Forumet - Tråden där UMare skriver barnböcker utan illustrationer

Tråden där UMare skriver barnböcker utan illustrationer

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Målgrupp 3-6 år

Det här är Hunden Max.
Max är hungrig.
Maxs husse grillar korv.

 - Mums! Tänker Max.
Max hoppar högt och tar korven.
Husse jagar Max och skriker:

- Det är min korv!

Max gömmer sig och äter upp korven. Den var god, tyckte Max.
Nu vågar inte Max åka hem. Husse är nog arg.
Max smyger in genom dörren och lägger sig för att sova.
Husse skäller på Max.
- "Aja baja Max, inte äta Husses korv", skriker Husse.
Max gråter den kvällen.
När han vaknar tänker han att Husse är arg, men han blir klappad och blev glad igen.

Spana också in:

Det här är Peter
Det här är Peters pappa Knut

Innan Peter föddes hade Knut drömmar
Dom dog när Peter föddes

En dag blev Knut full

Och jagade Peter med sin gamla elgitarr

Han skrek "Det är ditt fel att jag inte är rockstjärna!"


Nu är Peter död.

Knut spelar i ett rockband och har sex med snygga tjejer.


Slut.

What a lot of hairy-faced men there are around nowadays.
When a man grows hair all over his face it is impossible to tell what he really looks like.
Perhaps that's why he does it. He'd rather you didn't know.
Then there's the problem of washing.
When the very hairy ones wash their faces, it must be as big a job as when you and I wash the hair on our heads.
So what I want to know is this. How often do all these hairy-faced men wash their faces? Is it only once a week, like us, on Sunday nights? And do they shampoo it? Do they use a hairdryer? Do they rub hair-tonic in to stop their faces from going bald? Do they go to a barber to have their hairy faces cut and trimmed or do they do it themselves in front of the bathroom mirror with nail-scissors?
I don't know. But the next time you see a man with a hairy face (which will probably be as soon as you step out on to the street) maybe you will look at him more closely and start wondering about some of these things.

Mr Twit was one of these very hairy-faced men. The whole of his face except for his forehead, his eyes and his nose, was covered with thick hair. The stuff even sprouted in revolting tufts out of his nostrils and ear-holes.
Mr Twit felt that his hairiness made him look terrifically wise and grand. But in truth he was neither of these things. Mr Twit was a twit. He was born a twit. And now at the age of sixty, he was a bigger twit than ever.
The hair on Mr Twit's face didn't grow smooth and matted as it does on most hairy-faced men. It grew in spikes that stuck out straight like the bristles of a nailbrush.
And how often did Mr Twit wash this bristly nailbrushy face of his?
The answer is NEVER, not even on Sundays.
He hadn't washed it for years.