was actually an out-of-work scientist.
Scientists are not to be trusted â fact. Itâs got nothing to do with their goofy appearance, though that thing your mother said about always judging a book by its cover is certainly true in this case.
The fact that scientists have Coke bottle glasses, ears like the sails of a blue-water racing yacht and a flipped-out afro like Hair Bear has got to tell you somethingâs not right. They hide behind their nerd screen but canât resist using their big brains for evil rather than good.
In this case, the scientist who duped Jason-Jock had a great need of money. His mobile phone had been cancelled for non-payment of bills, and he owed his mum for accidental overpayment of pocket money.Not even the fried chicken place would take his cheques anymore.
Cash was what he needed and he didnât mind how he got it. The villain sat down and wrote the biggest pile of spuriously spoony hogwash possible, published it and sold it to Jason-Jock from his dodgy bookstore, claiming it was a magic book.
The book, Everyday Magik By a Magician Who Knows , was supposed to be a deeply powerful magic source, when it was actually just a deeply powerful hoax. The scientist was a common fraudster, like they all are.
How do I know so much about scientists? Let me tell you, Iâve been through the wringer with those charlatans. I was once approached by scientists to take part in a paid experiment, living in a share apartment for a month with a tame chimpanzee. The scientists wanted to observe the interaction between a civilised being and a backward primate.
I behaved brilliantly and was fully blameless but the whole ordeal was disastrous and embarrassing.
The chimp had obviously been brought up in a bad neighbourhood and its sense of values was whack. It wouldnât do its share of the cooking or cleaning, hogged the remote control, made long-distance phone calls to the deep jungle that it had no intention of ever paying for, took hours in the bathroom, used my special medicated dandruff shampoo and mocked me mercilessly whenever I wet the bed.
After a month of this nonsense I was happy to be rid of the troublesome ape and collect my fee. Then I found out I wasnât the one being paid â the chimp was!
To add insult to injury it turns up on Oprah and fully bags me out to the hooting audience, laying it on so thick about me wetting the bed that Oprah nearly wet herself. In order to not get laughed at by complete strangers, I had to wear a fake moustache and curly red wig for the next three years.
Donât talk to me about scientists.
But Jason-Jock was gullible enough to think the crap magic book was real magictruth and followed its directions, instructions and hoaxy spells to the letter. He didnât know about scientists, or maybe he was just soft in the head.
He ran his clawed paws down the contents page and found the chapter titled âWinning at Cricketâ. He read the instructions and smiled to himself wolfishly, as werewolves often do.
Now theyâd be okay. Now he knew how to win the Cup. Now their future at Horror High was assured. Now heâd be a hero â¦
Hero. Zero. Dero. All pretty similarly spelt. Guess which term best describes this bozo â¦
Jason-Jock called a secret meeting of the cricket team in his tree house. The players arrived in dribs and drabs, climbing up the rickety ladder and crawling onto the tree house platform, panting like old steam locomotives.
It wouldâve been a bit convenient if JJ hadnât built his tree house sixty-seven metres up the backyard gum tree, but heâd read a real estate book (probably writtenby the same sneak scientist) that claimed the top five factors in selecting quality real estate were privacy, a good view and location, location, location. Jason-Jock didnât have any choice on the location, since he had to build his tree house in the oldiesâ backyard, so he went a bit nuts on the
Scientists are not to be trusted â fact. Itâs got nothing to do with their goofy appearance, though that thing your mother said about always judging a book by its cover is certainly true in this case.
The fact that scientists have Coke bottle glasses, ears like the sails of a blue-water racing yacht and a flipped-out afro like Hair Bear has got to tell you somethingâs not right. They hide behind their nerd screen but canât resist using their big brains for evil rather than good.
In this case, the scientist who duped Jason-Jock had a great need of money. His mobile phone had been cancelled for non-payment of bills, and he owed his mum for accidental overpayment of pocket money.Not even the fried chicken place would take his cheques anymore.
Cash was what he needed and he didnât mind how he got it. The villain sat down and wrote the biggest pile of spuriously spoony hogwash possible, published it and sold it to Jason-Jock from his dodgy bookstore, claiming it was a magic book.
The book, Everyday Magik By a Magician Who Knows , was supposed to be a deeply powerful magic source, when it was actually just a deeply powerful hoax. The scientist was a common fraudster, like they all are.
How do I know so much about scientists? Let me tell you, Iâve been through the wringer with those charlatans. I was once approached by scientists to take part in a paid experiment, living in a share apartment for a month with a tame chimpanzee. The scientists wanted to observe the interaction between a civilised being and a backward primate.
I behaved brilliantly and was fully blameless but the whole ordeal was disastrous and embarrassing.
The chimp had obviously been brought up in a bad neighbourhood and its sense of values was whack. It wouldnât do its share of the cooking or cleaning, hogged the remote control, made long-distance phone calls to the deep jungle that it had no intention of ever paying for, took hours in the bathroom, used my special medicated dandruff shampoo and mocked me mercilessly whenever I wet the bed.
After a month of this nonsense I was happy to be rid of the troublesome ape and collect my fee. Then I found out I wasnât the one being paid â the chimp was!
To add insult to injury it turns up on Oprah and fully bags me out to the hooting audience, laying it on so thick about me wetting the bed that Oprah nearly wet herself. In order to not get laughed at by complete strangers, I had to wear a fake moustache and curly red wig for the next three years.
Donât talk to me about scientists.
But Jason-Jock was gullible enough to think the crap magic book was real magictruth and followed its directions, instructions and hoaxy spells to the letter. He didnât know about scientists, or maybe he was just soft in the head.
He ran his clawed paws down the contents page and found the chapter titled âWinning at Cricketâ. He read the instructions and smiled to himself wolfishly, as werewolves often do.
Now theyâd be okay. Now he knew how to win the Cup. Now their future at Horror High was assured. Now heâd be a hero â¦
Hero. Zero. Dero. All pretty similarly spelt. Guess which term best describes this bozo â¦
Jason-Jock called a secret meeting of the cricket team in his tree house. The players arrived in dribs and drabs, climbing up the rickety ladder and crawling onto the tree house platform, panting like old steam locomotives.
It wouldâve been a bit convenient if JJ hadnât built his tree house sixty-seven metres up the backyard gum tree, but heâd read a real estate book (probably writtenby the same sneak scientist) that claimed the top five factors in selecting quality real estate were privacy, a good view and location, location, location. Jason-Jock didnât have any choice on the location, since he had to build his tree house in the oldiesâ backyard, so he went a bit nuts on the
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