White Smoke, New Pope

 White smoke – New pope.

Grey smoke – Oh no, the new pope’s on fire!

No smoke – It’s okay, we dragged him from the pyre

Intermittent smoke – The new pope keeps crawling back into the flames

Green smoke – The new pope’s… melting? His flesh is coming off in lumps.

Blue smoke – That’s not a human skeleton.

Red smoke – That’s definitely not a human skeleton.

Beige smoke – The segmented thing that, until recently, was lodged

just below the pope’s sternum has begun to scale the wall.

White smoke (faint) – Is… is that our new pope? I guess we did just appoint it.

Pink smoke – All hail the scuttling pope.

Taupe smoke – The scuttling pope has descended to address the committee.

Teal smoke – The scuttling pope has dislocated its jaw, and begun to eat

the committee.

Gold smoke – The remains of the committee are hiding under the table.

Lime smoke – Except for Father Benedict, who has stayed to man the

smoke signals.

Chartreuse smoke – Father Ferdinand is going for the papal harpoon gun.

Sepia smoke – Father Ferdinand is firing the papal harpoon gun.

Mauve smoke – Something large has fallen. It hit the floor with a thud.

Violet smoke – The committee are peeking their heads around the

table legs, craning to see if the new pope is dead.

Navy smoke – The body of the new pope is twitching. Father

Ferdinand is covered in green gore. He’s trembling like a leaf.

Cerulean smoke – The committee have exchanged meaningful glances.

They lift the papal robes from the twitching corpse, and drape them over Father Ferdinand's gooey shoulders. They don’t hang majestically, but cling to his shaking form.

White smoke - New pope.

Autumn/Winter Cosmetic Collection

 New for 2021!

Anti-Death Cream
Death approaches. Inexorably. Inevitably. Relentlessly. It lumbers around street corners. Scampers over tiled rooftops. Crouches suspiciously behind the crates of bananas in the Tesco fresh fruit aisle. Pretend that it isn’t coming for you with our patented anti-death cream. It stops your skin from looking like your parents bought it one size too big, waiting for you to grow into it. 

 

Smoothing and Mattifying Serum
Apply this serum, and people will perceive your head as a perfect, featureless sphere. We don’t know why you want this, but we’ve seen other creams on the market claiming to offer those things, and ours actually follows through.  

 

Earshadow
Accentuate your ears with our extensive range of ear shadows. This season, new palettes include shimmering metallics and vibrant neons.

 

Flesh-Removing Facial Scrub
Get back to the bone with our classic facial scrub. Contains hyaluronic acid to bring the moisture to the surface of your skin, and hydrochloric acid to bring the skin off your face.

Waterproof, Bombproof mascara
For days when you need staying power. This patented weather-resistant formula will stay on your face for twenty-four hours regardless of rain, snow, or nuclear fallout.

Expanding Shaving Foam
Guarantees a smooth, friction-free glide, and can also be used to fix cracks in plaster, dry wall, asbestos, UPC, and metal. Contains tea tree oil for a pleasant scent, and mineral wool for thermal insulation.   

Short story: Shoreline of Infinity 24

The ever excellent Shoreline of Infinity have gone and published their 24th Issue. I can neither confirm nor deny that I may have a short story in it, but I can say that there's a brilliant story by Tim Major, an intriguing review of Aliya Whiteley's Skyward Inn, and the details of their upcoming flash fiction competition...

A Poem-Shaped Thing

Last Night

I dreamt that Tim Key

was in an advert for Grolsch

there was a Miliband in space

and you were in the back garden

retching up a kitchen.

 

You coughed up the spoons without a problem

tinkling into the flowerbed

where they bounced, for a moment,

like landed fish.

But the appliances caused you grief

and you braced and grunted

as you heaved a fridge-freezer onto the lawn.

 

I crossed my fingers that the oven would be electric.

‘Oh, how lovely,’ I said, as you coughed a rusted gas range onto the grass.

You could tell I was inauthentic -

reading from the litany of vague praise 

reserved

for other people’s hideous children -

and asked me to go inside.

‘I’ll finish up alone,’ you said

And you did.

And I woke with the feeling that you would hold this against me forever. 

Self-Storage

The minotaur in the self-storage depot was the wrong way round – the face of a man on the body of a cow. “Milk me, please,” he asked Jay, fluttering his eyelashes.

“Er, sorry – “ Jay replied, “I can’t.  I’m looking for the exit.”

“Please milk me,” he said.

“Sorry, I – My girlfriend’s waiting for me in the car. I have to get back. We just came to drop off a sofa. Don’t want it cluttering the place up.”

The minotaur raised an eyebrow.

‘Did she give you string?’

‘What?’

‘A roll of twine to find your way out’

‘No’

‘Then she dropped you off.  Didn’t want you cluttering the place up.’

Jay looked around – surveying the twisting corridors and identical doors. The minotaur snorted impatiently.

“Milk me, please.”