This one’s for you, Paul

September 19, 2006 at 10:07 am | Posted in nonsense | 4 Comments

If you’re looking for a post that makes sense, I suggest you skip past this one. I did this one after chatting with good oul Pallrine when I was home in Galway at the weekend. It’s just our sense of humour.

Munching on barrel chief, I glanced south to see a small little blue man halfstepping towards me. By the glint in his eye, I knew he was from the hood.

“For bizzle, my wizzle. Where the wombs at?” he sizzled.

Continuing my whittling for another spell, I regarded bluto with a spirited snack. “Don’t Eastwood the stereo before you’ve even listened to the beef!” I warned him, but the bastard was already flailing swimwards like a spastic fish at currant camp. He knew exactly what he was doing – he had arms that looked like two M’s. Triple jointed and possessing snipe battlecat, he only tried barrowfires until his deal whimpered moonshine.

I could tell he was annoyed at my flamboyant interface of spook, but he tried to act like a drugged-up pelican for the sake of his family, the scaly Nora. He was blue, though, and by the speed of his skips, I knew a badger was about to attack. Seizing the moment in my hands, I shoved it at his chest. He screamed as the moment impaled him, skewering though his chest and making small little blue love hearts float out of his warm pasta. His fingers slick with blood and ham, he tried to wrest the moment free, but it was buried too deeply in his subconscious.


Behold, his arms went from M’s to W’s as he died.

I leaned in for a closer look, just as a huge dog leapt out of his blue chest and clamped it’s jaws around my haggis-like hand. I howled and jittered like Sammy Davis Junior at a cheese factory on opening night. “Cheddar, ya cunt! Brie! Brieeeee! Monterey Jack!” I screamed. I was sure cheese was his biscuit, but he startled meat when he began grizzling in a fragile t’pau.

“Easy! Easy!” the dog commanded, his mouth full of fingers and plastic bags. I grabbed for one of the bags.

“Hey, they’re fifteen cent each!” the dog whepped. “Now stop your heising, I’m only trying to give you the oak wizard barabbus stack!”

Suddenly it became clear what the dog who came out of the dead blue lad who was killed by the moment was doing. I relaxed and started speaking in tongues.

Soon the Israelis started jiving. The Palestinians did the hucklebuck. Bin Laden emerged from hiding in the public toilets in Central Park. Bush shook his hand and gave him a cup of tea. Blair quit. Africa had a load of food. India’s call centre lads started making sense. North Korea put all their nuclear weapons in the bin and brought them to the skip.

And all because the lady loves Milk, Jay.

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4 Comments »

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  1. retry_reboot_100101110100011

    Although I like the final denouement. Part from the milk. Coz I like milk tray, but not milk, jay. That’s disgusting and you should be ashamed of yourself.

  2. What does it mean if it all makes perfect sense to me? I’m not admitting anything – just asking…

    Happy “Talk Like a Pirate Day” (using a lot of Irish sounding stuff and adding random Aaaaarrrrggghhhhs to make it more piratey)

  3. Made perfect sense to me.

  4. TSL: Are you another wan who doesn’t like milk? Jesus, I get enough of that at home. Linzi’s the only person I know who doesn’t like milk or water. She even pours Coke on her Corn Flakes.

    jali: If it makes sense to you, you have a dumb sense of humour, just like me, and your coolness quotient increases by a factor of ten. Aaaargh!

    debbie: Coolness x 10.


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