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I have just intercepted another extract from Dale Winton's diary. It bears important news of unfathomable danger. We must take appropriate measures immediately...
07:10 Awoke from my slumber and wiped off the milk that I had slept in. Hoo-ray. It's another Dale day, but of course, every day in Dale's house is a Dale-day, hoo-ray! Aren't I great. I was pleased with the work that I had done the previous day [please see earlier thread] and was keen to press on (ooh-er) with my plans. I had cunningly guessed (ooh-er) that I would need a new ally in my war on the world of video-game-entertainment, Trisha and Cheggers were of no use to me now: they had fallen to the enemy and were shooting off at each other (ooh-er) on the latest Atari. Booo.
08:00 The phone rang. It was Jamie. Hoo-ray. I knew the naked chef would save my bacon. The convo went a little something like this:
"Awight Dale? Ith Jamie here..."
"Well, hello Jamiewamie Oliver, hoo-ray! Are you here to save my bacon. Do you get it: my bacon, and you're a chef... it's a joke, aren't I funny, hoo-ray!"
"Thath right Dale. Lithen, I've got a really thweet plan me-ol-rusty-flute-and-cockerthpaniel. We're gonna nail thothe gaming companieth onthe and for all... happy dayth mate, happy dayth..."
"Jamiewamiedamie, you cheeky food-monger you, are you thinking what I'm thinking. I think so. Hoo-ray. With my licking skills and your spontaneous dribbly-mouth-fountain skills, we'll take these suckers out (ooh-er) Hoo-ray. Hold on one mo Jamiewamie, I've just got to slide this tab of LSD under my eyelid... yep... that's it..."
"tho, where shall we take over today, I reckon Eth-R would be a good plaith to thtart, just thqueeze thome lemon juith, and thome dribble, jutht bung in thome freth bathil, a few more dropth of nithe phlegm, a bit of thalt... bang... nithe one... pukka... Bobth your uncle... happy daythe mate, happy daythe..."
"OK Jamiewamielaymebaby, I think we should meet up at the Egham branch, because I already own a holiday-home in the flat above it, and I'm already there... er, here... Hoo-ray. Mind you I've never gone all the way down (ooh-er). Meet up on my doorstep at 18:00 darling, and we'll get down to business (ooh-er) Hoo-ray... hoo-ray"
"Happy daythe mate, happy daythe"
"Um... is that a yes or a no?"
"Happy daythe"
"I'll need an answer Jamewamiemaybedegrademe..."
"Nithe One... Happy daythe mate..."
I took that as a yes and hung up on the blithering idiot. I knew he'd blow the job (ooh-er) if I didn't convince him to stop saying Happy Days, because when he grins, the spittle can be deflected to the sides, and so the stream of saliva and bits of partly chewed organic food becomes unpredictable. I could even be at risk.
09:00 Got on the big-lurve train (a special Virgin service for camp game show hosts) to meet Jamie.
10:00 Arrived at Paddington. Remembered the meeting was at my flat, and much later. Got back on the big-lurve train.
11:30 Got back to my beautiful holiday-home in sunny Egham and brunched on a sumptous buffet of Ryvita, Bran Flakes, All Bran, sand, marzipan and Kat Krispies. Of course, no liquids for me... I'm no fool. I've seen what drink can do to people and it aint nice.
12:00 Had my weekly marmite enema to clear the gut of residual fibres, and then relaxed in my lounge. I was watching my video collection of old shopping channel classics and became restless. I had 6 hours to kill until the big meet and the acid was beginning to kick in. I locked myself in my time-delay safe so that I would come (ooh-er) to no harm until Jamie got here.
12:01 Sat inside the locked safe with my diary and some old Argos catalogues for entertainment. Ha, when I win this war, everyone will be reading old Argos catalogues. They will clear John Menzies of PSW, Edge and Gamesmaster and put old Argos catalogues there alongside the TV guides scheduling only me and Jamie.
12:02 Oh no. I had absolutely no recollection of setting the timer on the safe. Oh boo.
18:05 Was stirred from my vivid transcendent hallucinations I was experiencing within my safe, by the sounds of Jamie Oliver's dribble washing under the door. But I could not speak. I had the Argos catalogues in my mouth, and could not find my arms with which to extract them. Oh boo. But someday soon, I will escape from this Banham ultra-lock 2065 and wreak my havoc on the gaming world... I will be back.
-----------------
So, you've all been given ample warning. He's out there. And wherever he goes, the Naked Chef will surely not be far behind. So, next time you're gazing upon the shelves of games, and you feel a drop of oozy spit on the back of your neck, or hear the rustle of Dale's tongue in the distance, RUN.
07:10 Awoke from my slumber and wiped off the milk that I had slept in. Hoo-ray. It's another Dale day, but of course, every day in Dale's house is a Dale-day, hoo-ray! Aren't I great. I was pleased with the work that I had done the previous day [please see earlier thread] and was keen to press on (ooh-er) with my plans. I had cunningly guessed (ooh-er) that I would need a new ally in my war on the world of video-game-entertainment, Trisha and Cheggers were of no use to me now: they had fallen to the enemy and were shooting off at each other (ooh-er) on the latest Atari. Booo.
08:00 The phone rang. It was Jamie. Hoo-ray. I knew the naked chef would save my bacon. The convo went a little something like this:
"Awight Dale? Ith Jamie here..."
"Well, hello Jamiewamie Oliver, hoo-ray! Are you here to save my bacon. Do you get it: my bacon, and you're a chef... it's a joke, aren't I funny, hoo-ray!"
"Thath right Dale. Lithen, I've got a really thweet plan me-ol-rusty-flute-and-cockerthpaniel. We're gonna nail thothe gaming companieth onthe and for all... happy dayth mate, happy dayth..."
"Jamiewamiedamie, you cheeky food-monger you, are you thinking what I'm thinking. I think so. Hoo-ray. With my licking skills and your spontaneous dribbly-mouth-fountain skills, we'll take these suckers out (ooh-er) Hoo-ray. Hold on one mo Jamiewamie, I've just got to slide this tab of LSD under my eyelid... yep... that's it..."
"tho, where shall we take over today, I reckon Eth-R would be a good plaith to thtart, just thqueeze thome lemon juith, and thome dribble, jutht bung in thome freth bathil, a few more dropth of nithe phlegm, a bit of thalt... bang... nithe one... pukka... Bobth your uncle... happy daythe mate, happy daythe..."
"OK Jamiewamielaymebaby, I think we should meet up at the Egham branch, because I already own a holiday-home in the flat above it, and I'm already there... er, here... Hoo-ray. Mind you I've never gone all the way down (ooh-er). Meet up on my doorstep at 18:00 darling, and we'll get down to business (ooh-er) Hoo-ray... hoo-ray"
"Happy daythe mate, happy daythe"
"Um... is that a yes or a no?"
"Happy daythe"
"I'll need an answer Jamewamiemaybedegrademe..."
"Nithe One... Happy daythe mate..."
I took that as a yes and hung up on the blithering idiot. I knew he'd blow the job (ooh-er) if I didn't convince him to stop saying Happy Days, because when he grins, the spittle can be deflected to the sides, and so the stream of saliva and bits of partly chewed organic food becomes unpredictable. I could even be at risk.
09:00 Got on the big-lurve train (a special Virgin service for camp game show hosts) to meet Jamie.
10:00 Arrived at Paddington. Remembered the meeting was at my flat, and much later. Got back on the big-lurve train.
11:30 Got back to my beautiful holiday-home in sunny Egham and brunched on a sumptous buffet of Ryvita, Bran Flakes, All Bran, sand, marzipan and Kat Krispies. Of course, no liquids for me... I'm no fool. I've seen what drink can do to people and it aint nice.
12:00 Had my weekly marmite enema to clear the gut of residual fibres, and then relaxed in my lounge. I was watching my video collection of old shopping channel classics and became restless. I had 6 hours to kill until the big meet and the acid was beginning to kick in. I locked myself in my time-delay safe so that I would come (ooh-er) to no harm until Jamie got here.
12:01 Sat inside the locked safe with my diary and some old Argos catalogues for entertainment. Ha, when I win this war, everyone will be reading old Argos catalogues. They will clear John Menzies of PSW, Edge and Gamesmaster and put old Argos catalogues there alongside the TV guides scheduling only me and Jamie.
12:02 Oh no. I had absolutely no recollection of setting the timer on the safe. Oh boo.
18:05 Was stirred from my vivid transcendent hallucinations I was experiencing within my safe, by the sounds of Jamie Oliver's dribble washing under the door. But I could not speak. I had the Argos catalogues in my mouth, and could not find my arms with which to extract them. Oh boo. But someday soon, I will escape from this Banham ultra-lock 2065 and wreak my havoc on the gaming world... I will be back.
-----------------
So, you've all been given ample warning. He's out there. And wherever he goes, the Naked Chef will surely not be far behind. So, next time you're gazing upon the shelves of games, and you feel a drop of oozy spit on the back of your neck, or hear the rustle of Dale's tongue in the distance, RUN.
Mystique wrote:
> Hoo-Ray!
that's the spirit!
Hoo-ray!
> Hoo-Ray!
that's the spirit!
Hoo-ray!
Hoo-Ray!
Um... OK Davio...?
I have just intercepted another extract from Dale Winton's diary. It bears important news of unfathomable danger. We must take appropriate measures immediately...
07:10 Awoke from my slumber and wiped off the milk that I had slept in. Hoo-ray. It's another Dale day, but of course, every day in Dale's house is a Dale-day, hoo-ray! Aren't I great. I was pleased with the work that I had done the previous day [please see earlier thread] and was keen to press on (ooh-er) with my plans. I had cunningly guessed (ooh-er) that I would need a new ally in my war on the world of video-game-entertainment, Trisha and Cheggers were of no use to me now: they had fallen to the enemy and were shooting off at each other (ooh-er) on the latest Atari. Booo.
08:00 The phone rang. It was Jamie. Hoo-ray. I knew the naked chef would save my bacon. The convo went a little something like this:
"Awight Dale? Ith Jamie here..."
"Well, hello Jamiewamie Oliver, hoo-ray! Are you here to save my bacon. Do you get it: my bacon, and you're a chef... it's a joke, aren't I funny, hoo-ray!"
"Thath right Dale. Lithen, I've got a really thweet plan me-ol-rusty-flute-and-cockerthpaniel. We're gonna nail thothe gaming companieth onthe and for all... happy dayth mate, happy dayth..."
"Jamiewamiedamie, you cheeky food-monger you, are you thinking what I'm thinking. I think so. Hoo-ray. With my licking skills and your spontaneous dribbly-mouth-fountain skills, we'll take these suckers out (ooh-er) Hoo-ray. Hold on one mo Jamiewamie, I've just got to slide this tab of LSD under my eyelid... yep... that's it..."
"tho, where shall we take over today, I reckon Eth-R would be a good plaith to thtart, just thqueeze thome lemon juith, and thome dribble, jutht bung in thome freth bathil, a few more dropth of nithe phlegm, a bit of thalt... bang... nithe one... pukka... Bobth your uncle... happy daythe mate, happy daythe..."
"OK Jamiewamielaymebaby, I think we should meet up at the Egham branch, because I already own a holiday-home in the flat above it, and I'm already there... er, here... Hoo-ray. Mind you I've never gone all the way down (ooh-er). Meet up on my doorstep at 18:00 darling, and we'll get down to business (ooh-er) Hoo-ray... hoo-ray"
"Happy daythe mate, happy daythe"
"Um... is that a yes or a no?"
"Happy daythe"
"I'll need an answer Jamewamiemaybedegrademe..."
"Nithe One... Happy daythe mate..."
I took that as a yes and hung up on the blithering idiot. I knew he'd blow the job (ooh-er) if I didn't convince him to stop saying Happy Days, because when he grins, the spittle can be deflected to the sides, and so the stream of saliva and bits of partly chewed organic food becomes unpredictable. I could even be at risk.
09:00 Got on the big-lurve train (a special Virgin service for camp game show hosts) to meet Jamie.
10:00 Arrived at Paddington. Remembered the meeting was at my flat, and much later. Got back on the big-lurve train.
11:30 Got back to my beautiful holiday-home in sunny Egham and brunched on a sumptous buffet of Ryvita, Bran Flakes, All Bran, sand, marzipan and Kat Krispies. Of course, no liquids for me... I'm no fool. I've seen what drink can do to people and it aint nice.
12:00 Had my weekly marmite enema to clear the gut of residual fibres, and then relaxed in my lounge. I was watching my video collection of old shopping channel classics and became restless. I had 6 hours to kill until the big meet and the acid was beginning to kick in. I locked myself in my time-delay safe so that I would come (ooh-er) to no harm until Jamie got here.
12:01 Sat inside the locked safe with my diary and some old Argos catalogues for entertainment. Ha, when I win this war, everyone will be reading old Argos catalogues. They will clear John Menzies of PSW, Edge and Gamesmaster and put old Argos catalogues there alongside the TV guides scheduling only me and Jamie.
12:02 Oh no. I had absolutely no recollection of setting the timer on the safe. Oh boo.
18:05 Was stirred from my vivid transcendent hallucinations I was experiencing within my safe, by the sounds of Jamie Oliver's dribble washing under the door. But I could not speak. I had the Argos catalogues in my mouth, and could not find my arms with which to extract them. Oh boo. But someday soon, I will escape from this Banham ultra-lock 2065 and wreak my havoc on the gaming world... I will be back.
-----------------
So, you've all been given ample warning. He's out there. And wherever he goes, the Naked Chef will surely not be far behind. So, next time you're gazing upon the shelves of games, and you feel a drop of oozy spit on the back of your neck, or hear the rustle of Dale's tongue in the distance, RUN.
07:10 Awoke from my slumber and wiped off the milk that I had slept in. Hoo-ray. It's another Dale day, but of course, every day in Dale's house is a Dale-day, hoo-ray! Aren't I great. I was pleased with the work that I had done the previous day [please see earlier thread] and was keen to press on (ooh-er) with my plans. I had cunningly guessed (ooh-er) that I would need a new ally in my war on the world of video-game-entertainment, Trisha and Cheggers were of no use to me now: they had fallen to the enemy and were shooting off at each other (ooh-er) on the latest Atari. Booo.
08:00 The phone rang. It was Jamie. Hoo-ray. I knew the naked chef would save my bacon. The convo went a little something like this:
"Awight Dale? Ith Jamie here..."
"Well, hello Jamiewamie Oliver, hoo-ray! Are you here to save my bacon. Do you get it: my bacon, and you're a chef... it's a joke, aren't I funny, hoo-ray!"
"Thath right Dale. Lithen, I've got a really thweet plan me-ol-rusty-flute-and-cockerthpaniel. We're gonna nail thothe gaming companieth onthe and for all... happy dayth mate, happy dayth..."
"Jamiewamiedamie, you cheeky food-monger you, are you thinking what I'm thinking. I think so. Hoo-ray. With my licking skills and your spontaneous dribbly-mouth-fountain skills, we'll take these suckers out (ooh-er) Hoo-ray. Hold on one mo Jamiewamie, I've just got to slide this tab of LSD under my eyelid... yep... that's it..."
"tho, where shall we take over today, I reckon Eth-R would be a good plaith to thtart, just thqueeze thome lemon juith, and thome dribble, jutht bung in thome freth bathil, a few more dropth of nithe phlegm, a bit of thalt... bang... nithe one... pukka... Bobth your uncle... happy daythe mate, happy daythe..."
"OK Jamiewamielaymebaby, I think we should meet up at the Egham branch, because I already own a holiday-home in the flat above it, and I'm already there... er, here... Hoo-ray. Mind you I've never gone all the way down (ooh-er). Meet up on my doorstep at 18:00 darling, and we'll get down to business (ooh-er) Hoo-ray... hoo-ray"
"Happy daythe mate, happy daythe"
"Um... is that a yes or a no?"
"Happy daythe"
"I'll need an answer Jamewamiemaybedegrademe..."
"Nithe One... Happy daythe mate..."
I took that as a yes and hung up on the blithering idiot. I knew he'd blow the job (ooh-er) if I didn't convince him to stop saying Happy Days, because when he grins, the spittle can be deflected to the sides, and so the stream of saliva and bits of partly chewed organic food becomes unpredictable. I could even be at risk.
09:00 Got on the big-lurve train (a special Virgin service for camp game show hosts) to meet Jamie.
10:00 Arrived at Paddington. Remembered the meeting was at my flat, and much later. Got back on the big-lurve train.
11:30 Got back to my beautiful holiday-home in sunny Egham and brunched on a sumptous buffet of Ryvita, Bran Flakes, All Bran, sand, marzipan and Kat Krispies. Of course, no liquids for me... I'm no fool. I've seen what drink can do to people and it aint nice.
12:00 Had my weekly marmite enema to clear the gut of residual fibres, and then relaxed in my lounge. I was watching my video collection of old shopping channel classics and became restless. I had 6 hours to kill until the big meet and the acid was beginning to kick in. I locked myself in my time-delay safe so that I would come (ooh-er) to no harm until Jamie got here.
12:01 Sat inside the locked safe with my diary and some old Argos catalogues for entertainment. Ha, when I win this war, everyone will be reading old Argos catalogues. They will clear John Menzies of PSW, Edge and Gamesmaster and put old Argos catalogues there alongside the TV guides scheduling only me and Jamie.
12:02 Oh no. I had absolutely no recollection of setting the timer on the safe. Oh boo.
18:05 Was stirred from my vivid transcendent hallucinations I was experiencing within my safe, by the sounds of Jamie Oliver's dribble washing under the door. But I could not speak. I had the Argos catalogues in my mouth, and could not find my arms with which to extract them. Oh boo. But someday soon, I will escape from this Banham ultra-lock 2065 and wreak my havoc on the gaming world... I will be back.
-----------------
So, you've all been given ample warning. He's out there. And wherever he goes, the Naked Chef will surely not be far behind. So, next time you're gazing upon the shelves of games, and you feel a drop of oozy spit on the back of your neck, or hear the rustle of Dale's tongue in the distance, RUN.