Young Wilkins was bunged up, his nose ears mouth and schfincter were filled to overflowing with premium viral man-snot. ...obviously very oxygenated snot that he could breathe and excrete through. (Just covering my back against plot holes. I have a plot hole in my trousers.)
This cold was just the latest blight for young Wilkins, his life had most definately taken a turn for the worse, in 24 short years, he'd gone from a prized race winning sperm who got all the eggs into an awkward fat deformed human, half ripped off from Wadsworth of the THE series, and what I imagine my father calls his penis, or called it, he hasn't been as tender with mother since he came back from Iraq, walking funny and only hiring hookers out to help him with hte decorating.
Just then Wilkins sneezed, the full force of a sperm whale ejaculating pasting his sticky goo all over his mother's face. She'd entered the room seconds previously in the hope of catching the snotty nosed protagonist whacking off, (this had became increasingly hard as her young son's reflexes had improved considerably).
Did I mention he had flu? Like real man flu, the kind that just knocks you out, takes your wallet and has sex with your extended family on your feverish back while you try and sleep. Well it was that kind of flu, FLUZOR, or Steve to it's mates. Wilkins really had been taken aback by the horse proportions of this flu's nastiness, he'd even had to call in sick to the unemployment office.
Brushing aside his mother's corpse, who in retrospect was merely a time extending plot device, Wilkins decided, upon reading the stage directions, that the best course of action would be to roll on down to the doctors in hope of medicine. The eccentric old doctor with a secret passion for helping others, but a dark side that involved mindlessly slaughtering rare turtles would no doubt provide comedy action, easy morals and a little love for all the family.
No, that's too easy. Far too easy. I mean, you can't just settle for the first generic plot that might satisfy the reader. Shame on you. Anywho.
Wilkins pulled on his coat, he'd check out the crime scene now then go investigate the suspect list down at the lab.
Or maybe he'd turn on the television in his fuzzy wuzzy stomach and prance around incoherently as the most mundane needlessly colourful things went on around him.
But that would mean missing out on the chance of a lifetime, if he didn't leave now someone else would steal the sceptre of Tutun Cowmoon.
His mother, now a 14.6740009ft tall moth, with extensive male genitalia, put a spanner in his plans, having pulled herself from the bottom of my ideas page. Just a quick thought, considering his plans were fairly crap, would that still make putting a spanner in them a bad thing, or just mildly erotic?
I'm going with erotic.
"Wilkins, Wilkins Wilkins Wilkins, oh how you've grown. You've really grown into the mould of your father's member." flapped his mother, spreading pollen everywhere.
"Don't you just mean father?"
"Hush down little willy, looks like you're getting a fever. Maybe you should stay in today."
"But mum! You're just a cardboard cut out, you can't tell me what to do. And I need to go out, as a character I'm far too boring to entertain a reader all by myself. I need scenery, characters to interact with, exclamation marks, paper thin fourth walls, and mojo, lot's of mojo. If the internet's taught me anything it's the world needs more mojo."
His mother put her antenae on her hips. "How......LINE!"
"How dare you! I think you ......line!"
"This is why you don't get featured in articles mum, you're crap."
Thanks for reading
Now, as promised, here's the interview with the director that we said we'd include on the DVD version.
Hey, Director here. Can I just say, what a great article. I wrote it, I'm biased, it rocks. Even the critics agree! One of them was telling me about it the other day, he said "Testes, this is the shittest piece of crap I've ever seen," which is almost a double negative.
So yeah, my inspiration for it. Well, this kind of genius doesn't just happen, it takes minutes, minutes of hard work. And it's not just me that deserves the credit either. Well, it is. But it isn't! This whole thing wouldn't have happened if it wasn't for all the people on TV that made it too dull to get distracted by. For your tireless (and tireing) efforts I thank you. And of course, who can forget the production manager, myself. Cheers mate.
Hey you're welcome.
Well, that's all we've got time for, so I'll leave you in the capable hands of pre-coded DVD menu, and bid you goodnight. Goodnight!