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StoryTime

Started by butnut, February 09, 2004, 04:16:37 PM

Previous topic - Next topic

dan dirty ape

..an army of silver mechanical Death-Blesseds swooped from the light fixtures, like overbearing robot moths.

mook

....As we stood tranfixed staring at the hideous spectacle of 307 flying bearded robotic thespian clones, in my peripheral vision I noticed a small door open from beneath the Great Blessed's Dias, a foul orange light eminated from within and bathed us in it's vileness.

dan dirty ape

It was right wing comedian Jim 'Nick nick' Davidson, mucking about with a torch.

butnut

On closer inspection, it was not a torch at all, but his uranium-drenched penis, which he seemed to be holding between his hands and massaging, firmly and quickly.

mook

On even closer inspection, the penis infact turned out to belong to David Dickenson (Hence the vile orange glow...Ahhh, do you see what I've done there;))...we at once returned to our senses and a single unasked question hung heavy in the air.."Where, Oh where is the rest of the cuprinoled antique botherer?"

Hairy Chin

We obviouslydidn't ask the unasked question, but let it hang in the air. As such, Jim with David's dick didn't answer.

Instead, he rolled up one trouser leg

butnut

However, that was of no consequence, as at that moment I noticed the blood running down my leg - "Shit," I thought "either I've got really bad piles, or my period's started"

Purple Tentacle

I looked round, and found that the trickle of blood dribbling from my anus was due to David swiftly withdrawing himself from my person, and hurridly trying to wipe his cock on the curtains. Was I cursed to be buggered for eternity?

king mob

Thankfully i realised i was only one of many that David had buggered & that in fact David was apologisng for every goalkeeping error he ever made in his own bizarre way,just then Terry Venables decended from the celing in a strange orange glow.

butnut

I had to find out where this uranium was coming from; try  grasp the situation I was in; why all these footballers kept turning up; and come up with a pretty spectactular plan - and quickly.

Almost Yearly

First I put a flower in my hair, knowing that the best protection from uranium is a geranium in the cranium.

Boris Livingstone

But as I was doing so, in came Gordon Strachan.

Hairy Chin

As I was saying this toungue-twister to myself quietly, i noticed that my tongue had in fact become twisted and i wath only able to thpeak like thith. 'Bollockth' I thought, 'thomething elth to add to my troubleth - what nextht?'

EDIT to avoid plot fork:
This made any hope I had of  a sensible conversation with Gordon very difficult

Almost Yearly

Luckily Ole Gunnar Tholthkjaer wath nowhere to be theen.

Hairy Chin

And due to the pink fuzzy earmuffs Gordon was inexplicably wearing, he either didn't notice, or wasn't offended at being addressed as 'Gordon Thrachan'.

'This way, quickly' he said, grabbing my arm

Krang

Suddenly, i arrived back on the set of Knightmare, it turns out id been on the show, one thing puzzled me though...

Boris Livingstone

Or at leatht thatth what I thought, for thuddenly, in an unconvinthing and howwibly contwived plot twitht, the tiny little Norweigan gnome thwaggered into the room with a trollish grin on hith fathe ath if he'd jutht thcored the winning goal againtht Bayern Munchhauthen or thomething.

Hairy Chin

He brandished a huge glass dildo in his hands, and having had more than enough anal escapades already, I quickly reverted to my childhood memories of the show, hoping it would aid me. "Thpellcathting: B-A-N-I-ETH-H" I bellowed. Nothing happened, the little git was still there grinning more evilly than ever. So I kicked him in the balls and ran down a corridor...

Krang

It wath Thnooj!

As i ran down the hallway, my shoe lathes had come undone, and i came very clo-th to tripping theveral times. Damn these thoes i cried, why did'nt i go for the velcro!?!

butnut

And it was at this moment, looking at that strange dwarf, I got the first inklings of the horrible tongue cancer that was to wreck my life, and ruin my career in the porn industry.

Hairy Chin

Re-edited to put back in:

That was what I thought to myself as I got my breath back, leaning against a wall.

Krang

Which was made of corn.... I was indeed in Cornwall (stolen from someones profile, sorry i cant remember)

Hairy Chin

I hoped that the thun didn't come out - if it got too hot, the wall may turn into popcorn and exthplode. Luckily it wath night, tho the chanthe of thun wath very thlim, unleth a freak weather occuranth occured.

Almost Yearly

The thky darkened and it thtarted raining curranth.

Boris Livingstone

I dethided to gather ath many curranth as pothibble in my thatin napthack tho ath to thuthtain me on thith long and arduouth eckthpedition into thurrealithm.

Hairy Chin

I dithcovered to my annoyanth that thome 'curranth' were in fact raithinth, but i collected them anyway, at thith point, i wath obliviouth to the fact that it wath raining indoorth.

--

EDIT:

Boris - you edited out your entrance of Justin from The Darkness, but I like my last bit so much, I need to keep it - please make him come back in your post. I mean potht.


--

I thought it wath quite poetic the way Juthtin made hith entrtanth - out of the band 'The Darkneth', and he altho thtepped out of the darkneth, due to the thadowth that had been catht along the corridor.

butnut

Ath I collected the currenth/raithonth I wath thocked ath they began to form into   thape of a very thexy thlut.

p.s well done guys for sorting out the story when it fucks up!

dan dirty ape

Yeth! Ith the woman from the front of the Thun-Maid raithnth packeth come to life in raithnth form, like thomething out of one of thoth Ray Harryhauthn Thinbad filmth, only benign and theemingly up for it.

terrorist



Goth I could do with thomeone to rehydrate my chapped lipth........

butnut

p.s. Here's the story from my last update on page 2:

Quote
"Does Rory McGrath like football so much because his head is shaped so much like a football?" I asked David. "If Jonathan Ross is a big fan of rugby" he replied "then you may well be on to something". "So David" I asked with a sudden burst of aggression, "shouldn't your head be shaped like a cunt?" "yes" he replied "for I do like cunts, but I could so easily go off you if you insist on taking that tone with me"
Suddenly the hilarity of David's surname dawned on me; "hahah....hahaha... Seaman! hahaha sounds exactly like 'semen', you know, spunk! hahahahaa" I expelled laughs for a full five minutes. "I don't believe this" David looked angry "we had our family name changed by deedpoll to avoid all this nonesence. Sailor to Seaman seamed to be the obvious choice. People kept saying "ooh, hello sailor" but this is even worse. Why didn't we see it pun intended coming?" With a twinkle in my eye, I turned around and quickly retorted "Well maybe you should have held a family meeting, and raised tissues like this? Oh, sorry, I don't know what came over me, I meant 'issues'". David Growled like an agitated doberman. "Well, it's better than being called Wilma Froth-Pamphlet" said David. I had to admit, he was right, and it was a bloody good job that nobody at all had ever been given that name ever. Oiled up sufficiently we wrestled for what seemed like an eternity. But he still wouldn't take off the moose hat. Eventually he got bored of taunting me and said "Okay, you can have your stupid hat back. What other stuff you got?" he then opened my wardrobe...despite my protestations.  How was I ever going to explain the sequinned Dan Ayckroyd skin I'd hung there so lovingly, only a few hours earlier?
"It's still warm" he said, touching the flesh, nearly hanging on a coathanger.
I had to think of an excuse, a good one - and fast...Luckily his attention was wrestled away from the now-cooling Ackroyd skin by the basket I had made out of Bobby Davro's hollowed severed head. "Ohh! Oooh! Have you got Barrymore's fist?" he asked me. "Of course not." I spluttered." I only collect these items If I can verify where they've been, Now please accompany me into to the Brian Blessed Room.
As we entered the Brian Blessed Room, David covered his ears, overawed by the incessent roaring and shouting. David realised the futility if covering his ears almost immediately, you see, you don't really hear the Blessed so much as feel him in the very marrow of your bones..David stood agog as....an army of silver mechanical Death-Blesseds swooped from the light fixtures, like overbearing robot moths. As we stood tranfixed staring at the hideous spectacle of 307 flying bearded robotic thespian clones, in my peripheral vision I noticed a small door open from beneath the Great Blessed's Dias, a foul orange light eminated from within and bathed us in it's vileness. It was right wing comedian Jim 'Nick nick' Davidson, mucking about with a torch. On closer inspection, it was not a torch at all, but his uranium-drenched penis, which he seemed to be holding between his hands and massaging, firmly and quickly. On even closer inspection, the penis infact turned out to belong to David Dickenson (Hence the vile orange glow...Ahhh, do you see what I've done there;))...we at once returned to our senses and a single unasked question hung heavy in the air.."Where, Oh where is the rest of the cuprinoled antique botherer?"
We obviouslydidn't ask the unasked question, but let it hang in the air. As such, Jim with David's dick didn't answer. Instead, he rolled up one trouser leg. However, that was of no consequence, as at that moment I noticed the blood running down my leg - "Shit," I thought "either I've got really bad piles, or my period's started". I looked round, and found that the trickle of blood dribbling from my anus was due to David swiftly withdrawing himself from my person, and hurridly trying to wipe his cock on the curtains. Was I cursed to be buggered for eternity? Thankfully i realised i was only one of many that David had buggered & that in fact David was apologisng for every goalkeeping error he ever made in his own bizarre way,just then Terry Venables decended from the celing in a strange orange glow. I had to find out where this uranium was coming from; try  grasp the situation I was in; why all these footballers kept turning up; and come up with a pretty spectactular plan - and quickly.
First I put a flower in my hair, knowing that the best protection from uranium is a geranium in the cranium. But as I was doing so, in came Gordon Strachan. As I was saying this toungue-twister to myself quietly, i noticed that my tongue had in fact become twisted and i wath only able to thpeak like thith. 'Bollockth' I thought, 'thomething elth to add to my troubleth - what nextht?' This made any hope I had of  a sensible conversation with Gordon very difficult. Luckily Ole Gunnar Tholthkjaer wath nowhere to be theen. And due to the pink fuzzy earmuffs Gordon was inexplicably wearing, he either didn't notice, or wasn't offended at being addressed as 'Gordon Thrachan'. 'This way, quickly' he said, grabbing my arm.
Suddenly, i arrived back on the set of Knightmare, it turns out id been on the show, one thing puzzled me though...Or at leatht thatth what I thought, for thuddenly, in an unconvinthing and howwibly contwived plot twitht, the tiny little Norweigan gnome thwaggered into the room with a trollish grin on hith fathe ath if he'd jutht thcored the winning goal againtht Bayern Munchhauthen or thomething. He brandished a huge glass dildo in his hands, and having had more than enough anal escapades already, I quickly reverted to my childhood memories of the show, hoping it would aid me. "Thpellcathting: B-A-N-I-ETH-H" I bellowed. Nothing happened, the little git was still there grinning more evilly than ever. So I kicked him in the balls and ran down a corridor..
It wath Thnooj!
As i ran down the hallway, my shoe lathes had come undone, and i came very clo-th to tripping theveral times. Damn these thoes i cried, why did'nt i go for the velcro!?! And it was at this moment, looking at that strange dwarf, I got the first inklings of the horrible tongue cancer that was to wreck my life, and ruin my career in the porn industry. That was what I thought to myself as I got my breath back, leaning against a wall. Which was made of corn.... I was indeed in Cornwall. I hoped that the thun didn't come out - if it got too hot, the wall may turn into popcorn and exthplode. Luckily it wath night, tho the chanthe of thun wath very thlim, unleth a freak weather occuranth occured.
The thky darkened and it thtarted raining curranth. I dethided to gather ath many curranth as pothibble in my thatin napthack tho ath to thuthtain me on thith long and arduouth eckthpedition into thurrealithm. I dithcovered to my annoyanth that thome 'curranth' were in fact raithinth, but i collected them anyway, at thith point, i wath obliviouth to the fact that it wath raining indoorth.
Ath I collected the currenth/raithonth I wath thocked ath they began to form into   thape of a very thexy thlut. Yeth! Ith the woman from the front of the Thun-Maid raithnth packeth come to life in raithnth form, like thomething out of one of thoth Ray Harryhauthn Thinbad filmth, only benign and theemingly up for it. Goth I could do with thomeone to rehydrate my chapped lipth..

(You bastard Dirty Dan - you made me spt my tea everywhere when I read that! - and now on with the story...)