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vespertine reading

Под покровом ночи. Flaming goose

For ten whole years the silly Queen
Repeated this absurd routine.
Then suddenly, one awful day,
She heard the Magic Mirror say,
’From now on, Queen, you’re Number Two.
Snow-White is prettier than you!’
The Queen went absolutely wild.
She yelled, ’I’m going to scrag that child!
I’ll cook her flaming goose! I’ll skin ’er!
’I’ll have her rotten guts for dinner!’
She called the Huntsman to her study.
She shouted at him, ’Listen, buddy!
’You drag that filthy girl outside,
’And see you take her for a ride!
’Thereafter slit her ribs apart
’And bring me back her bleeding heart!’

Лет десять млела Королева
от однотонного напева,
пока в один ужасный час
не раздалось: «Белее вас
мисс Белоснежка — и она
на первом месте быть должна!»
Тут королева в крик и в брань:
«Повесить маленькую дрянь!
В печи изжарить! Как я зла!
Я яд крысиный припасла
к обеду... Нет: мой Егерь, где вы?
Найдите пакостную деву,
спросите: “Дева, вам охота
со мной поехать на охоту?”
Скачите в лес с ней на коне.
Зарежьте деву. Сердце — мне».

Под покровом ночи. Quack

‘Oh, isn’t it lovely!’ cried William. ‘I’ve always wanted to know what it feels like to be a bird!’

‘Your wings are not getting tired, are they, dear?’ Mr Gregg asked Mrs Gregg.

‘Not at all,’ Mrs Gregg said. ‘I could go on for ever!’

‘Hey, look down there!’ said Philip. ‘Somebody is walking in our garden!’

They all looked down, and there below them, in their own garden, they saw four enormous wild ducks! The ducks were as big as men, and what is more, they had great long arms, like men, instead of wings.

The ducks were walking in a line to the door of the Greggs’ house, swinging their arms and holding their beaks high in the air.

‘Stop!’ called the tiny Mr Gregg, flying down low over their heads. ‘Go away! That’s my house!’

The ducks looked up and quacked. The first one put out a hand and opened the door of the house and went in. The others went in after him. The door shut.

Роальд Даль. Краткая история происхождения клипа «Go Bananas».

books   comedy   english reading   Roald Dahl   The Magic Finger   vespertine   vespertine reading

Под покровом ночи. Mr Mushroom Cloud

“I’m in charge now. You had your chance and now it’s my turn. And what I want is for everything to die.”

“But Mr Mushroom Cloud,” someone might say, “surely you don’t want me to die. I’ve never hurt anyone in my life.”

“That’s very nice of you, I’m sure,” the mushroom cloud would say, “but I’m still going to kill you.”

“But Mr Mushroom Cloud,” someone else might say, “I was about to go on holiday. Can’t you wait until I get back before you kill me?”

“No, I can’t,” the mushroom cloud would say.

“But Mr Mushroom Cloud,” someone else might say, “I was about to tell my friend that I love her.”

“Well, you should have done it earlier, shouldn’t you?” the mushroom cloud would say.

“But Mr Mushroom Cloud,” someone else might say, “I’ve only just been born.”

“What’s that got to do with it?” the mushroom cloud would say.

“But Mr Mushroom Cloud, surely you’re not going to kill me?” a little toadstool growing in a field might say. “We’re like family.”

“Nice try, little toadstool,” the mushroom cloud would say, “but just because you’re the same shape as me doesn’t mean that you’re going to get special treatment.”

Toadstool is a spore-bearing fruiting body of a fungus, typically in the form of a rounded cap on a stalk, especially one that is believed to be inedible or poisonous. Just like a toad. On a stool.

comedy   drama   english reading   english words   Magic   Mike Russell   novels   vespertine   vespertine reading

Под покровом ночи. Municipals

“How do we get in?”

“Over here,” Lilian said.

I followed her voice to a gate in the fence. There was a sign on the gate that said:

“Dunton Municipal Tip. No unauthorised entry.”

“I thought municipals were kangaroos,” I said. “Are there kangaroos in the tip?”

“I don’t think so, Charlie,” Lilian said. “Can you open the gate?”

books   english reading   Magic   Mike Russell   novels   vespertine   vespertine reading

Под покровом ночи. The Price of Debauchery

My mother said, ‘There are no joys
In ever kissing silly boys.
Just one small kiss and one small squeeze
Can land you with some foul disease.’

‘But Mum, d’you mean from just a kiss?’
‘You know quite well my meaning, miss.’

Last week when coming home from school
I clean forgot Mum’s golden rule.
I let Tom Young, that handsome louse,
Steal one small kiss behind my house.

Oh, woe is me! I’ve paid the price!
I should have listened to advice.
My mum was right one hundredfold!
I’ve caught Tom’s horrid runny cold!

books   comedy   english reading   poetry   Rhyme Stew   Roald Dahl   vespertine   vespertine reading

Под покровом ночи. Talk Like a Playa

‘Jeez,’ Charlie said, turning and looking out the back window.

Minty Fresh seemed to turn his full attention to driving safely now. ‘What the hell are those things?’

‘I call them sewer harpies. They’re the things that call to us from the storm sewers. They’re a lot stronger now than they used to be.’

‘They’re scary is what they are,’ said Minty.

‘I don’t know,’ Charlie said. ‘Have you gotten a good look at them? I mean, they got the badonkadonk out back and some fine ba-joopbadangs up front, know what I’m sayin’, dog? Buss a rock wid a playa?’ He offered his fist for Minty to buss him a rock, but alas, the mint one left him hangin’.

‘Stop that,’ Fresh said.

‘Sorry,’ Charlie said.

‘Talk Like a Playa in Ten Days or Less — Stone Thug Edition?’ Minty asked.

Charlie nodded. ‘We got the CD into the store a couple of months ago. I practice in the van. How am I doing?’

‘Your Negro-osity is uncanny. I had to keep checking to make sure you’re still white.’

A Dirty Job   books   Christopher Moore   comedy   english reading   novels   vespertine   vespertine reading

Под покровом ночи. Working Outside

‘It’s outside work, isn’t it,’ said Tam, by way of explanation.

‘So?’ I asked.

‘English people don’t like working outside, do they?’

‘Well, I’ve been out in it all day,’ I said. ‘And I’m English.’

Tam looked at me. ‘I know that,’ he said. ‘But you’ve been with us, haven’t you?’

Под покровом ночи. Mountains

I said, ‘You shouldn’t drop litter, you know.’

‘Why not?’ said Tam.

‘Well,’ I replied. ‘You know. It looks bad, doesn’t it? Spoils the countryside and everything.’

‘That’s a load of shite and you know it,’ he said.

‘No it isn’t,’ I said. ‘You can’t just go chucking rubbish all over the place.’

‘You can if you want,’ said Tam. ‘All this stuff about litter is just English pathetic . . .’ He trailed off, and then started again. ‘This is Scotland. You’re in Scotland and these mountains have been here millions of years. It doesn’t make any difference, a few fag packets for fuck sake. That’s just English fucking pathetic shite.’

‘He’s right,’ said Richie.

‘Yeah . . . I suppose so,’ I said.

I couldn’t see any mountains.

Под покровом ночи. The Great Report

Later that evening I sat down, once more, to plot the framework of my Great Report. The clearing I’d made on my desktop was still there, untouched and un-encroached-on—save by a small, dead moth whose corpse had landed there after whatever parachute it had put its faith in had failed. I swept it aside; and, once again, the space was pristine, perfect, blank. Tabula rasa: I pronounced the words aloud as I surveyed the leather, breathing in its smell of cut grass and detergent. Just sitting before it, above it, filled me with a sense of infinite possibility. I pictured myself as an industrialist, viewing a clearing in the forest where his factory would go; or as an urban planner, given carte blanche to design from scratch a new, magnificent cosmopolis; a mathematician, a topologist or trigonometrist, contemplating space in its most pure and abstract form; an explorer, sea-discoverer, world-conqueror from centuries gone by, standing at his prow as his dominion-to-be hove into view: this virgin territory that he would shape after himself and make his own. Placing my laptop in the middle—the exact, geometric centre—of this clearing, I opened a fresh document and stretched its borders out until it filled my screen entirely. As I did this, though, just as the document’s expanding lower boundary reached the bottom of my screen, my finger momentarily lost contact with the glide-pad; when the finger made contact again, it caused the applications docked invisibly at the screen’s base to pop up, impinging on the clean neutrality both of the screen and of my mind. Trying to hide them once more, I accidentally tapped on the docked news page, which slipped from its box, inflating as it rose, like some malicious genie, taking the screen over—and in an instant, all the extraneous clutter, all the world-debris, that I’d so painstakingly eliminated flooded back into the clearing, ruining it.

books   comedy   drama   english reading   Satin Island   Tom McCarthy   vespertine   vespertine reading

Под покровом ночи. Where is Wellington?

‘The human bean,’ the Giant went on, ‘is coming in dillions of different flavours. For instance, human beans from Wales is tasting very whooshey of fish. There is something very fishy about Wales.’

‘You mean whales,’ Sophie said. ‘Wales is something quite different.’

‘Wales is whales,’ the Giant said. ‘Don’t gobblefunk around with words. I will now give you another example. Human beans from Jersey has a most disgustable woolly tickle on the tongue,’ the Giant said. ‘Human beans from Jersey is tasting of cardigans.’

‘You mean jerseys,’ Sophie said.

‘You are once again gobblefunking!’ the Giant shouted. ‘Don’t do it! This is a serious and snitching subject. May I continue?’

‘Please do,’ Sophie said.

‘Danes from Denmark is tasting ever so much of dogs,’ the Giant went on.

‘Of course,’ Sophie said. ‘They taste of great danes.’

‘Wrong!’ cried the Giant, slapping his thigh. ‘Danes from Denmark is tasting doggy because they is tasting of labradors!’

‘Then what do the people of Labrador taste of?’ Sophie asked.

‘Danes,’ the Giant cried, triumphantly. ‘Great danes!’

‘Aren’t you getting a bit mixed up?’ Sophie said.

‘I is a very mixed-up Giant,’ the Giant said. ‘But I does do my best. And I is not nearly as mixed up as the other giants. I know one who gallops all the way to Wellington for his supper.’

‘Wellington?’ Sophie said. ‘Where is Wellington?’

‘Your head is full of squashed flies,’ the Giant said. ‘Wellington is in New Zealand. The human beans in Wellington has an especially scrumdiddlyumptious taste, so says the Welly-eating Giant.’

‘What do the people of Wellington taste of?’ Sophie asked.

‘Boots,’ the Giant said.

‘Of course,’ Sophie said. ‘I should have known.’

books   comedy   english reading   novels   Roald Dahl   The BFG   vespertine   vespertine reading
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