Well, that's the new episode of Skeleton Bob written, if not illustrated – that’s what I’m off to do as soon as I’ve finished typing this – so that’ll be one more task ticked off my end of year madness marathon. The whole ‘Four Sheep of the Apocalypse’ thing turned out to be a non-flyer I’m afraid. Seemed like a good idea at the time (Christ, I think I’m going to have to get that carved on my tombstone...), but when I actually got down to it the whole thing was becoming a bit too dark. I usually like a touch of the old darkness*, but when I found myself looking for rhymes for boiling clouds of fire and lakes of simmering blood, I started to think that maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.
So I’ve done something completely different instead. Something less ‘End Of The World’-ish. Mind you, it does mean that the world will never see such poetry as:
Now Skeleton Bob, one Sunday at 2,
Suddenly found he had nothing to do,
Bob’s mum was off reading a book by Bram Stoker,
Bob’s dad was downstairs with his mates, playing poker,
Playing for pennies and the souls of the damned,
Eating cheese-doodles and toasties with jam.
Ah well, it’s a shame, but what can you do? Other than run around in your underpants, trying to scare the turnips.
And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some drawin’ and paintin’ and swearin’ to do...
* NOT the rock band - all that twiddly high screechy singing doesn't toast my muffins in any way, shape, or form.