the holes the dog had chewed in the fly wire
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the holes the dog had chewed in the fly wire
So he thought I'd better get some dog repellent and ...
and load it into his .357 Magnum to make sure the buggers did not come back ( or leave for that matter).
It was two weeks and none of the buggers came back. The person put his .357 magnum back into his holster. He then realised that he didn't know who he was or where the hell was this place with dog chewed flywire was. He figured that all of this information was on previous pages but he couldn't be bothered turning the page.
He opened the flywire door and ...
...stepped out into forty fathoms of seawater. He could have avoided this if he had referred back a page or two, of course. However ...
... none of that was important now because his socks were wet and of all the unpleasant feelings he'd ever felt, having wet socks was amongst the worst. It made each step a squidging, squelching torture that he could hardly bear. Carefully closing the screen door so as not to slam any passing fish in it, he slowly and wincingly backed into the front room. It was as he was putting on the kettle that he had pause to wonder how he was able to breath with forty fathoms of seawater sloshing around his house.
He sat down in his favourite chair, took his soggy socks off, gave them a quick wring and placed them next to the fire to dry off.
He pondered his situation. As far as he could figure he was in a house that was in forty fathoms of water, he couldn't remember who he was, he had wet socks, he could breath underwater and a dog chewed fly screen was keeping out the water that was under 100's of atmospheres of presure.
He decided that google was where he should look, at least it seemed less trouble than turning the page back and reliving the unpleasantness with the sock thing.
The search in google revealed, to his amazement, that he was really a mutant chicken and that they now make fly screens specifically for underwater use.
Suddenly the phone rang and ...
found it was the department of fathomnable taxes who wanted to collect on the fourty fathoms he sat in. He said " Holy Neptune...40 fathoms worth of fathonable taxes... how do I get the loot to pay for this wet tax......??
... or alternatively, how do I get the ferk outta here so as to avoid paying any tax at all?"
He found himself absent-mindedly scratching at what appeared to be a fault in the wallpaper (wallpaper in a submarine? :rolleyes: ). Intrigued, he scratched some more, eventually peeling back a three-cornered tear. To his surprise, what he found beneath the gap was not a wall surface. It wasn't a surface at all! It was, of course, as you, dear reader will already have anticipated, an alternative universe.
Yes! He had stumbled inadvertently on the fabled tear in the fabric thereof! He tentatively put a leg through the tear. Immediately, the leg was snatched in an iron grip.
Fortunately, it wasn't his own leg but a handily positioned joint of meat. He said:-
"Now is the winter of our discontent made glorious summer by this leg of pork!"
And so saying, he clambered through the rip, to be met by ...
... a hideous troll reminiscent of the Morlocks from the film version of The Time Machine. The troll was frantically tearing into the the leg of ham with teeth at roughly 0.75 TPI and no obvious set. Within a few seconds, the ham was gone. "This your leg?" queried the troll in a gravely voice, which sounded like a bag of marbles being crushed under forty tonnes of volcanic rock.
"No, you miserable bastard" replied the man (whose name we appear to have forgotten) "that was me Sunday joint." And with that he whipped out his trusty .357 and blew the troll into the next world.
Looking around at his new surroundings, he noticed in the distance a whisp of smoke rising into the air.
Deciding he may as well investigate as stay with a dead troll, he set off toward the source of the smoke.
He hadn't travelled very far when ....
when he realised it was not smoke but steam coming off a huge heap of troll dung which was slowly moving under its own ( dare i say it ) steam! " My God" he said " I have never seen so much crap in all my life except for the time.....
... when I saw that bloke pedalling his pushbike down the hill with the tram tracks at the bottom. He skidded on the tracks, flipped and landed in an ornamental pond.
Just then, an African bloke stepped out of the pub across the road, paused and slapped himself on the forehead, obviously having just remembered something he had clearly forgotten.
"Isaac Hunt!" he said, loudly.
The cyclist in the ornamental pond sat up, spat out some pond weed and said: "Yes! I'm Isaac Hunt. Can I ...
possibly top that segeue (sp) ?
Having decided that he couldn't, the only thing left for him was to start humming the the theme from "Shaft", (can you dig it)...
"Who's the cop that won't cop out ...
..the cop in question was named Richard Something:
Head? ... Brain? ... Face? ...
Perhaps it was just Richard Something, a close relative of Sir Somebody Something, the famous British nonentity. Or could it be ....
Lord Algernon Waysteof-Space?
Lord Algernon (or Algie to his friends) was a fan of the writings of John Buchan, so, not surprisingly, he soon found himself impersonating the character Richard Hannay.
Adjusting his deerstalker, Hannay turned to his man and said ...
... "does my head look fat in this?"
"Well, now that you mention it," murmured Dirk, "I was wondering how best bring it to your attention."
"Damn you for a Springbok, Huysman, don't you know my glands are swollen since my encounter with those killer bees in episode seven?"
"There were no killer bees in episode seven."
"Yes there were. There were dogs that breathed killer bees on their victims and ..."
"That was an episode of the Simpsons, Hannay."
Just then ...
I thought this thread was dead!!!!! Wrong again. :D :D :D
....the deer being stalked by Hannay's hat had had enough and promptly shat on the brim, this was remarkable as Hannay was still wearing the hat. As the the poo dripped down the silly earpieces on the hat Hannay.....
realised that he was going to need the services of Isaac Hunt if he was ever going to find the 39 steps.
"Isaac, Isaac Hunt" he cried "are you there Isaac?"
Just then ...
...a large thing covered in dark curly hair appeared and said "I'm Issacs brother Mike" Confused Hannay moved towards the creature and...
stepped into a pool of ....
... ordure.
"Aw, duh!" he exclaimed. "Isaac Hunt!"
The cyclist stepped out of the ornamental pond. Fixing Hannay with a slightly damp but nevertheless intent gaze, he said:
"Look! I keep telling you: I'm Isaac Hunt! Why do you people keep yelling my name?"
He looked at the hairy thing and said:
"What's my brother doing here? He ...
..he's not usually up and about at this time of month, I'll just find his Teddy named...
Ohh that smell is nothing to worry about. My pet hamster always smells like that after a feed of .......
Quote:
Originally Posted by
You thought it was dead?
Never let it be said
That we threaders would let it expire.
Now that it's re-started
(Not for the faint-hearted)
We'll keep it alive, full of fire.
(But - back to the story)
... a feed of sardine-flavoured marmalade. Any hamster called Teddy would be excused for being confused (damn! Must stop inadvertently creating rhymes!).
Hannay tugged his foot free, wiped the sole of his boot on his man's sleeve and said "Are you sure this makes my head look fat?"
His man, about to reply, hands curled and heading for Hannay's throat, was interrupted by a loud cry of "ISAAC HUNT!" from somewhere in the middle ....
of the pub across the road.
"Look at what you've done to my ornamtenal fountain, you idiot!"
"The spouts up the spout and the cherub is looking decidedly dodgy"
"What are you doing here anyway? When I asked for a trick cyclist I wan't being literal. What I really wanted was a ....
... cunning stunt. Yes a stunt so cunning that ...
:D Watch the line, don't cross it. :D
...that the hunts wouldn't be able to work out how it was done and that would produce a spare key for to insert into his slot.....
:D HH.
Meanwhile, the cyclist was squelching off, in high dudgeon. He had been summoned by name several times and, when he responded, had been ignored. He was a sensitive soul - a serious affliction in one so unfortunately named - and he had decided to move on, leaving these insensitive souls (making a clear distinction here with other types of souls - don't worry, , the line is clearly within my vision :) ).
Hannay, meanwhile, was wondering why his man was apparently intent on attacking him. In particular, Hannay couldn't work out why his man seemed to be attempting to wipe his sleeve in Hannay's face.
"I say, look here," said Hannay. "What the ....?
..oh my goodness, lookout!" screamed Hannay as Mike Hunt devoured his man in one gulp, all that remained was the dirty shirt cuff stuck in Mike Hunts curly hair. Hannay...
he almost crossed the line but avoided it by the barest of margins. A very clever dwarf walked up and crossed the line. Several bystanders applauded the work of the cunning runt.
Mike Hunt proceeded to ...
..tell and the cunning runt was struck down in mid stride by the axe weilding moderator. Mike Hunt felt very full and decided to take a rest and then snack on the dwarves remains when he woke.
Hannay tiptoed, as silently as he could, away from the slumbering hairy thing. He had only taken 39 steps when he felt a tap on his shoulder.
He turned and ... there was no-one there.
He felt a tap on his shoulder again.
He whipped round quickly...
....and broke his nose on the chrome fawcet. When his eyes cleared he noticed it wasn't only a tap but a basin as well somehow attached to his back. As his vision cleared further he found....
when he looked down, his legs had turned into claw feet and his stomach had become a cast iron bath.
He looked between his legs and saw something hairy. Mike Hunt poped his head up and said I've been inspecting your plumbing and there is something wrong. It is seems you are having problems with ...
..your ballcock and this has resulted in a bad case of crabs, and for some weird reason you seem to be morphing into a bath. BTW that hairy thing between your legs is several years worth of peoples hair that has collected in your u-bend..
[This is getting silly now...]
Very.
"However," said Sally, "We shouldn't despair, children. It has been my observation that when the plot becomes overly silly, as it appears to have done in the last few pages, the scene usually shifts. Sometimes quite dramatically ..."
The words were scarcely out of her mouth when a leg appeared in the rip in the fabric of the universe. This was not a leg of pork but a distinctly familiar leg, clad in an ankle sock and framed by the lower hem of a trench coat.
Yes! It was Michelle!
"Now leessen vary carefoolly," she said. "For I shall say zees ...."