The Budge is On
category: general [glöplog]
The Budge is On
Smarmit Spross stood on a cricket and waited for it to climb a tree. It did so and he was able to get a clear view of the international pointing contest. All but two participants had been eliminated by now, leaving the final battle between King Chonce vs. the Parson. They quickly devoured a Jesus gateaux and the pointing began.
King Chonce pointed to a crow. The Parson pointed at some sailors. A gang of midgets persuaded the sailors to force them into a barrel and smack them, but the regional dominoes champions intervened before the squealing got too loud.
King Chonce pointed beyond some cream, but his finger gave out on him and he needed a moment to recuperate. The odds were now stacked against him and The Parson was quick to act. With a rapid snap, he pointed to a baby’s ear. The onlooking audience stood on their seats, waved their sandwiches in the air and let out a loud cheer, but the Parson stood before them and made this plea:
“Please join me in ridiculing King Chonce! Whaddya say?”
A young Bolivian chimney sweep nodded his approval and began laughing at King Chonce. The crowd followed his lead and let out an uproarious heckle. The word “piss” was uttered on more than one occasion and King Chonce lay on the stage sobbing. Tears welled in his eyes like spit on a frog’s nose and he blew saliva bubbles of sorrow into the air.
But then, much to everybody’s amazement, the King rose to his knees and requested a partridge. It was promptly provided and he mounted it as one would a horse. “Let’s rock this place!” he said, slowly raising his hand. His finger twitched and creaked with arthritis, but slowly extended in the direction of a large tree.
The crowd fell silent, with the exception of an old bachelor with a drum kit who insisted on moaning about Norman Lamont’s excessive application of aftershave. “Why couldn’t he use talcum powder?” he asked, but nobody answered as they were all staring at King Chonce’s discovery…the long forgotten prophet, Smarmit Spross!
But the audience thought he was pointing at an acorn and were disappointed. They hailed the Parson as the winner and wouldn’t let King Chonce explain. They also confiscated the partridge.
Smarmit Spross stood on a cricket and waited for it to climb a tree. It did so and he was able to get a clear view of the international pointing contest. All but two participants had been eliminated by now, leaving the final battle between King Chonce vs. the Parson. They quickly devoured a Jesus gateaux and the pointing began.
King Chonce pointed to a crow. The Parson pointed at some sailors. A gang of midgets persuaded the sailors to force them into a barrel and smack them, but the regional dominoes champions intervened before the squealing got too loud.
King Chonce pointed beyond some cream, but his finger gave out on him and he needed a moment to recuperate. The odds were now stacked against him and The Parson was quick to act. With a rapid snap, he pointed to a baby’s ear. The onlooking audience stood on their seats, waved their sandwiches in the air and let out a loud cheer, but the Parson stood before them and made this plea:
“Please join me in ridiculing King Chonce! Whaddya say?”
A young Bolivian chimney sweep nodded his approval and began laughing at King Chonce. The crowd followed his lead and let out an uproarious heckle. The word “piss” was uttered on more than one occasion and King Chonce lay on the stage sobbing. Tears welled in his eyes like spit on a frog’s nose and he blew saliva bubbles of sorrow into the air.
But then, much to everybody’s amazement, the King rose to his knees and requested a partridge. It was promptly provided and he mounted it as one would a horse. “Let’s rock this place!” he said, slowly raising his hand. His finger twitched and creaked with arthritis, but slowly extended in the direction of a large tree.
The crowd fell silent, with the exception of an old bachelor with a drum kit who insisted on moaning about Norman Lamont’s excessive application of aftershave. “Why couldn’t he use talcum powder?” he asked, but nobody answered as they were all staring at King Chonce’s discovery…the long forgotten prophet, Smarmit Spross!
But the audience thought he was pointing at an acorn and were disappointed. They hailed the Parson as the winner and wouldn’t let King Chonce explain. They also confiscated the partridge.
Merry Christmas, Shane, you mentalist :) . (And no, I didn't finish my demo in time for Christmas).
Meanwhile, in the sky above, a battle raged between a Haglobite Skyviper and a Interectrex star cruiser. Just as the Skyviper's shields detonated into a shower of little blue beads, the two ships collided with a resounding "Cha-ching!" The crafts tumbled to earth, leaving a trail of flaming ash, salted peanuts, and attractive stewardesses. (The stewardesses were unquestionably the reason for the battle.) The debris from the explosion impacted precisely on The Parson’s head, leaving King Chonce as the undisputed winner of the international pointing contest.
Thanks Pete, a Merry Christmas to you too! A real shame about the demo but I hope you can use the ideas in the future. :)
Thanks S_tec for the conclusion to my story. I wasn't happy about the Parson winning so you made my Christmas. :)
Happy Christmas and New Year to all! See you at Porky's Disco 2004!
Thanks S_tec for the conclusion to my story. I wasn't happy about the Parson winning so you made my Christmas. :)
Happy Christmas and New Year to all! See you at Porky's Disco 2004!
Has it really been 3 years?
Merry Christmas again!
Merry Christmas again!
Christmas greetings to Shane, and all Fearmoths!
Anyways, we need a new meeting soon! To make up some junk :)
