OT - Tigg-scoff birthday party

[Growltigga]

Hmmmm... your aged incapacity, doubtful smell and poor standards of personal hygiene do make it exceedingly unlikely that a FBW, even under the influence of the forgetto beam or even, dare I mention that which must not be mentioned (the dreaded nymphobeam), would go near you let alone engage in any naughty acts..

You still get whalloped round the head with the naily baseball bat for casting dispersions on my career and my integrity. Only paying clients can do the latter.

I think it was Saxon. Anyone who kisses Moose is capable of anything, and one of the most apt adages in England is the one that goes "never trust a Canadian"

[TerranC]

Originally posted by Growltigga:
"never trust a Canadian"

hmm, is that what brits have to say about their fellow commonwealth members now?

Abandon the commonwealth!
Ditch the queen!
People's Republic of Canada forever!

... I'm sorry, I think I had too much coors.

[ September 20, 2002, 17:41: Message edited by: TerranC ]

[dogscoff]

*Gradually, the bizarre dreams and string of meaningless sounds that have been streaming through his conciousness begin to seperate, and Dogscoff is able to discern that he is now awake and somewhere very noisy. As conciousness returns further and his senses begin to report back, he learns more things: That he is lying face down, that his limbs are reluctant to move and that it feels like someone is dynamite-fishing in his head. Also, evidence from his taste buds indicates that someone has been using his mouth as a recepticle for month-old chinese restaurant leftovers.

When he can put it off no longer, he opens his eyes. Yes, he definitely is lying face down, that's definitely the floor. Why is it flashing orange though? He blinks a few times and it doesn't stop flashing. A loud rumbling noise ends in a sharp pain in the ribs and what can only be swearing in some language Dogscoff does not recognise. He moves his head to see a big grey lump behind the luggage cart which has just been shoved into his body. The lump speaks, in broken English:

"Hey! Get you out my way."
"Where am I?"
"You in my way, sticky human-man. You get out my way."
"What day is it?"
"It Saturday. You get out my way or I get security move you."
"Saturday? Last thing I remember it was Tuesday. There were these girls, and then 'Tigga opened a bottle of Vaxin Absynthe..."
"Shut up you talking and get you out my way, sticky human-man. I call security."

Registering pain with every movement, Dogscoff pulls himself into a crawling position and drags himself out of the Druckshokan's path. This action is made even more difficult by the layer of stale honey which coats his entire body. He notes a trail of honey leading from his current position to a waste disposal chute. "That would explain why I'm covered in rubbish" he thinks sourly, "but not why I'm naked, nor why I have these three extra arms."
Fragmented memories of a seedy tattoo & prosthetic parlour on some Xiati world come back to him. He was fed up going back to the bar again and again on large rounds, and wanted to be able to carry more drinks. Where was that?
"Where am I?" He asks again, as the Drukshockan with the luggage cart moves through the honey trail.
"You in spaceport, stupid sticky human-man."
"What planet?"
"What planet? You stupid stupid sticky stupid human-man. You on planet Mee Nogle. System Kye Lee Li. West Druckshockan Territory. Official most boring colonised planet in Galaxy."
"But that's more than 800 light years away. Where's my ship? Where are my Underwater minions? Where are the girls from the party..?"

The Druckshockan mutters more insults and shuffles off across the ship loading area to a small transport which is waiting for its Last few passengers. Dogscoff looks up to see a departure board. The transport's number is up there, and it is already 5 minutes late. The ramp closes behind its Last passenger, and the orange flashing hazard lights die as the ship lifts into the air. Dogscoff looks back to the departures board. The transport's details disappear and are replaced by those of the next flight. It's an Abbidon freighter heading into Zynarra space. It arrives here in just over 3 months. 3 MONTHS..?

Dogscoff slumps back into his honey-puddle and wonders if he can sleep for that long...

[dogscoff]

*bump*

[Growltigga]

the camera pans across a marble tiled bedroom the size of a small aircraft hangar, a superb super-king-sized bed with white satin sheets sits pride of place.

The bed is currently occupied by a gaggle of naked beauties who are looking askance toward the en-suite bathroom door...

the silence is broken by horrible wretching noises, magnified by the pristine stonework of the bathroom, 'hucka hucka hucka hucka bluurrrghh buick buick buick buick bllooorrrrrhhhhgg snivel groooooaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrr'

Yep, in true party stle, Tigga had 'minesweeped' everybody else's drinks at the end of the do

[Timstone]

Okay let's straithen things out a bit here.
Because I asked too many questions about a few women who were mentioned by e certain member, I was considered a lonely heart and I shouldn't talk so much about women. Well that's okay with me, I can take that. But... GT is talking about naked beauties, many women, new employees in need of "testing" and such all the time! Now this can mean only one thing:
Bad marriage and much frustration because of it.

[ September 23, 2002, 09:45: Message edited by: Timstone ]

[Growltigga]

Not at all, me and the current Mrs GT (as in the one I am married to at present, rather than with any electrical connotation!!) are happy as a bunch of happy things..

The fundamental difference is that I am just dreaming about meeting lots of famous super-models who miraculously, just want to go to bed with me.. you however, want to really meet girls to go to bed with you