A child holds a bacon butty at the side of the road, apropos of nothing, he stares vacantly down the street as tomato ketchup drips onto the tarmac.Suddenly, a large black limousine rolls along the road and pulls up alongside the boy, who gazes nonplussed at his reflection in the smoked glass window.
The window rolls down revealing a group of rich city bankers, who lean out of the window, braying at the child and spraying champagne everywhere. Shocked, the child drops his delicious bacon sandwich into the oily silt by the kerb. The 5 second rule cannot apply here, the sandwich is ruined. A single tear runs from the boy's eye as the snorting whooping poshos collapse laughing onto luxurious leather upholstery, their task complete.
Before they can wind up the window, the boy's mother has appeared at the gate, carrying an early model Dyson 04 vacuum, in scratched but serviceable grey and yellow. She is very attractive, housework has left a sheen of sweat on her heaving, perfectly formed bosom. The bankers resume their braying, coupled with sexual retorts and a shower of crumpled, low denomination English bank-notes.
Incensed, the woman steps forward, raising the Dyson and driving it through the head of the nearest posho with explosive force. The others recoil in horror, but too late; the bloodied Dyson pounds in through the limousine window repeatedly and remorselessly until every banker is a broken, bloodied mess.
At this point, the chauffeur steps out of the car. It is the woman's husband. He gently sets down the Dyson and takes his wife and son into the house, where they all have bacon sandwiches, then the boy watches back to back episodes of Tracey Beaker on CBBC, whilst his parents have passionate sex on the bonnet of the limousine to the cheers of their neighbours.
(The window rolls down revealing a group of rich city bankers, who lean out of the window, braying at the child and spraying champagne everywhere. Shocked, the child drops his delicious bacon sandwich into the oily silt by the kerb. The 5 second rule cannot apply here, the sandwich is ruined. A single tear runs from the boy's eye as the snorting whooping poshos collapse laughing onto luxurious leather upholstery, their task complete.
Before they can wind up the window, the boy's mother has appeared at the gate, carrying an early model Dyson 04 vacuum, in scratched but serviceable grey and yellow. She is very attractive, housework has left a sheen of sweat on her heaving, perfectly formed bosom. The bankers resume their braying, coupled with sexual retorts and a shower of crumpled, low denomination English bank-notes.
Incensed, the woman steps forward, raising the Dyson and driving it through the head of the nearest posho with explosive force. The others recoil in horror, but too late; the bloodied Dyson pounds in through the limousine window repeatedly and remorselessly until every banker is a broken, bloodied mess.
At this point, the chauffeur steps out of the car. It is the woman's husband. He gently sets down the Dyson and takes his wife and son into the house, where they all have bacon sandwiches, then the boy watches back to back episodes of Tracey Beaker on CBBC, whilst his parents have passionate sex on the bonnet of the limousine to the cheers of their neighbours.
Smallbrainfield,
Tue 28 Feb 2012, 13:15,
archived)
You guys should really publish this stuff in a book.
JollyJack - a stench from the past,
Tue 28 Feb 2012, 13:16,
archived)
Only if you're prepared to illustrate every tale.
(
Smallbrainfield,
Tue 28 Feb 2012, 13:22,
archived)
Maybe we need to collect them in a blog or something first, gauge the moodas it were.
( Smallbrainfield,
Tue 28 Feb 2012, 14:02,
archived)
I suggested something like this to 4dam,back when we first started doing this sort of thing.
(
Wasp Box like a nervous random stranger at a glory hole,
Tue 28 Feb 2012, 15:02,
archived)
*wipes away a tear* Wasp Box like a nervous random stranger at a glory hole,
Tue 28 Feb 2012, 13:20,
archived)
Ketchup on a bacon butty? HereseyBrown sauce or nothing.
(
NobbyNobody 21 years a b3tan,
Tue 28 Feb 2012, 13:23,
archived)
Yeah, but kids like ketchup on bacon butties.It works in context, trust me.
( Smallbrainfield,
Tue 28 Feb 2012, 13:49,
archived)
It's what brown sauce was invented for!
Bourbon Fox Bourbon is a moron,
Tue 28 Feb 2012, 13:53,
archived)
Beats my idea of a man slamming his balls with a banjo too. Bourbon Fox Bourbon is a moron,
Tue 28 Feb 2012, 13:47,
archived)
I don't see why those can't be intricate subplots when this gets made into a film.
An Eagle in Your Mind,
Tue 28 Feb 2012, 14:15,
archived)
The main antagonist has a string instrument fetishso he rests his bollocks on a table and smacks them as hard as he can with a banjo, guitar, whatever he can find.
( Bourbon Fox Bourbon is a moron,
Tue 28 Feb 2012, 14:26,
archived)
