Self Portrait of the Wumbeevil As a Young Slug
Created | Updated Apr 10, 2002
I was abandoned in the forest at the tender age of 29 & 3/4 and was
raised by a family of slugs. Everything was fine and we'd merrily
slither around spelling rude words on the vicar's driveway and then
eating his lettuce, apart from Sidney who was dyslexic, and ate his
letters.
Of course this idyllic life had to come to an end sometime and one
day my stepped-on-father took me aside and told me all about the
snails (or trailer-trash as we called them) and the bees. That very
night I went to the Slug Prom with Gelatinous Gertie. After a beer
trap or ten I could no longer slither in a wobbly line and plucked up
the courage to let her ravish me. Ten words of cement calligraphy
later we were one, or one and a half to be precise. And there lay the
problem.
Do you know how it feels to be only half the slug you thought you
were? Word quickly got round and soon woodland creatures were calling
me an "Ug". I had to flee to the Vicar's house, confess all, beg
forgiveness and a place at his table. However his reaction was not
the one of Christian understanding I had expected. Instead he made it
quite clear that I was to be fed to his vegetables because his first
words to me upon finishing my tale were, "Lettuce prey".
I took to my mucous and fled, slithering around the world thereafter,
earning a bit of food here and there with my snotter impersonations
in Punch Atchooey Shows, and occasionally as a haemorrhoid in
Casualty. Gradually I got my head together (JFK take note) and forgot
the trauma of my forest days until this afternoon when it all came
flooding back.
...and don't dare take this tale with a pinch of salt.
raised by a family of slugs. Everything was fine and we'd merrily
slither around spelling rude words on the vicar's driveway and then
eating his lettuce, apart from Sidney who was dyslexic, and ate his
letters.
Of course this idyllic life had to come to an end sometime and one
day my stepped-on-father took me aside and told me all about the
snails (or trailer-trash as we called them) and the bees. That very
night I went to the Slug Prom with Gelatinous Gertie. After a beer
trap or ten I could no longer slither in a wobbly line and plucked up
the courage to let her ravish me. Ten words of cement calligraphy
later we were one, or one and a half to be precise. And there lay the
problem.
Do you know how it feels to be only half the slug you thought you
were? Word quickly got round and soon woodland creatures were calling
me an "Ug". I had to flee to the Vicar's house, confess all, beg
forgiveness and a place at his table. However his reaction was not
the one of Christian understanding I had expected. Instead he made it
quite clear that I was to be fed to his vegetables because his first
words to me upon finishing my tale were, "Lettuce prey".
I took to my mucous and fled, slithering around the world thereafter,
earning a bit of food here and there with my snotter impersonations
in Punch Atchooey Shows, and occasionally as a haemorrhoid in
Casualty. Gradually I got my head together (JFK take note) and forgot
the trauma of my forest days until this afternoon when it all came
flooding back.
...and don't dare take this tale with a pinch of salt.
