I had no idea that writing a blog was such hard work and it’s not made any easier by the BBC putting me out all over their screens again. Peeple expect me to be coming up with brilliant revenges now every day, which I CAN do obviously, but it plays havoc with my revenge work. Ralph and Aaron and me are working on a revenge on Miss Bird (her of the massive beaky pigeon hooter) to pay her back for calling me stupid. Here is how it goes. I hypnotise her and tell her that she loves George Clooney (or Tom Cruise – it doesn’t matter to women apparently. Mel prefers Tom Cruise, but he looks like he took a stop-growing pill when he was twelve, so I think there’s something sinister going on in her brain). Then when she wakes up we make her think that every man she sees outside our classroom window is Tom Cruise and he’s looking for her. So she goes to the window, opens it and shouts out; “Tom. Oh Tom. I love you.” The man who is not Tom Cruise looks up at the madwoman with the big hooter in the window and carries on walking. So she gets all anxious; “Tom! Wait! Wait for me, love of my life!” and jumps out after him. SPLAT! Now who’s stupid?! Not me. This will be a brilliant revenge when we execute it.
Aaron thinks we should then take her body in a wheelbarrow to the nearest roadworks and bury her in a hole, but this will not work, because her huge hooter will stick out through the concrete and cars will crash into it. (Have just had a thought… Maybe her nostrils could be dug out and used as tunnels. Hmmm…)
BONSAI
Posted by Your Glorious Leader aka Alistair Fury on Wednesday, August 20th, 2008
A most dramatic thing has just happened to me which proves that I am the most unloved person on the planet (certainly in my family). We have just got back off caravan holiday (it was torture. I have called my diary SUMMER HELLIDAY so this should give you some idea of how pig awful it was. You can purchase the diary at www.rbooks.co.uk/alistairfury.aspx In fact why not buy all my diaries while you’re about it. You’ll find them under the title of The Revenge Files of Alistair Fury and there are six volumes; Bugs On The Brain, Dead Dad Dog, Kiss of Death, Summer Helliday, Exam Fever, Tough Turkey. Buy them, read them and digest them, then you will be prepared for REVENGE!!!!!! at the beginning of next term.)
Anyway on caravan holiday which I had to share with granny’s bowels and where my big brother and sister used my face as a notepad to play noughts and crosses on, Mel had a boyfriend called Swamp Thing who looked like the creature from the Black Lagoon and smelled like it too. When we got back him and his fleas were robbing our house. Guess who discovered them burgling? I walked into my bedroom, felt a bump on the back of my skull and started seeing stars…
Read on, dear diary reader.
“I don’t remember what happened next. All I can see in my mind’s eye are flashes of light, stuttering images, fractured sounds and matted hair like a furball.
What I Saw In My Mind’s Eye
Shouting. Arm. Scratch. Dirt. Fist. Horsehair. Smack. Smell. Mud. Mud. Mel. Scream. Crash. Shriek. Thump in the back. Phone falls. Tinkle-bell. Tiny voice running in a tunnel. Arm across chest. Ralph calling. Door slam. Dad wails. Jangle of jewellery. Hot breath. Footsteps. Will trips. Mum shouts. Will cries. Harder shove. Feet slip. Stairs rise. Swear words. Wooden box. Lid. Wall. Chipped paint. Old games – lacrosse, rugby, tennis, Frisbee…
And then, there I was; at the top of the stairs with Swamp Thing standing behind me. He was holding me against him with one arm across my chest and my family standing at the foot of the stairs looking up. Looking worried and scared. And William’s mouth was bleeding.
Thinking we would take forever getting home from West Camel, Swamp Thing, and Swamp Thing’s best mate Fungus, had rushed up to London to burgle us. Only we’d come back sooner than they’d thought and caught them at it. In their panic to get out, I was taken hostage.
“Don’t come near us!” shouted Swamp Thing from the top of the stairs, “or the kid gets it.”
Nothing ever changes. People only ever see the kid in me. Never the man.
“Gets it with what?” said mum calmly. I think she thought it was a joke. Which in a way it was. Swamp Thing was holding a Frisbee to my neck.
“I was looking for a baseball bat,” he said, “but I couldn’t find one.”
“Try the tennis racquet,” I said. “That would hurt me a lot more than a Frisbee.”
“Do you think so?” said Swamp Thing.
“Oh yes,” I said. So Fungus swapped the Frisbee for a tennis racquet, which Swamp Thing held menacingly at my throat.
“Thanks,” he said to me. “I’m not very good at kidnap. It’s my first time.”
“You’re not very good at burglary either,” said my mum, “or you wouldn’t have got caught.”
“My first time burgling too.” Suddenly, he turned nasty. “But don’t think that means I’m going to make mistakes, because I’m not. I’ve thought this through.”
“I’m sure you have,” said mum sarcastically. Sometimes parents are so stupid. I mean there is a time for sarcasm and there is a time for sweetness and light. When your youngest son is being held hostage with a deadly tennis racquet inches from his throat that is not the time to be sarcastic. I could have got seriously volleyed. Anyway the result of the sarcasm was that Swamp Thing got cross and confused.
“Shut up!” he shouted. “Shut up all of you.” That included Mel who was sobbing.
“Don’t you love me any more Swamp Thing?”
“I only just met you,” he replied.
First sensible thing I’d heard him say
“Now here’s the deal. Me and Fungus are leaving right now and we’re taking the car.”
“You can’t,” said mum. “The car’s blocked in by the caravan, which is jammed in the gates.”
“Sorry,” said dad, who was cowering coward-like in a corner trying not to annoy the villains.
“We’re not amateurs,” said Swamp Thing. “Get us a helicopter or a speedboat!” Even I laughed at that.
“We’re not on a river, here,” I said. “And we’re really going to know how to get a helicopter, aren’t we? My dad runs a leisure centre. Mum cooks on TV. She could bake you a cake in the shape of a helicopter.” Swamp Thing kicked the carpet like I sometimes do when life doesn’t go the way you want it to.
“OK. Give us all your money. We’ll make our own way out of here.”
“How much?” said mum. Swamp Thing looked at Fungus who shrugged his shoulders.
“A million pounds!” Both parents laughed, which was a disappointing reaction. This was no laughing matter. My life was hanging by a thread and they were holding that thread in their hands. Only they could save me and pull me out of the fires of Hell, but with every laugh they uttered, that precious thread of life slipped further and further through their fingers.
“It’s not that funny,” I shouted. “At least make it look like you want to save me!”
According to mum, the cash flow problem was all tied up with Towed in the Hole! If mum had heard from Michael, if the BBC had commissioned her series, things might be different.
“I might be able to give you a few hundred pounds,” she said. “But if you’re serious that it’s a million or nothing, I’ll just go and pack Alistair’s suitcase, because he’ll be living with you from now on, permanently.”
So the truth was out! This was what mum had wanted all along. Swamp Thing and Fungus were part of a plot to get me out of the family and dump me in an orphanage with a forged passport, which would say that I, like Jesus, was born without parents!
But Swamp Thing didn’t look like a conspirator. He was anxiously biting his lip-ring.
“I don’t believe you,” he said to mum. “You’re a celebrity. You must earn fortunes.”
“I earn a comfortable living,” said mum, like she was chatting away at a coffee morning, “but my ingredients aren’t cheap. A starter with truffles, for example, sets me back £40.” Dad put his hand up.
“And a leisure centre manager earns peanuts!” he said.
“That’s because a monkey could do it,” said Fungus, which we all thought was very funny and everyone laughed. Everyone except dad, of course. He just looked hurt.
“OK. So how much will you pay?” asked Swamp Thing. “Hundreds, thousands? Give us a clue.”
“Not thousands,” said mum. I had to jump in here.
“Now hang on a minute,” I cried. “You can’t negotiate for my life. When we were in the caravan and I asked you what you’d give to get Napoleon and Mr E back, you said everything; your house, your car, all your money. You didn’t put a limit on it!”
It is a sad day when you become just another number in your parents’ eyes. I could also see my big brother and sister mentally picking through all the precious stuff in my room so that when I was dead they could take what they wanted. I bet they’ll fight over the sofa. I hope it splits right down the middle while they’re tugging it from both ends and fills up the house with feathers, which float down their throats and suffocate them. There have been many times in my life when I have felt unloved, but this one takes the biscuit!”
Bonsai! Happy helliday. And PREPARE FOR REVENGE!!!!! Nmwaha ha ha!
Posted by Your Glorious Leader aka Alistair Fury on Tuesday, July 29th, 2008
ME AND AARON WITH SPYCAM
“O glorious summer ist here!” – Many great poets have written about the summer. William Shakespeare himselfeth wrote: “Now is the summer of our disco tent, where the Duke of York had his 40th birthday bash.” And was it not Wordsworth who wrote famously about a sea of daffodils pushing up towards the sun through sloshy cowpats? Yes, summer is the best time of the year, because I can get out of the house and escape the murderous clutches of my big brother and sister who shun the sun like vampires. My big brother doesn’t like the sun in case it dries up his spots and makes him look attractive. And my big sister is such a fat blob she refuses to wear a bikini, because she says her stomach hangs down to her knees. She’s not wrong – she looks like a human boa-constrictor who’s just eaten a baby hippo. Also this summer we are going on a brilliant holiday to Spain, which is a fat place for revenges apparently. There are bulls everywhere. So I have secretly bought a red rag, which I shall cunningly pin to the back of my big brother and sister’s T-shirts when we see our first angry bull on the streets of Torremelinos! Kersplat! Ulay!
However SUMMER is also a time of DREADED exams! Because we are so tired from revising for evil exams, Miss Bird let us bring games in today. Took in mum’s laptop and my new webcam. Webcam cost me load of wonga – wonga what I was saving to muck up big sister Mel’s love life. She is a Txt maniac. Without phone she would have no boyfriends. My brilliant plan was to cut out her mobile phone signal by secretly lining her bedroom with roofing lead. Tried test bit over bed, but Blu-tak failed. Lead fell off in middle of afternoon and put Boyfriend Number 1032 in hospital with high voice and no chance of children, which was probably for best as he was butt-ugly anyway. Besides, webcam offers opportunity for spying, which is much more immoral!
The Revengers (that’s Aaron, Ralph and me) – we are the grit that gets into your swimming trunks on the beach and gives you a rash on your unmentionables – slid cam under loo doors and saw three people sitting on the loo! Actually excitement wears off after first time, because all you can see are shoes and wrinkled pants. Aaron and Ralph wanted to push it under door when Miss Bird was in there, but who wants to see hairy legs with fleas on. I can see that at home with big brother, Will. Ralph put cam up nostril so we could see his bogeys and Aaron put it in his mouth so we could see his voice talking. It got stuck. Nurse had to slide it out by lining Aaron’s mouth with soap. Saw what Aaron had had for breakfast after that.
Back at home, Granny was playing Scrabble with herself in the sitting room. She is sad. Words so far; MISERY, WEEP, EMPTY, and JANXY.
“What’s Janxy?” I asked.
“Sixty points,” she said. “It’s on a triple letter word.”
“You can’t just make up words, Granny,” I said. “The whole point is to do words that exist.”
“Of course Janxy exists,” she blushed. “It’s… It’s the nectar feather of a humming bird. It’s a tiny tail feather that looks like a scary face and frightens off other humming birds while the greedy humming bird’s got his real face stuffed up to his ears in a flower.” Humming birds don’t have ears otherwise all that humming would drive them bonkers. She is the biggest lying cheat in the world and hides court cards in her underwear.
To pay her back for her sins we told her we could read minds and proved it by sitting in front of her and telling her what letters she had in her hand.
“MUHLOBE,” I said. She could have made BUMHOLE but that’s rude and Scrabble is a game for decent church-going folk so I didn’t help her. Granny was impressed and called me Madame Alistair, which I did not find funny. “I am not a girl!” I said. I am not a mind reader either. We just hid the cam on the mantelpiece behind her and read the letters over her shoulder. She did wonder why I needed a computer on my lap and a wire leading out the back of the computer, across the carpet and into a bunch of dried flowers in a vase on the mantelpiece, but I think she believed my excuse;
“This computer is powered by dried flowers instead of batteries, granny. And I need the computer, because I am the American President’s right hand man. This computer fires the nuclear bomb. I have to be attached to it at all times in case he calls and wants it dropping.”
Pushed cam under big sister’s bedroom door. She was inside snogging, or should I say eating, Boyfriend Number 1033, Tarquin. Unfortunately we got too bold with spycam. We pushed it nearer bed to get closer look at saucy lip action. Ralph wanted to pick up some hot tips. Mel saw something move across the floor, thought it was a rat, screamed, and leapt off the bed with Tarquin’s tongue still in her mouth. He had to rush home for an ice pack and tongue plaster while Mel had screaming habjabs.
If you want to read more of my summer diaries feel free to purchase SUMMER HELLIDAY from all good Revenge shops. Alternatively go to this website: www.rbooks.co.uk/alistairfury.aspx which is living proof that the “Pen is mightier than the Sword”.
Bonsai!
Posted by Your Glorious Leader aka Alistair Fury on Friday, June 13th, 2008
ALISTAIR FURY ALERT! ALISTAIR FURY ALERT! ALISTAIR FURY ALERT! ALISTAIR FURY ALERT!
ALISTAIR FURY ALERT! ALISTAIR FURY ALERT! ALISTAIR FURY ALERT! ALISTAIR FURY ALERT!
ALISTAIR FURY ALERT! ALISTAIR FURY ALERT! ALISTAIR FURY ALERT! ALISTAIR FURY ALERT!
ALISTAIR FURY ALERT! ALISTAIR FURY ALERT! ALISTAIR FURY ALERT! ALISTAIR FURY ALERT!
I’m back! You can see me all over the CBBC Channel for the next two weeks (starting May 26) and later again in the summer, but you have to have a television to do it. If you don’t have a television you should beg, borrow or steal one, because NOT seeing my brilliant revenges is seriously bad for your health. Also, I know where you live, because I have special revenge detectors attached to this website which can detect a keyboard anywhere in the world writing in the word revenge, so if you don’t watch THE REVENGE FILES OF ALISTAIR FURY when you could me and the Revengers will come round when you least expect it and pee on your pets.
LIVING HISTORY
This is a new series of interesting journeys back in time.
Journey 1 = This is the moment in EXAM FEVER when I set up THIS website. You can see history in the making, because my FIRST idea was to call it Little-Brother.com but that name was taken, so doctorrevenge it was. Much better name anyway, because doctors can legally give poison to people they hate and chop off bits of body without anyone batting an eyelid. Read on…
Aaron made point that Miss Bird would drag us off our deathbeds to do these exams. Therefore we should prepare cheats, as cheating was the only way the three of us were going to pass. These were cheats we knew. 1) Shrinking a crib sheet to the size of a playing card and tucking it up our sleeves. Aaron suggested a photocopier to shrink paper, but Ralph and I just laughed.“How are we going to get a photocopier into an exam? Have you seen how big they are, and they’re not quiet!” 2) Planting a text book behind the loo cistern then going out for loads of poos during the exam. “Won’t that look suspicious?” asked Ralph. “Not if I take a whoopee cushion in with me and let one rip every two or three minutes!” said Aaron. There was a slim chance it wouldn’t fail. 3) Writing crib notes on the inside of a chewing gum wrapper – MY suggestion. “No gum allowed,” said Ralph. “OK, on the inside of our eyelids then!” Ralph looked at me like I’d lost my mind. “You’d have the inside of your eyelids permanently tattooed with a crib sheet for your exam?” “If it meant I’d pass,” I said recklessly. “What would happen in the next exam?” “You mean History?” “Or Geography or your GCSE’s, your A levels, your University degree…” “I’d hope to get the same questions,” I said quietly. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea after all.
We needed help. It was time to unleash the plan that deliberately we had not unleashed earlier, because we were waiting to unleash it at exactly the best moment when unleashing it would unleash a flood of revenges when we needed them unleashed the most. We would set up a website called little-brother.com and ask its millions of members not just for revenges, but exam cheats as well!
www.little-brother.com This is the best name for a website that I have EVER seen and I thought of it, which means that I will probably be a dot millionaire by the end of next week and won’t need exams to become rich and famous, because I already will be.
Ralph knows a web designer who can set up the site for us. The fact that it is Panos Papayoti who regularly sells his soul for a Rolo and is therefore open to chocolate bribes from Net sharks who would steal my genius idea, doesn’t worry me one bit. It worries Aaron though. I told him that in business he who takes a risk makes the biggest money. He had to look beyond the immediate picture and think of us as rich and famous. He tried. He said he could imagine us at Buckingham Palace receiving our Knighthoods from King William. “Now you’ve got it!” I said. “And I’ve got a Lamborghini, Ralph’s got a Porsche and you, Alistair…” “Yes?” “Oh dear, you’ve got a Mini Metro.” “You can stop imagining now,” I told him. “And it’s being driven by William, and he’s giving you the finger and shouting something about him keeping the car until you stop stealing his lucky rugby socks!” “Yeah! OK!” I shouted. “It’s bad enough being picked on in real life, I don’t need to be picked on in your fantasies as well.” “Sorry,” said Aaron. “Like the rugby sock idea though,” I said, patting him on the back.
My excuses to get off exams started believable. “I’m not feeling well, mummy. Miss Bird’s revision timetable is stressing me out.” Mum said “This is very sudden, Alistair. What are the symptoms?” “Tiredness, loss of eye focus, loss of pen grip, anything and everything really.” “Is that all?” “Is that not enough?” “No.” “Oh. Well there are one or two other things too.” And now I stretched the truth a bit, hoping she wouldn’t notice. “I’ve got a slightly broken wrist from too much writing; claustrophobia from sitting in my bedroom all day revising; examophobia, which is a terrible fear of exams.” “Really?” said mum. “I’ve never heard of examophobia. What exactly are the symptoms?” “Terrible,” I said. “I break into cold sweats the second I see an exam paper, which is worse than it sounds, because sweat drips off my nose onto the paper and you can’t write anything on paper when it’s wet. And also I’ve just developed a fear of ink. Oh the cold clammy blueness of it!” I wailed. “It scares my pants off!” Mum threatened to take my pants off for me and give me six of the best with the Mason and Pearson. “Unless what?” I asked. “Unless you get up those stairs and revise!” “But what about my piano lesson?” I cried. That stopped mum in her tracks. It shocked me as well. The last place I wanted to be was in Mrs Muttley’s Mushroom Palace, but ANYTHING was preferable to revision! “Aren’t you too ill to go to Mrs Muttley’s?” she asked cunningly. “No,” said I. “Music is a great healer.”
My plan was devastatingly brilliant. I would go to Mrs Muttley’s, breathe in her spores and catch the Fungus Finger. The school would definitely ban me if I had mushroom hands!
I started breathing in deeply the second Mrs Muttley opened the door. By the time I reached the piano I was dizzy. Tried to sit down but missed the piano stool and ended up lying on the floor. She looked at me strangely. “Have you got asthma?” she asked. “No,” I said. “I’m breathing in, because your house is so full of lovely fresh air compared to ours.” “Oh dear,” she said. “I’ll get the double glazing fixed.” She asked me to play the piece I hadn’t practised for a month. “I can’t,” I trembled. “It’s these exams.” I showed her my shaky hands. “I’m all stressed out, Mrs Muttley. I can’t play a thing.” “You poor, dear,” she said stroking my hair with her mushrooms. “I’ll get you a fizzy drink.” The moment she’d left the room I sprang into action, inhaling deeply, sucking the infectious spores into my lungs. I was very thorough. I sniffed along the back of the sofa where she sat at night, I sniffed the buttons on the telly remote, I sniffed the light switch and I saved my biggest sniff for the piano keys where her fingers spent most of the day. Just to make sure that I wasn’t missing any of the infection I rubbed my cheeks up and down the keys as well like a cat. Unfortunately that was when she came back in. “What are you doing?” she said. “Oh,” I said, standing up quickly. Being caught had made me feel dirty. “I’m doing a project at school about the feel of furniture, and I thought I’d take the opportunity to feel your piano.” “Feeling furniture?” she said. “We do it for people who can’t feel,” I said. “You know who’ve lost their fingers, but still want to know what furniture feels like… Ooh, lemonade my favourite.”
The lesson was half an hour. For maximum exposure to spores I stayed longer. Mrs Muttley was sad to see me go after two hours. “I had no idea that you wanted to be a concert pianist,” she said. I don’t, but I had to tell her something to keep her interested. “And I want you to have this,” she added bashfully. It was a pineapple ice bucket. “You can feel it for your fingerless friends later.”
Walking home I suddenly saw the light. Every time I sit exams I do badly, and mum and dad pick on me for doing no work. But the reason I get an earbashing is because I am the ONLY child who fails and therefore I stick out like a dumb thumb. My parents would feel differently about my bad results if my big brother and sister got bad results too! Suddenly it would be mum and dad’s fault for having thick genes in the first place and passing them on to ALL THREE of their children! If I am the only one to do badly this does not work, and dad can claim that I am not his child and belong to the milkman.
MY MISSION SHOULD I ACCEPT IT, JIM
To stitch up Mel and Will mentally. They have a weakness in common, which makes them vulnerable to Mind Games. They are both superstitious dinosaurs. If I can bend their minds into BAD places full of doubt and sadness think what effect it would have on their exams!
And this is what I have devoted my every working moment to doing since. If you want to find out more of my brilliant exam cheats and schemes go to www.rbooks.co.uk/alistairfury.aspx and part with some hard cash!
BONSAI!
Posted by Your Glorious Leader aka Alistair Fury on Wednesday, May 28th, 2008
Mayday! Mayday! Mayday!
Hail fellow Revengers. Glorious leader here. I have been dillyateory in the righting of my illustrious blog on account of it being exam season and me being weighed down with so many facts and figures that I was scared I might forget them if I tried to write anything Oslo. That is the capital of somewhere North in case you didn’t know. But you see how easily knowledge can slip onto the page and be lost forever. Instead I have written down my diary which shows you the immense pressure I am under from my intellect.
LOOK HERE!
Talking of great intellects, you can bear witness to it here; www.rbooks.co.uk/alistairfury.aspx/ where my further rightings are awaiting your cash and credit cards. One of my diaries Exam Fever is a great easer of stress at this time of year for it doth offer many emollients and creamy smooth paths to exam success. I can’t say what this means exactly, but let us just end with this (it’s in code) – Good cheat with your exams. (Now do you geddit?)
BONSAI! (see below)
THURSDAY
Am stressed because of major exams next week. Here is my ridiculously hectic timetable.
Wednesday – English
Thursday – Science, Maths.
Doing exams doesn’t bother me, but fact that I’ve done no work all year does. Have been way too busy dreaming up sweet revenges to do unto my revolting family. Like, if there were no laws or policemen or CCTV cameras or vicars or guilty consciences in the world, I would make my big brother and sister sit down on an escalator and laugh when their bums were shaved off like thin slices of Parma ham off a Parma pig! OR (even better one) To revenge against our fierce form teacher Miss Bird we hire George Clooney look-alike for the day (she gets misty specs at mention of George Clooney). We put him in the window-cleaning basket outside the window. She opens window, looks down to drool on her idol, and we accidentally push her out of window into passing lorry on its way to dump rubble under new section of M25. Aaron says the only problem with plan is her huge pecking hooter.
“It’s so big they won’t be able to bury it,” he said.
“They can leave it sticking out,” I said. “Pretend it’s a tunnel.”
Wish I knew who invented exams. I would throw them into a pit of poisonous snakes, then give them one and a half hours to climb out.
I AM THICK!
I must be, because Miss Bird just read out bits of my biology homework and everyone in the class laughed.
“Where are the kidneys to be found? the question asked, and Alistair wrote, In the cupboard next to the steak and pastry.”
“My mum’s a cook,” I protested.
“This is my favourite,” she continued. “Where does semen come from? Alistair answers thus; Semen come from the Ukraine, Scotland and Iceland and generally have big beards.”
“Semen comes from the testes,” said Ralph smugly. The Testes is not a group of islands I have ever heard of.
Miss Bird hates my guts, because I lower her class average. She says my laziness has infected fellow Revengers, Ralph and Aaron, and that our combined thickness is putting her reputation as a good teacher in jeopardy. Passed highly amusing note to Aaron and Ralph.
Good teacher of WHAT?
Here are their highly amusing replies.
Good teacher of the most painfulest finger-grip for pinching ear-lobes.
Good teacher of how to wear hideously tight clothes to show off every blubber-bulge in your body and make you look like lumpy custard sucked through a straw then wrapped in Clingfilm.
Good teacher of calling people hurtful names like Apple Puree.
Apple Puree is her funny name for me, but it is NOT funny. I would never give myself to a teacher as a sweet, fruity treat – that would be illegal. And Puree is food for gummy babies and toothless old people. I have all my own teeth and I’m not afraid to use them! Grrrrr!
Unfortunately when I read Ralph and Aaron’s notes I laughed and snorted green stuff into my hand. Miss Bird lost her rag – she was wiping the board with it and had to give it to me to mop up the green slime, which had bungeed through my fingers onto floor. Then she dragged me into the corridor and told me to wait until the end of school when she would take me home. This was cause of much class merriment. (Ho-ho. Must not forget to laugh) They said Miss Bird must love me passionately to take me home, but I told them she was taking me home to my home to give me a testesing (have found out what testes means) in front of mum and dad. However, let it be known that if Miss Bird ever did tell me that she loved me I would have to disappoint her, because I can NEVER be unfaithful. I’m in love with Pamela Whitby. And since her gerbil died I might actually stand a chance now, because she’s in need of regular hugs!
Posted by Your Glorious Leader aka Alistair Fury on Saturday, May 3rd, 2008
Hail fellow revengers. Well that is that. Weep weep! You have seen all my revenges on television and now we are on our own again. For 13 brief weeks Little Brothers everywhere had a National Voice and we was being heard too! Another 13 episodes and there would have been questions asked in the Houses of Commons about the treatment of Little Brothers everywhere (and possibly about the pugliness of pugs too). But twas not to be.
So it’s just you, me and my revenges now. You know that place where I keep sending you to purchase my little books of Revenge Wisdom, www.rbooks.co.uk/alistairfury.aspx well GLORY BE! there is another book there for you now. That makes three paperback pearls. Bugs on the Brain, Dead Dad Dog and Kiss of Death. I am told by the nice and very handsome peeps at Random House who saw the genius flowing through my pen and chopped down loads of trees to bring it to the world, that my other three diaries – Tough Turkey, Summer Helliday and Exam Fever are coming out this year too! In the shops! In the shops! In the shops! If you want them in the shops ask for them in Bookshops and then like a nettle rash we will slowly spread throughout the Kingdom until I am its unofficial king. You know how the Chinese have animals for years – the Year of the Rat, The Year of the Snake, The Year of the Dog and things like that, well if I was Chinese they would name a year after me. The Year of the Flea, because like a flea my revenges have a habit of turning up when people least expect them and biting them on the bum!
In the absence of a television picture to keep my handsomeness alive, here’s a picture.
Lovely. If you want to see more of me write to the CBBC at BBC Television Centre, Wood Lane, London W12 7RJ and demand your rights!!! Here is what to say. Obviously I have given you choices depending on who you are and what you feel.
Dear CBBC
I am a pretty/smelly girl/boy and do love The Revenge Files of Alistair Fury with every bone in my body / down to the tips of my tippy-tippy toes. I do not think I will be able to go to sleep at night/carry on living without seeing more of his handsomeness and wildly effective adventures. So come on CBBC, get a move on / pull your finger out, and bring back the King of Comeuppances / The Prince of Paybacks / The Rex of Revenges soon.
If you don’t do as I say, you can expect all the Little Peeps in the kingdom to do an absolutely massive and mega revenge on CBBC. And we won’t tell you what it is. Except to say that I / me and my brothers and sisters / my whole family including the dog / my friends at school / my friends at school and their families / everyone who has eyes in the world, will stop watching CBBC again and only watch another channel such as Cartoon Newtork, CiTV, The Disney Channel or Nickelodeon.
Love
(insert name)
If your name is insert name you don’t need to put the brackets round it.
Oh yay oh yay! Because I am celebrating the publication of my third diary Kiss of Death here is an extract from the middle of it. Be sure you are near to a loo when you read it in case you have a damp trouser moment with the sneaky laughing. It is another French Worksheet what Miss Bird gave me to do when she knows I’m really bad at French (C’est un pock-marked face grande)
That is it from your glorious leader. I have a short attention spa…
Get those letters flowing.
BONSAI!
Posted by Your Glorious Leader aka Alistair Fury on Saturday, April 12th, 2008
Hail Fellow Revengers.
Here is a motto for today. FIGHT FIRE WITH FIRE! Unless it is you who is on fire. Or Pamela Whitby. She is one thing I would not let burn, because one smile from her means more to me than all of the Christmas Presents what have got from my family throughout all of my life (actually that’s not many) Although I must admit that I rarely get smiles from Pamela. Mainly grimaces and sighs of disappointment.
My family has been struck down with the plague (I wish) and all week I have been treated like a slave-nurse. I have been forced to miss school in order to tend their fevered brows. But I did come up with a brilliant revenge to pay back Mel and Will who are not ill at all. They are just putting wet flannels on their foreheads to make them look sweaty and hiding the thermometer in their socks to give themselves temperatures. When I say it was a brilliant revenge, I thought it was brilliant. Not sure it was in my all time best top ten. Think the close-imity that my big brother and sister came to DEATH saw to that.
You can read all about it IN FULL in one of my collection of Revenge Memoirs entitled DEAD DAD DOG (which also includes instructions on how to do a most amusing Voodoo Revenge), but here’s the bones of it below. More of my life in the next blog. If you can’t wait you know what you can do…. Go to www.rbooks.co.uk/alistairfury.aspx/ and buy the inside of my head!
BONSAI!
SUNDAY
8.00 am – Produced prescription what I had cleverly written in my own handwriting (which is really bad but then so is every doctor’s!) and showed it to Mel and William so that they’d think it was real.
“But doctors aren’t open on Sunday mornings,” said Will suspiciously. “So how did you get it?”
“This one is,” I said, thinking as fast as I could. “He’s started a Sunday surgery for people who hurt their knees and get clapping blisters in church.” Not my best lie ever. “I’ll just go and pick it up at the Chemist,” I said quickly, running out before they saw me blush.
Pretended to go to the Chemist. All I did really was walk round the block four times till I thought I’d been away long enough. Actually, I had to stop walking. I was getting funny looks from a huge man in a balaclava who had locked himself out of his car and was trying to get back in with a metal coat hanger. He called me a “nosy little beggar” and threatened to punch me in the bracket if I walked past again. So I didn’t.
When I got back I sneaked into the kitchen and made their pretend medicine in the blender, using Olive Oil, Pepper Sauce, a whole turnip, Anchovy Paste, worms and Lemon Washing Up Liquid. It was all going brilliant, until my martyred mum (she was so ill her face was as grey as a dead mouse) suddenly lurched into the kitchen to make soup for lunch. I tried to hide my potion by casually lying across the blender, but she asked what I was doing.
“Oh, I’m making soup too,” I said stupidly to get her off my case.
“What an angel,” she said, “bring it up when it’s ready.”
What could I do? I’m not a soup chef! I couldn’t even make soup out of a tin, because we don’t have any. As a TV chef mum disapproves of tins. Besides I only had 7p on me and soup costs more. So what was I to do?
“Alistair!” That was mum calling again. “Ready for your soup now!” Mixed up some tomato ketchup with cold water and passed it off as Gestapo, that cold Spanish soup.
Then after everyone had left it and I had cleared up their trays, I gave Mel and William their revenge medicine! Actually after all that, it was a rubbish payback, because I was up all night with them being sick into buckets. And when I tried to wash the sick down the bath little lumps kept sticking in the plughole. I had to use mum’s mascara brush to poke them through.
In between mop-ups, I had a dream. A nightmare really, about my really bad handwriting, in which everything was highly significant.
MY HIGHLY SIGNIFICANT NIGHTMARE DREAM
I am in a supermarket shopping for my sick family. Me and the lovely Pamela Whitby are shopping together off one long shopping list, like a husband and wife. She is wearing a cardigan and slippers and looks happy, but this can’t last, because we’re working off a list that’s been hand-written by me and neither of us can read it. So I ask a fellow shopper if he can. The man draws a gun and grabs me.
“If I read it right,” he screams, “this note says you’re the only son of an oil billionaire.”
“No. It says I need cheese,” I said. “And loo paper.”
“I am taking you hostage. Nobody try to stop me!” And I’m kidnapped. My mouth is gagged and I can’t speak, so as I’m dragged down the pavement I hand out notes to passers-by which say Help! And Get the Police! but they can’t read my writing, so nobody helps. And suddenly I find myself dumped on a desert island by this kidnapper and told that I’ll be staying there till the ransom’s paid, but I know it never will be. So I chuck bottles into the sea with notes inside begging to be rescued, and the bottles wash up on a beach full of happy tourists, which, as it turns out, is only about fifty yards away across the bay. But of course nobody can read what I’ve written on my notes. So the happy tourists go on wearing silly hats and rubbing each other’s fat red bodies with cooking oil, while I’m stuck on this island forever.
Weird or what?
MONDAY
Woke up to find my big brother and sister glaring at me in a hurtful manner, because I was going to school and not staying at home to look after them like Indian Princes.
“I have to go to school,“ I told them, “If I don’t, Pigeon’ll give me Saturday morning detentions till the end of my school life!”
“We know what you tried to do to us last night,” said Mel witrh a cunning smile. “When I was sick I tasted Lemon Washing Up Liquid.” That made me feel awful, not to say a little scared that they might tell mum and dad I’d tried to poison them, so I made them both tea and toast in bed and ironed William’s pyjamas. And that made me late for school.
The class was silent when I walked in. Miss Bird fixed me with her beady eyes, like a psychopathic magpie.
“So good of you to join us Fury. Would it be more convenient if every morning we simply started school twenty minutes later to let you wake up?” I thought she was being serious.
“Is that possible?” I asked, to which the answer was a low flying textbook that scraped past my ear. And that was the high spot of the lesson.
Anxious to get a message to Aaron and Ralph I wrote a note on a scrap of paper and passed it along the line. It read; Meet break. Same place only different. Eat this note when you have read it. Unfortunately Aaron was caught with his mouth full. Pigeon picked the soggy paper off his back teeth, carefully unfolded it and read it aloud. I could see from her ears going red that something was wrong. “Miss Bird has a huge beaky nose like a pigeon! Don’t let the nasty witch read this,” she hissed.
“No!” I shouted. “That’s my bad handwriting again. I didn’t write that!” But she didn’t want to know what I’d written and I got that detention. After school tomorrow.
Posted by Your Glorious Leader aka Alistair Fury on Friday, March 28th, 2008
Hail fellow revengers!
My nemesis did this to me! I am so angry I CANNOT FIT THE PICTURE IN THE FRAME! It is more important that you see what the horror was that was done to me than I present my blog prettily. Miss Bird is my evil teacher and has pursued me for all of my life. To prove that she has got it in for me I am recreating here a French Test what I did for her and for which she only gave me one out of twenty! What a travesty!
Mon Grand Examination de French
By Alistair Furry
Translate the following words into French
I Love You – Ooh-la-la
I Hate You – Gerroutamaface
Where is the Toilet? – Vite! Vite! Haute Cuisine!
The Weekend – Le Weekend
The Hair Salon – Le hair salon
I like yoghurt – Je t’adore le rice pudding
I prefer ice cream – Je preferez una paloma blanca
The train Station – Waterloo
I think – You stink
To Be Sick – Le Ricky Martin
Translate the following words into English
Le Timbre – The Timberland Shoes
Apres – Ski
Les Pantalons – The pongy people next door who hang their pants on the line
Au secours! – Have you got the time on you? No rush.
Kilo – Pound (weight)
La Maison – My son
Le Nez – The horse
Sourir – There’s a mouse in the house
La Soeur – Sewer or Melanie (same thing)
Le Frere – The deep fat fryer
THE END (FIN)
Apparently I would have got two out of twenty if I had spelled my name write.
Why do I hate Miss Bird with a passion fruit? Because she will not let us wear trainers into school. She insists we wear school shoes which I hate. And all I want is to get myself a new pair of Robbin Hood Trainers because they have been designed specifically for The Urban Outlaw of which I am one. If you watch The Great Trainer Robbery on CBBC on Tuesday and Saturday and on BBC1 on Monday March 31st at 4.05 you will see how I do brilliantly plan to defeat the evil witch in the classroom.
This is a picture of how cool I would look if I ever got a pair of Robbin Hood Trainers. Slammin’
Here is something else what Miss Bird did once. She put me in a dog kennel, LIKE A DOG. She said this “If you behave like a bad boy I will treat you like one. If you behave like a good boy I will give you a choccie* doggie drop.” If I was a real dog I would crawl on my belly until I was under her desk, then cock my leg and pee on her shoes.
Talking of *chocolate here are my all time top EASTER REVENGES
1) Buy laxative chocolate, put it in a microwave-proof bowl, melt chocolate down in the microwave (till it looks like runny poo) and shape it into Easter eggs using a jelly mould. Then wrap it in silver foil and PONGO! A lovely Easter egg full of lovely Easter surprises, which will have your evil family (or teacher) filling their trousers till Christmas!
2) This is an Easter bonnet with a sting. Take one straw hat and cover it in real flowers. Then hide under a water lily, or another plant with wide leaves, a hive – that is to say a bee’s nest. Then when the bees come out to pollinate they will disappear up your victim’s nose and into their ears thinking the holes are flower trumpets and once inside the skull they will make a nest inside the victim’s head where they will mush their brain into royal jelly!
3) Easter is a very good time to make girls scream who have been nasty to you all year and called you names like ALICE! (my name is Alistair). Kidnap their bunny rabbits and hamsters – generally anything what is fluffy and they would take to bed with them if they could – and threaten to put them in a kitchen blender IF the girls in question don’t start telling you how handsome and desirable you are, while also being incredibly nice to you all the time (and doing your homework. Actually this is essential, because girls are WAY more intelligent than boys on account of them having bigger ears. This bigness comes from wearing heavy earrings all the time and the bigger ear holes allows them to absorb twice the amount of information from speech than poor boys can do with their little ears.)
4) Take one empty egg shell and one Easter chick. Turn empty egg shell upside down and hide Easter chick underneath. Then put on plate and serve up to sister. Watch her wet herself when the chick bursts out of her boiled egg!
5) Easter Egg Man Hunt – introduce a pack of hounds to the traditional Easter Egg Hunt. Then remove yourself from the garden and watch in amusement as your family is chased from pillar to fence post by snarling dogs. (NB – IMPORTANT TIP – Keep bugle nearby to call off pack in case one of evil family trips up by accident and dogs start savaging them)
BREAKING NOOSE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
New book of wit and wisdom is now available in all its cheapness at the following link: www.rbooks.co.uk/alistairfury.aspx Follow this link to unbridled happiness and intelligence. After reading my three books ‘Bugs on the Brain’, ‘Dead Dad Dog’ and ‘The Kiss of Death’ you will know so much about revenge that you will be able to sit a doctorate and write a paper for Cambridge University on the subject. Why not get a team of Revengers together and enter University Challenge? And if they won’t take you, try Eggheads.
REMEMBER – Just because adults called it Good Friday does NOT mean you have to be good.
Bonsai!
Posted by Your Glorious Leader aka Alistair Fury on Thursday, March 20th, 2008
Here is pictures of the MOST WANTED MAN IN BRITAIN
STUPID FACE!
He is engaged to be engaged to Mel (puke!) If you see him on the street call him “Numbnuts!” then run away (his real name is John and I think he is a painter and decorator)
See what revenge I did to get rid of him! Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! (I sound like I am in a pantomime)
Bonsai!
Posted by Your Glorious Leader aka Alistair Fury on Sunday, March 16th, 2008
This is picture of my traitor mum and her fruit and veg cake. Prizes will be awarded for the person who can spot the most amount of vegetables in the cake, which by coincidence I also saw in a puddle of sick which shot out of my stomach about 4 minutes after I had eaten a slice. In the pink pool I saw carrots, turnips, swedes (veg not people) onions, sprouts and potatoes. And they say veg is good for you. Anyway did you see what happened to the cake? (I think you can see it tomorrow – Saturday – on CBBC and Monday on BBC1) That was the funniest thing I have seen since granny caught her hooter in the bread bin and ended up with a nose that looked like a currant bun.
Below is Mel and Will in their bad outfits (sorry that should read ‘band’ – although they were a REALLY BAD BAND at the concert thanks to me detuning Will’s guitar and retuning Mel’s electronic drum kit so that instead of drum noises it made noises like, a cow, a fart, a chicken being strangled by a skipping rope and another fart, which made Mel look like a dork) and me just after I have been kissed by Mrs Muttley. Why can she not kiss me without leaving her lipstick all over my face?
BOYFRIEND ALERT!
There is a boyfriend sniffing around Mel called John who looks like someone put his face on back to front. He keeps calling me kiddo and ruffling my hair and I want to KICK HIM HARD in the fingers so he can’t ruffle anything ever again. Anyway he is creepy, but I think he might be about to marry Mel, because everyone is saying “Oh look it’s John the One”. I will know on Tuesday (CBBC). If it is true I may have to get married first in order to secure inheritance of Granny’s valuable ring. GIRLS! Please form an orderly queue (only joking).
If I can find a picture of John the CREEP I will put it up on the website so that everyone can look out for him and throw bread rolls at his ork-like features. WATCH THIS SPACE FOR PICTURE!
PS DO NOT FORGET to sample the inner workings of my mind, by getting my revenge diaries from here where them is still going like hot cakes, although not cakes cooked by my mum (geddit). You will find first two volumes of my wit and wisdom at www.rbooks.co.uk/alistairfury.aspx
(That is Bugs on the Brain and Dead Dad Dog NOW, to be added to shortly by Kiss of Death) MISS OUT ON MY BOOKS AT YOUR PERIL!
Posted by Your Glorious Leader aka Alistair Fury on Friday, March 14th, 2008
