Ransoming Nell Gwyn for a hundred pounds and a rhubarb bush
Alack gentle oglers! For I have been held against my will by a horde of Albanian diabolists, secreted in the caves of Wiltshire for nearly 4 weeks…
List ye to a tale if you will, that is so full of holes (the caves you understand) that it will leave you in disbelief.
I stalked out of the door of my abode one June morn, sporting the most magnificent maroon silk tie cast in a simple four-in-hand that I had thought some trouble might attract itself and stick to me like the glue from a well-boiled cow’s hoof. This was to be the case as I walked lustily through the meadow-like xiphoid grasses of Ealing Common. I saw a shambling bunch of lowlifes, guttersnipes and ne’er-do-wells muttering in some nameless caucasian brogue, pointing in my direction. Between their vile forms I could just make out the glinting of a blade or two.
I quickened my pace that seemed to run parallel to them as they turned toward me with a certain look in their eyes. My pace changed to a run as I darted down past the old Saxon church that lay ruined and menacing in a crumbling graveyard. It must have been the paving slabs under my feet which sent me flying onto the hard macadam roadway, but I felt a sharp bang on my forehead and knew no more…
I awoke in a bleary fog, my eyelids barely staying open with rheum as I groped about me. However there was no time for that, so I got up and looked around. I appeared to be in some sort of cavern or vug if you will, and through the gloaming I could make out some dim shapes, shifting noiselessly around. I broke out cold and clammy as my sinews stiffened, waiting for their deadly approach.
One of these shape-shifting behemoths loomed towards me and spoke in a grim soupy drawl:
"We represent Stourbridge, Kremlin & Thurrock, and we’re here to back your successful suit against Ealing Council for negligence."
"What negligence?" I blurted.
"You cracked your jaw on a loose paving slab on the Elm Grove Road. It was quite clearly the council’s fault. You’re sitting on millions in compensation!"
"Piffle!" I rejoindered, more in disblief than disparagement.
They continued to implore me to take up legal arms against the mighty bureaucracy and we disputed for days on end. Days stretched into weeks and I found myself short of breath, flagging and quite exhausted after interminable debate. Eventually I drew myself up, managing to summon all the eloquence I could muster and uttered a short but stinging "Bollocks to the lot of you!" and marched out of the cave into the flaring light, homeward.
I should say the council have had a lucky escape.
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bjbeamish
FIRST COMMENT, HOES!Brian, your most recent comment, pointing out the obvious lack of sheer anger and rebellion in my online diary of intellect, has inspired me to be a bastard once again. Thank you.My latest online diary of intellect entry is dedicated to you. So here\’s a big "FUCK YOU" and a couple of "CUNTS" for good measure. However, I am royally surprised that no-one wants my fine collection of belongings from the seas of the world. I guess ye olde casio tape player minus a speaker shall remain under the command of the techno-pixies. Such is life.Well, I must say that your trip and/or fall on the loose paving slab is one of epic proportions. You should do what my grandfather used to (god bless his dead soul) when confronted with a dilemma: Think it out, soiled in your own excrement whilst buttering the inside of a pringles tube absent-mindedly. Oh yeah, I almost forgot, you should also occasionally shout about the war, in particular the quality of mackerel during the war, before throwing aforementioned pringles tube out of the window, yelling "Fetch!" at the top of your lungs. Or you could watch Trisha. He did that a lot, too…Anyway, I must stop warbling about this oh-so-loosely associated subject and get the hell outta here.Yours with a furious anger similar to Samuel L. Jackson\’s character in Pulp fiction,Daniel Shrapnell III
Your anti-holiness,
I\’m touched by your swears. No, really.
And another thing – I have the watching of Trisha down to a T, but the auto-smearification in fecal matter is a talent I have yet to master. Do you possess any instruction guides on the subject? I have trawled all the way through the Encylopaedia Britannica and can find nothing. I did however find a fascinating entry on voles.
Still, there it is.
Toodle pip,
Bri
Funnily enough, I have such a book in my possesion – The little book of Senility. Within it, it explains how to shout extremely loud yet make no single word heard, how to unlock the deepest part of your subconcious and bring it to your frontal lobes, simultaneously pushing the concious awareness part of you to the back, as well as explaining (in more detail than is actually necessary) how to smear your own fecal matter on yourself, walls, floors and nearby relatives and pets. Unfortunatley it does not explain the buttering of pringles tubes, but well… no-one can be expected to learn that from a book – My grandfather was the only one who could teach it, and unfortunately I only learned 32% of the technique before he passed away. However, I intend to use that in my own senile years, so do not expect me to pass on my heirloom to you.However, the little book of senility can be bought from Fred\’s Sheds, Beds, Cars, Knock off goods and Books…also some food produce. This long-winded shop can be found in Eastern Kuwait, next to Alexi\’s Cheap Meat and Medical supplies.I hope I have been some help. Now if you\’ll excuse me, I must go and practice my Peppergrinding on the cat.Yours with OH MY GOD THAT IS A LARGE BEE. IT IS AS BIG AS A SNOW-GLOBE, AT LEAST! JEEZ (I am actually being serious – there really IS an incredibly large bee in my office, looking for all the world like a nuclear experiment gone wrong…I\’ll be right back…Okay, It\’s gone)Phew, where was I? OH GOD ITS BACK! no, no, that\’s my phone. okay, calm… oh yeah, I remember where I was.Yours inside a figurine of buddha,Danski Die Droderich III
Greetings
On behalf of the (seemingly) intelligent spacing community, I am here to tell you that you have been placed on the register of Blogs Of Brilliance (BOB): HQ for decent spaces.
BOB is committed to linking to the better spaces of the world, having grown tired of picking through dozens of boring spaces in order to find one with some life. We think your space is one of the better ones, and hope you will accept your addition onto the roster of BOB
What do you have to do?
ABSOLUTELY NOTHING. You have already been officially added onto our lists. Check the HQ and you will see your space under the corresponding starting letter. Congratulations.
What can you do?
You are most welcome to check out other spaces linked to from BOB (there are currently over 40 members.) If you approve of our space, we invite, indeed beg of you to nominate other great spaces that you yourself may visit regularly. Share their talents, so BOB can grow and prosper.
If you do not wish to be on the register, just drop us a line (either through an email or comment) and your link will be removed immediately. Note that if you wish to change the description we gave your space, you are most welcome to give us some input. It is, after all, your space.
Finally, if you have any queries at all, please feel free to email us at bobhq_manager@hotmail.com You are also welcome to add this address to MSN Messenger (although it is rarely active)
Thank you for your time, and again, congratulations.
Well BOB, there it is. One is honoured, nay aroused to be included. At last from the dregs of the useless yoof of today, there arises one voice that speaks unto the internet:
"Bugger you lot with your inadequate spelling and your rather worryingly obsessive use of emoticons in place of what could be some rather fine prose if only you tried! And hurrah for spaces that contain stuff what is worth reading \’n shit."
Or something relatively similar I\’ll warrant.
Anyway, there it is.
Toodle pip,
Bri
By christ my Nipples hurt. Any ancient nipple pain curing salves that anyone can think of?And sont bother with any of the folowing; They do not work: Savlon, Germoline, Savloline (a combination of the two mixed up in a beaker), Honey, Pile-be-gone, Vagi-clean, dettol, or Cif. None of them have helped. Indeed, the last two have made it worse. Any cures?On another note, Where has everyone gone? It seems there are no commenters any more! No intellectual respondants, no FUN people except myself, Brian and Bob… who I believe is all about the business end of things.SO COMMENT, BIATCHES.Yours,Daniel Angershard XVII
Sirs
I agrree with his holiness of the dark there has been a distinct absenteeism of comments of the bloggers, and this has stirred me into a lather of which my bloated form has been marinading for 8 whole long weeks.
Brian your tale has had me put in mind of an episode that occured when I was resident in Ealing. One day, empowered by the music streamed into my ears, headed along Windsor Road to go to Starbucks. I tripped and put my hands out to stop me hitting the slabs….
…I just kept falling and falling and eventually splashed down into a pool of liquid, brackish and cold. I pulled myself to the side and heaved my bloated form onto land, at which point my mini disc had stopped. I opened my eyes and a cowled man stood before me clutching, what I took to be parchment.
His eyes burned red and no face was visible, he entoned "are you Pete?". I bade him yes and he shoved what turned out to be my mobile phone bill into my face – whereupon I\’d discovered I\’d overpaid by 50p and he spent hours begging me to let him unleash his unearthly forces on the wrongdoers and bring about the end of civilisation.
I said "do nothing", he protested for hours and said he would wipe these feinds from the earth, but I stated that "It was ok – as it would come off my next bill"…..
He shrugged his shoulders and said "FUCK YOU THEN" and walked off.
Yours
Lambert Tressle
Epsom.