Sunday, 18 March 2007

The Great Knight

The warm, crackling open fire cast a comforting orange glow throughout the tavern. Jack, a young apprentice of the town's fighters guild had just completed his first official assignment. However this night unlike those previous, he was sat alone, staring into the fire with no expression on his face. He looked troubled, but they say the first contract is always the hardest.

Jack was raised on a nearby farm by his father Ulrik. Three years ago he was killed by a group of orcs raiding it for food and supplies. Thankfully, a gentleman by the name of Julius Thend came to the boy's aid whilst on night patrol.

With no family left, Julius took the boy in and taught him the ways of the blade. Whether it was of natural talent, or the burning passion to avenge his father's death, the boy caught on very swifty. He trained night and day for two years and it was today that he was given the task to fight real blood.

Meanwhile, George was hoovering in Dixons. He had sold four toasters that morning.

Friday, 9 March 2007

George's Fourth Birthday

Time. What is it? Some say it is the continuum of experience in which events pass from the future through the present to the past. Others are completely baffled by that last statement and just use it as a rough guideline in which to boil an egg. Whichever way you look at it (put that egg down a moment would you please?), there comes a time in every little orange man's life when he is in good need of a decent knee's-up, or as the locals like to call it a "birthday" (party).

It was the summer of 1984, beards were at an all time high, hippies were extinct, and Steven Seagal was doing press-ups in my Living Room. George awoke suprisingly early that morning, considering the previous evening's milkshake-fueled bender. He rose from his bed at about 7:05am, rubbing his eyes gently with a yellow flannel given to him by Bill Cosby. His vision was still slightly blurred due to over-tiredness, but he continued to the bathroom with success.

I would like to use this moment to try and explain how magical George's bathroom really is. You see, unlike most bathrooms built in the 14th century, George's contains two toilets covered in purple glitter that face each other and a vortex to an alternate dimensional reality of Skegness. The crazy golf course there is even more insane than usual, where people are forced to use scotch eggs as balls against their own will.

After some "brief relief" in the magical bathroom, George went down to the kitchen where his mother prepared him a "full-english birthday breakfast" consisting of two fried eggs, sausages, three hash-browns, four slices of toast, and a reasonable portion of baked beans. It all went down rather well, even with the struggle of using a knife and fork due to his unique thumb proportions. He even ate the plate, of which was a great suprise to his mother. More suprisingly however was the fact that George had not even been born yet.

This caused much confusion to his mother (Linda). She spent hours, days, months, even years trying to understand how she was a mother eventhough technically she didn't have a son yet. Why did she make him breakfast? How did he manage to eat it? Why did it take four years to realise he didn't exist yet? She thought she would never find the answer, and to be fair how realistic is it that she would be able to find such an answer? Exactly.

In 1990 Linda gave birth to a small, orange boy. She named him "George" and got over the whole situation.

Thursday, 8 March 2007

And so it begins...

This blog is all about George, my dearest friend.

Due to his irrational fear of keyboards (both computer and musical) I have decided to take upon the task of keeping a diary of his life, that of which is orange and full of excitement.

For a man of small stature, he makes up for it in personality and uniqueness. He has green hair, a chubby physique, disproportianate thumbs, brown eyes, orange skin, green hair (have I mentionned that already?), an American Express card, and the brightest-white suit and bowler hat you have ever seen! Infact it is SO white, that Aquafresh have tried to steal strands from it to genetically enhance their toothpaste. Some bats even say that it makes snow look black.

George is also a riot at parties! He fills his pants with Fanta (orange, obviously) and expands all over the place. Everybody loves him, apart from Jeremy Potato, but we will get onto that later. He is also a woman-magnet as apparently his sideburns taste of liquorice and he has the forearms of a french arm-wrestler.

Last Wednesday is where it all began though, the life/birth of George.

George spent the first 16 years of his life collecting honey from furniture stores. Times were hard in those days, and it was the only sure-fire way he could help support his mother financially. In 1994, she died tragically of a rare colonic whooping cough. Distraught over his mother's death, George moved to Hawaii 3 years later in September 1992.

It was here that George attended Newton University and studied his Newt Physics degree. He completed the course with a 2:1, a monopoly "get out of jail" card, and a VIP pass to this years' Anual Golden Beef Awards ceremony (which is where I met George for the first time).