1
HA HA HELLO!
Ivor Sorewun was an absolute joker. "HA HA HA!" he thrilled each morning while reading Dear Deidre in The Sun newspaper.
His ha-ha spree grew louder when his Viz comic arrived in the post and with almost every trip to the charity shops which lined the high streets like ----- , a new book of jokes or humorous cartoons would be purchased.
Ivor's throat was often as dry as a birdcage's carpet and his ribs ached like a sex-maniac's todger. But on he HA-HAd.
He HA HAd in the shops
He HA HAd on the bus,
He HA HAd in the church
Which caused quite some fuss!
He HA HAd in the library
He HA HAd on the train,
Mavis, head librarian
Moaned he was "a pain!"
He HA HAd near
He HA HAd far
He HA HAd inbetween;
He HA HAd high
He HA HAd low,
One barmy HA HA scene!
Ivor Sorewun was thirty-five years old. Or young, depending on your age when reading this. He live in a village called Twatt - which he was rather proud of. Each time he passed the TWATT sign, a flurry of HA HAs would invade the airwaves closeby.
But on I must hurry because my own is sticky. So, so sticky. To find out why, turn to the back page.
2
IVOR'S YOUTHFUL HA HA HAs.
As a kid, Ivor Sorewun strolled into the local newsagent. "Would you like a paper-round?" Mr Barry Odour asked.
"No," replied Ivor, sharply. "I want a rectangular one like everyone else!" Then the HA waterfall approached - flooding B. O.'s News rapidly. He picked up a packet of bubblegum* and tossed it onto the counter. "35pence, please," said Mr Odour. Ivor handed over a £2 coin. Barry popped it into the toll tray and muttered, cheerfully, "Right, that's... Change! Oh Change! Change! Change! Change!"
"No!" snapped Ivor, rudely. "I'm happy in these clothes, thank you very much!"
The HA
HA
Falls
gushed again.
* No brand wanted to sponsor, so...
* * * *
Blowing bubbles and splattering them on his face, Ivor Sorewun made his way to the local park. It was Sunday morning and the sky was as blue as a Smurf. A football match was underway - blokes of all ages, some with rotund bellies and some with acne on steroids and legs that could be insulated with McDonald's straws. With HA HA bells ringing in his head, Ivor grinned and, stepping over a mole-hill... No, sorry, mole-hill shaped dog (I think) turd, blew his way to the touchline.
The linesman - puffing like a steam train vastly overloaded - starfished up and down the line (correction: two yards each way), as Ivor blew on.
POP!
SPLAT!
"Lino," said Ivor, sticky-faced, "do you know all linesmen are so unfit... I mean, they're flagging from the first minute!"
A HA-HA blanket covered the entire pitch as he laughed on and on and on. Even the players stopped in wonder. "What teams are playing? " Ivor asked between HA-HAs.
The ref sent his pea rocketing throughout its metal casing, pinball-esque. "It's..." replied the lino, breathing like a warthog with a punctured lung. " It's... Twatt Ballers versus The Pickled Slowworm - the pub.
Chewing like a horse on acid, Ivor cheekily responded, "I don't like oubs. Do not trust them. Liars, liars, boozy pants fires. The Red Lion clearly stated "FREE HOUSE." But when my dad started shifting his wardrobe in - the landlord got the right hump...'
A HA-HA rollercoaster roared into existence. Tears of laughter fell from Ivor Sorewun's eyes like a man who'd just peeled a thousand onions!
And then it happened...
2) Part 2
An egg shell whacked Ivor on the back of his HA-HAing head! The shell splintered into dozens of pieces and the contents trickled down his hairy skin - a yellowy-white mixture of eggyness. "Hey!" yelled Ivor, turning whilst rubbing his sticky neck and shoulders. "Eggsactly what are you playing at? Egg throwing's not a yolk - although it always delivers cracking fun!" HA-HA HA-HA HAs penetrated the atmosphere as three young teens lingered by the park's climbing frame a short distance away - laughing hysterically, like hyenas on a Duracell overdose.
One of the youths wandered closer to Ivor who, as they witnessed, was not angry or mad. Well, not in that sense. "It was Shelley!" one boy with bucked teeth yelled, pointing to a woman walking a black poodle. "She lobbed it. And she's a poet!"
"Shelley was a tremendous poet, " chuffed Ivor, tossing his gooey skin-lotion into the grass with his overchewed gum. "He wrote some brilliant poems. This one is a classic:
"Eggs are yummy in your tummy
Fried or poached or boiled.
If you gobble eggs raw, though
Your pants may be soiled! "
The flood of Ivor's HA-HAs followed into The now underway-once-again football match and caused a striker for the Twatt Ballers to fall on his arse, like a - twat!
And, then, it took place...
2) Part 3
"You're under arrest," said one of the police officers, firmly. "Anything you say, blah-blah-blah... "
"What have I done?" squealed Ivor, like a pig on its way to the abbortoir. "I haven't done anything!"
Ivor Sorewun was hurled like an over-sized cricket ball into the back of the police van as the second officer addressed him.
"Quit writing on my forehead!" shouted Ivor as the ink dug deeper. "I'm not an envelope!"
"Have you got a stamp?" the penning policeman asked.
"No!" replied Ivor, " and you coppers... you're useless. Phone the Old Bill if you've been robbed or mugged, and no help. But mention there's a gun involved - You're round in a shot!
A HA-HA HA-HA sprinkler system flooded the back of the van and the pavement outside, aggressively! "By the way," Ivor added. "I don't get many gags nicked - except for my police ones!"
The sprinkler system expelled so many HA-HAs that it broke down, which lead to...
