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.