Category Archives: Short Stories

The Magic Moaster

Its Sunday innit, and wanna go up the boot fair, get rid of some of this old tut, offload it on to some muppets. MUUUPPITTTTS! Prollum is, all a roads are busy, kewing up for miles to get there, right pain in the arse when you wanna go anywhere else like, but I’m smart see, so I leaves early, get’s there for 12 innit. Reckon I’ll ave a fag while I’m waiting for Farmer Giles to open ‘is bloody gate. Muppit. Come on matey. Nice little earner for im though, all the other HIGH CLASS VENDORS WAITING TO SELL THEIR WARES la-di-da, must be rakin it in taking a fiver from each of us. Reckon I’ll set up by the ‘ot dog van, all the hungery punters will have to look at my tut while they kew up for snausages. Smart see?


wasn’t to ard gettin past the Busy – he was only there for traiffic anway. right, lets get this boot open. The septics call em trunks don’t they. muppets. Mind you, i got plenty a junk in my trunk innit, so maybe their on to somefink. Maybe, maybe THAT’S FAR MORE APPROPRIATE FOR MY “TRADING SINCE TODAY” merchandise retailing venture. mwah ha ha. come get it, muppits. Already some keen punters are doing the rounds, swarming round the boots of the motahs, like flies.

“gis a chance mate, lettus get me stuff out. five minutes matey, five minutes”

can’t believe this lot will wanna take Chris and Emmas leftovers, bits of stuff from the kids, ropie old gift’s that i never wanted. travel iron, that”ll go a bundle, pay for me pitch should do. heh, be good to be shot of this old shite, eating up room under the stairs, need to free it up so i can put some more gear away. a few tasty shirts left over from the office days. washed some of em, couldn’t be bothered with doin all of them though. ooof, look at em pit stains – only muppets would wan em. take em for cleaning the car, then burn em afterwards.

“ow much for these?”

I look’s at the 10p i’ve clearly written on the box. the p is a bit wonky, but maybe he’s a bumpkin an can’t read.

“fifteen pence each mate, going cheap” muppit

nuther fella comes up, puts 10p in the jar. picks up the hole lot, box an all, and walks off with it. I shouts at im, all ryechus indignashun,

“ere, come back ere!”
“waaas problem? changed yer mind an not sellin them then?”
“still sellin them mate, but i want more that 10p for that lot”
“it says 10p”
“10p each mate, 10p each. not 10p the lot you muppet-uh”
“trade descriptions sunshine,” he says slowly grinnin, all smug like, “it says 10p on the box. taking the box”

Luckily, I see the Busy, probably sniffing round for stolen goods.  I calls him over and explains, so the Busy catches old of the theef and reads him the riot act, gives him a clip round the ear, takes him down the station. I expect im and his mates work him over a bit, serves him right for being a theeving gippo.  Pikey!  Piiiikeeeeyyyyy!

Course, none of that ‘appens for real.  swat my quack calls REVENGE FANTASIES OF THE IMPOTENT, s’all in my ead innit. still, eads a lot more quieter now, since them pills he gave us. ardly ever have arguments in my ead now.  nice.


I can’t believe it, some old doris as bort all the shirts for her old fella, even the ones with the pit stains! ha ha ha don’t sniff em mate.

“allo darlin, you look like you wanna buy a travel iron!  Lovely job,  look, andle folds down an everything, almost brand new it is.  yours for a fiver.  ah, ta love”  Result, that’s my pitch paid for, all the rest is just profit now, have a sherbert tonight to celebrate, clearing the house, loosin the tut, makin a few bob.


just two bits left now, a couple o samwich toasters.  each one is the same as the other one – cept for the one the right.  it has a little speaker on it, and when the samwich is done, it makes a mo0000o sound.  both of em have that black and white pattern on em, like them freeshun cows.  i aven’t ad a toastie in ages – got fed up in the end, all that mucking about and it just leaks out the bread and leaves a great big gob of hot steam to burn your chops on, right nasty.  always seemed like a good idea, and the freeshun pattern clinched it for me.  the one on the left, i’m appy sellin it for a fiver if i can, i don’t need them now i’ve got that george formby grill.  funny fing is, i didn’t know he was black.  i seed him in those old films, and ee always came out white in them i’m sure.

“Get your moo-toasters ere, two of a perfect pair.  Fiver each.  Mooo-toasters, moooooo-oasters.  Moasters!”

i flog the safe one for three quid to an old beggar, i warn him about burning his falsies.  he spits them in to his hand, all clever like. ucccchhhh, i don wanna see that.  he won’t burn them, but he’ll burn his gums all the same, muppet.  oh well, i’ve done im a favour on the price.

just the last one left now, but a bit nervous about flogging it.  ope it behaves itself.  i’m lookin round in case the Busy is still here.  don’t want im kicking off if a punter buys it.  when nobodies lookin, i risk looking inside, check it’s all clean.  and safe.  i lift the lid a little bit, and take a peek, all careful like.  jeeeeebus. all safe.  I breathe out, didn’t even know i was olding my breff.

fing is, first time i made a toastie in this one, the one with speaker, it was a bit…queer.  i put some pukka bread in there, buttered both sides an all, like it says to, cheese and beans on the inside.  set it all going, went for a wazz while i was waiting, jus for something to do like.  anyways, i eard the mooo-ing, and was right pleased with it.  cept when i opened it. samwich had gone, and instead, there was a big cow’s eye in there, blinking at me.  i slammed the lid and ran back to the bathroom. jeeebus. must have imagined it, i fort, so I went back and opened it again.  sure enough, cow-eye was still there.  in the end, it wouldn’t go away, so i had to use the first toastie for me tea.  when i’d finished scoffing, i ad to get rid of the eye, can’t risk leaving it in there to go off.

next time I tried it, wasn’t a cow eye.  wasn’t cheese and ham either.  looked like a cow’s ear, but with all the fur burnt off.  brown cow, though, not a freeshun.  strange that.  next time, egg and snausage toasty, came out as cow tongue. i went through a whole loaf of bread seein what it would come up wiv next, and next, and next. Nostrils, ox tail, strange tubes with a flappy bit, some brain or liver, couldn’t properly tell. hooof.  udder was the worst, smelled of burnt milk.  the last straw though, was the peanut butter, blue cheese and lime pickle toasty.  I fort there was no way it could change that, however magic the singing toaster had become.  i was wrong.  when it moooo-ed its final mooo, i opened it up. it was writhing. Writhing with tiny cows, the size of peas.  they looked like ladybirds, all climbing over each other, but all black and white.  i prodded one wiv me knife, and he climbed on.  i brought him close to my eyes, so i could see it better. it looked at me, and I looked at.  he opened is wing carapace and flew off.  reminded me of a girl from the office.  she used to work upstairs on the first floor ON THE MEZZANINE DON’T YOU KNOW, IT’S A MEZZANINE, IT LOOKS OVER THE GROUND FLOOR and she always used to wear these metallic shiny shirts.  I told her one day that her shiny green one looked LIKE A BEETLE’S WING CARAPACE and that i was expecting it to split open down her back and for wings to come out, and for her to fly over the balcony to get downstairs to the coffee machine. IT’S A MEZZANINE.  Didn’t see much of her after that, but i would often imagine her flying off the balcony, body hanging limply beneath HER GOSSAMER WINGS, settling gently by the coffee machine.  I wonder if she could land on the roof of a bus.  I wonder if a fig gets cort in your froat it hatches into a beetle.  Or is that olives?


I takes my earnings and kew up for a snausage.  Glad i shifted the magic moaster, even if i only got a squid for it.  Now to get home before all others do a bunk and clog up the roads again, muppppets!  Result.