A free, funny story for you and your kids to enjoy together at bed-time.
An alien boy had grown sick of the sight,
Of the food he was served every day, every night.
His tummy would rumble and grumble and churn.
Couldn’t they give a new chef a wee turn?
The things that he ate on his planet of Munch,
For breakfast, and dinner, and supper and lunch,
Were mushy black nuggets that tasted like sand.
All crunchy and gooey and horribly bland.
“I won’t eat these nuggets,” he shouted one day.
Then jumped in a spaceship and went on his way,
Heading to Earth, where the eating was good
And he’d heard boys in jammies made wonderful food.
He zoomed into orbit, then dived to the planet,
Not even stopping to survey and scan it.
Crashed down on a roof like a hungry green Santa,
Dreaming of human washed down with cold Fanta.
He leapt in a window, he followed the snore,
(Which meant there was one boy, he’d hoped there’d be four).
The room smelled like sneezes, old socks and a fart,
Delicious, in other words: food for the heart.
In his hurry he tripped over toys on the ground,
Which hurled him, and bumped him, oh boy, what a sound!
The little boy woke, and rubbed hard at his eyes,
Which grew wide and excited and full of surprise.
“Hello there, strange creature, well, my name is Roy.”
The alien scowled, “You’re my food, stupid boy.
I don’t need to know what your name is, you see,
You’re nothing to me but a new recipe.”
“Are you from space?!” the young chappy exclaimed,
“From which planet? And won’t you please tell me your name?”
“There’s no point in that, boy, because humans can’t say it,
But if you really must know it’s Frass-Jassa-Mump-Frayvit.”
“I’ll just call you, Frass, then, it’s so nice to meet you.”
The alien laughed, “Boy, I’m going to eat you.
I’ll chop you all up like a tasty risotto!
Don’t greet ’em, just eat ’em: that’s my planet’s motto.”
Roy let out a laugh, it soon filled up the room,
And hit Frass’s ears like a big sonic boom.
“You’re laughing,” growled Frass, “I don’t think that you get it,
When I make you a sandwich you’re going to regret it.”
“You’ll make me a sandwich?” said Roy, “Thank you, please,
My favourite is tuna, or pickle with cheese.”
“No, no,” said the alien, ready to crack.
“YOU’LL be my sandwich, my tummy’s next snack!”
Roy smiled a big smile, asked: “Why can’t we be friends?”
The alien prayed for this moment to end.
“I feel like my words are all stuck in a loop,
But perhaps that will end when I make you some soup.”
“You’ll make me some soup? Oh Frass that would be great.
Can you butter some bread up; I often have eight?”
“No, no,” said the alien, “My soup will be YOU,
“And I’ll mop you all up, with a slurp, bite and chew!”
Roy reached out behind him, and scooped up a bear,
And handed it over, while saying “There, there”,
Which made Frass so angry he wanted to squawk.
He’d never expected his supper to talk.
“Now look, boy,” said Frass, “Let’s just make something clear,
I need you to listen, I need you to hear.
I’m not your best pal, not your mucker or mate.
I’m going to cook you; you’ll be on my plate.”
“I’ll start with your cheek, oh my, c’est magnifique!
I’ll heat it up nice, with a fat plate of rice.
I’ll use a big wok… no a pan, no a skillet.
I’m drooling already… I want my cheek fillet!
I look at your nose, and my appetite grows!
I’ll make a big pie with your fingers and toes,
Then garnish it all with a sprinkling of lips,
Maybe throw in some ankles, some thigh-bones and hips!
One leg or two? Well, I’m going to have both.
I’ll carve them like turkeys, I give you my oath.
Your eyes can be sprouts, then you won’t see you’re thinner,
Once I’ve gobbled you up like a hot Christmas dinner.
What to do with your teeth? Why, I’ll stuff them with cheese,
Then I’ll grill them with mushrooms and one of your knees.
I’ll fry you like bacon, I’ll braise you like steak,
And your eyebrows and eyelids I’ll bake in a cake.
I’ve said all I can, I can’t say any more,
All of this talking’s an arduous chore.
I hope that my meaning is clear on this day,
I say what I mean: and I mean fricassee!
Prepare to be eaten…
…Roy, boy of Earth!”
Roy started laughing, he just couldn’t stop,
He thought that his tummy was going to pop.
And Frass stamped his feet, like a paw-thumping bunny,
And jumped up and down, shouting, “Why is that funny?”
Frass tried his best to stay fierce and defiant,
Even when Roy scooped him up like a giant,
And held him right up to the ball of an eye,
Saying: “How will you eat me, you’re two inches high?”
“Oh… Erm…”, said Frass-Jassa-Mump-Frayvit of Munch,
Suddenly losing his hunger for lunch.
He wondered, with fear, what his wee life was worth.
And he said, “…please don’t eat me, kind Roy… boy of Earth.”
Roy didn’t eat him, he fed him instead,
Fetched him some honey and small bits of bread.
Which Frass gobbled up with the greatest of ease,
Before reaching his main course, some hot mushy peas.
Those peas were the best food that Frass ever tasted,
And finding them meant that his trip wasn’t wasted.
“These things are sand nuggets, but tasty and green,
I’ll take a load home in my flying machine.”
So Frass said goodbye, and then loaded his ship,
Thanking his friend for a wonderful trip,
Roy said, “You’re welcome, and hurry back soon,
I’ll find you more peas than can fit on the moon.”
Frass was delighted, he’d found a new food,
On a lovely new planet where people were good.
He smiled to himself, feeling happy and fine,
“I’ve done it,” he shouted. “It’s peas in our time.”
Thank you for reading ‘Roy, Boy of Earth’. Hard to believe the pictures were drawn by me and not a professional artist, right? RIGHT?? If you and your kids enjoyed reading my story, all I ask is that you donate a minimum of £2-4 to CHAS (Children’s Hospices Across Scotland). You can do this by calling 0141 779 6180 or visiting www.chas.org.uk/donate.
This isn’t an official CHAS campaign. CHAS isn’t affiliated with me or this website in any way. I just wanted to help the best way I knew how: by writing something silly. CHAS does such important, admirable work for people and children in heart-breaking situations that I’m sure none of you will grudge digging deep for donations – even a shallow dig for £2-4 is a tremendous help. Every penny counts.