Here are some kid’s stories which I have recently had rejected by several publishers. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong but it seems to me that it’s a really difficult market to get in to unless you’re already famous like David Walliams or Ricky Gervais or those douchebags from McFly. Plus I really feel like kids stories are quite dumbed down and patronising. Children don’t need this rose tinted view of the world where everything has a happy ending and valuable lessons are learned. They want to make their own decisions about what’s right and wrong and they want a vomit inducing dose of the truth and I’m here to give it to them.
Patrick the Pirate without a Parrot
Patrick the Pirate does not have a parrot.
He doesn’t have a peg-leg or an eye patch or a Pirate’s hat either.
When he says ‘Argh!’ no one is frightened.
When he says ‘Walk the plank ye land lubber’ no one walks the plank.
Patrick the Pirate just wears his pyjamas, he doesn’t even have a ship or any Pirate gold.
Patrick the Pirate doesn’t have a gold earring or a moustache or a skull & crossbones on a flag.
He couldn’t pilfer a vessel or sail the high seas or hoist a main sail or swing from a trapeze.
He can’t climb up in to the crow’s nest to look through a telescope,
Or plot a course on a map or tie knots in a rope.
Because he’s clinically insane.
He was found in a shopping precinct in Norwich walking around in his pyjamas with a crutch he’d stolen from a local hospital and a pair of sunglasses on with one lens missing shouting “I’m a pirate, who wants to cup my balls?”
He was trying to get a cat to balance on his shoulder because he thought it was a parrot and, as previously explained,
Patrick the Pirate does not have a Parrot.
Steven the Angry Bunny
Steven is a very angry bunny. Believe me kids he’s seen some shit.
I don’t know what non-fictional accounts your parents usually read to you at night about the North Korean Gulags or the Killing Fields of Cambodia but this is much, much worse.
Steven’s Mother died of Myxomatosis when he was only a baby. And if that isn’t enough to fuck you up his father got shot and then cooked and eaten in what the two-legged ones call a ‘Gastropub’.
And as if that wasn’t bad enough some asshole even had the temerity to leave a review on Trip Advisor describing Steven’s dad as being “a delicate meat, which can be dry when overcooked and doesn’t really stand up to strong flavours.” Imagine if some pompous douchebag said that about your dad. Either of your parents for that matter, it’d piss you off.
Anyway whenever Steven met another animal he was usually overcome with a powerful urge to “fuck their shit up” and today was no exception when he bumped in to Kyle the Fox just outside of the local copse after closing time.
“Alright mate?” Asked Kyle
“I ain’t your fucking mate” replied Steven. Like most angry bunnies Steven spoke with a strong cockney accent even though he was actually from Hertfordshire.
“Ok calm down I didn’t mean any offence” said Kyle, and then added under his breath, “you fucking psycho.”
“Right that’s it, you looking to get fucking cut you mug!?”
“No, no, I’m really sorry. Look I can’t help it man, I’m a fox, I’m naturally sly it’s just in my nature. I thought I had it under control.”
Steven considered this for a moment.
“Ok, fair enough. My counsellor is always telling me I need to get my emotions under control but I’m just such an angry bunny. I can’t help it either.”
“Well hey man, maybe we can help each other out, if you know what I mean?” said Kyle with a sly wink.
“I ain’t a fucking poof if that’s what you mean you fucking shit stabbing queer, one time that happened, I’ll gouge your fucking eyes out you skank fox cunt…”
“Sorry, I was just being sly again for no reason. I mean we can just help each other with our problems, we can be friends.”
“No one’s ever wanted to be my friend before.”
“I can see why you fucking nutjob.”
“Listen here you sly fuck!”
“Look, this could go on all day.”
“Alright. If you really want to help me out you can help me find the farmer who shot my dad, then we can be friends.”
“I know where the farmer lives”, said Kyle.
“Really, you do?”
“Yeah. It’s pretty fucking obvious seeing as we all live on the farm and there’s only one house in the immediate vicinity. Sorry!”
“Arrrgggghhhhhhh.” Said Steven.
So off they went, the two best friends, up to the farmhouse together.
They burrowed in under the back door and found the farmer in his kitchen with a big pot on the stove, getting his dinner ready and Steven coshed him over the head with a rolling pin and shoved him straight in the pot.
“What the Jesus and Mary Chain is going on?” exclaimed the farmer.
“I’ll tell you what’s going on”, said Steven. “You’re going in a fucking casserole you mug. Get in there with the carrots and the bay leaves. Get in there with the onions and the stock and a small handful of crushed juniper berries, see how you fucking like it!”
“Why are you doing this?” enquired the farmer.
“My dad wasn’t fucking dry! You can’t just stick a lid on a casserole and shove it in the oven you have to use a cartouche with that shit. Too much steam can actually dry the meat out, it sounds counterintuitive but it’s fucking true now get in there!”
And Steven boiled the farmer in the pot and he knew that he could finally let go of all his hatred and not be such an angry bunny any more.
Then he stoved in that sly fucking fox’s head for good measure with a pestle, or a mortar. He could never remember which one was which.