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Right, I'm moving this here from Prime. No-one ever goes in there any more.
It's a spoof of Bridget Jones's Diary, but instead stars AliBoy as a drunk Scottish tart. With Comical Cameos e.t.c from Grix as a Oxford uni chap, Ant as someone, Pb as a barman, Mr Happy as someone who gets chucked in the canal and Rasta as a midget with a Gamecube.
Right, here's January's entries (remove spaces):
http://ukchatforums.reserve.co.uk/ display_messages.php?threadid=35239&forumid=419
And February's entries (remove spaces):
http://ukchatforums.reserve.co.uk/ display_messages.php?threadid=39318&forumid=419
And I'll start with the few March entries I posted in Prime, and carry on from there. Cool.
March 1
Ah, a new month, time for new ideas and new things to happen in my life. Starting with finding clothes for...damn...
"What was your name again?" I asked.
"Shut the fun up, AliBoy. You're beginning to funning pee me off,you know." said Ant, who was driving.
"You're funning touchy you know that, Ant?" I reply.
"Oh, go fun your bird."
"Right you are."
I dive back into the mess of clothing and luggage in the back.
We've been driving all day. Not exactly sure where we are heading. By the time we arrived at the Channel Tunnel, Pb was proclaimed technically insane by me and Grix. Grix has a beard, so he knows stuff. Pb muttered a bit in response. Happy still hasn't emerged from his case. I'm debating giving him a rattle. Rasta is attempting to breast-feed the GBA's. Seems puzzled.
March 2
Alcohol Units: Ah, sweet alcohol. Oh yeah, 62.
We're in Germany, maybe. I can't see fat people in leiderhosen. Except for Pb, of course. Hm.
We stop at our destination. The best place in Germany. The airport.
"Let's get the fun out of this funning country." muttered Grix. Ant nods and picks up Happy's suitcase. Rasta doesn't move. I get dressed and get out, along with the girl.
"Rasta, get out."
"I can't! The kids haven't ever flown before! They'll get deep circuit thrombisis."
"...T**. Get up."
Muttering, he pats the kids and tells them it'll be alright. Note to self: Sell Rasta for beer money.
"So, what is your name?" I ask.
"..." she begins.
"No, don't tell me. BigBreast? No, been done?"
"No, it's K..."
"Excellent! Knockers it is. Come along."
We buy tickets for...LAS VEGAS! Muah. Did I just write Muah? So I did. Fancy that. Pb is prancing around in his leiderhosen. He seems very proud of them.
March 3
Long plane journey so far. I'm tired, and I need a dump.
Knockers is entwining my hair in her fingers and whispering sweet nothings in my ear. Heh, I know what to do here.
"SWEET JESUS! WILL YOU KNOCK IT OFF! I'm TRYING to sleep. JE-SUS!"
Hm, she seems affronted. Maybe I'd better leave for a while.
"I'm just going to the toilet." I whisper to her, aware that everyone is watching.
"Gotcha." She winks. Strange.
I go to the toilet and proceed to start the titanic process of laying a dump larger than Wales. Knockers opens the door.
"Hey, Big Boy." she whispers. What the hell is she doing interrupting my dump? She sits on my lap. Oooooh..
March 4
Excellent. We're landing in Las Vegas, I've had sex in a toilet, and laid a massive dump.
"That was brilliant." she whispers to me.
"Yeah, it was rather good. But it didn't block the toilet."
We get rooms at Caesar's Palace. I see no Caesar. And where's the funning palace? I demand my money back, or at least sex from the owner. Providing she's female. If he's male then Grix can have his fun.
I am sharing a massive room with Knockers. Big big double bed. This definitely means that riding is on the activities list.
Oh, it actually is. Cool.
I slap my hands together.
"Right then, shall we?"
"But I want to have fun in Las Vegas!"
"Yes, I'm sure you do......" I say. "Sex?"
"Is that all you think about!"
"Um, pretty much."
"I'm going to go swimming!"
"I know an easier way to get wet."
Excellent.
To Do:
Replinish stock of contraceptives. Preventatives. Sigh...Condoms, stop reading over my shoulder, Rasta.
Steal some old persons "chips" and spend them on "slot machines."
Fully investigate Knockers' slot machine.
March 5
Vegas bores me already. I haven't found any all-American ho's, the toilets refuse to block matter how much partially digested faeces I anally-propell down them.
I'm leaving. I've lost Knockers though. I half-heartedly ask at the reception if she's in the lost property box.
"Have you got a big-breasted woman in there?"
"No."
"OK. Erm, do you have any condoms? I've run out."
"This isn't a shop, sir."
"Of course it isn't. Any Archers?"
"No, sir."
"Right, right, it's lost property. Have you got the keys to a car?"
"Yes sir. If you could tell me which car they are?"
"Erm, Ford Escort."
"No, sir."
"Damn."
"Could sir please leave? The queue is quite considerable."
"Yes, I've noticed that it's quite considerable."
I look at the girl. Well, to be honest, I look at her dirtypillows.
"I've also noticed your chest area is quite considerable. Particuarly the bit with breasts on. Fancy a quick one?"
"No, sir. Is there anything else you want from lost property?"
"Er, got a dinosaur?"
I get kicked out of the casino, along with pb and happy. Grix saunters out along with Ant after a while.
"Lost your girlfriend, AliBoy?"
"Yeah, seems like it."
"Never mind, place an insurance claim when you get home. Where shall we go next?" muttered pb.
"How about Wales? I want to see my homeland!" said Ant.
"You're not Welsh!"
"I could be."
"Ant, shut up. I know, let's go to Wales." said Grix.
"Stupid idea. I've got a better one. Let's go to Wales." suggested Happy.
"Great idea."
We get on Welsh Airlines. The airline meal is leeks with some more leeks washed down with coal.
"First Welsh person I meet, I'm going to kill him. With a leek. Up his arrs." I said. And I mean it.
The air hostess turns out to be Welsh.
March 6
I wake up in the crew section. The Welsh stewardess is beside me, naked. Excellent. So is a big burly Welsh bloke. This is not so good.
"Have we landed?" he asks.
"Yes, it appears we have."
"Bloody excellent boyo."
He hurls me from an emergency exit. Oh fuuuuuuuuucccccc....
Oh well, at least I got some sex. They took me home to Oxford to hospital for my broken ribs and strained genetials. When I get home, I notice something's wrong. Grix is with me. Our eyes meet.
"Oh crap, we left Rasta in Vegas!"
March 7
So me and Grix, after calling an emergency meeting including no-one else, as Pb didn't answer the phone and Ant was generous enough to say "Fun off you idiots I don't funning give a fun."
"Nice chap." I said as I hung up.
"Right, so I recommend we call the airline, the casino and the travel agency, offering a reward if they find him?" said Grix, producing a notebook.
I consider this.
"Or...We could just go down the pub?"
"Superb."
After all, it was the sporting thing to do. Pb might be in trouble as he wasn't answering.
So off we trot to the Buggered Ploughman (for twas the name of his pub) and tutted at the sign over the door of a rural type getting accousted with a implement of harvest.
"Looks like you." I note as we enter.
"Yeah, fair point."
"PPBBBBBBBBBBBBBBB!" I yell. "Two pints please."
Then I trip over something. It's Pb.
"You alright, Pb? Done your back in trying to lift your cases, one of which contain Mr Happy still folded in half?"
"Sod off." muttered the barman.
"So he's fine then. Let's help ourselves."
"You're going to pay for this!" growled Pb, not moving.
"Maybe. Bar tabs sometimes get paid."
Then Ant kicked the door open.
"Something wrong with pb?"
"Yup." said Grix, pouring himself a pint of Rodgered Hen.
"Ah. I'll have a pint thanks Grix."
"You just going to step over me?" cried Pb increduously.
"Yeah, it looks that way."
I discover something under the bar in a plastic blue bottle. It looks like a new drink to me.
Oops...
March 8
I wake up outside my flat in a strange position. Grix is some way down the corridor, in an intimate position with a flowerpot. Ant is animatedly trying to convert an Arab to Christianity.
"Ant, he's Muslim. Give it up." I mutter.
"What?"
"The towel thing he's wearing give it away."
The Arab muttered something in Arabic. Probably.
"What he say?" said Ant.
"Sod off, I reckon. Where's my keys?"
"You left them at Pb's."
"Why would I do that?"
"I don't know. Why are you wearing a tutu?"
I look down. And grin manically.
"Haven't the slightest. I'll be back shortly."
I walk into the Ploughman staggering slightly. Pb looks up, grinning happily.
"Ah, it's you. Did you drink the contents of this bottle?"
He hold out the blue bottle.
"Yeah, we might have done." Pb grinned more.
"Excellent, you owe me a litre of bleach."
It's a spoof of Bridget Jones's Diary, but instead stars AliBoy as a drunk Scottish tart. With Comical Cameos e.t.c from Grix as a Oxford uni chap, Ant as someone, Pb as a barman, Mr Happy as someone who gets chucked in the canal and Rasta as a midget with a Gamecube.
Right, here's January's entries (remove spaces):
http://ukchatforums.reserve.co.uk/ display_messages.php?threadid=35239&forumid=419
And February's entries (remove spaces):
http://ukchatforums.reserve.co.uk/ display_messages.php?threadid=39318&forumid=419
And I'll start with the few March entries I posted in Prime, and carry on from there. Cool.
March 1
Ah, a new month, time for new ideas and new things to happen in my life. Starting with finding clothes for...damn...
"What was your name again?" I asked.
"Shut the fun up, AliBoy. You're beginning to funning pee me off,you know." said Ant, who was driving.
"You're funning touchy you know that, Ant?" I reply.
"Oh, go fun your bird."
"Right you are."
I dive back into the mess of clothing and luggage in the back.
We've been driving all day. Not exactly sure where we are heading. By the time we arrived at the Channel Tunnel, Pb was proclaimed technically insane by me and Grix. Grix has a beard, so he knows stuff. Pb muttered a bit in response. Happy still hasn't emerged from his case. I'm debating giving him a rattle. Rasta is attempting to breast-feed the GBA's. Seems puzzled.
March 2
Alcohol Units: Ah, sweet alcohol. Oh yeah, 62.
We're in Germany, maybe. I can't see fat people in leiderhosen. Except for Pb, of course. Hm.
We stop at our destination. The best place in Germany. The airport.
"Let's get the fun out of this funning country." muttered Grix. Ant nods and picks up Happy's suitcase. Rasta doesn't move. I get dressed and get out, along with the girl.
"Rasta, get out."
"I can't! The kids haven't ever flown before! They'll get deep circuit thrombisis."
"...T**. Get up."
Muttering, he pats the kids and tells them it'll be alright. Note to self: Sell Rasta for beer money.
"So, what is your name?" I ask.
"..." she begins.
"No, don't tell me. BigBreast? No, been done?"
"No, it's K..."
"Excellent! Knockers it is. Come along."
We buy tickets for...LAS VEGAS! Muah. Did I just write Muah? So I did. Fancy that. Pb is prancing around in his leiderhosen. He seems very proud of them.
March 3
Long plane journey so far. I'm tired, and I need a dump.
Knockers is entwining my hair in her fingers and whispering sweet nothings in my ear. Heh, I know what to do here.
"SWEET JESUS! WILL YOU KNOCK IT OFF! I'm TRYING to sleep. JE-SUS!"
Hm, she seems affronted. Maybe I'd better leave for a while.
"I'm just going to the toilet." I whisper to her, aware that everyone is watching.
"Gotcha." She winks. Strange.
I go to the toilet and proceed to start the titanic process of laying a dump larger than Wales. Knockers opens the door.
"Hey, Big Boy." she whispers. What the hell is she doing interrupting my dump? She sits on my lap. Oooooh..
March 4
Excellent. We're landing in Las Vegas, I've had sex in a toilet, and laid a massive dump.
"That was brilliant." she whispers to me.
"Yeah, it was rather good. But it didn't block the toilet."
We get rooms at Caesar's Palace. I see no Caesar. And where's the funning palace? I demand my money back, or at least sex from the owner. Providing she's female. If he's male then Grix can have his fun.
I am sharing a massive room with Knockers. Big big double bed. This definitely means that riding is on the activities list.
Oh, it actually is. Cool.
I slap my hands together.
"Right then, shall we?"
"But I want to have fun in Las Vegas!"
"Yes, I'm sure you do......" I say. "Sex?"
"Is that all you think about!"
"Um, pretty much."
"I'm going to go swimming!"
"I know an easier way to get wet."
Excellent.
To Do:
Replinish stock of contraceptives. Preventatives. Sigh...Condoms, stop reading over my shoulder, Rasta.
Steal some old persons "chips" and spend them on "slot machines."
Fully investigate Knockers' slot machine.
March 5
Vegas bores me already. I haven't found any all-American ho's, the toilets refuse to block matter how much partially digested faeces I anally-propell down them.
I'm leaving. I've lost Knockers though. I half-heartedly ask at the reception if she's in the lost property box.
"Have you got a big-breasted woman in there?"
"No."
"OK. Erm, do you have any condoms? I've run out."
"This isn't a shop, sir."
"Of course it isn't. Any Archers?"
"No, sir."
"Right, right, it's lost property. Have you got the keys to a car?"
"Yes sir. If you could tell me which car they are?"
"Erm, Ford Escort."
"No, sir."
"Damn."
"Could sir please leave? The queue is quite considerable."
"Yes, I've noticed that it's quite considerable."
I look at the girl. Well, to be honest, I look at her dirtypillows.
"I've also noticed your chest area is quite considerable. Particuarly the bit with breasts on. Fancy a quick one?"
"No, sir. Is there anything else you want from lost property?"
"Er, got a dinosaur?"
I get kicked out of the casino, along with pb and happy. Grix saunters out along with Ant after a while.
"Lost your girlfriend, AliBoy?"
"Yeah, seems like it."
"Never mind, place an insurance claim when you get home. Where shall we go next?" muttered pb.
"How about Wales? I want to see my homeland!" said Ant.
"You're not Welsh!"
"I could be."
"Ant, shut up. I know, let's go to Wales." said Grix.
"Stupid idea. I've got a better one. Let's go to Wales." suggested Happy.
"Great idea."
We get on Welsh Airlines. The airline meal is leeks with some more leeks washed down with coal.
"First Welsh person I meet, I'm going to kill him. With a leek. Up his arrs." I said. And I mean it.
The air hostess turns out to be Welsh.
March 6
I wake up in the crew section. The Welsh stewardess is beside me, naked. Excellent. So is a big burly Welsh bloke. This is not so good.
"Have we landed?" he asks.
"Yes, it appears we have."
"Bloody excellent boyo."
He hurls me from an emergency exit. Oh fuuuuuuuuucccccc....
Oh well, at least I got some sex. They took me home to Oxford to hospital for my broken ribs and strained genetials. When I get home, I notice something's wrong. Grix is with me. Our eyes meet.
"Oh crap, we left Rasta in Vegas!"
March 7
So me and Grix, after calling an emergency meeting including no-one else, as Pb didn't answer the phone and Ant was generous enough to say "Fun off you idiots I don't funning give a fun."
"Nice chap." I said as I hung up.
"Right, so I recommend we call the airline, the casino and the travel agency, offering a reward if they find him?" said Grix, producing a notebook.
I consider this.
"Or...We could just go down the pub?"
"Superb."
After all, it was the sporting thing to do. Pb might be in trouble as he wasn't answering.
So off we trot to the Buggered Ploughman (for twas the name of his pub) and tutted at the sign over the door of a rural type getting accousted with a implement of harvest.
"Looks like you." I note as we enter.
"Yeah, fair point."
"PPBBBBBBBBBBBBBBB!" I yell. "Two pints please."
Then I trip over something. It's Pb.
"You alright, Pb? Done your back in trying to lift your cases, one of which contain Mr Happy still folded in half?"
"Sod off." muttered the barman.
"So he's fine then. Let's help ourselves."
"You're going to pay for this!" growled Pb, not moving.
"Maybe. Bar tabs sometimes get paid."
Then Ant kicked the door open.
"Something wrong with pb?"
"Yup." said Grix, pouring himself a pint of Rodgered Hen.
"Ah. I'll have a pint thanks Grix."
"You just going to step over me?" cried Pb increduously.
"Yeah, it looks that way."
I discover something under the bar in a plastic blue bottle. It looks like a new drink to me.
Oops...
March 8
I wake up outside my flat in a strange position. Grix is some way down the corridor, in an intimate position with a flowerpot. Ant is animatedly trying to convert an Arab to Christianity.
"Ant, he's Muslim. Give it up." I mutter.
"What?"
"The towel thing he's wearing give it away."
The Arab muttered something in Arabic. Probably.
"What he say?" said Ant.
"Sod off, I reckon. Where's my keys?"
"You left them at Pb's."
"Why would I do that?"
"I don't know. Why are you wearing a tutu?"
I look down. And grin manically.
"Haven't the slightest. I'll be back shortly."
I walk into the Ploughman staggering slightly. Pb looks up, grinning happily.
"Ah, it's you. Did you drink the contents of this bottle?"
He hold out the blue bottle.
"Yeah, we might have done." Pb grinned more.
"Excellent, you owe me a litre of bleach."
Page:
March 14
"Wow, so you really rescued him?" said Pb.
"Yes, let us tell you the story in a longer and more comical way" said Ant.
Grix nodded. "So, we up woke in in the morning, right, and AliBoy, right, get this...HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA, oh, you had to be there, man, right, HAHAHAHAH..."
Grix collapsed in a comical fashion.
"Wow, what did you do?" said Pb.
"Erm, told him to sod off, didn't I?" said I.
"Yeah, that's about right. Somethings wrong with that lad. He needs a girlfriend." said Happy.
"Boyfriend." said Pb.
"Yeah, whatever floats his bearded boat."
"Am I telling this story or not?" said Rasta, fresh from the rescuing.
"No. Sod off."
"Oh...right." He traipsed out of the bar looking downtrodden. Which is quite an achievement for a chap that doesn't need the metric system to measure himself.
"We charged in, still out of our heads, to the apartment. We were heroic, and gallant."
"Wow!" said Pb. "So did you rescue him then?"
"No, not really. It wasn't the right apartment." I said.
"Yeah, just some guy who sold porn."
"Bah. What did you do then?"
"What do you think? Went home for our wallets."
Pb sighed. "Fancy a pint?"
"Yes. Yes we do."
"THEN TELL ME THE FUNNING STORY! Before I make the name Buggered Ploughman more than a metaphor!"
We sat in stunned silence.
"It's a metaphor?" said Happy. "Jesus, and we thought your days as a famr labourer..."
"Back to the story."
"Right, right, so once we'd stocked up on porn and beer..."
"..This guy sold beer as well?" asked Pb.
"No. We just needed some beer."
"Right."
"Let me tell the story, will you? Gimme a pint of Old Rodgered Hen."
"Speckled."
"Oh, yeah, pint of Old Speckled Rodgered Hen."
Pb sighed.
Just at that moment the door was flung open and...
TURN TO PAGE 231 if you own the Sword of Beer
TURN TO PAGE 1 if you are drunk
TURN TO PAGE 56 if you are a Arabic jihad member
SOD OFF if you are Shaneo.
"Wow, so you really rescued him?" said Pb.
"Yes, let us tell you the story in a longer and more comical way" said Ant.
Grix nodded. "So, we up woke in in the morning, right, and AliBoy, right, get this...HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA, oh, you had to be there, man, right, HAHAHAHAH..."
Grix collapsed in a comical fashion.
"Wow, what did you do?" said Pb.
"Erm, told him to sod off, didn't I?" said I.
"Yeah, that's about right. Somethings wrong with that lad. He needs a girlfriend." said Happy.
"Boyfriend." said Pb.
"Yeah, whatever floats his bearded boat."
"Am I telling this story or not?" said Rasta, fresh from the rescuing.
"No. Sod off."
"Oh...right." He traipsed out of the bar looking downtrodden. Which is quite an achievement for a chap that doesn't need the metric system to measure himself.
"We charged in, still out of our heads, to the apartment. We were heroic, and gallant."
"Wow!" said Pb. "So did you rescue him then?"
"No, not really. It wasn't the right apartment." I said.
"Yeah, just some guy who sold porn."
"Bah. What did you do then?"
"What do you think? Went home for our wallets."
Pb sighed. "Fancy a pint?"
"Yes. Yes we do."
"THEN TELL ME THE FUNNING STORY! Before I make the name Buggered Ploughman more than a metaphor!"
We sat in stunned silence.
"It's a metaphor?" said Happy. "Jesus, and we thought your days as a famr labourer..."
"Back to the story."
"Right, right, so once we'd stocked up on porn and beer..."
"..This guy sold beer as well?" asked Pb.
"No. We just needed some beer."
"Right."
"Let me tell the story, will you? Gimme a pint of Old Rodgered Hen."
"Speckled."
"Oh, yeah, pint of Old Speckled Rodgered Hen."
Pb sighed.
Just at that moment the door was flung open and...
TURN TO PAGE 231 if you own the Sword of Beer
TURN TO PAGE 1 if you are drunk
TURN TO PAGE 56 if you are a Arabic jihad member
SOD OFF if you are Shaneo.
March 14
"Wow, so you really rescued him?" said Pb.
"Yes, let us tell you the story in a longer and more comical way" said Ant.
Grix nodded. "So, we up woke in in the morning, right, and AliBoy, right, get this...HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA, oh, you had to be there, man, right, HAHAHAHAH..."
Grix collapsed in a comical fashion.
"Wow, what did you do?" said Pb.
"Erm, told him to sod off, didn't I?" said I.
"Yeah, that's about right. Somethings wrong with that lad. He needs a girlfriend." said Happy.
"Boyfriend." said Pb.
"Yeah, whatever floats his bearded boat."
"Am I telling this story or not?" said Rasta, fresh from the rescuing.
"No. Sod off."
"Oh...right." He traipsed out of the bar looking downtrodden. Which is quite an achievement for a chap that doesn't need the metric system to measure himself.
"We charged in, still out of our heads, to the apartment. We were heroic, and gallant."
"Wow!" said Pb. "So did you rescue him then?"
"No, not really. It wasn't the right apartment." I said.
"Yeah, just some guy who sold porn."
"Bah. What did you do then?"
"What do you think? Went home for our wallets."
Pb sighed. "Fancy a pint?"
"Yes. Yes we do."
"THEN TELL ME THE FUNNING STORY! Before I make the name Buggered Ploughman more than a metaphor!"
We sat in stunned silence.
"It's a metaphor?" said Happy. "Jesus, and we thought your days as a famr labourer..."
"Back to the story."
"Right, right, so once we'd stocked up on porn and beer..."
"..This guy sold beer as well?" asked Pb.
"No. We just needed some beer."
"Right."
"Let me tell the story, will you? Gimme a pint of Old Rodgered Hen."
"Speckled."
"Oh, yeah, pint of Old Speckled Rodgered Hen."
Pb sighed.
Just at that moment the door was flung open and...
TURN TO PAGE 231 if you own the Sword of Beer
TURN TO PAGE 1 if you are drunk
TURN TO PAGE 56 if you are a Arabic jihad member
SOD OFF if you are Shaneo.
"Wow, so you really rescued him?" said Pb.
"Yes, let us tell you the story in a longer and more comical way" said Ant.
Grix nodded. "So, we up woke in in the morning, right, and AliBoy, right, get this...HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA, oh, you had to be there, man, right, HAHAHAHAH..."
Grix collapsed in a comical fashion.
"Wow, what did you do?" said Pb.
"Erm, told him to sod off, didn't I?" said I.
"Yeah, that's about right. Somethings wrong with that lad. He needs a girlfriend." said Happy.
"Boyfriend." said Pb.
"Yeah, whatever floats his bearded boat."
"Am I telling this story or not?" said Rasta, fresh from the rescuing.
"No. Sod off."
"Oh...right." He traipsed out of the bar looking downtrodden. Which is quite an achievement for a chap that doesn't need the metric system to measure himself.
"We charged in, still out of our heads, to the apartment. We were heroic, and gallant."
"Wow!" said Pb. "So did you rescue him then?"
"No, not really. It wasn't the right apartment." I said.
"Yeah, just some guy who sold porn."
"Bah. What did you do then?"
"What do you think? Went home for our wallets."
Pb sighed. "Fancy a pint?"
"Yes. Yes we do."
"THEN TELL ME THE FUNNING STORY! Before I make the name Buggered Ploughman more than a metaphor!"
We sat in stunned silence.
"It's a metaphor?" said Happy. "Jesus, and we thought your days as a famr labourer..."
"Back to the story."
"Right, right, so once we'd stocked up on porn and beer..."
"..This guy sold beer as well?" asked Pb.
"No. We just needed some beer."
"Right."
"Let me tell the story, will you? Gimme a pint of Old Rodgered Hen."
"Speckled."
"Oh, yeah, pint of Old Speckled Rodgered Hen."
Pb sighed.
Just at that moment the door was flung open and...
TURN TO PAGE 231 if you own the Sword of Beer
TURN TO PAGE 1 if you are drunk
TURN TO PAGE 56 if you are a Arabic jihad member
SOD OFF if you are Shaneo.
Stryke wrote:
> March 13
>
> We rescued him.
>
> :)
:-D:-D:-D
> March 13
>
> We rescued him.
>
> :)
:-D:-D:-D
March 13
We rescued him.
:)
We rescued him.
:)
L
O
L
!
O
L
!
Excellent.
Thank you, this rules so much it is unbelievable. :-)
Thank you, this rules so much it is unbelievable. :-)
March 11
I was woken up at some ungodly hour this morning by Arabs kicking down the door. But they kicked it down politely, and made sure to leave a small note of apology. I can't read it, of course, because it's in a foreign language. Probably Arabic. But they took Rasta, as part of their jihad campaign. I'm shocked. Rasta owed me a fiver. And the catflap is now useless. I don't have a cat.
I walked into work to find Mystique tapping her foot. She was wearing a very low-cut top.
"What time do you call this?"
"Hm?" I ask, eyes fixated...elsewhere.
"Stop looking at my top."
"I'm not exactly looking at your top..."
"Pervert."
"Yes?"
"Stop looking at my breasts."
"Sorry, darling, but they're so big. Do you need a HGV licence for them? A dangerous animals licence?"
She says nothing.
"Yeah, I'm fired, aren't I?"
"You've got 10 minutes to clear my desk."
"What about my desk?"
She looks at my desk. "It's not dirty. Mine is. Clean."
"Then I'm fired?"
"What? No, you're transferring to the Total Film office."
"Why's that?"
"The boss is a big hairy bloke."
"NOOOOOOO! Does he have man-breasts?"
"Yes."
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
"Don't worry, Iguana is going with you."
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
"And we've emptied your mini-fridge. There were a lot of Archers in that fridge. I drank them."
I say nothing.
"AliBoy?"
Still nothing.
"Alan?"
"Sorry, delayed reation. Give me a second."
She waits.
"Ready now?"
"Just about. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
March 12
So I'm sitting in the pub. Tommorrow I start my new job over at Total Film. The good news is that Mr Happy already works there. The bad news is the he already covers the porn film reviews.
"Ah well, at least I get to see the big budget releases."
"Yeah, one after the other of mindless Hollywood crap, that doesn't change in a bit.." said Happy.
"Yeah, but popcorn!"
"You take your job seriously."
"As always" I say, reaching for another Archers.
"You drink like a girl." says Ant.
"Whereas you drink like a priest."
"I am a priest."
"Since when?"
"1994."
"Ah. Fair enough then. You drink like a girl then."
"I said that."
"Oh, I forget. I drink like a girl, you see, so I'm already out of girl. What nice wrists you have."
Pb leant over the counter.
"Chuck him out. I don't want him drinking my bleach again."
"But...it's so bloooooooooo..." I slur.
"Yes, I suppose it is!" says Pb. "Steal his wallet as well."
"Of course. Don't want people saying you don't care." says Ant.
"Thats the ticket. Where's Rasta tonight?"
"Some Arabs kidnapped him and are probably torturing him in some hidden place where we cannot find to rescue him."
Pb thought about this. "Like...their flat?" Pb pointed.
Ant and Happy looked out of the window.
"Their lights on. And they've either got Rasta strung up there or a very disgruntled Ewok."
"TO THE RESCUE!" I cry. I stagger to my feet and fall over again.
"IN THE MORNING!" I cry again.
"IN THE MORNING!" they all yell, raising their glasses.
Admirable.
I was woken up at some ungodly hour this morning by Arabs kicking down the door. But they kicked it down politely, and made sure to leave a small note of apology. I can't read it, of course, because it's in a foreign language. Probably Arabic. But they took Rasta, as part of their jihad campaign. I'm shocked. Rasta owed me a fiver. And the catflap is now useless. I don't have a cat.
I walked into work to find Mystique tapping her foot. She was wearing a very low-cut top.
"What time do you call this?"
"Hm?" I ask, eyes fixated...elsewhere.
"Stop looking at my top."
"I'm not exactly looking at your top..."
"Pervert."
"Yes?"
"Stop looking at my breasts."
"Sorry, darling, but they're so big. Do you need a HGV licence for them? A dangerous animals licence?"
She says nothing.
"Yeah, I'm fired, aren't I?"
"You've got 10 minutes to clear my desk."
"What about my desk?"
She looks at my desk. "It's not dirty. Mine is. Clean."
"Then I'm fired?"
"What? No, you're transferring to the Total Film office."
"Why's that?"
"The boss is a big hairy bloke."
"NOOOOOOO! Does he have man-breasts?"
"Yes."
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
"Don't worry, Iguana is going with you."
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
"And we've emptied your mini-fridge. There were a lot of Archers in that fridge. I drank them."
I say nothing.
"AliBoy?"
Still nothing.
"Alan?"
"Sorry, delayed reation. Give me a second."
She waits.
"Ready now?"
"Just about. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
March 12
So I'm sitting in the pub. Tommorrow I start my new job over at Total Film. The good news is that Mr Happy already works there. The bad news is the he already covers the porn film reviews.
"Ah well, at least I get to see the big budget releases."
"Yeah, one after the other of mindless Hollywood crap, that doesn't change in a bit.." said Happy.
"Yeah, but popcorn!"
"You take your job seriously."
"As always" I say, reaching for another Archers.
"You drink like a girl." says Ant.
"Whereas you drink like a priest."
"I am a priest."
"Since when?"
"1994."
"Ah. Fair enough then. You drink like a girl then."
"I said that."
"Oh, I forget. I drink like a girl, you see, so I'm already out of girl. What nice wrists you have."
Pb leant over the counter.
"Chuck him out. I don't want him drinking my bleach again."
"But...it's so bloooooooooo..." I slur.
"Yes, I suppose it is!" says Pb. "Steal his wallet as well."
"Of course. Don't want people saying you don't care." says Ant.
"Thats the ticket. Where's Rasta tonight?"
"Some Arabs kidnapped him and are probably torturing him in some hidden place where we cannot find to rescue him."
Pb thought about this. "Like...their flat?" Pb pointed.
Ant and Happy looked out of the window.
"Their lights on. And they've either got Rasta strung up there or a very disgruntled Ewok."
"TO THE RESCUE!" I cry. I stagger to my feet and fall over again.
"IN THE MORNING!" I cry again.
"IN THE MORNING!" they all yell, raising their glasses.
Admirable.
Where's Stryke gone? I need my fix....more!!!
Lol!
March 10
I wake up to hear a raised voice from the living room. I assume this is Rasta, unless a high-pitched dog has somehow got into our flat. I stop throwing empty Chinese take-aways at the old people next door (they're so old) and step out to see what the problem is.
The Gamecube is lying in the middle of the corridor, with it's disc tray open. Rasta is standing shouting at it in his pants.
"Whats going on, midget-man?" I ask as I stroll up. "To be honest, I don't care. All I'm going to do is get drunk and have sex and make bad puns about being wet this month, but you may as well tell me."
"It said it wanted me to use protection! It said it couldn't take losing another child!"
"Another chi-What the fun are you on about?"
"You know we lost Bernard's sister in Vegas because it was pronounced battery-dead!"
"Who is Bernard?" I ask, completely lost.
"Our baby Advancelette!" he said, stroking the GBA in his arms. "Hasn't he grown?"
"No, not really. Seeing as it is incapable of growth. It's not alive."
"COVER YOURSELF UP!" yelled Rasta into the corridor.
"Well, I'm sorry, but I like wandering about my own flat nak..."
"Not you!" interrupted the midget. "The Gamecube! Look at it, flirtacously showing it's disc tray to the crowd!"
I look up and down the corridor. There is no-one around.
"Yeah, you're an idiot. Go and get the milk."
"IT SAID IT WANTED CUSTODY RIGHTS OF OUR ADVANCELETTE!" screamed Rasta.
"No it didn't. Listen..."
"IT SAID IT'D FIGHT ME IN THE COURTS!"
"No it bloody well didn't. It's got no vocal chords. It's a lump of plastic. It has no signs of being alive, it doesn't like to look at porn."
"I CAUGHT IT LOOKING THROUGH THE GAMECUBE MAGAZINE, CHECKING OUT THE DISC TRAY ON THE BLACK MODEL!"
"No you didn't. Look, people are watching, and I've told them you're my child from my previous marriage to a gypsy, so..."
"CALLING ME RACIST?" yelled Rasta at the Gamecube.
"No it's not. Because it can't speak."
"I HATE YOU!" screamed Rasta.
The Gamecube said nothing. Unsurprisingly.
"Rasta, come inside before the Arabs from Number 20 declare a jihad on you for insulting their religion by being a tool."
"Fine! Where's my X-Box? I'm in the mood for something BIGGER!" Rasta yelled the last word into the corridor.
"Oh for Christs sake. Look, you stay here. I'm going to the pub."
"Can I come?"
"No, people might see us and think we're friends."
As I wander down the corridors, past the Arabs looking in a decidedly jihad-y mood, I hear Rasta screaming again.
"YOU SAID YOU LOVED ME!"
Jesus.
To Do:
Kill Rasta and sell him to the kebab shop as Finest Lamb.
Avoid Arabs dressed in suicide bombers uniforms, because I have the sneaking suspicion they might be suicide bombers.
Run away from enraged old people.
I wake up to hear a raised voice from the living room. I assume this is Rasta, unless a high-pitched dog has somehow got into our flat. I stop throwing empty Chinese take-aways at the old people next door (they're so old) and step out to see what the problem is.
The Gamecube is lying in the middle of the corridor, with it's disc tray open. Rasta is standing shouting at it in his pants.
"Whats going on, midget-man?" I ask as I stroll up. "To be honest, I don't care. All I'm going to do is get drunk and have sex and make bad puns about being wet this month, but you may as well tell me."
"It said it wanted me to use protection! It said it couldn't take losing another child!"
"Another chi-What the fun are you on about?"
"You know we lost Bernard's sister in Vegas because it was pronounced battery-dead!"
"Who is Bernard?" I ask, completely lost.
"Our baby Advancelette!" he said, stroking the GBA in his arms. "Hasn't he grown?"
"No, not really. Seeing as it is incapable of growth. It's not alive."
"COVER YOURSELF UP!" yelled Rasta into the corridor.
"Well, I'm sorry, but I like wandering about my own flat nak..."
"Not you!" interrupted the midget. "The Gamecube! Look at it, flirtacously showing it's disc tray to the crowd!"
I look up and down the corridor. There is no-one around.
"Yeah, you're an idiot. Go and get the milk."
"IT SAID IT WANTED CUSTODY RIGHTS OF OUR ADVANCELETTE!" screamed Rasta.
"No it didn't. Listen..."
"IT SAID IT'D FIGHT ME IN THE COURTS!"
"No it bloody well didn't. It's got no vocal chords. It's a lump of plastic. It has no signs of being alive, it doesn't like to look at porn."
"I CAUGHT IT LOOKING THROUGH THE GAMECUBE MAGAZINE, CHECKING OUT THE DISC TRAY ON THE BLACK MODEL!"
"No you didn't. Look, people are watching, and I've told them you're my child from my previous marriage to a gypsy, so..."
"CALLING ME RACIST?" yelled Rasta at the Gamecube.
"No it's not. Because it can't speak."
"I HATE YOU!" screamed Rasta.
The Gamecube said nothing. Unsurprisingly.
"Rasta, come inside before the Arabs from Number 20 declare a jihad on you for insulting their religion by being a tool."
"Fine! Where's my X-Box? I'm in the mood for something BIGGER!" Rasta yelled the last word into the corridor.
"Oh for Christs sake. Look, you stay here. I'm going to the pub."
"Can I come?"
"No, people might see us and think we're friends."
As I wander down the corridors, past the Arabs looking in a decidedly jihad-y mood, I hear Rasta screaming again.
"YOU SAID YOU LOVED ME!"
Jesus.
To Do:
Kill Rasta and sell him to the kebab shop as Finest Lamb.
Avoid Arabs dressed in suicide bombers uniforms, because I have the sneaking suspicion they might be suicide bombers.
Run away from enraged old people.
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