#5
14th Feb 2018 at 1:53 AM
Last edited by Duncan Disorderly : 14th Feb 2018 at
7:09 AM.
Reason: Frikkin typo. What else?
Posts: 189
Thanks: 137 in 2 Posts
Duncan pondered Bakie's recent outstanding contributions for The Sims and felt compelled to show his appreciation. Again. It wasn't the first time Duncan had expressed his thanks to the, now legendary creator. "Heaping further praise upon Bakie had its day", thought Duncan, as he dusted his Bakie alter. Well. More like Bakie's chapel. The alter looked lonely. Praising and worshipping in Bakie's chapel had basked in the sunlight long enough. Surely such lamentations must lose their lustre, especially when they should be exaltations. Each time they are delivered, they become diluted. At some point, horrors of horrors, it transforms into a hideous monster and this metamorphosis turns it into a creature whose name shall not be named, but I'll name it anyway. Insincerity. Even worse, insincerity with no flavour.
Duncan cried out in anguish, as if in pain. It was his own fault. Blame could not be ascribed to another. It was Duncan who had put it perilously close to the edge. It was Duncan who unwittingly knocked the hot cup of tea on his desk. And, it was Duncan who knocked it over, into his lap, threatening one of Duncan's most cherished possessions. No, not his junk. My junk is a treasured gift, not a cherished possession. You silly! One of Duncan's cherished possessions was his kick-a55 £200 keyboard! Yes, his junk was also at risk. Yes, I call my bits my junk. However, this is legendary status junk, made of the rarest precious jewels of stunning beauty and fashioned by world class master craftsmen, expertly skilled in the art of crafting works of remarkable quality, they adhere to the highest standards in order to achieve a finished product of outstanding proportions. Truly, a treasure to behold.
As the hot tea seared Duncan's junk, after narrowly missing the keyboard, he found a solution to his dilemma. Finally! No more sleepless nights worrying about how to say thanks to Bakie! The past 2 months have been hell! Duncan hatched a plan so devious, it attracted attention in the corridors of power. As a result, the orange so-called president called to congratulate him and to take credit for MY idea. Not that it bothered Duncan. He almost felt sorry for the orange in the White House, for a black soul so shallow must be blue. But, then again, we all walk our own path. We alone create our wrath. For the black and blue orange in the white, I have little hope. After all, he is a dope. Anyway, that is all I want to rhyme. Parsley. Sage. Rosemary and thyme.
You'll be relieved to hear Duncan only suffered mild burns when he spilled his tea. You can rest easy knowing his wounds can be treated in hospital, preferably in an intensive care unit. After multiple skin graph operations and months, perhaps years of recovery, he'll be as good as new. So, nothing to fuss over. The important thing is, the junk redirect strategy worked. Naturally, a mild political satire, concluding with eloquent rhyme, as good as, if not, exceeding anything the Bard himself could compose, played their part. Still. It started with my junk, it will end with my junk.
Stunned silence is bound to be the reaction.
Once again, Duncan achieves the impossible. The crowd roars. <Insert your chosen roaring crowd sound bite from our extensive list of roaring crowd sound bites for only £49.99 a bite at
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