Try not to choke
On the turkey folks.
|Revised Edition: Includes added bitterness.|
|THE SACK OF SHIT.|
|The worst picture of Childe ever drawn. Even if I do say so myself.|
They even laid on a chaffeur to take me to the event!
SUPER MARIO HERITAGE BUTCHER
'Arcade games Mister Stroker!' I ejaculated.
'Well these are recessionary times . . .' said Stroker. 'Pray sit down and have a go off one.'
I was chagrined, but to show I was a good sport I played a game of 'Super Mario Heritage Butcher,' and upon bulldozing Newgrange I received 100,000 points and full planning permission. A shocking bargain for a fine of only €50!
We then left the foyer and processed into the acclaimed Grand Hall (where Dean Swift himself once cried 'this is the canary's tusks, this is truly the shit!!') Unfortunately things did not appear as they should, emptiness hollowed the hall and a fallacious funk filled the air . . .
'Pray tell Mr. Stroker,' I enquired looking about myself, 'whitherforth art all the artefacts of ye olden days gone? Those sweet museum relics which filled my childhood eyes and drew me into a career in archaeology? - The Waxen Axes of Waterville? The Darndale Meth hoard? The carved offal sculpture of Biffo, the big inside-out god?'
'We binned the shagging lot,' he replied, boulderfaced, 'Too expensive to maintain. Trump described it as a pile of cultural baggage, and when the Ryanair boys heard the word 'baggage' they started charging us twice as much for doing the job. - But do climb aboard our heritage simulator.'
He directed me to the only thing in the room, an inflatable bronze effect statue of Molly Malone and her cart. We ascended the handcart and sat there bobbing away while a pan-pipe version of 'Highway to Hell,' played over the Tannoy.
'It's better than sex,' winked Stroker at me.
'Simulated sex,' I corrected.
|Still Life with Man in Top Hat Jamming a Stick in His Eye in the Endless Pursuit of Bigger Thrills|
|If you see a nice bus and you don't feel like giving it a big hug|
I say you grew up and got boring.