Mix tapes...(or 'I shudder to think what would have happened if it had been 'super-8')...

Last Christmas, I was asked to do prepare for the inevitable ‘you’ve been framed’ moments of the local primary school Nativity by handling the recording of the ‘event’ on the school video camera.

I arrived on the night and was confronted by this monstrous behemoth of a ‘camcorder’. What a piece of archaic shite! – it was about three feet across, weighed a quarter of a tonne, and I’m convinced it was partly crafted from stone, iron and wood by some Olde Worlde blacksmith in the 17th century.

Worst of all, it required Betamax tapes…and as we all know, the world completely run out of stock of those bad boys…in 1982. I was fucked.

With little options or hope, I trudged despondently to the local Blockbusters and asked if they knew of anywhere I could purchase any new tapes. As the tillmonkey shook his head in despair I was then approached by a wizened old gent with a big beard, who had previously been sat in the shop doorway, busying himself by smoking a long pipe and smelling of piss.

“Yeee-arrrrrghhhh, so it’s Betamax tapes ye’s be after it be?” he spluttered menacingly.

Not really understanding, but nodding nervously, I was then taken to one side and informed that if I wanted such outdated media, then I would have to go to a special, hitherto unheard of place in the rough end of town, that was managed by a strange, witchlike woman who went by the name of ‘Natalie Everitt’ (didn’t sound much like a witch to me).

She ran a shop that specialised in antique video tapes. Then, to my utter amazement, He whispered to me that for ‘Betamax’, I’d have to go round the back of the shop, out by the bins, to an area where they keep the Betamax tapes fresh by running them through a process of colour-washing called ‘grey-testing’...(this apparently removes the grey interference that happens to such old useless shite). Following this process, the tapes are locked in a cargo area, and sealed for tax purposes. It wasn't going to be cheap.

It was all so mysterious, I felt like a cross between Indiana Jones, Fox Mulder, and one of the Sopranos doing a dodgy deal in the back streets.

Quietly excited, but realising that this was my one chance of success, I asked for the exact name of the place and location – The old man looked up at me and said:

"It’s called the ‘Nat E, ‘VT’ place…the grey-test store rear vat-hold".

I then proceeded to punch the old cunt to the ground and set fire to his donkey jacket while he was unconcious.

And with that, the QotW finally disappeared up it’s own arse.
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Thu 2 Apr 2009, 11:59, 6 replies)

My GOD that was convoluted!
But clicked nevertheless.
( Noeli overtheshoulderboulderholderthingstraplatchboobs, Thu 2 Apr 2009, 12:15, closed)

Have a click
for taking the pun further than the other "nativity play" puns have.
( uberdeity Wondered why Owen Lars knew of the term "hell" on, Thu 2 Apr 2009, 12:44, closed)

I love you.
not in a poof way
(w4I4q1O1 was hard at work on, Thu 2 Apr 2009, 12:47, closed)

an internet weirdo
laughs from across the sea. nice one.

*click*
( cackers, Thu 2 Apr 2009, 14:23, closed)

*click*
But can you imagine what it must be like inside Pooflake's mind?

Scary, scary thought...
( snee held his breath since, Thu 2 Apr 2009, 14:26, closed)

I've been asked that before...

and my answer was: remember that scene in The Simpsons, where someone talks about 'the mind going a mile a minute' and it pans inside Homer's head, where we see a sleepy Donkey wearing a straw hat, leaning against a tree with flies buzzing round...?

Well my mind is like that, only in my head, the donkey is dead.

and has shat himself.
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Thu 2 Apr 2009, 14:38, closed)