Writing on the Moon

Writing on the Moon

I write on the moon becos it is the best place and has a man in it and is maked out of cheese. Scientists say they sent a man to the moon in 1969 to see what I was writing. It was all a hoaks. Their pickchers are all in black and white and the moon isn't that colour. Anyway, I would have seen them. I did see Wollis and Gromit once, and then the repeat.

On the moon I rite about important things, like whether anybody will ever walk on the Earth. I don't think they will, there is too much graverty and they'd all be squashed like squishy tomatoes. You'd need legs the size of elefunts just to stand up. If you jumped off the Earth you'd hardly get anywhere at all and it would hurt coming down. And there's all that horruble air everywhere. You'd have to wear space helmits to keep it out. I don't know why anybody would want to go there, except to stop sumboddy else getting there first.

Here on the moon we think we can see a man in the Earth, and we think it is made out of bacon. Soon Nasser will try to send a man to the Earth in a little tin box with fireworks on the bottom. They will talk in crackly voices that go: Witney Houston, we have a problem. It is number six in your problem book. It has to do with a man crossing a river with a goat. Can you help? Oh, and what is top left in the sudoku?

I have almost nearly finished my book. Books are very short on the moon, it's to do with science and space and being the best chef on telly and other complercated things. You can do a book in an hour. Noboddy ever reeds them.

It is very pissful on the moon. There's nothing much going on so nothing much to rite about. I invented a thing called a robery, where people take things that belong to sumboddy else. Moon dust, mainly. They could get it anywhere but they come and get it from my garding. I phone the perlice but there aren't any, and no phones either. That's as far as I've got with that story. I don't think robery will catch on.

In my garden I arrange the dust in little heaps. There's no wind becos there's no air, and no rain becos there's no water, and no robery because noboddy will voluntear to do it, so the dust stays where it's put. I contemplate the dust to investergate the nature of ennui, which is boardum for posh people. I've discovered that it's no more interesting than poor people's boardum, and every bit as boaring. Since starting this paragraffe I've already ritten a book about it. Noboddy will ever read it.