I’ve taken great pleasure in sneaking these items into the classifieds section of the Bucks Free Press.
One marker pen, a sheet of paper, my local park, 2 quiet mornings and immaturity were all it took to achieve this:
As I youngster, my usual Saturday afternoon would consist of hanging out with mates, playing football, Hide and Seek in the woods and pegging it away from houses that we’d chosen to ‘Knock and Run’ on. Then it was home for dinner; a takeaway if I was lucky, which I would eat sat in front of the TV watching my favourite program at the time; Gladiators.
Gladiators was pretty fucking immense. John Fashanu (Awooga!) and Ulrika Jonsson brought a gentle nature to proceedings; needed when surrounded by numerous Gladiators with their unforgiving attitudes. John’s wacky outfits and banter was ripe picking for Ulrika, who would often bounce a witty response back with great aplomb to Fashanu’s attempt at humour. Oh how we would chuckle to ourselves in my front room; my Dad would always remark on Ulrika, “Cracking bird isn’t she, that Ulrika? She should still do the weather in the mornings”. I would giggle and my Mum would throw a cushion at him.
Ulrika wasn't used to working with such a big tool. Or the Duel combat stick.
The contestants for the night’s show would then be revealed, including a short video clip of what they got up to in their normal everyday lives. I would take my empty plate out into the kitchen at this point; it was boring, I didn’t care what they did for a living. All I cared about were the Gladiators, they were my heroes, and in some cases, my wet dreams too. In no particular order, here is a list of my favourite Gladiators:
Lampshade – She was the star lady for me. Her bronzed skin was lit up beautifully by the down-lighting off the bulb attached to the top of her head, covered by the lampshade she wore to cover her face. Nobody quite knew what the lampshade was for. Many of my friends had suggested maybe she was missing an eye, or had been badly disfigured by a dagger whilst in training to become a Gladiator. Her signature move was called ‘Lights Out’ and this would be used in the event called Hang Tough. She would basically kick the contestant hard in the back of the head as they hung from the rings, knocking them out, and at the same time to the floor, making her victorious.
Nightstalker– Not as muscular as many of the other male Gladiators, Nightstalker more than made up with this with his athletic body and devilish attitude. Nightstalker’s favourite event was The Gauntlet, and it was this event that gave him his moniker. Originally known as Gladiator X during training, Nightstalker shocked the producers of the show during The Gauntlet rehearsals by first choking his contestants with a silk neckerchief, before brutally raping them to submission. He famously received marriage proposals from the audience nearly every week, and also caused controversy when he made a small child eat the giant foam hand he was pointing at Nightstalker because he had called him an ‘angry idiot’.
Aeroplane – This was the woman that all my mates fancied. With her brunette hair, soft pretty face, long slim legs and peachy arse, Aeroplane was definitely the Gladiator pin-up. The only hindrance to her ability to perform as a Gladiator, was her massive 38EE breasts, which she struggled to contain in her lycra top. Her nipples were also erect most of the time, not that we cared. Aeroplane was great at the cargo net, and her celebration dance would be to raise one leg above her head and strum it with her hand, as if it was a banjo. Perhaps, to her eternal embarrassment, the one stand out memory that most Aeroplane fans will have of her is the time she did a small fanny fart whilst being interviewed by Fashanu. Through tears of laughter, he managed to shout ‘Awooga!’ before wafting the air in front of his nose.
Hunter – Hunter was always a formidable opponent for many of the contestants on Gladiators. With muscles on muscles, he resembled a condom filled with cocktail sausages, and with tribal war paint smeared all over his face, along with his menacing spear which he would use to stop people in their tracks, it was always a hell of a show when Hunter was on. One time, he threw his spear so hard, that it ripped through the shoulder of one male contender, and then carried on, wedging itself into The Awesome Travelator, rendering it useless for the Eliminator round. Instead, the two finalists had to have a head to head on a spacehopper. Hunter went on to play Dog the Bounty Hunter years later, where he would travel the globe in search of Bounties, as well as macaroons, body butter, and other coconut based products.
Amazon – The only Gladiator that was a household name prior to the series starting, Amazon was played by Sharon Davies, the successful Olympic swimmer. Her career as a Gladiator though was far from impressive, as the distinct lack of water based challenges meant she was about as useful as a ginger in a heatwave. In fact, such was the ease at which contenders would beat her, she soon became water boy for all of the other Gladiators. Once the first series was over, she went on to play Gabby Logan, when she was ill and couldn’t make a TV appearance.
Hippo – Only slightly smaller than Hunter, Hippo used a much different tactic during the rounds he competed. With his ebony skin, threatening sneer and bulging eyes it was a massive surprise to many to see that he was far from aggressive when it came to defeating his opponent. Rather than use brute force like all of the other Gladiators, Hippo would use charm and a softly spoken manner to talk contenders into a false sense of security, almost hypnotising them into a comatose state. It was a tactic since used by many, including Alison Hammond on This Morning. Hippo’s one standout moment came in series 2, when he drank four Panda Pops in a row before Duel, and still won.
Cumquat – Probably the most agile and flexible of all the Gladiators, Cumquat was also very attractive. One of my mates at the time had her posters plastered all over his bedroom. Her signature move was the Cumquat Squat, used to great effect on Powerball, where she would rugby tackle her opponents, pin them down, squat over their stomach and feign defecation (although the Gladiators make-up department was so far ahead of its time in the nineties that it looked realistic). The sheer fright of being shit on would cause many contenders to drop out of the competition altogether. Cumquat also excelled at Swingshot (my favourite round) due to her snake-like hips and ability to almost float through the air.
Golf – Golf was definitely the Gladiators’ pantomime villain. The audience would boo and hiss whenever he was on, but he was a really good Gladiator, particularly at The Wall. This was down to the fact he would use a driver, or sometimes a putter, to hook the legs of the contestants as they scarpered up the wall. In other rounds, he would take on the stature of a giant, by standing on the shoulders of his caddy. This was beneficial in rounds like Hang Tough where he could be hold onto the rings whilst his caddy stood on the floor. In fact, Golf was unbeaten on Hang Tough during his 6 year Gladiator stint. John Fashanu would always tease Golf, but it was all in jest and very good natured. Golf was such a popular Gladiator that whilst all of the others had ‘Another One Bites The Dust’ played after a victorious round of Hang Tough, Golf had his own version; ‘Another One Lands in the Sand.
After the success of my XXXmas post (https://kylejwilkins.wordpress.com/2011/12/06/xxxmas/) , I realised that not everyone likes Christmas and so, would not have many of the festive accessories suggested for use in the bedroom to hand.
As a result, I’ve complied a short list of 10 ways you can please your partner with an item that every household is bound to have; a damp flannel. Why spend hundreds of pounds at Agent Provocateur when you can please your man on the cheap? So sit back, read and then go and grab that flannel from the bathroom – things are about to get damp, in more ways than one.
1) Gentle Spanking — Whip him gently with a warm, damp flannel over his back, his thighs and shoulders. Watch his toes curl. Careful not to mimic the ‘whip the back of the legs with a tea-towel’ move that some parents use on naughty children, because this will hurt like fuck.
2) Gag him — he won’t be able to control himself as you seductively gag him. Make sure the flannel is damp and not wet, as there is a small chance he might drown.
3) Water sports — A clean way to recreate a Golden Shower; simply squat over him and wring out the flannel. Works best if directed at your partner’s chest.
4) Play nurse — Put the damp flannel on his forehead as if he is unwell, then dress like a nurse and look after him. “Excuse me nurse, I don’t feel too good”.
“Well I’ll soon sort you out, fnarr fnarr!”
5) Chill Out — Place an icy cold damp flannel in front of a fan, get your man naked and watch him go all goose pimply as the cold air hits his body. Then warm him up with your mouth. Perhaps get really kinky and hang something from your erect nipples, like a coat-hanger or chocolate treat.
6) I don’t Adam and Eve it — Three damp flannels stuck teasingly over the breasts and lady garden will have him in a spell in no time. Imagine you are back in God’s garden; you have no idea what sex is yet; so go wild and invent something new. After all – it can’t be wrong can it? Nostril sex is best avoided.
7) Beads — A warm, damp flannel rolled tightly is the perfect substitute for anal beads. Look at his face as you pull them seductively from your puckering sphincter.
8) Hand Shuffle — Wrap his penis in a warm damp flannel then tug him to ecstasy. The flannel can then be used to mop up any spillages.
9) He’s in control — Take a few flannels and let him tie you to the bed and have his wicked way with you. Decide on a ‘safety word’ before hand so you can let him know once you’ve had enough. “Oh Yes!” is probably not the best choice.
10) Extra Tight — Pad yourself out to give your man the sensation he’s making love to a virgin. He’ll love you for this. Make sure the flannel is warm and very damp.
Women; are you struggling to think of a present to buy your man this year? I might just be able to help you as I’ve come up with 10 ways to please your lover over the festive period.
1) Chocolate Starfish: The star on top of your tree doesn’t have to be just for decoration. Use your imagination; this five pointed anal probe will have your man’s toes curling all the way into the New Year.
2) Away in a minge: ‘No crib for a bed’? Well he has now! Simply let him inside you, for the whole night! He won’t want to sleep anywhere else once he’s comfy in your mutton pocket of love. Try not to roll over in the night, and keep refreshments close to hand.
3) Christmas Cracker: Hide small gifts and treats in and around your body for your partner to find as he explores you. Leave the jokes and party hats to one side on this one. Go one step further and treat his gutstick like a cracker; pull it until it explodes.
4) The Turkey Dinner: Turn over, bend your elbows upwards, and let your man give you all the stuffing you’ll both need this Christmas.
5) The Mummy: You may need a friend to help you with this one. Wrap yourself up, head-to-toe, in wrapping paper. Once the paper has been ripped off, your partner is greeted with a naked treat.
6) White Christmas: If you feel brave enough, invite a few of his mates round for a bukkake session.
7) The Mistletoe: Give your partner a sensual foot job. Use you toes to stimulate his prostate.
8) Tinsel Tease: Tie your man up to the bed with tinsel, then slowly tickle his body with it. He’ll beg you to let him enter you. See how long you can go on for. For added Christmas naughtiness, encourage your man to shout, “I am Santa and I’m emptying my sack” once you finally give in and let him roger you senseless
9) Naughty Fairy: Dress like a fairy and piss all over his chest. Guaranteed to make him rock hard! Feeling adventurous? Try doing this with a broom handle up your arse.
10) Frosty the Snowman: Try trailing ice cubes over each others bodies, then warm each other up anyway you want. He’ll love those rock hard ‘midget gem’ like nipples.
The Christmas party; the one time where the company can give something back to you for all the hours you’ve put in during the year – the hours spent perusing the internet all day, annoying work colleagues and making tea, as well as getting paid to use the toilet.
However, there are a few golden rules that should be adhered to, to ensure the Christmas party doesn’t turn into a nightmare scenario for you; whether it be on the night itself, or in the week afterwards. With alcohol flowing freely, usually paid for by the company, it is easy to get carried away and end up calling your boss a twat, or French kissing the slapper from sales in front of everyone else, whilst you try forlornly to slip her a finger on the dance floor. But isn’t this what everyone wants to see? Course it is!
Here are my do’s and don’ts for the office Christmas party. Honestly, follow these rules and you’ll go down in office history.
DO – Act like you’re not really fussed about the fact there is a Christmas party. You’re in for trouble if it’s the only thing you talk about leading up to the party. If you get completely hammered and go on to insult a fellow employee, everyone will say, “I knew it would happen. He was so looking forward to it.” You won’t have a leg to stand on. Instead, adopt the ‘couldn’t care less’ approach. If someone asks if you’re going, say. “Umm, not too sure at the minute. I might do.” Not only will you not look as desperate as your co-workers to spend a night with them, but girls love a bit of mystery. You’ll be like the Fonz.
DO – Dress flamboyantly. Your aim for the Christmas party should be to drink as much as possible and draw as much attention to yourself as you possibly can. Ask the other people in your office what they are planning to wear and go against the tide. If all the blokes are wearing suits, opt for the Hawaiian shirt your mum bought you three Christmases ago. You’ll immediately stand out and thus will be remembered as ‘the hero who wore that Hawaiian shirt’. Similarly, girls, opt for something that you usually ware to the Litten Tree on a Saturday night, that still has vomit stains on it from last weekend’s shenanigans. Wearing a ball gown comes across as a bit ‘fuddy-duddy’ and will restrict any movements when you try and pole dance towards the end of the night If possible, have both your boobs and legs on display. Nothing screams ‘PROMOTE ME!’ like this.
DO – Take advantage of the free drink. This is your chance to shine, and alcohol gives you courage, so you want to make the most of the night. Think of the following Monday when everyone else will be waiting eagerly at their desks for you to stroll in so that they can tell you what a ‘legend’ you are. Try and get everyone else up and dancing on the table. Be the life and soul of the party. Why not bring in your own karaoke machine from home in an effort to get everyone up and having a good time? Also, nothing says ‘Office Joker’ like being sick down your own shirt.
DON’T – Photocopy your arse. That is so 1990’s. Scrotums/tits are the way forward.
DO – Try and sneak a few drugs into the party. We all know the people in accounts are boring, so why not try slipping them a pill in a bid to heighten their enjoyment of the evening, as well as your enjoyment of them as a human being? Is there a buffet? There is?! Excellent; lace it with ketamine. Everyone will thank you for the wonderful time they had.
DON’T – Bother to say thank you to your boss or whoever organised the party. Act like it’s nothing special, and feel free to tell them so. If you tell them it’s a great night, they’ll immediately question the other nights you’ve had out in the year and will think, ‘If this is a good night, he must a very dull and boring person’. If possible, suggest venues that would have been a better option, maybe even drop in, “If i’m still here next year, perhaps we could do that?”. Your boss will think you’re ready to move on, and may offer you an improved salary.
DO – Bitch and spread rumours about fellow colleagues. This can be started a week in advance so you can enjoy the fireworks on the actual night, once alcohol starts to take its toll. Invent affairs that people are having, or say that Jim in Marketing keeps children in his shed. People may question the accuracy of these statements, but once fuelled with drink, they’ll actually ask the people in question if it’s true. You can sit back smugly and watch the confused looks, tears and tantrums.
DON’T – Keep your clothes on. You want to try and get naked by the end of the night. A good method is to go to the toilets and strip naked there. Then, you can emerge naked and streak across the dance floor, whilst all your fellow employees are sat dancing to ‘Oops Upside Your Head’. Run down the line, legs akimbo, either side of the people sat on the floor. Be sure to leapfrog the tall woman from HR so that you don’t catch your privates on her head. A move like this is instantly memorable.
DO – Talk about yourself as much as possible and try not to let other colleagues get a word in. Remember, you could all be competing for the same promotion, so you need to try and big yourself up as much as possible. Tell everyone about your hobbies, and by all means exaggerate. If you usually like ‘listening to music and socialising with friends’, tell everyone that you’re into ‘kayaking, saving rare breeds of bird, moonwalking, tantric sex and ice sculpture’. Possibly even drop into conversation about the novel you’ve penned but ‘can’t be bothered to send to a publisher, because it’s just a hobby really’. If someone tries to interject and chip in with their own hobbies, loudly say, “I HEARD YOU LIKED TO PLEASURE YOURSELF WITH FRUIT”.
DON’T – Be the office bore. Try and say at least one shocking statement that will spark a bit of debate around the dinner table before the dancing takes place. Something along the lines of, “Was Hitler really that bad?”
DO – Be the last to leave. By the end of the night, you’ll be in just your pants, all going well. You want to be doing Tequila Slammers at the bar with Fat John from I.T whilst he cries about the fact the girl in sales doesn’t love him. Watch everyone else leave and shout ‘BORING!” as they slope off into the night. Being the last one to leave means that you’ll be able to invent something amazing that happened that everyone else missed, like the DJ invited you back to his house and there were 4 supermodels, all gushers, that took it in turns to pleasure you.
Follow these steps, and you’ll be first on that promotion list. Good luck!
Gang culture is making a comeback in the quaint town of Princes Risborough, and the increase of hoodlums in the area has also brought with it the graffiti tags normally associated with large cities such as London and Nottingham.
The graffiti on display opens up an interesting insight into the minds of the younger generations in the town, who choose to express themselves by daubing graffiti wherever they can. The town is a blank canvas, ripe for decorating, and I have noticed a few pieces of fantastic artwork cropping up. Here are some of the finest examples on display.
The first example I have is a bold statement in itself. ‘Dick’ is the chosen tag, sprayed eloquently onto a rubbish bin. I think the artist is trying to say that he has a rubbish cock. Either that, or it was the first word that popped into his head. Notice how the bin leans to one side, almost poetically, as if it, like the artist, has all but given up hope on the town ever progressing.
Eloquently put, this tag is pure genius. Well, almost.
Next up, this fine example which was probably done by someone from the Chinese community in the town. Translated, ‘Herro Darling’ actually means ‘Hello Darling’. The artist in question was probably off their head on ecstasy and feeling the love massively when they wrote this. The fact that this has been done over two fence panels so to cause maximum damage, is admirable.
The graffiti is high on the fence, indicating a person with long arms did it.
Shock, Horror! A spelling mistake next. The artist has put ‘Like’ instead of ‘Lick’, but it can be forgiven because of the use of such a bold coloured paint against the dark fence. The other patterns and swirls are incomprehensible, but it doesn’t detract from this marvellous piece.
Who doesn't like battery hens? They are much more reliable than wind-up ones.
My final example is probably my favourite. Such a simple phrase, but the artist is expressing himself and really getting his point across, quickly and efficiently. You know where you stand with this artist, there is no messing about.
Possibly written by a female. Or a male.
In theory, if the government issued 10 Bags For Life to every household in Britain, there would no longer be a need to produce any more. The Bag for Life could get passed down through generations in each family, like a treasured heirloom, and fines could be imposed for any bags that get lost. However, it is not that easy, because as everyone knows, a Bag for Life is never valued as it should be. On average, the life span of a Bag for Life is three weeks, with the oldest bag on record living to an extraordinary 4 months. This is a look at the brief life of a bag for life:
Birth – A Bag for Life is born; sprouting from a machine that has no feelings towards the bag, and is not willing to bond with it in the slightest. The bag, manufactured from fabric such as canvas, woven synthetic fibers, or a thick plastic that is more durable than disposable plastic bags, has no parents as such, so born an orphan, it sets out on its life journey. Little does it know it yet, but the Bag for Life will have a very short life span.
School Years – The Bag for Life meets other bags as they are sandwiched into tight boxes. It is here that they get to know one another. The bright slogans and positive messages printed on each bag lull them all into a false sense of security, as they all wonder what is in store for them. ‘Maybe we’ll be famous? Maybe we’ll live in a lovely household?’ they all think. Never has one bag guessed its true purpose in life at this stage; slavery. The bags will shortly be sold to the public and then be forced to carry extremely heavy objects around.
Adolescence – After a week in transit and storage, the Bags for Life are released from their cage and put onto display like some sort of freak show. Hanging from metal poles, they are paraded in front of the public. Plastic bags point and laugh at them; “What the Hell are you supposed to be?”, they sneer, and they have a point. A plastic bag never gets forgotten. It becomes part of its occupant’s family, dwelling in drawers and cupboards, often with numerous plastic bag friends. It has a happy life. Yes, some may be used as a makeshift poop-a-scoop, but they have been bred for this purpose and so are undeterred by this. The bullying toughens up the Bags for Life, and they get a bit of a backbone, standing up for themselves and making an effort to find a home. “USE ME FOREVER!” they shout at shoppers, “I’LL BE YOUR BEST FRIEND”. It is a mistake that every Bag For Life makes. It is during adolescence that some Bags for Life even turn Emo, trying to not blend in with the bag crowd. ‘I’m not another plastic bag’ they tell people, in a desperate attempt to be different.
Graduating – The Bag for Life is snapped up by a member of the public. It has a new home, and it is time to start work.
Working Years – As soon has a Bag for Life has graduated, its world gets turned upside down. Fooled into thinking that they would be starting a new, happy life, they are forced into work almost instantly. Their new owners burden them with shopping, almost to the point where the Bag for Life gives up on life. It is strained, pushed to its very limits as a bag. Their new owner doesn’t care, all they care about is getting their shopping home. The Bag for Life tenses every muscle in its body; it will die instantly if it doesn’t. Very soon, they arrive at their new home. ‘Maybe this was a test?’ the bag thinks. ‘I’ve got the shopping home, now I’ll be part of this person’s life!’. Once again, the Bags for Life are deluded. They are simple creatures, bless them. No sooner has the shopping been unloaded, they are folded up and pushed into a cupboard.
Retirement – Blinking, and trying to see in the dark cupboard, the Bag for Life comes to terms that his working days are already over. His time is up. Every Bag for Life wonders at this stage, ‘maybe my owners will use me again soon?’. Once again, they are wrong. The Bag for Life is then set upon by up to 50 plastic bags. They jostle for space and inevitably force the Bag for Life to the back of the cupboard. It only gets worse for the Bag for Life; the plastic bags breed. There are soon more of them, pushing the Bag for Life further and further into the background, further into the darkness, the wilderness of the back of the cupboard. “We’re the main men around here, you ponce”, yell the plastic bags, hiding themselves inside one another to make a large fearless ball of plasticky madness.
Death? – No one quite knows if the Bag for Life dies, or simply disappears forever. This is still being investigated. All we know is that the owner of the Bag for Life will one day remember that they have it in the cupboard. This usually occurs between two and three weeks after the purchase of their bag slave. ‘I need a sturdy bag for this junk’ they think to themselves, ‘and I’m certain I have one in the cupboard’. But when they got to look for the Bag, it is gone. No search will ever result in the Bag for Life being found; it has moved on to somewhere new. Instead, the plastic bags once again get used, often doubling up with their mates. It is a sad end to the life of the Bag for Life. They die alone.
I have always been fascinated by the Illuminati. Do they exist? What are their aims? Do they possess magical powers that I could perhaps borrow? For centuries, the world has speculated if they do actually exist and I am pleased to confirm that they do. ‘How do you know?’ I hear you ask. Well, I was lucky enough to catch a member of the Illuminati ordering a pizza from a phone box the other day. At the end of the call, he pressed a sequence of numbers, (which I later found out cancelled the payment the other end; in essence – free pizza). The man saw me gawping at him in the phone box, and I cajoled him into revealing all about who he was, and the Illuminati. It took quite a lot of negotiation skills, as well as a Pot Noodle. Yes, I went hungry that lunch time, but the things I found out amazed me.
For those of you unaware of what the Illuminati are, this is a brief extract from Wikipedia:
The Illuminati is a name given to several groups, both real (historical) and fictitious. Historically the name refers to the Bavarian Illuminati, an Enlightenment-era secret society founded on May 1, 1776. Since the publication of Robert Shea and Robert Anton Wilson‘s postmodern science fiction work The Illuminatus! Trilogy, the name has been used to refer to a purported conspiratorial organisation that masterminds events and controls world affairs through governments and corporations to establish a New World Order.
Basically, the Illuminati are bigger than the A-Team and more powerful than Rupert Murdoch and President Obama put together. They run the world.
Here are some interesting facts about the Illuminati which I found out from the stranger I met:
– The symbol of the Illuminati is the owl. Most Illuminati owned buildings resemble an owl in some way; if you look closely, you’ll see it. All Illuminati members have an owl tattooed to the sole of their right foot, with the words ‘we see everything’ underneath. The owl was chosen as a symbol because like the Illuminati, they are rarely seen, they can see all around them and they hunt down their prey with chilling accuracy. Many of the Illuminati have owls as pets, treating them better than most normal household pets. Indeed some member have let their owls sleep on the end of their bed, and give them roast dinners most days. Once a year, the Illuminati hold an Owl Appreciation Day in the underground bunker of the White House. As well as having a fair amount to drink, they all dress as owls, sing songs about owls and shoot anyone that they catch on their highly sensitive listening devices that seems to be slagging off owls in general. It really is a great day.
– As well as the symbol of the owl, they also have the symbol below. The glowing segment at the top represents the Illuminati; top of the world governing pyramid, there is no one above them. The eye, like the owl, symbolises the fact that that can see everything. The phrase as the top of the badge, is Latin for ‘Anal Trauma’. This is because the Illuminati will inflict anal trauma on anyone who crosses them if the offence is not serious enough for them to kill the offender. This can be done in various ways; infiltrating laxatives into every single thing the person eats, sending a small microscopic flying robot into the person’s anus whilst they sleep so that they can control his or her bowel movements and by using a small gun which fires air pressure powerfully into their bum-holes which causes them to instantly soil themselves. The gun method is extremely popular as air pressure is of course invisible, so it’s hard to trace back, unlike a bullet. The motto at the base of the symbol merely reads ‘Houmous, Owls, Cider’; the three favourite things of the Illuminati.
– The main leader of the Illuminati is a seventy-five year old American named Bobby Gargoyle. His idol is Cyril Sneer from the Racoons, so much so, that Bobby also has a huge pit filled to the brim with money that he swims around in. Bobby’s father and grandfather were both Illuminati members, but unlike Bobby never actually ran the organisation. Bobby got to the top of the Illuminati hierarchy through sheer hard work and desire, but he is also a very intelligent man with a high IQ. He is trained in seven various armed combats and an expert at Sudoku. Some members say it is down to Bobby that the Illuminati are where they are today and he seen as a God in a lot of their eyes. Bobby has dated a string of the world’s most beautiful women; notably Joan Collins. He once also scored twelve 180s in a row when playing darts. He is an all-round super human being.(I haven’t been told to say this).
– Some of the most famous faces in the world have been welcomed into the Illuminati inner sanctum. Past members include JF Kennedy, Elvis Pressley and Michael Jackson and current member include Obama, Marilyn Munroe (yes – she is still alive), Prince Charles, David Jason, Des Lynam, Nelson Mandela, Robson and Jerome, Natasha Kaplinksy and Dog the Bounty Hunter. It was rumoured that Justin Bieber was going to be asked to join to help control the minds of millions of young girls, but it was unanimously decided that he is in fact a massive twat. Instead, they plan on putting a mind control powder into the air vapour trails on aeroplanes, which will float to the ground and control the way people think and act.
– The group believe that they are roughly 75% of the way to achieving New World Order. When they are in full power they believe that freedom of speech will be eradicated and the whole population of the world will have to learn to trade with one another. Money will become obsolete. It’s a scary thought. They hope that people will learn trades or other skills which they can swap with people who grow food or breed livestock. The also hope to abolish France as a country, and sink the Isle of Wight.
– Every Tuesday, the Illuminati erradicate at least 2 members of the public who have spoken badly about them. Every single phone call ever made is tracked, with a highly complex machine being able to detect any calls that mention the word ‘Illuminati’ or ‘New World Order’. As soon as wither of these words are mentioned, alarm bells ring in the Illuminati headquarters, and the call is then saved and relistened to. Anyone making a detrimental comment is traced and terminated, by an Illuminati member dressed as a baboon. This person is known as ‘The Baboon of Justice.
I was not told much more than this, but it was enough. I for one am rather sceptical about if they want to use their power for good, but we’ll soon find out.
I arrived home from work and there it was; the jiffy bag containg Lightning McQueen. I hoped he’d be alright; it had been a long journey, but thankfully @JCautomatic had taken precautions:
McQueen is delicate after his years stranded in Oxfam
“What the fuck is that?”, were my girlfriend’s words as I carefully removed Lightning McQueen from his jiffy bag, closely followed by, “Oh God, no….he’s not going on the fucking window sill”. But he was, and it was there he sat and watched us until I had decided what to do with him. It didn’t take me long. First we went for a cigarette.
McQueen's first fag in years
Then we decided to get drunk.
My namesshh? Itsshh 'McQueen'
The rest of the night was spent snuggling up in front of the TV, we were too hammered to do anything else. I did take him the park the next morning to give him some fresh air and help him overcome his hangover.
Weeeeeee!
He loved the swing the most.
Higher! Higher!
I had a great time and will miss the bearded wonder. Next stop is @_gAiL__
Death On The Stairs 