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VERBWHORE XMAS STORY 2010! (21 Words)

Started by Jemble Fred, November 18, 2010, 03:09:31 PM

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Jemble Fred

"More like Weckless! You'll never be the real Mayor, Gregg."

"Leave Gregg alone," snapped Memebridge, "I am an overused meme, y'know.

sirhenry

"But I have no more use for you now. Or Gregg. Except maybe for his tuna melts. And his yumyums." the Mayor gloated.

"You leave my yumyums alone, you fat bastard!" Gregg tried to hie behind the coat rack, but merely

Jemble Fred

seconds later the coatrack spontaneously combusted, and a jolly roaring fire cheered the Mayor up considerably.

"Ah, festive!" he beamed. "No!" He remembered, "We want nothing of a festive nature in this town this year. That's why I sent for you, Cuddlycock. I have something of grave Tits-Titsford importance to relate."

Memebridge drew up a pouffe and fixed me with a plastic stare.

Cerys

I struggled to remove it, but the superglue had set almost instantly, leaving me trapped behind the goggle-eyed mask with no

sirhenry

redeeming features (very much like my own).
"OK, so what's the deal this time, Toots?" I mumbled, lurking under the stare.

Jemble Fred

"Well," he returned, "You remember the shitstorm that went down last Xmas, I take it?"

I nodded. I couldn't remember anything.

dr_christian_troy

He paused, glancing towards the window behind his desk.

"...There's trouble afoot."

Trouble Afoot, a lowly tramp, stood outside, a mince

sirhenry

pie in each ear, a turkey on his head and a Christmas cracker sticking out of his arse.

"Very festive, Trouble!" called the Mayor, eliciting the traditional two-finger salute.

"Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, the Met Office Christmas prediction.

Emma Raducanu

3-1 favourite on 2 inches of snow, 6-2 double unfavourite for 12 inches, 9-3.14159265 on an avalanche killing us all and

sirhenry

evens on a massive chunk of frozen faeces falling onto a silver BMW in Norwich from a passing 757, shortly before its engines self-destruct."

"A shitstorm indeed" I replied. "So what do you want me to do about it?"

Ginyard

"I want you to prepare countermeasures"

"Soup kitchen?"

"No, a village Volcano"

"Why....Lava?"

"I'm not your bloody lover. Can you do it?"

Cerys

"No."

"Bugger."

We all sat down to think anew.  By this time I'd lost track of who was who - or 'whom',

sirhenry

or 'wom' - I've never known how to pronounce it.

Mayor Memebridge explained the situation so far: "I've called you, Cuddlycock, and not-quite-Mayor Gregg here to

Cerys

infiltrate the North Pole.  Sick of getting crap Xmas prezzies.  Going right to the top.  We're going to winkle old Santa

Ginyard

with our winkles"

"Sounds like rape, Sir"

"Haha, rape. No, no...just a subtle way of ensuring we don't end up with 10 dead lizards, a monkey called Hector the Spector and Barbara Windsor again"

"Have you prepared your list, Sir?" asked

Emma Raducanu

Santa, eating another mince pie. "I want to stain it with coffee and butter."

"N-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-no Sir Mr Santa sir please". Santa angrily

dr_christian_troy

whipped Gregg in the face with a severed antler, proclaiming:

"IT'S MY FUCKING DAY!"

I arose aroused, and suggested he remove

Cerys

his tinselly undergarments and make himself comfortable.  He threw a bauble at me.  I caught it deftly between my toes.  We

Big Jack McBastard

found ourselves locked in a mutual glare, neither of us prepared to flinch.

The Mayor nervously piped up: "Gregg, Santa is to be kept sweet for the duration, he rather likes the winkling, it's his elves we're gunning for, since they unionised..."


Cerys

Strepsils.

I gaped.  Then I goggled.  I would have gone on to grope, but by this time I had been firmly

encased in pastry, such as might befit a pie of a not unseasonal nature.  It was an oddly pleasant experience.  The

Big Jack McBastard

fallen aide, fluidly rising from his recent thrashing, 'Gregg'! Of course, his true nature becoming clear in my lovely flaky cocoon.

Ginyard

'Release me you bok choy brick shitting thundercunt!" I yelled from deep inside the wet folds (sounds sexy...it really wasn't)

Jemble Fred

... I have a job to do!"

And thus it was that I, Dr Cuddlycock, set off on my mission to... I dunno, kidnap some elves and dunk them in the village volcano, I think.

I commandeered Santa's sleigh and zoomed through the

Ginyard

car park and into a pub. I was going to need a stiff one first. Wink. Inside it was smokier than a genie's disco

Cerys

jockstrap, and they don't come much smokier than that, I can tell you.  The floor was sticky underfoot, causing me to

sirhenry

stay rooted to the spot for the entire duration of this year's escapade. But at least I was at the bar.

Meanwhile

Ginyard

Mayor Memebridge had retired to his quarters and was singing a nursery rhyme to calm his fourteen silent, violent children:

Pease Pudding Hot
A Black sheep lived in a shoe
Goosey Goosey Purdey
Fly away Gambit
Oh I don't fucking know

Cerys

'For the last time, Memebridge,' snapped the eldest, 'we're not kids, we're pantomime dwarves.  The beards should be a dead giveaway.

Jemble Fred

"DWARVES? TO THE VILLAGE VOLCANO WITH YOU!"

"How many fucking times? There's no village volcano! You haven't... God, Primradish?"

"Yes, TicklishTom?"

"This joker's only starting on about throwing little people in volcanoes again."

"Ohhh... Memebridge."

"Shall we?"

"Yes we shall."

"GET HIM!!!"

dr_christian_troy

Memebridge, wearing only his leopard-print gown and edible socks, fled down the corridor towards the study. The dwarves began singing: