Turtlewind
The Turtle Moralises
My previous attempt to have sex with the last girl who sent me an email forward failed after she found out how to block my messages. Now, however, I have completed one of her challenges with responses so nakedly honest that she will have no choice but to be filled with a desire to gaze on my naked honesty…
You’ve just cooked dinner for your four friends, when disaster strikes and you drop the chicken on the kitchen floor. Before you can stop him, the dog dashes in and licks it, but you get it away before he can do anything else. You have nothing else to cook. Do you own up, or do you serve the chicken up for tea? You’re vegetarian anyway.
My ‘four friends’? ‘Dropping the chicken’? Is this a question about playing with yourself? That sends you blind, you know. Oh, apparently it’s just about food. The answer here is quite simple. The dog has ruined the dinner, therefore the dog must replace it. I would give it half an hour to prepare a scintillating repast, or else it would be Fido fricasée for the acolytes of the Mysterious Mr Turtlewind. Some would call this casual cruelty to animals, I call it natural selection.
Turtles go to a BETTER place. Than you
After the rapturous reception received by my warning against the dissembling nature of McDonalds, my scorpion buddies and I decided to reward you foolish lay people with another glimpse into the fascinating world of the International Turtle of Mystery. I was drawn to this heading because it involves laughing at death, which I like to do most weekday evenings, hiding at retirement homes until the hearses arrive when I leap out giggling at the funny boxes. › Continue reading
“I Am The Bad Turtle. I Create Myself”
It has been a scary few months in the life of your friend, the Mysterious Mr Turtlewind. I was so drained by the tedium of completing some unesteemed fool’s challenge in my previous epistolatory masterpiece that I allowed myself to be abducted by the Anti-Matt, a universe-shattering Mini Cheddar-addicted demon. Who lives in a garage in Harwich.
Anti-Matt has always been a lower-level nemesis, a former housemate who turned against his mentor after a nasty argument about the gas bill while clearing rebels out of Suffolk in the ‘98 Calpol War. I’m still not quite sure where he got his unnatural powers of mould generation and universe shattering, but I think it might have been in the car park toilets where men do things to each other’s bottoms.
I was dangling from the ceiling (there was a chair but you couldn’t get round the battered white Ford Escort to sit on it) for about a week while Anti-Matt revealed his evil schemes. Well, he talked a lot about being a homeless orphan and things, but then his parents came round to see his new flat, so I was left on my own for a bit. › Continue reading
Turtle What? Turtle If?
I have returned humans. Know me.
“WHATS”
(1.) What is the first interesting thing that you see when you look around the room?
Barry the Scorpion! My rascally little armour-plated life partner. A little older, a little frailer, but still poking venom into the feet of passing children on Dagenham High Street like the practical joker he’s always been…
(2.) What can you hear at the moment?
The wind whistling through the rafters of Turtle Grange, banging doors and windows and shrieking through the lonely dark spaces. It almost sounds like words, whispering ‘They know. Kill them all.’
(3.) What is on your computer desk?
Not a computer, unfortunately. I am still reduced to composing reviews by yelling ‘beep!’ down a telephone wire. I’ve still got that framed autograph of Harold Pinter’s willy though.
(4.) What was the last question someone asked you?
“Are you a real doctor?” It’s amazing how often people come out with that old chestnut, I thought we lived in a society of equal opportunities these days, with more emphasis on vocational qualifications. I mean, I’ve been trying to get ladies to open their shirts so I can put my hands on their boobies for TWENTY YEARS now! Surely that makes me more qualified to do so than some stripling not two months out of medical school?
(5.) What was the last question you asked someone?
“Are you a real policeman?” You see, they don’t like a taste of their own medicine!
› Continue reading
Dear Mr Doctor Who
Dear Mr Doctor Who
I enjoy your adventures tremendously, as you battle against evil in the Universe and in Surrey. I fight evil too, and you are my role model, along with Bananaman. Most of the evil I fight consists of the boys who throw stones in my village, but I want to buy a TARDIS so I can also fight evil in Bulgaria because they are never on the news and so I think they are up to something, possibly involving stuffing puppies with depleted uranium. My evil fighting name is Turtlewind. As names go, it is not as good as yours, but it is better than Bananaman. › Continue reading
Turtle Club
It takes an average of five prank calls full of girlish giggling before a person will block your number.
I know this because Turtle knows this
The first time I saw Turtle was on Studland Beach. He thought he was on the naturist part and was racing up and down the dunes shouting about his HUGE WANG and telling women they should ‘bust out the floppies’.
After an hour of this, he abruptly dropped on to the sand and kneeled there, purring slightly. After a minute I realised he had scampered around in the outline of a huge hand with its middle finger extended, and that for some reason he was kneeling directly on the fingertip. › Continue reading
T For Turtlewind
On a dark and stormy night in the latter days of the nineteenth century, a boat ran into trouble off the coast of North Devon.
We all know that the Lynmouth lifeboat crew dragged their craft over Countisbury Hill to launch from the calmer waters of Porlock, but who were they? What were they like? Did they run with the red deer over the rugged heath of Exmoor? Or bum goats in the Valley of the Rocks? › Continue reading
Boots Lipstick no. 7
Some ruffians have accused the Turtle of not examining serious subjects! Lies! I am not only an officer and a gentleman, I am a consumate consumer, and have imparted my wisdom across many issues. There is nothing I do not know, as you will learn from my review of lipstick. Yes, LIPSTICK.
Boots No. 7 lipstick is the seventh product in the Boots lipstick range. This means that they released 6 lipsticks before that. It shows, as the lipstick is well developed, and the colour stays on for at least 23% longer than if you use Boots No. 6 lipstick.
This lipstick comes in many colours from light red to dark red, and sometimes blue, and generally goes on lips. › Continue reading
The Erotic Turtle
A few weeks ago, I was intrigued to find pages on the internet that chronicled the chief ways in which individual scribes found themselves titillated. I was quite shocked at the brazen way in which many of these depraved writers talked so openly about their naughty-bumpy habits.
Thankfully a wandering guardian of public morals was good enough to spend a weekend moaning about all this shocking filth which he’d spent several hours seeking out and reading, and so the powers that be on this blessed epistlular forum removed all the smut so they could take it home and bash out a quick one over them in private.
But the mind of the mysterious Mr Turtlewind often moves like glacial flow – imperceptibly slowly yet with unstoppable momentum. And just a few short hours ago I woke up with wobbly knees:
‘I have to write about what turns me on!’ I squealed › Continue reading
Kiss of the Turtle!
Romance has been sadly lacking in my life, despite my strict adherence to the guidelines I have detailed elsewhere on this fairly esteemed site. And yet, there was someone once…
As I drifted through the A level system, I spent many long hours thinking about how great it would be to have female companionship. I’d briefly been inspired by Mr Kenneth Branagh’s noble cinematic adaptation of Frankenstein, where the unnatural creation yearned for a similarly deformed spouse that would be unafraid of him. The whole world conspired to mock my celibate status. The Lion King showed that cartoon lions were managing to get it on and rubbing the fact in on the big screen, and then I received the news that even my esteemed colleague, the mysterious Mr Doctor Who, a most notorious celibate, was preparing to get a girlfriend on television. This was very nearly the last straw, and I wept bitter tears every evening throughout the early months of 1996. › Continue reading
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