Cook'd and Bomb'd

Forums => H.S. Art => Topic started by: Replies From View on October 28, 2017, 01:27:57 PM

Title: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Replies From View on October 28, 2017, 01:27:57 PM
Puffed Siadin kept draughts.

Not drafts.  Or collections of the sub-chess board game; no.

He kept draughts.  Just like his mother used to make.  Perhaps that’s why he did it.


Puffed Siadin was in Armitage.  He would “dine out” on stories about meeting a famous man there.  Nobody could work out who.

Puffed Siadin was in the bayliff industry.  He kept good time.

His wife was forever getting in and out of sleeping bags.  She literally could not stop herself doing it, even when they had to go for a walk or catch a taxi.


Puffed Siadin.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Glebe on October 28, 2017, 06:03:11 PM
He owned a small law firm in Glencoe in the '80s. Enjoys a bit of fishing on the weekend. Knows Rory McIlroy.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Dex Sawash on October 28, 2017, 10:31:27 PM
New Ancient Grains cereal from Kellogg
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Replies From View on November 01, 2017, 12:59:59 PM
What else about Puffed Siadin?
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Gregory Torso on November 01, 2017, 01:07:45 PM
Puffed Siadin often dreamt that a great bear came down from the mountain and watched through his window whilst he slept.
He would ask his besleepingbagged wife if she knew how to set traps.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Replies From View on November 02, 2017, 12:56:40 AM
Puffed Siadin.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: BlodwynPig on November 02, 2017, 02:43:45 AM
Doesn’t know where he’s from, or where he’s going. Just sets some traps.

Wife loses limb in night
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Glebe on November 02, 2017, 02:50:52 AM
Holiday home in Guernsey. Knew Ronnie Kray.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: BlodwynPig on November 02, 2017, 02:56:29 AM
I just met a man called Forsythe Glebe in a bar. He didn’t know this site
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Glebe on November 02, 2017, 03:01:59 AM
I just met a man called Forsythe Glebe in a bar. He didn’t know this site

(https://i.imgur.com/8i5OXuQ.gif)
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Replies From View on November 02, 2017, 06:22:28 AM
Puffed Siadin takes havoc to new extremes.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Replies From View on November 02, 2017, 06:43:22 AM
Puffed Siadin inherited from somewhere the equipment used to light street gas lamps.  Has it all in his bedroom leaning against the wall.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Replies From View on November 02, 2017, 04:05:35 PM
Puffed Siadin loans his buddy Ensleigh a copy of the book ‘Luton For Idiots’.

Ensleigh knows he can trust Puffed Siadin to provide things like that.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Glebe on November 02, 2017, 06:30:00 PM
Mates with Tim Wonnacott. The pair are often seen enjoying a pint at The Flussock's Nutkin.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Replies From View on November 02, 2017, 06:46:31 PM
Puffed Siadin has taken his wife's beloved crate of Droning Memorabilia from the attic and is threatening to send it to either a car boot sale or the charity shop.  She is in tears, begging him not to.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Replies From View on November 02, 2017, 10:26:14 PM
Puffed Siadin has his cock resting on a bookmark, and he is carrying it into the lounge to show his wife.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Replies From View on November 02, 2017, 11:15:52 PM
Puffed Siadin has all this bread.  Loads of it.  Starts putting it all in the bin.  Gets locked into a trance shoving all this bread into the bin.

Wife is woken up by the din of all this bread being binned.  Thinks it might be a burglary in progress.  Almost trips up trying to get out of her sleeping bag to find out what's going on.

She rushes into the kitchen.  There her husband is.  Puffed Siadin putting so much bread in the bin that you wouldn't believe.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Replies From View on November 02, 2017, 11:30:02 PM
Puffed Siadin has his eyes on a loan shark.  Or a lawn shark.  He has his eyes on a shark on his lawn that one of his neighbours put there this morning on loan.

He is wondering what you're supposed to do with a shark on your lawn.  How should you get water on it?  Is it only necessary for a shark to be kept damp, like an elephant or hippo?  Or must water be constantly pumped through its gills to keep it energised?


He decides that what he has is probably called a "loaned shark," and the fact it's on his lawn is neither here nor there.  Good though.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Gregory Torso on November 02, 2017, 11:39:13 PM
Puffed Siadin closes his eyes and watches pornography live from the filth pocket of his brain.
His wife never leaves her sleeping bag now. She inches through the house leaving vermicular trails in the carpet. He can see where she's been up on the sofa and down again.
"Shall we buy something that is called a 'computer'?" he absent-mindedly asks her, watching the unlimited sweat show behind his eyelids.
He receives no answer.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Glebe on November 03, 2017, 12:39:29 AM
Once lost five grand in a poker game with Richard Branston.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Replies From View on November 03, 2017, 12:34:38 PM
Puffed Siadin begins to mark time in his house by gouging a notch in a door frame every day.  Into each notch is inserted one of his wife’s hairs.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Glebe on November 03, 2017, 06:59:04 PM
Came out of a long depression during a weekend boating trip in New Hampshire. A few beers and some deep conversation with Ernie, his oldest friend and best man at his wedding, brought him round. Afterwards, his motto became, "Y'gotta give a little but y'gotta give a lot."
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Replies From View on November 03, 2017, 07:34:34 PM
Puffed Siadin dreamt that he had a pantry installed in his basement at great expense.  It was a very lucid dream, took about a week's worth of dream time, and several hundred thousand pounds of dream money.

He hardly uses his basement.  One day he strolled down there to find a screwdriver he reckoned he'd mislaid six years ago.  Huh, a pantry.  Weird.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: itsfredtitmus on November 03, 2017, 07:39:16 PM
language timothy
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Gregory Torso on November 03, 2017, 10:36:46 PM
Puffed Siadin buys a combination rat-and-mouse "rouse" trap. His wife protests that no such creature exists. "It is only a mouse, or it is only a rat. The two do not combine" she moans, but it's no use.

Puffed Siadin in an unlit room, his thoughts flowing into the soft valleys of his own hands. Small and bearded, watching everything go dark. His wife rolls into the room, car keys in her mouth. "I need a lift to the Government Foodstores" she says. "The radio, it told of a new kind of music, and I need to listen, but not on an empty stomach, love."
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Glebe on November 03, 2017, 11:01:00 PM
Has owned a few acres in Suffolk since the 1970's. Hasn't done anything with them. They're just sitting there, mate. Just sitting there.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Replies From View on November 04, 2017, 11:03:58 PM
Puffed Siadin takes bags of cement up to the roof of his home.  The emptying of these into the wind will be his fireworks display this weekend.  The kids on the adjacent crescent and the street above will love this.

Up the ladder he goes, through his attic and into the fresh air of the space above his roof.  He has his bags of cement with him.

He unbuckles each bag of cement.  He wields them, and he releases the dust.


HAPPY BONFIRE NIGHT EVERYONE.




Hopefully nobody will assume that they were somebody's ashes.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Captain Z on November 05, 2017, 12:34:10 AM
Puffin Siaded asks Generous Seagull to get his sand eels back from Wanker Heron.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Glebe on November 05, 2017, 12:43:28 AM
Puffin Siaded asks Generous Seagull to get his sand eels back from Wanker Heron.

Never gonna happen. Never gonna happen.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Howj Begg on November 05, 2017, 12:49:28 AM
Puffed Siadin lives by the sea
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Gregory Torso on November 05, 2017, 02:32:44 AM
Puffed Siadin puts his sex-doings into the bin. "I solemnly swear" he tells Herb Alpert one morning. "From this moment forth, to be faithful only to my bag-wife, to the worm-woman."
Herb Alpert parps his Tijuana trumpet and crawls into the drains.

Puffed Siadin drives his wife to a bespoke tailor. "Scissorman" he addresses the eldlerly gent. "I wish to have my wife extracted from this polyester sarcophagus and stitched up inside a coccoon of finest Indian silk. And none of that outsourced Primark crap, neither. Boil the worms yourself, if you must."

"I do so miss my sand eels."
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Glebe on November 05, 2017, 10:49:47 AM
Own shares in Debenhams. Likes a brandy.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Replies From View on November 09, 2017, 06:29:03 PM
Puffed Siadin puts a few drops of iodine onto his wife's open eyeballs, and they turn black.

He can't remember what iodine tests for the presence of, so he loses interest and goes early to bed.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Replies From View on November 12, 2017, 02:31:13 PM
Puffed Siadin converted his wife into a piece of furniture today.  Took the sleeping bag and sewed it into a comfortable shape.  Attached a wooden board and some sturdy legs, and now he sits on her whenever he watches the telly or has a tinkle on the old piano.  He has reviewed his wife as follows:  "Not the best thing I have ever sat on, but it'll do.  4/10."
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Glebe on November 12, 2017, 04:21:03 PM
Had shares in a company set up by Roger Waters in the '80s. It went bust, but he and Roger remain good friends, and occasionally go fly fishing in the Outer Hebrides.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: spamwangler on November 12, 2017, 06:29:28 PM
What a thread, really love this
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Glebe on November 12, 2017, 06:41:37 PM
Borrowed a Betamax video recorder off Chris DeBurgh in 1983. Never gave it back.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Gregory Torso on November 12, 2017, 09:28:20 PM
Puffed Siadin awoke in the elbow of night with a sudden revelation. He crept downstairs to where his bench-wife was sleeping. He took his tools and some other parts, some magical and some mechanical and he worked under and around his still and sleeping wife.
By the time the quivering split yolk sun crowned the hills, he had finished and he wept with a strange new emotion as he forced open the kitchen door and beheld his wife in the flooding rays of sun. She walked now, on four joisted and jointed wooden legs, held in place like a native squaw in a papoose on the back of a saw horse. Jittery and lurching, but it was motion. He held her hand and they began to travel.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Glebe on November 12, 2017, 10:53:11 PM
Karma.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Replies From View on November 13, 2017, 07:59:03 AM
Puffed Siadin feels his heavy eyes open and close on this warm beach.  His wife is over there, sipping from a rock pool.  Her means of locomotion have seen better days; here they are cracked and splintering, and fully softened by such prolonged contact with this very salt water.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Glebe on November 13, 2017, 08:03:08 AM
He once played checkers with a Sheik for two days on the cusp of Gobi.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Replies From View on November 13, 2017, 04:05:54 PM
Puffed Siadin has limpets on his wife, and a hermit crab is attempting to take her over.

He places his feet upon her wooden surfaces.  So wet she is, and so coated in layers of algae and seaweed, that he immediately slides off.  Just a slippery thing.

Puffed Siadin calls her “Slimy Wife” now.  That is her new name.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Glebe on November 13, 2017, 06:21:17 PM
Owns a bivouac in Dumphries. Lets it out to some crusties every year for an exorbitant fee.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Gregory Torso on November 13, 2017, 10:43:22 PM
Puffed Siadin gently pushes his wife out onto the waves, on her rotting raft. "See France" he softly tells her.
"Will it work? Am I seaworthy?" she asks as the currents begin to move her.
It is the last thing he hears her say but he returns to the question many times over the years, as he dreams of the soil-black ocean lifting the wife boat up on its back: "Am I seaworthy?"
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Replies From View on November 14, 2017, 08:37:04 AM
It has been five years since that fateful day.

The day Puffed Siadin went on to name “The End of all Things”.  A tragic day in which, according to his memory, he did everything he could to stop his dear wife fading away into the night.  He tried to save her, he remembers, but her powerful body parts just kept him too far away.  And there she was out of reach, where she continued to be until she was fully gone forever.  And her last words continue to sit as craw in his choked mind:  “Am I seaworthy?”  What a thing to ask.

For five long years Puffed Siadin has been committed to honouring his memory of his wife.  This is why, when she left, he instantly transformed their unused pantry into a dedicated gelatine manufacturing plant.  So many bones can now be easily boiled up that he barely even needs to blink. 

His wife would have been so proud.  He will never fulfil his dream now of glooping molten gelatine from the pan directly into her open mouth as a treat, but perhaps he will have a new wife one day.


Puffed Siadin.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Replies From View on November 14, 2017, 01:14:12 PM
And it was on that day (not the same day) that Puffed Siadin reached the warm decision to engineer a new wife from what he could locate of his long gone, slimy, cocooned first.  Besides, it would allow him to restore the door frames.

Around he went, collecting strands of her hair from the gouges he had made, somewhat presciently, all those years ago.


Now what, he wondered.  That may have been the easy bit.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Glebe on November 14, 2017, 07:51:33 PM
In 1993, Puffed Siadin helped David Icke raise funds for a special 'Centre of Truth' to be built in Cornwall. It never happened, but the pair bonded over their shared love for Chris Dr Burgh and Jean-Michel Jarre and soon became firm friends.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Gregory Torso on November 14, 2017, 09:59:17 PM
Puffed Siadin wondered the bluffs, dressed in wormwood scrubs and stinking of ethanol. Remnants of what he now thought of as his "proto-wife"s tattered sleeping bag he had wrapped like a shawl about his narrow shoulders.
All others avoided him. He was said to be "dabbling" but in what, no one could agree upon.
When he lit matches, little gas blue flames would dance down across the backs of his hands. And his eyes had attracted a wild kind of light.

Puffed Siadin, in the dedicated pantry of his dark secrecy, at work. And sometimes, the most beautiful of all musics would leak from the gossiping flue of the chimney; and at other times, brumes of acrid chemicals would sweep across the gardens, bleaching the flowerheads into bone.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Replies From View on November 15, 2017, 11:08:38 PM
Out of the silence, at ground-height, a letterbox-sized metal grill slides open, and out of it a hand emerges.  From the twist of the fingers it's clear that this hand is coming at a very uncomfortable angle from somewhere.  It gropes around in the brittle, blanched weeds for something.  Nothing yet; scoops around, back and forth, back and forth, the fingers extend and collapse, all at this funny angle.  Still nothing.  The hand snaps away again.

It returns almost instantly at a slightly less awkward angle, and this time it appears able to grope through this short-reach of deathly garden a little more methodically.  It combs through the grass, the few tiny nettles, daisies and dandelions, all of which collapse sadly into ashes upon contact.  The hand pokes at stones, and pokes at more stones, picks one up, casts it aside, picks another up.  One of these stones, in the end, stays in the fingers for a fraction longer.  It is a blackbird skull.  There is a brief stillness as the hand processes what it has picked up.  It appears to have found what it was looking for.

The hand and the tiny skull disappear together back into the slot, and the metal grill slides shut.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Twit 2 on November 16, 2017, 01:38:09 AM
Puffed Siadin charters a catamaran and gets up to nae good on the high seas.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Replies From View on November 16, 2017, 08:21:06 AM
Puffed Siadin’s neighbours refer to his garden by three names now:  “The Desert”, “Standing Fog” and, simply, “Death”.

“It makes overtures,” mutter the eldest, “of Ancient Grains.”  They say that you can see them there sometimes within the indeterminate void, “like resting on the surface of hot, undulating fat, and melting skin, before it cracks, and then the grains are gone until they are brought around again”.

Others have a more specific story to tell, for their throats are somehow grey and papery now.  But they never tell this story; they merely gesture to their throats, mime breathing in heavily, and they open up their shirts to reveal their chests, equally gone.  And of the garden they merely say:  “It has cloy.”

“That place - it has cloy.  And it will do that to you.”


Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Gregory Torso on November 16, 2017, 12:34:45 PM
Siadin's pestilent garden has permanently altered the entire valley. Children run and play in its smell trails, always careful not to touch the vapours; old men dribble fog through their faces from unbranded cigarettes and their inner ears vibrate with hate.
Each morning, the departing night leaves viscous oil dark drops behind on the windows, and the wives clean it off with their sleeves.
Puffed Siadin, un-wifed, lets it build up. Soon his house is completely avalanched in scabby night scales.


Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Replies From View on November 16, 2017, 01:29:51 PM
On the day that Puffed Siadin’s wife tragically disappeared, a boy named Lapis Lazuli was born in the valley.  As he grew up his mother, Edith, would stand at the top of the stairs recounting nightmarish premonitions of filthy, mildewed sponges spreading out from the kitchen sink and consuming her house and family.  She died of cancer when Lapis was five years old, leaving him alone in that house and valley to fend for himself.

Now eight years old, Lapis Lazuli has a paper round that takes him to the front door of Puffed Siadin’s home, and today he is standing at its open gate for the first time.  What he can see through the dense, unstirring fog is a vast, filthy, mildewed sponge and the damp, expanding cancer from within his mother’s lungs.

He pulls something from his bag and his eyes flit to what he is to deliver to this place.  It is an issue of a magazine subscription entitled ‘Gelatine Made Flesh’.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Replies From View on November 16, 2017, 10:07:09 PM
A hand rotates a blackbird skull.  Places it in a jar that is already jam-packed with other blackbird skulls.  The lid won't go on properly unless the new skull is pushed down properly, so the finger you can see within the frame of this shot presses the skull a bit more, the lid goes on, then shelf.


Shelf of jam jars containing things.  Labels like blue tit skulls, mouse skulls, I don't need to go into detail because you personally are already disturbingly fascinated with this particular category of things.  We will move on for your own sake.


Beneath that, a shelf labelled "draughts".



We move on.



A large wardrobe.  All these empty coat hangers.  Puffed Siadin's left hand comes into view again.  Takes a coat hanger, and away that coat hanger goes:  gone.  Out of shot anyway.



Ah actually it's not gone; here it is.  It's dipping into a cylindrical arrangement of some kind.  A drum, perhaps, filled with liquid.  Very gelatinous though.


And back it comes out, glooping.  Something viscous dangling from the coat hanger.



Oh but we must move on.  It's a row of several coat hangers now, all with deeply gelatinous formations dangling beneath them, all attempting to dry.  You look at them, and you think this.  These things have their own agency, you feel.  And they wish to be dry.



It suddenly degrades and then ends, this footage.  For a while your mind replays nothing but the concept of liquids holding form in thin air for a while, wobbling. 



And you feel panicked until next time.  But it's okay.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Replies From View on November 16, 2017, 10:28:56 PM
The path before Lapis Lazuli ends a foot or so from his toes because at a certain point the haze kicks in and then there is obliteration.  This fascinates him a bit, like at what point would you say this is fog.  At what point is there hardly anything and then nothing.

Today he will deliver something to whoever is behind the standing fog.  He knows it. 


His late mother's voice kicks in.  "Job well done, then back home."  That is what she would always say.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Glebe on November 18, 2017, 11:02:02 AM
Shared a sherry with Sir Michael Redgrave whilst watching the sun go down from a hotel balcony in Lyme Regis, 1979.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Glebe on November 18, 2017, 10:27:06 PM
Ah, 1952, a good year. PS uncorks the bottle and pours. "Well now, let's sample those Cubans you've brought!"

Welles laughs and accepts the glass gratefully. "I thought you'd given up, it's a nasty habit, Siadin!" he winks. "Anyway, never mind all that, let's get down to the business of discussing the financing for this The Magnificent Ambersons restoration!"

It was Christmas 1984, and sadly the last occasion on which Puffed would enjoy the company of his dear old eccentric friend.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Fishfinger on November 18, 2017, 11:18:01 PM
The moon gleams yellow now, often as not, and Puffed Siadin has some guest or vassal that roams abroad in its light. So it is said. And in the village, at such times, one may feel a fleeting thing brush past one's calf, its wake a smear of pungent oil. Always there will be a nearby window left ajar and, from inside, one may discern an infant's cries, suddenly silenced. With leaden certainty there follows a mother's wails and lamentations. Yet his supporters in the valley multiply, grey and sunken-cheeked every one, and with new coin to spend. "It is a price worth paying," they maintain, "for he keeps the cloy at bay." But with every stolen newborn soul, he brews yet more of it.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Fishfinger on November 18, 2017, 11:21:00 PM
A foreign visitor once lunged at the swift-darting shape, and was repaid with a suppurating wound. A muscular barb burrowed tunnels of agony deep into the flesh, and he had to be bound to restrain his unhinged flailings. He screamed ceaselessly for a day then died with an eruption of blood. The corpse would not rot, so they bricked it up in the ancient temple, and no-one goes there now, only Lapis Lazuli. Just to look.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Glebe on November 19, 2017, 01:39:18 AM
Karma for such poetry, Fishfinger.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Fishfinger on November 19, 2017, 11:00:25 AM
^ thanks, that is kind.

Every year, at the exact same time, the phone in the village's last phone box will ring. Puffed Siadin forbids it most strictly, but children dare each other to answer. Whoever so does will hear a woman drowning, muffled and distant and desperate. Always the same. It is wise to hang up before she notices you.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Gregory Torso on November 19, 2017, 12:47:39 PM
See the night. See how it climbs. And such nights cluttered with grease and oil sweats and things, things that travelled the burning ribbons of fog like carriageways of disease, that rode them into the houses of both husbands and wives.

Puffed Siadin stood in such a night and listened to it move and sing with the strange machinery he had made.
Soon, his wife would return. He had received this. From one of the very awful fog messengers, as he had stood motionless in the woods around, whilst others waited too, hidden behind trees or moving carefully through the mist, to receive word from their own lost, loved ones.

His body, old and papery, longed for rest, acceptance, or illumination. Something that might make its way back from that hungry sea that had swallowed his love. And here, he was not a husband, but a tombstone, a scarecrow, and a signpost.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Glebe on November 20, 2017, 05:11:09 AM
Mulled wine in Cherbourg, on an atmospheric autumnal eve. There is a rap at the chalet door. "Entrer, mon ami!" calls PS, merrily. And in steps Dirk Bogarde, with the Ambassador of Montenegro. "It shall be a fine evening of song, merriment, and reminiscence!" Indeed it shall, Puffs, and will be one of the highlights of your 1976.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: spamwangler on November 21, 2017, 12:07:46 AM
Puffed saladin gets his kicked in the nob LOL
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Glebe on November 22, 2017, 12:30:48 PM
Puffed Siadin sighs, and pours another cup of Earl Grey for himself. Humphrey is dozing gently in his chair next to him, as the sounds of this afternoon's cricket match echo from off to the left. The sun, while none too strong, still proves itself a constant companion as it assists in the creation of dappled shadows that flit across he veranda.

"I say, Humphrey."

Humphrey snorts and awakes with a "What?!"

"I say, Humphrey... I've been reminiscing again."

"Oh," chuckles Humphrey, "It's going to one of those evenings!"

"I just can't help myself, old chap."

There is a cheer and a peal of applause from the cricket ground. Siadin ignores it and continues.

"I've been thinking about the good old days... when we were at Cambridge together, with Foxy and Spotter and Nutkin, and Beaver and Jhossup and Ferg... we had such high hopes. And, well, we fulfilled some of them. But not all. I just wish I had some of that old vim and vigour in me now, Humphrey."

"Don't we all, old thing. Now, where did I put my crossword?"

"We were the Young Turks... we were ready to take on the world, and no-one, just no-one was go'ng 'a stop us!"

"Steady on, Puffers!" laughs Humphrey, looking around for his readers.

Siadin sighs. These bouts of melancholy are sometimes just too hard to bear. Gratefully, his kindly old friend is ever on hand to cheer him up.

"I tell you what, Puffs, after lunch, why don't you and I go down to the river and skip a few stones? Just for old times' sake, hmmm?"

"Why, that's a marvellous idea, Humpers! I'll go and see if my waders are still in the shed."

There is a stillness to the day. A lostness. But it is a day, nonetheless, and opportunity ever awaits.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Replies From View on November 25, 2017, 06:08:40 PM
It is feeding time for Puffed Siadin's new wife.

He lifts her jar down from the shelf in his pantry, and rotates her around in his hands.  He admires how her skin presses tightly against the jar's edges, and how she has no obvious form but the shape of the jar itself.  He smiles lovingly.  She is perfect.  A perfect wife.  Nothing but gelatinous flesh against glass, almost entirely unstirring but for one adorable feature that absolutely makes his wife who she is.

Desperately, her mouth blobs open and closed against the glass.  There is not one part of her that does not feel the deep, scouring pain of deliberately engineered ulcers and tumours.  Strains of diseases pulse and burn through her.  But she can breathe - don't worry.  Her jar has air holes.


Puffed Siadin is so proud of her.  So proud of his wife.


He unscrews the lid of her jar.  Feeding time.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Replies From View on November 27, 2017, 07:31:42 PM
Puffed Siadin.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Replies From View on December 01, 2017, 08:49:59 PM
Puffed Siadin.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Replies From View on December 22, 2017, 01:16:43 PM
Puffed Siadin is preparing what will be his wife's sustenance for the entire Christmas week.  He begins with her standard meal for today.

Inside his wife's mouth a blackbird skull goes.  As she lacks teeth, Puffed Siadin must help her to chew.  He places her gelatinous head on its side, holds her mouth shut to minimise spurtage, and with a claw hammer bashes her cheek firmly.  Eventually the skull cracks and begins to break down into smaller and smaller pieces.

She is of course unable to swallow, so Puffed Siadin squirts a little lubrication into her mouth, then uses his fingers to manipulate the skull fragments to where they can be digested.  Back in her jar, her eyes bubble a little, so he squirts a little more lemon juice into the pocket of fluid suspending her face.  Such a dedicated and loving carer of his wife is Puffed Siadin.

That's her food for today, but what about the rest of the week?  He will be away from home and would rather leave his wife here, on the shelf and in her jar, than take her with him where she will only get in the way.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Gregory Torso on January 08, 2018, 07:22:56 AM
Puffed Siadin takes his wife-mix to an ancient font underneath the town hall for a full body baptism. He empties her carefully in. She slops and runs beneath the oily surface, and then just her face is visible, like an egg white in a black broth. He will remake her, as he stirs her with a salvaged umbrella spoke.
Later he will go to the Courthouse to record his intent to remarry and declare his first wife driftwood, although he will mysteriously scrawl "I Am The Wendigo" across several important oblongs in the documents.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Fishfinger on June 21, 2018, 01:41:22 AM
I saw Puffed Siadin once. There was something so wrong I couldn't take my eyes off him. I found myself following him into the butcher's. He was wearing this dark hat and suit and... something else. There was a film over his skin, a jelly almost, that somehow never touched him. You could hardly see it, but it'd ripple, just barely. I think it was breathing. And I swear, I was standing right behind him, he never moved, and this second skin just turned and looked at me.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Fishfinger on August 11, 2019, 02:09:58 PM
A gang of horse thieves were paid to cremate what was claimed to be his mortal remains. On a far hilltop, the fire burned green and greasy. Puffed Siadin.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Fishfinger on August 11, 2019, 02:26:06 PM
There is an invasion of gelatinous worms. Hips are shattered on slippery driveways. Prayers are offered, many miles away. There is a whiff of cloy.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: PlanktonSideburns on August 11, 2019, 02:28:53 PM
Now here's a top thread for a day of dread!

Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Fishfinger on August 11, 2019, 02:35:10 PM
Four pages to sate the King.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: pancreas on August 11, 2019, 02:42:11 PM
What is in this sandwich I have bought from Boots? It is pieces of Puffed Siadin, drenched in salad cream. It is disgusting. But I must eat it anyway.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Fishfinger on August 11, 2019, 02:45:51 PM
Puffed Siadin's children - white as 70s dogshit - dangle from their nooses. The crows won't touch them. It may be respect or fear. It feels like an age ago. Last night you dreamed again of tossing bones into the sea. It's better than nothing.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: pancreas on August 11, 2019, 02:48:05 PM
Puffed Siadin's secret butcher's shop is discovered. He was obviously attempting to splice the rear end of a hamster with the front end of a horse.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Fishfinger on August 11, 2019, 03:09:16 PM
The flayed horsehamster is elected Mayor for a second term. Everyone must dance for a week. Puffed Siadin.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Fishfinger on August 11, 2019, 03:13:32 PM
In a Martian bunker you dream of a beach holiday where crabs steal your toes and genitals. There was a choice once. His wife seemed nice. It's all so long ago. A breakfast of dust.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Fishfinger on August 11, 2019, 03:21:59 PM
Went to school with Puffed Siadin. Breathe on a ventilator now. Meter accepts 10p coins only. Can just about reach. Three left. It's good what he's doing.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Fishfinger on August 11, 2019, 03:28:22 PM
In the hospital they suck the marrow from your bones with straws. "Thank you," they say. "You're helping." On a poster on the wall, Puffed Siadin has his back turned on a hillside.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Gregory Torso on August 11, 2019, 04:02:03 PM
Exquisite stuff, Fishfinger.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Fishfinger on August 11, 2019, 05:19:03 PM
They say there was a final hospice, where a torso was farmed for screams. The perpetual agony machine. It kept the gutters running. Puffed Siadin.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Fishfinger on August 12, 2019, 01:59:03 AM
The crimson comet scars the sky. In the last pond, a fish's eye swells so big it explodes. There is no-one to see it. The spatter bakes in the unforgiving sun. In the tunnels on Mars they breed cancer.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Fishfinger on August 14, 2019, 03:59:46 PM
Screaming mucous plops out of the town tap. Just a piece of his wife. Pay it no mind. Safe to drink. Drink it. Drink it now.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: pancreas on August 14, 2019, 04:12:00 PM
A row of neatly ordered bikes reminds you of more joyful times. But the bikes are parked in the slit sides of rotting pigs. You can just make out that the pigs have been branded with 'PS®'. You might rest here, but an asphyxiating ash-cloud that has escaped from one of the nearby Crematorium-Greggs forces you onward.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Fishfinger on August 14, 2019, 04:33:47 PM
You ride a human centipede to work. One of the components is your daughter. You don't react. It's good what he's doing.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: pancreas on August 14, 2019, 04:43:22 PM
An order goes out to 'reverse the sewers'. At 11am on Christmas Day, pipe bombs go off everywhere. The blood, shit and bog roll is as expected. However, the huge chunks of human brains convulsing in a chorus of Wonderwall does come as a surprise. You can't remember the last time you were surprised. Silently you offer up a Puffed prayer of thanks.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Fishfinger on August 14, 2019, 11:25:20 PM
In 1957, his tailor was found hanged from a gantry beneath the smell of a gangrenous moon. To have the measurements of a man is to have power over the man, they share in whispers. Although he was a bit of a cunt.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Fishfinger on August 14, 2019, 11:37:52 PM
Christmas means tradition, and they stake the town vampire with purposeful ceremony. Yet he will rise again in a surly mode and slaughter many children. Puffed Siadin.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Fishfinger on August 14, 2019, 11:40:07 PM
Four pages. It's all he wanted. They didn't have to die. You evil bastards. Sleep now, in bad t-shirts.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Glebe on August 17, 2019, 02:45:32 AM
Puffed Siadin eats a jar of beetroot slices with his hands. Ends up all covered in smelly red juice, like a child.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: seepage on August 17, 2019, 07:47:11 AM
After a long and perilous journey across space and time, The King in Yellow finally arrives. The villagers tell him of Puffed Siadin. "Nah mate, I think I'll be off".
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: cptspalding on August 17, 2019, 10:45:05 AM
Deep in the woods, an old shack with wind chimes made of feather and bones. The oppressive heat helps to magnify a cloying stench.  Tarpaulin covering a hole in the ground flutters in a light breeze, offering a glimpse at the collection of unpaired footwear of varying sizes underneath. Inside the darkness of the shack, a figure known to you as Siadin lets out a death-rattle as he harvests drops of bile from one of his subjects. He can only keep them alive like this for so long and it will be soon time to find another.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Glebe on August 17, 2019, 06:42:48 PM
PS dislikes crackers, but he really enjoys cheese on crackers. Even experts haven't figured that one out yet.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Glebe on August 18, 2019, 11:54:30 AM
Having shunned the limelight he once danced in, these days Puffed Siadin prefers the discomfort of his Rhyl hovel, where he enjoys munching garlic bulbs whilst watching Albion Market on VHS.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Fishfinger on August 18, 2019, 05:07:09 PM
He has always been comfortable in his own skin. He just prefers to be in other people's.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Glebe on August 19, 2019, 04:03:52 PM
Puffed Siadin has bits of cheese popcorn wedged in his belly button for years.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Glebe on August 20, 2019, 02:24:25 PM
Puffed Siadin is delighted to discover a DVD of noughties rom-com P.S. I Love You in a Tesco bargain bin. "It's like the film is telling me it is in love with me!" he explains to a dog in the car park.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: pancreas on August 20, 2019, 02:42:42 PM
Puffed Siadin gets bored of daisy-chaining flowers and moves onto more gory heights.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Glebe on August 21, 2019, 12:57:07 PM
P-Siad keeps herons inside a bucket down the garden.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Fishfinger on August 21, 2019, 07:00:06 PM
P-Siad keeps herons inside a bucket down the garden.

It's a roomy bucket. He's not a monster.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Fishfinger on August 21, 2019, 07:01:40 PM
At a recent evening of light entertainment in his honour, the obedient audience were consumed by their own drinks. Police consider the matter 'closed'.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: pancreas on August 21, 2019, 08:03:32 PM
The compulsory skin donation programme now means that Puffed Siadin has outgrown Blenheim Palace.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Glebe on August 21, 2019, 09:34:38 PM
PS thinks all gays should be "banned. From Wales, at least."
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Fishfinger on March 21, 2020, 01:24:12 PM
He glides through the streets. Gleefully, they say. The cloy. The virus. A moth, flapping in dust.

Your nan's skin as a mask. His eyes burn.

The horses leap whinnying into the quarry.

Puffed Siadin.

Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Fishfinger on March 21, 2020, 05:01:59 PM
Spiders with human limbs, sneezing. It's all part of the plan. The cloy thickens. The shelves are empty.
Title: Re: Puffed Siadin
Post by: Glebe on March 22, 2020, 02:00:21 PM
PS paints his living room "ochre. Nowt else to do with this curfew shite man."