F**king Hell! C**tgtasulazioningd to Otterfox for winking. PM me with a subject for next wank please.
Meanwhilst...
Otterfox - 2
Me, APlate- 1
Next topic: Communicate
Leg closed: 31.7.23
Runners are nowt...
Position Score Name
1 12 Otterfox
2 10 Me
3 6 APlate
4 5 Gappy, Alfred
PHONE ALONE
PARTY.
DICK Hi, Tom! So glad you could make it to my birthday party. My best present? Definitely this state-of-the-ant, ultimate and just like, totally awesome dude smartphone! It really has improved communic...
SMARTPHONE RINGS
VOICE Hi, Dick! 'Sme, Reggie. I'm just comin'. Gotta find a parkin' space... (click)
DICK Yeah, it's developed communication in the most...
SMARTPHONE RINGS.
VOICE Hi, Reggie again. Found a parkin' space! Just gonna park me car; then I'm there. (click)
DICK Yeah, you see, before the advent of these devices, you couldn't...
SMARTPHONE RINGS.
VOICE Me again! Yeah, just parkin' me car. In that parkin' space I toleja abaht. Then I'll get out and come to the party! (click)
DICK Great! You see, Tom, before the phone, it was difficult to talk to...
SMARTPHONE RINGS.
VOICE Only me! Reggie! Reggie Dorkson... Yeah, I've parked me car now. I'm gettin' out and then I'll be there! (click)
DICK Yeah. You couldn't even finish a sen...
SMARTPHONE RINGS.
VOICE Reggie here! Got outa me car. Think I'll walk. (click)
DICK Or have a coherent...
SMARTPHINE RINGS.
VOICE Walkin'! Parked me car an' I'm walkin'! (click)
DICK It was hard to complete a...
SMARTPHONE RINGS.
VOICE It's me! Reggie. I'm still walkin to your party! Then I think I'll ring your bell and - come in, like! To your party! (click)
DICK So, as I was say...
SMARTPHONE RINGS.
VOICE I'm here! Just arrived! Ringin' the bell! (click)
DICK So, Tom, I'm so grateful to these gadgets for letting me...
DOORBELL RINGS.
SMARTPHONE RINGS.
VOICE Just rang yer bell! Rang yer bell and I'm comin' in!
DICK Darling, you get it, will you? Might be Reggie... So yes, Tom, it's all thanks to... Tom?
REGGIE sees Dick.
REGGIE This is a shit party. I'm leaving.
VICAR:And now, before the exchanging of the rings, I believe Mark & Betty have created their own vows.
MARK:No. No we haven't.
VICAR: Oh. Sorry, that must be my mistake.
BETTY:But we have created our own vowels.
VICAR:What does that mean?
MARK:E, Murk, tark tho, Booto, toe bay moo woddad woof, tie hoove end tie howld frum thos dew fuhwuhd, fie batty fie woose, few rochoor few pyryre, en sucknose ind on hilth. Ond thowrtih Oo plout thar may troo'o'o'o'o'th [THIS LAST ONE IS TRILLED LIKE A DOVE]
VICAR:I want paying extra for this.
***
[CALLBACK TIME! FADE UP ON]
VICAR: Repeat after me: I, Betty Sandra Smith take thee, Mark Kevin Cook, to be my wedded husband.
BETTY: Ow, Bitter Sundry Smooth, tike though, Murk Cavern Cock, tie boo me woddad hasbund.
VVICAR: [SIGH] What the hell: I now pronounce you moon and waif. You may now koss the bread.
When I look back over my life I will be able to say without lie or hesitation that the events which unfolded one day in 1925 are the strangest that I have ever encountered from a communicative standpoint, or to put it another way it was not strange in the least but I feel to contradict myself at this early juncture would be folly.
The day began as a typical December morning which was odd as it was in fact July. It was the eighteenth day of July to be exact yet the snow refusing to be restricted by month or season fell in abundance. This was the first of many occurrences in a day that would later be labelled as 'Normal Sunday'. You may be thinking that there is nothing strange in that, 'Normal Sunday' sounds quite, well normal but when I tell you that the eighteenth day of July of that year in fact fell on a Thursday and not a Sunday we begin to scratch the surface of the unusual situation I found myself in.
I had been awakened by the sound of a persistent pecking at my front door. At first I ignored it but after three minutes of continuous bursts of 'beaking' I had had enough. Annoyed by the fact that it has disturbed me from my deep slumber and also by its sheer persistence I pulled the door open with force and there before me stood the largest foal I have ever seen. In certain circles such a beast may be known as a horse.
I stared at the horse for the longest time, my expression now one of utter confusion. He, too, stared back at me, his own face a mixture of shock and embarrassment. I wondered which of us would be the first to break the ice. Five minutes passed with zero communication on either. This was in part due to my steely determination but also due to the fact that my face was partially frozen by the swirling Arctic winds and heavy snow. I wondered if the horse was suffering inwardly as I was. If he was his expression did not give him away.
Four more minutes passed and I began to wonder whether winning a staring contest with a horse was worth hypothermia and perhaps death when to my delight the horse gave in. "I see you've met Tommy", the horse began, in a droll tone. Now I had rarely, if ever met a talking horse but the day had begun in such a peculiar fashion that I was willing to accept this highly unusual occurrence. "What? A talking horse?", I declared incredulously not willing nor able to come to terms with it after all.
"I see you've met Tommy", repeated the voice. This time however upon looking over the head of my long-faced staree I saw a tall figure on his back. It was the figure four but what was even more interesting was what stepped out from behind the horse. It was a gentleman in a tweed suit. He had a bright red moon-shaped face, he was stocky and in his fifties. "I say, I see you've met Tommy", he said for either the first or the third time as I was now quite unsure as to who or what had been communicating with to me up to this point.
"My name is Barney Fniff", he continued "and I have called upon you today to offer you an offer, an offer that you cannot refuse of at least shouldn't refuse. I am willing to come in and sit down and drink plenty and eat plenty more and continuously use your facilities and take down all your pictures and rehang them the wrong way around and pull half the bristles out of your toothbrush and make a general nuisance of myself or we could agree upon my proposal right now and be done with it."
"Wait a second, who are you?"
"Barney Fniff."
"Could you elaborate at all?"
"BARNEY Fniff."
I tried a different approach, fearful that I would never get the answer I craved, "And what is this proposal of yours?", I enquired curiously.
"I am willing to trade you this fine beast......."
"And what do you want of mine?" came my obvious reply. "Oh yes I forgot that crucial part. All I want from you in return my friend is your measly bicycle, the one that's resting by the railings out there."
"I'm afraid my bicycle is of great value to me and is not for trading." Mr. Fniff blinked for such a prolonged period of time that I though he had lost complete control of the upper half of his face. Just when I was about to give up hope of him ever uttering another word, the blinking stopped and his lips began to move.
"Alright Sonny Jim", he began "not only will I give you the horse but I will also throw in the number four on his back."
"I'm afraid that's not going to swing it Mr. Fniff", I replied nonchalantly.
"Look here boy I would be doing you a huge favour by taking that bike off your hands, I know you woke up this morning not knowing where you were or even what time of year it was. You see I know everything about you Herbert."
"Its Peter sir."
"Peter, of course. You see Herb-Peter the reason you cannot remember what happened is because of that bike. Some say it has mystical powers, others say its haunted by the ghost of Professor Douglas Farnham a mad scientist who died while cycling it, more say it's half mystical half haunted, whatever the percentages Peter, you're dealing with a haunted bike.
"Every time you pull the front brakes you disappear to a different time or place for months on end. Upon your return you can remember nothing of your trip and you wake up in confused state answering doors to horses.
As a final offer I will give you the horse, the number four and myself for your bike. I cannot do better than that."
"But if you own my bicycle and I own you then I will still own my bike."
"Exactly, as I said I cannot do better than that."
"Listen here you are the strangest, reddest, stockiest man I have ever met and what you are proposing is absolutely preposterous. I do not believe for a second that what you are telling me is the truth. I have had just about enough of you, your horse and your number four. Go take your crazy notions somewhere else I have no time for them here. Good day to you!" and with that I slammed the door in his face.
Not five minutes had passed when I again heard a pecking on the door. This time it was my bike and it was just about time for another adventure.
END.
L: Musty Babes.
M: Lesley I'm 37 , why do you call me baby ?
L: Romance, artistic licence. For someone so precise with words you're rubbish with naming things, like your website.
M: I did the research. Twitter users spend 39 percent more on music and are extremely inaccurate at typing. So Twatter dot com was perfec
L: For attracting wife beaters. But that's not important. We need to talk about us, remeber I asked for more mystique in our relationship ?
M: Alesha Dixon wasn't available. I got you the rest of the girl band didn't I ?
L: I wanted to be surprised, by Alesha.
M: You looked surprised when Mystique serenaded you in the KFC, WC.
L: It's a toilet. And now a picture of me in marigolds holding a loo brush has gone viral. "Cleaning out Twatter" it said.
M: I read "Cleaning up" you probably saw a re-tweet. Why do still work there ?
L: Pride. And I get free hot wings each shift.
M: La Monde did a tastefully photoshop, they got you looking like a French maid, entitled "Loo la la" that good isn't it ?
L: Our relationship desperately needs some "Je ne sais quoi" And that's not a French detergent by the way.
M: If you don't know what you want how can I get it for you?
L: I don't think you'll ever get it, which is why we're going to have to fin...
M: I'm meeting Alesha Dixon next Saturday. She wants me to help her chose bed linen, I'm sure she won't mind you tagging along.
L: Cool.
M: You see I do try. You said you wanted more spice in our relationship I got you Emma Bunton.
L: More space. And Mel B's the one with the interesting body, language.
M: She's scared of us for some reason.
L: It's the loo brush photo, she thinks everything I do has hidden meaning.
M: Can you blame her ? You said it was your "Destiny to have a child" and
L: you got me Emma Bunting again ! Babies are boring.
M: Lesley, I need you to be straight with me.
L: In what way ?
M: Straight talking like Mel B.
L: Oh [texting whilst she speaks] zig-a-zig-ah to the B. OK I'm told Beyoncé does couples therapy, so unless you want me to join "All the single ladies" please fix us up a session. Straight enough for you ?
M: I can't afford Beyoncé. Shame Mel B declined, I'm told she actually does do a 2 for 1 on couples therapy [His phone pings and he reads] Oh no, I can't make the Alesha meeting.
L: I'll cover for you. You know I'm good with "soft furnishings" my lover. I'll be her Pillow Princess.
M: Oh that would be helpful, thanks. You were saying ?
L: Nothing, Babes.
MISSION CONTROLLER:
Ground control to Major Tom. Ground Control to Major Tom. Can you hear me Major Tom? Can you hear me Major Tom?
SILENCE
BASE COMMANDER:
No he can't hear us, there must be something wrong.
MISSION CONTROLLER:
Ground control to Major Tom, your circuit's dead, something's wrong.
BASE COMMANDER:
Find out what it is and fix it.
MISSION CONTROLLER:
Well the signal we're sending is crystal clear, satellite B31 has just bounced back the message verbatim so if it's reaching that it has to be reaching him.
Can you hear me Major Tom? Can you hear me Major Tom?
SILENCE
BASE COMMANDER:
Okay, activate the internal camera, but be quick, we mustn't drain the vessel's battery.
MISSION CONTROLLER:
Camera operating now, but we can't see a thing, there's just a...well an dense orangey mass. That must be the problem - that mass in the vessel is blocking the sound. We need a hollow vessel for the sound to amplify.
BASE COMMANDER:
Hmm what do you reckon that is?
MISSION CONTROLLER:
Well due to the colour and the density of the substance we see, I'm afraid the only conclusion is there's been some kind of a breach in the vessel and it's filled with the thick Martian atmosphere.
BASE COMMANDER:
Okay abort mission, repeat, abort mission! Engage emergency override and bring him back down.
THE VESSEL TOUCHES BACK DOWN AT BASE
THE LID OPENS AND OUT CRAWLS MAJOR TOM IN A SPACE SPACE SUIT DRIPPING WITH BAKED BEANS
MISSION CONTROLLER:
Oh for God's sake Tom, I gave a very clear instruction to "Empty the tin before launch".
MAJOR TOM:
And how am I supposed to hear clearly with my helmet on? I thought you said "Get in the tin for your lunch" which was obviously the full one. How do I know what your change of plans are? You're always experimenting with things. I'm only the guinea pig astronaut, remember!
BASE COMMANDER:
So I don't suppose you got to see if planet Earth was blue?
MAJOR TOM:
No, how could I in the middle of all this gloop? I wasn't even floating in zero gravity, just in a mass of tomato sauce and beans. I was very happy to get back down to earth.
BASE COMMANDER:
Well the president will be pleased! Those damn Ruskies are sure to get there before us now.
MAJOR TOM:
Well what does he expect, I mean it's a pretty basic set up isn't it? Sending me up in a tin can! I bet the commies have spent a bit more on their space ship.
PIGEON POST
TWO MEN ARE SITTING IN A CAFE
A: Did you get the message yesterday?
B: No, I didn't get any message. What was it, an email?
A: I sent a pigeon.
B: Oh, did it have the message attached to it?
A: Well, obviously. I attached the message to its leg. I wasn't expecting the pigeon to actually talk to you, was I! I'm not a complete moron.
B: But how did you think it'd find me?
A: I wrote the address on the envelope, didn't I! I'm not a complete cretin.
B: What?! The pigeon's not gonna be able to read that, is he!
A: Why? Do you think his glasses fell off?
B: The point is, they're called 'homing pigeons', 'cos they fly home. I've never owned a pigeon in the first place. It's probably flown to wherever it considers its home to be.
A: Oh, great, what a waste of time. This form of communication is for the birds, man.
B: Hang on, we're in the same building, talking to each other face-to-face. We could've just met up yesterday, and you could've told me the message verbally.
A: Well, I suppose so, yes.
B: So why were you pissing about with pigeons?
A: Well, I dunno, but it doesn't matter now, does it. It's too late.
B: You may as well just tell me the message now. What did it say?
A: Oh, it was just asking if you wanted to meet up for a coffee tomorrow.
Nice to see several submissions for this one. Otterfox gets my vote.
Another Otterfox.
Yes, great to see a good clutch of entries to read. I liked the Otter mania as ever, and Michael's observation rings painfully true, but A Plate takes the point this time.
Enjoyed them all. Liked Michael's premise but I'll go Otterfox for the engaging style.
Great to see so many entries and reading so many different styles. In the end it came down to Mikey and Gappy but Gappy pips it this week. Weird talk is right up my street.
Yes all quite different but got on with Firkin's the most.