*** One-off bloggery by Special Request! ***
*** Director's Cut to follow once I'm reminded of what I forgot to mention! ***
Captain's Log: Stardate 19.03.2010
Decisions, decisions... Mixtapes or Mondo, or a bit of both??? But that's this textual tension intruding itself?
Fancy a bit of brand new Hentai tentacle porn betwixt the Mordorian Two Towers of Staffordshire on the first day of the new Season? How to choose between the fishlike Ewok release by the inducement of Evil Dead tree rapeage or the mulletty funsterness of Cock Rot?
Sexual assault by Ents it is then!
But why wait until the morrow - why not go NOW! Yay! No time for campanological pubbery or WhatACunt, we be on our way!
"I'm hungry. There's a KFC"
"I wanna drive a bit futher yet before I stop"
"I'm hungry. There's a Maccy D's"
"I wanna drive a bit futher yet before I stop"
"I'm hungry. There's a KFC AND Maccy D's"
"I wanna drive a bit futher yet before I stop"
"I'm really hungry. Can we stop at the next KFC/Maccy D's?"
"There are none left on the way now"
Stomachey growlage! But at least Every Little Helps to save the day (if only from revelations of matriarchal pantaloon gusset suckage!)
And here were are. Our room number... 1408. 1408?!?! I thought no-one lasted more than an hour in room 1408? And did they give us $800 bottles of cognac and a free upgrade to Penthouse magazine? Did they buggery sod as like! It's off to the Evil Fucking Room to be drownded!
And just who was in 1408 - only that bloke from Thirthirteenen Ghosts!
And what's the temperature in the room? 13°!
And we're here for the new ride called.... 13 (allegedly called 13, but they've done that twatty thing by bunging irrelenvent numbers in the middle of the name like right twatting twatarse wankshafts do)
And last Friday was Friday the 13th!!! (according to those who can't remember their wives birthdate after only 1 week!)
Despite the snoreage accompanied by the tippy tap of electro-pop musicians on laptops, Carpenters Radio supernatural switch-ons, reversing chronographs, nobs falling off, sprinklers shorting out laptops, ice cage temperature plungement, severe floodage, beach transporation, hangings, dead daughters and flambé of the room, Room 1408 was quite pleasant to stay in.
Anyhoo, it's time for breakfast (the Ladies taking certain kitchen utensils off the gates to apply to Derren Brown, Graham Norton & Dale Winton), missing out on jelly bean transportation but engaging in a 3 against 1 disagreement on the attractiveness of particularly cute pretties.
And here comes Lorraine Purple poncho purchasement? Not at those prices. Besides, it's only a light shower!
And thanks to Arthurian Mages, we in early... amidst a throng of foul smelling unwashed selfish vermin with no concept of queueage. In fact, such a lack of concept that they followed the immensely long queue, barging to the very front before realising there's a barrier and people are queueing...
And now, the twatarsedly spelt Ththirteenteen... what! No gropeage by roots or Overfiends? Just a long wait in the Cans of Piss garden for 1 steep drop, 2 steep angled turns, and a slight droppage of the undercarriage before a hair-do distressing reverse maneuveure. Is that it? After all the hype and the threat of root rogerment, all you get is Rhohypnolled donuts and a fairly tame coast about? Ah, al least there's the Rapey Wraith! Lumbering in his dripping hessian robes after unsuspecting maidens on the offchance that said maidens have a fetish for faceless humpty-backed Jedi rejects (well, anything's possible).
Oh well, it's damp out. Lets try the log flume! Shitnuts! Shit Nuggets! Fuck my Bollocks! Porker Xym is in the front, and his vast tonnage has caused a lowering of the bow. Due to the previous night's monsoon, the track is somewhat fuller than usual, resulting in a triplicity of Tsumani over the front, causing severe drenchment in foul smelling dank water about the rainments of Fat Boy Xym. A poor bedraggled fat sadsack of dripping (dripping as in LARD) and dripping with swamp water emerges with Xymon LeBon follicle rearrangement.
And seeing as Xym's all wet, we might as well do the rapids. Who's gonna get wet first???
No guess necessary! Lady Fortune takes a dive away from the icy prong of Neptune's golden shower, allowing his salty brine to cascade all down Xym's back for total 360° aqua coverage.
And so we shlup, shlup, shlup over to Sonic The Hedgery Hog, where Xym can Spin Dry... or would, if there was a decent waiting time. So, Blitzspear time! And up the launch pad we go, and the seats tip back... and the water pours off the machinery and all over Xym for yet another drenching! And what's this... extra speed and swingment? Whatever lubrication was in that acid rain has certainly loosened up Nemisis for one much wilder ride than normal!
Let's see if Air has broken down again. Oh, it has. That I did not expect! So, off for a bit of Leslie Phillips "Chew Chew" from a mining maiden instead, before a bit of half hearted Ghostbustin'
New Moania is setting in, so let's get Xym into a fetching purple poncho. Nice! Let's get Xym all toasty in Jailbait Reef. Ghosts of the Sea! Ghosts of the Sea! Ghosts of the Sea! Ghosts of the fucking Sea! If he was corporeal and I was Eric Theodore Cartman, I would kick him in the nuts!
And now onto Hex, where the Big Butch Lads are all "This is only a wussy tour!", before crying like big girls blouses because they don't like the scary ride, and wetting their knickers at getting told off for using their cameras.
Alas, shivery xym is now in deep hypothermia and post-Beastie regrettably has to sit out being spun dry on Sonic Spinball, but once the Ladies have finished their raping of Hedgehogs, Squirrels and Teddies, it's off to the Shit-Your-Pants scary Squirrel Nutsack, which is much better when you have your own nuts to doze in.
And finally, it's off for the first meal since brekkie! Ah, a nice affordable hot meal to warm up the fever ridden gormster, and bring him back from the brink of icy death! Oh, Tesco's chilled section! Sod that, this ole plague carrier will get a nice warming drink from Costa. Well, a warming drink anyways. Actually, a foul, fag ash fondue of foulness. Oh, shit the bed and roll about in it because you've been tucked in too tight. The malodourous minger on the counter is taking a million years to prepare a cup to begin the first queuers beverage! Sod it, I'll just suffer in silence in an over-melodramatical strop for the lack of a proper hot meal for an ill patient!
Good times!!
