DESOLATION 2018 FINAL: Fishfinger vs. Huxleys Babkins

[Fishfinger]

"This is going to be the best holiday ever, mommy!" exclaims Madeleine McCann. She catches a flinty glance back at her via the rearview mirror. "Yes honey." The car speeds up.

[Huxleys Babkins]

Denise McCann winces as the finger is slowly but firmly inserted into her rectum. It's not the first time it's happened, nor will it be the last. Denise and Martin named their daughter after the cakes they had enjoyed so much in Paris when they travelled Europe on their honeymoon, a less painful trip than those that have followed since Madeleine was born.

It never seems to matter that Maddie's only 5. It never seems to matter that she's black. The questions, then the hands, then the fingers. Resigned to it now, Denise relaxes her muscles and lets the TSA agent do her work.

[Fishfinger]

It's a grey, miserable start to his redundancy, and Kevin simply can't wait for the Christmas holidays. So much so that he concocts himself a liquid trebuchet to launch himself into next week. Into a KFC bucket goes Stella, Tia Maria, Malibu, tramp cider and what's left of his Morrison's own-brand blended whisky. But as his muscles relax and the blackness rushes to sweep him away, only then does he realise that he didn't put food out for the... Day 2 of his pre-festive coma and the cat makes a start on his left eye.

[Huxleys Babkins]

As Gerry collects his latte, the barista wishes him a cheery "happy holiday!" Gerry suddenly tenses and grips the paper cup so tightly that the lid bursts off and he's showered with a fountain of hot, milky coffee. His skin is scalded, his clothes soaked, but he doesn't notice as the rage has gripped him like a vice.

"You fucking what?!"

"I said happy holiday!"

The Express was right. Piers was right. Tommy was right. Our culture is under attack.

Gerry leaps across the counter and grabs a massive bottle of Monin syrup from the shelf and starts beating the barista about the head. "THIS. IS. BRITAIN! THIS. IS. A. CHRISTIAN. COUNTRY! WE. CALL. IT. CHRISTMAS. HERE!" Every word punctuated by a another thwack from the thick bottle to the defenceless lad's skull.

He hears his wife screaming. The red mist lifts. He sees he's surrounded by armed police. No doubt the so-called PC brigade.

"British transport police, drop the bottle now or we will be forced to fire!"

Six weeks later and Gerry is sat in the dock, listening to his sobbing wife's account of how on the 3rd June 2018, he had walked into the Luton airport Costa, chatted merrily with the staff about how much they were looking forward to their break in Gdansk and suddenly threw coffee over himself and murdered the young Turkish chap who'd served them.

[Fishfinger]

He hears his wife screaming. There is a time and a place, reflects Albert, to lick a cow's arsehole. His tongue's been frozen stuck to the rear end of a Milton Keynes fake cow for 2 long days: phone nicked, pissed on, called a 'cow fag' - whatever that is - and becomes an ironic selfie sensation. She doesn't even help, just takes the kids. He's finally molested with a lit sparkler before managing to tear his tongue away from the frigid rectum, her screeching threats ringing in his ears. Merry Thucking Chrithmath, you cunth.

[Huxleys Babkins]

"Come on children, we'll be late! Hurry up David, get a shift on!"

The children pile slowly into the car. All grey now.

"Oh, dear, I don't like the look of this traffic. Seems to happen every year doesn't it, Dorothy?"

He looks to the passenger seat. It's empty.

"We forgot your mother! We'll have to send her a postcard."

The car remains stationary. Still in the drive.

"You know children, I don't think this traffic will ever move."

The children groan with disappointment. Well rehearsed now.

"I think we should call it a day. Maybe we'll make the Mendips next year."

The children agree and get out of the car. Never mind, Dad.

"David, can you bring the cases in? My back's not what it once was."

David left the suitcases off the roof rack this year. David's back's not what it once was.

"Ah well, best make a cup of tea. Stephen, could you get the Ludo out?"

Another bank holiday performance for Dad. He's 94 now.

"There you are, Dorothy. On the mantle where I left you."

Stephen sets up the Ludo. Margaret pours the tea.

"You know I'd never leave you behind. Don't you, love?"

He can't have many left now. They don't have the heart to tell him.

"We pretended to drive to the Mendips again, love. Don't have the heart to tell them."

[chveik]

hux

[PlanktonSideburns]

Fucking hell all round,

It's Huxley for me, but fair play you're both horrible, horrible bastards

[BlodwynPig]

Something about the cat eating the eye line struck a chord, but Hux's last was perfect.

[Foggy Buntwhistle]

Awesome final, blinding stuff all round. Gonna have to go Babkins for the last shot, it's borderline "nice" which is what makes it fuckin orrible. Light n shade an all that.

Was super close though, Fishfinger gets extra (meaningless points) points for including the milton keynes cows.

[Pingers]

Fingers

[:(]

fish

[Shoulders?-Stomach!]

Hux

[pancreas]

I think I'm on the fish, just.

[Gregory Torso]

I really liked Huxley's last one, but fishfinger's cow anus and kfc bucket of booze tips it for me.

[QDRPHNC]

Fishfinger for "cow fag".

[The Boston Crab]

Hux. Last one was a real finger up the rectum.

[Twit 2]

FISHFINGER

[Noonling]

Hux

[Fishfinger]

Babkins.

[drummersaredeaf]

Fishfinger, though I enjoyed the coffee one.

[Bazooka]

Sir Huxley, a valiant duel by both.

[BlodwynPig]

Ooooooh exciting...level

[Huxleys Babkins]

Ooooooh exciting...level

Not really. Fishfinger's voted for me, the dozy sod.

So I'll vote Fishfinger just in case Sploff doesn't notice and I win by mistake.

[pancreas]

Well if you're going to play silly buggers then I'd like to change my vote to pancreas.

[Spoon of Ploff]

Well if you're going to play silly buggers then I'd like to change my vote to pancreas.

am i going to have to do another turd graphic pancreas?

[BlodwynPig]

just ban him from future Deso's.

[Ferris]

Coming out of my CaB hibernation to vote for Babkins

[Noonling]

Can I change my vote to Barry Admin? After all, without him there would be no winners, no losers, no deso.

[BlodwynPig]

Fishfinger for his/her Savile in a Hird suit line.