Chapter 1: “Shark Bait and Monkey Spinning”
A small alien craft landed in a puddle and was promptly obliterated by a passing DM. The alien being dragged along by the unsuspecting foot cried one of two phrases in his limited vocabulary - “Nyeeeeeeeeeer” - which can be roughly translated as “Stop dragging me along, I’m an alien”. Then he cried out the other phrase “Eheeeeeh” which means “Ouch” in English. Anyway, the alien quickly died due to a lack of some kind of gas he carn’t live without and is abundant on his home planet. His limp little body stuck fast to David Wanker’s Doctor Marten. It (the alien’s lifeless little body) looked a bit like a turd. Dave scraped the worst of it off on the side of the curb. Then he went down the pub which was crap because they weren’t selling any beer.
“How come youse arn’t selling no beer then?” he arseked the idiot barman.
“Beers orf mate” is the reply.
“Yeah, I know that - so you say. But why’s it orf?” he arseks once more.
“Carn’t you read? Anyway, we don’t serve people of yor ilk.” is the retort.
“What’s wrong with me then?”
“People like you don’t know y’right from y’down - or even y’up from y’left either. Anyway, y’ve got shite all over y’feet y’twat.” Then Dave’s mobile rang (the yuppy get). He wasn’t going to answer it but he did in the end cos he was fed up to the back teeth with the aforementioned barperson.
“Hello?” he arsked whosoever had rung him.
“It’s me,”
“Who?”
“That’s my business” replied Andy Bladder - the village skip.
“Oh I thort it was you. Why are you corling me at this unsaintly hour? I’m tryin’ to get some kip aren’t I?” rangled Dave - who was quite angry don’t you know. He sat up in bed and scratched his tiny brain. He looked at his shoes on the floor “Damn that piece of shit on my shoe.” he thought out loud, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. How did he get here when the last time he looked, he was down the pub? - “Must’ve bin abducted by some kind of extra terrestrial being or something again,” he thought out loud once more.
“What?” arsks Andy
“I was thinking out loud, you styoooopid get. You still aven’t answered my question yet!” (because Dave often liked his sentences to rhyme don’t you know - but not all the time becorse that would be stupid.)
“Yeah - sorry mate, I was wondrin if I could but just this very once borrow your mandolin tomorrow? Only there’s going to be a mandolin playing competition at the local fate tomorrow. There’s a prize of over a GRILLION KAJILLION POUNDS and I could be rich!”
“Hang about, Andy, I for one don’t own a fuckin’ mandoloin and I also know for a straight fart that you have no musical ability wart so ever. So don’t start abusin’ my status as your only so-called mate in the entire world so’s you can get your dodgy skippy kicks, entiendes?” he shouted in a pretty pissed off kind of way - slamming the phone down. Then he realised that because it was a mobile, slamming it down wouldn’t cut Bladder off so he pressed the HANG UP button in a vigorous and forceful fashion. “Stupid cock” he muttered to himself, grinning like a donkey. Then Dave had a brilliant idea (even if he did say so himself). He himself would enter the competition to win a GRILLION KAJILLION POUNDS and then HE would be rich. It was foolproof but Dave was no fool and he set off to find his mandolin which he actually did own arfter all but had forgotten about up until then.
Anyway, he dug out his mandolin from a secret hiding place where he kept it or something - I don’t know where as it’s a secret - and began to play a merry tune upon the magical instrument (for it was actually a magical mandolin, you know).
“I’m bound to win the prize!” thought Dave, “I’m gonna be rich beyond my wildest dreams! MUAUAHAHAHAHA!”.
― kaninchen, Wednesday, 21 July 2004 20:28 (twenty-one years ago)
Chapter Two: “Greasing empty baked-bean tins (Tesco Value ones)”
But little did David Wanker know that evil things were afoot - literally (semi-clever wording! hargh!). That little bit of turd attached to his shoe that I mentioned earlier came from a distant planet. Now, when aliens from distant planets (don’t arsk me which one, I don’t know, OK?), when aliens from distant planets die in an oxygen atmosphere, they send out a tiny distress signal which can only be heard by other aliens and also elks.
The very next day, Dave set off with his magical mandolin to the local fate, playing it joyfully as he walked down the road. But as you’d probably expect, everyone in town decided to beat him up for being a prick, so he stopped playing it. Dave looked at his watch and saw that he had a couple of hours to waste so he went into a Bugger Lord restaurant in town.
“I’ll have a Big King Cheesebugger,” said Dave to the spotty little twat who was working there “and don’t skimp on the ketchup.” The bugger, which had bin refrozen from the night before was handed to him. “Cheers, Bugger!” said Dave, feeling witty and content with himself.
“Mmmmm... Gristle and testes! My favourite!” said Dave as he bit into the pungent bugger, and with a gurly squeal of delight, Dave found a pube buried deep between the layers of stale bread and gherkins. “I’ll save that for later” he thought out loud.
“No need to shout!” shouted the pimply oik behind the counter.
“Fuck you,” said Dave, kicking the little shit straight in the teeth, “See how you like that!” he continued, grinning like a goon. Then he called the guy a “cunt” for good measure.
As he walked down the high street, Dave smiled to himself as he had just remembered that he had used Andy’s tooth brush to clean the bog out that morning. “Bloody good job I made of it too!” he thought out loud. He looked down at his feet and realised that there was still a little bit of shite on his boots from the night before. “Fuck that shit.” said Dave - but luckily he didn’t. He tried to clean it off on some grass but then he realised that the grass had been shat on over ten trillion kabillion times that very day by every single canine manifestation in the country, and wiping his boots on it would only make them dirtier. In fact the entire strip of grass was covered in dog-eggs and flies. “This is ridiculous!” shouted Dave - getting many a funny look from anyone passing by at the time “I’m gonna have to walk around all day smelling of cack now. I’ll never win the mandoloin contest - even with a magic one!”. Then he burst into tears and got beaten up again for acting like a big gurl and smelling of shit.
“Dave, stop acting like a big gurl and smelling of shit!” shouted a random passer-by as he clomped him in the head.
“Yeah, stop acting like a big gurl and smelling of shit, Dave!” said his Nan as she kicked him in the nads.
Knackered and broken hearted, Dave dragged his sorry arse onward to the local fate, unaware that he was being followed by several huge elk what had escaped from the annual Moose, Elk and Reindeer Festival which was conveniently in town that very day. The elk, attracted by the distress signals coming from the alien body attached to Dave’s boot, wore slippers so as not to be heard and sunglasses so they wouldn’t be noticed. Soon there was a whole hoard of elk Mafia following David Wanker on his way to the local fate. So inconspicuous and effective was this militia group of quadrupeds, that they stormed the town centre by complete surprise. It was only too late when the townsfolk realised that they were being invaded by tens of thousands of elk (for being randy creatures, elk(s?) fuck like rabbits even more than rabbits themselves do - see!).
Anywho, the town was totally obliterated from the face of the earth and there were multiple fatalities (sad isn’t it? I am currently weeping onto the computer keyboard and thr keys ar stratngi to get slippreyt). The army was called in, but they couldn’t do anything cos of a bunch of animal rights activists said it was alright for elk to wipe out entire populations of townsfolk but wrong for townsfolk to annihilate the elk(s?). It makes sense - see!!!
Soon the elk(s?) got shagged out and decided to have a kip for a couple of hours, giving Dave enough time to get to the local fate (which at this rate wasn’t that local at all and was actually in another country. Mmmm.).
― kaninchen, Wednesday, 21 July 2004 20:29 (twenty-one years ago)
Chapter 3: Dave walks for days and days
Because Dave couldn’t drive and couldn’t be buggered to go by bus, he had to walk to the local fate and it took ages. Loads of stuff happened on the way including a drive-by shooting, an avalanche, an aeroplane hi-jack, a street-fight with early 90’s teen-rap superstar Vanilla Ice and his VIP crew, a Viking feast, the befriending of a talking stoat called Mike, a particularly funny incident involving hysterectomies, a food fight with a gang of angry Hungarians, a visit to a haunted house where Dave cacked himself and a failed suicide attempt involving some cabbage. Of course, I can’t be arsed to tell you about all that stuff, besides, you wouldn’t want to know. All I’ll tell you is that Dave yonked along for days and days - until one day...
― kanananananananananab, Wednesday, 21 July 2004 20:31 (twenty-one years ago)
Chapter 4: Dave gets to a cannibal island!!! (This chapter may or may not feature multiple deaths, Roadkill Fans!)
“Land ahoy!” shouted Mike in his irritating little stoaty voice, for indeed there was land up ahead! Dave was well excited. He had finally found the lost island and would finally get to win the mandolin competition. He scratched his arse - Schlup! He hadn’t had the chance or decency to change his undergarments since the incident in the haunted house over two weeks ago - Schwerp! He couldn’t wait to have a shower, a shit, a shave and a sherman - Schloop! Mike turned up at Dave’s feet wearing a comedy clothes-peg on his nose as if he was in some kind of kid’s cartoon. I mean how fucking dumb is that? It’s not as if someone would put a clothes-peg on in real life is it? If they really wanted to show their distaste about a pongy smell, they’d probably just waft their hands in front of their face, or, in extreme cases, hold their nose. But oh no, Mike the stoat is too good for that. Needless to say, he’s a total and utter cuntwit.
“We’ve made it! It’s a good thing those Vikings gave us a ship or you’d’ve bin fucked!” squeaked Mike, annoyingly, “Quick let’s go ashore!”
“Not so fast you squealing little retard!” said Dave, interrupting Mike’s wit and repartee, “You’re not going anywhere cos you’re far too annoying.” And with that, he stabbed the paw defenswess wikkle cweature to death with a fishfork and devoured him, throwing the odd rib to the sharks (whose protruding fins poking out the water looked a bit too much like antlers for comfort).
Now before anyone gets all upset about this vulgar display of human unkindness, let me just tell you that David was perfectly justified in his actions, seeing as Mike hadn’t helped to do any of the washing-up since the beginning of the journey and Dave had had quite enough. Plus Mike had this really annoying habit of screaming really suspicious things about Jesus in his sleep. As you can imagine, Dave was fed up with this sick, twisted and generally perverse type of malarkey and was therefore driven to do what he did. Anyway, it’s only a bloody story! It’s not as if a talking stoat really did get slaughtered is it? No! Get your head out your arse.
Ahem:
As I was saying, Dave belched a ginormous sigh of relief and went to the shore somehow. He was greeted by a big bunch of cannibals who captured him. They strung him up by his ankles and were going to cook him until one of the canniballs pointed out that Dave hadn’t changed his (Dave’s) pants in two whole weeks and wouldn’t taste very nice. So instead, the cannibals ate a tomato salad.
“We’d eat you, but you smell too much like shit.” said the Head-Cannibal in his best foreign accent.
“Yeah, Shitty Pants!” shouted a second cannibal with a wonky foot.
“Yeah, Shitty Trousers!” proclaimed a third cannibal with cross-eyes.
“Yeah, Shitty Face!” agreed a fourth cannibal with a funny hair-cut and insane teeth.
“‘Wonkyfoot! Crosseyes! Funnyhaircutinsaneteeth! I will not tolerate this kind of behaviour!” shouted the Head-Cannibal, “I’m the Head Cannibal and I’m the only one who gets to insult the food - thats the rule! Go to bed without any salad!”
The three cannibals minced off in single file, heads hung low, muttering stuff about “Shithead Cannibal” and then larfing their heads off under their breaths. Then Wonky-Foot tripped over a grain of sand and they larfed even more. They’d never had it so good.
So Dave got off scot-free, but now he was lost in the jungle and didn’t know which way to go.
“Oh no!” he whimpered, “What am I going to do? I’ve got so near and yet so far! I’m a bird without wings - A tree without leaves! At a loss and neglected by the world! Will I ever learn to fly, or learn the meaning of true love? Will people ever remember me for who I really am? I should really call my mother more often (even though she hates me and wants me killed) Boohoohoo!”!!!
He bawled his eyes out until every single creature in the jungle (even the cute fluffy ones) decided to beat the shinola out of him for acting like big gurl and smelling of shit.
“Stop acting like a big gurl and smelling of shit, Dave!” said a passing zebra as it kneed him in the knackers.
“Yeah Dave, stop acting like a big gurl and smelling of shit!” shouted a small rabbit as it bit off his arm leaving a deep, unhealable wound. “I hope you get tetanus!” it said, hopping merrily away with a huge grin and blood dripping from it’s little mouth. This little accident gave Dave the chance to pull off his favey-ravey joke of all time:
“DON’T WORRY!” he shouted, “I’M ARMLESS! AHARHARHAR!” then the animals beat him up again for being a twat in general. David dusted himself off then set off to phone a taxi cos he was sick of walking.
Anyway, I can’t be bothered to write the rest of this story because it’s not very good and I’ve run out of ideas. If you got this far, you’ve done very well. If you liked it, you can always send me a cheque for some money, which I would be delighted to put into my bank account and spend on cool stuff. Thank you very much.
― bananaman, Wednesday, 21 July 2004 20:33 (twenty-one years ago)