The Lion and The Witch in The Wardrobe

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For those of you who bothered to read this, there's a surprise waiting at the bottom to go on your userpage.
But you'll only get it if you read all the whole thing.
[edit]

As you read this article what you may perceive as spelling errors are in fact grammarticlal astonishments. Unbeknownst to the illiterate, and 67% of dumb users, this article was written in numerous different languages, here are just a few of them:
  1. English
  2. American
  3. Australian
  4. Canadian
  5. Scouse
  6. Insult
  7. Mute




Chapter 1.1: Setting the scene, probably utilizing describing words (adjectives) and the like. The odd phallic reference wouldn't go amiss either.[edit]

A cool mist was settling around Windleton's manor. The sky was ablaze with violet and pink as the sun futily endeavoured to stay above the horizon, sort of in the same way a limbless person with concrete shoes endeavours to stay afloat in deep water while onlookers laugh heartily; Limbless bodies now adourned the manor's pond, colour coordinating sublimely with the giant squid's new summer look. The evening's dew was now becoming rather noticeable, shimmering lightly on the corpses of the islamic terrorists lining the yard, victims of that afternoon's sport. Tangled in the undergrowth the author was barely visible, the edge of his notebook just poking out from underneath the hydrangeas. He appeared to be struggling with his novel, more percifficly the crappy throw-in opening set-the-scene chapter. A collective sigh issued from the mansion as the author finally caved in and broke the fourth wall. Of all the tried and tested narrative techniques this was among the very worst. A blue orchid gave him a swift slap around his manly chiseled rugged cheeky chops and told him in no uncertain terms that he was not to ever portray himself in a goodlight during the course of this story again. The wanker, I mean what handsome wellspoken douche would inflict narcacism upon his defenceless audience. If he wasn't so well-hung I'm sure the plants would've killed him: instead of just raping him in the back of the face and leaving him to get on with his story.[1]

Chapter 1.2: The Author quickly falls back on character references and plot elements from a much better book. Seriously read that instead, you'll enjoy it more. It's called "The Lion The Witch and The Wardrobe", they'll have it at all good bookstores and if all else fails check out amazon.[edit]

From inside the house came the prolonged bored yawn of Leo the resident lion. Leo had recently inherited the mansion, having killed his parents for giving him such a shit and obvious name; He was awaiting the court order to come through which would legally change him to "Bastard McStabby", a name he'd evidently came up with himself. Laying on the lion skin rug that was formally his dad Lord Azlan and surrounded by empty beer cans Leo sighed. How long was this dyke going to stay in there? The weeping from inside the cupboard stopped momentarily for the witch who'd locked herself inside to exclaim that not only could she hear his thoughts, but that she didn't like his tone either. Leo failed to suppress the lack of amazement in his next thought and instead focused on the memory of last nights reading material. Das ZebraVator had really come a long way since it's seedy watering hole days. How did that zebra work it's spleen like that?

'Look just come out of the closet, it's not dignified. It's cramped and moth eaten in there, and with regards to Narnia, that place is more boring than your pretence as a female.'
Leo paused to let his words take effect before adding 'Go on, The Rocky Horror Show is on in 5 minutes'.

The cupboard ceased shaking almost as soon as Leo had finished speaking, leaving the two people beasts in a subdued silence.

'Is it really on?' said the witch, the cupboard eyeing the lion surreptitiously on her part.

'Yes'

'Really? I mean how do I know your not just tricking me to come out of here so you can eat me?'

'Look, Rocky Horror show, 8:00pm. The TV Guide gave it 3 out of five stars. They said it's another good installment from the team but lacked passion and originality. And besides I won't eat you, you're not my type.'

'What do you mean I'm not your type?'

'I don't eat guys.'

'Well there goes any hope of you EVER getting a piece of this pie!'

Leo smiled satisfiedly. The waves of hate emanating from the wardrobe told him he'd succeeded.

Chapter 2: Moving the Plot onwards slightly, then just stalling for length with another candid conversation. Yawn[edit]

A cool breeze infiltrated the lounge where the two of them were sitting. Mildly amused at the witch's obvious dislike of him, Leo turned quickly and shot the oncoming evening air. Either he'd left the window open or the dicks at Al Quaeda had launched another poorly thought out assassination attempt. As the air, moist with it's own blood, thought up some good final words in the corner Leo picked up a rock. Scratching 'STFU n00b' into the stone, he flung it out of the window and into the night.
He paused.
Then came the reassuring sound of an extremist cursing. Yep, it had been them he thought to himself; Since their opium funding ran out terrorism hadn't been what it used to be. What used to keep people in a cold sweat during the middle of the night and deter people from public transportation just induced mild-annoyance and sniggers nowadays. The issue had came to a head earlier on that month when Bin Laden started advertising citroen in his terror messages. That and the musical "Mohammed Prophet Superstar" made it evident to everyone that they'd sold out.

'So. What were you doing in my cupboard anyway?' enquired Leo.

'Crying.' sobed the witch.

'Yeah I know, but why?'

'Because I was soul-renderingly heart-breakingly depressed.'

'Oh, that's alright then.'

'What do you mean "that's alright then". If you hadn't got me out of there I'd have probably killed myself.'

'Meh, I shouldn't of bothered.'
While the witch sat there, paralysed with rage, Leo took the opportunity to yawn. Leaving the hag struggling to find the words she needed to direct the stream of bile she wished to vent, Leo sauntered out of the room to the fridge to fetch a couple of brewskis. Opening his Carlsberg with a resounding pfssst he chucked the other can across the room to the fuming witch.
It hit her straight in the face. Scraping slowly down the side of her cheek it had left a nicely beer stained welt in her jaw and a painful silence interrupted only by the grinding of her teeth. Her eye twitched dangerously and her jaw quivered: The lion quickly backed out of the room, bollocks between his legs.

Chapter 3: A brief intermission from the proceedings (Let the bitch calm down)[edit]

A 'brief' intermission? Lies!

The ornate wooden clock, personally signed by Barry Scott's PR team[2], ticked slowly in the corner. Despite all the clock's alcoholism and recent run-ins with the NBA[3] the one thing it had was consistency; A feature which sadly wasn't enough to stop it's beloved Rolex running off with that talking clock from the TV. He may have a seductive voice, and be sponsored by acuroast but he couldn't hold a candle to the old classics. The antique clock was a 16th century piece, and had been in the family since 1836... 7, 32, 25 and 10 came up on the lottery.
After years of relentless, seamless, ticky ticking it had became weary. It must make a wrong move soon. It had to, Betfred was giving 34/31 odds (and no one in their right mind was going to turn that down.[4]) Leo sat in the corner waiting for this slip-up to come, gun cocked and aimed at the thing. A lone bead of sweat ran down the clockface. Neither of them said anything, this was a battle of wills. However unlike most battle of wills, it didn't involve two people called William - them two were upstairs, each wielding a curtain rail in a fight to the death.[5]
It was Leo who made the wrong move. His finger, instinctively leaning towards that night's evening material, brushed against the trigger. The gun fired, leaving a small hole between the clock's eyes. A panicy Leo rushed over to the table.

'Dude, are you ok?'
Leo's hands were shaking as he held the little guy. He could feel the clock's feebly beating heart battery dying; He'd have to get that replaced.

'So, so c-ccold.'

'Oh my bad, let me get that for you.'
Once again he had been skimping on the heating to avoid the bailiffs. It wasn't that he didn't like them, it's just that they always saw through his attempts to convince them that his human size kebab stick was a dildo. The last time they came round didn't go according to plan either. Having spent all night setting up the most awesome trap ever he left the bailiffs alone in the living room in the assured hope they'd walk into it. When he came back downstairs 15 minutes later, all elements of the trap, including the 18-ton anvil and caged hobo, had been dismantled and repocessed.
Looking down Leo realised he'd crushed the life out of the timepiece. He examined the clock's bulletwound, paced slowly over to the corner, solemnly picked up a pen, and recorded the headshot. 5000 points to round off the evening; it was going to be a good night.

Leo had been sitting in the games room for a good hour now, the witch was locked in the front room and hadn't yet stopped screaming to draw for breath. Damn gills. Even with the windows boarded up, the door blocked by several bull elephants, the walls reinforced with several metres of concrete and the door handle given a magic rub by Gandalf himself, the odd curse word or spell would often escape.[6] Apart from forcibly entering the occasional cheat code or turning one of the main characters into a frog these magic outbursts from the next room did little to interrupt Leo's sublime form on the PS4.279001. Playing GTA5 was now remarkably easy; Having just taken out a frog-fuelled driveby and disarmed a hotdog salesman the next level beckoned.[7]

Chapter 4: The Chapter after the chapter before. The action relocates to the living room; seriously what's wrong with the billiard room? It has a billiard table AND a cool name! This writer obviously put no thought into this, the wanker.[edit]

With the sound that most people make when I fart directly onto their face the witch finally coughed up her lungs, her heart and a scared little child. Leo knew it was safe to go in.

'Uh, I'm really sorry about befo-WHA?'
The witch was positioned in front of the TV looking redfaced and guilty. Vaguely sexual moans could be heard coming from the box behind her. Leo's jaw dropped.
'Are you watching the Big Boys Channel?'

'Watching the Whatboys channel? Who said I'm watching that, what's watching anyway watching is for n00bs, anyone who says otherwise is an EPIC dick! Are you an epic dick you are an epic dick aren't you why are you an epic dick stop being an epic dick you're such an epic dick I HATE YOU!! ...I'm sorry'
The witch bowed her head shamefacedly and kicked the screen out from behind her with one of her spiky size 13 boots. The lion held out his hand expectantly. The witch's momentarily victorious face fell, she sighed, then handed him her wallet.
Taking advantage of the silence the witch was quick to change the subject.

'So, what are we going to do tonight? Maybe we could stay up late and tell ghost stories, I know a good one about a ghost with erectile disfunction.'

'Firstly there is no WE, there never was and never will be a WE! In 10 minutes you're going to leave, then I'm going to clean the house up for the hookers coming at 11. Secondly I already have that ghost story on DVD, so thanks but no thanks.'

'Can I stay for the hookers?' The witch's hopeful smile and fervent hand waving were almost immediately quelled by the look on the lion's face. Leo pointed towards the door. The witch, defeated made her way out the room.

'You may want to cancel your subscription by the way.' The witch added at the door.
She had to duck out of the room as the remote control smashed into the wall where her head had been only seconds before. Leo unpopped another can of Carlsberg and sat down. He still had another hour to kill.[8]
'Hey witchy! Come back in here I'm bored.'
The witch who'd obviously been standing just outside the door hopefully for the last 5 minutes came rushing into the living room. She started to take off her many shawls and loosen her sackcloth.
'Wait, wait. I'm not that bored!' The witch's face taughtened as she put her shawls back on. 'I was wondering if you wanted to stay a bit longer?'

'Way ahead of you. My shoes are off in the hallway, my toothbrush is in the bathroom and my knickers are on your bedroom floor.'

'Oh I wondered what that was. I thought they were too big to be a tent.'

The witch scowled. 'I'll just go and pick them up. wanker.'

'On the pretext of us both being men I'd argue that we're both wankers you hypocrite!'

'I'm not a man.'

'The bulge?'

'That's, uh, my uh, m, mo, mo-bile phone! That's it! That's my mobile phone!'

'The other bulge?'

'Oh that's my penis.'
The two of them sat there for a good 5 seconds until a look of dawning comprehension took over the witches face. Leo rolled his eyes.

'Oh, what I meant by penis was, my uh, ...how long have you been listening?'

'Too long.'


The witch, staring resalutely at the carpet gave a huge fake yawn.
'I think I'm going to leave now. Must be getting back to my lovely home.'

Leo raised an eyebrow, 'home?'

'I mean my dank dark cave. Happy now?'

Leo looked at the witch intently, a cynical smile playing around his lips.

'Fine! My dank dark cave with no roofing and no toilet that's soon to be repocessed by 2ft tall gnomes who still managed to beat me easily in a fight last week! I didn't get to mention the troll with a bad case of wind either or are you quite done humiliating me yet?'

'Just go.'

Chapter 5: Leo and the ladies of the night, I'm not exactly sure where the author's going with this. It'll probably turn out shit.[edit]

From behind the marble staircase, beyond the terrace wall, and about fifty paces coupled with a ride on a chairlift to the left of the garden drifted the drunken clatter of hookers. Thoroughly tired from their journey, they had taken to cheap unlabeled vodka to keep them going. Moving about for the first time in over a month their limbs were almost paralytic.[9] The three of them had been cramped up inside a tiny wooden crate for 45 days on the ship bound for England; it was a bad move using 5th class stamps, they automatically added an extra four weeks onto any delivery no matter of how easy that delivery was. They'd made it through the trip by feasting on the now missing fourth hooker and drinking the mysterious drops of water that soaked through the ceiling of their crate. Little did they know the ship's toilet had been directly above them.

Leo had been spring cleaning.[10] The normally blood and beer stained mansion was beginning to look respectable, almost as if someone hadn't killed the maid upon her remark about Leo's hair; I mean "bald spot" is not a hairstyle most people consider to be fashionable, but you shouldn't take fashion advice from a maid either, bloody maid. The room containing her grave had been cleverly hidden from view; Leo had slyly placed a post-it note on the door reading "Nothink suspisous 2 c in hear, espesially not maidz body. Pleas d0nt entr kthanx!", it was foolproof!
He'd hidden his valuables, nailed down some red carpet down and put on his best suit; Which, as you'd expect from the vain feline, was his birthday suit. Forgetting to apply the third wave of lynx[11] he stared at the window intently. It was some time later that Leo remembered windows were in fact transparent and therefore able to see through. Blinking, he realised he'd been staring blankly at someone's spotty buttocks, pressed up against the glass, for the past two hours.
The doorbell rang.[12]

' .... '

The site that greeted Leo was not a happy one. Not even an arousing one. Not even near a remotely arousing after sinking a lot of beer one. All in all it was pretty miserable sight, the kind of thing that fully justifies the continued existance of blind people.
The mutilated prostitutes interpreted Leo's repeated gagging reflex as an invitation to come in. Suppressing the re-entry of lunch, Leo was willing to argue that even the witch was more shaggable than those genderless swine. Just as that thought crossed his mind, the witch dropped down from the ceiling where she had been hiding for the past two and a half hours.

'You really think so?' Enquired the blushing witch.

'Dammit, stop reading my thoughts! Anyway no, it was a figure of speech, I don't really want to shag you, you're hideous.'

'Aww thank you, that's the best compliment I've had in ages.' Her cracked green lips broke into a smile.
'I'm going to go upstairs and slip into something more comfortable.'

Leo's face contorted with disgust.

'Oh my go-this is bad. I'll sort her out later, but now I've got to get rid of them hookers.'

Leo puffed out his chest, pulled up his trousers, tightened his belt, put on a cup, taped a lampshade his groin, stuck various 'WARNING DO NOT TOUCH' signs to his crotch and went into the living room where the whores were.
He ran out of there seconds later to vomit - the hookers were naked.
He opened the nearest door to him and let loose the torrent. As the steady flow of bile[13] lessened Leo could make out a large putrid blob in front of him. Was it one of the hookers? I mean they were all large, putrid, and to an extent blobbish.
On closer inspection Leo realised it was in fact the witch, her shame masked by several shades of sick.

'I swear that was the hookers. I was being sick over them, I didn't see you.' said a panic-stricken Leo.

'Oh!!! Don't worry about it. I saw them naked too - my pile of sick's in the corner. I think I may have got a bit of it on your butler'

Leo turned his head to the corner, swamped in vomit was his butler. He was writhing about on the floor in agony and screaming something that sounded suspiciously like "melting". Leo ignored him.

Chapter 6: The Chapter that was only ever a title[edit]



Chapter 7: After much stomach emptying Leo convinces the hookers to cover themselves up[edit]

The five of them were seated in the lounge, the hookers now fully clothed were looking downcast. Leo had changed his clothes and applied beer goggles to prevent further facial escape of nutrition; Despite the specs the hookers remained reassuringly ugly to Leo. The witch had cleaned herself up, in the process corroding the shower into a socially unacceptable piss bucket. The butler had mutated into a three armed acid monster and was currently in the games room watching Spiderman 2.[14]

'Well look at the time, you guys best be leaving, eh?' ventured a hopeful Leo.

The hookers looked at Leo quizzically, well as quizzically as any group of three people can look whilst sharing a single eye between them. Leo tapped politely on Mr.T's shoulder, who happened to be passing by, and motioned for him to give the unwanted facially ovulaters hookers one of the many eyes hanging from his medallions. After politely explaining to the lion that the correct course of action to take would involve quitting his jibba jabba, the T left to continue his quest to "get some nuts."

'So yeah, hookers? Can you please sort-of leave. Now? Don't bother walking through the house just crawl down that manhole back where you belong.'

'I have a man hole.' said the biggest, most ginger bearded of the hookers.

'So big boy how do you want us to do this?'

Leo opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He was considering his situation. An eery silence befell the room, the calm before the storm. A single bead of sweat trickled slowly down the side of Leo's face. Glancing quickly at the witch Leo prepared himself for what would come next. Crouching slightly and cocking his pocket knife he was ready.
With great care not to alter his tone in any way, or give away the note of panic in his voice, Leo chose his words carefully.


'BLAAAARRGH!!!'

The second hooker's immediate look of surprise was only matched in speed by Leo's escape through the window. His groin may have been covered in glass, but Leo had made it.[15] Leo stopped running after 4.2 miles solid, 4.19 of them on the treadmill in his neighbours garden. Either way around, he was safe. The hookers would have no business coming after him, he hadn't lpaid them, so why would they bother following? They'd probably just steal his TV and eat his pile of vomit. Wiping away the last of the puke, Leo breathed out a huge sigh of relief. Leo had done it, he was safe. Or so he thought.


This is where I got bored and stopped reading --Plant2.png Failed to parse (MathML with SVG or PNG fallback (recommended for modern browsers and accessibility tools): Invalid response ("Math extension cannot connect to Restbase.") from server "https://wikimedia.org/api/rest_v1/":): {\displaystyle H^{ello}_{olleH}} Jonsig.png [16]


It was safe to say what happened next was an event that no matter how heroic, how dramatic or however riddled with sexual references to cynical predatory animals and gender-confused prostitutes, would never ever ever EVAR be reproduced or information about made available to anyone in any shape/type or form, ever. Of course, a story like that is too great not to be taken hold of, and within 5 hours of before it even took place Encyclopedia Dramatica had been flooded with articles and vaguely *chan images on it. Despite all government protection and legislation in place, a small demented boy, plagued by a vicious set of insulting chapter names managed to spontaneously spew forth every lewd detail of the event. The event, which would haunt Leo for the rest of his life.

Chapter 9: Mourning The Death of Chapter 8.[edit]

The hookers were staring in wonder at the spot where Leo had been seconds prior. Their look of amazement wasn't from to his sudden unexplained exit, or his missing genitalia. It was from a certain something lying on the ground, shimmering in the cold moonlight. In his haste to leave, Leo had inadvertedly dropped a shiny copper penny, which after a dramatical little twirl had landed in front of the three ladies. Despite the fact it was actually a squashed kidney bean, despite the fact it was in fact a non-refundable one-bean-per-customer gift card kidney bean worth the princely sum of £0.00, and despite the fact it was part of the "National Book Day" swindle; they had been payed. This, according to the ancient decree of Lord Ray-Ray the Pimpalicious meant they were bound by honour, regardless of the customers decision, to perform their various services on the payer.

With the sound of a small explosion the hookers erupted out of the mansion. Mounted with freshly materialised miniguns and riding tall on quad bikes the hookers slammed the throttle and sped towards Leo. Leo swiveled round only intime to catch the alcoholic musk of the hookers as they crashed through his neighbour's garden fence, a murderous gleam in their eye. Leo wasn't one to stay on his feet for long, within the time it takes to say "I have cheesy balls" he was off. Leaping upon his neighbour's new hoverboard Leo shot towards the driveway. Now wielding dual pistols and emulating the gun-toting hardman from Seseme street, the scores had been evened. Ducking beneath the swings Leo chanced a look back. The hookers were hot in pursuit, somehow they'd spontaeniously acquired riding goggles. To compensate Leo placed a cucumber slice over each eye. Almost immediately, he remembered that cucumbers had been voted the least aerodynamic vegetable of 2003. Deciding that he had to take action Leo pulled out his two guns and shot several rounds of speed holes into the cucumbers. Having several rounds of lead-based ammunition lodged in his brain gave Leo a slight headache, and although the cucumbers had been decimated from his line of vision Leo couldn't see where he was going. Whipping out the cucumber he rifled through the packaging for the sell-by date, as he'd expected it was out of date. Dammit, if that pimpled wreck of a shopping assisstant unloaded the crap vegetables on him again he'd have the pleasure of waking up next to a horses head. Discarding the mangy old green circles, and replacing them with more aerodynamic lemons coated in a layer of vinegar, Leo could see again.

What Leo didn't see was that he'd been hurtling forwards blindly for the past ten minutes, miraculously not hitting anything. Adjusting his crotch strap for comfort, Leo readied himself for the amazing flip-di-loop bullet spraying crotch-grabbing manouvere that his fighterpilot uncle "The Beige Baron" was famed for on WWE. Ammounting a tremendous burst of speed Leo pushed of hard against the ground and prepared to unload a hail of bullets over his shoulder.

Some Time Later[edit]

The shrill sound of bells pierced the crisp winters air like a knife through the side of an old man. The manors' once regal archways had became delapedated and unkempt. Ivy grew uncontrolled along the window, the tip of the plant nosing hopefully through the bedroom window. The author was nowhere to be seen and all signs of limbless corpses and SHOOP'd terrorists had all but faded from view, if it were not for a few fingers and the odd bloodstained turban. There had been an emptyness about the place since it happend.
A gaggle of people shuffled noiselessly across the path away from the church, each of them holding a look of grim satisfaction in their face. An old man with a withered head and matching comb-over was rattling off a longwinded and boring speech, oblivious to the reluctant audience he'd lost quite a while ago; some of whome had started an orgie and were gradually enticing in a steady flow of people to join in. Leo's funeral had been a dull affair.

Leo's night, as Silent Penguin predicted, had all ended in tears. Having failed to pull off the amazing flip-di-loop bullet-spraying crotch-grabbing manouvere as he had intended, Leo had successfully parked himself up a tree. Throwing off a randy tree hugger Leo had tried to make a break for freedom, but this bid was quickly ended when a nearby pylon collapsed onto him. Leaving nothing but an extremely rare lion steak. As he lay there dying and crispy, his pursuers grabbed a hold of his feet and dragged him off into a nearby sewer where they humped several shades of sex out of him. It wasn't the blood loss, the constant vomitting, or even the impalement on a pile of his own sick that completed the night for Leo; it was the thought that he'd dropped his phone earlier during the chase, what if 02 called offering him another amazing deal when he topped up his phone? With this final sickening thought Leo closed his eyes and drifted from of this world.
Which was a shame really, because 02 were handing out free condoms to loyal customers if they topped-up that month.


Judges! If you've read this far then surely you are a testament to userkind. Not only have you survived the longest non-repetitive article on ?pedia, but you've probably taken a week off work do do it; for that, I salute you. Also seeing as it's an achievement in itself to read something this long, and you probably feel pretty all like 'king of the mountain I've read Teste's Pickle I'm now invincible', then you may aswell make this the pickle winner. But don't let me cloud your judgement, I'm just a title that's meandering dangerously off the point.[edit]

References[edit]

  1. If I wasn't damn sure he enjoyed facial flower sex so much I'd feel sorry for him.
  2. a personal preference from the clock instead of being signed by some 3rd rate Hollywood C-Lister has-been like George Clooney.
  3. The clock has racist small man syndrome.
  4. Unsurprisingly this betting oppurtunity was boycotted by thousands of mentally mistaken members of the public.
  5. In the end and after sustaining a nasty-looking injury and a suspicious stain along the rectum it was William who emerged the victor.
  6. Gandalf was renowned for his magic rubs - they nearly always brought the object luck. This would help explain why Gandalf's phallace is the luckiest object in exsistance.
  7. That hotdog guy was weilding a tray of hot fat. If it wasn't for the large long distance nuclear rocket launcher with limitless ammo and a cosy grip I don't think Leo would've made that one.
  8. He'd already "killed" twelve hours when he shot the clock earlier.
  9. Most hookers eventually become paralytic but that's only because of legislation allowing fat people and rubgy players to use their services
  10. that is, cleaning his spring. He loved it when they were all shiny - apparently it made them bounce more smoothly.
  11. After pioneering such incredibly pheramonious deodrant flavours as "Chocolate" "Lemon Zest" and "Cheese!", Lynx had decided to branch out. They wanted to go where no deodrant company or manufacturer had been before, reach past the gasious fumes from their testing laboratories and scrape the mailbox of heaven. After many schemes, much deliberation and the wasting of numerous test chimps they did it. It cost them everything but they'd managed it, their dream of the ultimate deodrant was realised. Broadcasting around the world they gave news of the final frontier: Sweat flavoured deodrant!
  12. The doorbell at Windleton's Manor had origonally been tuned to play the theme tune of the hit 17th century comedy "First of the Summer Wine". Though this hadn't changed Leo had rerecorded it alongside rappers SnoopDog, BReal, Eminem, M.C.Rolo, Percival Williams, IceCube and SellOut.
  13. lightly seasoned steak smothered in stomach acid
  14. He wished to see the easiest way to establish himself as the town's camp tight-wearing hero.
  15. If his lovespuds hadn't already upped and left him upon first seeing the hookers he'd have been in great pain.
  16. This was added by me (Testostereich)















Chapter X: The title intended to help references be top of the screen when you click the link to them[edit]

Whaa, We sold out a chapter to do that? Readers convenience my arse, how much are you getting paid for this?

Chapter Y: Money x Very Lots[edit]

¬_¬

...lame








And Here it is:[edit]

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I read Testostereich's Pickle and feel manlier for it.
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