“Well, we can just leave him here, can’t we?” asked Vaseline.
“We could, but we still don’t know what the hell he’s up to. So it might be better to keep him with us until we find out,” said Harbi. That didn’t get the agreement from the others that she had expected. So she tried another tack. “ And we can always use him as bait or a shield if need be.” That got the general consensus of opinion firmly behind her.
As Napalm went back along the corridor and down the stairs at the far end to get the Spoonerisms and Hunt, Numf lowered himself out of the window, gingerly touching down on what was not the sturdiest roof in the neighbourhood.
Loved the 'smell of growing up with two teenage brothers' comment - we've both had to put up with that and know how true it is!
Ol says there's nothing wrong with the smell of teenage boys BTW just when you think that he's starting to grow up
more more, oh I've already said that haven't I?
-------------------- "Tempus Fugitive" the final part of the Adventures of Dream Boy series, set in the Three-Boot Universe. Read it only in the Bits o' Legionnaire Business Forum.
From: here, more often than not | Registered: Sep 2003
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posted
Hey S'cat, is that your tail rubbing against me there or are you just REALLLY glad to see me?
-------------------- "Tempus Fugitive" the final part of the Adventures of Dream Boy series, set in the Three-Boot Universe. Read it only in the Bits o' Legionnaire Business Forum.
From: here, more often than not | Registered: Sep 2003
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I've just got back from 4 days offshore, I'm slowly drowning in the pile of work that I've ended up with because of it, and I gave you all my backlog before heading off last Friday.
So, for a change I'm out of chapters to post. I gotta write some more first.
posted
Keith - this one's for you. ----------------
Harbi, Sonnie, Vaseline, Ahole, Spunkeater and Drock hung out of the window, torn between sweeping the surrounding area for ninja and watching what the hell Numf was up to.
In time to Tchaikovsky’s Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy that was playing in his head, Numf was waltzing / tight-rope walking / tip-toeing along the rusty corrugated roof of the hen-house. The hen-house was approximately 120 feet long, and Numf was doing the sensible thing by following the line of roofing bolts along the centre of the roof.
When Numf was a third of the way along the roof, Vaseline noticed the end of a blow-pipe edging round the corner of the building – pointing Numfs way.
“GET DOWN NUMFY!” shouted Vaseline, as the dart was blown out of the pipe.
Numfy fell like a stone – CRASH! – onto the beam holding up the centre ot the roof. A creak could be heard, getting louder and louder, joined by squealing rusty metal. The roof caved in before anyone could react.
Numf fell into the hen house, with the roof falling in around him. A loud splat could be heard, and a great spray of white liquid was ejaculated out of the brand new hole.
Numf had fallen into the equivalent of a hen cess pit – and it hadn’t been cleaned for a very long time. He had quite easily broken the hard surface and ended up in the liquid underneath.
(yeah, I know that hens just crap all over the place, but bear with me please, ladies and gents)
Numf emerged, clearly visible to everyone looking out of the window. Covered from head to foot in white viscous semi-liquid hen-manure.
He dripped. He wiped his eyes. He dripped some more. He spat, and then spat some more until it was only saliva that he spat. He cleared his nose in a rather vile manner that football players do – but everyone understood the need. He held his arms out to the side, as if he didn’t want any one part of his body to touch any other part of his body. His combat trousers and jacket stuck to his skin in a way that was far too reminiscent of having been vacuum-sealed onto his body.
“Gaaaaaadz min!” he exclaimed. Most people didn’t understand the words, but got the sentiment rather clearly.
He tried to peel the jacket from his body, but the viscous semi-liquid had started to harden, and all that he managed to do was to tear out some chest hairs rather painfully.
“Haaaarbi!!!” Numf exclaimed pleadingly.
“Yeah, Numf, are you okay?” asked Harbi, barely managing to hold herself up.
oh VERY clever! The Aliens references just keep on a-coming, and with great style and panache!
More then more and some more after that too please
Harbi x
-------------------- "Tempus Fugitive" the final part of the Adventures of Dream Boy series, set in the Three-Boot Universe. Read it only in the Bits o' Legionnaire Business Forum.
From: here, more often than not | Registered: Sep 2003
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quote:Originally posted by Sonnie Bloke: I DID pee my pants....
no change there then
-------------------- "Tempus Fugitive" the final part of the Adventures of Dream Boy series, set in the Three-Boot Universe. Read it only in the Bits o' Legionnaire Business Forum.
From: here, more often than not | Registered: Sep 2003
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posted
I've been giving my opinions in the "Critic's Corner" thread, but I had to post here.
"How do I get out of this chicken shit outfit?"
I can't get enough! I can only imagine you funny you are in person, Ken!
From: If you don't want my peaches, honey... | Registered: Sep 2003
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posted
Thanks for the encouragement ladeez and gents - it's always appreciated. ------------------------------
“Hey, Numf,” said Napalm, entering the hen-house with the Spoonerisms and MJH, “why did you not just use the ground floor door that comes through from the building?”
“Bugger,” said Numf, still covered in the white semi-rigid goo. He dripped.
“Hey man – hit the showers. You fucking stink!!” said Hunt, milliseconds before Jo smacked him across the back of the head.
“Less of the swearing, Hunt – Numf’s now on his third written warning,” said Betty. It was amazing the amount of scorn that she managed to get into the word “Hunt”.
Harbi and the others had joined them, using the slightly more conventional way that Napalm had shown them.
“Okay everybody,” announced Harbi, “while we’re all gathered together, and before we start the scary running through caves nonsense, I’ve got an announcement to make.”
Everyone turned to pay attention, apart from MJH who looked all around in an attempt to find a way out. He started to sidle, but was jerked back by the dog collar and chain that had been attached around his throat. “Bad dog!” spat Betty. Hunt whimpered, like a naughty puppy caught next to a steaming puddle in the kitchen lino.
“Right then everyone, I’ve decided that I don’t want to be known as Harbinger any more. I’m changing my name,” said Harbi to the surprise of everybody present.
“Don’t tell me,” said Sonnie, “you want to be known as Loretta, and have your fetus gestate in a box.” This elicited a few giggles from the Monty Python fans in the audience.
“Ha, very good smart-arse,” said the person who used to be known as Harbinger.
“Well, I’m owe you one from that comment you made about me peeing myself,” said Sonnie. “Okay then, ‘fess up. What do you want to be known as?”
“Yeah, come on,” etc. was heard from the breath-holding crowd.
“Phantasmagorea.”
“WHAT?” commented just about everyone at once.
“What kind of gonnorhoea?” asked Numf, who hadn’t finished cleaning his ears out properly.
“It’s a type of spectre or vision…” she-who-used-to-be-Harbi started to explain.
“No it bloody isn’t!” said Vaseline. “It’s a great big black strap-on vibrator – top of the range Anne Summers model, complete with vibrating butterfly attachment. Uses a helluvalot of batteries, and it’s a noisy beggar.”
“And how the hell would you know?” said Napalm. “Oh wait a minute, that wasn’t your alarm clock that you couldn’t turn off for an hour and a half during the middle of the night, back at camp, was it? I thought you were just moaning because of lack of sleep!”
“And so what if it wasn’t? There ain’t no man good enough for me in this crowd of……” Vaseline and Napalm flew off into an argument – toe-to-toe, nose to hairy chest, both giving as good as they got.
Everyone turned to watch the argument, except for Numf, who turned to his friend and asked, totally confused, “So, what were you saying about a Fantastic Orgasm?”
“Bucket,” she said – or maybe Numf just hadn’t made as good a job of cleaning out his ears as he had thought. “Just call me Harbi,” she said, shaking her head exasperatedly.
Numf still looked confused. And he still stank.
“At least until the end of the story,” said Harbi.
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