Detective Woolly and the Mystery of the Missing Sock

Detective Woolly, the ghost sheep, had been raised in a junkyard, and was unfortunate enough to see his mother get fondled and roasted by an old lady with wild, swinging breasts, on his birthday of all days. Or at least that was what he liked to tell people. In reality he was brought up on a lovely little farm, and his mother had lived to a ripe old age… and then she was roasted. There was no fondling involved, or at least if there was, Detective Woolly had never seen it. He liked to tell the other ghost animals that he died chasing the wobbly boobed woman through the streets of the city, where he was shot in a Mexican stand-off, whilst simultaneously also saving an orphanage from burning to the ground. In reality he had eaten a burger he’d found in the hand of a corpse which had been in the stream at the bottom of his field for about three months and had projectile-vomited himself into the next life. But this was Detective Woolly’s chance to impress his new ghost friends, and anyone could forgive him for exaggerating a little.

Having introduced himself as Detective Woolly for years, Detective Woolly had also never really been a detective. In his physical life he had spent most of his time eating grass and pooping, but had always dreamed of solving crimes and putting away those pesky sheep villains, of which there are undoubtedly many. Floating around in his ghost form now gave him the perfect chance to start afresh: he was invisible, fluffy and had donned a Sherlock Holmes hat and pipe in the spirit of things. He had also ordered a cape, but there had been a delay at the ghost sheep Post Office and it wasn’t coming for another week. If he’d had opposable thumbs he might have gone in and raised some Hell, but he didn’t have opposable thumbs. Also he was a ghost so there probably wasn’t a whole lot of damage he could have done… though of course he could have made the room go a bit cold and caused a mild annoyance. He didn’t think about it at the time.

Floating around as a ghost sheep does, one day Detective Woolly had found himself blown through the wall of a quaint looking cottage. Squirrel topiary lined the edges of the garden and a fresh cherry pie was sat upon the windowsill of the kitchen. Had Detective Woolly had any concept of societal clichés, he might have laughed to himself and pooped a little, but instead he drifted around the ground floor of the house, sniffing at the cereal in the pantry and nibbling at the curtains in the living room. As he passed by the laundry room, all of a sudden he heard an old lady cry out in distress.

‘Oh, Reginald! We’ve lost another blue sock!’

Continue reading “Detective Woolly and the Mystery of the Missing Sock”

Smelly the Goat

Once upon a time, there lived a smelly goat. Smelly lived on a big hill with lots of other goats in a kind farmer’s field, where every day he could graze on fresh, lovely grass and bask in the bright sunshine. But Smelly the Goat wasn’t very happy… he was much smellier than any of the other goats, who were all clean and smell-free, and who were very mean to Smelly about his smelliness. The other goats would laugh at Smelly and make him feel sad. Smelly wasn’t allowed to eat with the other goats, or play with them, or wash with them, which confused Smelly as this only contributed to his smelliness and made them laugh more. Smelly was very sad, and every night closed his eyes, and wished with his whole heart that one day he would be allowed to play with all of the other goats that Smelly considered his friends, even though they were very mean to him.

Then one day, while Mean Goat (the meanest goat of all) was laughing at Smelly for being smelly, Smelly suddenly felt full of courage. Smelly came to the other goats and told them proudly, ‘I might be very smelly, and you might be very clean. But do we not eat the same grass? Do we not all bask in the same sunshine? Are we not so alike? Afterall, what is cleanliness without smelliness? What is light without the dark? And what is life without friendship?’. With these words, Mean Goat saw that Smelly was just as nice and kind and goat-like as all the other goats, albeit a bit more smelly, and he smiled, and together they walked to go and play with the rest of the goats in the happy sunshine.

Smelly’s wish had come true! Now he was free to feed and play and make friends with all of the other goats, who loved him as he was: a smelly goat. Sometimes the smelliness would overcome them and several would pass out at once, but Smelly had never been happier! He faced each day with a smile on his face, and with love in his heart for all that he knew.

The day after that, the kind farmer came and took Smelly out of the field and into the barn. Smelly was very excited as he hadn’t been to the barn before! He bounded after the farmer, looking forward to telling his friends of his exciting adventure when he returned. In the barn, the kind farmer said to Smelly, ‘You’re a fucking disgrace to this farm, and you smell like shit’, drew out a shotgun, and blasted Smelly through the face. He took Smelly’s body, cut it up with a meat cleaver, and fed it raw to his dogs, which they enjoyed very much. He threw Smelly’s internal organs in the bin, musing on the interesting gloopy sound they made as they reached the bottom. He burned the remnants of Smelly’s head in the incinerator, and cast the ashes onto the floor, spitting on them as he left the barn.

Then the kind farmer wandered home to have his tea, laughing to himself as he thought of how smelly that goddamn fucking goat had been, and how he probably should have killed him sooner.