It was a bright, cheery morning. The Sun was shining in the sky and the birds were chirping heartily in the trees. In the farm nearby, Farmer Jones was showing Ms. McHartley his equipment. But that’s not the story we’re concerned with right now. We’re here to talk about Postman Pete. There he is driving his blue car into the cheery little town. His road tax was way out of date and his tyres were as bald as Rev. Tom’s head. He carefully avoided the doughnut shop, so as not to run into constable Pickles. Up on the road, he noticed Mrs. Whittle riding on a bicycle.
“Good morning, Pete,” said Mrs. Whittle and gave him a cheery wave.
“Get off the road, you soppy cow,” replied Pete swerving his car to the right and forcing Mrs. Whittle into a ditch.
And on he drove until he reached Granny Wizen’s house. He rammed the car into the fence and applied the brakes.
“What a stupid place to put a gate-post,” thought Pete.
He went up the door path and knocked three times on the door. Granny Wizen opened the door herself.
“Hello, Pete,” said Granny Wizen cheerily, “Would you like to come in for some milk and gingerbread men?”
“What on earth would I want to do that for?” replied Pete. “You’re a lousy baker and your house smells like something has crawled in there and died. Anyhow,” continued Pete, “you’re such a senile old baggage that you’ve probably forgotten what you’ve invited me in for in the first place.”
“Hahahahahaha,” laughed Granny Wizen heartily, because her hearing aid batteries had run flat.
“Anyhow, I got this parcel of glassware for you,” informed Pete, throwing down the parcel on the nearby table with an audible crunch. “I wonder what moron put a sticker saying ‘Fragile’ on it.”
"So where is your black and white cat, Joss, these days?" asked Granny Wizen.
"I ran over him two days ago," said Pete, "but now he is more useful as a doormat than he ever was before."
From inside the house came Fred to the door.
“Hello Pete,” said Fred.
“Hello Fred,” said Pete.
“Say, Pete, have you been my $300 postal order yet?” inquired Fred.
“I’m afraid not,” said Pete, “But that’s the post office for you.”
“But this is the fifth time this month,” exclaimed Fred, “And this happened last month too”
“Tough luck!” consoled Pete.
“You know, Pete, I’ve often wondered how a man like you on a postman’s salary can afford a two bedroom apartment and a swimming pool,” said Fred.
“Your guess is as good as mine, Fred,” said Pete, adding, “You know what, Granny, I think I’ll have a few of your cookies now.”
Granny Wizen smiled and shut the door into his face. Pete sighed, chucked a brick through her window and went back to his car singing his cheery song:
I’m Postman Pete and I carry the posts
To people’s houses everyday.
Unless I feel a bit fed up,
And then I chuck the lot away.
One day I got a post, clearly marked:
“Important post, Do not bend!”
I wrote across it, “Yes, they do.”
And just to prove it fold it then.
My name is Pete, I’m postman Pete,
And I visit the ladies down the lane.
And when they call I never fail,
I really am a first-class male.
“Good morning, Pete,” said Mrs. Whittle and gave him a cheery wave.
“Get off the road, you soppy cow,” replied Pete swerving his car to the right and forcing Mrs. Whittle into a ditch.
And on he drove until he reached Granny Wizen’s house. He rammed the car into the fence and applied the brakes.
“What a stupid place to put a gate-post,” thought Pete.
He went up the door path and knocked three times on the door. Granny Wizen opened the door herself.
“Hello, Pete,” said Granny Wizen cheerily, “Would you like to come in for some milk and gingerbread men?”
“What on earth would I want to do that for?” replied Pete. “You’re a lousy baker and your house smells like something has crawled in there and died. Anyhow,” continued Pete, “you’re such a senile old baggage that you’ve probably forgotten what you’ve invited me in for in the first place.”
“Hahahahahaha,” laughed Granny Wizen heartily, because her hearing aid batteries had run flat.
“Anyhow, I got this parcel of glassware for you,” informed Pete, throwing down the parcel on the nearby table with an audible crunch. “I wonder what moron put a sticker saying ‘Fragile’ on it.”
"So where is your black and white cat, Joss, these days?" asked Granny Wizen.
"I ran over him two days ago," said Pete, "but now he is more useful as a doormat than he ever was before."
From inside the house came Fred to the door.
“Hello Pete,” said Fred.
“Hello Fred,” said Pete.
“Say, Pete, have you been my $300 postal order yet?” inquired Fred.
“I’m afraid not,” said Pete, “But that’s the post office for you.”
“But this is the fifth time this month,” exclaimed Fred, “And this happened last month too”
“Tough luck!” consoled Pete.
“You know, Pete, I’ve often wondered how a man like you on a postman’s salary can afford a two bedroom apartment and a swimming pool,” said Fred.
“Your guess is as good as mine, Fred,” said Pete, adding, “You know what, Granny, I think I’ll have a few of your cookies now.”
Granny Wizen smiled and shut the door into his face. Pete sighed, chucked a brick through her window and went back to his car singing his cheery song:
I’m Postman Pete and I carry the posts
To people’s houses everyday.
Unless I feel a bit fed up,
And then I chuck the lot away.
One day I got a post, clearly marked:
“Important post, Do not bend!”
I wrote across it, “Yes, they do.”
And just to prove it fold it then.
My name is Pete, I’m postman Pete,
And I visit the ladies down the lane.
And when they call I never fail,
I really am a first-class male.
2 comments:
postman pete? whats this? a spoof of good ol' postman pat? what happened to the black n white cat, then?
@ Dela:
Yeah, its my take on Postman Pat. Saw the thing yeaterday on Pogo. Didn't like it. And thanks for reminding me about the cat. I've edited the blog to mention it.
Post a Comment