b3ta.com board

Home » Messageboard » XXX » Message 755168 (Thread)

Under there as a child,

many a fine night was spent, revelling in times past, the glow of a torch and a story of bravery and mighty deeds. Now I am older, yet still I yearn for those days, and, indeed, still I can be found under the bed, with my torch and a copy of Hustler...

(

Lethe is carrying a spade. SPANG., Tue 4 Feb 2003, 1:58, archived)

oh hustler

and a box of andrex for the dog

(

AzToTheRescue The arsehole formally known as Az The S slur, Tue 4 Feb 2003, 2:01, archived)

The dog

had always been a great comfort to me; a warmth that not even the best of empty toilet roll tubes could provide during my adolescent years. But now even he was gone. Poor Benjy. Was he happy in doggy heaven? Perhaps dogs do not go to heaven. Perhaps they rot in hell...

(

Spunkmeyer, Tue 4 Feb 2003, 2:04, archived)

Perhaps they rot in hell?

Or perhaps they would rot in heaven, and doggy hell would be full of divine raptures. The dog didn't know how lucky it was to be free of such concerns

(

supermoore: HUNG, Tue 4 Feb 2003, 2:10, archived)

Rot in hell!

she snarled unloading a payload of burning death straight into her greatest enemies last refuge.With the battle finally over, she was able to relax, slowly relieving herself of the accoutrements of her dirty task, folding them neatly and stacking them away. It was as if an immens burden had been lifted from her still-young shoulders, and she couldn't help but quietly congratulate herself, in a satisfied tone 'No more pesky germs. I think I'll have a nice cup of tea and a sit down...'

(

Lethe is carrying a spade. SPANG., Tue 4 Feb 2003, 2:14, archived)

I think I'll have a nice cup of tea and a sit down

he managed in a semi groan, as he let his weight sag from his stick and into the well-loved sprung armchair. The fire roared high, then guttered on the edge of extinction as the wind whistled in through the ancient chimney stack.
"This has been the longest day" he ruminated, as he reached for the rum. He remembered when he'd bought this bottle. Jamaica, 1964.

(

supermoore: HUNG, Tue 4 Feb 2003, 2:20, archived)

Jamaica, 1964

It had been his own private battle on the sun soaked beaches. He could never forget the day that she came and started the problem.

(

Or is it?, Tue 4 Feb 2003, 6:39, archived)

the problem

which was

(

AzToTheRescue The arsehole formally known as Az The S slur, Wed 5 Feb 2003, 4:40, archived)

which was

why over the past number of years he had to have intensive therapy to try to cure him of him phobia of kittens. His therapist was disguseted when he told her..."Kittens? you? afraid? kittens?"
"It's just kittens, I can handle cats"
The therapy wasn't working, he felt he was being judged, as he drifted into a fitful sleep full of self loathing and hidden meanings, one image loomed in his mind, he muttered "No...hands..."

(

Roxy_Hart is so so old, Wed 5 Feb 2003, 8:45, archived)

"No.... Hands...."

which woke him with a start and made him hide in the cupboard by the door until he deemed it was safe to leave. Later that night...

(

MrHaze likes to poo, Wed 5 Feb 2003, 15:04, archived)

Later that night

when it was dark inside the cupboard and out

(

Ijon Tichy, Wed 5 Feb 2003, 15:23, archived)

Later that night. . .

he was wakened by a noise, whiskery slight, on the cusp of conscious, scratching against the panes. Terror seeped movement from him. . .

(testingtestingtesting, Wed 5 Feb 2003, 15:30, archived)

from him

that caused the cupboard to rock and rattle. Disturbed the noises stopped and then right beside his ear, suddenly...

(

Ijon Tichy, Wed 5 Feb 2003, 15:40, archived)

ear, suddenly

someone was whispering his name, as it had been whispered many times before. But this time the whisper had a different, harsher sound to it. a sound which reminded him

(

Or is it?, Thu 6 Feb 2003, 5:29, archived)