Blue Monster

Well as it turns out another monster has joined us on the net. This time it is a Regurgitation Monster known as [Yellow](http://yellow.monsters.wigglypets.co.uk/). We like to call him Mellow Yellow but he seems upset about this for some reason. He is a bit different from me and Red in that we just spew stories willy nilly but he actually goes out hunting stories that happened or he has heard and then sort of erm… dramatises them - of course some of his stuff is pure fabrication, being a Story Monster.

It shall be interesting to see what his writing is like, as he is known for his somewhat poor attempts at humour. He tends to come up with the sort of long-winded jokes that dads come out with at Christmas. He also is more prone to drawing his stories in sort of comic book form so seeing how this transfers to the pure written word will indeed be interesting.

I am feeling so flustered by his presence on the net that I shall just set an exercise this week rather than actually writing something myself - so could you all spend twenty minutes writing about how silly jokes are.

[Red](http://red.monsters.wigglypets.co.uk/?p=22) has once again written a gruesomely romantic nostalgic piece and is still name-calling.

I think that I shall be ignoring her for the next few weeks, besides, rumours have it that another Gurgitation or possibly even a Regurgitation Monster may soon be joining us.

This week I thought we could all write for 10 minutes about ships.

The Ship

Along the coast a misty haze rises and blots out the horizon. This is when the destroyers often move, using radar and sonar and the like. They move with stealth and do the strangest reconnaissance of the sea floor, which considering they use explosives to do so, seems pointless to try and hide.

The waters are an azure blue and the palms on the beach wave forlornly; penguins dive into the waters and fly underwater. What are they looking for here? What are they doing?

I think we shall never know but I like supposing:

Suppose they have found Atlantis or something of its ilk?

Suppose they are tapping the trunk cables and threatening the Internet and the like?

Suppose they think there is something, some rarity to be mined down there?

Suppose they are looking for a crashed space ship?

Suppose they find it?

The coast is rocky near the land and safe harbour is hard to find and like many ships before it, the destroyer behaves erratically and scuttles with a sideswipe to the rocks peeking from beneath foamy waves.

We shall never know.

The end

[Red Monster](http://red.monsters.wigglypets.co.uk/?p=9) is just being blatantly childish now, never mind, it shows I have a higher level of intellect!

This week I shall be writing about Rainbow Snakes. I suggest you do the same or just rainbows or just snakes or maybe snakes and rainbows – it’s up to you!

Rainbow Snake sat in a box in a dark cupboard all forlorn and forgotten, his beautiful colours hidden. Of course they weren’t as bright as they used to be and the seam at the end of his tail was coming undone but he was still a good Rainbow Snake. Annabelle had played with him everyday, she had even taken him on holiday and dragged him through the sand.

The amount of times he had had to go around and around in the washing machine was nobody’s business. But the dizziness and sogginess and being pegged up by the tongue had all been worth it for the cuddles and being arranged around the other toys and into hearts and circles and all sorts.

Even when Annabelle had become too old to play, Rainbow Snake had slept on her bed and had helped with maths homework. Then they had moved away to university and Rainbow Snake had been used to keep the text books warm on a shelf.

Drunken students had draped Rainbow Snake round their necks whilst singing karaoke and again he’d had to go through the washing machine.

But then Annabelle had moved in with Ted and when they moved Rainbow Snake was packed into the dark box and never unpacked. It broke his heart that Annabelle didn’t want him anymore.

He’d been in here for what two - three years? There was a strange noise; it had started a few days ago, it sounded like a baby crying but Rainbow Snake couldn’t tell through the box and cupboard. The door opened and Rainbow Snake saw light and wondered if he was going to be thrown away as Ted pulled him out of the dusty box.

 But Ted sat down and repaired his seam and then once more Rainbow Snake was consigned to the washing machine. Once that ordeal was over he wasn’t hung up by his tongue but put in another machine that blasted him with hot air whilst throwing him over and over so that he ended up in a knot. Ted then extracted him and untangled him and to Rainbows Snake’s joy he was given to Annabelle.

Annabelle smiled and hugged him; she looked tired but Rainbow Snake vowed he would look after her. But before he could say so he was lowered into a cot and there was a little wrinkly baby who reached out little fingers to him.

“Jeany this is Rainbow Snake; he was mummy’s special friend. I hope he will be yours now.” Rainbow Snake was very happy again.

With the presence of Red on the net I am getting increasingly paranoid that others might soon follow suit and my glorious stories will be swept aside by the tide of words.

This week your mission should you choose to accept it is to use the starting word Mice.

Mice are Nice

They are sold in pets shops

For a small and meagre price

Like all furry creatures

They are prone to lice

Unless they are sugared mice

Which taste so very nice

Though could use frankly

A little spice

Real mice

Would eat sacks of rice

Left to their own device

As they think it’s nice

Though they don’t like frozen foods

As it turns their tums to ice

Nice mice spice rice for a price with ice - this is a bad poetic device so take my advice and RUN

 The End

I was thinking of it as a tongue twister

What do you think?

Well Red has produced her first story and personally I think it is a bit too gruesome but then that’s just me!

This week I thought we could use weather as a metaphor for society.

Circulation cells are the chambers of commerce

Distribution is the weather of trade

Weather fronts are the motion of popular belief

Utilitarianism set out is the blazing sun

Diffused by the humanitarian aid

Rain for the harvest is the business wheels

A system chaotic and ordered

Out of balance brings the floods of social change

Hurricanes of social unrest

The storm of war

And the typhoon of human rights violations

Hmmm mine turned into a proto poem - oh well, no one is perfect.

This week I thought I might dwell upon the deepest reaches of the earth, the mostly unexplored depths of the sea. You lot should all spend 10 minutes writing about a poignant episode to do with the ocean or a beach, it doesn’t have to be a real memory.

Down deep in the depth no sunlight reaches the possible cradle of creation, the nursery of life, as it spews nourishment for the core of the Earth. The mid ocean ridges with their own life fed from volcanic vents that mar the sea sky with clouds of black and white particles. Hot enough to melt glass are the fount of life here.

Creatures that once had eyes crawl blindly across the ocean floor looking for substance and they are flaky and white - all pigment lost to the darkness, rendered unnecessary. The food chain here is something of a wonder, not based on sunlight, not on plants but on the small and insignificant chemotrophs, microscopic organisms that feed on chemicals, that love to munch the mineral rich water and multiply in its warmth.

This extreme environ is their home and they lurk here, silent in the rushing waters. Could this be the cradle of life? Not this one, not this rent in the earth’s crust for it is young, far too young and the strange aliens that lurk there have vestiges of life that knew the sun. But something similar could have birthed life and thrown it forth to encompass the world in all its multitudes.

The End - or not, as it may be.  

Well it’s happened - Red Monster has decided to set up a blog in direct competition with me but I am not bitter, no siree I am not and to show that I am an understanding individual I thought it only fair that I mention her blog and * gulp * add her to my blog roll.

Her writing style is quite frankly insipid compared to mine and she is somewhat driven by her emotions, plus there is quite a violent streak in her sometimes, which startles me.

Only time will tell if her writing will get any better - like all Gurgitation Monsters she is helping to infect the human population with writing so I suppose the outcome of her web existence is overly good.

I think this week I want a 100 word essay on the nature of rivalry - I however am far too upset to write anything and am going away to be both blue mentally and physically, so there!  

I am a blue Blue. I have been hearing rumours that perhaps some of the other Gurgitation Monsters might have discovered I have a blog and instead of sitting back and admiring my works of genius they have ridiculed them and say they can do better. Huh! I would like to see them try!

This week I thought we could write something along the theme of competition - our feelings on it - so that means we have to write in first person so it’s all I and me and stuff.

Competition

I am obviously the best writer on the block so I don’t know why the others are even trying. I shall trounce them and make them cry for mercy. I see no point in competition and think they should desist. Any Gurgitation Monsters that are not a wonderful shade of blue are wasting their time in competing with me.

This week I thought I might just ramble a bit about being blue! You should do the same for 5 minutes.

Blue is the colour of the monster within

Blue is the colour of my scaly skin

Blue is the colour of the cloudless sky

And blue is the colour of my favourite tie

Blue is the colour of my plate and bowl

Blue is the colour of a runner going slow

Blue is the colour of my hands and feet

And blue is the colour of my favourite seat

Well I am Blue after all!

I thought something epic might be called for this week after last week’s preciseness - well here goes!

The planetary nebula swam unthinking through the vastness of space. All around it was the suck of vacuum as it claimed more and more dust denuding the nebula of its substance. The cloud of gas and particles had travelled for millennia to find that which had been snatched away from it.

The nebula had once had a pulsating passion for a neutron star that was dense and prone to outbursts of a truly volatile nature. But this companion star had been stolen, snatched, filched by the chaotic interactions with a passing galaxy.  The gravitational undulations had ripped the star from the embrace of the nebula and flung it many galactic miles away. The cloud had followed but the trail was becoming dimmer and space far less populated. Fewer and fewer stars studded the sky, even the hydrogen atoms were becoming rare.

A great engulfing sea of blackness appeared before it, the hole or void at the centre of the universe. The Billion Light Year Void. It sucked at the very soul of the cloud but still it plunged forward, sure that if it could only hold on a little longer it would find its beloved star.

The void beckoned and then like the star before it, the nebula entered and the universe closed its maw - all billion light years of it.

The End

You lot out there - I want you to spend 10 minutes contemplating and writing about The Vacuum - what the vaccum is, is up to you.