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well, her it is. My first spoof ever.
Like ever ever.
It's the first decent post i've done for a while too.
An overall sucess I think,
Here goes, please read it all...........
Sniper sat on the front step, whittling on a piece of dried up wood with his trusty penknife when the message came. A homing pigeon, flying as straight as a dart, exploded upon impact with the screen door and a solitary piece of paper floated down to rest upon the sticky mess that was closely resembled a snack-food from Thailand. It read:
“Sniper,
Shaneo has re-emerged under the code name SmellyBadger in the south Atlantic. The United Special Reserve Nations (USRN) have requested your immediate action. In anger, Stryke has primed his forces along the Brazilian coast, his Newbie-bombs and -missiles -- made from the fragments of Newbies he has destroyed with mockery- are fully operational.
If we do not act now, it could go Newbieclear.
Hugs and Kisses,
Tony”
The letter was thrown away in disgust, Sniper stood and called,
“Kids! We’re moving out! Get your AKs from the downstairs cupboard and Ma’s Kalasnikov from the back of the kitchen door. I want everyone in full body armour and, Ant, share the knives and grenades out fairly, don’t hog them like last time, OK?’ He sighed,
“No, Goatboy, do NOT put the tazer in you mouth.”
So he stood, the fading sunlight glinting off his newly polished helmet and strode toward the garden shed. Stepping inside he loaded a rocket launcher, a case of C4, a chaingun, several large pointy things and a polystyrene monkey into his rickety old wheel borrow. Then he slipped his twin uzis into their holsters and his trademark sniper rifle over his shoulder.
He carefully placed all the equipment into the family Volvo, a reliable shade of brown, when a shout came form the front door.
“Sniper! What’s going on? (oo oo, spank ma monkey)” There, in all her grease-stained,
mouth-foaming, nose-running loveliness stood Mystique.
“Word from Tony. We’re moving out. Tonight. Don’t worry, I’ve got your monkey.” He replied, smiling at the fine vision of womanhood standing before him. Well................... she had a nice rack.
“Hugs and Kisses? (m-m-monkey)”
“As always.” he sighed, “ We really should go round for dinner one day, discuss the state of the USRN over tea and Timesplitters.”
“Yes, dear, I’ll call the children.” She took a deep breath and Sniper’s eyes bulged as her chest inflated.
“Ant, Rasta, KR, Dringo, Edgy, Sibs, Armatige, Afrojoe, Meka, Goatboy, Starlight, YH, Pro Evo, Aliboy, pb. Get in the car! Is that everyone?”
“Errrrr, noo.”
“Ah, of course. Er-no, you too, in the car. (spank spank). Let’s roll, I’ve made pancakes!”
********
16 hours, 3 flights, 72 pancakes, 5 fuel stops, 128 toilet stops, 11 bags of humbugs, 6 squabbles over throwing stars, 2 flesh wounds and 17 bags of sick later the family of 18 (plus a polystyrene monkey) rolled into USRN headquarters on the eastern coast of Africa.
Tony himself greeted them.
“Why, hellllloooo. If it isn’t my favourite family of highly trained assassins! And who’s this little fella, I’ve not seen you before, no I haven’t. Er...have I?” He looked to Mystique or, rather, to the two round object who’s representation of eyes was close enough for him. She really did have a nice rack.
“Yes, Tony, this is Goatboy, our new (spank oo-ooo) addition.” A small head peered around Mystique’s cellulite-ridden tree trunks, stuffing a armour-piecing bullet up his nose. He grinned, sneezed, and shot Edgy in the leg.
“Muuummmm! He shot meeee!”
“Be quiet Edgy. Just do like we said, OK? Cut one of his fingers off.” She sighed, Sniper’s and Tony’s eyes bulged. “Kids today, eh Tony? (oo o oooooooooo MONKEY!)”
“Quite. Now, we shall go to the operations room. Dr. Snuggly has been expecting us. Follow me, dearies”
“Dear Lord,” muttered Sniper, “He’s as camp as Dale Winton in a pop-up tent” and strode after Tony, trying not to snigger at his hip-swinging, wrist-flapping strut.
***********
Far off, in the south Atlantic, a giant inflatable dingy rocked gently in the breeze. Aboard was the most annoying little scrotum you’ll ever know, his name was SmellyBadger at the time. With him in the bright orange dingy was 3 billion cans of spiced ham, aka Spam. Ever so slowly, SmellyBadger opened them one by one with a £19.95 chrome-finish can-opener from Lakeland Ltd with pop-up feature for extra tall cans, bottle opener and knife sharpener plus removable magnet and blade for easy cleaning, then he dumped the content of each tin into the sea mumbling something about the war, cheese, how gay USRN is and the lameness of FOG nowadays.
Little did he know that coming towards his was a fleet a Newbieclear submarines, armed and dangerous with a madman at their helm.
**********
Dr. Snuggly was confronted by his camp superior, a battle-hardened sniper, a stunning rack under 5 chins and a horde of filthy children, most of whom were missing vital parts of their anatomy. How they all fitted in the stock cupboard where’d he come to get some more staples, he wasn’t quite sure.
But he also wasn’t sure why albino hamsters ruled the world, his house was built of carrot intestines and peanuts were the reproductive organs of garden peas, but let’s not go into that.
“(Mooonnnkeeey! OOOO AHHHH SpANk MYyyyyyyyy MonnnnKEEEYYYY!!!!)” Said Mystique.
“S’up” Said Sniper
“Good day, Snuggles, my very special friend. Wink, wink. Nudge, nudge” Said Tony.
“Feck, Feck, FECK. BillySkank, BILLYSKANK godammit.” Said Rasta.
Goatboy tried to say something, but his mouth was filled with blue-tack, he had a Parker pet-set up his nose and his Y-fronts were filled with packs of A4 copier paper.
Dr.Snuggly sat on a stack of boxes filled with ring-binders in rose, aquamarine, pictasio and blue-esque. He blinked very slowly, and when he opened his eyes they were bloodshot and slightly obease.
He spoke very quickly; in verse; to the tune of Simon and Garfunkel’s Sound of Silence; with one hand braiding his long, white hair; clenching a box of Post-It notes the other; breathing loudly, through his nose; tapping out To Kill A Mocking Bird in morse code with his right foot and rearranging the company files into reverse-alphabetical order with his left.
“Many, many moons have passed,
And now I really can’t be ar*ed.
Shaneo keeps on re-emerging,
What the hell is he doing?
Now the annoying, stupid little goat,
Is in a boat,
Is this my song of madness?”
*dung-dung-dung. dung-dung-dung* (skip a bit)
“And in that little boat I saw,
10,000 spam-cans, maybe more.
Spam-cans walking without squeaking,
Spam-cans searing without misting (?)
Spam-cans writing crap, and not by a mishap, it is fact,
They are the source of madness.”
He blinked again, about 100 times in succession, then fell asleep.
“What the feck,” said Sniper
“Yeeesss,” said Rasta, “Feck, Feck. FECK-FECK”
“Let me guess - ‘The words of the Spam-Cans are written onto that boat’s hull, with seagull’ Christ almighty. We’re going. Come on, kids, sexy rack....er... I mean Mystique, lets go hunt some SmellyBadger.
Tony, you big poof, we’ll be back by tea, make some fish-fingers will you? Bird’s Eye ones, mind. Blummin’ cheap skate”
************
It was a race between a fleet of Newbieclear Subs and USRN Helicopters to reach the bright orange inflatable dingy first. If Stryke reached SmellyBadger first he’d tear the poor, deluded freak into pieces. If the family of assassins got there first, well, who knows what Goatboy could do with a stack of heat-seekers up his backside.
Whatever happened, it wasn’t going to be pretty.
The USRN ‘Copter touched down on top of a relatively flat pile of Spam-Cans and out piled the family armed up to, and including, the teeth. They raced towards the bow as quickly as possible, Sniper almost killing himself, his eyes fixed directly on Mystique’s rack.
“Bouncy, bouncy, bouncy” He muttered over and over, stumbling over a stack of Spam and knocking pb out as the polystyrene monkey flew out of his hands.
They slowed as they reached the bow, a silent attack would be best. But as SmellyBadger came into view, so did Stryke. He was standing, arms folded, quietly ripping the urine out of his captive in steady, unrelenting monotones. It was a horrible sight.
“Leave him, Stryke.” Sniper’s voice echoed across the Spam-hills, “This isn’t your fight, you have no power. The USRN must take care of this, you know the drill.”
“But look at him, the useless little worm. He deserves everything I throw at him. ARM THE NEWBIECLEAR BOMBS!”
A quiet whirring carried across the still ocean. Then the tiny shouts of a thousand newbie’s passed filled everyone’s ears.
“Gay boy,”
“Chhheessseeeyyy,”
“BLAHHHH,”
“THIS IS REALLY FUNNY!!!!!!!!”
“Spam makes this place what it is,”
“Go Feck Yourselves,”
“OOhhhh, I’m really scared,”
“Why can’t I win GAD??????”
“Why do you hate me, ball-bag?”
”Why was I banned?”
“Why?”
“Why?”
“Shheeeepppyyy. Come play with me”
“Styke you t****r.”
Everybody shook in pity and disgust at the little voices, even Stryke winced. But SmellyBadger just smiled, as idiots do, and grew. He grew a hundred times his size then began pulling mountains of Spam from his throat, ears, nose and every other orifice imaginable.
“NO!” Stryke cried, “NO! What have I done? Why, WHY!?”
“You idiot,’ Sniper stood over him, polystyrene monkey tucked underarm, “Do you know what you’ve done? All those Newbie’s, all of them, they’ve just encouraged old SmellyBadger here. You know as well as anyone - Newbie’s hunt in groups, their egos get even bigger, if possible, if they’re surrounded by other morons. Christ, leave this to me. I think you should run, Stryke, run away and never come back.” He solemnly shook his head. “Just go.” A tear trickled down his cheek.
“(oo, ooo-oo. SPANK-SpAnKK. MONKEEEYYY me me me my my my spank-spank. ooooo-o-o-o-o,oooooo. S-P-A-N-K........ M-Y.........M-O-N-K-E-Y........oooooo ah ah ah ah ah oooo-ahhh!!!!)” Said Mystique.
“Of, course, my love,” said Sniper. He took the polystyrene monkey from under his arm and turned it upside-down. With a flick of his wrist he spanked the monkey once, firmly, on the buttocks.
It’s head fell off.
And as it fell, it uncovered a glowing red button in the monkey’s neck. The button was alluring, pulsating, and everyone felt it’s pull. Even GiantSmellyBadger stopped pulling Spam from his lower orifice.
Sniper removed the button from its casing and it seemed to shrink. It shrunk to the size of a bullet.
And this glowing, holy bullet he loaded carefully into his Sniper Rifle.
“By the power vested in me by the USRN I herby revoke all your privileges and current status as a member of the USRN Forums. You may not say anything in your defence, just shut the hell up and bogger off.” He said, off by heart.
Taking a steady aim he raised the rifle and shot. The bullet flew true and struck GiantSmellyBadger straight between the eyes.
Massive streams of red-tape flew out of the bullet and wrapped itself around the monster. He turned grey and USER BANNED flashed all over him.
Then he disappeared.
The boat overturned.
The Spam-Cans suck uselessly to the bottom of the ocean.
“Banned ya, sucker” whispered Sniper.
“Look,” said Mystique, he top wet with sweat and certain assets standing tall. She pointed at the boat’s upturned hull. On it, written in seagull, was a record of every single spamming incident in the history of the world and then consequences following. It was a very big boat.
“Look,” said Mystique again. There was a loud whizz and a fishing line flew through the air. It hooked onto something floating in the water.
A small, wet, limp and indescribably smelly badger was pulled through the water by the line.
“I’ll go,” said Styke’s voice, “But I’ll never go for ever. This will come in very handy. See you again Sniper. Mwu-ha-ha-haaaaaaa” Then everything was silent, except the steady rise and fall of Mystiques lovely rack.
*****************
The polystyrene monkey had been reassembled and fitted with a new button as the family of assassins sat down to eat.
Tony had cooked them fish fingers, as requested. Tesco own-brand ones, though.
“Friggin' cheapskate,” Muttered Sniper, eyes fixated
Geez, what a nice rack.......
Thankyouverymuch,
FFF
Like ever ever.
It's the first decent post i've done for a while too.
An overall sucess I think,
Here goes, please read it all...........
Sniper sat on the front step, whittling on a piece of dried up wood with his trusty penknife when the message came. A homing pigeon, flying as straight as a dart, exploded upon impact with the screen door and a solitary piece of paper floated down to rest upon the sticky mess that was closely resembled a snack-food from Thailand. It read:
“Sniper,
Shaneo has re-emerged under the code name SmellyBadger in the south Atlantic. The United Special Reserve Nations (USRN) have requested your immediate action. In anger, Stryke has primed his forces along the Brazilian coast, his Newbie-bombs and -missiles -- made from the fragments of Newbies he has destroyed with mockery- are fully operational.
If we do not act now, it could go Newbieclear.
Hugs and Kisses,
Tony”
The letter was thrown away in disgust, Sniper stood and called,
“Kids! We’re moving out! Get your AKs from the downstairs cupboard and Ma’s Kalasnikov from the back of the kitchen door. I want everyone in full body armour and, Ant, share the knives and grenades out fairly, don’t hog them like last time, OK?’ He sighed,
“No, Goatboy, do NOT put the tazer in you mouth.”
So he stood, the fading sunlight glinting off his newly polished helmet and strode toward the garden shed. Stepping inside he loaded a rocket launcher, a case of C4, a chaingun, several large pointy things and a polystyrene monkey into his rickety old wheel borrow. Then he slipped his twin uzis into their holsters and his trademark sniper rifle over his shoulder.
He carefully placed all the equipment into the family Volvo, a reliable shade of brown, when a shout came form the front door.
“Sniper! What’s going on? (oo oo, spank ma monkey)” There, in all her grease-stained,
mouth-foaming, nose-running loveliness stood Mystique.
“Word from Tony. We’re moving out. Tonight. Don’t worry, I’ve got your monkey.” He replied, smiling at the fine vision of womanhood standing before him. Well................... she had a nice rack.
“Hugs and Kisses? (m-m-monkey)”
“As always.” he sighed, “ We really should go round for dinner one day, discuss the state of the USRN over tea and Timesplitters.”
“Yes, dear, I’ll call the children.” She took a deep breath and Sniper’s eyes bulged as her chest inflated.
“Ant, Rasta, KR, Dringo, Edgy, Sibs, Armatige, Afrojoe, Meka, Goatboy, Starlight, YH, Pro Evo, Aliboy, pb. Get in the car! Is that everyone?”
“Errrrr, noo.”
“Ah, of course. Er-no, you too, in the car. (spank spank). Let’s roll, I’ve made pancakes!”
********
16 hours, 3 flights, 72 pancakes, 5 fuel stops, 128 toilet stops, 11 bags of humbugs, 6 squabbles over throwing stars, 2 flesh wounds and 17 bags of sick later the family of 18 (plus a polystyrene monkey) rolled into USRN headquarters on the eastern coast of Africa.
Tony himself greeted them.
“Why, hellllloooo. If it isn’t my favourite family of highly trained assassins! And who’s this little fella, I’ve not seen you before, no I haven’t. Er...have I?” He looked to Mystique or, rather, to the two round object who’s representation of eyes was close enough for him. She really did have a nice rack.
“Yes, Tony, this is Goatboy, our new (spank oo-ooo) addition.” A small head peered around Mystique’s cellulite-ridden tree trunks, stuffing a armour-piecing bullet up his nose. He grinned, sneezed, and shot Edgy in the leg.
“Muuummmm! He shot meeee!”
“Be quiet Edgy. Just do like we said, OK? Cut one of his fingers off.” She sighed, Sniper’s and Tony’s eyes bulged. “Kids today, eh Tony? (oo o oooooooooo MONKEY!)”
“Quite. Now, we shall go to the operations room. Dr. Snuggly has been expecting us. Follow me, dearies”
“Dear Lord,” muttered Sniper, “He’s as camp as Dale Winton in a pop-up tent” and strode after Tony, trying not to snigger at his hip-swinging, wrist-flapping strut.
***********
Far off, in the south Atlantic, a giant inflatable dingy rocked gently in the breeze. Aboard was the most annoying little scrotum you’ll ever know, his name was SmellyBadger at the time. With him in the bright orange dingy was 3 billion cans of spiced ham, aka Spam. Ever so slowly, SmellyBadger opened them one by one with a £19.95 chrome-finish can-opener from Lakeland Ltd with pop-up feature for extra tall cans, bottle opener and knife sharpener plus removable magnet and blade for easy cleaning, then he dumped the content of each tin into the sea mumbling something about the war, cheese, how gay USRN is and the lameness of FOG nowadays.
Little did he know that coming towards his was a fleet a Newbieclear submarines, armed and dangerous with a madman at their helm.
**********
Dr. Snuggly was confronted by his camp superior, a battle-hardened sniper, a stunning rack under 5 chins and a horde of filthy children, most of whom were missing vital parts of their anatomy. How they all fitted in the stock cupboard where’d he come to get some more staples, he wasn’t quite sure.
But he also wasn’t sure why albino hamsters ruled the world, his house was built of carrot intestines and peanuts were the reproductive organs of garden peas, but let’s not go into that.
“(Mooonnnkeeey! OOOO AHHHH SpANk MYyyyyyyyy MonnnnKEEEYYYY!!!!)” Said Mystique.
“S’up” Said Sniper
“Good day, Snuggles, my very special friend. Wink, wink. Nudge, nudge” Said Tony.
“Feck, Feck, FECK. BillySkank, BILLYSKANK godammit.” Said Rasta.
Goatboy tried to say something, but his mouth was filled with blue-tack, he had a Parker pet-set up his nose and his Y-fronts were filled with packs of A4 copier paper.
Dr.Snuggly sat on a stack of boxes filled with ring-binders in rose, aquamarine, pictasio and blue-esque. He blinked very slowly, and when he opened his eyes they were bloodshot and slightly obease.
He spoke very quickly; in verse; to the tune of Simon and Garfunkel’s Sound of Silence; with one hand braiding his long, white hair; clenching a box of Post-It notes the other; breathing loudly, through his nose; tapping out To Kill A Mocking Bird in morse code with his right foot and rearranging the company files into reverse-alphabetical order with his left.
“Many, many moons have passed,
And now I really can’t be ar*ed.
Shaneo keeps on re-emerging,
What the hell is he doing?
Now the annoying, stupid little goat,
Is in a boat,
Is this my song of madness?”
*dung-dung-dung. dung-dung-dung* (skip a bit)
“And in that little boat I saw,
10,000 spam-cans, maybe more.
Spam-cans walking without squeaking,
Spam-cans searing without misting (?)
Spam-cans writing crap, and not by a mishap, it is fact,
They are the source of madness.”
He blinked again, about 100 times in succession, then fell asleep.
“What the feck,” said Sniper
“Yeeesss,” said Rasta, “Feck, Feck. FECK-FECK”
“Let me guess - ‘The words of the Spam-Cans are written onto that boat’s hull, with seagull’ Christ almighty. We’re going. Come on, kids, sexy rack....er... I mean Mystique, lets go hunt some SmellyBadger.
Tony, you big poof, we’ll be back by tea, make some fish-fingers will you? Bird’s Eye ones, mind. Blummin’ cheap skate”
************
It was a race between a fleet of Newbieclear Subs and USRN Helicopters to reach the bright orange inflatable dingy first. If Stryke reached SmellyBadger first he’d tear the poor, deluded freak into pieces. If the family of assassins got there first, well, who knows what Goatboy could do with a stack of heat-seekers up his backside.
Whatever happened, it wasn’t going to be pretty.
The USRN ‘Copter touched down on top of a relatively flat pile of Spam-Cans and out piled the family armed up to, and including, the teeth. They raced towards the bow as quickly as possible, Sniper almost killing himself, his eyes fixed directly on Mystique’s rack.
“Bouncy, bouncy, bouncy” He muttered over and over, stumbling over a stack of Spam and knocking pb out as the polystyrene monkey flew out of his hands.
They slowed as they reached the bow, a silent attack would be best. But as SmellyBadger came into view, so did Stryke. He was standing, arms folded, quietly ripping the urine out of his captive in steady, unrelenting monotones. It was a horrible sight.
“Leave him, Stryke.” Sniper’s voice echoed across the Spam-hills, “This isn’t your fight, you have no power. The USRN must take care of this, you know the drill.”
“But look at him, the useless little worm. He deserves everything I throw at him. ARM THE NEWBIECLEAR BOMBS!”
A quiet whirring carried across the still ocean. Then the tiny shouts of a thousand newbie’s passed filled everyone’s ears.
“Gay boy,”
“Chhheessseeeyyy,”
“BLAHHHH,”
“THIS IS REALLY FUNNY!!!!!!!!”
“Spam makes this place what it is,”
“Go Feck Yourselves,”
“OOhhhh, I’m really scared,”
“Why can’t I win GAD??????”
“Why do you hate me, ball-bag?”
”Why was I banned?”
“Why?”
“Why?”
“Shheeeepppyyy. Come play with me”
“Styke you t****r.”
Everybody shook in pity and disgust at the little voices, even Stryke winced. But SmellyBadger just smiled, as idiots do, and grew. He grew a hundred times his size then began pulling mountains of Spam from his throat, ears, nose and every other orifice imaginable.
“NO!” Stryke cried, “NO! What have I done? Why, WHY!?”
“You idiot,’ Sniper stood over him, polystyrene monkey tucked underarm, “Do you know what you’ve done? All those Newbie’s, all of them, they’ve just encouraged old SmellyBadger here. You know as well as anyone - Newbie’s hunt in groups, their egos get even bigger, if possible, if they’re surrounded by other morons. Christ, leave this to me. I think you should run, Stryke, run away and never come back.” He solemnly shook his head. “Just go.” A tear trickled down his cheek.
“(oo, ooo-oo. SPANK-SpAnKK. MONKEEEYYY me me me my my my spank-spank. ooooo-o-o-o-o,oooooo. S-P-A-N-K........ M-Y.........M-O-N-K-E-Y........oooooo ah ah ah ah ah oooo-ahhh!!!!)” Said Mystique.
“Of, course, my love,” said Sniper. He took the polystyrene monkey from under his arm and turned it upside-down. With a flick of his wrist he spanked the monkey once, firmly, on the buttocks.
It’s head fell off.
And as it fell, it uncovered a glowing red button in the monkey’s neck. The button was alluring, pulsating, and everyone felt it’s pull. Even GiantSmellyBadger stopped pulling Spam from his lower orifice.
Sniper removed the button from its casing and it seemed to shrink. It shrunk to the size of a bullet.
And this glowing, holy bullet he loaded carefully into his Sniper Rifle.
“By the power vested in me by the USRN I herby revoke all your privileges and current status as a member of the USRN Forums. You may not say anything in your defence, just shut the hell up and bogger off.” He said, off by heart.
Taking a steady aim he raised the rifle and shot. The bullet flew true and struck GiantSmellyBadger straight between the eyes.
Massive streams of red-tape flew out of the bullet and wrapped itself around the monster. He turned grey and USER BANNED flashed all over him.
Then he disappeared.
The boat overturned.
The Spam-Cans suck uselessly to the bottom of the ocean.
“Banned ya, sucker” whispered Sniper.
“Look,” said Mystique, he top wet with sweat and certain assets standing tall. She pointed at the boat’s upturned hull. On it, written in seagull, was a record of every single spamming incident in the history of the world and then consequences following. It was a very big boat.
“Look,” said Mystique again. There was a loud whizz and a fishing line flew through the air. It hooked onto something floating in the water.
A small, wet, limp and indescribably smelly badger was pulled through the water by the line.
“I’ll go,” said Styke’s voice, “But I’ll never go for ever. This will come in very handy. See you again Sniper. Mwu-ha-ha-haaaaaaa” Then everything was silent, except the steady rise and fall of Mystiques lovely rack.
*****************
The polystyrene monkey had been reassembled and fitted with a new button as the family of assassins sat down to eat.
Tony had cooked them fish fingers, as requested. Tesco own-brand ones, though.
“Friggin' cheapskate,” Muttered Sniper, eyes fixated
Geez, what a nice rack.......
Thankyouverymuch,
FFF
Page:
Good spoof.
I never get replies either. Its like a diesease of summat.
:)
I never get replies either. Its like a diesease of summat.
:)
Am i in your spoof?
Wow, that's 2 proper replies.
Probably a record for me.
Should I change my name? Beacuse no-one ever properly replies to my stuff. Never any more then 15, and most of them are me just trying to get people inetrested.
Until I get annoyed.
Goddamn you all
Probably a record for me.
Should I change my name? Beacuse no-one ever properly replies to my stuff. Never any more then 15, and most of them are me just trying to get people inetrested.
Until I get annoyed.
Goddamn you all
You know I'll keep popping this until some people actually read it.
It took me blummin' ages to write, a little appreciation wouldn't go amiss.
It's good, I promise *head swells*
It took me blummin' ages to write, a little appreciation wouldn't go amiss.
It's good, I promise *head swells*
(ahem)
I do have a nice rack.
Yeah right, just because you can't type for that long without keeling over and dying, you n00b.
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