Heald
22nd January 2008, 03:30 PM
This is not my story; in fact, it is not anyone’s story. It is a documentary. Many people of all walks of life have had to pass through what has come to be known as ‘Sharupodenbi’; the phenomenon that occurs when one has either seen four-hundred and twenty-two moons, or drinks a queer tasting cider called Kallstrummen, made with the apples grown in the Orchard of Mrs Wilkes. This is our story. Story-mentary. Thing.
Gavin Luper was an anomaly in the Land of Frosted Glass. He hailed from the Village Hidden In The Beavers. Every citizen there was a perfect specimen of mankind, yet he stood out as an outcast, possibly because of his strange Australian accent, which confused everyone because when he said he was going to bed, everyone around him thought he was saying he was going to bid, which was nonsense because auctions were forbidden due to the excessive beaver population. However, it was probably because one leg was one whole foot shorter than the other. He also had an unusual tic, that would cause him to regularly jolt his head and exclaim ‘Chris James’ or ‘Terry Butcher’, the two announcers for the early versions of Konami’s soccer games.
It would be on the Day of Navy Blues that Gavin would discover his magical powers. It was when he took his daily limp across to the butcher’s for his bucket of weasel livers when he would happen across a gimp. The gimp had a bag of magic beans and offered these for the low price of four shekels. Gavin, however, knew not to trust gimps, especially ones that dealt in shekels and drew out a sharpened cantaloupe. The gimp was cleaved before he knew what was going on and the beans hit the floor. A passing beaver ingested a bean and inexplicably turned into a llama.
“Crikey!” ejaculated Gavin. “A real-Chris James-live llama!”
The Llama sighed and spat up a new bean, this time rainbow-coloured.
“Eat this and you’ll be able to shoot fire and crap,” he said and the llama bumbled off over the hills. Gavin was wary of regurgitated legumes, but the promise of shooting fire and crap was too good to pass up, so he ate the bean. He turned to a tree, pointed and said,
“Terry Butcher!” and with that the tree exploded into blue fire (and junk).
The exploits of Gavin the Meek and his amazing shooting-fire-and-crap abilities became renowned in the region, and soon an African Princess became aware of his gifts. However, they did not interest her in the slightest, and simply uttered the words, “Tits on rye,” in response to this news.
Meanwhile, Gavin the Meek, who was busily skinning his weasel kidneys, became
C:\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\error you have encountered an unexpected walrus please standby for euthanasia
DANUDANUDANUDANUDANUDANUDANUDANU
The cabbage-based exploits of Gavin the Meek will return after these messages.
(Editor’s note: This really is a piece of crap. It is unbelievable that this is only part 1 of a 54-part, seven-thousand paged manuscript of pure drivel. You sir really need your head looked at. Kiss kiss.)
Gavin didn’t take kindly to my editor’s trollop, and so my editor sadly died today after an execution scene fell off the back of a truck onto his back, crushing him slowly and painfully.
The Land of Frosted Glass was at peace once again, but the peace would be shattered by a new invasion: the neighbouring country, the Land of Splintered Spatulas, had declared war yet again. The danger was very real, for they had summoned the Celestial Gas Cooker from the heavens, and it was only minutes away from collision. The villagers called upon Gavin to shoot fire and crap at it to destroy it before it killed them all, but he had bigger weasel kidneys to fry; (brb, sex)
Gavin Luper was an anomaly in the Land of Frosted Glass. He hailed from the Village Hidden In The Beavers. Every citizen there was a perfect specimen of mankind, yet he stood out as an outcast, possibly because of his strange Australian accent, which confused everyone because when he said he was going to bed, everyone around him thought he was saying he was going to bid, which was nonsense because auctions were forbidden due to the excessive beaver population. However, it was probably because one leg was one whole foot shorter than the other. He also had an unusual tic, that would cause him to regularly jolt his head and exclaim ‘Chris James’ or ‘Terry Butcher’, the two announcers for the early versions of Konami’s soccer games.
It would be on the Day of Navy Blues that Gavin would discover his magical powers. It was when he took his daily limp across to the butcher’s for his bucket of weasel livers when he would happen across a gimp. The gimp had a bag of magic beans and offered these for the low price of four shekels. Gavin, however, knew not to trust gimps, especially ones that dealt in shekels and drew out a sharpened cantaloupe. The gimp was cleaved before he knew what was going on and the beans hit the floor. A passing beaver ingested a bean and inexplicably turned into a llama.
“Crikey!” ejaculated Gavin. “A real-Chris James-live llama!”
The Llama sighed and spat up a new bean, this time rainbow-coloured.
“Eat this and you’ll be able to shoot fire and crap,” he said and the llama bumbled off over the hills. Gavin was wary of regurgitated legumes, but the promise of shooting fire and crap was too good to pass up, so he ate the bean. He turned to a tree, pointed and said,
“Terry Butcher!” and with that the tree exploded into blue fire (and junk).
The exploits of Gavin the Meek and his amazing shooting-fire-and-crap abilities became renowned in the region, and soon an African Princess became aware of his gifts. However, they did not interest her in the slightest, and simply uttered the words, “Tits on rye,” in response to this news.
Meanwhile, Gavin the Meek, who was busily skinning his weasel kidneys, became
C:\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\error you have encountered an unexpected walrus please standby for euthanasia
DANUDANUDANUDANUDANUDANUDANUDANU
The cabbage-based exploits of Gavin the Meek will return after these messages.
(Editor’s note: This really is a piece of crap. It is unbelievable that this is only part 1 of a 54-part, seven-thousand paged manuscript of pure drivel. You sir really need your head looked at. Kiss kiss.)
Gavin didn’t take kindly to my editor’s trollop, and so my editor sadly died today after an execution scene fell off the back of a truck onto his back, crushing him slowly and painfully.
The Land of Frosted Glass was at peace once again, but the peace would be shattered by a new invasion: the neighbouring country, the Land of Splintered Spatulas, had declared war yet again. The danger was very real, for they had summoned the Celestial Gas Cooker from the heavens, and it was only minutes away from collision. The villagers called upon Gavin to shoot fire and crap at it to destroy it before it killed them all, but he had bigger weasel kidneys to fry; (brb, sex)