Discussion Forum

Twas a crisp frosty night. The moon kissed the earth, causing the frozen dewdrop, to glisten like diamonds, on the necklace of a fairy Princess. All was quiet, sedate and calm. For the night before christmas day, gave every child, a reason, to snuggle up warm, in the hope, that christmas day dawn, would arrive, as soon as they fell asleep.

The soft, charming voice, of the church choir, floated across the village. Yule tide carols, gave comfort, to the elderly, infirm, and gentle folk, of Patanosta.

From the village chapel, a voice cried out..."You can stick your nativity up your arse! What fukin idiot, gets his misses up the duff, and then makes her ride a fukin donkey till all hours of the night!!......Reverend SKOOB, had found the Cooking Brandy, Deacon Lynton, the French lay preacher, had hidden in the vestry book cupboard.

Mrs Furminghoe, had just emerged from her W.C. The ablution had been difficult, "No more curried eggs for me ", She had mused, scratching the itch. "What was that noise? Could it be the cats? They would have to be done! Oh how I wish someone would do me!" Mrs F had said, as she picked up the phone, to ring her sister, Agamendon............

You will have to do this full length for the mag now. NO EXCUSES- you have the muse this Xmas.

Nah, he's up our attic stroking the fruit bat and wrestling with the snow leopard.

Honest.

Regards

Honest Skoob.