Polly is a fish, but no ordinary fish; Polly is pot (not to be mistaken as Pol Pot).
But Polly isn’t pot all the time.
Some people who aren’t intelligent enough to analyse things to death realise that at midnight, fantastic things happen. These things shouldn’t happen though, because isn’t pot, pot? That’s settled then, pot is pot, it’s made from clay, or whatever it is that pot is made from. So, things such as fish which are made from pot really do-do wonderful freedom-things at midnight; even though they can’t possibly (it’s common sense isn’t it?). This is enough to make most human minds cringe because they can’t believe such things, so that’s why pot fish like Polly in midnight mode are only visible to children with good imaginations, drunks and crack-heads; or drunken child crack-heads.
Therefore, nature decided that it is more sociable for pot-things to do their thing when no adult is around. Nature also decreed that not even children should see them, which shouldn’t be too difficult at midnight in ‘normal’ households i.e. where none of the adults work crazy shifts and the children are good and go to bed early and, wake up when it’s good and light. If children do see living pot things and maybe chat to them, then like to tell their parents. The parents then worry and, may have the child psycho-analysed by a psychotic psycho-analyst and then pumped with drugs to straighten out the obviously warped mind (plus the fact that it’s fun to pump kid-loons full of drugs and then send them to school, armed … with books. If this doesn’t work, the child may be sent to a children’s nut-house and be given some electro shock therapy across the good old reliable temporal lobe. If this doesn’t work an extra -large and lengthy dose of good quality electricity is given which will then turn the kid into a tongue lolling vegetable who is unable to tell the story to other people thus making the parents feel like complete twats; which is very embarrassing; what parent wants that when friend’s children are normal? None of them!
Pot things are ‘really’ careful at twelve o clock on Christmas eve, but there again what self-respecting kid is going to say, “I was watching grandma’s pot vibrator dancing on the mantelpiece last night at just gone midnight, he does a fair old Irish jig!” … No parent is going to believe that, not even if the husband is a pot dildo manufacturer and his mother is a sex maniac. The thought of going to a kindergarten nut house to have his or her brain zapped really puts the zipper on the kid’s big innocent gob. I mean, gran’s ceramic vibrator may be on the mantelpiece, hollowed out containing her ashes, but no way is it going to dance (her final wish was to have her ashes put into her favourite appliance, eighty is the new thirty you see … thank the pharmaceutical industry for that one).
So, for those who are now convinced that weird things happen … NO they don’t! Pot things don’t come to life at midnight when everyone is asleep.
So how come Polly did? Easy, she didn’t! So, if you’re an adult, just treat this as a fancy story and don’t tell it to your kids, as the bill for electro-shock-therapy can be huge if it is done on peak at 4a.m.
The old clock chimes,
A fox screams outside in the silence of night time.
An owl hootily sings
And life is given to pot things.
Polly’s matt paint ceramic eyes suddenly became shiny and the miracle was continued inside where the brilliant eye mechanism began to work and the shower cubicle became a perfectly clear image Nikon would have been proud of, to her now fully functioning brain’s photographic prowess. Polly could hear a noise in the bedsit, so she guessed that Raymond; the lazy arsed bachelor resident had fallen asleep again in front of the idiot’s lantern. She climbed off the coral base she was moulded to before the hour after the moment of midnight, bravely jumped to the wet-room floor and on her tail made her way to the lovely little room. Raymond was snoring on the electric leg raise settee which he had bought when his girlfriend had writhed in ecstasy on it in the showroom. Polly jumped up like a salmon jumping up a waterfall and sat on the edge; she enjoyed midnight-moment TV. When she was ‘real’ Polly enjoyed stereo vision which she found really cool. The programme was a music special and the presenter said, “and now ladies and gentlemen, Miss Dolly Parton!”
Dolly with her wonderful hair sang her hit ‘Jolene’.
Polly was transfixed and she had an epiphany.
Dolly finished her song and Polly, feeling the desire burning inside her, jumped off the settee and made her way back to the wet-room and the shower cubicle. Then, in the non-midnight moments a pot fish dreamed. She dreamed of being Dolly and singing that magical song. If she had of been a teen human in a society of working people she would have heard ‘never mind unrealistic dreams! Get a proper job!’ … but she dreamed and dreamed.
The very next night at the midnight moment, she wandered around the main room again. Raymond was snoring his head off in the bed, his mind in the land of dreams. Polly jumped around a bit in the freedom she felt and then decided to go back to the shower cubicle and become pot again … but still semi-aware; she could still see through her paint eyes you see, but not as clearly as her ‘midnight moment’ real eyes. As she passed the bed-end cabinet, she heard a ‘hi there!’
The greeting came from above, so she looked up.
There was an attractive young lady stood on the edge looking down at her.
‘Who are you?’ she asked.
‘I’m Libby Ratchee, midnight living pottery just like you. What are you up to?’
‘I’m enjoying my freedom while I’m real.’
‘I was watching you last night; you were watching Dolly Parton singing on the TV.’
‘That’s right, isn’t she wonderful! I would love to do a tribute act.’
‘Really, that sounds good. I can help; I can play the piano, so we should team up … how about it?’
This photo shows pot figurines because for a start, it isn’t the midnight moment. Polly is the only pot fish in the world with realistic Dolly Parton hair.
Because this is a true-imagination story; it isn’t the done thing to brain-zap the writer with several
juicy volts of electricity. In a survey, the people who press the ‘dose’ switch on the ESP machine in children who talk to living pot things, say it is the most rewarding job they have ever had and makes zapping boring, wacko, flipped-out adults quite zzzzzzzzz.
Child’s Play is just a film.
Pinocchio wasn’t real (except at the midnight moment).
I’m joking; it’s all real … as are zombies.
Belief is a good thing if used wisely.
Nine 2 Five link
Yes, the figurines are pot because it’s daytime … this is a reconstruction of the midnight moment.