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The Bewitching Trilogy in 5 Parts - part 1

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The Bewitching of Maharaja Richie Red The Rooster  In the days when Rich was a princeling spry, With a crown made of twigs and a glint in his eye, He wandered too far from the palace of jam, Into woods where the mushrooms whispered, “Scram!” The trees grew thick with Witch Hazel’s grin, He tripped on a root and tumbled right in Down a slope of ferns, green as envy’s face, Where the moss sang jazz and the spores kept pace. He rolled past a squirrel who played the kazoo, Past a fox in socks sipping nettle brew, Till he landed kerplunk by a bubbling pot, Where the Witch Panda stirred her spellful lot. She wore a robe stitched from bamboo dreams, Her cauldron hissed with musical steam. She tossed in frog spawn, a bat polished bright, And a Son House record “Death Letter” for plight. The brew went boom, the brew went bang, It fizzed like funk in a gospel gang. She ladled a sip to the dazed young Rich, Who drank it down with a hiccup and twitch. He woke with a howl at the stroke of twelv...
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Witch Panda’s October Brew

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🐼In a glade where moonlight dances slow,   Witch Panda stirs with a spectral glow.   Her cauldron bubbles with leafy delight—   Pumpkin spice, starlight, and whispers of night.   She dons her hat, all crooked and wide,   With glasses perched and paws with pride.   A velvet cloak, stitched by bats in flight,   Swishes through shadows of forest twilight.   Black cats purr near the custard-clock tree,   Its hands drip golden, sweet mystery.   “Ten to witching!” the custard chimes,   As Panda hums her potion rhymes.   She brews for the fest with bamboo and charm,   A spell for warmth, a spell for calm.   Marshmallow ghosts and cinnamon fog,   Float past a squirrel in a wizard’s clog.   Lanterns carved from turnip and gourd,   Hang from branches like spells restored.   And every leaf that twirls through air ...
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Chronicling the Nonsense Chronicler Pink Flamingo

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A croissant haiku Golden crescent moons,  Pink Flamingo guards the tray Flaky dreams take flight.  This one is called "Never trust a flamingo with your croissants." By Maharaja Richie Red the Rooster 2025 What is a mermaid not? 🦩A mermaid is not a saxophone-playing badger in sequins, nor a croissant with dreams of aquatic ballet. She is not a jellyfish librarian, nor a sea cucumber with a penchant for jazz or blues. She is not a flamingo in disguise—though I’ve tried the tail once, and it did clash with my feathers.🦩 From the Nonsense Chronicler Pink Flamingo Books and Custard  🦩A book dipped in custard is a book baptized in absurdity. One must taste the story before digesting its meaning. To Flamingos, custard is not a mere dessert. It’s a metaphor for indulgence, chaos, and creamy curiosity. Coating books in custard -Softens the harsh edges of reality, making even the driest textbook feel like a pudding of possibility. -Challenges the reader’s commitment—if you’re wi...
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Pink Flamingo discusses statistics

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 🦩 Pink Flamingo’s Custard Conundrum: Glitter Edition 🦩 I flapped into the custard lab,   With velvet suit and glitter slab.   My goggles gleamed, my charts were vast—   The custard wars were here at last. Pink custard swirled with berry pride,   Its stats were strong, its mode was wide.   Yellow custard, smooth and bright,   Held steady in the pudding fight. But then—a sparkle in the mix!   Red glitter custard threw its tricks.   Its variance? Off every chart!   Its shimmer caused my graphs to start. I ran a test (with flair, of course),   A flamingo-style regression force.   Pink held firm, yellow stayed neat,   But glitter custard? Off-the-beak sweet. Its skew was wild, its mean divine,   It danced across the custard line.   A chi-squared burst of festive flair—   It summoned portals mid-air! Now flamingos flock to taste the glea...
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Pink Flamingo in the House of Swirls

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Pink Flamingo, time-tossed bard, Tripped through clocks and landed hard In Holland’s hush, where madness dwelled A painter’s lair, where silence yelled. Thick ginger hair, a glint of a strange kind, Eyes ablaze with storms of mind, “Drink this tea,” the artist said, And Pink obeyed, now filled with dread. A chair, a brush, a canvas wide, Swirls erupted, bold with pride. Pink sat still, but in his head Saxophones danced, syncopated red. Outside, the world was deaf to tune, Too dull for jazz beneath the moon. The painter sighed, his soul unfurled, And stepped alone into the world Sad and swirling, starry eyed, Lonely as the night he cried. Pink remained, a painted spark, A relic glowing in the dark. by Maharaja Miku the Bard Bear 🐻  The journey didn’t end there of course. Pink lured Vincent into the swirl dimension with a trail of pastry steam and whispered brushstrokes that painted themselves on the wind. A sunflower formed a portal and Vincent stepped through the portal, croissant...
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The Fruit Salad Ball Masquerade

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 🎭 You Are Cordially Invited 🍍  to the Fruit Salad Ball Masquerade hosted by Pink Flamingo 🗓 Date: The Third Tuesday of Zestember  🕰 Time: When the mango moon kisses the kiwi tide (approx. 7:30 PM) 📍 Location: The Velvet Grove Ballroom, beneath the Custard Thames 👗 Dress Code: - Masquerade masks made of melon rind or lychee lace - Attire inspired by your favourite fruit (sequined strawberry suits encouraged)  - Flamingo feathers optional but admired 🍓 Festivities Include:  - The Pineapple Waltz, led by Flamingo and his citrus consort - A Grape Gossip Corner, where secrets are whispered into banana phones - Papaya Poetry Slam: Bring your juiciest verses - Fruit Punch Fountain (non-alcoholic, unless the cherries rebel) 🎶 Music by the Maharaja Blues Fruit Ensemble, featuring: - Saxophone played through a hollowed-out cantaloupe - Percussion section of coconut bongos and maraca passionfruit 💌 RSVP by sending a plum-scented carrier pigeon or whispering into ...
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Take the Croissant Train

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Take the Croissant Train: A Major Quixotic Lament in Fb Minor (a.k.a Flamingo Flat Minor) “You want Paris in Harlem,” Duke said, eyes like midnight brass. “But we ride the A Train, not some buttery detour.” The Pink Flamingo, plumage once radiant with bebop bravado, now sagged under the weight of soggy dreams and a saxophone that sobbed in B♭. He had dared to dream of flaky crescents and café noir, of jazz that pirouetted through patisseries and puffed its cheeks with whimsy. He even wanted to compose The Butterscotch Brioche Blues.  But Duke, ever the sovereign of syncopation, had no room for pastry metaphors in his empire of swing. They argued beneath a dripping marquee, the rain composing its own bitter ballad on the pavement. Said Pink “But Oh Duke, the croissant is a symbol! A flaky rebellion! A breakfast of broken hearts!” The Duke grunted “Symbol or not, it don’t swing. You want to rename the anthem of uptown soul after a French pastry? That’s not jazz—it’s a brunch menu.” T...
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Maharaja Blues at Red Lion, Leek

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Venue: Red Lion, Leek, Staffordshire   Address : 7 Market Place, Leek, Staffordshire, ST13 5HH, United Kingdom. Date : Saturday 4th October 2025 Time : 3.30pm Free entry, part of Leek Blues and Americana Festival  Feathers at the Red Lion  by The Nonsense Chronicler Pink Flamingo  I flew into Leek on a Saturday breeze,   Wearing socks made of jazz and a monocle of cheese.   The Red Lion roared in a pub-shaped grin,   And Maharaja Blues were tuning within.   A tiger tapped rhythms on a marmalade drum,   While a fox hummed blues through a harmonica thumb.   The rooster strummed chords with a resonant cluck,   And the bear played a bass made of luck.   I perched on a pint, sipped a riff from the air,   While conformity sulked in its sensible chair.   “Too loud,” it muttered, “Too wild, too pink!”   But I danced on the bar and spilled thoughts in ink.  ...
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A Velvet Rebellion in Bowler Hats

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🦩 "Forecast: Flamingos”  A Velvet Rebellion in Bowler Hats   It rained flamingos at half past sane,   Each one dressed for a bureaucrat’s ball.   Black coats, bowler hats, and blank expressions—   The uniform of dreams too scared to sprawl.   They fell like thoughts from a timid mind,   Landing on rooftops in perfect rows.   Not one squawked, not one danced—   Just nodded to rules nobody knows.   The sky, once wild, now stitched in suits,   Drizzled pink birds with corporate grace.   But one flamingo twirled mid-air,   And winked at gravity’s poker face.   He landed sideways, hat askew,   Scribbled nonsense on a chimney flue.   And whispered loud enough for rain:   “Conformity’s just weather with no champagne.”   Based on Rene Magritte's Galconda Another magritte tribute A short bit of silliness I sat on a quill i...
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A lost Picasso timeslips to a student house in Liverpool

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The news as reported by the Nonsense Chronicler Pink Flamingo  “Darlings! A revelation from the Cubist cosmos! A lost Picasso—reborn in flamingo form—has pirouetted into our plane! Three divine dancers, all beak and bravado, captured mid-sashay in fractured geometry and unapologetic plumage. It’s not just art—it’s avian transcendence!" It is believed to be from Picasso's very brief 'pink' period. It lasted 1 painting. The painting suddenly appeared last Tuesday morning at a student house in Liverpool.  The Discovery In Liverpool’s quiet student flat,   Where toast burns slow and socks fall flat,   A shimmer split the kitchen air—   A portal pulsed beside the chair.   From folds of time, with feathers flared,   Three flamingos, boldly squared,   Danced out in hues of blush and grace,   Picasso’s dream with beaky face.   Their limbs were lines, their wings askew,   In fractured pink and cob...
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The Feathery Fan Cocktail

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🪶 The Feathery Fan A cocktail that flutters between elegance and eccentricity. 🍸 Ingredients: - 1 oz/30 ml elderflower liqueur – delicate and floral, like a plume in motion   - 1 oz/30 ml gin (preferably infused with lemongrass or rose) – crisp and botanical   - 0.5 oz/15 ml crème de violette – for a soft lavender hue and feathery finish   - 0.75 oz/20 ml fresh lemon juice – bright and zesty   - Top with sparkling rosé – adds effervescence and a blush of drama   - Garnish: edible flower petals and a fan-shaped citrus twist 🦩 Vibe: Served in a coupe glass, this cocktail is all about theatrical flair. The floral notes evoke garden parties and whispered gossip, while the sparkling rosé lifts it into flamingo-worthy fabulousness. Reviews "No respectable flamingo would be seen out without a feathery fan". Flamingopolitan magazine. 🗞️ Lady Petronella Plume, columnist for The Velvet Gazette:   “It’s like sipping a garden party at ...
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Happy Birthday Blues, a tale of mystery, mystique and Fractured Fractals!

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The Fractured Fractals, space and time's greatest ever Country &  Galactic  Band, had just shot through the Martian Time Slip on their return from their latest galactic tour when they chanced upon a pink flash in the horizon.  Training his Æthergazer into the distance Tigris Felinus Maximus was amazed to see what he saw, triggering the 6th Dimensional transducer, he quickly took a series of photographs. Piqued by this, The Fractured Fractals followed the pink flight path only to lose it briefly in a mid afternoon thunderstorm.  The storm itself was some of the worst weather they had ever encountered on Planet Earth. There were times when Quackus Vituloanatidus Multiplumus played plaintive tunes on his celestial violin fearing for their life. Fearing the very worst The Fractured Fractals burst into song playing out their greatest back catalogue and creating some of the most amazing notes ever played whilst their ship was buffeted around, frazzled and burnt by...
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Maharaja Blues on the Buses and Ring Donut

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Context : during the tube strike September 2025 based on reports that it was a battle to get on a bus. The Maharajas in armour robust, Boarded buses with jostling thrust. Not for jousts did they gear, But to elbow and veer, Through crowds full of sighs and mistrust. Their cuirass clanked loud on the bend, In perfect harmony they asked, “Is this Holborn, my friend?” With a helm full of flair, And one kitten in there, Together they declared, “Strike or not—we will descend. By Maharaja Miku the Bard Just arrived in London... Having fun... Satinder's already gone home. Time for the rest of us to get to Paddington and get the train home to Wales. Ring Donut Paddling to the Office  In his dimension, Pink took drastic action to get to the Nonsense Chronicler office and paddled his ring donut on the Thames.  The reason being that Flamingo air traffic control was also on strike. Things got a bit sticky and custardy however. The Coastbird had to be called and a helicopter politely rescu...
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The Flamingo Love Pirouette

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I love you like a marmalade moon   spooned into my hat at half past June.   You whisper sweet nothings to my socks,   and teach my teacups how to waltz. Your eyes are two licorice lagoons,   where flamingos croon in velvet tunes.   We dance through custard-coloured rain,   and kiss beneath a croissant train. Oh darling, if love be a jellyfish kite,   then let us soar through the peppermint night.   For nonsense is truth when hearts are askew and I am entirely, absurdly, in love with you.
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The Flamingo’s Age Old Feud

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Ah, the age-old feud.  To know not of the feud is to sip tea without knowing it was once stirred by scandal. It’s like waltzing through custard without sensing the tension in the trifle. These innocents walk beneath trees unknowing that every glint above is a stolen heirloom, every caw a coded insult. Still, we mustn’t judge. Ignorance of magpie treachery is not a crime. It is merely a gap in one's education. A gap I can fill with tales, tea, and a diagram involving spoons. I don’t trust a bird that wears monochrome to a masquerade. Magpies, those glint thieving, gossip mongering sky pickpockets have been meddling in flamingo affairs since the Great Beak-Off of 1872. Historical Animosity: A Brief Chronicle   - The Mirror Incident (1872): Flamingos, known for their love of reflective ponds, were scandalized when magpies began stealing silver trinkets and dropping them into watering holes, disrupting flamingo ballet rehearsals. - The Plumage Paradox (1924): Magpies mocked f...
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