Friday 20 April 2007

Mr. Gristle - Tales for the Nursery

Mr. Gristle had a problem.
He did not much like the sound of people eating.
Whenever he heard the sound of somebody munching on crunchy packets of crisps, or slurping on a soft and moist banana he felt absolutely sick and outraged. He was so completely and utterly disgusted by the sounds of people eating that he couldn’t sit for more than five minutes in a restaurant before having to politely but swiftly excuse himself and hurry to the exit.
“Jowls!” he’d mutter.
“Mandibles!” he’d sigh.
“Mastication!” he’d exclaim.
It was on just such an occasion when Mr. Gristle decided that he should really get something done about the problem.
“I simply must get something done about this problem of mine.” he thought, as he stormed away from his surprised uncle-in-law, with whom he was meant to have been eating sandwiches with in a particularly expensive cafĂ© in London but just could not bear for one second more the sound of brie and grapes squelching into whole-wheat bread between the offenders teeth and tongue.
“But what,” he mused, “but what exactly can one do? Everybody eats! Perhaps I should become a hermit, and live in complete and utter isolation. On an island!” he smirked to himself at his clever idea.
But a frown creased across his brow, “Not good enough” he thought aloud, much to the surprise of some nearby pigeons, “Not nearly good enough. For I cannot even stomach my own ingestion!”
Mr. Gristle thought and thought about what to do. He walked through busy streets, glaring at Americans pushing chocolates into their gaping mouths, he scowled at little girls chewing on dolly mixtures outside sweet shops, he put his fingers in his ears whilst pacing though Harrods Food Hall.
“Harrods” he said.
“Americans!” he said a little louder.
“Dolly mixture!” he shouted, which made a nearby baby start to cry.
As Mr. Gristle paced and thought, and glared and stalked, and shouted and screamed, it seemed to him that everything was food being eaten, that every smile and set of teeth were mocking him, biting and chewing and ruminating at him. Even in London Zoo, where he seemed to have arrived, everything was eating. Monkeys thundering though great piles of peanuts. Zebras snorting into hay! The whole world had become one big mouth to Mr. Gristle, one big mouth full of saliva and chewed up sweets and pieces of pastry and crumbs, and teeth, and tongues.
“Go away!” he shouted, as he started to run.
“I can’t see you!” he shouted as he shut his eyes and ran past a startled keeper on his lunch-break. He heard the sounds of tigers growling into some meaty carcass.
“I can’t hear you!” he bellowed and he stuffed his fingers into his ears.
But because he ran with his eyes tightly shut, and with his fingers in his ears, because he ran like that he was completely unaware of the shouts around him, of the warning cries.
He was aware of the wall he tripped on. He was aware of the hard landing. He was then aware of the incredibly sharp and painful teeth as they bit down extremely hard upon his belly.
As his eyes shot open, Mr. Gristle suddenly saw that all his problems were over, and as his fingers fell from his ears, Mr. Gristle heard, with some relief, the snap and crack of his bones as he was loudly eaten by a lion.

5 comments:

Jack Gander said...

I love it!

It's hard to pick a favourite moment, but I must say that the best line ever written/said/dreamt in the history of all things and beyond may well be, “Not nearly good enough. For I cannot even stomach my own ingestion!”

The savagery! The truth! (I relate fairly strongly to poor Mr Gristle's sensitivity to crunches, slurps etc.). The savagery!

And what's more... all the animals of the rainbow!

And I hope that Exponential Nostril Death, if it ever finishes (which, it just occurred to me, it probably shouldn't, in a sense...), I hope I have a last sentence to match the snap and the crack of his bones and the loud lion...

videodrone said...

Thankyou for yoyur kind comments. It must be said that I too share his unfortunate condition. Perhaps there's a bi of Mr. Gristle in all of us?

Bic Biros & Moldova said...

I must say I am fond of Nursery tales with the main character landing in an Animals stomach by accident. I particularly like that the last sounds he will have heard were his own ingestion.

Oh Mr. Gristle...

Jack Gander said...

Oh, Mr Gristle
I wish a...

Hang on... that's not right...

But I do agree that there's a little Mr Gristle in each of us, and also that violence should be an integral part of every nursery tale. And indeed it usually is. Thankfully.

ndh said...

This really is a top story.

The irony of being called Mr Gristle, that's what gets me.

I tell you what Patrick, I'd like to see an illustration of Mr Gristle.