F**king Hell! C**segnalazioni to me for wanking it. I'll PM me with a subject for next wank. I won't really. That's my best joke.
Meanwhilst..
3 - Me
1 - Gappy
Next topic: Life and Death
Leg closed: 15.1.25
Runners are nowt...
Position Score Name
1 8 Gappy
2 6 APlate
3 5 Otterfox
4 3 Me
5 2 Teddy
QUID GAMES
CHURCH.
SPEAKER and CONGREGATION.
(Solemn music.)
SPEAKER Dearly beloved, and you, we are gathered here this morning to celebrate - sorry, mourn the death of fellow parishioner, citizen and bloke Bob Banks. He was a good man... Usually. Not always. Like anyone else - I mean he had his faults, though. Like that time I leant him a tenner and he never gave it back. Yeah, it's not a lotta money is it, but it's the principle of the thing really. I wouldn'ta minded, but then he only goes swanning and cavorting and dicking about on holiday and plastering the photos all over the social media and Facebook, dunn'e? Listen mate, if you can afford a coupla weeks in the Caribbean, I hardly think ten notes is gonna...
VICAR (coughs)
SPEAKER Yes. Sorry, Vicar. Well, Robert leaves behind his adoring wife, two lovely children and one ugly one, and of course a debt of ten pounds. I mean, what's ten little nicker between friends, eh? At least he said he was a friend. You can't trust anyone, can you? And the funniest bit, he was a bleedin' town planner. That's good, innit? That's rich, that one. That's richer than David Beckham. I mean, the arsehole can plan a bleedin' cathedral, but can't plan to pay back ten tiny teensy-weensy lickle nuggets. Not exactly a grand, is it? Look mate, here's an idea. How's about you give me just one quid a month for a year - one quid a month! Adopting a sprog in Ethiopia costs more'n that - that way you can cover it, I get a two quid profit and we're all hunky dory.
VICAR (coughs louder)
SPEAKER Er, yeah. Sorry... Now the tragedy of Robert's death is that he also leaves behind a new-born nephew, who weighed just eight pounds, which is, incidentally, just two pounds less...
VICAR (splutters)
SPEAKER Sorry. That was wrong. It's actually two pounds fewer. And I'll tell you something else: his name was Rob Banks, which might've been a good way to...
VICAR (splutters louder)
SPEAKER Sorry. That was wrong, too. You wouldn't have to rob a bank, would you? And best of all, his wife's name was Penny, his kids were Tuppence, Sterling and Florin, and the nephew was Rich Ivor Fortune. Then his international relatives: German Mark, French Frank and Mustapha Dime. Taking the piss, or what?
CONGREGATION MEMBER Yes, well he owed me a few bob, too.
SPEAKER Ah, get over it! Petty, or what.
VICAR (gets up) That's quite enough. This is a solemn occasion so we shall now have an intervention from the choir. The first lad is a tenor...
SPEAKER Oh, f**k off.
Dreamy Spires.
An elderly and very drunk Don in full robes is making his way along darkened fog engulfed cloisters.
A younger, well spoken very affable chap in boating blazer and face covered by a college scarf appears holding a knife.
DON
Oh dear is this a mugging, are you on drugs
TOFF
No nothing as tacky as that sir, lets just say it's for books
DON
Books, what sort of books? We have 7 libraries on this campus alone !
TOFF
Well bookies, sort of.
DON
outraged
Well I'm sorry, I may well be noted for being an outspoken life long advocate of tolerance. But when it comes to muggings I can find no sociable justification. I refuse to comply. So do what you must!.
TOFF
calming
Steady on sir, I thought you taught philosophy, I was rather hoping the violence was implied more than intended.
DON
What have you done blown your grant on the pony's?
TOFF
And then some. And I may have sort of used my knee caps as collateral into the bargain. So I'm afraid its going to have to be the 'Real Deal Sir, pockets rifled the works
DON
Do what you must but do it with shame
TOFF
muses
Well let's avoid all the gloom shall we, there's no need for this to get ugly. Why don't we just simply change the perspectives?
DON
Drunkenly curious
In what way?
TOFF
What if we looked at this from an existential standpoint.
DON
drunkenly intrigued
Go on?
TOFF
What if I am seeing this as being my only option to the point that I will kill you knowing that I in return will get a life sentence.
DON
even more intrigued
So you're viewing it from the perspective of it being genuine Life & Death situation . Only in this one the life is diluted due to the socio negative restriction of the incarceration which may in turn dilute the negativity of death as a perspective for the many who fear both options equally. Death itself or basically a living death!
TOFF
Exactly
DON
Dear God if one existed ,it makes Schrodinger's Cat look like the Muppets
TOFF
So we're agreed its now a bona fide matter of life and death and as such does not breach your standpoint in relation to you handing over the lolly and any applicable abundables?
DON
It's my pleasure to be of assistance in the situation were we ourselves have created a path to circumvent a moral obstacle
The Don hands over his wallet and watch
TOFF
Its been a pleasure my end as well, if I may say so sir,
DON
You may
TOFF
You've been an awful lot easier to deal with the first one I did tonight
DON
You done another one
TOFF
Yes sir thought I'd do a few you know take advantage of the fog and all that
DON
So it never went well I take it
TOFF
It was an English lit don. You know the type, all he did was recite verse, chapter code and rote ! Not an original thought to be had. He was halfway through some guff from Virgil when I put his teeth down his throat and ransacked him with extreme prejudice
DON
Don't say I said it but English lit, is a bit of a joke
TOFF
It certainly is sir so it was nice to deal with a fellow philosopher, good night sir mind how you go in the fog
DUDE:I am so not ready for tomorrow. I'd give anything to pass this exam!
SFX: POOF!
DEV:*Any*thing?
DUDE:Who are you?
DEV: Oh, I'm nobody. Just a passing trader. Just a wandering stranger with wares to exchange. Just a humble-
DUDE:You're the devil.
DEV:Yep, I'm the devil. I should have bailed on that ironic mystery thing earlier, sorry. But, regardless, I refer you to my earlier comment: *any*thing?
DUDE:Well, I don't know about that.
DEV:Would you be willing, for example, to pay the ultimate price?
DUDE:Erm...what's that?
DEV: Death!
DUDE: Definitely no.
DEV: Oh.
DUDE:Its just a GCSE. My last one, in fact: pretty sure I failed all the others already, so...
DEV:But think on what riches you could amass, what wonders you could control with your GCSE in...?
DUDE:General Studies.
DEV:[SIGH] This is normally easier. OK, so what you're saying is, a single GCSE is not worth paying the ultimate price.
DUDE:Nail on head, old son.
DEV:Aha! But would you pay...the *pen*ultimate price?
DUDE:What is that?
DEV: Penultimate to death? Why, naturally it's...dementia.
DUDE:What?
DEV: Or rheumatism. Aches and pains. Loss of appetite. Ropy waterworks. Wrinkled neck. Just general senescence.
DUDE: So you're saying that, in exchange for passing my General Studies GCSE, you'll make me into a very old man?
DEV:Yep.
DUDE: And then what?
DEV:I guess, after a short while, you die.
DUDE: So I'd still pay the ultimate price, but on a short painful credit plan?
DEV:Yes. Probably poo yourself a lot too, I missed that one.
DUDE:I'll pass then.
DEV:As you wish. Oh, but, Alan?
DUDE:Yup?
DEV:[BRIGHTLY] You have passed! You have passed the test, my son!
DUDE:The test?
DEV:Yes! The lure of General Studies GCSE is too strong for many mortals. And you won against the struggle.
DUDE: Oh, go me. So what do I win?
DEV:This...General Studies GCSE!
DUDE:I'll be honest, this whole examination process is mystifying - not to mention labour intensive on your side.
DEV:The admin is truly exhausting.
DUDE:Ah well, cheers for the GCSE. And I suppose you're not really the devil.
DEV: Oh I am...but then again, this is all a dream!
DUDE:Now I think about it, that does make sense.
DEV:You've done your GCSEs!
DUDE: Oh yeah.
DEV:You are fast asleep...and missing your university finals.
DUDE: Shit! Is there something we could do? Anything!
DEV:[CHUCKLE TO SELF] I am good at this.
SCENE: BILL is dead, and talking to GOD. GOD looks like a KANGAROO
BILL: I'm dead, then?
GOD: You got it.
BILL: So, what's the general plan now? Do I get judged or something? Wasn't I supposed to meet St. Peter first, or one of those lads?
GOD: Nah, nah. This is it.
BILL: You look different to what I expected.
GOD: What, because I'm not an old bloke with a white beard and sandals?
BILL: Well, not just that...
GOD: Well, you didn't expect me to be a woman, did you? Or Alan Freeman?
BILL: No. But you look like a marsupial!
GOD: Yeah. You got a problem with that? The f**ken Bible even says that I made marsupials in my image. Well, that's what it said originally, until it was mistranslated to 'man'.
BILL: Whatever. So, do I get to go to Heaven? Or is this Heaven we're in now? Or what?
GOD: F**k's sake, you don't half go on. Fact is, I don't know what to do with you. So I'm going to bend the rules a bit, and let you be reincarnated.
BILL: As who?
GOD: Bless you!
BILL: No, I said, 'as who'? Like, what sort of person will I be when I'm reincarnated?
GOD: Oh, I see. Well, you're not going to be a person again, obviously. You made a right pig's ear of that last time.
BILL: Charming.
GOD: And you're not cool enough to be a kangaroo. So, you'll just have to be reincarnated as an im-nanny-nun.. an inam-in-am-en... An object, you know. An inam-in-mem... An object that doesn't move.
BILL: Oh, you mean an... imm-anny-mum.. An inanimate object?
GOD: (laughs) See, it's difficult to say, isn't it?
BILL: I got it at the end there, though. You couldn't say it at all, and you're God.
GOD: Right, that's it, I'm reincarnating you right now. I'm reincarnating you as a f**ken lamp, mate. BA-ZAM!
BILL: Ba-what?
GOD: BA-ZAM, I said! Oh, hang on, nothing happened. You were supposed to turn into a lamp, but it didn't work, for some bent reason. Probably because lamps don't have souls, or some shit.
BILL: What happens now, then?
GOD: Well, you can have a go at being God instead, if you want.
BILL: Sure! Sounds like it might be a bit of a grin.
GOD: Great! I could do with a rest after all these years. Only thing is, you'll have to be a kangaroo.
BILL: Not bothered.
GOD: OK, so mote it be! Or BA-BAM!
THE ORIGINAL GOD DISAPPEARS.
BILL TURNS INTO A KANGAROO/GOD
BILL/GOD: Nice one! I'm God now! I can do literally anything! Create new worlds... Create new life... Create people, create animals, create birds, and create inam-in-mem... Im-nanny-mumt... in-man-a... Oh, bollocks.
It could be said that Charles Dickens moved around a lot as a child. Even in the womb a prenatal Charles would travel from one location to the next via his mother, using her as a sort of biological steam engine.
The Dickens family also moved house regularly due to Charles' fathers work. On one particular occasion John Dickens and his family missed their intended new abode by only a number of yards and ended up in Marshalsea debtor's prison. Coincidently he was unable to pay his mounting debts at the time so the prison was an absolutely perfect fit.
A twelve year old Charles avoided the prison and lived a life of luxury working twelve hours a day at a shoe-blackening factory amid the idyllic surroundings of rot, decay and hundreds of scurrying rats.
He soon realised that he was a talented mimic and with his uncanny ability to imitate the rats a career in journalism beckoned.
A fan of theatre, the now twenty year old Dickens thought about a career as an actor but inheriting his father's sense of direction missed his audition by a matter of inches. Primarily remembered as a talented mover and rat-mimicker, Charles Dickens also wrote some books.
One of his most famous novels is David Copperfield in which he foretells the coming of the late 20th Century illusionist. Another well-known novel, Grate Expectations tells the story of the seven year old Pip and his quest for the perfect fireplace.
During his latter years he involved himself in the odd train crash, having a couple of affairs and became very interested in having fits of giddiness and paralysis, often simultaneously.
Luckily he was working on his final novel when he died, as one must wonder had this not been his last book how would he have managed to write the subsequent novels from beyond the grave. A feat which has almost never been accomplished.
The Mystery of Edwin Drood is the title of his unfinished final piece but the greatest mystery of all is how Dickens would have chosen to finish it. Perhaps in a fit of giddiness, perhaps impersonating a rat or perhaps attempting to put pen to paper but missing the target.
I'd like to believe all three.
Good work fellas. Michael for me
All good. Otterfox please.
Michael's is the best sketch overall, and so gets my vote, but a very close second for Otter fox, I love how closely his is based on Dickens's actual biography.
The Monkhouse takes it. There were lines I liked in all of them so an enjoyable week all round.
Michael by a mile .