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Friday, July 22, 2011

From "Jimbob" a story in "Fryupdale" by Mark Staniforth

FryupdaleOn his sixteenth birthday, Jimbob dragged a great black panther in the back porch. Jimbob was caked in blood and scratches and his thick black hair was tufting out. His folks looked up from their breakfasts. They dropped their jaws. Jimbob said, 'it was worrying 'em some, so I punched it out.' His father said, 'Holy s___ing Jesus.' His mother glanced up, said, 'Lord, forgive us.'

Jimbob's father called over the Bulmers. They stood round and prodded it with sticks and tarnished toe-caps. Jimbob hid upstairs, dabbed his wounds. He heard the young lad, Evan, said, 'you could make summat big of this.' Jimbob's father responding: 'mark my words, we'll be making nowt.'

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