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Spellarella
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PostSubject: Gaz - his adventures   Mon Jun 14, 2010 3:42 pm

What is a site without a mascot and for this GAZ is it. So read and add to Gaz's adventures and maybe, just maybe will make the grumpy git crack a smile.

The story so far of Gaz and his adventures .

Where is Gaz and he did what?

Gaz seems unloved. To cheer him up, or more like to laugh at his expense. Write a few lines to the story of his life in tight tights.

On the good ship, lollipop Cap'n Gaz stood on the timbers. All around him swarmed angry fireflies. He sighed and scratched his beardless chin, pondering what to do next.

The sea was alive with the sound of cusses from his hapless crew. How could they have sailed with such a nincompoop? Such a brainless lump of useless Jell-O, that not only had sold all the lifeboats but also had upset the local fireflies that were now waging flame wars on the ship.

So what did Capn' Gaz do next?

Well he... pulled on some pants. After all singeing to that area was something nobody wanted. Even he didn't want that singed. The smell alone was off putting, that was the smell before the singeing so what it would stink like after was mind-boggling. Cap'n Gaz grabbed a half smouldering sock and attempted to put it on his very green-hairy feet. Alas not being too smart up top, he caught the end of the sock on the anchor. In his clumsiness, he made the anchor topple overboard, into the sea with an almighty splash.

On hearing the now venomously spat shouted cusses from his somewhat beleaguered, fuming, soggy, forum chums, Cap'n Gaz sat on a barrel of dynamite wondering what all the noise was about?

As the main sail burnt through its mooring to the big stick in the centre of the ship, it flapped down like an angry hot flame-throwing phoenix. Not that he had ever seen a Phoenix let alone a flame-throwing one, he had seen plenty of pan throwing women in his time, even condiments and well it seemed to him, women, men, as well at times even children and small babes threw things at him a lot. He thought it must be some widespread custom that he did not know about.

He sat looking up, squinting thought he haze of thick acrid smoke and the bright lights of the flames licking all around him as the sail flew directly at him.

Suddenly.... a thought hit him, hard and I decided to run down to the docks and steal a sailboat. Because that's all that was available, that's why. Moreover, it was a beautiful sailboat - a 25-foot sloop. The wind was just right, raised the jib, set the mainsail, and took off for harbour entrance. Steering carefully between the wrecked ships waiting their final dismantling at the salvage yard. Just out of curiosity, why is Gaz sticky?

Gaz is sticky because he likes it that way. Well that is what he tells everybody. It might be an excuse not to wash or the fact he is trying desperately to attract the lesbians so he rolls in.... dung beetle dung. Gaz washes behind his ears religiously with a dried up priest and a couple of dirty old habits. His mama was very particular about him washing behind his ears. Well anybody would after she found;
1. half a field of potatoes
2. 3 fields of corn
3. 14 pairs of pants
4. 3 corset
5. a complete, hypnotised, chorus line
6. a block of swiss cheese
7. the local missing village idiot of 1921
8. 3 WW2 airmen complete with their aircraft
9. 1 nuclear bomb
10. half a eaten side of beef
11. 1 French waitresses
12. and granny.


Every Sunday he had to stand over the horse trough and scrub like a man possessed. Which Gaz was lucky enough not to be possessed. Unfortunately Gaz was himself, completely Gaz, there was nobody else to blame for Gaz being Gaz. He did try to blame... the occupants of every city from Dresden to Antwerp, with no success. So Gaz went on a killing spree instead. Only drawings of people were harmed, not the actual people. So it really makes no difference anyway, does it? But Gaz doesn't care. He just likes the effect. And that effect is.... of giant fuzzy hair being rubbed-intimately on his large-hairy palms. He so gets excited and salivates at the mere mention of it being done. At the thought of it, well Gaz simply... giggled like a girl and shivered in anticipation. He did a dance too. A hopping dance which started slowly and gained tempo the more he became excited. Until he looked like a red faced, sweat dripping, crazed rabbit caught in a... blender going around and around until completely dizzy. After that you're bound to feel a bit green, nauseous, under the weather and all those describing words that mean you are going to throw up. Even so blender fun is so titivating that nothing else quite makes a feminine itch and discharge less appealing and good topic of conversation at a posh dinner function.

Now Gaz is in his own element at dinner parties and function. Such is the demand for Gaz not to be there. Hosts of prospecting functions have employed burly, hairy large bouncers to secure the premises from Gaz. Not that stops Gaz from trying.

Only last night Gaz turned up at the Golden Globes dressed in ... clinging lycra cycle suit with bits of fluff, diamonte and 2 feather boas. The purple boas was I am glad to say strategically placed. If it had not been I would have been blinded as well as very ill. Needless to say Gaz did look fetching and he completed his ensemble with bright yellow wellington boots. a great shame they were encrusted in mud and not his trademarked diamonte ruby cluster.

Every-time we see Gaz at these awards his hair is a great source of discussion and comments. How anybody could back-comb, if it is back-combed, their hair to such heights is puzzling. Gaz manges to do it to perfection and at such jaunty angles. This year Gaz has added a nest and the birds look stunningly realistic. Yes, yes it looks like, well it looks like he has added a joke to this arrangement. The nest not only comes with realistic looking birds but they move and, and, go to the toilet. How bizarre, how - very Gaz.

But wait folks there is a commotion and it looks like yes, Gaz is being man-handled. That has got to hurt, No wait that looks like Zsa Zsa Gabor is - OUCH! Folks you are not got to believe what this reporter is witnessing first-hand at this years Golden Globes. Gaz, yes Gaz is being man-handled by none other than Zsa Zsa herself. What is more exciting is it looks like she is trying to remove, with her bare teeth... his chest wig. The horror, she is spitting plastic effect hair in a much luminous green shade out by the mouthful. Gaz looks somewhat startled and is attempting to back away. No sorry Gaz is actually. Good god cut. CUT. Cut I say quickly sever the link, that is sooooooo disgusting....

"who would wear mis-matched underwear. That is just plain obscene, somebody call the fashion police. I want that man arrested."

So it came to pass, Gaz was arrested, wrestled with, man-handled, booed, hissed at and man-handled some more before being flung head first into the back of the cop car. A blanket was thrown in as an after though to spare other people catching a glimpse of the mis-matched underwear.

All around therapists were being booked up by those who had seen the offending undies. A world wide pandemic had to be stopped at all costs. Sheriff Hullabaloo reluctantly called in the FBI.

Agent Smith and Mrs G arrived at the scene and immediately introduced themselves in that required sombre requirement. Which is sanctioned by the President and is so written in section 8 subsection z100.

They also killed off any intent for a humorous remark by their sheer sombre persona. FBI, fully boring inmates. Gaz snickered at the thought that beamed into his head from a 10000 light years away. Glancing upwardly he rubbed the protruding bump that was and hid his antenna and swore in a mumbled voice under his breath.

Anyway... Three sharks were stalking the perimeter fence. They looked might mean and fierce. you could have also said that they looked might anxious and overly keen on something just the other side of the fence. Grass, was the grass greener and why were the sharks so in need to find out.


Tune in next week to find out why Gaz did a runner...

So do you find you asking yourself. Why did Gaz do a runner. Who is Gaz? What did Gaz so that was so bad?

Do you find yourself pondering and day dreaming why. Is your working slacking because?
If so call us and we'll come round and program you.

This advertisement was brought to direct by Thought Control, mind-control you know it makes sense.

So our beloved mascot 'Gaz' re-enters storyville and resumes his affair with a hairdryer and a shag-pile carpet (burnt-orange).

Gaz swaggered in and from the looks of the inhabitants it was going to be one of those days when…

Everything went right, despite the best effort made to sabotage it. Boy did the locals hate that day, in fact, and one that was well known was they hated that more than groundhog day. That never went down lightly, blood was spilt and the air was blue with language so profane the Pope blushed three universes away.

It looked as though Gaz would have to do something about the panda overpopulation. It seems as though pandas have been breeding exponentially, and are about to take over the planet. Along the way, they've become intelligent and have begun to use tools.

It's become............


panda-monium.


A small chuckle rose up from the crowd, it was stifled under a layer of thick wool scarves but escape it did. Gaz looked for the source of the chuckle. Did he have some form of telepathy, did they, was the tooth fairy real? If she was, he would have words with her, strong words indeed. He would air his grievance about the time she short changed him and took out his good teeth and left the one that fell out behind. That and she tied his laces together and drew in permanent marker the word fool on his forehead. Yes he would have words with her about that.

Another chuckle broke free and rose into the air, and another, and another. The whole air was stuffed full of laughter bubbles. Like mini hot air balloons all floating around, except these contained laughter in some form of another not hot air. Everybody knows hot air balloons are generated by Politicians and other Governmental bodies. Gaz was once employed to shoot these down, that balloons not the Government, but on occasion a few stray politicians were accidental culled by Gaz firing his cupid arrow.

When Gaz shot the President well, the hullabaloo that created was quickly housed over when he produce a fine pappiermache replicate. IT was years before it was discovered the President was a fake. His head falling off into his soup gave the game away. By then nobody cared. Gaz was still fired regardless and banned for eternity from touching pappiermache ever again.


Now macramé was another Gaz skill he kept under his belt. His belt was macramé but that was beside the point. So was his pants and shoes. Nobody commented so Gaz thought his dirty little secret was safe. Him, the Great Gaz a secret macramé knitter.

The sky was, however, rapidly filling up with laughter bubbles. The sun , as big and square as it was and pink and blue striped was being blotted out. If something was not done soon there would be global warming. An ice age, major panic. No Gaz couldn't face funning into Major Panic again. There last encounter was less than a happy occasion. Gaz was still sore about their last encounter. Humiliation still rose readily and ever so easily at the smallest reminder of the day. With his rosy cheeks burning brightly, Gaz sucked in his breath between his teeth.

His mind wandered, just slight but enough for it to try and mount, next doors door mat. Oh how those sisal hairs tantalised Gaz's mind. The teasing was not subtle, but more in the way of a full on; come and get me big boy, taunt.

Having a weak mind was one thing, having one that was off-key was another. But being born with one that had the hots for sisal door mats, was something not to discuss when you had the vicar for tea.

Gaz pulled on his mind's leash and reigned in it. Well he tried to; but the lure of those leaf-covered bristles were to strong. His mind resisted, it wanted to rubs itself all over with those wiry whiskers. And dammit it would, damn that body this mind was going to get some action and it was getting it now.

Gaz realising the horror of the situation frantically twiddled his toes. Such a feat that was including the puns that just came along for the ride with it. There he stood twiddling his toes and chewing on a piece of corn.

The locust was shocked to find his lunch being munched. It was his tea, so how dare he! Now this was absurd, so he gave Gaz the bird. Un-fazed by the locusts glare, Gaz began to stare. Eye to eye they met, the crowd around placed a bet. Would Gaz win the odds were bad, but nobody felt sad. Stare they did one on one, until the winner won. Tiny beads of sweat ran down the Ogga-pogga-doscream bird. It's beak opened and it let forth a string of swear words. It then gave the bird a bird, which is not as funny as you would imagine it to be. Face it Big bird giving your the bird might just raise a titter or two, but some 10 cm sweaty bird, no.

Well that did it for Gaz, with his eyes almost on the verge of exploding out of his sockets he looked at the Ogga pogga doscream bird. A roar and a cheer went up. A small squirrel did a marvellous back flip that earned it a 5.5 score from judges. 3 aardvarks shifted to the west in a hurry chased by a KBG raccoon. And a skunk got a little, well more than a little carried away in the excitement.

"Gaz you're a loser, TA DA DA DA, TA DA DA DA" chanted the locust.

The crowd went wild, more to do with he stink and getting away from it. but wild they went. Roaring, dancing down the street while chanting the locust's song, carrying their tiny hero aloft.

Gaz, sat dejected on a toadstool.

"Who are you u u u u u!" said the caterpillar, busily sucking-nosily on a lozenge.

"Gaz" replied Gaz.

"Who o o o are you u u u, and gerroff me house, you brazen heathen." The caterpillar coughed back, wheezing on the O's and sniffing in the U's.

"Huh, sure, what wait a minute, this is NOT - Alice in Wonderland?" Gaz casually remarked lifting his buttocks off the caterpillars house.

"That is what you think smuck." said the Cheshire cat, visible only by his whitened toothy smile.


"Off with his toenail fungus." Rang a shrill, commanding voice of the female persuasion.

Gaz jumped, head-butted the Cheshire cat and knocked out 4 of his teeth. The cat glared-fiercely and its tongue darted through the now ominous gap.

"That's done it, your in for it now." spluttered the Caterpillar, stifling a cross between a hacking cough and a fit of laughter.

The cat become more visible, its tail flicked viciously side to side and its , occasionally seen whiskers twitched menacingly.

Gaz gulped and farted through a red and blue stripey straw.

The red striping makes the velocity travelled but he fart that bit faster and has added va va phooots.

Gaz knew this as he first thought of the theory 41 minutes ago and having tested it successfully twice, concluded he would be due a Nobel peace prize this year. He was working on his acceptance speech but he had an overwhelming urge to ride a rocking horse. Not just any but THE ONE.

Gaz was fickle as he was annoying. His brain careered off course faster than a spun Nascar. They had at least the yellow caution flag to run under. The rest of the population were not afforded such luxury when encountering Gaz.

Gaz wandered lonely as a

turnip. Yes I know I have an obsession with a turnip today. Could have been far worse I could have an obsession with a skunk or even a travelling wildebeest.

Do you know how much luggage a travelling wildebeest carries with it? By carrying, I mean it makes others do the carrying. Man are you going to argue the point about it should carrying its own luggage with something that large, hairy and smelly? No good standing there grumbling and a mumbling abut the indignity of having a pole up your hole while it stands there snorting and making foot marks on your rear. It might be mean and just how mean is it to be a wildebeests travelling porter? Really mean, no tips, the cheapskates and you have to pick up its, well dropping. Have you ever tried to carry a kitchen sink in your pocket while balancing a giant gorilla on your nose, and pick up the enormous piles of dung in a bucket with a hole in it?

It is not easy I can tell you. The gorilla keeps moving which upset the bidet and that just won't do. As granny, dear sweet tobacco chewing, gun totting, knitting armour vest in her rocker, granny breaks out in hives when that happens. She looks frightful and her language well, that would melt the icecaps faster than America with its gas guzzling hummers. Global warming has nothing on the power of granny's blue than blue language.

It makes the little whores in Texas put on their vest and long bloomers, they are pretty unflappable by most things. Granny's language is too much for those free spirited, bed hogging, candy floss coated, tiddly wink champions I can tell you that much. NOT that I know about the little whores in Texas, no siree no. I know nothing, nothing at all.

It is just...that once you're in one of those "establishments", it's a sight you won't forget. Now, I'm not saying I worked there, and I'm not saying I was a customer. In fact, the less said about why I was in a Texas whorehouse with Granny, the better. So let's just change direction a might, okay?

How about elves? Now, that's a subject a person can sink his teeth into. Didja know there are about 1,200 different species of elves? That's just elves! Not countin' gnomes, fairies (two major catgories), pixies, and sabertooth tigers.

Why, I could talk about elves just about all day if you let me. I remember one time, when I met an elf in the Texas Whorehouse that I was in with Granny. Funny person but very flexible, so flexible that it was the best steak I had in years. Nice and blue served fresh from the armpits of a nubile buxom greasy spoon. Their French fries took some getting used to, muttering way in French they were, while you chewed them over. Off putting but still delicious when washed down the just the right wine. Such as a 1792 Chateau de Bloodyrag. If you're not familiar with this wine, it has a slightly nutty flavour, characterized by a bouquet that reminds one of rancid meat. The aftertaste is that of decaying paper pulp, with just a hint of grizzly bear urine.

And for the appetizing dessert Buttered butt cheek in a poire et fromage sauce. Fattening and always , once ingested heads straight to the rear.

For days after the effects are noticeable to all. These symptoms range from over inflation of the cheekal area, to wobbles that don't subside until a week on Tuesday.

But oh how delicious it is. People wait for 15 years to sample this sublime dish.

Gaz, dear Gaz once attempted to create his own. I think the biggest mistake he made was adding prickly pear instead of a normal juicy Conference pear. The side effects of his dish were, spots before the eyes, skyblue purple horizontal striples onthe body. Very unflattering for those of a buxom plentiful nature, and worse was the ruffles. Such a fashion faux-par. Ruffles should be banned and sent to Coventry. Everything else is, why nobody knows. I mean being sent to the Banana republic would be something writing home about. Coventry alas would anybody dare to write home about?

Would even Gaz? So let us ask Gaz after we all bung him in a cardboard box, with air holes. Off he goes via raft across the oceans to Coventry.

Now all we have to do is wait and see if he writes home about Coventry.

So there you have it, Gaz bobbing along on the oceans current, on a raft in a cardboard box with air holes, heading towards Coventry.

There was one thing missing and that was a dramatic pause. So here it is.....


Cue dramatic music, preformed by the ever delightful, tone deaf Orc philharmonic orchestra. Conducted by the enigmatic one-eyed Willy.


As the conductor picked up his baton, tapping twice, there for a milli-second appeared a six-foot tall amoeba which no one but the conductor could see. The nameless conductor was so shocked at seeing a huge, shapeless, gelatinous blob standing next to him that he had a heart attack and died right in front of the orchestra.

Not knowing what to do, since there was no conductor, the orchestra played several bars of "There once was a man from Nantucket...." before they realized what they were doing, and so they packed up their instruments and left the concert hall, going to
catch the number 49 bus to hippyville. So that was the end of that dramatic pause.

Still it gave our ever-hapless hero-not Gaz a few brief seconds to change his outfit. Well apparently not. For here he is- stood wearing only a ear muffler on his you know - his - down- down there- you know- his wotsit. No not that! To the left- up a bit- too far that it, his ear canal. Fancy it being there, must make for some interesting conversations. then again shrieks of horror and waves of revulsion might be an interesting change of pace. There are those who engage in such things as hobbies, or so I'm told. I've never been one to believe such things though, since it's more likely they're just tales told by grandmothers to their grandchildren in order to make them behave. Still, it can't hurt to practice every so often. Like this and that. Put your left eyeball in , left eyeball out, in-out-in-out and shake it all about. You do the Rumba, polka and the waltz , then add a dying fly and that is what it's all not supposed to be about. Gaz as ever, the buffoon, the clown among a sea of fools, had once again got it all wrong. Shame, humiliation were being added to his middle name as we speak. Dictionary's hastily re-written to add his shameful wanton lunacy to those words that were him through and through.

Still Gaz ever the resourceful and shameless optimist though it was excellent and carried on in his inimitable way. Slowly, others began to see the pride he exhibited when he walked down the street, carrying himself with a certain air.

They didn't realize it wasn't pride, but naivete. It couldn't be said that Gaz had ever been the most intelligent of creatures, but what he had going for him was a child-like innocence.

So he thought. But it was written long ago that if you could fool yourself you were an idiot. Gaz was one of that breed, hand created by a drunken Med student party prank all those years ago.

Still, he had at least proved them wrong that he could
walk like an Egyptian. Gaz does do that sand dance wonderfully. Even his performance of Swan Lake is legendary among a small tribe of one pygmy blind leprechauns.

A trophy announcing the local macramé winner of 1901 was found in a box buried under a pile of newspapers. The odd thing about this was all the papers were of all blacked out except for the letters of N I G E L.

Police are investigating this unsolved crime, and they have sent out an APB for anybody named bigjobby the third and a half. Well known for his enoromous widget. You know where you stand with a widget, he was often quoted saying. His hair was nearly as legendary. Gaz tried to quaff his quiff the same once and failed miserably.

Gaz's' quaffed quiff looked more like a quaffed, quiffed quill as worn by a local tramp only last summer. Man, not only did the hair cause and outrage but the smell of the tramp still lingered after he was moved on with several scrubbing brushes, numerous shampoos and more than an army size of air fresheners.

The whole town looks like a giant magic tree. everywhere its possible to have an airfreshener tree hung has several. Mind you the people now wear more air fresheners than Prada these days. Even Gucci and Dior have been adding air-freshners to there ranges in order to try and boost up sales. These are desperate times that call for…desperate dan and his amoosing cow pie eating desperate dan and his amoosing cow pie eating Snicky Bek-in-Jam is getting in on the act. Her plastic surgeon has just created her figure to match perfectly a stick insect. Gaz appears to be bemused at the wanderings in his tale. Still he'd never have thought his new breasts would be copied so copiously by all the celebrities. Gaz has to sit down and take stock of this new development. While pondering, deeply, he began to silently twiddle his... navel. Now this may seem to be difficult to most people, but not for Gaz. In fact, Gaz is able to accomplish things the ordinary mortal can only dream of, such as balancing a scolding pancake on his head, whilst scalding his head at the same time. Certainly not a sight for the squeamish, although they have been known to make noises one could only describe as those of a merriment nature from behind the sofa of which they hide.

Gaz as ever is persistent. Only the other day did he knit himself a new beard. Quite an accomplishment, given the fact the wool was still on the sheep. The sheep, however, was not that amused and complined to the local North Incline Table Society, N.I.T.S for short, about it and they decreed... that N.I.T.S, had a vaild complaint only on a harvest moon evening and they should submit it ti the proper authorities then and only then.

Disgruntled sheep are one thing but when you have aroom full of them and Gaz busy knitting his beard in the affrray can only lead to spilt milk and bleating which really does grate on the ears of Pygmy dwarfs. They do belly-ache and spill beer when that occurs.

So, it just goes to show in Gaz's world nothing is ever that far fetched. Normal can't exist which is why poor Gaz's out of work and favour with the Queen

Once again Her Royal Rudeness Queen Perineum Pollywobbles Justacotonminit Jones-Smythe-Henderson-Swashbuckler-Carbuckles-Bucket the 6th.

So, it just goes to show in Gaz's world nothing is ever that far fetched. Normal can't exist which is why poor Gaz's out of work and favour with the Queen. Once again she announced on the local soap box that Gaz was being deported again to another land where he was not already barred from. So once again our hero Gaz found himself being stuck down with vinegar and brown sauce, HP naturally and shipped out by cannon and boot to the new land of.... announced on the local soap box that Gaz was being deported again to another land where he was not already barred from. So once again our hero Gaz found himself being stuck down with vinegar and brown sauce, HP naturally and shipped out by cannon and boot to the new land of hot chicks and chipbutties. Not that famous island but its poorer, run down version that nobody has ever heard of.

So Gaz sets foot on the land of warm beer and soggy out of date nacho's and discovers…


So folks come on in and continue to add to Gaz's adventure and make it one long laugh.... or the biggest WTF??? in the world.

Fail to post and you'll get you have been forewarned.
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PostSubject: Re: Gaz - his adventures   Mon Jun 14, 2010 3:50 pm

So Gaz sets foot on the land of warm beer and soggy out of date nacho's and discovers…


He is not alone but a whole forum full of people. We use the term people loosely round these parts. As some, namely a fruit-bat who thinks that as she flies on a broom and issues curse to, she is a witch.

Hah! Thought Gaz, rubbing his head carefully as thinking was so damn painful. Witch my ass.

Which she did, he began to squeak and.....


continue...
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PostSubject: Re: Gaz - his adventures   Mon Jun 14, 2010 4:02 pm

I need a pic of a pair of bollocks banging against some lady bits, cuz your fuckin nuts....



Ta TW for the sig.
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PostSubject: Re: Gaz - his adventures   Mon Jun 14, 2010 4:04 pm

lmao lmao lmao
Gris Gris, did you ever write for Monty Python?
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PostSubject: Re: Gaz - his adventures   Mon Jun 14, 2010 4:36 pm

I refuse to read that whole thing. Can someone please give me a summary?
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PostSubject: Re: Gaz - his adventures   Mon Jun 14, 2010 4:41 pm

lmao holy shit you have alot of time on your hands great stuff
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PostSubject: Re: Gaz - his adventures   Tue Jun 15, 2010 3:14 am

inuit wrote:
lmao lmao lmao
Gris Gris, did you ever write for Monty Python?
Those amateurs, never.


Now get on an add your words to the story so Gaz may live.




The story continues....

So Gaz sets foot on the land of warm beer and soggy out of date nacho's and discovers…


He is not alone but a whole forum full of people. We use the term people loosely round these parts. As some, namely a fruit-bat who thinks that as she flies on a broom and issues curse to, she is a witch.

Hah! Thought Gaz, rubbing his head carefully as thinking was so damn painful. Witch my ass.

Which she did, he began to squeak and.....



I need a pic of a pair of bollocks banging against some lady bits, cuz your fuckin nuts.... Gaz shouted to a small wee scotsman who was seen lurking around a haystack that was not quite in the middle of town's rectangle. The Scotsman who was not best pleased with being seen by this odd fellow but to be shouted out too. Well that was taking the biscuit.


"Ach! Sod off to ye own land laddie, "mumbled the Scotman to his beard. His beard then translated it so the rest of the world could understand. "I say old chap be quiet, Nurse Julz is having a haybath and I'm trying to catch a glimpse of her stocking tops." " It's ayearly event and we would appreciate it if you'd shut up and move along."

Gaz who as busy trying to swat an invisible flying witch, decided to move on. Well his feet did, they never liked standing in one place too long. They could'nt bear the smell that arose around them as soon as they stopped. It is only so much over toasted chesseness any foot can take without resorting to growing onions in an attempt to introduce an other ingrediant to it limited menu.

So Gaz, who was now hanging slightly behind his own feet was dragged off to.....


Continue or else....
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PostSubject: Re: Gaz - his adventures   Tue Jun 15, 2010 1:27 pm

GG me thinks your a tad crazy in a kind way LOL
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PostSubject: Re: Gaz - his adventures   Tue Jun 15, 2010 3:39 pm

So Gaz, who was now hanging slightly behind his own feet was dragged off to..... GG me thinks your a tad crazy in a kind way LOL. Said a complete stranger interrupting the story teller.

If truth be known the storyteller has lost the plot paragraphs ago. But as somebody, the writer, had put a combination lock on. The storyteller was held well and truely captive. Until the combination finally worked and undid the infernal lock.

The guild of storytellers was of no help. Even the STD's; Storytellers triad disorganization, said that it was all above board and to get on with it and stop phoning them all the time. Which was even stranger than a stranger interrupting the story teller, and not adding to the story itself.

You would have at least thought, thought the story teller. Stranger might have helped try another combination code. There you go, can't even rely on a stranger for help these days.

Gaz, who was slightly, no make that very miffed, at being upstaged by the storyteller, lifted his leg and........ Wondered who the GG was. What was GG, is GG edible?

---

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Now back to the action of Gaz and his adventures somewhere....

Agent Mrs G appeared before Gaz, with a flash of her....
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PostSubject: Re: Gaz - his adventures   Sun Jun 20, 2010 2:14 pm

What a long story :D
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PostSubject: Re: Gaz - his adventures   Sun Jun 20, 2010 2:33 pm

Rooney.- wrote:
What a long story :D
It's supposd to be its as its never ending one.
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PostSubject: Re: Gaz - his adventures   Sun Jun 20, 2010 2:36 pm

Story cont:

Agent Mrs G appeared before Gaz, with a flash of her, what a long story. It's supposed to be as its never ending one....she said rather crossly. Which was not in keeping with the FBI rulebook.

Agent Mrs G knew just what was going to happen next. With a blinding light, Mrs G suddenly found she was....
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PostSubject: Re: Gaz - his adventures   Thu Jul 01, 2010 3:17 pm

confronted by a full on lurve Gaz.

Gaz had been practicing his chat up lines. Only 15 million mirrors committed suicide this time so he though something must have improved.

It hadn't, it was just the mirrors were being experimented on to with stand such an assault. The mirror union has insisted on it as did the Drag Queen Emporium who found it was their mirrors Gaz took to practicing on.

That was even despite triple xxx security and ladder inducing razor wire. Nobody was quite sure how Gaz managed to overcome these security devices but.... in he came; and out it came; and the mirrors all ran and jumped off a very short cliff.

Played havoc on any beachcombers in the vicinity. As for walking on shards of broken and sobbing mirrors that was most unpleasant. If not disturbing.

So Gaz sorta glided up to Mrs G. Glided is probably the easiest word to define Gaz's method on approaching his lurve interest. Slid would do as would hulked ,skulked, shimmied, stumbled or even oozed. Oozed was a bad word and the writer will go wash her fingers in soapy water for tying such filth. Bad writer, bad bad bad writer.

Mrs G stood transfixed to the spot. Well she had stood on a mine dropped but that bomb squad man who kept running past with the look of sheer terror on his face. Nobody quite new why he kept running from the bombs he was supposed to blow them up but for some reason he announced he was a veggie and didn't do bombs. Just can't get the staff these days Mrs G thought.
Se sighed, she would have tapped her pointy high heels but smoke would have clashed with her outfit as for the singed effect is would have been OTT.


Gaz on the other hand. Really I hate that when he does that a gaz on the hand is horrible, you just can't shake him off. It;s like a wart that won't go away. OK I'm sorry to a ll warts, a wart is better than Gaz.

Really this is not writers day to day. Bad Bad writer.

Gaz glided past Mrs G and .... approached the lamppost. Mrs G breathed a sigh of relief. Her top protested by pinging off of several buttons of her shirt. The bomb squad man stopped right at that moment. Mrs G never one to spot an opportunity, deftly swapped her place for his. She also managed to make him stand on the mine. A quick lippy check and a strategically placed safety pin she sashayed down the road away from the scene that was unfolding.

Gaz, the lamppost, Gaz, the lamppost. Gaz the.... Lamppost legged it and joined the mirrors at the bottom of the short cliff.

Gaz, whose legs were not blessed to run, paused had a thought and a ciggie then shuffled off in slow pursuit of the lamb and BOOM!
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PostSubject: Re: Gaz - his adventures   Fri Jan 13, 2012 5:12 pm

I've got this saved in my offline folder to read it all tomorrow. So far I'm aching from laughing at tthe part I have read. I have so got read it to Gramps and the other half, they love Monty Python stuff so this will fit hilariously in with that. Bloody brilliant comical peice of writing. :lol:
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