Verbwhores' Halloween Story 2009 (x10)

[Cerys]

probably about three.  Four, maybe.  Or five.  Or - and suddenly Malcolm Powder's moribund sphincter clenched, quite severing my hand.  How would

[Ginyard]

I whisk eggs now? Fortunately,

[Jemble Fred]

the Powers of the Undead, (what I know best) allowed me to

[the midnight watch baboon]

magic a latex glove out of thin air, and fill it
with five sausages and a beefburger. Suddenly, an erection

[Ginyard]

in my pants so hot that it could fry an egg, coupled with an ever persistent hunger, presented me with a situation of choice; do I wear my new floppy, fly-attraction hand, or cook the contents of it on my penis? As it happens, I

[Cerys]

became confused by this dilemma, resulting in the accidental barbecuing of my genitalia.  I

[Ginyard]

still felt something of a winner though as it meant I could now use my willy as an extra finger and my nuts as a starter. Unfortunately, this joyous feeling was offset by an accompanying colossal depression that was encouraging me to crawl into a corner, vomit and die. Still,

[sirhenry]

drained and dead, my corpse lay there waiting for a new narrator to appear.

[Jemble Fred]

October 2nd, 1889.

Tadgers

[Ginyard]

runs in in his pink pussy costume. 'Xeon 5520 with 24Gb RAM in 6 dimm slots and hyperthreading enabled for maximum performance!' he shouts. Then it all goes dark and I wake up screaming. I keep having this same dream but I can't make any sense of it. Outside my window, London sits cloaked in smog

[Jemble Fred]

. Was it all, the moors, the vomit, Sir Smith, the loss of hand... was it all.. just.. bollocks? Let it not be so. Not bollocks, good lord...

[Ginyard]

....A WEREWOLF! There's a fucking werewolf in my bedroom and

[Cerys]

not a grenade in sight!  I resolved to be more careful in future, noting the resolution in my diary before becoming distracted by my pornographic doodle of Florence Nightingale and

[Sexton Brackets Drugbust]

Catchphrase's very own Mr. Chips, engaged in an illegal and debauched session of covert onion frottage.

The Werewolf casually browsed a back issue of Take a Break, giving me a window of opportunity in which to

[sirhenry]

plant a windowbox of desperation. And it bore fruit - while the werewolf pawed over his horoscope I discretely

[Ginyard]

chomped on a quince and noted that Lady Margaret Van Proops said that today I would meet the woman of my dreams....no wait, screams...woman of my screams. 'What in Prince Albert's colon does that mean?' I enquired aloud

[the midnight watch baboon]

to myself, which the werewolf somehow overheard. "Pardon?", it said, really paying more attention to the infants-level Sudoku on page 26.

I

[Cerys]

ran the word through my mind, noting that 'hard-on' and 'lard on' would be suitable rhymes, were I to be enslaved in some bizarre limerick-related ritual.  Fortunately,

[Ginyard]

I think limericks are for cunts and have no time for such mindless buffoonery. I do have time for

[sirhenry]

Bristowe's Beefy Bangers, 'the sausage for the discerning lycanthrope'©. A meaty mouthful at any time of the month, try some today. Available at all disreputable stores.

[Cerys]

But what was I thinking?!  I felt violated, as though a domineering sponsor of some foul nature was speaking directly into my mind.  Furthermore, it appeared as though all the laws of nature had deviated from the sacred form of ten words.  How could this have happened?  I resolved to

[Sexton Brackets Drugbust]

learn how to unicycle. This I began immediately, in the hope that

[Ginyard]

one day I could graduate to a zerocycle and just hovver around Sloane Square like a short, plump, well-dressed, bearded, timepiece-wearing bluebottle.

'Mmmmmmphhhh.....

[Jemble Fred]

such a... lob-on... a lob-on... I have such a... lob-on! LOB-ON! BY SAINT GEORGE I'VE GOT SUCH A LOB-ON! SUCH A LOB-ON!"

I simply had to give it up and take tea with the werewolf.

[Ginyard]

'Coochie coochie coo Mr Werewolf' I said, tickling his whiskers which were unusually soft. They reminded me of

[Jemble Fred]

Nanny, and the warmth and safety of her buttocks. I felt an overwhelming desire to become overwhelmed with desire, but refrained. What would the Queen have said?

An insistent rapping at the door.

"WALES YARD! OPEN UP!"

[Ginyard]

"The Bitch is here! the Bitch is here!
Huffin' 'n puffin like a perculator
Come to rule like the terminator"

Whoever those two idiots were, one thing was clear; their lyrics were bollocks. The werewolf (who's name, BTW, was Harold Lloyd according to his dog collar)

[Jemble Fred]

agreed with me that the oafs clearly had scant regard for the niceties of the nineteenth century. Suddenly the door blistered, and in the flatfoots fell.

"Professor Portumenture!" grinned their stocky, sticky spokesman, bathed in perspiration. "Enjoying tea, are we? Tea, eh? Very interesting. Tea."

I looked about me, but no sign of my lycanthropic fellow tea-taker could be gleaned.

"But I could have sworn

[Ginyard]

there was another chap here. Its not just me indulging in Ceylon's finest leaves"

"Sorry sir, but you're going to have to come with us to the police station. Drinking tea is for nonces. And we hate nonces. Don't we, Ted?"

"We hate nonces" said Ted.

" I hate nonces" I said, but to little effect. They

[Cerys]

placed a regulation pillowcase over my head, kneed me in the nuts and finally