I
have penned many profound words upon the subject of inanimate objects.
A good many of these have been produced with the aid of a Biro.
During
the course of a single year I will use upwards of one thousand Biro's,
yet I have never actually worn one out. Why should this be?
My
studies lead me to the conclusion that the Biro, as with many other forms
of inanimate object, hates it's role in life.
The
Biro is by nature a celibate creature which resents spilling it's virile
essence upon paper. I do not arrive at this conclusion lightly, but through
years of painstaking research and at no small cost to my health.
My
findings may be summed up thus:
- The
Biro does not serve man willingly
- The
Biro is a wily beast, which, if given the least opportunity to make
good it's escape, will do so.
Two
Simple Experiments with Biro's
- Purchase
fifteen Biro's. Hold them tightly all the way home to prevent escape.
Place five in the pencil pot in the kitchen. Five in the decorative
mug next to the telephone in the hall. Five in a jar on your writing
desk. Pointedly ignore the Biro's and allow one week to pass. Try and
find a Biro.
- Bend
down and tie your shoelace. Try and find a Biro.
Suicidal
Tendencies Amongst Bondage Biro's
Many
attempts have been made to tame the Biro, or at least bring it to heel.
All have been doomed to failure. One inspired notion was the creation
of the biro which was worn on a thong about the neck clipped into a plastic
harness.
This
unnatural practice is rarely seen today. The severe psychological damage
inflicted upon the captive Biro's led them to tear themselves from their
shackles and plunge into toilet bowls, becoming suicidally entangled about
gear sticks or wrap themselves around handlebars.
It
is also understood that these Biro's were capable of telepathically transmitting
their cries for freedom to companions of their tormentors, with the result
that these would remark, for no logical reason, 'You look a right prat
with that thing hanging around your neck, throw it away'.
Parker?
Gorn, M'Lady!
There
exists a school of thought, that an expensive Biro, wrought from gold
or silver and branded with the potential owners name, will become a cherished
possession. Perhaps the principle is that if the owner loves the Biro,
the Biro will return the affection and become a loyal companion. Sadly
no. In fact, due to the precious metals employed in the manufacture of
these items, they are truly a cut above the average when it comes to evasiveness.
These
Biro's are most popularly given as Christmas presents. But exalted be
the man who can use a such a creation to pen a thank-you note come Boxing
Day. Most potential owners will spend the morning emptying dustbins and
uncrumpling wrapping paper in the vain hope of unearthing the cherished-possession-to-be.
I
contend that such Biro's employ an advanced form of camoflauge. Also that
they are capable of dematerialisation. It is to be observed that many
such Biro's arrive in hermetically sealed gift boxes which are a right
bugger to get open.
These
boxes ensure that the Biro's remain safely entrapped whilst at the shop.
But caveat emptor, once you're home, you're on your own.
The
Irish maintain that there exists, somewhere upon the planet, a treasure
trove of Croesusian magnitude, where these gold and silver fellows hobnob
with the single earrings beyond number and a million gemstones from engagement
rings.
It
is situated at the end of the rainbow. Or so I have been led to understand.
Homicidal
Biro's
Man
has never been slow to mould the world to his whim. But in doing so he
has concieved many a dangerous folly. Nuclear Power, CFC's (Chelsea Football
Club supporters), toxic chemicals and Bud Abbott. But none more potentially
disastrous than the Whimsical Novelty Biro, or W.N.B.
This
is, to all intents and purposes, a normal Biro, but affixed to it is the
head of some currently marketable character. Snoopy, Garfield,
Bart Simpson, Barry the Sprout, or what-have-you.
It
is to be noticed that such characters generally emanate from America.
Home of the serial killer
The
victim-to-be purchases, or is given, the W.N.B. and places it unsuspectingly
in the top pocket of his or her jacket, with the humerous head protruding.
Then at some time during the day, he or she has cause to turn their head
sharply to the left, or attempt to take off the jacket.
Either
way the result is inevitably the same. A severed jugular! And does the
government insist that health warnings be printed upon W.N.B.'s? Does
it 'eck as like! The needless slaughter has been going on for more than
a century. But the conspiracy of silence prevails to this day.
Note
this: it is a significant fact that all the victims of the so-called Jack
the Ripper murders died within walking distance of The East London
Patent Pen Works. This factory specialised in the manufacture of dip pens
capped with silver facsimilies of Queen Victoria's crowned head.
Only
one such pen survives. It is kept under lock and key in Scotland Yard's
Black Museum.
It
was found at the bedside of Mary Kelly, the last of Jack's victims!
Before
concluding this section it is worth drawing the readers attention to the
so-called suicide, by hari-kiri, of the Japanese writer, Yukio Mishima.
He
wrote with a Biro.
He
that liveth by the sword shall perish by the sword.
The
pen is mightier than the sword. Nuff said.
The
Mystery Biro
I
must, before concluding this erudite monogram, dwell upon a curious anomaly.
The black sheep of Birodom. The Mystery Biro. This, unlike the
rest of the species, craves the company of man.
It
will appear suddenly in the pocket of a jacket you haven't worn since
it came back from the cleaners. In the glove compartment or boot of the
car. At the bottom of a handbag or raffia shopper. In the kitchen drawer
or tool chest.
And
once it has found you, it is yours for life.
It
is, inevitably, a shoddy, plastic, giveaway affair, with a spring arrangement
housed within, purportedly to bring down the ballpoint.
It
can be instantly recognised by it's bright plumage. Bold primary colours
and embossed lines of print which spell out things like: Nicked from
the Archduke Ferdinand Aerated Bread Co., or Wandering Bishops
World Con '79.
Of
course, it doesn't actually work. But's always there when you need it.
And just you try and get rid of it. Leave it where you will. Folk will
persue you down the street crying, 'You forgot your Biro'. The
Mystery Biro has come to stay.
As
to it's origins. These remain shrouded in mystery also.
Often
a telephone number will be printed on the Biro. But spare yourself a florin.
Either the number has been discontinued, or the premises named on it simply
do not, and have never, existed.
The
employment of a stout stick is recommended. Followed by the incineration
of the pieces.
Another
Mystery Solved
I
am often asked how, with Biro's vanishing as often as the do, is it possible
for some writers to get so much down on paper in a single lifetime?
Shakespeare,
for example.
Shakespeare
wrote 100,000,000 words in twenty years. No small feat. I am happy to
reveal here a little known fact about the Immortal Bard.
Shakespeare
was, in fact, a retired pirate, who, after losing his right hand to a
round of chain shot on the spanish main, gave up the life of brigandry
on the high sea's and took up writing as a hobby to pass the time.
Intimates
knew him as Stumpy Will and remarked upon the craftsmanship and lifelike
nature of his carved elm prosthesis.
The
forefinger of this was capped with a golden nib!
It
is said that the impossibly prolific Master of Macabrery, Stephen King,
has a Biro surgically grafted to his right hand.
The
Book of Ultimate Truths
Hugo Rune (Nicked from Robert Rankin - not penned by the Hugo Rune that owns this site :)
Added by
Hugo Rune on 08/10/2002 12:29:52
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