Mr Men for 2020 - Mr Skinny

This is a retelling of the "classic" Mr Men book, Mr Skinny, by Roger Hargreaves. The original version is in bold and the newer version in Italics.

Mr Skinny was extraordinarily thin.

Painfully thin.

If he turned sideways, you could hardly see him at all.

And, what made it even worse was that hr lived in a place called Fatland.

Yes, Fatland!

Mr Skinny was extraordinarily thin. But due to political correctness, we can’t call him Mr Skinny anymore so he shall henceforth be known as Mr Beanpole.

He was painfully thin.

If he turned sideways near a lamppost you wouldn’t be able to see him. This was great for a game of hide and seek or very helpful when entering the "best lampost lookalike competition."

And, what made it all worse was that he lived in a place called Fattiehead in Scotland.

Yes, Fattiehead!

As you can very well imagine, everything and everybody in Fatland was as fat as could be.

Not stout.

Fat!

Fatland dogs were extremely fat!

As you can imagine, everybody’s head in Fattiehead was larger than normal. This was due to some secret government testing back in the 60’s.

Even pussy... cats were extremely rotund in Fattiehead.

Fatland worms were extraordinarily fat!

Fattiehead fish were extraordinarily rotund!

Fatland birds were exceedingly fat!

Fattiehead snails were exceedingly rotund!

And you should see a Fatland elephant.

And you should see a Fattiehead Porse. That's a half parrot, half horse. You can thank the government testing for that.

Phew!

Yikes!

And there, in the middle of all this fatness lived Mr Skinny.

In the thinnest house, you’ve ever seen.

Poor Mr Skinny, he didn’t like being so different from everything and everybody.

But, there wasn’t very much he could do about it.

You see, he had hardly any appetite at all.

A Mr Skinny meal was a very meagre affair.

And there, in the middle of this rotundness (a new word I just made up), lived Mr Beanpole.

In the Beanpoliest (another word I’ve made up) gaff you’ve ever seen.

Poor Mr Beanpole, he didn’t like being so different from everything and everybody.

But, there wasn’t very much he could do about it.

The Coronavirus had made everyone turn into selfish twats and there was hardly any food available, and this had had an adverse effect on his appetite. He now couldn’t eat much food at all without being extremely full.

A Mr Beanpole meal was a very sad affair.

Do you know what he had for breakfast?

One cornflake!

And for lunch?

One baked bean!

And for tea?

Nothing!

And for supper?

The world’s smallest sausage!

Do you know what he had for breakfast?

One Cocopop!

And for lunch?

A cock-shaped pasta from Ann Summers!

And for tea?

Nowt!

And for supper?

A piece of toilet roll!

And after that, he felt so full he went straight to bed.

In his long thin bed in his long thin bedroom in his long thin house, in Fatland.

“Oh, I do so wish I could do something about my appetite” he sighed to himself just before he went to sleep.

“I think,” he thought, “that I had better go and see the doctor about it.”

And he went to sleep.

And after that, he was pissed off so he went to bed.

In his long thin bed in his long thin bedroom in his long thin 4 bedroom council estate house, in Fattiehead. The bedroom tax was ridiculous.

“Oh, I do so bloody well wish I could do something about my appetite, I’m sick of being hungry all the time” he sighed to himself just before he went to sleep.

“I think,” he thought, “that I had better go and see the doctor about it. That's if I can get through to make an appointment, it took me 86 rings the other week!”

And he went to sleep.

The following morning was lovely.

A large fat sun shone down on the fat green trees and the fat yellow flowers, and through them walked Mr Skinny on his way to see the doctor.

The following morning was alright, for Scotland. The sun shone for 11 seconds.

A large rotund cloud hid the sun as it tried to shine down on the leafless trees and the 15 foot tall by 3 foot wide yellow flowers (damn testing), and through them sauntered Mr Beanpole on his way to see the doctor.

Doctor Plump!

“Come in, come in,” he wheezed as Mr Skinny knocked at his door.

“Sit down, sit down,” he wheezed as Mr Skinny entered.

“And what,” he wheezed, putting his plump fingers together, “seems to be the trouble?”

Doctor P. Nuss!

“Come in, come in,” he spluttered as Mr Beanpole knocked at his door.

“Sit down for fuck sake,” he muttered as Mr Beanpole entered.

“And what,” he wheezed, putting his sausage fingers together, “is your problem?” he said quite aggressively.

“It’s my appetite,” explained Mr Skinny. “I'd like to be able to eat more so that I could put on a little weight.”

“Yes, you are rather (how shall I put it) thin,” wheezed the doctor, looking at him over his glasses.

“I know,” he continued, “let's start the treatment right now!”

He licked his lips.

“This very moment,” he added.

“It’s my appetite,” explained Mr Beanpole. “I'd like to be able to scran more so that I can put on a little timber.”

“Yes, you are rather (how shall I put it) skinny AF” wheezed the doctor, looking at him over his Raybans.

“I know,” he continued, “let's start the treatment right now!”

He licked his large sweaty lips.

“This very moment,” he added.

And he opened a drawer in his desk and took out an enormous cream cake.

He put it on the desk in front of him.

And opened another drawer and took out half a dozen doughnuts.

And put them on the desk in front of him.

And opened another drawer and took out a dozen currant buns.

And put them on the desk in front of him.

“Elevenses,” he explained.

“But it's only ten o’clock,” said Mr Skinny.

“Whos counting?” wheezed Doctor Plump.

And he opened a drawer in his desk and took out an enormous Victoria sponge.

He put it on the desk in front of him.

And opened another drawer and took out half a dozen doughnuts from Krispy Kreme.

And put them on the desk in front of him.

“Where the fuck did you get them from?” said Mr Beanpole. “There isn’t a Krispy Kreme in Scotland.

The Doctor opened another drawer (because his desk was a Linnamon from Ikea) and took out a dozen Greggs sausage rolls.

And put them on the desk in front of him.

“Elevenses,” he explained.

“But it's only ten o’clock,” said Mr Beanpole.

“And?” huffed Doctor Plump. “You got a problem with the way I do things, son?”

And without further ado, he and Mr Skinny ate the lot.

Mr Skinny ate a dab of cream, a doughnut crumb and one currant.

Doctor Plump ate the rest.

And without further ado, he and Mr Beanpole ate the lot.

Mr Beanpole ate a dab of Vicky sponge, a doughnut hole and one flake of sausage roll.

Doctor P. Nuss ate the rest.

“Mmm,” wheezed Doctor Plump, popping the last currant bun into his mouth, and looking at Mr Skinny.

“I see,” he said, “what you mean about your appetite.”

He thought for a moment.

“Only one thing for it,” he wheezed. “This calls for drastic measures.” And he picked up his telephone in his podgy fingers and dialled a number.

“Mmm,” wheezed Doctor P. Nuss, popping the last Greggs sausage roll into his mouth, and looking at Mr Beanpole.

“I see,” he said, “what you mean about your appetite.”

He thought for a moment.

“Only one thing for it,” he wheezed. “This calls for drastic measures.” And he picked up his iPhone 8 with his big sausage fingers and dialled a number.

One hundred miles away, the telephone rang.

PRRR PRRR! PRRR PRRR!

“Hello,” said a voice.

Do you know whose voice it was?

“Mr Greedy speaking,” said the voice.

Mr Greedy listened to what Doctor Plump had to say.

“You'd like a Mr Skinny to come and stay?” he said.

“To build up his appetite?” he added.

“Delighted,” he agreed.

7.3 miles away, the telephone rang.

Baby shark do doo doo doo! Baby shark!

“Now then,” said a voice.

Do you know whose voice it was?

“Mr Ravenous speaking,” said the voice.

Mr Ravenous listened to what Doctor P. Nuss had to say.

“You’d like a Mr Beanpole to come and stay?” he said.

“To be a fat f**k like me?” he added.

“Well, Id' absolutely love to,” he agreed.

And so, Mr Skinny went to stay with Mr Greedy.

He stayed for a month.

And, during that time, Mr Greedy did manage to increase Mr Skinny’s appetite.

And so, at the end of the month, Mr Skinny returned home.

Happy!

And so, Mr Beanpole jumped into his Ford Escort and went to stay with Mr Ravenous.

He stayed for 3 months and tried to claim universal credit but he had no chance. Silly bastard.

And, during that time, Mr Ravenous did manage to increase Mr Beanpole’s appetite with a diet of Nandos, Weatherspoon breakfasts and copious amounts of ‘Having it large’ in town.

And so, at the end of the month, Mr Beanpole returned home.

Happy as a pig in shit.

With a tummy!

A tummy was something Mr Skinny had always wanted.

“I never knew I had it in me,” he chuckled to himself.

He was feeling so proud of his tummy, he decided to call in and see Doctor Plump on his way home.

With a right good beer belly and a free subscription to Slimming World.

A beer belly was something Mr Beanpole had always wanted.

“I never knew I had it in me,” he chuckled to himself.

He was feeling so proud of his beer belly, “It’s well paid for is this” he said to nobody in particular. 

He decided to call in and see Doctor P. Nuss on his way home.

“I say,” wheezed Doctor Plump, looking him up and down.

“Congratulations!”

“Tell you what,” he went on. “This calls for a celebration!”

And he opened his desk drawer.

But he wasn’t there.

Because he was dead.

That’s what happens when you eat shit all your life and don’t exercise.

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