When I was twelve I had a job in the Queen's Royal Kitchens
in the AMF Bowling wing of her secret palace in Netley. It was my job to sew the lettuce together with fine strands of cucumber so that they formed an aesthetically pleasing basket for the braised swan heads.
Anyway, one day we had run out of cucumbers for me to turn into a fine twine. Ordinarily this would not be a problem as I would merely use cress staples until the next delivery of cucumbers came via the Royal Supermarket Palace Delivery Service, which in reality was just a line of mice in little silk suits trained to pop to the Coop. However, on this occasion, we had Groucho Marx and Boris Yeltsin coming over to discuss the Queen's plans for a plutonium powered motorcycle to get her around the world faster so she could fight crime more effectively.
Needless to say, getting my hands on a cucumber was imperitive. After hours of fruitless searching, for a cucumber is actually a fruit, it emerged that I had in fact been dreaming and my 747 had been hijacked by religious types who were planning to crash us into the Sydney Opera House. Imagine how I laughed when the stewardess; a young Felicity Kendall, offered me a cucumber sandwich.
My laughter soon turned to tears though. Felicity insisted that I accompany her to the luxury 747 penthouse suite where she stripped naked and got me to lick chocolate spread off her cunt. All was going well until track six from Peaches' 2006 album, Impeach My Bush came on the radio and inspired Felicity to make me have gay sex with a panic stricken Johnny Depp.

To this day I have been unable to work in a kitchen again. Or eat cucumbers.
( baldmonkey a frothy foul-smelling vaginal discharge, Fri 21 Jul 2006, 11:00, Reply)