21 Words: The Verbwhore Halloween Story 2010

[Cerys]

on my knee, deftly picking his long nose.  Knivesfielder giggled manically and ran his finger lightly along the side of my

[Ginyard]

armour, mock-tickling my steel-encased ribs.

Where once we played, 
only skeletons remain,
Along the dapple window pane.... continued Nagsworth.

"Right, that's

[Jemble Fred]

me aroused!" I thundered, "Now show me to a lady of foul repute!"

"Instantly!" beamed la patron, stopping his caterwauling at



last. "But, I can do more than that, Professor." And with that, Nagsworth pointed me towards a medical screen, where, sillhouetted

[Cerys]

hungrily in puce, there reclined a beautiful lizard.  Its precarious position on the screen distracted me somewhat from what lay behind

[Jemble Fred]

... was it a lady, a freak, a spectre, a big bag of bollocks tied up with catgut and tripe? Nagsworth pulled

[Cerys]

all kinds: one could never be sure exactly what to expect from his harem.  As I strained to catch a glimpse

of his latest conquest, I became suddenly, sickeningly aware of the approach of the most odious of all Sir Robert Peel's

[Ginyard]

felt-headed flat-footed swines, Detective Smellmefangs. In one hand swung his mighty truncheon (no, not penis...not yet), in the

[Jemble Fred]

other, a Holier Than Holy Bible. Expurgated version.

"Hoi! What breed of bally putrescent bally misigivings are going off here, my

[Cerys]

bally, bally bally bally bally bally bollocks are burning!  Give me a moment,' he muttered apologetically, rooting in his gusset.  I

[Jemble Fred]

took my chance to quickly disguise myself as George Bernard Shaw, to prevent my presence being reported in the penny awfuls

[Jemble Fred]

, and being subsequently drummed out of my private gentleman's club, Dickhead's. But this did not convince the smouldering copper, who suddenly

[Ginyard]

drove his truncheon (no, not penis....not yet) into my spine. 'Grrr' he said, and I was forced to watch as

[Jemble Fred]

Alexander's bloody ragtime band ran around naked and giggling at my howling discomfort.

"Now, Professor Peregrine Portumenture, I think you'll find

_{[For all that these new story threads are really really really good... This is just a heads up that this story's probably got about two weeks until it needs wrapping up. And nothing scary's happened yet.]}

[Ginyard]

you're not welcome in this 'ere club'.

'And why the Bloomers of Byron not?!' I enquired.

'Let's just say you aint

[Ginyard]

one of us'

'One of WHO?!' I bellowed.

Silence. Nagsworth's vaudeville stopped, as did the chatter, the consumption jokes and the

[Jemble Fred]

clocks. I gazed with horror as the thing which had been secreted behind the screen reared up behind the officer. My

[Ginyard]

god! It WAS a sack of bollocks. Not just that but they looked naff. They were bollocks bollocks!

'Greetings. I'm Simon

[Ginyard]

Portier' they said.

'No you're not. You are The Ra of Stepney' whispered Nagsworth.

'Oh yes' said Simon Portier.

My god!

[Ginyard]

They were bollocks bollocks talking bollocks. Had I had my camera mounted on my back I would have captured this moment

[Cerys]

for posterity - but alas!  As I reached behind me to activate my BackVid 5000, I realised that I was too late -

it was already sinking crunchily between the hideous, rusting fangs of a creature so foul, so grotesque, that I could only

[Cerys]

vomit copiously into my not-at-all-anachronous Gladstone bag.  The gelatinous din of my retching was interrupted by a high-pitched giggling from the

stretched and lipsticked maw of Nagsworth himself.  'You approve of my Symbiotic Snapping Scrotum then' he wheezed, squeezing his own genitalia

[Jemble Fred]

in what can only be described as an ill-advised manner. Although 'unpalatable', 'ugly' and 'noisy' would also be perfectly amenable adjectives.

[Ginyard]

I'll admit, its difficult to grant such approval when one is about to be gormandized for sport in front of a

[Jemble Fred]

baying Heir To The Throne, and I was buggered if those bollocks were going to bloody well fuck me over. Forsooth!

[Cerys]

I hefted my sloshing Gladstone bag to shoulder height and flung the contents in the direction of the camera-chewing monstrosity.  As

the beast chowed down on the slick and slurrisome former contents of my stomach, I made a panicked lunge for the

[Ginyard]

foul Detective Smellmefang's truncheon and grabbed his penis by mistake. An error? Yes, but a good one as it made a

[Cerys]

strange and high-pitched squeaking noise that appeared to terrify the vom-slurping creature.  The beast slapped its oddly dainty hands to its

[Jemble Fred]

hairy testicular mandibles and purred. Prince Bertie had a wank.

"You like that, don't you, creature of ungodly abomination?" I leered

[Cerys]

fruitily, like a watermelon with a grudge.  In my smugness, however, I had forgotten about the bollock that, even now, pulsated

[Cerys]

towards me, dragging its way across the parquet floor like a blind, mutated baby seeking its screaming mother's pap.  I turned