Tag: puns

All Stories, Fantasy, Humour

And A Crow In A Pear Tree by Nik Eveleigh

Nik

‘Twas the night before Christmas
And in the alehouse below
A creature was stirring
A miserable old crow…

“Stirring’s a bit strong a word for it to be fair Nug, but I admire your cheery optimism.”

Nugget shook his lumpy, misshapen and somewhat yellow head. “You know me Bresst. Ever cheery.”

“Been meaning to ask you something though, Nug. What’s this Christmas thing you keep singing about?”

“That? The celebration of Christopher Thomas?”

“Eh?”

“Christopher Thomas? You’ve heard the tale of Old Chris surely?” Nugget laughed goldenly as Bresst shook his head. “In that case I propose the same again to lubricate the tale. And,” he continued, poking the form slumped over the table beneath a black feathered cloak, “We’d better get another ale into him if we’ve got any chance of him functioning. Now where’s my favourite…ah! There she is! Menna! Three ales please darlin’. And a couple of those otters on a stick if you’d be so kind.”

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All Stories, Fantasy, Humour

A Shaggy Crow Story by Nik Eveleigh

Nik

typewriter

Here begins the third (official) tale of the accumulated adventures of Stormcrow.

I guarantee* that by reading Any Crow In A Storm first you will find this episode 19.73%** funnier. Episode 2 was rubbish. Just ask the Literally Stories editors. Go on, I dare you***

* not an actual guarantee.

** not an actual accurate number.

*** an actual dare.

Either way, in this episode we find our halfling-hating legend so full of his own splendour that he can’t even be bothered to turn up until the last couple of paragraphs…

–

“Will he be long d’ya reckon?”

“How the bloody hell should I know?” The large-headed swarthy guard rolled his eyes and snorted only to have the effect ruined by a migrant rope of snot who, in excitement and glee at having found a hitherto unknown trap door, smacked straight into the guard’s epiglottis. Mucusy dreams of the bright lights of throat town were shattered in the hawk and spit moments that followed, and as he lay dying, drying, against the stump of an ancient oak the plucky little gobbet found solace in the fact that he had, at the very least, had a go.

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