WHO?!?!?!

Welcome to Reverend Wayne Austin Goodchild's official blog. Not that there's an unofficial one...

Click WAYNE GOODCHILD IS HAUNTED to go to his Facebook page! There's good stuff on it! Honest!

...all work on here is copyright wayne goodchild, unless otherwise stated, you cheeky monkeys...

Wednesday, 19 September 2012

THE MISCELLANEOUS EXPLOITS OF SOME BINT

Hello, freaks! Some of you may be aware that veeerrryyy recently I ran a rubbish brilliant competition on Facebook to write a collaborative story. Sort of. I started with a sentence, and everyone else either added another sentence, started one or finished one. It was won by BRYONY CUFFLIN. She'll get her prize soon, whatever it is.

For now, here's the piece in one delirious whole - edited only slightly for tense correction, punctuation, that sort of thing - courtesy of myself, Bryony, Leeroy Watson, Martin Hickey, Dave Bacon, Geoff Ball, Craig Fotheringham, Dave Thorpe and Chuck D. Biscuits:

--------------------------------
Bob always suspected his wife wasn't really Irish. Her square moustache, side-swiped hair and love of things non-Jewish made him suspicious at first. But then when he returned home one day after work at the Guinness factory he discovered that she had metamorphosed into a human sized shamrock! The only single remaining feature identifying her as both a human and his wife were her nipples, one of which was shaped like a chaffinch in flight, whilst the other vaguely resembled Henry Rollins.

"It's happening again!" Bob screamed, throwing his shoes at a wall in a demonstration of his anguish.

"Ouch!" screamed the wall, in a decidedly Scottish brogue.

One Scottish brogue, and one English brogue. Undeniably a fine pair of shoes.

Hearing the commotion, Roy Walker smashed through the door in only a thong and armed with a machete. "That shamrock's good but it's not right!!!" bellowed Roy, waving his machete furiously. Mr. Chips was nowhere in sight to keep Roy under control as he was still in rehab. Therefore, it feel to Bob Holness (who'd been tracking Roy for two weeks) to restore order and protect the other Bob and the sham wife. Like a ninja, Bob flew in hurling inane questions at Roy; bamboozling him into a catatonic state of morbid terror. A single tear rolling down his pock ridden cheek, he whispered gently: "Daddy or chips?"

Once Bob had sorted out Roy he turned to the sham wife and said "Hmmmm, I see what's going on here."

The other Bob, determined to get his wife back to the useless bint she was before, asked the Holness if he could help.

Holness said, "I'm sorry my friend, but my powers of P were used up along with my blockbuster attacks on Mr. Walker - but I know someone who can." And with that he handed him a card and flew off to his next adventure.

Then a whirring noise from above, a bright light engulfed the house and it was uprooted and transported aboard a space craft, 50 miles above the earth's surface. The door slowly opened as she did a really good job of tarmacking the driveway. In the dark. Dressed as Dame Judy Dench.

“That's amazing!' said Dame Maggie Smith, walking past on her way back from Downton. “You should come and do ours!' and with that she turned into a cat and moved to Grimsby, catching fish in a 25 ft trawler called Barry The Bitch. She sailed long and hard until her head exploded, revealing the fact she was actually a robot powered by tiny cats. And there among the debris, was also a small but perfectly formed fake Irish wife.

But alas, this is not the end of the tale, nor is it the beginning. But the end of the beginning where the beginning met the end. There was an old lady from Ealing who sat in a big comfy chair, watching a programme on telly about a fake Irish wife and her blonde curly hair.

THE END?!?!

1 comment:

  1. Wow, great blog.Really looking forward to read more. Really Cool.
    Adult Clubs in tampa

    ReplyDelete