The Motor Forum

DarthBalls · Posted: Mon Jun 15, 2009 5:58 pm Post subject:

Texture like sun, lays
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Leaves your gusset lemon fresh...

Big TC · Posted: Tue Jun 16, 2009 12:38 am Post subject:

himself open to abuse?"
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It's a '57 Pontiac Star Chief, dontchaknow.

DarthBalls · Posted: Tue Jun 16, 2009 8:01 am Post subject:

Never heard The Stranglers
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Leaves your gusset lemon fresh...

Big TC · Posted: Tue Jun 16, 2009 8:31 pm Post subject:

cry out in vain
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It's a '57 Pontiac Star Chief, dontchaknow.

DarthBalls · Posted: Wed Jun 17, 2009 9:04 am Post subject:

except that one time
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Leaves your gusset lemon fresh...

Big TC · Posted: Wed Jun 17, 2009 2:10 pm Post subject:

when Smokey sang with
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It's a '57 Pontiac Star Chief, dontchaknow.

DarthBalls · Posted: Wed Jun 17, 2009 2:17 pm Post subject:

the Four Tops and
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Leaves your gusset lemon fresh...

Big TC · Posted: Wed Jun 17, 2009 7:49 pm Post subject:

their geriatric voice coaches.
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It's a '57 Pontiac Star Chief, dontchaknow.

DarthBalls · Posted: Thu Jun 18, 2009 8:39 am Post subject:

"Christ on a bike"
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Leaves your gusset lemon fresh...

Big TC · Posted: Thu Jun 18, 2009 1:34 pm Post subject:

shouted a passing cyclist
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It's a '57 Pontiac Star Chief, dontchaknow.

DarthBalls · Posted: Thu Jun 18, 2009 2:08 pm Post subject:

wearing sandals, robe, beard
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Leaves your gusset lemon fresh...

Big TC · Posted: Thu Jun 18, 2009 3:51 pm Post subject:

and very little else,
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It's a '57 Pontiac Star Chief, dontchaknow.

Racing · Posted: Thu Jun 18, 2009 8:48 pm Post subject:

as he spotted Germaine
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Big TC · Posted: Thu Jun 18, 2009 11:41 pm Post subject:

Greer's snatch under her
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It's a '57 Pontiac Star Chief, dontchaknow.

DarthBalls · Posted: Fri Jun 19, 2009 8:01 am Post subject:

transparent summer dress, which
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Leaves your gusset lemon fresh...

Racing · Posted: Fri Jun 19, 2009 8:51 am Post subject:

is enough to cause
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DarthBalls · Posted: Fri Jun 19, 2009 9:02 am Post subject:

much burning of jock-straps
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Leaves your gusset lemon fresh...

Big TC · Posted: Fri Jun 19, 2009 11:54 am Post subject:

by sensible gentlemen everywhere.
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It's a '57 Pontiac Star Chief, dontchaknow.

DarthBalls · Posted: Fri Jun 19, 2009 4:12 pm Post subject:

The smell, mind you,
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Leaves your gusset lemon fresh...

Racing · Posted: Fri Jun 19, 2009 4:25 pm Post subject:

is used by Dior
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Racing · Posted: Fri Jun 19, 2009 5:16 pm Post subject:

Chapter 1.

There was once the most awful customs officer in Brunei; she is the only person I've ever seen with the full on unibrow in a fetching shade of dark miry red with warts and pimples and deep pitted dimples all over his backside, although he's a she, her stubble was distracting as were the hairy tips of her pendulous African necklace made from Voodoo witchcraft antiquities found with a surprising amount of bargain-hunting zeal. "Quick", cried Bono and Cher, "That's five words Stuntman!", there's a ginger beer. "Oh dear, oh dear..." sighed a small but not insignificant little mole. An interesting selection of rather useless little things littered the BMW options list, to Scamper's delight who'd considered a Copen to match his wonderful tie. "Oh dear", cried the hair trimmer seller, as he embalmed John Prescott in one of his two large throbbing, strangely coloured outfits, which he bought from a Hong Kong shop, which also sold sex toys, among others the Military Diary 2007, which lists several interesting artillery pieces which may comparisons between highly expensive recipes for cooking Corgis in their Matchboxes. "Butter on your toast?" asked that annoying woman at Customs in Brunei without raising her eyebrow or batting her eyelids at the quantities of snuff in G's valise, although she was more interested in the peculiar chap's peculiar waistcoat. "Here's to the man with the snakeskin thong shoved into his motorcycle's panniers and folded in to his large conspicuous rainbow-coloured, smelly and disgusting rotten, broken, dog-eared cheerful and funny bus-sized Portaloo". Bette Davis had one of those Mazda Um Bongo Freindee forcibly inserted up the derriere of Jade Goody from beyond the grave which was located far beyond the event horizon near a sunbathing topless wibbly wobblies and two fat ladies on bikes. "Here is the nine line dancers you booked" cried Alan. Meanwhile, Jade Jagger (not Goody) suggested keeping the botox under her rampant bikini line, bouncing to the tune of classic Manilow hits performed by Vladimir Putin on a banjo. Meanwhile an errant breast walloped Skyhook awake from his speed course-induced narcolepsy. It was the moustachioed woman, who had mysteriously developed Stockholm Syndrome whilst cleverly imitating Tom Selleck. "But?" You keep asking..."What on Earth?". Therefore raising doubts in others' ability to even remotely comprehend where this story is going to end.

Chapter 2.

It was a dark November dawn in which a man went into a pub with a parrot on his head. It squawked and did its business before asking for a nice smooth Hendricks Gin and some pork scratchings from the local shop. "Yuck, this Hendricks is soiled by scratched pork, barman! Plymouth Gin please". Later in the gutter a strange, grey rodent smelt Plymouth's stench quickly. "My post is missing!" said an incontinent dog in an Arabic dialect. Two weeks later, nonchalant from the effects of the Aitkens Diet, Frodo and his friends Bilbo did something they'd rather not be reported to their superior, which was Arsey the troll, who bummed bandits crossing bridges just for a laugh. Ferrari's lost its design but found it again under the troll's bridge, along with a disturbing Old Billy Goats Gruff's large and ungainly gold Mondial T convertible. "We should make a beeline for that large lady of the night posing as Anne Widdecombe dressed in a black basque, stockings and wellies with a small red riding hood". She was feeling very, very sexy until she realised that the under age forummers had been watching Afar, her Tunisian manservant, who was everso slightly gay. Or ginger beer even. While this was occuring, the Olympics were cancelled. "I'm completely lost" shouted alan, visiting the South Terminal at Gatwick Airport before getting back on the Stoke-on-Trent bound shuttle bus which was the wrong bus for he really wanted the lost luggage office where he hoped to find some really tight chaps to go with his cowboy boots and Gay Pride 2007 badge. Being unsuccessful, he decided not to proceed with renting Kraft's garage for 'What Under-age Forummers' shouted was a clear breach of etiquette regarding the Palace of Westminster cross-dressing club. Women of a certain age like to get hold of their partner's certain body part, Loretta Bobbett-stylee, and rub their left foot. "Wire brush and Dettol!" shrilled a bog-trotting chastened Jalfrezi curry eater from Brunei airport control, but without the unibrow or the fishy odour. Meanwhile, back in the of that truly horrendous. Where Li'ldude's logic failed due to his unfailing inability with spelling. However, Homo wondered WTF these threads were about he continued in the touching hope that common sense would continue to continue to continually eat the peking duck salad accompanied by flied lice, although it needed boiling.

Chapter 3.

'G' woke suddenly and saw Chalky, Ginge and Nobby nobbing a disturbed anti-war protester who had some sticks and placards advertising 50% off at Burtons in Merthyr Tydfil along with some more gruel. Oliver then said that he was twisted in ways the Marquis de Sade would never sink his conkers into although he might learn that soaking in vinegar is almost as bad manners in sporting terms as broadcasting flatulance. "I don't believe it" bellowed Alf, bending over a Labour MP to see what was beneath his large shoulder-borne chip . "Three hundred and twenty new road taxes" cheered the unwashed Liberal Democrat Ken Livingston, whilst licking the other backbenchers in a distinctly unsavoury manner "That tastes awful," said Flopsy, Mopsy and Cottontail after once again eating Mr Macgregor's simply huge sporran in which he had hidden Red Ken's mojo jojo. So afterwards, Austin, feeling besmirched by comparison to Vauxhall, fell short of the standards expected of a team whose raison d'etre was to speak in a French baguette. Meanwhile, back at Brunei airport passport control, the plane in transit contained Stuntman's girlfriend's present but would not take Dollars, Yen, or Bulgarian-Levi Strauss knockoff jeans in unconvincing dayglo yellow. "Pay me in Mongolian Togrogs" wailed the gay assistant to Nobby, Chalky, Ginge who had teamed up with Mrs G to return a cardigan to the Manic Street Preachers. Cracking yarn said one, 'Cracking toast' said Wallace of his false legs on which Gromit perched whilst eating some stale sherbet dibdabs he found on their Moon visit . "He's an Aardman Gromit" said a passing Aardvark as he eyed up his big rotund package of cut-price pony nuts sticking out of the teeny bopper's giblets which a forummer conkers deep in vats of balsamic vinegar had been pickling along side John Prescott, who'd eaten the pies and had his conkers forcibly removed by mutated thespians dressed in asparagus singing "doo waa diddy diddy dum diddy do", the Manfred Mann hit the famous French dictator who couldn't stand the rioting that was outside St Peter's bathroom window. Meanwhile, in the shower Bobby Ewing was showing JR what he could use a stetson for. "This'll cover it," he smirked as he pulled out his throbbing red tit willow, tit willow, which he used to hit birds in his mistaken belief that doing so would cure his craving for caviar and vodka. Regardless, he then went extreme ironing with an alligator and a pair of Tefal sport saucepans which were used for beating commentator James Allen's gonads, simply because it would be rude not to.

Chapter 4.

Two words are better than one, but only if the two are hyphenated. In some cases it's possible to use an apostraphie, or even an apostrophe, if you were inclined to. Also a period can be bloody useful for some, at certain ceremonial occasions, such as the Rite of Spring Cleaning, which only applies when the moon is hidden under dust. Surprisingly Paris Hilton's momma is cheap, white trailer trash with an enormously large fluffy, hairy belly button! Not unusual, you'd say, for Paris likes video games and playing truant from school Maths lessons taught by Sir Mix-A-Lot. "Big buns!" said Mrs Muffet who sat on the tuffet eating her curdles and what time is it? "It's Hendricks Time!" in Singapore, but only Pimm's o'clock in Jaipur, although a Rajasthani procrastinator (is there another sort?) would find something else to do. Upon saying Supercalafragalisticexpealadocious twelfty times over to demonstrate his cleverness. 'I've copyrighted that' said Lulu in her Tutu mud-wrestling with Cilla Black. The Earl of Sunderland looked on approvingly as an Anaconda slithered up his left trouser leg. His face lit up as Cilla and Lulu pulled the Anaconda vigorously towards each other, like tooth-pulling dentists in Alabama and their flying greenhouses piloted by Elves, who shouldn't throw stones. Incredibly, this is all true! If you don't believe us, ask James Allan, whose funny, informative, witty commentary and fear of saucepans makes for an authoritative answer to the eternal question of the validity of the show, which must go on. "Strewth, what an annoying twat the cock is" said Lewis Hamilton, "why doesn't he shut the **** up, or I'll 'ave Barrymore arrested for the murder of Madeleine whats-her-socks too". The Police, meanwhile, having arrested the entire Royal Family of Monaco then Ooooga Boooga Timmy Timmy down the King's Road to the chemists to replenish their stock of KY Jelly, Strawberry Strepsils and turnip smoothies. Vegetables being where it's at at the Conga bar where ladies in leather discuss the weather, and hats, and nothing else bothers their pretty heads, not even the old grey whistle test. High on a hill, Bill stood singing to Jill, his goat and lover. "Bestiality isn't a crime" said Marc Almond, grinning at an alarmed Llama which was yakking away into a portable telephone via a bluetooth earpiece it had nicked from the pocket of a pickpocket, who was unaware of the summer solstice in the coat of the flying spaghetti monster, said the alarmed llama to a bespectacled Alpaca, whose orange Porsche Cayman induced retina burn, but it was the third leg of the man that was intefering with a horse in the latest Madonna video, Madonna being McLaren in Super England Manager Power Pose. Archie Scott Brown Racing trains pedigree racing marmots to a standard beyond their tiny legs suggest. In a desperate attempt to clear the smell of alcohol from her tight little fascist panties wedged in her ample buttcrack like a chinese MILF being DP'd by a goat, two chickens, (or is it TP'd?) a 12v battery and a gurney flap. Upon finding out what Bukakke really meant, moving swiftly means, a ginger haired AWAY FROM THE VEHICLE!!!!!!!!

Chapter 5. (arbitrarily decided)

"What's going on here?" cried BeN in puzzlement, mysterious scenes unravelling around pornographic nomenclature proving what all previously thought: Racing was pulling another all-nighter and his secretary demurely accommodated his every whim whilst screaming out that her name: Onya Backyerbitch or "The Flying Nun". Too much Ally McBeal makes you go blind, too much Big Brother gives you odd ideas, not one of Fiat'sbetter known automobiles ever rather like odd socks all smelly and stained but uber cool in kimono and pink stiletto's walked trendy Moscow suburbs until she met Ivan Hoe. Then Donald Trump tossed his candyfloss hair with thousand island dressing to a passing Aardvaark who sucked it up causing animal rights activists to have a fit of the heebie geebies, a dreadful affliction, cured at least in part by real dairy butter drizzled lovingly over the really, really ample bosom and a liberal application of fresh clotted cream and Plutonium flavoured cheese mudflaps, favoured by Dennis on their biggest fire-engines brought a rosy glow to Mrs StB's cheeks after Skyhook's attempts to chargrill a baby seal failed. Powervote online at the Kent Motoring Pageant Car Show Secret Exposed hosted by Richard Hammond! Guinea pigs everywhere cheered when 'Repair Microsoft Errors' appeared by magic upon the linoleum floor of the infamous blue screen. A girl named Maria repaired her Microsoft errors by simply removing her left tonsil with a ten pound sledge hammer. "Bit excessive doncha think said a passing llama, one of many llamas to have the ability to fart 'La Marseillaise', remarkably with no odour! Swallowing Febreeze helps them despite the warning given on the bottle not on the cap. "Frankly it tasted like shit hence the musical guffs. 'I play the nose-kazoo', said the French Lieutenant's hump-backed, three-eyed, six-legged arachnoid water-retaining woman. Her mandibles moving in perfect synchronism with her multiple legs struggling in the water dropped by a Catalina near a garganey which a twitcher was stalking disguised as a marmoset on Jim Robinson's Island. When all of an Aardvark threw up pants, pants, pants, pants, G's forgotten his pants he panted up hill gardeners collected around him ploughing their furrowed brows at his disgraceful act of wanton destruction which caused Jimmy the Aardvark much consternation, naturally. "Oi, let's be 'avin ya slivovitz and absyinth cocktail chilled with a dash liquid nitrogen" yelled Ron, fresh from helping Lewis please his lovely missus with the household chores . Pass the Flash Wipes Ting Tong, and the lead singer from Shawaddywaddy, Marc Bolan's ghost sighed "I hate oak trees...." as he rose from the dead. Despite this most unlikely of scenarios the cream had cured Argentina's claim for sovereignty of the Islas Malvinas, a dose of Lost-Malvinas should never be trifled, moussed, souffled, baked or boiled. Meanwhile, The Vengaboys mercifully drowned en masse, which was nice. Meanwhile in the postbox in Bracknell Forest, a shapely Russian shotputter farted loudly, expelling gases so vigorously that a passing Archaeopteryx was moved to song so glass shatteringly rubbish that a glass shattered. Just like that. Back at Autocar Towers, Cropley's trousers were back in the rage! Bloody hell, BeN didn't mean to be rude, but he is. He bought alco a pressie, which were Retrofit BMW indicators in the shape of a banana. They proved irresistible to safari park brightly cloured Baboons who flashed their buttocks at the Queen of Holland. Alco's Banana indicatored Z4:

improved on Bangle's efforts which wasn't exactly hard considering what he did when he first started to draw bananas. "Yippeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!" shrilled Gordon Brown, throwing yet more taxpayers' money on secret driving lessons so he could better his drawing skills, which helped perform a donut.

Chapter 6

Cries of Oggie Oggie Oggie emanated from the bedroom of the final guardian as Gordon frolicked with a very beautiful lady from the Crazy Horse: Cherie Blair. Upon achieving 3rd base action with Arthur Scargills quif, opened curtains meant the paparazzi could poke their enormous apparatus dangerously close to the royal palace guardsmans outfits Gordon had commissioned by Donnatella Visacci, his Scottish Versace rip-off designer, who can't spell but isn't a dwarf and loves spit-roasting piglets on alternate Tuesdays, meanwhile the dyslexic fashionista mis-used some scissors for a botched circumcision of Blarno's enthusiastic mate, the naive one called Angus McCoatup, who winced at Donatella's clumsy snipping with rusty toenail clippers. A passing velociraptor peered through rose-tinted glasses like a fanged Dame Edna Everage, a cross-dressing Ukranian Eurovision Song Singer who was Australian born but raised in Scotland by the Two Ronnies and had a penchant for pickled porridge and pink Nissan Micra CCs. Serendipitously, Michael Winner, the wearer of soiled y-fronts and nothing much else declared his undying love for Bernard Manning's corpse. "Eew, that's gross!" exclaimed the necrophilliac vampire hanging his new net curtains whilst browsing NTL channels for "Pimp My Crypt", a religious 'Changing Rooms' hosted by Davina McCall. Margaret Thatcher loved this show soooo much, that she pawned Dennis for daddy style pimped up busts of Scooby Doo. Initial-D Hachi-Roku GTS Licer came out top in I've no idea what useless customer satisfaction survey by Indian call centres on behalf of long-necked young women in stockings and worshippers of Prius. Ken Livingston's newt farm in Middlesborough, The North, which is spelt "Middlesbrough" and mysteriously abbreviated "boro" by its peculiar denizens to confuse Southern softies into uncharakteristic spelling mistakes until dinner is ready. Lunch for some, tea for the ill-educated and the unbothered chaps on John Wayne's legs that was post 666 mark of the beast which throbbed between his twin carburettors like an out of tune A-series. "What's one of them?" cried a young whippersnapper by the name of Tim (Random name, apologies to anyone called Tim). The sweetest thing is usually bad for your gnashers, but scrubbing them with crushed marmosets certainly helped matters somewhat, although traces of marmoset can trigger rampant halitosis and genital herpes.

Chapter 7.

Fortunately, gargling with pureed Parmesan smoothies made by Mongolian women with hairy thighs, and tasty beef jerky and salmon pickle sandwiches resulted in trouser bugles, trouser trumpets and terrifying emissions from the nether yurts of said ladies. Unusually, for that time during the summer solstice the druids had decided (after imbibing recreational pharmaceuticals) that it was better to declare it 'winter' so that they could celebrate Christmas instead. Santa demanded payment in kind useage of a snowblower, a globe artichoke and a week in Butlins. He got Hazel Blears to take off her disguise and reveal that she was Blunkett's dog-biscuit stealing fiend, but said dog told Prescott it was Jose Mourinho's flatulance that put everyone to sleep with their Chia hole wide open. Anyway, the story continues. Our hero finds himself through transcendental meditation but his athlete's foot continues to cause grave concern to Brunei's customs officials, in particular the unibrowed old hag. In a Galaxy far less appealing than Skegness, Arthur was cruising down Brick Lane playing Dolly Parton on his Micrawaveable blow-up balalaika when he chanced upon a bright pink vehicle driven by a gigantic nun, headbanging to Coldplay and Enya, which goes against all logic or common decency, nevertheless she held steady control of her wimple and yodelled ecstatically as she caressed the smooth leather seats, which actually turned out to be whale foreskin that was sourced from whale/donkey cross breeds. A truly scary thought! "There she brays" being a popular refrain in the north of Scotland and Capercaillie-worrying, which shouldn't be so much of a problem for the large black males of the genus Turdus (thrushes, chats - not poo), Methane Man objected vigorously to the persistent claims his shit didn't stink as badly as the Iraqi builder's armpit on the Big Brother set. "It's powered by lint" said the fluffy eared politician, "bloody pocket lint!" Much to the amazement of Ken Livingstone. Lint has no calorific content but donkeys can easily digest it. This explains why Kent is the county with the best racing circuit in the world! Alternatively, some would say "goodness gracious me, gollywog on Jam Jars gosh and all that" dolls are highly offensive and resemble Idi Amin, the last king of during his transvestite phase (it happens to us) although Bernard Manning wasn't a very good shag pile carpet manufactuer, however he gave good head massages! Using Fiery Jack's cheapest Renault CC in ECT Snow Mode, which guarantees a long thread. Ah! a full-stop laden copy of Autocar lying on the front porch, which was frankly Beeches, a council estate sluiced with Goodwood mud and some Silverstone quagmire as matter of course.

Chapter 8.

Michael Barrymore likes brown sugar on his morning dildo after a refreshing dip in his swimming partner's backyard paddling pool whilst wearing not much lavender-scented talcum powder together with lashings of mayonnaise, vinegar and sausages filled in a pie topped with golden brown texture like sun -flower seeds and crisp glasses worn by Elton, a shaman from Minsk who had previously advised Harriet Harman on policy. As she was a secret lesbian lap dancer with a liking for smearing swarfega on toast to dissolve the grease from her big end, even though it helped lubricate things rather well. Nevertheless, she proceeded to add clotted cream and builder's, and in copious quantities too! "Spiffing" cried the stunned Minsk man. Which was linguistically challenging to himself, trampled underfoot by stampeding Weight Watchers singing Communication Breakdown badly. Back at Glastonbury, the stench of forty thousand middle-class pompous Arctic Monkeys fans enraged Pilton's resident warlock who zapped them back into a handy moon-unit trust which had performed "unnesscersary" surgery on a Shorter Oxford English Dictionary consisting of 1001 pages of Arabian nightly rituals. Meanwhile, on the moon, a Charolais skipped merrily with the owl and an absolutely lashed pussycat called Tom who had just shagged a stunning Afghan hound for fun decided to run forward instead of backwards. Meanwhile Gordon Brown declared that motoring was sinful only to those who jaywalk blindfolded on motorways eating Werthers original sweets and who collect nodding approval from fellow doggers at Chia Carpark in the north of Sweden. Over the border in. "More Ice cream" yelled a drunken Yugoslavian banker at Tony Blair as he backhanded a Haggis eating man in stilettos who was posing for David Hockney on a horse. Afterwards they ate the horse alive, with some radish pudding, and fretted about NATO missile design being aesthetically dull and hit and miss, after accidently vapourising Latvia's main source of cheese, the Latvian cheese mines near Riga. But Blair was busy with Cherie who had her mouth clamped firmly around Tony's weapon of mass distraction p45 which he gladly tore up into pieces and ate with jelly. Harriet, the deputy leader sat disgusted at the bar drinking vodka shots until she was sick. Fortunately, Margaret and Patricia were within earshot of her porcelain bus driving garden Gnome called Demosthenes, whose squeaky oratory could be heard beyond Berwick-on-Tweed, the loud mouthed vertically challenged short arsed dwarf with a penchant for ingesting growth hormones.

Chapter 9.

Peter Piper picked a pecker proportioned perfectly perpendicular perhaps, pronounciation proves particularly problematic, prompting prolific profanity proliferation prolonging Peter's pickled pepper perspicuity. Prompting, problematical, perhaps I've had enough p-words said Peter the piper's plumber, who plumbed their plunging porthole which proved positively perpendicular or upright, uptight and generally freaky Friday, which is tomorrow. "By Jove, 118 118", "I'm not a number" exclaimed 118 118 Telly Tubbies simultaneously while strangling the impostor Tinky-Winky whose handbag wasn't genuine Gucci but made from Elton's rug, with a soupcon of David Gest's pubes artfully plaited into handles which Dipsy and Po jumped off a bridge loan from Abbey National just for the craic. Lovely Rita, Meter maid, needing educating about the intricacies of foreign piano concertos performed naked by bear wrestling South Africans. After this new beginning, the Transport Secretary, Ruth "Stunter's Snog" Kelly, fandango'd her four children to feed off the monkeys whose flesh was tasty if redolent of bananas and custard trifle topped with really, really nice sliced strawberries, dusted with golden dust sourced from Goldmember's trouser pocket lint. Ruth was a terrific snog 28 years ago but that was distant in Stunters' memory. He was looking forward to the weekend, which consisted of much drinking and merry-making. Ben and Spectra merryment with taiwainese ladyboys heading for Bangkok, where they were getting the supreme premium treatment package complete with every possible style and colour of undergarment. Following on from having the munchies, they had some Famous Amos Burke, who was a cookie expert, his speciality being double choc chip with a big dollop of chocolate. They then seductively wiped away the tears that were rolling out of said cookie. It looked like an elctronic Hurdy Gurdy bin. A bunch of bananas were found in the inside pocket of a renowned bent-fruit thief called Gordon Brown, apparantly. Gordon was not the first to be called a mad scots man but he was something not normally described as bent-fruit. Upon hearing this he took umbridge and carlton to court for trespassing on private property on his red monkey-backed caravan. This utter commotion really baffled his other passengers who had all been sick in his garden before they decided to start up a business which specialises in the removal and burning of witches and other supernatural beings of which there are plenty of goblins. When the announcement was made regarding Harry and Paul, the public weren't happy at their triumphant return. Mr George, the scion of the 1000th post of this thread, is this a first? Yes - if you don't include 'Has anyone used Guinness-flavoured fudge for the snow mode on their Grinnall Scorpion II or a Lexus RX300. "Talk about sticky transmission should be banned, promptly" claimed Ruth Kelly indignantly, winking at Stunters. More hot snogging promptly followed and some touching tool's, screwdriver's, hammer's and angle-grinders were delicately inserted up the back of the copy of Harry Potter's chamber of secrets, which Professor Hufnagel's Fantabulous Contraption.

Chapter 10.

"Would the plane take-off?", ceteris paribus, no chance nor reason behind the silly idea that it would never take off, which is obviously daft. "Would downforce be created by Stunter's speedy retreat on his treadmill?" cried the Daily Mail's headline, which made a welcome piece of bog-roll for for a bog trotting basketball player from Harlem Bogtrotters, an international basketball/plumbing website for the gifted. They were highly successful at cleaning with rainbow-shots until a pot of gold broke the U-bend, and chocolate leprechauns drowned in a river of Guinness spilt by warring dwarfs who hadn't been fed enough to grow tall. Nevertheless Willy Wonka, for it was he who invented the blue dashboard lighting on Volkswagens thereby ruining everyone's night visionairies, like that bloke on crack who wrote the software for BMW's i-Drive, which disabled the indicators, a wholly pointless move that benefited no one apart from the crack in Lindsay Lohan's buttocks which doubled in size to a size 4. Before this weekend's British Beef farmers convention, Jenson the king sheep shagger locked up his ewes but forgot all about his red dragon codpiece available frozen in packs hidden on Mount Snowdon, Lisa of that ilk being a mardy bint preferred chutney ferrets because a pickle weasel shortage and a Kia Sportage meant that condiment mustelids would befuddle anyone's brain. Dave Gibson, who was considered a triumph of mankind, kindly accepted to teach BeN English grammar which BeN gratefully accepted after some careful consideration of his erring ways. A fish called Wanda Ventham, an actress from Monaco's Oceanographic Museum, sexily starred in a series of infomercials about Al-Qaeda operatives hiding in sleeper piles on railways along the Yellow Brick Road....from Peterborough. Wanda was stunned at the length of string unravelling as Gromit unpicked Wallace's sweater bit by little bit, a somewhat anally retentive habit in Wanda's view through the window of opportunity created especially for those who were prepared to die who saluted the Queen's motorcade as a holy relic of a bygone era that significantly expedites royal expenditure. Prince Charles then envied a tampon that was inserted up the horse-faced witch he found in a cave way down in Al-a-bam-ahhhh! George W Bush told Charlie-boy that Alabama was a sweet home for his parents who resolutely refused to abdicate. Camilla said "I have worn this all night long, oh yeah, all night long", sang Lionel Blair, tap dancing ferociously on the bonnet of a Bugatti EB110 SS, which was a crime punishable by prolonged exposure to the sun. Which was unlikely in England during the Wimbledon fortnight although Sharapova brightens any underwear manufacturer's balance sheet. Nicole Vaidisova's an outstanding female pogo jousting knicker-wearing men-attracting lady giraffe, whose amazingly long particles reached the ground force rating of Kimi's dump taking antics at a dry Dubai nightclooob just around the corner from the Luffield complex one-way system designed like Istra's power station. At the end of Hamilton's lap, Jacques Villeneuve, the pay day, Ray-Ban wearing baggy-trousered racing driver has-been who should have quit smoking and his addiction to bad French accents, in his "Prosperous" musical farting side line. Lewis wasn't amused by Ron Dennis' Haircut, it really tickled him silly which was most inconvenient due to lengthy sideburns. Coincidentally, a passing UFO vapourised part of Dorchester's Civic Centre, where Hondas were made for export to Worthing, a hotbed of Zimmer frame action heros downsizing from Preludes to epilogues.

Chapter 11.

Under the shaved pubic hair of the bald Britney Spears were her unpedicured feet impersonator called Jasper the ghost, Casper's unknown twin-cam engined unfriendly phantom model Rolls-Royce, which ran on Hendricks gi -based bio-fuel mixed with much pleasure and many alcoholic burps by several deluded Mazda 3MPS fanciers, one of whom was something of a pussy-fancier with a fetish for brown leather shoes polished to the standards of a fearsome Regimental Sergeant Major or RAFFISH capital letter fetishist not called Ben, who wasn't big and wasn't who met Mrs. Miggins down a dark alleyway in deep urban Japan to discuss mortgages with a man named Dan alias Stuntman or Scamper or surprisingly, even Dan-Madisson-Jeffery-Basingstoke-Round-A-Bout-The-Third-Exit-On-The-B411 which was also something of a mouthful for the linguistically challenged or anyone who quite frankly likes the name "Frank". Frank Leboeuf and Frank Skinner, a Brummie 'comedian' whose best act was far in the past lives of a Buddhist community of transcendental meditators who lived in Tibet Lane, Clacton, Essex, where Fords rule! Oh yeah! Bleedin stupid double posterior bedrooms in hotels decked out with everything a poofter's heart could possibly desire, e.g. Graham Norton's second best toilet humour show, featuring his undies and a bunch of ladies doing the congo in less than decent outfits, which would still have suited Frank Skinner's routine more than that performed by those Live Earth people, whoever they might be fooling with their concerns and their short pants. "Wave if you're green" shouted Ken Livingston from between Teresa Gorman's breasts. "Eeeeeew, what an image!" cried the London electorate, "let's vote for Boris" then he said I'm an undercover agent for the blues. Lesbian activists decided to chain themselves to a London bus for shits and giggles. The recidivist rhinocerous, charged towards the Number 10 and its chained lesbians who continued to proclaim their obvious sapphic tendencies militantly, vehemently and otherwise generally ripped their dirndls, burned their bras and parched their panties as a symbol of peace.

Chapter 12.

After the massive hic - "are we done?" asked the Canadian Bacon from a deathly hallow. "This is still going?" asked Rodge. "Only just for shits and giggles". "You talking to me?" said the scary taxi driver just as he farted in the general directon of the red-headed strumpet in the shrubbery outside Jeffery Blair's housing association block of WWE wrestlers who were altogether nonplussed by algebra or her brother, Algernon. Algernon was a master of all trades but a jack of none which was a pity for the shrubbery strumpet whose tyre was flat and stained bright blue as a result of looking good in nothing but the best lingerie that Kylie Minogue promotes and rolling in blueberry and other mobile phones not manufactured by Nokiaaaaaaaaahhh. Oohhh, Kylie... ...get rid of Vivienne Trinny Susannah Westwood, who ruins your raunchy frolicking with the neighbours, everybody needs good neiiiighbours, except Mr. Brown who likes to lick Pekinese hair. This disgusted the Chinese Politburo who invaded N° 10. This caused remarkably little political turmoil as everyone was downstairs drinking G's Hendricks Gin and singing Bohemian Rhapsody out of tune. 'G' turned up in his plus fours and 4-Grip. and Rover 'HG' 75 followed by his Lambo guinea pig called Olga Morozova, a tennis-playing pig who was raised like a brother by a Welsh multi-faith community-boy. This was well received by Great White Sharks prowling the coast off-side. The referee was blind, as usual. Wenger eats porbeagles for elevenses and drinks tea in nothing but fishnet stockings which Eric Cantona provided from his personal supply. Cantona rates Victoria's Secret obsession with David's package as most undeserved, even more so when she sings. Very few people could understand why the seagulls followed the boat but Eric had the viking's way about him, a sway caused by, specifically a Beserker's way of making grey hay, while the sun shines out of Golden Balls' swanky Los Angeles home.

Chapter 13.

Peanut-butter and jelly sandwiches squished satisfyingly underfoot as probing paparazzi peered perspicaciously, pondering Posh's pitiful pout of prolific aliteration. Pending participation, Posh's perky plums peeked preternaturally past preposterous prehistoric pillars, painfully planted to plug her plebian partner. Poetry, painstakingly placed inside perfect piccalilli pastries, potentially probed Paul's plumbing producing periodic painful pangs putting pressure on parrots prophesying profoundly prissy procrastination. "Pineapples potentially pong" piped Peter Andre, probing pillowy, pendulous protrusions, whilst poking particularly prominent pernicious pimples on his partner's plastic perforated peach Porsche. "Pppllllllllpppptttttt! Thank God for that!" hirsutely harumphed Horatio Hornblower horned his horny horn howling hilariously at Henry's hand holding his horrible hors d'oeuvres. He highlighted his heavy-handed Hillman Hunter's horrific hyacinth-hued headlining. However hilarious his honourable hints, hullabaloo hastened Hermione's hesitantly half-hearted hankering for heavenly harpsichord harmonics. "Half hearted hispanic" harked the herald angels sing all drinking Hendricks Gin, gingerly getting great giggles. "Golly" goggled G greenly, googling gentlemen's grey goat-haired gasping gorillas googled gumtrees. Granted, Gerald's Getz got gratuitously granted a gloriously garish geranium garnished gargoyle gargling gummy granulated gangrous gout. Generally graduating grannies go 'Golly!' when gushing glue grips galaxies, gazelles, giraffes, gecko's, gnu's and Geronimo's garters garishly glowing, gibborously in the gloaming. "Gaping galoshes" groaned the galloping gourmet. Grinning giraffes gobbled gorillas, a somewhat strange scenario similarly serendipitous, spying Strangeway's spam-stuffed succulent sandwiches sailing Saab's to Sweden, substituting simian Sicilian steeds. "Ssssss-susudio" sang silly Phil stroking Saskia's silky stockings, slurping sodas and sucking sweets stolen surrepstitiously from Segolene, smarting since suffering psephological statistics showing Socialist standings shockingly superb. Skoda said "Simon says seventeen swans shouldn't swim simultaneously", surprising scandalized suburban soothsayers' solicitors sashaying secretly sans secretaries. Sexily stripping silk stockings, BeN blushed bright burgundy but maintained his composure indoor karting in Glasgow was a qualified success.

Chapter 14.

All BeN's Car Dreams Equated Falsified Geely Horrors In Jeeps, Keeping Liberal Moaners Noisily Occupied. Panting Queens Robustly Squeezed Tentacles Underneath Voluptuous Wet Xenopus' Youthful Zest for life. "That's ended it now"..."you really think so?" "Nah I'm just kidding". Meanwhile back in Brunei, the Sultan's latest car ran over the unibrowed lady's testosterone pill box, causing excessive male bonding with unfortunate members of Right Said Fred's fan, which was made by the VAG coil suppliers. Audi-branded contraceptives fail when the Bugatti Veyron causes snapping knicker elastic to twang "Hey Jude" with remarkable harmonic accuracy: for a unibrowed woman it's all too much. She committed hari-kiri with James Bond, who was Mata Hari's one true love. However, "Mr Bond I expect you to skewer fourteen ripe peaches and toast them over coals with buttered bread" purred Blofeld incessantly. The trouble was, Blofeld hadn't purred for some time without first thinking of Ms Galore clad only in black granny underwear from the Color Purple Rain, sung by the Deep Forest tribute band at Woodstock, which was ripped-off. In Walthamstow, no-one can legally use exclamation marks (!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) without a signed affidavit notarised and possibly apostilled by Mr Totty's headmaster and his infernal pussycat. The consequent erection of St Brunhilda's steeple in sight of the Emirates Stadium caused Arsene to have an apoplectic sight, which he didn't blame on camel spiders but on the sultry Kylie Minogue, who was not a black widow, nor a spinster spider, nor even a camel toe. The desert was a strawberry cheescake with whipped cream and cheese fondue with crisp sticks of semtex for garnish adding to the splendour, particularly when detonated by Osama bin Laden. Bush Telegraph says that the natives are very restless about the planned change to charge Congestion Charge a.k.a severe flatulance problem. Government data on farting walruses is hard to fathom. But seals are less keen on farting and prefer belching loudly whilst clapping their flippers to the rhythm of The Macarena.

Chapter 15.

Meanwhile, Jacko was having his nose selection groomed for his annual trip to Never Never Land, which he always, always wished he could have. Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, driving a Torino like Starsky and Hutch but not as skillfully as champion racing driver Colin McRae. The Scotsman newspaper is really annoyed by the terrorists/crusties who drove into Glasgow to fly to Heathrow, which was congested with really thick mucus. Women shouldn't get involved with other women, it disappoints men, who usually expect instant gratification, provided by lovely ladies who are often seduced by throbbing motorbikes between their legs. Men should get involved with more household activities apart from dusting, obviously. However, they should partake in the washing up but only if wearing underwear on their heads positioned so they could only see out of the left leg hole, the other having been sewn up to prevent aliens reading their minds. Meanwhile, Doctor Who and his trusty sidekick, K-911, the rear-engined mutt, went through a hedge that was Jeremy Clarkson's backside. Light shone unto the righteous Prius haters as their V8's revved out of Bono's bum. "Giggidy giggidy goo" yelled G garrulously, generating great gyrations. G-Forces generated great globs of gooey gluhwein. "Grrr" grunted Geremy gustily, gathering Gail's gherkins gamely. Boris bounced behind Bill Bailey's big brown ball bearing. Budding builder Bob beheaded bad buddleia buds by beckoning brown bears booing Bob Bradley's boys before blowing blue bubbles bodaciously behind behemothic begonias between big black boxes boastfully. Cheeky Chanelle claimed chatting considering chutney causes chlamydia cases in crevices completing critical crisises.

Chapter 16.

A Gdansk shipyard worker named Boris Johnson said "I'm not sorry about Liverpool". Meanwhile, Sir Alex Ferguson assassinated Sven along with Arsene Wenger as he made the Spurs fans extremely delighted by selling waffles to the Belgians and coals to Newcastle. After selling the North Sea to the Russians and snow to Eskimos, Alan Sugar's apprentice decided that this was a good time to commit a felony. He promptly procured a pert pubescent Portuguese princess in petticoats pottering around St. Petersburg's potholes. Rabidly, he roughly rogered a passing prepubescent camel, which surprised it greatly enough to cause fatal consequences for Australian women with a fascination for inter-species humping. Sir Alan's battery powered digiridoos, which he was sure would supplement his new Amstrad retrospective at the Dome were planned to explode at the very sight of Ken Livingstone's smug, loathsome, leering, ugly face. "Libellous? Never" said Boris, who planned to carefully shave Virginia Bottomley's head, then proceeded to castrate a passing Bandicoot and pinch passing people's posteriors previously practised by Boris Yeltsin. Vladimir Putin then pinched Boris Johnson's right-wing policy which was never comb your hair over your bald patch or, worse, anyone else's vegetable patch, for it is very bad form and makes the vegetables complain at their treatment. Vegetables of a different hue can make interesting patterns when arranged in silly shapes in the soup bowl. Sometimes it rains and they float their boats, together with Mike Tyson who, after a light snack of Evander Holyfield's ears washed in finest balsamic vinegar and topped off with Marks and Spencer's finest locally grown organic flat-leafed dining tables. Marjorie dreamt of pink pillows and white feathers, which came from just west of the Pecos in Arizona on the back of a lorry hired by Jumpjet Fanny and her jugs of creamy milk chocolate. It was made by masticating Milk Tray ladies of dubious virtue until they were soft in the head. Fourteen lines in a sonnet, Shakespeare used to say, much to students' disgust.

Chapter 17.

"Ruv Ruv me do" said Rover, the only Japanese-accented talking Labrador with a leopard skin posing pouch, and revealing his, ahem, private parts. General Jones' cough got the better of him as his hernia burst through the sound barrier in spectacular fashion on a live television broadcast! Her Majesty got hit on by Prince Charles: "It's a Royal Knock-out!" cried the Daily Gnome, Luxembourg's national newspaper! Picking up on this large foam head, Charles promptly forgot about incestuous relations with his trousers round his ankles and wearing no underwear displaying the Royal sceptre in all its glory, pomp and circumstance. Astonishingly Edward Elgar had never composed any variations on the harpsicord or mandolin, which was rather enigmatic and surprising, considering his taste for Mesopotamian royalty served with cold caviar and some hot vodka. "Woof woof" cried Bertie the Bassett hound when forced to smoke Marlboro out in the cold following the smoking ban that was enforced in Pudding Island by boring holes in walls with moles, voles and Dover to Calais car ferries. Pissing himself with laughter, Santa Claus shouted "Hoegaarden makes Mrs Claus feel like jumping off the cliff where seagulls the swings and roundabouts". "That doesn't make sense," muttered the forumers, trying to end this story before the stress gets us arrested in Singapore or even in Russia, a less harsh fate than was suffered by the "Vagina Monologues" when Germaine Greer accidentally slipped and fell on the penis being waved by nobody in particular. However, she got an awful rash around her plumper parts that shocked the whole nation, which aroused the manly feminists who were burning their hessian bras before parliamentary members.

Chapter 18.

Jude Law fell on his sword which the missus was carrying following her coronation as the Queen Mother. Sadie's suspicions were that there wasn't a unicorn in Enigma's music video, despite evidence to the contrary, though a Gnu can do what two cans of milk cannot do when mixed with a quart of illicit moonshine fresh from the still-warm pot of stew made by Leona Helmsley, the dog loving bitch. Nigella Lawson's got plump pot potatoes picked promptly, placed on the plate together with lingonberry sauce and lashings of ginger beer served with ice cream and strawberry jelly. It made for a cheese bun left carelessly around the kitchen, and Nigella Lawson's breast heaved like a Spanish galleon skippered by young Fernando. Can you hear the drumstick of organic chicken Alonso? You were young once, but always petulant but glad to be part of a Swedish flat-packed occasional table. "We've hit 10,000 views!" screamed Nigella as she fought alan off again, swatting his one eyed trouser snake away. "Down Monty, you persistent python" croaked alan as Nigella died in his arms after eating one of Ramsey's pork pies. Prescott Hillclimb track is the only place where you can cross-dress with impunity. The local bobbies came in their pants, having eaten all the doughnuts that they queued for. "What an arresting sight" he said, as the Bugatti driver started his super-duper flame-induced fanny pack and roared abuse at a team of Scottish Diana mourners who looked strangely like truanting British Airways baggage handlers losing the luggage in games of poker played for the chance to be Michael O'Leary so that they could become even ruder than he is towards his grateful, happy, smiley passengers who don't know when they will arrive at all. After some delay, the monobrowed she-male in Bahrain (as I recall) continued to frisk the little dude she found in Luxembourg.

Chapter 19.

The Peugeot 405 diesel taxi, waiting noisily to pick up Amy Winehouse's pharmaceutical deliveries struggled with the load, so Amy had to resort to her usual method of attracting attention which involved plenty of sex, drugs and alcohol followed by a plaintive miaowing sound. After revving the Bugatti Veyron's engine, Clarkson dropped dead with aliens bursting from his bum. The light released from said orifice was sufficient to illuminate the dark and suspicious minds of the militantly be-sandalled Richmond councillors who think a parked 4x4 is the Devil's own lightly toasted marshmallows. Finally, Sir Alex Ferguson retired. "We've heard this! Gerroff!", said a rugby fan as Fergie humped his pet Pterasaur frantically, yelling "Fly, damn you, fly". The Pterasaur laconically replied "croak, croak, CROAK, CROOOOOOAAAAAAAAKKK!", donning its frog costume. In a sudden evolutionary pirouette unforeseen by Darwinian exponents, the Pterasaur hopped onto the 92 bus hitting the conductor with a leathery appendage, causing affront to said worthy employee, who responded by smiling quizzically, revealing enormous false teeth shaped like Coptic crosses, complete with dangling incense burners, which mercifully were temporarily unlit. This startling dental display took some serious flossing with Jordan's nylon g-strings, which left an unfortunate and unidentifiable residue on his gnashers, whiffing faintly of week-old halibut. "Pearl-Brite and Ultra-Bronze, not they are" muttered Yoda, poking his light sabre into the Panama Canal.

Chapter 20.

"A long story is paramount to earning money" said JK Rowling from deep in her moneypit. Meanwhile, on the Nordschleife, several gargantuan Germans decided that they could just annexe a neighbouring country for a bit of light relief while waiting for the fat ladyboy from Thailand to expose him/herself to all the mourners at Pavarotti's post-funereal smorgasbord extravaganza transported by Nissan Dormer with scamper-spec kitchenette in the removable bootlid. "Who ate all the air miles" cried Willie Rushton from the grave he shared with Hattie MacFattie, a larger than life children's entertainer. "Shit," said Hattie "fertilises Russian wheat fields reliably producing Zaz body panels for export". Skoda imports warthog skins for upholstering American S Type conversions and pickles them in aspic, ginger beer and gin from the Blue Nile Tavern on the Old Kings Head Railway Line to Hong Kong, via the Cat's Eye Nebula and the hyperspace bypass built by Slartybartfarst, who performed an immaculate donut on the Krispy Kreme 2006 Annual Financial Report, which showed losses of jam, sugar and dough as you would expect. Somewhere, a Lincoln Continental was rented by Colin just for the hell of it. It was because he has a soft spot for American cars and luxury. Despite this, Colin doesn't like being dreamt about by Bahrainian customs officials, disguised as nature intended them complete with kaftans and hairy caterpillars on their upper and lower lips, hips, ships, quips and Philips. A Scots lament can be heard whenever they play any sport not involving tossing cabers or curling. Rhona Martin is Queen of Scotland and likes showering with Irn Bru and Buckfast in the mornings. King Kenny, of Celtic fame, switched to Rangers again much to the consternation of the Third Reich.

Chapter 21.

Leather and extreme politics, or "New Labour" as preached by Wayne Rooney's Burberry tart, can be paid by the hour. Not cheap either, apparantly, especially if you buy the optional special extras which include esoteric moves per the Karma Sutra, which was Toyota's new nuclear powered barbeque, complete with automatic fat crisping and hybrid sausage rotisserie made from recycled Aygos for the occasional spitroast highly popular with certain Liberal Democrat parliamentarians. Sausages are not the only vice that Simon Hughes is found to have inserted in his body panel of the Citroen C-Airscape. This organic concept revolutionised the lives of Slow worms, who previously moved at warp speed through worm holes in Royal Navy hardtack, which sandwiched a cactus sandwich that ALF didn't finish according to The Sun Dial Fanciers weekly magazine. Rest and be thankful for your daily sandwich said our Chia who got lost admist all the food-related japery and fell down a snake-infested bear trap which was actually a snake-infested bear trap that was a dummy for another snake-infested bear-trap. Basically he got eaten with a cheeky Chianti and got out of military service, which was undertaken by Monaro drivers posing as Eurofighter pilots and fighting in Afghanistan, whilst all the time posting on a forum, which was nice. Incredibly, he later appeared in the fast lane of a Russian cat's small intestine, causing massive furballs in London and Moscow, but not in Myanmar or Vladivostok, or even Brunei International Airport. The monobrowed she-bear was unamused at missing this gastric terrorism and roared thunderously with anger and gas-propelled pellets of something from her lower jaw, which was somewhat surprising as her intestines had ignored every possible punctuation, including capitals, commas, hyphens and even full stops. Fortunately, under the circumstances this mattered not remotely deforested area of Brazil, which the cat felled under tragic circumstances when it was chased by a horde of Priuses drunk on super unleaded laced with Miller's VSP and Kryptonite.

Chapter 22.

"Where's my two thousandth post" shouted an irate supervillan named Kevin the Gerbil, who then dug up the Declaration of Independance, reliving his days of thunderous farting caused by copious consumption of leeks usually grown in Wales' Millennium Stadium between the Devil and the deep blue sea. Scotland's finest cock-a-leekie soup is also well appreciated world-wide by people called Lindsay, which isn't a girl's best friend. Tennis players sometimes actually play tennis instead of bouncing around on their balls. "What are you doing?!" screamed Alan Greenspan as purple rain started pouring down his left trouser leg. This torrent of tangid nonsense is mildly ammusing. "Green-Noise on 908.3 FM" emitted by Kryptonite crystals thrown out into space in the general direction of an orbiting Big Boy, not to be confused with a Lazy Boy, or a Fat Boy eating Sara Lee apple cakes filled with honeydew squeezed from real aphids' buttocks on Thursday afternoons. Philosophically speaking, aphid buttocks are like manatee silhouettes: ethereal in nature and like making love to very small green nymphs bathed in Amyl nitrate (or poppers as they are also known). Pop goes the weasel after being mistreated by the ermine seeking hunter googling the meaning of Google. Porn, cars and videotape was not the answer the Federal Reserve proposed to counter the revolutions per minute by Burmese Buddhist monks keen on regime change using jellied eels and marmite-infused facecream to defend themselves from the threat of priate influnences and other random misspelt threats from imaginary superheros. Mrs. Dibley is a bad driver and a stupid cow. Her clinicaly a-beast daughter made me laugh today. Meanwhile, inside George Michael's floorboards slept an unadultered, i.e. pre-pubescent, female who had the gastric catharsis of farting extremely tunefully in the chordata exhibition at the Smithsonian Museum at Washington State Memorial Park every October. Jose and Roman's love for each other ended in eggs-cursive comments about Ukrainian ladyboys whose balls were often shot with pesticides. The long road lengthened as Marjorie prevaricated in a sesquipedalian manner about Taiwanese sovereignty claims which are rather futile and desolate.

Chapter 23.

The People's Republic of Petrolheadshire began to remove all speed-safety campaigners from public view and then secretly strapped them to Polaris world's annoying TV figurehead and conjoined them to two JATO rockets used to split the atom, thus causing the biggest explosion man ever saw inside a Volkswagen Polo Dune. Volkswagen produced pointless other sand formations alongside the Pacific Ocean. Meanwhile, BeN discussed cartographers with nobody in particular, although maps are fascinating to some people, they wipe their nether regions with toilet paper. As their maps were precious, portable GPS systems smear their knickers. This caused a black magic woman to eviscerate a harmless guitar-playing Mexican man unto the heathens. Fergie, the one with the lucrative weight-watchers contract, agreed to sing songs of freedom in Amharic so that Ethiopians would conquer the world. George drank his marvellous medicine prepared by the witches with a giant pumpkin. Beside him, Mildred whispered passages from the Koran and prayed for eternal love. Ant and Dec died horribly. "Hurrah" cried their mourners, confused about their conflicting emotions evidently, avoiding low flying eagles. Nonsequiturs make for difficult pronunciation and spelling mistakes in Malawi, with dreadful language problems abounding about unknown words. "In Swahili" was the answer to "How do Kenyans communicate" on 'Who Wants To Be A Polyglot', a show that replaced 'Big Fat Geek Weddings' on IT-V (geddit?) before the powers that be decided to attack the monks running the BBC. Herr Schumacher teased his brother for being called "Ralf" instead of 'Michael 2', which would be incongruous. This caused severe flooding in Peter Stringfellow's bath, which was lapped up a flotilla of kittens who never cried over spilt milk from breasts torn asunder by violent corsetry-related trauma caused by spiral metal boning the rock band, not to be confused with an amply-chested forummer's toupé.

Chapter 24.

"We've broken down!" cried Captain Slow as they pulled up at the first fence. Disappointed that their steed could not outrun Jeremy Clarkson and his McLaren Mercedes, which looked suspiciously similar to a bodykitted SLK rather than a Ferrari, they decided to change to a Bugatti Veyron replica, which started life as an Aston Martin three door micro car for Victor Gauntlet's butler. The chauffeur turned his attentions to the missing pair of knickers, as Knickerless Parsons went by with a hole in his shorts. Bystanders gawked at the fireworks display caused when a dropped match burnt a hole in in the event horizon, spewing sludge over Piers' pristine glass and mats outside his door. "Breathing?" asked the man who looked at Piers' Compact and who put fingerprints over his chocolate bar. He then proceeded to hit a pedestrian over with a fish. Over breakfast, several Liberal Democrats and Miss Vicky Parrott played a dangerous game of twister involving pythons. This thrilled alan greatly and, after whooping excitedly, he grabbed his camera and smashed it over a handy fluffy bunny-boiling ecomentalist who had long fancied Glenn Close but was fatally attracted by alan's bathtub in the dark, filled with the leftovers from his days as a celebrity human fluid emissions remover sacked by Bill Clinton after the 'splashgate' incident where he denied any inappropriate Cohiba useage in the car. 'Zymol' then won the Scrabble game between North and South Korea, who were locked in a tiebreaker for some parallel or other geopolitical boundary where friction rubs people up the wrong way. War erupted amidst much hanky-flapping during the Dandies convention when Dorian discovered Quentin had borrowed Tarquin's cravat. "Ladies bras, ladies bras" shouted that 'Heroes' bloke who lived in Luxembourg and could crush forummers like a cockroach! "I've been expecting you..." said Q to Bond "and I will crush all comers at Scrabble with my special dictionary!". 007 watched as fourteen evil men died mysteriously at the G8 summit, at the hands of Dr Who and his rather unusual rose-scented sonic mind-bending fire water earth air skater people. Killing Avril Lavigne would create a better world and make Li'ldude ecstatic. "Enough of this", cried the Latvian embassy spokesperson when the Russians cut their own gas-lines by mistake, causing laughter throughout the entire universe. "We will not stand for parliament", said the Estonians in reply, forcing the Lithuanians to concede their game to Latvians, which caused the Estonians to join the EU in complaining about the Mexican goat-sucking aliens wandering across the Baltic Sea. But Estonia are in league with the monsters of rock, namely Metallica and Pistols N' Pansies, a little-known tribute band about ABBA. The Scandinavians much loved by Goats, felt sore from the friction burns caused by riding too hard on rabid Take That fans.

Chapter 25.

Boyzone were jealous that Einstein's Theory of Relativity exposed their bizarre spelling as they joined B*witched and The Corr sisters inside a stretched Hummer which exploded due to an overload of testosterone in the exhaust. Michael agreed with everyone about everything, including the mCOTY going to Tata's Safari left-front panel. When Lazarus-like, it arose again on the new Focus, Everflex once again became King of Luxembourg, which isn't even a title. Meanwhile, an embarrassingly itching forummer furtively scratched his itch and was surprised to find something surprising which left him surprised under his bed. He had a camel spider which farted ominously, bringing chaos throughout the World of Leather's Gateshead outlet next door to the Angel of the North, "but enough about me", said the statute, cursing its inability to reach the itch on its bottom. The camel spider went round again and chewed thoughtfully on alan's cheese and pickle sandwich with fluffy bunny sauce drizzling around the edges. "It ate my sandwich!" said Joe as he impersonated BeN (aka, Rachel) a gender confused Singaporean professional cockroach hammer maker that wasn't really real too bothered about hygiene during military service in the steaming jungle near Bognor, now called Yognor. "Bugger Bognor" said the Duke, while shooting Diana a line. Then he bought an Audi 80 and a Pringle sweater and ceremonially burnt them along with other stuff, which caused such a fuss that Al Gore returned his Peace Prize (fat chance of that) and ate Hillary Clinton and her slipper collection, which was rather slippery having been covered in her husband's evidence when Monica used them to do things never previously seen in the White House. "I didn't know you were so keen on Omani literature" said Monica as she began to zip up the body bag containing the evidence of her former dog. Rover was liquified in an Alessi thingy. Liquid Nitrogen is very cold and also damages dogs if used to cure lockjaw along the road to Mandalay where the people play under the Junta's sway and skies of grey admit one solitary ray at the end of day after a long stay with thirty six gay dogs who ate hay in a bovine way, along with their whey, in a parking bay, which meant they may upset the brewer's dray... causing an almighty affray prompting them to pray from Monday until Sunday about having to pay the price of gay petrol in the way "They" do in May.
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Racing · Posted: Fri Jun 19, 2009 5:20 pm Post subject:

Chapter 26.

"Oh what the hey, let's all get naked" said the gay kid to the pretty lass "Shutup, you confused Stiefelgeiss" as her pert ass hit the green grass by the Chelmsford bypass, decreasing rapidly in mass, downing some Wolf Blass poured in a glass at the annual Mardigras for the upper class virgin, whose forward pass was caught by Mama Cass and her evil seabass full of tiny Wrasse, which was somewhat crass, walking in La Place de la Concorde. "Alas, I need a wass" exclaimed several top brass after examining the underpass, above an unused overpass, smelling of rotting bass, or even Myleene Klass sitting on the bus, this stupid rhyming stopped because Luxembourg voted "Non" and wouldn't go on, which wasn't tres bon, until they chanced upon the joys of Basildon Bond stationery. The envelope contained an irritated antelope, who was a misanthrope and tried to grope a somewhat startled Pope, smacked up on dope and thoughts of hope, and boobies to grope when lathered in soap. If gay cardinals elope down a steep slope clutching a radioactive isotope tied up with rope, then it is said that the Knights Templar knew the secret of really good malt loaf made from fruit and nuts. Bread is often blamed for causing widespread frippery and not something people like, except Alan. Alan rodgers bread readily as he lurches unsteadily through a floury medley of grains, light-headedly dreaming of heavenly Beverley whose tattoos rather cleverly depicted a Thrupp & Maberly in ebony and ivoreeee......together in perfect harmony, as usual for Bentley, going ever so gently along the bloody highway. Blarno's tattoo was rather nice, but wicked looking, with a small Vectra piston and spark plug on his upper groin with an odd sheath covering his large weapon of mass destruction. It gets much too detailed TV reports. Thankfully 'G' came to the rescue wearing a particularly splendid tweed suit and well buffed brogues gleaming like fine antique horse brasses, which allowed him to win the 2.30 at Sandown. Showing a clean pair of underpants helps to distract the following in winning the race whilst maintaining impeccable bowel control after a long night on the Hendricks at Cinderella's in Guildford.

Chapter 27.

Mr. Squiggles ran softly to Mrs Squiggles' aid with a performing goose and a bottle of lubricant, with which he greased the bird before roasting it over a bonfire for added flavour, served with rocket and mash. The stars of the outer spiral arm clashed against the background radiation emitted by a cat farting. The aforesaid feline terrorised Felixstowe by releasing its gastric vapour into the local Morrisons coffee shop where the wild roses grow. Underneath the counter, Mr Doe (first name John), snuffled as his bitch got overexcited and bit his undercarriage with some violence! After this embarassing event, which disappeared off the gay scene of Birmingham. "I don't know!" cried the ghost of Christmas puddings left over from an Essex bar mitzvah at which several senior rabbits used their teeth to open tin cans of foreskins pickled in glass jars, which may cause cancer of the nostril in certain people of the small persuasion. "You talkin' to me?" asked the French president, stroking a white Persian rug with blue tassels as he banked sharply around a high pekinese. The force of which acrobatic manoeuvre caused him substantial turmoil in the nether regions followed by a large lump on Inspector Morse's garden shed which was blown over by Linda McCartney's ghost with the help of all of the Beatles playing 'Let It Be' on very small ukeleles along with 57 dwarfs. The 58th vertically challenged person was a giant in his own mind which was 3 meters below the speedometer and dropping fast. Goosing girls gives them quite a high, up and down highways across the nation and around the world. Yoghurt-coated peanuts gave them all the incentive needed to feign indifference to the tactile pleasures of a down cushion. "Eject?" queried G, "How do you expect me to eject wearing tweed undergarments?". Below said socks were mirror-polished Lobb brogues made from the finest material ever known, cured in Royal Jelly mixed with the best Sheffield silver tools and kiln-dried at a temperature that could kill germs. This effortlessly superior footwear tailored to the individual specification of its eccentric owner, was much coveted, especially after the glorious ceremony, 'G' placed the old love letters from starry-eyed young land girls who were obsessed with Stevie's "natural" post-shower pong as opposed to the excessively floral bouquet emanating from his armpits.

Chapter 28.

Mr. Ree is an enigma inside of a riddle. "Don't go" cried the Mexican staring frog, currently eyeballing Gordon Brown as he sat in number 10 cackling manically over his latest motorist-screwing tax, which involved removing all airbags, wheels and also any spirit of ecstasy from Southern Sri Lanka that might unexpectedly lurk within the confines of probability theory, as espoused as the great "How to" show was cancelled. Mr Brooks removed his jacket and rolled up to the door in a state of some confusion about his rampant thirst which he felt after running three marathons within the space of one. This acclaimed triumph, a Honda Ballade clone dollied up to herald the planned stag party of a former Spitfire pilot from Innsbruck who defected at grande vitesse in the Mayflower while asleep, happened in Toledo during a golf match. His driver "rallyed" magnificently bringing into focus the fusion of fiestas attraction in the Delta Quadrant. His thesis on gamma was graded beta minus but was alfa theta regarding prismatic refraction of polo ponies. This shocked Ralph Lauren considerably, since he smelt a rat's arsehole while rummaging through the debris of last night's curry on Valentino's yacht moored within sight of the Rock of Gibraltar's monkeys a.k.a. English tourists. BMWs are fitted with indicators, but have no bulbs if sold to companies that are generally German car-biased and Midlands-based. A condition spreading to Clitheroe caused Carol Smillie to squeal excitedly when a vat of Nutella laced with 15-year-old Scotch spilled across the M6 causing major pile-ups at the stickiest parts of moist nether regions. Which sordid thought prompted Carol Vorderman to say "How now Brown cow", insulting Mrs Thatcher impersonating Janet and John story book fan, Mrs Robert Mugabe who was taking lessons in farming and agricultural studies of the ground. Cows produce vast quantities of methane, which is harmful to them if lit with a match but positively lethal if ignited using napalm and some Olympic-torch bearing children with gastric problems originating from the ingestion of brown paper packages wrapped up with string, these are a few of the letter bombs sent by Mr. Boyracer, also known as Hugo Chavez blew his own trumpet with evident enjoyment and, emiting a blarting noise akin to a farting Chihuahua in a cave.

Chapter 29.

Topiary, a strange and unhealthy passion for trimming otherwise unruly vegetation into bad approximations of deer antlers, crap and penises (if you are Jordan) and shoving them into your neighbour's view, causes upset stomachs, along with ulcers, if eaten raw with extra garlic garnishing. Flying Lamborghinis in Dubai terrorized New York, along with Oslo and Auckland and Sydney and Perth but in Sant' Agata it is de rigeur to be Forever Young, joining hands and singing old Tony Bennett hits to the tune of the Italian national anthem, which stopped traffic in Mogadishu. Calling teddies Muhammed while cursing infidels and Trekkies has upset Idi Amin even though he's dead and banished from Robertson's shopping centre, which caught out the odd old codger in his Reliant Kitten four wheeled transport device resembling a car-park of the multi-raspberry jam factory where ABBA were partying in scarlet jumpsuits. "Hi, ho, hi ho it's off to minimum wage jobs and microwave meals for one we go!" shouted the smelly, balding and fat Ford Focus ST owner, who was Swedish, apparently. Status Quo ran all Olympic marathons since 1960, covering over 20,000,000 miles on pink space hoppers, which are pogo sticks, which are barbie scooters, which are tank engines, which are painted blue with numbers 1, 2, three, four and five ways to go around town. These were described as completely and utterly correctly put into place by a one handed salute from Prince Philip and his royal knights of Templar. Carrots are "horribe", nasty and are subjected to misspelt descriptions which are accurate androgynous portrayals of raging hormones that are planted in neat rows by one handed knights, a spectacular feat of agriculture overseen by several Nazi-hunters fired by Mossad from their long range weapons of mass destruction made out of fertilizer. An astonishingly skinny woman who's a call girl, a tall girl, and a real hot hottie, if a trifle potty but don't get snotty about problems so knotty for someone so shorty who was too spotty and really thoroughly grotty even though he took a long hard look at the big book he was to cook up a stupendous concoction of chilli con carne for his girlfriend Marnie laced with a rather potent mixture of canned beef with corn cob on the top to bottom of the world's underpants reserves. Unexpected unexpectedness caused Michael Winner to lose his 'Winner', leaving a trail of winnets with winnerettes trailing behind. "Calm down," whined Winner, "it's only a skidmark which will wash out with Cilit Bang and like a shiny penny, will always turn up when you least expect it".

Chapter 30.

On Canvey Island, which wasn't very popular after the 1953 flooding, nor before it either apparantly, because Essex is cursed with vicious constabulary who drive modified Fords as they are tools. A giant eye emerged in Central London and terrified the wombles, whose nervous disposition was further disturbed by the much larger protruding and throbbing, bright shiny red nose of Rudolph, the alcoholic pervert who was a complete wazzock! Following his release from prison, Mr. Gates announced that fencing wasn't for him; he preferred duelling with fettucini, and occasionally asparagus spears, drizzled with lusciously large amounts of molten earwax and methylated orange juice with bits of lemon added in to hide the taste of envy. Millenial cults at the O2 arena perform amazing feats of unknown acts, which shocked threads back into life after having being dead, forgotten and cast aside in the deep pit, brother of Brad! (but not of Vlad the Impaler, who was not fond of brothers whether bands or not). A festive air-filled Zeppelin glided gently towards the mooring mast when the naked lady exposed one gatling-tipped breast along with other things which could fire at rattan furniture floating on the Merseyside. Scousers then invaded Luxembourg, fighting zombies who never give up the fight with the Koreans and the muppets who controlled Wasserbillig and Grevenmacher, whilst waiting in the wings for the train to depart from Waterloo to the new stationmasters cottage in Piddletrenthide, which isn't Pucklechurch, nor even remotely close to anywhere. Rüsselheim is famous for their Opel automobiles, which aren't Opal Fruits (now called Starburst Joosters) nor are they Tic-Tacs, thank the Lord. Lady Bracknell rather drunkenly asked about a handbaaaaaaaag at ten paces between Hackney Wick and Stepney; unfortunately Nigel had been busy at the photocopier copying Honda RA107 specs, which were Rayban imitations of the Ford model cars built by Maistocrats, who live in Maisterbia, a little known state famous for self publicity stunts, usually performed by young men who sit in cupboards, and anoint themselves with Yakult, which is illegal in 27 different territories in defiance of the Geneva Convention. The Swiss are outraged and have called the Germans "Sausage-Stuffers". In retaliation, they called in the United Nations to drop flowers on Switzerland, which then caused a pansy shortage in Holland. NATO intervened, preventing the flower power from losing control of California under Arnold Schwarzanegger's rule, it was shatterproof - the rule, that is! Other shatterproof things include Gordon Brown's ego and a piece of plexiglass adorning the space where hangeth Tracey Emin's latest work of shite loosely copied from Damien Hirst.

Chapter 31.

Whilst buying suppositories, Robert Mugabe decided that he couldn't take it anymore and declared war on everyone who opposed him by baring his bottomless black hole which was not in Calcutta, nor any former colonial outposts. This didn't stop, although it might now, but it didn't in defiance of all probability and the laws of quantum physics. Stunter's Cayman was returned after it flew to the moon and back just to prove a point to Racing's Z1 and a Mercedes E500. Alfa Romeo's new bottom was filled with shavings of black truffle strawberry short cake. Mr. Anderson, I've been expecting him, along with other accountants from west of the north-eastern Baseball Ground, former home of the Detroit Lemons, an extinct baseball team which were all Branch Davidians and other strange things. Eva Green sucked thoughtfully on a breadstick with James Bond, who was dangling improbably from a 50ft high earthworm named Maximus Worm, who was Senegalese, despite his Roman name, and related to Angela Merkel and Ferdinand Porsche. Among her other antecedents was a certain Attila the Nun, a fire-swallowing Sister of Mikeboyracers, who had more tattoos than Blarno, in particular on her lower torso and upper head. This caused severe disapproval in the convent and caused her to spill her drink. You should see the mess she made when she stood up and revealed her extremely small, smelly and really, really strange organ which she had nicked from Westminster Abbey after the quick sermon on the Count Dracula's extreme braces, the mild mannered janitor burped. "Jesus," he shouted, "why in the hell did you do that for?" said Mr. Extra-large-n°2-prawns-with-mushroom-sauce, a made-up name if ever it wasn't. He was full of crap, naturally, as his toilet had sprung a leak and he could not use the shower's flush function. Slowly oiling her beef curtains, Count Dracula's bride awoke from her slumber party to find sixteen of her fellow brides were vestal virgins from the wrong side of the hood. She picked her nose with disdain, lacking a handkerchief it was packed with goodness knows what following her sojourn in Helmand province where she had endured the smell of rancid ghee for Big Brother's celebrity 'Drop-Dead-athon', which was the worst game show name since "The Fantastic Spinning Wheel Of Flaming Firey Death" hosted by Jim Davidson when he was just spitroasting several surprisingly plump young Lancastrians over a flaming drum of petrol. For top performance, V-Power was recommended instead of N-Power, which gave poor men erections in their three thousandth post, HURRAH! Celebrations rang all around The Motor's Ivory Towers in KLCC. These prestigious offices violated international sanctions, which banned the use of pachyderms' teeth in Malaysia, Indonesia and also Southern Antartica.

Chapter 32.

The UN sometimes gets collectively overexcited when Gordon Brown promises to shut up about being a son of stitcher's daughter. These relations are to be disowned in a move brought about by global warming, the credit crunch and the latest Budget imposition as described by Brown's tame badger. Said badger was tamed and eaten by the angry gas-guzzling monkeys who drive their sheep across Tower Bridge while sitting behind the fat-arsed Lord Mayor of Chelmsford, a renowned pervert known to Essex girls as 'That Fat-Arsed Perv', a highly imaginative nickname which rhymed with his soon-to-be-published autobigrahy: "The Fat-Arsed Swerve". A spectacular eruption devastated the proceedings in the House of Commons during Badger's Budget, causing dreadful emissions of CO2 which fucked everyone's carbon footprint. Everyone's, that is, except David, the legless duck, who was always pissed. His favourite drink was creme de menthe laced with absinthe which made his poo very green. Emerald-tinted turds were common on St. Patricks well-manicured garden lawn thanks to flocks of seagulls that followed the trawler sailed by Eric, the magnificent and great shaggy dog of Gloucester High Street. His long kiss goodnight horrified many young maidens and their equally young companions, who had never seen anything so shocking in their underwear before. Victoria's secret lover was thought to be none other than President Sarkozy's new wife, Heather Mills, fresh from a bitter court case and a soaked lawyer who was a leg-end and looked sexy wet behind the ears. "Bollocks," cried Nigella (her again), "I've burnt the cakes!", causing distress across Northampton bus depot. The blue-tooth connection to her WAP-enabled left nipple. which sent men into orbit faster than you could shout "Damn hypocrites", malfunctioned owing to flour made from ungraded grains of Siberian desert sand. These interfered with her various crannies throughout the folds of her underwear in a tickly way which arroused several middle-aged nuns with guns from their contemplative devotions to the bearded wonder that was her growler, a.k.a a Grolsch bottle drunk dry that afternoon! Keeping up with the innuendo was hard work as it kept evolving into BBC flying penguins, Kit Kats and Breakaways thrown at errant newsreaders who refused to put moustaches on Max Mosley or his five companions. A damn good waxing results in a Hollywood Bowl shaped hole in place of the analogy postulated by Princess Anne, whose Olympic Games were won by Ukrainians.

Chapter 33.

Steroid abuse in Formula 1 was unheard of, until Mad Max's sordid romp which hardened his desire to spank Angela Merkel's chihuahua with a pearl-handled revolver stolen from Billy the Kid's secret drawer, full of Wensleydale and Stinking Bishop's underpants. These shocking tales were gleefully reported in full colour pictures emblazoned with the words "Despicable scenes of perverted course of justice at Kirchberg Mental Asylum". This bipolar interpolated conjecture was made up during heavy consumption of alcohol, supplemented with intensive sieve usage. Fortunately, it was past the water released by Mosely's Nazi-inspired games, which allegedly rose beyond The Netherlands as far as Helsinki where a certain forummer had lost his trousers after trapping them in a coffee shop. Mr. Medvedev is exceptionally short of money but that is par for the nineteenth hole at Wentworth where a round of scotch is very expensive. Brandishing a Motorforum sticker, Mosely screamed "Achtung, mein Ecclestein ist sehr klein aber er hat kein kleines schlange und viele freundin, dass nicht so....", rudely interrupted mid-sentence by flocks of nuns on the run whilst preparing marmalade sandwiches for Paddington and his rather excitable companion, Christina Aguilera together with Britney Spears. Britney sucks; Christina swallows, along with many other tarty and cheap popsicles. "Slander!" cried Jade Goody. "I ain't never swallowed!" she shouted, scorching smears of Deep Heat on her oversized blotchy buttocks followed by her pendulous lower lip and blubbery varicose veined huge tits. Aside from these, she also invaded Poland using her bazookas to counter-balance the sliding currency of the Yenishlamic Dollar, which was valid tender in Bloodyhellnotanothermadeupnamewithastantackedontheendistan, a small dictatorship west of Hounslow-Upon-Lowlow, another minor thorn in Gordon's side which ached uncontrollably despite all his desperate spinning doctors, who had tried pulling the sex toy out of Gordon's small but perfectly formed gaping cheese wedge, expertly crafted to John Prescott's ugly posterior. On that bombshell, Saigon was blown up by womble activists disguised as washerwomen, with beards, and false dangly bits sewn into the seams of their beanie hats coloured by hamsters inclined towards Francis Bacon triptychs, which is pretty bizzare! These hamsters ran around in customised BMW M3s chavved to high heaven by Hillary Clinton whilst Bill indulged himself with a Cuban cigar, inserted up his left nostril. This outraged old Fidel because he preferred to fiddle with Bill himself despite the fact that someone fiddled with him when his back was turned, causing diplomatic impropriety and undiplomatic utterances which if allowed to continue unabated would provoke Uruguay to invade Slovakia, causing a dispute with all countries in Central Africa, including several previously unknown ones nowhere near Slovakia or a Fray Bentos pie, which is not from Piers' fridge.

Chapter 34.

This compact refridgeration unit used 1,000 nuclear-powered Siberian hamsters trained in map reading and unarmed combat, which hoovered stripes with military precision, but decided plain frippery gayness was just that: gay frippery. What nonsense: had these hamsters eaten their Weetabix, none of the penguins would go for white chocolate harpsichords, nor would they endlessly hum Dusty Springfield records from start to the very end of Breakfast at Tiffanys, when Darth Vader chooses Kylie to get her hands on his light sabre, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry. "Anyway, back to the drawing board" shouted L'ildude, "still feel a plonker" said Nelson Mandela as he relieved himself on maz's fevered imagination. "You can't always get what I want" Shouted Mr. Snuffleapagus, as Big Bird shat all over Boris's opponent, former Mayor Ken Dodd and his Diddymen, who were fandangling their newts when the dreaded tinworm rodgered their rastafarian multi-hued steel band which in turn, delighted the Dennis Skinner Appreciation Society during their annual Bolsover Barbecue and Beast Bake dinner dance. "Twelve hundred pferdestarke!" barked Herr Piech "And hold the lizards!" as he carefully etched the name plate on the platinum rocker cover by a Youtube Fatkid who broke his pelvis in a hula-hoop. "Ouch," said the porker, as he extracted 50p from his left nostril. "That was excrutiating and I needed the money for some jelly babies." cried Mrs. Kensington from Kensington, which was surprising and ironic, considering she was born in Scunthorpe and, at birth, malevolant but chirpy. Doncaster, who changed his name back and forth, relentlessly walked across the ocean on his hands and swam through New Hampshite, despite the protests of the New Hampshitians populace over turkey giblet rationing, which, they swore, was because Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall decided turkeys shouldn't be murdered to satisfy blood lust and repulsive flesh hunger caused by Alan's overposting (I know it's not a word, but I don't give) and needless extravagant dictionaries ."Carnivores rock!" Alan shouted, while handling petrified dung being flung at him from the Royal Box by the elephant-platypus impersonator invited by Princess George Quinsburrys-Bottom III (related by death to Rasputin's older, uglier brother). The Geneva Convention couldn't give a flying otter any chance of salvation army-style of forgiveness from the rain of missiles arriving from Iran and all points East. Rivers of chocolate candy, mountains of pornography and seas full to the depths with bugger-all bottles of Hendricks too. "What? That abomination must stop, before we're all eaten by the Icezombiescicles, whose new CD is "Superbadass Sweet Daddy Jones", a collection of lovely panpipe heavy metal operettas with Columbian music undertones, all played underwater at 3334 Posts per thread!, a nightclub in Finland.

Chapter 35

Mick Jagger ran the iron over Bianca's blouses whilst eating orange blancmange from the furry cup of luuurve presented by Fred, the fandangling farmer for Fairnstoke, far far and away beyond the realms of sanity, bought from a Lithuanian devil disguised as a pixie. This monkey's gone to pot, what with its unfeasibly large testicles dangling way too low for its M&S underwear to conceal its Peter Sellers-monogrammed Prince Albert ring of fire. "Help, I'm stuck in deep shit without a snorkel!" quoted an unnamed source named Jeffrey the Jredgel - a made-up name, naturally. Up to you really to decide whatever the price will be for the Brunei customs officers to trouser with impunity. The Citroen C1 has some very handsome drivers, says RNIB member survey, as commissioned by Renault customer service reps in a vain attempt to disguise the Clio's porkiness, especially around the rear of a double decker chocolate bar. On Thursday, the day after Wednesday and just before Friday, which was the start of a rather unedifying weekend spent up to no good in dungarees dunked in donkey dung drizzling down during daytime episodes of Trisha. Meanwhile, back at Dubai Customs, the Mongolian Ambassador to Upper Mesopotamia was sick due to baggies of talcum powder which were spiked with LSD. Consequently, the Ambassador became addicted to Cadbury's Creme Eggs which he licked lasciviously whilst casually stroking his Fu Manchu-esque beard which had not been trimmed professionally in months. His chauffeured Lexus waited and waited and waited for its sat-nav system to understand what G-spot had to do with a happy marriage. On the other hand, was an antique wrist-watch that doubled up as an ACME (TM) Patented Transmographier which, when placed by Hercule Poirot's assistant Miss Lemon, had the effect of curdling milk left by 'Breastfeeding Belinda' and her juicy big jugs. "Cracking cheese" said the Archbishop of York, fondling a Stinking Bishop with his crozier. Meanwhile the dirty knickerless tart was eyeing up Nickerless Sarkozy as he oiled his gleaming rock hard love handles, in full view of Cherie Blair and the Berlin Symphony Orchestra. Cherie was envious of the Second Violin's luxuriant goatee, which was laced with Hendrick's Gin-soaked ribbons and small pendants attached with Super Glue. Meanwhile, back at No.10, Gordon bemoaned Glasgow Easter celebrations: deep fried chocolate eggs served with Buckfast and Irn Bru. "No wonder you're fat". "You taking to me?" asked Cherie as she stuffed another chocolate eclair up her ginormous nostrils sideways, without even blinking! This spectacular nasal feat soon became legendary at the Gentlemen's club in Chipping Sodbury, where the Sod's would initiate nudists by attatching many electrodes to protuding parts with sharpened crocodile clips without any recourse to considering whether it was being filmed by the people who brought you "The Ace Of Spades".

Chapter 36

All that she wants is The Sign, which points to the exit leading to Saffron Walden and its infamous Pargetting Parking Places for Pretentious Posing Pedlars of Premium Plums, Peaches and Puce Porcupines, Pissing Purple Pea-soupers, which blotted out London in winters gone by when Dickens was alive and kicking mediaeval ass and Joey Barton. Scumbags, windbags, beanbags and growbags all grow on trees seeded in mediaeval times before paedophiles suddenly became confused with paediatricians by people who couldn't spell - and should've known better - yet they never really knew their feet hurt until visiting the podiatrist who confirmed it indubitably. De Gaulle thought this very uncommon among Arab prostitutes, of which he had never even removed an item of clothing as he went commando with the French Foreign Office secretaries and their paper weights. Beard trimming in the Stone Age involved singeing one's facial expression with a huge box of Chinese fireworks whilst wearing sexy stockings, suspender belts and stilettos. When in Yorkshire, it is advisable to bring sheep-friendly wellington boots made from the finest skin from southern jessies' BMW leather seats, as protection against the rampant locals and their pints of scummy plum brandy. During the recent demise of Saddam, several Royces were Rolled into one. This automotive sacrilege devastated the former Dictator's despicable habit of hobbit-throwing so he ordered the sexy little white basque waitress to bring him on quicker next time. Cilla Black thought this would improve Blind Date and rang Sir Alan on her video phone, but his ring tone was set to vibrate and unfortunately the batteries weren't up to Western safety standards so a tenuous odour eminated from down below, near his secretary's head, which bobbed up and down furiously like that Churchill dog. Whilst having a crap, Cilla's left breast spasmed like a hummingbird on speed and caught his flying turd which happened to materialise before her shocked and surprised fifth meat fart cleared the grasp of her reluctant sphincter, directly into the waiting receptacle to catch and purify offensive smells, and really dreadful spelling Mr. President. Apologies are not necessary to a day-dream believer and a rhinestone cowboy, but we'll join the Naturist Society for the hell of it. However, roadkill and Uma Thurman couldn't prevent a sudden influx of bills, all needing to be paid in kind deeds and favours. Assuming the 'Tractor' position, Cilla sucked on a Mercedes-sponsored Fisherman's Friend, who knew how to please Alan's bizarre sugar fetish and cavalier attitude towards grape importers.

Chapter 37

Antidisestablishmentarianism is an extremely hard sell in Crouch End, where most people are under increasing pressure to be fat and squinty-eyed with suppurating abcesses but a beautiful bottom lip adorned with piercings and other useless stuff. She said "what are the chances of a good fuck around here?". Slim to none, said Old Gregg, slowly edging his Buick into a village pond, by mistake. Several lacrosse-playing schoolgirls decided to strip naked and rescue Old Gregg from his sandwich shop. "Free steak bakes everyone!" yelled the overexcited jailbait whilst running for their lives from 'Big Daddy' and his Wensleydale collection. "Look at my sausage" said Gary Glitter, holding the hand of a Vietnamese agent orange victim, but only the hand, he told the police lady, who grasped his collar and handcuffed him to an absolutely huge
gorilla in Hyde Park. The gorilla didn't like PDF files because they fucked with his digestion of paedophiles, paediatricians and prickly porcupine's pimped Porsches. "Get orf ma lawn!" shouted Old Gregg, "before I get me laddie's big chopper out of ma Royal Stewart Tartan ba' bag and chib yer mockit hackit coupon, yer big baw heid!". "Och Donald, where's yer breeks gone?" asked Mavis. When faced with Gregg's incredibly sharp sgian dubh, Mavis fainted and slowly slid to her knees her lips resting on Gregg's inexpensive ill-fitting toupe, revealed when he unzipped her handbag. Sadly, during sex, Mavis stole wigs to replenish her merkin with 100% man made dandruff flakes and crusty rolls, filled with crispy remains of the Kremlin's extensive roof repairs. A burglar would have seizures after having his bollocks caught on barbed wire, which was rusty and a strangely pleasurable experience, sending a slight shiver all the way to Sarah Palin's isolated anchorage where her 17-year-old daughter played hide the sausage with some redneck yank on a regular basis. However whilst watching the Da Vinci Code, her morals slipped far too low so that there was an oil spill in the nearby port of call for the Latvian Royal Navy's battleships. Once in the countryside, Sarah Palin exposed her 35mm film, taken covertly to protect her identity through a rather large bazooka, which she cherished above the life of Brian, a misunderstood chap if ever there were gourds to be praised and eaten with curried beans, which caused a fierce outbreak of superheated gastric gas, emitted slowly from his orifice, which made Blazing Saddles look like a minor outbreak of plain hot air. Clarkson's got a semi for Michelle Pfeiffer that gives him no chance of Erectile Disfunction medication having any positive effect on global methane emissions from farting livestock which hadn't been made into tasty steaks with gravy seasoned with the most salt and pepper you've ever seen.

Chapter 38

Jemima Puddleduck and Bertie Bassett were walking hand-in-hand through midtown Manhattan when a fashion policeman realised Bertie was wearing only Ferrari socks - 2005 editions! This caused a flap as McLaren had similar socks designed to fit only a Ferrari, allegedly. Jemima claimed Max Moseley had a thing about quacking, which was not what Donald was thinking. "Where's ma troosers?" he asked Alex Salmond, causing the First Minister to throw a hissy fit at poor Miss Puddleduck (or Wendy Alexander as she's known in certain lap dancing clubs in the vicinity of the Scottish Parliament in Holyrood). Many years earlier in times of yore, Jemima was only an egg waiting to be poached but she hatched other plans that didn't include the compromising position she put Bertie in when she parked him at the back of her lemon tree patch. Ordinarily, she kept her Avantime out of sight, but the absinthe had made it go wobbly and her throw caution to the green fairy, Kylie of Lochalsh, who bounced along while spinning around with the Old Man on his "Confibulator" thingy which he called "HG" for some obscure reason. Meanwhile, Bertie Basset found to his horror that Obama had nicked his last pink bobbly one, which were his favourite gift for wooing wild women from North Carolina. These women had huge milk tankers, which they had never imagined would be used for anything other than transporting milk, but instead were hanging in a provocative manner just out of reach of Bertie's probing tongue and Large Hadron Collider he had secreted in his new air-cooled underpants purchased cheaply in ASDA. It wasn't black holes under Geneva that worried the TUC - they were more concerned about revolting cheesey-flavoured biscuits with which to pelt the Chancellor of the Exchequer with during his speech about his 2% limit on talent in government, with the result that the Lib Dems were often able to make wild accusations and claims that they could provide some sort of adequate policies to get themselves elected. This idea was deemed "Funniest idea ever" by a national referendum conducted by the Monster formerly known as "Nessie", not to be confused with any other mythological beast or Nellie the elephant who packed her Louis Vuitton steamer trunk ready for a cruise through the red light district of Ulan Bator, looking for Hulk Hogan and any other muscled pachyderms who could roger anything on command. "Shoot," Nellie was heard to scream whilst climaxing with one foot in the drain. London Bridge was rocked by her favourite rhythm and blues CD "Shake, Rattle and Roll" performed by the magnificent men and their flying collateralised debt obligation portfolios who of course everyone else blamed for the Foot and Mouth epidemic which the Government typically tried to deflect onto a debate on foxhunting while smoking in a manner likely to inflame passions in a nunnery.

Chapter 39

"A shrubbery?" asked Carla Bruni-Sarkozy with a subtle flick of her wrist to indicate that she had too much jewellery to allow her to perform hand relief every time the French President got his todger out. Jools Holland, meanwhile, was tickling the ivories as an alternative to playing the piano, his usual instrument but his organist was hogging the piano so the elephant was driven to commit a larceny with a feathery bewinged friend named after a lengthy drinking session. Together they short-sold several borrowed packs of overpriced red lentils, imported from the one-eyed Scottish git in Downing Street, who thought he could start another great depression in the ground around his evil, stinking lair. Alex Salmond drank his own weight in Liebfraumilch whilst devouring an enormous deep-fried Mars bar and Wendy Alexander in her birthday suit, while the rest of the Jade Goody fan club looked on in disbelief. One careless wispa later, George Michael got arrested for putting his tiny wrap of cocaine into Prince Philip's evening dram. Suddenly, the party started getting interesting, particularly when Jamie Oliver shat himself when he saw what was on the buffet laid on for the homeless merchant bankers' benefit held at Gordon Ramsey's downstairs toilet in his gigantic double-decker Winnebago which had broken down after he fuelled it with Sunny Delight and Buckfast, a combination that was guaranteed to twizzle turkeys countrywide. Jamie's lisp got worse as Delia slowly turned his head on a spit while she basted herself with truffle oil laced with the finest arsenic known to man. Blumenthal and Rhodes tried House of Representatives porridge but were disgusted by the strong sour taste of the supposedly complementary (or even complimentary) onions which were not free of additives, as advertised. A lady called Merys played on a ferris wheel, eating her curds and "Wha-hey" said the Scotsman who held her tuffet while she tried to unsuccessfully rhyme 'orangey' with Glen Morangie to no-one's surprise. Even so, gambling in Hamburg made the Welsh Porsche driver lust for a piece of Joachim's curry wurst which had just worse approval than a Kaupthing Edge internet bank account, by all accounts. "Cash is King in these here parts," shouted the newly redundant banker as he watched Darling's big idea fail to attract any positive reaction whatsoever. Tinky-Winky, Dipsy and Po were stoned on Jamaican beaches by angry parents because the seaweed wasn't vacuumed into perfect stripes across the powdery white substance that was highly prized by many lawyers as "Prosecution Exhibit A". Funnily enough, when questioned, John McCain admitted that his running mate/lumberjack had a habit of answering many questions truthfully. Too truthfully in fact that her brain imploded under the strain of random nonsensicalness conflustered statements which is basically shite!

Chapter 40

Meanwhile, on the ranch sauce bottle were the same ingredients listed as in the Treasury's gigantic bowl of caramalised frogs. Being frogs, "Le Chocolat était sur le plancher" exclaimed the Comtesse de Segur, an unlikely person to look at linoleum from floor level, "frogs, zey bite"! She then proceded to strip her extremely worn out old Femidom from its usual place in her manservant's wife's copious front bottom. Pleasantries were then exchanged whilst the offending item was auctioned by Sotheby's totally by mistake, because it had been stolen from the back passage of the Paris Ritz cheese cracker, upon which the Stinking Bishop had lingered thought-provokingly, before quickly retrieving his undergarments! I'm starting a sentance with a spelling mistake. I thought t'was wrong. So correct it then and then go and correct your other thread before bedtime, young man, make no mistake! Ethel saw the man streaking along with his bacon and cheese sarnie and decided to steal it. This audacious theft shocked the local townswomen by means of cattle prodders which wasn't at all unusual in that locale. All of a sudden several bodacious babes yodelled an impromptu rendition of "She'll be coming round to moderate us soon" in awful off-key tones whilst strumming their banjos, eating mangoes, dancing tangos and voting in Qwangos. Flicking beans is usually a favourite past time of Gorillas and Bandicoots. Welshmen have a fondness for other pulses instead, causing untold rectal beefy carnage usually accompanied by copious words I don't understand because I'm too young to drive a bus, porcelain or otherwise! "Fnaaarr" chortled the Lithuanian midget, as the ghost of Christmas past appeared alongside the Stratford Blue bus on the grid at Kyalami, causing delight among the hoards gathered around the 1952 Buick coupe which had just blown Alonso into the weeds. Alonso was incandescent with magnesium dust and overheard Hamilton bitching to Ron Jeremy about the size of his pit garage door, which wouldn't open unless he pulled hard on the fluffy dice which hung down from where they are situated. Mum's gone to Iceland. "Thank f**k for that" said Alistair Darling, "she's saving my bacon with the help of Kerry's incredibly long thread of chipolata sausages, which whirled saucily around her naked manservant's enormous fat thighs". "Wahey" shouted the red Ken lookalike, who was ogling the naked manservant's very impressive purple sprouting broccoli and spectacular Brussels pate, coated in a very light drizzle of Castrol GTX, mixed with a dash of GHB. A bit rapey, thought Kerry illiterately, as she cajoled David Dickinson into sharing his fake tan with the leather interior. "What on Earth's that?" exclaimed Colin Chapman's ghost from his garage indubitably, staring at the huge quantity of frozen shrimp in Kerry's trolley beside the Chlorpromazine and Indian tonic water mixed with one of Russia's finest distilled potato water of a greenish tinge of finest polonium 210. Meanwhile, Kerry pushed the trolley around for a piece of the action but managed to get cans of coke instead of the whopping great deals that Iceland have.

Chapter 41

A yellow banded Bandersnatch won the US Presidential runner-up prize, much to Palin's delight, who shot a small herd of the critically endangered Bandersnatches while applying her best pit bull's member-pink hair dye in celebration. The Bank of England asked the Bandersnatch's advice on hiding cash secretly in Alistair Darling's eyebrows but was told to ask a badger instead. "The moon was full of sheet" said Poirot, idly polishing his manservant's call bell and whistling "God Save the Cat from the West Korean Dog Appreciation Society", who specialise in chargrilled Doberman, Chocolate Labrador and chilli-flavoured Pug tails drizzled in freshly squeezed cat urine, what a god awfully drap carpet it doesn't make any sense! On a slightly less nonsensical note, the plight of the chocolate bumblebee championed by James Galway and his golden flute concerto in D minor, performed at the Barbican tube station, platform two smelling of urine and regurgitated donner kebabs. Smashing, he's got a knife right up where it can't be seen by a one-legged duck with a head cold. "The Osmonds have teeth?" Right where they shouldn't be seen by chiropodists and other assorted members of the Royal College of Physical Jerks and Aggressive Midwives, Hot Nurses, and Zombie Junior Doctors, a more august body than anything else Stateside. For every opening statement, you may want to engage a good barrister. Failing that, try Racing! "Racing what?" you ask, eyeing the Eurofighter nervously with a Corvette nearby and Kenny Loggins playing with his little man. "Don't call me that," screamed little Jimmy Osmond's pet parakeet Donny, as "Crazy Horses" played on the hospital radio speakers placed surrepstitiously alongside the Native American Wing, segregated from the Custer Appreciation Society's huge Totem Pole. Long, stiff, knobbly wood was required in order to discipline Darling's tax office's naughty buxom wenches. Youtube is the modern voyeur's medium of choice for watching absolutely awful images of daisy chains worn on unusual parts of the anatomy of Lord Mandelson and boyfriend. Having a Brazilian is preferrable to an Argentinian or anything else that comes from South America except corned beef pasties and fresh Columbian coffee. What about Gisele Bundchen, an unfamiliar name to nobody other than Mandelson and his shirt-lifting friends of Bodom, a small guesthouse in San Francisco where the closets are wide open for all to come in and share their genital herpes. "Dear boy," groaned Mandelson "no more Russian yachts as they're extremely vulgar and you might meet a Muscovite conman's accountant. Also present might be Dubai Custom's cadaverous manageress who gives me nightmares". Mandelson then complained to nobody in particular about homophobic treatment he received at the Betty Ford Assembly Line in Dagenham where his big endo on his BMX ended in serious pain au chocolat and brioche, or Juliet as she preferred brioche to Binoche. One shaved and one's beard was suddenly gone - the magic of Gillette is a dark force in the nation's bathrooms made scarce by umpteen dwarfs, all dressed by Donatella Versace in sequinned basques, garters and suchlike frippery gayness.

Chapter 42

In Mumbai (formerly known as Bombay) a local curry house in the west end of Glasgow's seediest suburb, the ghost of Gandhi necked Buckfast, jellies and deep-fried Mars bars by the side of the novelty "delhi counter" feature of the aforesaid curry house. While sitting on the map of Northumberland, Hitler abruptly broke the silence with the most almighty pant-ripping, evil, smellingly disgusting sulphurically obnoxious release of Polish prisoners of war. This so astounded Churchill Insurance Company that they issued a fatwah on all dog breeds other than the British Bulldog, causing outrage in Paris as all French poodles voted to end congestion rather than cause death. "OH YES!" exclaimed the British wartime leader, "whisky, cigars and two fingers makes me horny baby". "Oh, behave!" said the MP Nancy Astor, as she accused him of sexually harassing her poodle-breeding illegitimate daughter, Maud, who was built like a Soviet-era brick and pork pie. An M&S pork pie, mind, none of yer cheap shite! "I prefer the pork sword" said Alan whilst dressed in frilly shirt, Stewart tartan kilt, bright pink tights and high heels, despite this Pkh72 was totally smitten and typed too many with his gorgeous kitten while wearing a mitten. Leo Sayer burst into flames; apparently it was because five has four letters - now read the rules you borderline illiterate fool. "That's nice of you, why thank you Sir", said the Princess Royal, whilst fellating a chimp at the same time as blowing a goat's hair dry with the awesome power of her massively round over-inflated inflatable de-luxe bejewelled dildo. Whilst recovering from his ordeal at the hands of Anne, Bagpuss shivered violently as Professor Yaffle foretold of major malfunctions to the West-Indian stock market. "Bagpuss, you saggy old cloth cat!" cried Professor Yaffle scarily. "This is an outrage of biblical proportions" said Professor Richard Dawkins with a sly smile pasted on his ugly mug. Like a constipated whale's mournful moan, he sang hymns to the Year One class of Bush's creationist primary school. Lunches are pretty smelly after they've been used around the dark area at the back of Jennifer Lopez's fat arse. The one that mesmerised naive schoolboys mostly was Floella Benjamin in a bowl of shark-infested custard wearing nothing but a large magenta merkin which showed off her long floppy spaniel's ears (not to be understood or made understandable by any known method). Outside, in the rough part of Bradford, Floella called Harry a paki-bashing inbred ginger freak, which was basically true. "Who is your daddy?" cried Harry's brother William, "my dad doesn't look like he could impregnate anyone, so perhaps it was Basil Brush during the threeseome also involving Rod Hull and Emu, filmed by Paul Burrell in a Mercedes S280 with James Hewitt waving something purple and floppy". "Oh no" wailed the motorbike-riding press photographer whilst riding backwards on a Japanese crotch rocket doing a handstand with a camera between his thighs and a telescopic lens held tightly with clenched butt cheeks and a smile. "A photo opportunity missed," he thought as the Mercedes connected with the open mains circuit of the French National Grid.

Chapter 43

´Zut alors!´ cried Sooty as Sweep and Soo did the jiggy-jig beside Sooty's disproportionately long magic mushroom farm's enormous greenhouse. "Izzywizzy let's get busy" squeaked Sweep as Sooty got Soo lubed up and ready for a trip to paradise on his magic wand, which made Harry Potter jealous. Soo was panting in fevered anticipation of the good seeing-to she desperately craved, like a frustrated nymphomaniac on heat. Matthew Corbett's hand trembled as it entered Soo's inviting furry panda entrance where he wiggled it, making Soo writhe with ecstasy as Matthew expected. Gordon the Gopher watched jealously, as Philip Schofield's grey hair did a poor job of covering his lower pelvic region. The Gopher fancied some with Philip and Fern in a dirty triple daytime telly scandal of enormous proportions, much like Fern used to be when she bloated up after guzzling Philip's cream-pie residue after poking the camera men one at a time in a fit of sordid and lustful 'roid rage against the machine in dark days gone by. The sun rose up over the sad sight of matted fake fur and a hyperdermic needle hanging from Sweep's left (or was it right?) spaniel's ear. The carnage caused by this paraphenalia stung Matthew like an evil, deadly killer wasp with a serious hangover. Through all this, Sooty sat polishing his wand with quick hand movements that brought a tear to Matthew's eye, as his wand was in an orifice which it was irritating intensely, like Jade Goody irritates orifices every time she opens her legs or mouth. A badly packed kebab was Jade's downfall after spilling chilli sauce into her fat fibrous tits when then dribbled down towards her flabby thighs stinging her spaniel's ears by total pure fluke. "I'm getting nauseous" whimpered Matthew from underneath Jade's soft, pink and pendulous pulsating, throbbing and rather distateful bags of cellulite. "Do you feel guilty?" enquired Jade nasally, whilst Matthew wiped Chilli sauce off her chemotherapy drip which had Smirnoff and Coke inside, as that was her last wish. "Have you ever seen something you don't like but you can't help admiring, in a wholesome threesome type of way, but not unlike the vile depravities perpetrated by Jordan's platic surgeon, whilst her breasts and lips received his undivided attention"? "Bring on the trumpets!" shouted a deaf dwarf into the ears of a nearby basset hound which was sniffing a pair of Jade's knickers. "Don't be nasty to defenceless animals, or else I'll cut your weasely and wrinkled little scabby ingrowing, smelly and rather unpleasant little face off". Which is highly unfortunate for you, but not if you're off your head on prescription analgesics, a much preferrable state when self-administered surgical procedures go horribly wrong. "Like cleanliness, baldness is next to godliness, so we must be Gods!" said the slaphead gleefully while applying shoe polish with a trowel to her brand new iPhone. "Bugger, I didn't mean to ring my ex-Minister of Foreign Affairs with the nanny aren't making any sense at fish man basket time or just gone 6.37 and a few seconds.

Chapter 44

"The juxtaposition in my Karma Sutra is absolutely unbelievable when tried in real life" said a passing prostitute riding a big white crest of a wave to her as she's a great big fat is bad for you, like Humphrey's interjections, which sadly are all the worse for drink that's drunk at midnight by means of a lady's-sized riding hat. Surprisingly tasty, despite the fact the lady was sixty-nineing the customs official as a treat for letting her hide herrings in her secret dirty pouch in her valise. "It would be nice if everyone who contributed said Rupert Bear", as he played gin rummy on a saturday afternoon with Winnie the Pooh, who was a cheating honey-eating little fucker by all accounts. "Suck on my huge throbbing and distended purple shiny big toe. It hurts like a fucker," she snapped, dismissing all notion that anyone had sympathy for the devil. Mickey Mouse denied that Disney used to mistreat him; it was like Maushwitz according to Donald Duck, who is an interfering busybody with orange feet that have a rather serious smelly fungus condition. Whilst out in the Grand Scenic III, the King of Mesopotamia fondled the family configurator on the back seat alongside his courtesan, the beauteous female Brunei customs official who wore latex gloves and trimmed her mono-brow with eerie precision. Next vouchers couldn't persuade her mother to join in; it's John Lewis or an early bath for even thinking about alternatives! Marks and Spencer can detect enemy infiltrators from the way they dress-down on a Friday, and cross-dress on a whim and fancy. "Darling," said the Scottish Cyclops more commonly known as "Irn Broon The Fife Destroyer of the Union City Blues", Blondie's single and some would say, but only very occasionally, achievement. What do wombles think of this strange Scottish tennis player with adenoids the size of a pair of badgers? "Dunno," said Keran Matthews when asked to squishily waft through the transcript of her deranged rambling confessions of a Bristol window cleaner, which was an unfortunate sequel to Robin Asquith's tome of similar rubbish. Every new Jaffa Cake is tested thoroughly using a robotic French maid disguised cunningly as a freeloading Westminister member of the British Fraud Club. The duck island was Simon Cowell's latest televisual extravanza which rivalled Eurovision for its amazingly camp site full of pink caravans, tents and other temporary structures for holidays. "What just happened?" asked the Brunei Customs Offical as she twisted BeN's vowels before he did; "I'm really throbbing now!" cried Ben, vowels twisted in sympathy with historical reflections upon Indonesia's dodgy ethical stance on genetically modified pineapple groves. "Oh captain, my captain, it hurts when you smite me with that spikey yellow fruit. Stop! I want you to thrash Gordon Brown instead using a large piece rubber hose with a viciously serrated edge". "Marvellous!" agreed Nick Clegg, "suffer fools and die quietly". "D'you mean Gordon Brown?" Texture like sun, lays himself open to abuse?" Never heard The Stranglers cry out in vain except that one time when Smokey sang with the Four Tops and their geriatric voice coaches.

Chapter 45

"Christ on a bike" shouted a passing cyclist wearing sandals, robe, beard and very little else, as he spotted Germaine Greer's snatch under her transparent summer dress, which is enough to cause much burning of jock-straps by sensible gentlemen everywhere. The smell, mind you, is used by Dior....
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Big TC · Posted: Fri Jun 19, 2009 7:07 pm Post subject:

to scare off passing
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It's a '57 Pontiac Star Chief, dontchaknow.

DarthBalls · Posted: Mon Jun 22, 2009 12:37 pm Post subject:

gypsies, tramps and thieves
_________________
Leaves your gusset lemon fresh...

Big TC · Posted: Mon Jun 22, 2009 4:07 pm Post subject:

as they're often troublesome.
_________________

It's a '57 Pontiac Star Chief, dontchaknow.

Racing · Posted: Mon Jun 22, 2009 4:14 pm Post subject:

Sella coupla bottles of
_________________

DarthBalls · Posted: Mon Jun 22, 2009 6:01 pm Post subject:

poof juice would ya?
_________________
Leaves your gusset lemon fresh...

Big TC · Posted: Mon Jun 22, 2009 8:13 pm Post subject:

were the opening lines
_________________

It's a '57 Pontiac Star Chief, dontchaknow.

Racing · Posted: Mon Jun 22, 2009 9:43 pm Post subject:

of Ayatollah Khamenei's greatest
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DarthBalls · Posted: Tue Jun 23, 2009 8:15 am Post subject:

ever Call To Prayer
_________________
Leaves your gusset lemon fresh...

Big TC · Posted: Tue Jun 23, 2009 10:55 am Post subject:

before his unfortunate accident
_________________

It's a '57 Pontiac Star Chief, dontchaknow.

Racing · Posted: Tue Jun 23, 2009 12:40 pm Post subject:

with an Oerlikon anti-aircraft
_________________

Big TC · Posted: Tue Jun 23, 2009 8:37 pm Post subject:

cannon which discharged itself
_________________

It's a '57 Pontiac Star Chief, dontchaknow.

DarthBalls · Posted: Wed Jun 24, 2009 10:35 am Post subject:

with the power of
_________________
Leaves your gusset lemon fresh...

DarthBalls · Posted: Wed Jun 24, 2009 10:35 am Post subject:

an altarboy starved priest
_________________
Leaves your gusset lemon fresh...

Racing · Posted: Wed Jun 24, 2009 11:22 am Post subject:

all over the crowds
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Big TC · Posted: Wed Jun 24, 2009 1:47 pm Post subject:

who stood idolising their
_________________

It's a '57 Pontiac Star Chief, dontchaknow.

DarthBalls · Posted: Thu Jun 25, 2009 8:35 am Post subject:

idols as idolaters tend
_________________
Leaves your gusset lemon fresh...

Racing · Posted: Fri Jun 26, 2009 9:59 am Post subject:

to beatify Michael Jackson
_________________

DarthBalls · Posted: Fri Jun 26, 2009 1:18 pm Post subject:

, pervy prince of pop, who popped his cloggs
_________________
Leaves your gusset lemon fresh...

Big TC · Posted: Fri Jun 26, 2009 6:16 pm Post subject:

surrounded by adoring children...

(back to 4 words, huh Darth?)
_________________

It's a '57 Pontiac Star Chief, dontchaknow.

DarthBalls · Posted: Mon Jun 29, 2009 8:38 am Post subject:

Four are never enough
_________________
Leaves your gusset lemon fresh...

Big TC · Posted: Mon Jun 29, 2009 12:10 pm Post subject:

for someone as troubled
_________________

It's a '57 Pontiac Star Chief, dontchaknow.

Racing · Posted: Mon Jun 29, 2009 2:13 pm Post subject:

by megalomania and other
_________________

Big TC · Posted: Mon Jun 29, 2009 10:05 pm Post subject:

ailments suffered by dictators
_________________

It's a '57 Pontiac Star Chief, dontchaknow.

DarthBalls · Posted: Tue Jun 30, 2009 12:05 pm Post subject:

and plastic Sith Lords
_________________
Leaves your gusset lemon fresh...

Big TC · Posted: Tue Jun 30, 2009 1:36 pm Post subject:

. "Oooh matron," screamed the
_________________

It's a '57 Pontiac Star Chief, dontchaknow.

Racing · Posted: Tue Jun 30, 2009 1:39 pm Post subject:

Conservative back benches as
_________________

DarthBalls · Posted: Tue Jun 30, 2009 1:44 pm Post subject:

bouncy, buxom, beautiful brunette
_________________
Leaves your gusset lemon fresh...

Racing · Posted: Tue Jun 30, 2009 1:53 pm Post subject:

Harriet Harman daintily offered
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