the gift you ordered on line for fast delivery is sitting in a DHL depot, fifty miles further away than the shop you didn’t have time to go to in the first place, because you weren’t in when they called[1].  Neither are they when you phone them, but we … Continue reading ‘When the Borg Took Our Payslips’

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‘The One About the Home Guard’

Suzanne Conboy-Hill

The local Parish newsletter arrived last week and there, among the notifications about malfunctioning streetlights, an incidence of malicious roundabout furniture knocking-over and the news that we came second (out of three) in the South East in Bloom (Rural Villages) competition, was the alarming revelation that we have a Disaster Committee. In the event of a nuclear or biological attack, the Committee will immediately set off to guard our water supplies, man the village hall into which we will all be evacuated, and scoop up elderly residents in order to feed them soup and biscuits from supplies stored, it seems, … Continue reading ‘The One About the Home Guard’

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