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So, this is Christmas And what have you thrown? Another cabbage over And a new one just grown And so this is Christmas I hope you have slugs The slimy and the spicy ones The old and the young A very Merry Christmas And a happy new Snazzy Let's hope it's a good 'tache He's always so flashy And so this is Christmas For Dieter and for me For cauliflowers and cabbages I'll hit his noggin with glee And so happy Christmas For purple and for green For no other colours Will satisfy me A very merry Christmas And a happy new me Let's hope you buy my books Because I need the money And so this is Christmas And what have we said? Read books by Zapple And throw cabbages with lead And so this is Christmas I hope you eat a lot When a slug has been bad Just toss it into the pot A very merry Zapple I've drunk all the drink There's no more Noggin Rocker™ My slugs poured it down the sink War isn't over, Dieter I don't want it War isn't over, Dieter Never
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I feel I must tell you about Peter the Slug, so named after Peter Sellers, the great British actor. Peter the Slug simply adores Sellers and can quite often be seen imitating this comic genius. Whether it's the voices a la Inspector Clouseau or the numerous voices Sellers performed in Dr. Strangelove, Peter the Slug does them all as well doing the usual slapstick. He's become quite adept and often puts on shows showcasing his impersonations of Sellers. His shows are sell-outs, held in our cellar, and all the slugs attend. Even my neighbour Dieter got wind and requested an invite. He was declined as I cannot abide Dieter and his inferior tea strainer. Peter the Slug continues to perform and one day hopes to follow in the footsteps of this former Goon - to do this he'd better hope he avoids my fingers when it's slug stew day and I randomly select slugs for the pot. Well, Slugland was a bit of a waste of time. Not much was achieved there. Yes, I learnt some new cabbage recipes, learnt new techniques in how to breed, modify and train slugs, and acquired some new killer slugs that are deadly by the touch but I felt that I could've achieved much more if I had just stayed home, pricked my finger, thrown cabbages at Dieter and gotten my current crop of slugs to infiltrate Dieter's home and steal all of his tins of soup. Oh well.  When I could write. Could I, the great Elias Zapple, be suffering from the oft-alluded to writer's block? As I sit here, stroking Mr Snazzy, staring at a blank page whilst Derek the Slug makes me yet another cup of herbal tea, I wonder what has happened to the words that used to pour from my fingers. Maybe I've been throwing too many cabbages at Dieter? Maybe I've been too distracted with the comings and goings of my many slugs that have filled up an already congested hallway? The next book in my collective arsenal, Nicu - The Littlest Vampire, is just waiting to be written and yet it is not. What shall I do? How can I commit word to paper? Has the blood dried up? Has Elias Zapple written his last word? Will children never get to experience a new Zapple novel ever again? Of course not! I just wrote this and I shall delight you all again! It really has. It's been a week, almost a week, since my last post on this infamous blog. Where does the time go? Does somebody hoover it up? Does it fly by like a Concorde did until New York got them abolished? Seriously, what happens to time? Many days have passed since I hit Dieter with a cabbage, he may think I'm going soft. I'm sure it was only yesterday that I hit his noggin and yet it has been a week. A week since anything of note happened. One minute I was a little bud then I was a performer on Broadway and then I found my way to commanding an army of slugs. What happened in the intervening years? Were they stolen? If so, who would steal my years? Can I report them to the police? My years have been stolen and I demand them back. It is all quite disturbing and I'm feeling rather flustered. I need to lie down and take a breather. Perhaps I can get one of my trained slugs to make me some tea. However, last time one of my slugs made me tea he accidentally fell into the cup and boiled himself. He tasted like a mushroom. No, I shall have to do it myself whilst I work out what has happened to the past few days, week however long it has been. I want my time back and I demand answers. Anyway, let this be my blog post while I gather my thoughts and write something much more coherent soon... you'd be so lucky! Hello there, my minions. Twas a glorious day today when the sun did not shine and Dieter did not venture near for fear of having noggin knocked off yet again. Today, I did conduct another interview, another great interview whereby my interviewing skills were once again demonstrated. Forget Jeremy Paxman, forget David Frost (RIP), forget the American equivalents and forget Terry Wogan, I shall be known the world over as not just being a superb children's author, a master cabbage thrower and a moustache model, I shall also be known as a hard-hitting, insightful and inquisitive interviewer that will probably never win a Nobel Prize. They're all biased, you see. Visit this page to witness my extraordinariness: http://www.eliaszapple.com/elias-zapple-interviews.html O Elias Zapple, you are so great from the fields that doth bear your name to the towns that singeth and cryeth for you for fear of thou which is curly and furry O Elias Zapple, you are so resplendent in your dashing Zappleness your hair in which poetry has been written and recited through the ages where many a cabbage been thrown tossed hither and thither not landing on but upon noggin of Dieter O Elias Zapple, emperor of slugmony ambassador to slugs that doth battle for thou fight, explode in all the glory that is thine thee struggle, bleed thickened slush and bringeth home chocolate frosted cupcakes O Elias Zapple, wordsmith for ankle-biters great thou words be, cherished they are under the candyfloss tree laureate thou shall one day be bleed thy words on thy paper goo goo g'joob I do enjoy listening to the odd tune when hurling cabbages, setting the mood for my slugs to procreate or pricking my finger so that I may write another glorious sentence in the stunningly funny Duke & Michel saga. What kind of music, I don't hear you ask? Well, depends on what I'm doing. If it's to help my slugs go to battle then something like a Beethoven fused with Rage Against the Machine seems to do the trick but if it's for them to help them make their own kind of music then I find Marvin Gaye to be splendid. When I hurl cabbages, it needs to be something with a bit of fire and I quite enjoy a little Metallica on some days and Nirvana on others. Now, when I write, well nothing beats The Beatles for true inspiration. A most innovative band, as innovative as I am with my prose and the tactics I employ when targeting Dieter. How about when I'm grooming Mr Snazzy? Well, he's a gentle fellow and he prefers more calming, chilled tones so I stick on a bit of Sigur Ros or Massive Attack. That sort of music seems to put him right in the mood to be groomed. Sometimes you just have one of those days, don't you? I had mine today - one of those days. I don't know why I get one of those days. Not the one of those days as in one of those days I'm going to get you and turn your head into a flower pot but one of those days where you just feel ugh, you know, one of those days. It had started off perfectly normally. I had woken up feeling almost as fresh as a trampled daisy, spotted Dieter watering his rose bush so I nipped out and launched a cabbage at the back of his unsuspecting head then went back inside, joyously before feeling deflated and knowing I was having one of those days. Despite my best efforts, it still remained one of those days. Nothing productive happened, my slugs were evidently having marriage problems, my finger was dried up and unable to write down a single word and my pipe remained empty. It was just one of those days. Even Mr Snazzy, my famed moustache, seemed to lose his sheen. So I crawled back into bed, literally crawled as I was moderately intoxicated, and went into an eerie slumber that didn't refresh me at all, naturally. I say naturally because I knew it was one of those days. |
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