I Got A Third Lot Of Twenty One Words

[dot]

make you more comftable with being arroused? You want to be my daddy? You make me sick, hit me!" buttons popped

[butnut]

out from behind Mother Goose and began chasing Ian the exorcist around the place.

Just then film critic Mark Kermode arrived

[Frinky]

brandishing a lightsabre in his clenched fists. "Where's that fat-necked, bearded cunt, Lucas? When I get my hands on him

[Jemble Fred]

I'm going to stretch that neck until it's fit for a family of five to holiday in!"

Thankfully, Mark Lawson, his

[Cerys]

rampant houseboy, was not far behind him, and wrestled the lightsabre from Kermode's sweating hands.

"Leave it, Flopsy," Lawson soothed, oiling

[Mister Cairo]

his shining dome and using his almost hollow head to give Kermode's lightsabre a damn good polishing.  Mark Lawson winced as

[Mark Lawson]

he realised he was late for the Verbwhores Meet that had been arranged that day.

He bolted off into the city

[Neville Chamberlain]

and made for the Fuck a Duck pub in Soho where the meet was currently in progress. Hunched around a table

[SurferGhost]

were some hunchbacks, looking over longingly in the direction of a group of strangely attired, misshapen, and even yet still indescribably

[Banana Woofwoof]

er...uhm...indescribably...erm...well, anyway, there they were.  The tallest one, wild-eyed and camel lipped, stood up and clapped

[Jemble Fred]

his dusty mortar-board onto his bonce.

"That's it," he rumbled. "I'm going. This is clearly going to get so in-jokey that

[butnut]

not even Ambient Sheep himslef might get all of the subtle references."

A voice piped up: "That seems a bit harsh."

[SurferGhost]

Meanwhile, back at Ian The Exorcist's, much has transpired. Mark Kermode and Boris Johnson, fresh from an ordeal at the hands

[SurferGhost]

knees and bumpsy-daisy contest in the village, have decided to marry,  leaving Ian The Exorcist to face his demons, armed only

[Lady Beaner]

with a copy of Dan Brown's 'The da Vinci Code'.  So, all in all, he was pretty fucked! He gave a

[Jemble Fred]

two fingered salute to everyone and everything ever, and followed Slim into the non-existent spirit world.

The Two Marks were nakedly

[SurferGhost]

entwined in an illicit tryst, when Boris entered, and shot his cheating spouse and his slapheaded paramour dead. "Now, back to

[butnut]

my place for a full on orgy" he announced. But as the room only contained Mother Goose and Buttons chasing each

[SurferGhost]

other's naked suntanned dwarves, perhaps we'd best draw a discreet veil over Boris' proceedings and return to the only possible alternative,

[Jemble Fred]

the now widowed Weekender – the last Verbwhore in this story, especially since the explosion at the Fuck a Duck pub which

[Cerys]

had taken out Quasimodo, Huw Edwards and a selection of teatime treats.  Left with nothing to munch upon, the remaining clientele

[Mister Cairo]

decided to go out into the street, armed with sharpened Inspector Morse videos, and kill passing pedestrians for their pot. "Yummy!"

[Jemble Fred]

Weekender (real name: Terry Heartless) gazed down at the bloodshed from his lonely garrett, and simpered. Carrying this whole sorry tale

[butnut]

under his armpit had made him sweaty, and the moisture had damaged the manuscript. Only certain words could be made out

[Cerys]

- including 'schlong', 'briefcase' and 'cheesy snack'.  Weekender shuddered and slapped his hand into his armpit, the action resulting in a satisfyingly

[Neville Chamberlain]

sweaty slap. He did it again, then started slapping other parts of his body, just for the sheer hell of it.

[butnut]

A small crowd gathered to admire his body percussion skills and Weekender grew more adventurous in his repertoire. Just as he

[Neville Chamberlain]

was about to slap his arse, a gendarme approached. "Bonjour bonjour bonjour. Qu'est-ce que nous avons ici?" The gendarme undid

[Jemble Fred]

the whole plot, explaining away the disappearance of PLC, chortling at the deaths of Slim et al, and generally acting like

[Neville Chamberlain]

a Frenchman. Weekender carefully put his bum cheeks back together, disappointed that his harmess little fun had been ruined so ignominiously.