Discussion Forum

Indeed. The Isle of SSHite is a haven for those of a literacy bent. Although of course it wasn't always like that. Once washed ashore the castaways had to burn the chart that had caused so many others to founder in the belief that they were in a totally different place from where they thought they were.

But now it is a land of slathering, racist, folding, vomiting joy, with not a thought for celebrities or entertainment gossip. A happy band of satirists taking the piss out of all and everything, safe in the knowledge that it's only the quality of writing that counts.

We wish you all a merry Christmas and hope that joy and laughter come your way. - Joy in particular as I'm told that she goes a bit.

LOve & kisses to all.

Chelmsford City supporters used to chant "Wheel them in' when the team of asthmatic, partially sighted, out of condition kitchen fitters and van drivers that made up their squad stumbled onto the pitch.

This was thought to be due to the club's motif, which was a wheelbarrow.

However, and remember that this was all 30 years ago; The supporters also used to chant 'Wheel them in' when the spectators confined to wheelchairs were wheeled out to the touchline in order that they could better watch the all-conquering 'City' trounce Green Lane Paperboys, or whoever it was that they were playing that week.

The standard of play was so high in the Ryman 2nd division (South), that the ground ended up being sold off and turned into a supermarket and I'm not sure if the club still exists. No doubt this was all arraigned by a worried Sir Matt Busby or someone of that ilk.

I liked that Clive.

Dear Spoof,

I for once agree with young Danton of the drip-tray. Mister Arm-and-hammer-maternity-dental-fixative is always welcome for a soireé with the chaps in a once elegant Edwardian boozer.

Childish bickering does no good whatsoever.

Adult sniping and general silly-bollocksness is however a wonderful thing, and becomes more wonderful with wonderfulness as the beer slips down.

I for one would be delighted to see you there provided that I still have the ability to see anything after an hour or so.

Shirtmoose
500 miles south off the nearest decent pint
Feather-Spittingham
France

Don't worry Frankie. In the highly unlikely event that you win the competition - and remember, you are up against not only the oily Danton, but the pristine winner of 'Ex-pat heating engineer of the month (Confolens and district)' - we will order a glass of what Americans call 'Budweiser' and the rest of the world calls 'Tasteless piss' on your behalf.

We won't drink it of course, but we'll try to find a passing tourist to palm it on to.

Absolute nonsense from our spanner-wielding second best compo participant, who by-the-way has a wife who is not only brighter, but is also way too good for him.

I myself have been busy sharpening the old HB, ready to totally wipe the board with my outpourings once Skoob tells us what the subject is. - He may already have done that, but I'm so confidant that I can produce pure literary gold at the drop of a hat that I haven't checked it yet.

I thought that I might toss-off a short witty piece based on my time in Iceland; wonderful frozen food store without equal. My missus does so love to hear of me reminiscing.

Ah, here she comes now. And she appears to be carrying a large halibut.

Ahh, the noble Halibut. A diner's delight. A true prince among fish on the fishmonger's slab. Why I remember when 'Spotty' Johnson was caught in the science master's cupboard with nothing but a fresh halibut and a table of logarithms. Well, when old Thomas saw what was...

THWACK!!!


THUD.

As an aside, I notice that The Mail Online article featured a photo of a young schoolgirl.


Wonderful journalistic integrity eh!

I share your sentiments old son, but alas, what will happen to this man will be that he will be vilified in his community for a short while, and will possibly lose his job. This however will not stop him 'dabbling' in various troll-like activities.

As an example: Fred and Rose West (A sexual serial killer and his wife for our US friends who may not have heard of them) were convicted before the main murders started, of sexually molesting a teen-age girl. - I believe that they received a suspended sentence. Fred West later commented that following their court appearance and a report in the local paper, he received a number of 'kinky'letters from women.

The Troll in question is merely a sexual deviant rather than a murderer, but the point is that others like him will be likely to make contact with this couple in order to share their common dysfunction, thus making it more likely that he/they will continue, albeit is a less visible manner.

I do sometimes despair of mankind.

A very unpleasant character by all accounts.

If what has been reported is correct, I hope that this person is suitably punished, and that more widespread publicity is given to it in order to deter others.

^^^^

Hey, like, chill Clivey baby.

You're, like spoiling the karma Man.

You gotta stay in the groove and relax.

Wanna try some of this? It's real good shit. Got it from my flower brother Arm n'...Arm n' Hanna... Arm n' Hammersmith Flyover? You know, the cat with the hat guy.

Here, I'll show you. there's no harm, it just opens your senses. I'll just take a pull on it...

Wow Man!

Shit.

THUD!

Man, this is like... Really deep man.

It's kinda, like, you know, cool n' groovy n' happening.

Hey Babe, you mind if I feel your hair? It's just like, soooo kinda there, like on your head and everything.

We're just, so with it. Like brothers and sisters together helping each other and making the world more loving and trusting.

Can you lend me a tenner till me giro arrives?



Marie-Ann Faithfull's Bastard Love Child

Yeah, don't worry Debs. It's all in snerk, snerk

Rob is busy touching-up the artwork Oh-er!

And once I've got the window to use NASA's Cray super-computer to do the spell check on Danton's stuff we should be almost there.

BTW, waved at Ellis from the battlements of 'chez-moi' as he went past, and was pleased to see that the old 2CV was making good progress.

Not sure about the passenger though. Thought I knew the face, but couldn't put my finger on it. So to speak.

---

Quote: Maria Rios

Come on down.........Pleeeese!!!! Help me.

Alaskamojo
Churchmouse
Dulcie Gabbani
IainB
Quentin Muffin
Rvler9201
Skoob
Tawdry Soup
Tommy Twinkle
Lurkers


Oh all right. Though quite frankly I would crawl naked for three miles over broken glass in order not to see Clive in a tutu. I wouldn't be able to sleep after.

Right, what was we supposed to be doing? Oh yeah, bucket list.

*chews knuckles and furrows brow*

ok, Bucket list:

Pail
Bucket
Top handled bowl
Bucket (did I say that one already?)
Small drum
Large beaker
small open topped tank
erm...

Sorry, can't think of any others so I'm off to post sordid pictures of Debbie and Ellis on the internet.

*Reins-in horse, tips stetson onto back of head and gently fondles six-shooter*

Alright there little lady. This here heart/arse thread is gittin a might wearysome hog-dammit. *spits onto floor*

Me an' the boys down at Gulch Valley were-a-talking, an' it seems like most of them-there heart songs are as exhausted as a rattlesnake in a musical arse/heart competition. So with this in mind Old six-pack Pete and his Injin guide suggested that we kinda change the 'heart' word for the word 'Love' which gets us a whole new level of arse songs. Yes siree Bob.

Not only that, but it gives us old-timers a chance to think up songs before them-there young whippersnappers 'n cow-pokes git the draw on us.


Alrighty there, let's start:

Arse on a mountain top
Arse me do
Arse grows where my Rosemary goes
All you need is Arse
Arse me tender
Arse is a many splendid thing



YE-HA! *Strikes match on horse's rump, lights Marlboro and gallops off into the sunset coughing*

I'd quite like to own a new bucket one day.



And possibly visit Catford one last time.


Or possibly not.

Misery!

You've no idea mate. Not only was there the sitting in damp technical colleges for years on end, but I now have to deal with panama hat wearing, Daily Mail reading, old duffers who think that they're living in India and everything costs a tenner.

If that wasn't bad enough, there is the odd new-build to deal with. Try explaining to a builder the reasons for mounting a boiler in a particular place; it's like trying to explain income tax to a dog! They're alright playing with a bucket of mud, but anything else and you might as well be attempting to talk reason to a motor mechanic or someone who works in a plastic injection molding factory.

Builders, Ha!

I'd line them all up against the wall, except if they'd built it themselves the bloody thing would probably collapse on them before you could organize the firing squad.

love & kisses etc...

Cheeky bastard!

I'll have you know that sweating joints, bending pipes and over-charging silly old coots who have had the stupidity to buy a huge French farmhouse with a million rooms, no insulation and no heating for sixpence and a percentage of their state pension for the next thirty years is a difficult and demanding job.

Not only that, but most of my income seems to go to motor mechanics for emptying the ashtray of the Bentley and such like.

"Oh Meester Moosze" they say. "Ees very bad. You need zer re-configeration of zer motor. c'est obligtoire"

Bastards, the lot of them. You hand over a pile of euros only to find that all he's done is wipe an oily rag round the fuel filter and burnt your seat with a Disque Bleu.

If it wasn't for the fact that my missus is not only lovely, but far too good for me, I'd send her over to Blighty to kick your teeth in.

However, as she's French she would probably slather and fold like a girl before giving half of the country away to Germany.


*fume*

Yeah all welcome, old and new.

Should be good.

Bring your own blood supply.

I'll have a pint Skoob.

In reply to when is the book 'coming out' s'nerk, s'nerk, f'narr f'narr.

All of the text is in and sorted and is currently being sent across to the publisher. We're still waiting for the images from Rob hopefully they'll be in soon. Therefore a month to get everything across, a month for the publisher to do their bit and a month of final editing and tidying up. So I reckon it will be out by Christmas.

Re that pint: We'll organize another writer's piss-up for Dec in the usual venue.

I'll stick a thread up during Nov with details.

Take no notice of Danton. It's the brake fluid that does it you know.

^^^^^^

Well honestly!

*Puffs out cheeks in indignation*

The way you go on you would think that you are some kind of Hypod gear oil swilling East end motor engineer! *Snaps off stem of pipe in anger*

I know your sort; All sucking of teeth while adding an extra 50% for a set of constant velocity joints and a flimsy plastic seat cover. 'Oh it'll cost you Darling' and 'I'll have to order is special for you. Might take a week or so'. And all the time waltzing around in your customer's car with a short blond woman with more sense than yourself. Who quite frankly not only has more compassion than you but is also much better looking.

Oh yes, just because you contribute one or two mildly funny articles to the forthcoming Dorking Review 2 (Order now to avoid disappointment)and throw in some of the best forum comments you think that you can denigrate poor Ellis, who not only has a luxuriant head of hair that is the envy of everyone at his local bakers, but someone who also knows how to treat a female impersonator.


*Desperately tries to open packet of stress tablets before collapsing over desk*

^^^^^^^^^"I was going to give you a jolly up"

It's too bloody late now isn't it. I was reduced to eating old spoofs that I'd written over the last couple of years to sustain myself. (A good job that they are all rich and nutritious otherwise I would have had it).

Anyway, I've dug the bullet out of the wall, and I still have the brass cartridge case so I'm off down to the scrappers to weigh them in.

*Clip-clop, clip-clop, clip-clop.*

14 centimes!!!!! The robbing bastards!

Anyway Old Horse, what's all this about young Ellis and his haircut. Looks alright to me.

You want to see Debbies. Jesus! You would have thought she'd done it with a knife and fork.

Bastards!


That could have blown my bloody head off. And what do I get? Not a 'You alright Churchy', or a 'Don't worry mate, I'll call an ambulance'. Sod all, thats what!

Good job it was only a flesh wound, although I'll have to mop the blood up off of the lino now.

That new bloke Derrick Naylor-Made with his 'friendly group of writers' bollocks.

Pah!

You wait till you post a pathetic, badly crafted cry for help with accommodation and employment and see where it gets you.

Maconie was a form of tinned meat and veg issued to the troops in the first world war. It had the slogan 'A complete meal in a tin' and apparently tasted of boiled cabbage.

I don't know why I'm telling you all this...I mean, it's not as if it's relevant or anything...I just want to be liked *sniff* It wasn't my fault that I was good at history, I mean, if it wasn't for my uncle Bob insisting that I rummage through the pockets of his battledress it might have been so different. All the big boys would have picked me for football, and taught me how to smoke... but here I am with nothing in the world but a picklehelb and a copy of Rutherwicks guide to the Somme battlefields *sob*

Julie from the dry-cleaners might have gone out with me.

I could have been someone... not just a cleaner at a bus station, mopping up piss, and being abused by tramps.

I could have lived in a real flat... with walls, and a window to look out of...I could have made it.

Still, there's worse things happen at sea. at least I've still got uncle Bob's old Webley. I'll just give it a polish...

BLAM!!!!

Shit.

THUD.

Take her a hula hoop.

She won't be able to hide it in her handbag, or secrete it in the ward before she leaves.


Hang on, just thought... Haven't added an insult.


I reckon she's a freeloading bastard who's taking vital medical funding away from deserving alcoholic writers, the greedy cow.


There, that should do it.

Not that difficult to Alter boys, at least according to Gay Larry, or whatever the bastard's name was.

But then again, living in Oss-ter-ralia; where the sun is bright, and the sky is blue, and the girls all look like you, you pommie bastard; I don't suppose you notice much difference.

Give us a light Mac.