Oh Shit Yeah – VERBWHORES 21 WORD XMAS STORY 2011

[Sexton Brackets Drugbust]

though she hadn't long for this world. Unfortunately, Popeye cartoons had taught her of the regenerative properties of canned spinach and her teeth were full of the stuff. Sucking greedily at her dentures, the monstrous hag ingested enough of the green vegetable to make her near invulnerable.

Only one thing could save us now, but I didn't know what it was. I decided some form of public questionnaire would help determine the answer to our problems, so I immediately ran away to arrange

[dr_christian_troy]

a Christmas performance from a local band known as The Damned. They weren't interested, so I whipped out my floppy turkey, and began plucking it like a ukulele, which distracted the orphans for a while, as Mounotricha Copypaste Bereftadignity Lindablairtestes Gambitsteed climbed the Exmas tree in the town square. Tinsel on her teats and baubles up her bumhole, toy planes circulated around her

[Ginyard]

in a haphazard Willis Harold O'Brienian fashion as she thumped her titties like taikos and bellowed out a terrifying anti-christmas song:

[Beagle 2]

"Dub a dub a dum dum
Dub a dub a dum
Dub a dum dum dub a dub
Dub a dub a....

[Jemble Fred]

FUCK CHRISTMAS IN THE NECK!"

It wasn't much of a dancefloor-filler, true, but as covered by Nicholas Lyndhurst it went to Number 1 in the World Charts for around six months, and nobody liked it.

Suddenly, the mighty misanthropic gorgon stopped dead

[Sexton Brackets Drugbust]

, because she had died. Of liver failure. Or scurvy.

"Phew! That was a stroke of luck." everyone in the world sang in unison. "I expect everything will turn out alright, now."
"Really?" I enquired, enquiringly.
"Yes, really." everyone in the world replied.

"Don't be so sure!" shouted

[Jemble Fred]

Marti Caine, but as she had been sadly passed on for many Christmases, nobody heard.

When a special Christmas Doctor discovered that Mounotricha had died not of liver failure, but liver, lodged in her windpipe – the liver of that poor exploded Christmas Orphan – everyone in town decided that a statue should be raised in the town rhombus, skilfully modelled out of stuffing and

[Ginyard]

melted down Richard Marx albums. It looked something like her and the golden plaque mounted above its three heads read: 'BlackberryBitchBaps', which I, the narrator, am now going to attempt to say ten times in a row as fast as possible:

BlackberryBitchBapsBlackberryBitchBapsBlackberryBitchBapsBlackberryBitchBapsBlackberryBitchBapsBlackberryBitchBapsBlackberryBitchBapsBlackberryBitchBapsBlackberryBitchBapsBlackberryBitchBaps

[boki]

I had made the mistake of doing this whilst looking into a mirror, so now looming ominously behind me was a

[Sexton Brackets Drugbust]

cross pig. It slapped me hard across my ample, rosy cheeks, pissed on the rug and vanished in a puff of maths.

Every Christmas eve, dear listener, I make a point of visiting the statue of that noble, exploded, blind Christmas Orphan and I aknowledge his great sacrifice in the only way I know how; I whistle a little tune. It goes like this:

[SetToStun]

one puffs out one's cheeks, purses one's lips and blows at varying speeds and intensity in order to produce quasi-musical notes via oral-labial vibration.

[dr_christian_troy]

Oh yes, the Purdygambitsteeds were a horrible bunch of assholes, the remainder now rallying the villagers in song:

'Oh that little blind orphan twat
died so we could live,
we were alive already anyway
so we don't have a fuck to give.'

[yokel]

'But if you take your knickers_' their mewling was permanently ended by a loud KAPOW! I turned my head to see

[Sexton Brackets Drugbust]

Professor Erasmus KAPOW!, the local Supervillain and longtime Tourette's sufferer, clutching a smoking antimatter rifle and overlooking the scorched earth where the singers had previously stood.

"KAPOW! You didn't think I'd KAPOW! KAPOW! forgotten our anniversary KAPOW!, did you?"

The Professor locked eyes with me, a cruel smile playing - possibly volleyball - on his lips. It had been eight long years to the day since I'd thwarted his evil plans by

[yokel]

sticking me own cock in a test tube holder. God, I winced as I remembered the rust scraping against my pure

[Jemble Fred]

-orange-juice-flavoured prophylactic. That was a Christmas I'll never get back.

"How about a Kissymas truce, Prof?" I offered, and he accepted.

And so, once again, the whole of Christmas was spent trying to pull my cock out of a test tube.

And that, girls and predatory heterosexuals, is how Geoffrey Durham got the idea for the Great Suprendo. Don't tell the missus! And have the sweetest Boxing Day since records began. To be replaced by compact discs. About 1987, I think.

THE VERY END.

_{Well, it won't be an epic this year anyway!}

[Jemble Fred]

There's this, then. Merry... yeah.


http://dl.dropbox.com/u/2890165/MP3/VWXMAS11.mp3

_{Thankee to Apex! Sorry also, to all.}