Litter And Glitter In the Slightly Spooky Woods

-=A Different Dimension, Devoted to Dross=-

Welcome to Warpios Wierd World online Warped Web Wonderfullness. We have finally embraced the Technoligacol Age, as well as the World of Mumbo Jumbo.

The bastard 'Gilt of Magic Magic Jokes Scripwriters' is on strike. F*ck knows why. You go on holiday... soak up the rays... come back... and the 'Job's F*cked'... Bastards. Bart is here though. He has plenty of odd stories as well as jokes he is involved with. The Gilt had better explain themselves soon. The Editor: Dr.Lancealot Warpio

Gilt: In Warpios Weird World it means a Guild sometimes. It is like a Guild but the next rank up. When a Guild gets 'up it's own arse' it becomes a Gilt. I can't wait to get delving into that. Thaumaturge Gilead 'Random' Gillespie is due some serious scrutiny.

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-=Warpios Wierd World Magazine=-

-=Ministry of Tragic Magic Stories=-

Bartholomew Twartsenfadge was no ordinary old man. He was other things as well. Two of these things were; that he was a f*cking fictional character and, that he could see into another dimension, that others found very strange and very warped. They stayed away from this dimension and stopped in their own shitty little reality. This was best for everyone, everyone is happy, even the unhappy.

Bartholomew was a bit grumpy this morning. He hated February. It was a lazy month. It couldn't be bothered having more than 28 days for 75% of the time. The other 35% it had 29 - but only because man forced it to - to help keep time running in a correct manner. He hated time too now he came to think about it. It wasn't doing him any favours at all. Or it didn't used to.

He was sure he felt slightly younger and healthier. Was he another Benjamin Muck Button? Or was this a sign he was about to close the curtains and join the invisible choir? Only time would tell... but he had a tenner on at the local bookies that it was because he was about to die. Silly old sod... He could only claim it after death.

Whatever happened in the Slightly Spooky Woods this was reality. When you were dead, you were dead... Too much time on your own, whilst also suffering from brain damage after banging your bonce years earlier was not the best thing that could have happened to Bartholomew. Living in his own world was fair enough... so long as his delusions didn't affect others.

He had already had an indignant letter from the Chancelor with the Chequebook Alistair Daring Eyebrows saying - in part - that he was:

'getting a bit pissed off with subsidising the bookies with senile old sods spending their hard earned pensions on stupid bets rather than buying 40 Park Drive everyday and smoking them to... A... raise more taxes... and B... hasten the death of people who have worked all their lives, but now they have retired haven't had the decency to die after a few years like they used to. When you go to hospital for a free heart and lung transplant - free because you had paid national insurance and taxes all your life, you WILL be told to 'F*ck off and die' - you smoked and drank and bought so much petrol that you could have bought a full head and body transplant. Tough. Now go home, stop putting stupid bets on, smoke more or start - it is never too late - and die.'

He had kept the letter as he was sure it was ageist, which wasn't legal. He would see if the Bummers and Queers (B&Q) solicitors would take the case on. They knew about stuff like this. But first he would have to take Tribute for the Dwarfs. This was why he hated February. It meant he had to make Marches Tribute half a week earlier than normal. Bloody February - Stupid month, neither here nor there. At least spring was around the corner.

"We only have 3 left before Armaggedon... I'd better make the most of it." he said outloud to himself, like old people and idiots do.

Now March was well underway. Bart set off down to the woods with this months Tribute. He was busy wondering what was going to happen today. He was totally oblivious to the Gilt of Magic Magic Jokes Scripwriters being on strike. This was just going to be a story... You could still be bummed in a story... Bart the Clart got to the edge of the Slightly Spooky Woods oblivious to there being no joke this month.

On approaching the clearing with the Fallen Down Tree he always made a bit of noise to tell the Dwarves he was coming. He either hummed - depending on whether he was upwind or not - whistled, or dropped a big wet fart, totally depending on his infernal internals to decide whether the wet fart was the best course of action. Today, they decided it was. He parped his approach and heard the telltale sounds of scurrying feet and loudly whispered "What the f*ck was that?"... "F*ck knows and I ain't hanging around to see... or smell it!"

On entering the clearing it was devoid of life. There was however fairydust sprinkled about the clearing and a number of what appeared to be magical totems. Bart put the Tribute on the fallen tree, covered it with a neckerchief as usual and started to go around the clearing picking them all up.

There were seven totems in total. Seven pieces of magic to look into. Quickly looking around and seeing no one or thing, he took the magic over to the fallen tree and crawled inside, taking extra care that Robert 'Gayboy' Thomson - the other killer of James Bulger wasn't using it as a temporary new safe house until the dust had settled. Good, it was empty. There was nothing worse than finding your hidey hole all stuffed up with people who got away with murder... literaly.

"Fuckin' faggot probably lives in Brighton with the rest of 'em. Keeping very quiet about his past no doubt. He was the worst of the two. Left a bloody footprint on James face and inserted some batteries up his anus too." thought Bartholomew in disgust. "Remember... HE IS THE WORST OF THE TWO." Bartholomew shuddered.


"Now... what have we got here?"


First of the five was Mona Lisa. Bartholomew looked on exitedly as two seeming identical Moaning Lisas revolved before his very eyes... and one became even uglier than she was before. "Wow. She is f*ck ugly."

He quickly put Moaner to the bottom of the stack to look at the second magical totem. This was Pseudo Motion. He checked out the three delusions one by one. Yes.. there was magic here... he could see it whirring like clockwork in front of his own eyes.

Shuffling to totem three, Moving Gears another strange psuedo motion malarkey that it was best not to look at for too long. it really did make you feel sick. Bartholomew quickly got out totem four.

Totem four was a spell to bring on Motion Induced Blindness. This was a strange looking bit of mumbo jumbo. Bart felt strange. Best to move onto Totem five.

Totem five was a mind masher. Colour Text was it's name. That could be a right bastard to get your head around if you where thick as pig shit. Bart found it no problem, but was still impressed with the magical properties of this totem. It was probably a lot more magical than it looked.

Totem Six was called After Image. Reputed to have been invented by the evil witch Margaret Thatcher as a way to make everyone see the Union Jack, even though it means nothing now. Tony Blair kept a copy of this potent magic by his bedside in the run up to the Millennium Dome opening. The day after it opened - remember: he played the 'Okey f*ckin' cokey' with H.R.H the Queen - he burnt it has a blasphemy because everybody laughed at him for being a complete cock.

The last totem was of course number seven. It was called Spiral Pinwheel. This was one of them Weird-Whirly-Wank things... Bartholomew studied it for about 30 seconds... but then got bored. Nothing was happening. Totem seven was a load of bollocks. He glanced down at his watch to see what time it was... Oh no.., his skin was actually crawling along the back of his hand.

Bart sat up quickly, banged his head, swore, crawled out of his stump - still clutching his seven totems - and set off at a fair pace to get back home before it went dark. He actually had three hours before dusk, but as usual after he banged his head things went slightly fuzzy round the edges.

He got back home, flung open the parlour door, marched over to the stove and lowered the big copper kettle down onto the top to boil some water for a well deserved mug of tea. He looked down at his hand. Thankfully it was back to normal. Bart was going back down to The Slightly Spooky Woods very soon... he was sure he had felt a metal ring under the mossy bed of the hollowed out fallen tree as he had hastily extracated himself from its stubborn stumpiness.

He needed to know what that ring was. He began making plans for an expedition immediately.


About 12 minutes later a little boy with puffy reddened eyes and his father walked into the clearing.

" Is this where the nasty little boys took your stuff off you?" said the boys father. the little boy nodded.

"How nasty, they emptied your glitter all over the clearing. There is no sign of your 'Hardy Plotter - Pretend Magic Gift Set' I wonder where that has got to? Lets follow the trail of stale urine and Germolene and see if it leads us to who has taken your stuff... probably by accident. We can ask him nicely for it back... as I want you to grow up to be a reasonable member of society... Ok little man?" the boys father smiled down as he ruffled his sons head.

The little boy sniffed a bit and smiled back. He loved his dad very much. He was going to be OK.

"Oh look, a big hamper of scrummy looking food covered in a neckerchief. We had better leave it as we don't know who's it is. Looks damned inviting though. Come on little fellow... race you to the edge of the wood."

With that they both set of running and giggling together, racing out of the wood toward the source of the pissy medicinal smell that was growing ever stronger.

The pair arrived at the rear of the house. The man tapped on the back door then stood well back: "Hello there, anybody about?.. We wondered if you had seen our magic set?"

Bart froze inside... he glanced across and saw one small shadow in the window. "Oh my God.. The Dwarfs are here for their magic!" He dropped a wetter fart as he inched towards the door. He opened it just enough to slide the magical totems through... whilst avoiding looking at the dwarves. "I've only got them seven... I found them... sorry!"

"Ok no problem." said the man as a small hand took the remnants of the shop bought shite from the old mans hand at the little gap. "Thanks for picking them up anyway. Come on little man lets get you home."

Bart was already back lurking where he couldn't see anything.

"Little man!" he thought. No wonder he only saw one small shadow. He wondered how small the other dwarf must be for a while... then with renewed vigour he decided to start packing for his next adventure.