dinosaur

Mr Otter the dirty rotter

Good morning dear readers.

As life is one of those big obstructive things that constantly gets in our way (Stupid life), I’ve not had a chance to come up with an enlightening/hilarious/confusing/narcissistic blog post this week. Instead I have rummaged through my dusty hard drive to find you a little tale to enjoy on this Sunday afternoon or, indeed, what ever day it is there in the future… Hello future person! There is so much I’d like to ask you…

Anyway, I digress. Here is the story for you. I hope you enjoy it. Please forgive any offenses against our beautiful language, I think I wrote this whilst drunk.

Mr Otter the dirty rotter

Mr Otter liked to be mean. It made him feel warm and fuzzy inside. He got the same enjoyment out of being mean as someone like you or I would get from doing something nice and good.

“I’m just born that way.” Mr Otter would declare and then go running off to upset someone.

The people of the riverbank said that Mr Otter the dirty rotter had a heart made of a blackened acorn and a soul as slimy and unpleasant as bacon fat. None of the other river side dwellers could be certain of this claim without performing some sort of surgery on Mr Otter which is, of course, a ridiculous thing to even contemplate.

“I’m going to do surgery on Mr Otter The Dirty Rotter to see if he has a heart made of a blackened acorn.” Said Timmy two brains; the local dinosaur and therefore doctor. “I will then attempt to prove that Mr Otter’s soul is as slimy and unpleasant as bacon fat.”

He coughed gently into his claw. No one in the old tree said anything. Most had fallen asleep as soon as the tree hall meeting began and were snoring very rudely and very loudly.

“Does anyone object?” Timmy Two Brains asked.

The riverside council shook their heads. They were sure that if Timmy Two Brains had an idea it was probably a good one, he did have two brains after all. Besides, they were bored and wanted to go and play outside in the sun rather than be inside this ancient tree.

“It is settled then.” Timmy Two Brains gave a wide smile which exposed his razor sharp teeth.

That night, as the moon rose into the night sky like a giant pingpong ball a claw was inserted in the lock of number 13 river bank cottages. The door swung slowly open to reveal a mat on the floor which read:

“Unwelcome” In big rude letters.

As you may have guessed, this was the home of Mr Otter The Dirty Rotter.

Timmy two Brains slipped silently into the house with his medical bag tucked under his stubby arm. The door was shut with a quiet snick of the lock.

Despite being mean Mr Otter The Dirty Rotter was very house proud. This was a strange thing as he never had any visitors. He would sneer as he dusted and say:

“I’m glad no one will be able to enjoy my spider web free house.” while the spiders themselves scuttled away to mutter and grumble in dark corners.

The house was full of shadows which, to Timmy Two Brains, seemed to harbour all sorts of horrors. A slipper there peeking out from under a chair. Timmy Two Brains shivered and what was that glinting wickedly in the kitchen. Timmy Two Brains swallowed, he turned his gaze away from the thing that looked horribly like a jar of peanut butter.

“I must be careful.” Timmy Two Brains whispered to himself.

“Probably shouldn’t have whispered that to my self.” The dinosaur whispered again.

“Or then.” His leathery brow furrowed.

It briefly crossed the clever dinosaurs mind that this was a rather silly situation. He was fairly certain that dinosaurs were rather unlikely to be around in the present age, let alone being a fully qualified medical practitioner but the thought soon passed and he crept deeper into the house.

Doors led off in every direction. Timmy Two Brains knew that behind one of them slumbered Mr Otter The Dirty Rotter but which one was it?

He listened carefully. Was that the sound of someone snoring like a jet engine on take off? Was that a sign that said:km>?
. ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,
“Mr Otter’s bedroom, shove off.” on the door.

Timmy Two Brains had a suspicion that he was getting close.

“I mustn’t make a noise.” The dinosaur whispered to himself.

“Probably shouldn’t have whispered to myself then.” He whispered again.

“I never learn.” and with that, he dashed into Mr Otter The Dirty Rotters room.

Now, you probably expect Mr Otter to be well, an otter. The funny thing is, he wasn’t. He was a small talking rose garden. He had simply taken the name to be awkward and confuse people.

There he lay with his flowers gently waving in the breeze from the window and glittering with water droplets that fell in a constant mist from a large shower head. He looked very beautiful.

With a roar Timmy Two Brains let atop the mean and unfortunate Mr Otter The Dirty Rotter. The spade came down and the dinosaur began to merrily dig.

“Oy.” Said Mr Otter. “Stop digging me up. That’s rather rude.”
I
I“I’m trying,” said Timmy Two Brains.“To do research on you without your consent, so please lie there and be quiet.”

But of course Mr Otter The Dirty Rotter was having none of it.

“I give you my consent.” He said cruelly. “You are very welcome to dig me up for medical research purposes.”

The dinosaur stopped and leant on his spade.

“But if you give me your consent that means I can’t dig you up without your consent.”

“I know.” Said the wicked little rose garden. “It’s deliciously horrible isn’t it?”

“You are so mean.” Said Timmy Two Brains as he wiped a tear from his black, reptilian eye.

“I was born that way. Don’t judge me man.” The horrible little rose garden said smugly. He rolled out of his flower bed, for this is where rose gardens sleep and slithered across the room to the large brass telephone that hung on the wall.

“Now I’m going to call the police and have you shot for being a stupid dinosaur.”

“Oh come on.” The dinosaur implored. “I’m a modern day marvel.”

Of course Mr Otter The Dirty Rotter, being mean, ignored the dinosaur’s protests and very soon Timmy Two Brains got shot.

You can find information about Timmy Two Brains and other such mad scientists at your local skip. Say that I sent you but please don’t use my real name.

© Oliver Kennett 2011

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