Fan Mail

Every morning at WBM HQ we receive a brief complaint from the postman who has grown tired of hefting the myriad bags of fan mail up the eight hundred and twenty two steps to our offices. Apparently his doctor has told him he's developing severe scoliosis. "Well," we tell him. "It's not our fault our fans bloody love us so much, is it? Come in for a currant bun and a natter and we'll see if we can't sort this out." And he always comes in for a currant bun and a natter and we get it all sorted out and he then goes home for lunch with the wife, who is never pleased because he's filled up on currant buns and natters. As it happens, she recently filed for divorce, citing his "unhealthy devotion to the tallest sketch group* on the scene" in her petition.

But enough about the lives of non-existent postmen and so to the story. A few days ago we received a very interesting letter from an anonymous sender that we want to share with y'all so that we might be able to identify said sender. The letter went as follows:

"Dear WBM

I find you really lovely and wondered if I could join your gang? Here are some facts about my life.

1) I punch myself in the mouth consistently for more than an hour every night. It keeps my lips full and red, and it's a really good workout into the bargain. A lot of people find it a little bit odd, but when  I give them my classic Freeze Face they usually see the sense in my actions. It normally takes a day of non-stop staring until they get it. I follow them, just staring the whole time, ignoring my work commitments and basic human needs such as eating and making toilet, because making a point is my number 1 priority in life.

2) I shave weasels. This is a pastime more than anything else. For me, the main thrill is to be found in catching them. Every week I dress myself as a weasel and hide in the rushes. My costume was given to me by my father, who was also a very keen weaseler. This costume is my secret weapon. I wait, sometimes for hours, until a weasel comes my way, and then BHAM! I trap it between my hands. For a minute they don't mind this embrace because they think they're getting a nice cuddle. But then they smell all the ketchup on my hands from the waffle sandwiches I like to eat for breakfast and you can actually see the realisation on their little faces - I mean, what self-respecting weasel would eat ketchup for fucks sake?

I place the weasels into tennis ball tubes that have been carefully adapted to allow oxygen in and carbon dioxide out. Basically I drilled a series of small holes into the lids. I drilled the holes in smiley face shapes, so the weasels know I pose no threat.

When it comes to the actual shaving, I use a Gilette Fusion Pro-glide razor. Often I'll shave a pattern into the weasel's back, usually a secret symbol of my own devising. The main secret is, these symbols mean nothing.

3) One of the most poignant things I ever saw was my arch-nemesis reaching into a cupboard to retrieve a teabag. I realised in that moment she was just like me, because we both have the ability to reach.

Please contact me if you want me to be in your gang.

Love, Your Biggest Fan xxx"

Unfortunately there were no contact details. So if this sounds like you or someone you know, please contact us on Facebook or Twitter (@wevebecomemango).

*Unofficial fact from the WBM archives.

Equal Marriage for Gingers

The House of Commons will tomorrow vote on a bill to legalise marriage between people with ginger hair. Opposition to the bill has been fierce over the past few months with many claiming that marriage should be a sacred bond between people of blonde, brunette, black and grey hair.

The Right Reverend Bishop of Holiness yesterday said “We at the Church of Pope and Such will not be forced by the government to conduct ginger marriages even though that's probably not what the bill says, I wouldn't know – I haven't read it. Our views are more important than the rights of ginger people and must be adopted by everyone in the country. We also hate the Jews again.”

Bobby MacCelticheritage of the ginger rights charity Red Brick Wall has welcomed the bill stating “Since ginger hair was legalised in 1967 and gingers were no longer forced to dye, our society has moved closer to equality year on year. This is the final step in making us truly equal citizens.”

Gingers have been allowed civil partnerships for 5 years now and ginger adoption is now commonplace. The numbers of parents giving up their children after discovering they were ginger is down with the subsequent divorce rate on discovering their spouse had been dying their hair also at an all time low.

If the bill is passed the UK will become the 22^nd country to legalise ginger marriage ahead of many US states who probably did it at one point but then caved in again under the mighty power of Jesus, who sadly passed away almost 2000 years ago.

Tomorrow will see what is predicted to be one of the largest ginger pride parades the country has seen take place in London in support of the vote. However there are fears it may be cancelled after weather forecasters predict a cloudless day with temperatures in the early 20s. “We don't want our skin to end up redder than our hair” Bobby stated.

Horror-scopes

Recently we found James shivering on the floor. “I’ve seen the colour of the angels' blood," he said. “And it radiates out of me”. Another Tuesday, another acid trip. We sat him down at the type writer. When he finished getting off with it he had a vision. “I can see into the future,” he said, eyes gleaming with the wrath of fury. This is a transcript of what he typed.

Aries: Today you will meet a tall dark stranger, his name is Dracula and he wants to drain your body of its tasty iron rich blood. Phone in to find out why the sign of the cross might be lucky for you.

Taurus: You are going on a surprise trip today, Taurus. Unfortunately you are crushed under the 47 bus and taken to A&E. Phone to find out why Conservative spending cuts might spell trouble.

Gemini: You might find it hard to concentrate today after you are tested positive with HIV. Phone to find out about getting in contact with a long lost lover.

Cancer: Shock horror today when mad scientist Dr Gogol sews the hands of a serial masturbator to yours. Phone to find out why buying Vaseline might be lucky.

Leo: Good news Leo, you can push the paranoid thought out of your head today, because you will find out the government really are watching you. Phone to find out why water boarding might be unlucky for you.

Virgo: You can be the most charismatic of the zodiacs Virgo, but it also causes you to receive unwanted attention. Phone to find out why The Knickerbocker Glory killer might cross your path today.

Libra: You might be in need of an existential plumber when the beating of the heart in the floor boards becomes more than you can bare. Phone to find out why staring into the man’s old eyes might be bad for your health.

Scorpio: You will find yourself a little more down to earth today, after free falling from the plane. Phone to find out why packing a parachute might be helpful to your health.

Sagittarius: A need to change your plan means you may arrive home early upsetting the plan of a mysterious stranger. Phone to find out why the calls might be coming in from inside the house.

Capricorn: You are not a conventional lover but you express this in the only way you can. So many woman, your head should be swimming. Phone to find out why the Juwes are the men that will not be blamed for nothing.

Aquarius: There is lots of positive energy heading your way today. Especially from the heavily ionized canon of a nearby UFO. Phone to find out why “if you build it, they will come “might be a bad idea.

Pieces: House searching can be exhausting. But good news Pieces! You find the ideal home today and you will reside there for eternity within the walls of Hill House. Phone to find out why walking means you will walk alone.

You can contact We've Become Mango for more information on 1-800 MANGO, or find us on twitter @wevebecomemango and Facebook. Stay safe, folks!

A Mango Afternoon

A few days ago, the Mangoes three were sitting around in the super-secret basement of their exotic camper van wondering what to do with their day.

They’d eaten their entire supply of hard boiled eggs and chased six weasels away for being snide.

James said:

Marianne said:

Richard said:

Marianne and James stared at Richard for a long time waiting for him to tell them his big idea. He was very slow to pick up on the fact that they were waiting for him to tell them his big idea. Eventually he got there though.

So they took down the big book of hobbies and chose one completely at random. Luckily they chose Falconry, because Marianne has really been struggling to keep the thread of this blog going and that seems like a suitably idiotic topic.

James said:

And Marianne said:

But then the falcon bit Richard because it thought he was a bit of grain, so they had to put it down. It wasn’t very happy about it, but then it became best mates with a woodlouse on the floor and the two of them went off into the sunset together and an MGMT song played out the scene to fade.

THE END.

Joy in the Hole

Hello Mango fans. It’s Wednesday, it’s blog day and it’s sunny which makes it time to cook up a Joy in the Hole.

Joy in the Hole was invented by The Right Honourable Lord Winchester Faggot Jr the 2^nd Earl of Twelchford during a prolonged game of Dandy Racket Ball. In his first book Peering into Peerage and other essays (see Appendix 1), Lord Winchester had this to say about its creation:

“It was a fine summer’s day, high on life and opium. We were joined by The Tertiary Twins a set of identical triplets, two joined from the hip to torso and sharing the same liver - a constant source of argument, one was fond of the drink, the other was a great believer in temperance but both agreed on being arduous bores. The other sister who didn’t look like her siblings despite being identical to them, was radiant. The type of beautiful you see occasionally whilst musing over the Reader’s Digest in the WC, but never in a public house or amongst one’s peers. Since the cook was away for the weekend, I took her in to the kitchen and, finding only left overs, I utilised them to make some Joy in the Hole.”

He completely forgets mention what the ingredients and the cooking method are. We believe it’s similar to an upside down cake, but the right way up. What we know for sure is that the pastry based comestible took London by storm. Jack Rat, a famous satirist of the time wrote this poem:

On a heady evening stroll

In the streets the crowds cajole

That those who languish on the dole

Delight in fulfilling their only goal:

To share in the glee of Joy in the Hole.

Nowadays Joy in the Hole has fallen out of fashion, a lot like laudanum and Madonna’s sex appeal. We’ve Become Mango like to indulge whenever possible, however, and we’re always happy to share with our adoring fans. Find us on Facebook and Twitter (@wevebecomemango) for more information!

Queef you later folks.

Appendix 1: 1883, WBM Printing Press, available in all good book stores

Hidden Household Hens and Where to Find Them

Ask an ordinary street person on the pavement what they think about toilet hens and they’ll probably slap you around the chops or do a little wee. To settle all the shrieking hysteria, We’ve Become Mango conducted an interview with a very real guest in their state subsidised camper van. His name, Professor Henrich Henderson, Professor of Hens at St. Hen’s University in Henley. Here are the questions what we did:

Some of the uneducated bums audience members at home might not know what a toilet hen is. Could you give a brief description?

Toilet Hens or Loo Chickens or perhaps Little Clucking Lavatory Lunch-monsters are tiny versions of farmyard hens which have evolved to develop gills and live underwater.

And could you explain how they came to live in the toilet?

Well in around 1976 when National Village Idiot of the Year, Mr Idiot, let all his hens into the house and then tried to drown them one by one in his toilet as he claimed they wouldn’t stop verbally abusing his family. The hens, instead of drowning, rapidly shrunk to a fiftieth of their original size and adapted themselves to live underwater.

How can I tell if my toilet is infested with hens?

Listen for bubbling clucking or clucking bubbling. It will be very faint so may need an ear trumpet or suitable Toilet Amplification Device*. And if you do hear something the most sensible thing you can do is panic. Maybe tear out some of your hair in a stressful manner, light an aromatherapy candle or shout in the face of an elderly family member when they ask if you'd like a wee piece and ham.

How do I take care of my new found Toilet Hens? What do they eat?

They feed off human excrement and urine, obviously.

Is it really that simple?

The only problem that may arise is if you overfeed your new pets. Obese Toilet Hens or Fatty Fatty Cluck Clucks are in fact the biggest cause of toilet blockage which even the most skilled toilet surgeons find difficult to shift. They also carry a rather nasty strain of the plague which almost instantly turns your skin to a shredded wheat-like substance.

That sounds tasty.

It isn't. It's incredibly painful and cannot be digested.

Can toilet hens fly?

No.

Not even for a little bit?

No.

Do you want a cuddle?

Oh go on then.

(The interview abruptly ended at this point when Professor Henderson employed a hugging technique that was altogether too penile.)

If you have any further questions about this or any other topic in the entire world, feel free to contact We've Become Mango via the usual channels. 

*We’ve Become Mango suggest, the We’ve Become Mango Toilet Noise AMP, available at the bargainous price of just £73.73 pounds and pence and can be found at all good retailers.

A Very Mango Tale

Hello Mangoes, how's it going?

We have another little update for you on the progress of our lives as we endeavour to become mango. It was revealed to us by ourselves that we have around 50 shows booked from now until September. Needless to say we all briefly died of shock before reviving and coming up with a hot, celebratory dance routine. Anyone who will be in Balham, Buxton or Edinburgh in the next few months, keep your nostrils peeled for our arrival!

In other news, we were out driving in our fashionable horse and cart last week, taking in the crisp spring air and several ridiculously large flies along the way which meant by the time we stopped, our hunger was satiated, but we had one hell of a thirst between us. Luckily we'd pulled up outside the public house pictured below.

Forward we henced and into the Fanny & Mirkin, desperate for a long, refreshing beverage. Inside it was deserted but for a bowl of elderly wasabi peas and faint smell of the ocean.

This is what Richard said:

And then James said:

And then Marianne said:

There was no reply. It was very silent. There were no sounds. It was eerily quiet. So quiet in fact that you could have heard Jodi Foster coming out of the closet. The volume of the place was sneaky. And then James said:

Richard started crying, because he doesn't like change. His tears fell like Simon Cowell's spirits when he realised that no matter how much re-constructive facial surgery he goes in for, he will never escape the fact that he is Simon Cowell and he still looks like a knitted version of a person.

James walked around the bar. He stopped and did a double take the way he might do if this were all just dramatic fiction. Then he said, "WHAT THE EFFIE TRINKET?!" 

Marianne and Richard ran around to see what the matter was. Here is a photograph of what they saw:

As it turns out, the dolphin (Ambrose) had come here from Vietnam on a tourist visa and had taken over the licence from his mate Darrek when he moved to Mauritius. The reason there were no other customers was because everyone in the village was racist.

We shared some drinks with him and then hit the road feeling refreshed.

THE END.

How to Become Mango

Procrastination was invented in 1982 during Mrs Thatcher’s reign of terror (may Satan rest her soul). Consequently, like all children spawned in the late 80s/early 90s, the three of us are incapable of managing our time productively. This means that most WBM meetings pass in a blissful state of postponement. So, just in case you’ve run out of lives on Candy Crush Saga or you’ve looked at one too many Honey Boo Boo gifs, here are the We’ve Become Mango Top Time Wasting Tips for Twenty One Three.

1: Spot the Not-Helen Mirren

This is a WBM favourite. Choose a large wall in your house, flat or cell. Cover it with low-grade images of Dame Helen Mirren. And when we say “cover it”, we mean literally; no half measures you stingy bastards. Within the collage, hide a picture of someone who is NOT the talented Dame. It could be anyone; your mum, a dung beetle, or Richard’s primary 3 teacher, Mrs Pubelove. The choice is yours! Have your friends study the wall and try to spot the not-Helen Mirren. You will have between 6 minutes and 8 years of meaningless fun, guaranteed!

2: Hire a life coach

WBM chipped in together to get a life coach, we don’t need one, but we just wanted someone to annoy at will when we are bored. We like to ask her really difficult and deep questions like, “We want to buy a garden gnome, but we don’t have a garden. Can we live with you?” or “Can you spot the not Helen Mirren?” or "Are we there yet?" or "How do you cope with that feminine feeling?" She’s had a 6 nervous breakdowns so far. We’re starting to wonder if maybe she needs a life coach herself.

4: Slap yourself cock eyed 

This is a game we invented one quiet Tuesday night. You gather around in a circle with up to eight players and each take it in turns to slap yourself. The first player to cause irreversible damage to the alignment of their eyes is declared winner. Fainting, vomiting, and crying are frowned upon and will usually lead to disqualification.

5: These are my uncle’s wrists

Yet another wonderful game we invented. The rules are really simple: first, take a picture of our uncle’s wrists and then show them to strangers. Points are gathered on a reactionary scale. Complete indifference garners 1 point, while nuclear war will earn you a cool 600. Needless to say Kim Jong Un was particularly impressed by Uncle Ben’s wrists.

Well thanks for reading, hopefully you too will be able to while away your afternoon in a torrent of nothingness, just like us! And if this wasn't enough for you, you can find more of our amusing antics

here: http://www.facebook.com/wevebecomemango

here: https://twitter.com/wevebecomemango

and here: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCDwDRyoHVUJlVyiImqkGsgQ?feature=watch

Let's Put An End To Drunken Goat Acupuncture

Every week over eight thousand million billion thousand goats die in the UK and over eighty million thousand hundred million and 4 of these die in very silly circumstances indeed. I am of course referring to drunken goat acupuncture – the new craze which has gripped thousands of inebriated men and women whilst stumbling through their own vomit on the dark trail back from the ethanol outlet.

Now we've all felt the need to administer alternative therapies to defenceless farm animals in our day today lives. Whether it's homoeopathy on a hen or reflexology on a wren, it can certainly be a lot of fun and can have some hilarious consequences, but is chicken karma really better than chicken korma?

More and more of us are awaking to find our beloved late night deep-fried mystery meat outlets are being replaced by shady inner-city farms, with MacDonald's conspicuously still managing to be the market leaders. For as little as 5 pieces of silver and an Allan key, they will hand over a complete goat and needle set - no questions asked.

Certain addicts will house 20-30 goats at once, all in states of semi-relaxation, some doing that thing where they shout like a man. However, for many casual users, drunk acupuncture is not second nature and many will end up just sticking needles in wherever they'll fit as they struggle to find the correct meridians. Goats know when they're being sold dodgy therapies and will probably start doing that thing where they shout like a man again. Some just lose control all together and pick a fight with a fridge or leave in search of the Scottish Medicines Consortium to register an official complaint.

This sort of mindless kiddie fiddling has to stop. Goats are for food and Youtube. Together we can put an end to this tomfoolery. Together we can make sure Old MacDonald had a farm. Eee-eye, eee-eye, oh.

We've Blogcome Mango

Hello there boys, girls, men, women, giraffes, elephants, cats, winners, bus boys, firmly closeted gay men masquerading as lady lovers, archetypal lesbians, teachers who can't spell, teachers who can spell but aren't fulfilled in their career choice, carpet fitters, cash cows, trojan horses and synthesizers! Marianne here with a wee update on where We've Become Mango are at...

We recently carried out a poll on a selection of 85 imaginary people. As you can see from the graph below, all of those people agreed that We've Become Mango were the best mango-related comedy group they'd ever heard of. 

But they were also disappointed to find out that we have literally NO mango-based sketches in our repertoire. 

However, we do have big plans. In the next few days you'll be able to watch a wee sketch that we filmed a little while ago. That is, if James and Richard can stop masturbating for more than 17 seconds to get it sorted out. Those guys just LOVE to ejaculate. Being in this group is a real hotbed of debasement. I often ask myself what I'm actually doing with my life? Am I proud of my achievements? Do I really want to be a writer/comedian/actress/failure? Do I love James in a physical sense? Is Richard really my son? Can I italicise any more than I already have done?

The answers to all of these questions will be revealed as we play...'I'm giving you a clue to the name of one of our sketches'. *play dramatic music*

Anyway, for reals, we appreciate the support we've had so far; I'm sure you will be rewarded in the next life...right now we can't afford rewards. Which brings me nicely to my final point, as though I'd actually thought this entire thing out and hadn't just started wildly rambling about my own failings in life...ANYWAY! We would really like it if you could pass our name around your friendship groups and your knitting circles and your AA meetings and your sporting goods stores so that people actually know who we are. That way, we WILL be able to afford rewards and we can give them to you for supporting the shit out of us like a decent pair of nylons. 

Thanks for your time, folks; let's drive the oppressors down!

Lots of Love from

The Girl One xxx

Testes, testes, is this thing on?

Hello and welcome the the all new We've Become Mango blog! Herein we shall update you, the general public, hereby known as "you", on our latest adventures through this endless task we call life, hereby known as "life".

This week, we've been really busy trying to improve public awareness of our cause. If you've never heard of us, we're a charity specifically geared to help disadvantaged mangoes. A lot of people don't realise that there are literally thousands of mangoes being mistreated throughout the world, many of whom won't live past the point of ripeness. It's a real problem, but we're really trying our best to put an end to this needless violence.

We really need your help to spread the message. If you know or are a mango who is being mistreated, please don't suffer in silence. We're here to lick you better and show you there's more to life than getting the rind punched off you.

So support We've Become Mango in any way you can. Preferable with monetary gifts. Large ones. Because it will really make a difference to the lives of the mangoes we all know and love.

For more information follow us on Twitter @wevebecomemango or like us on Facebook for constant updates about our meaningless plight. Your support means the mango to us.

Lots of love,

WBM xxx