F**king Hell! C**tgtasulazioningd to Gappy for winking. PM me with a subject for next wank please. Meanwhilst...
Gappy - 2
Otterfox, Me - 1
Next topic: Island
Leg closed: 27.12.22
Runners are nowt...
Position Score Name
1 7 Otterfox
2 6 Gappy
3 4 Me
A Young Man With A Stuffed Spice 16 - 27.12.22
DESERT ISLAND DISS
RADIO STUDIO.
PRESENTER and GUEST.
PRESENTER Good morning, gentlemen and ladies and you, and comewell tonight's 'Desert Island Diss', because if you were stranded on a desert island, your first preoccupation would of course be, 'Bugger, no Spice Girls CDs round here'. My guessed this evening is Roger A. Deane, Emeritus Professor of Literature, Classics and Comparative Pornography at Camford College, Oversex. Master Dean, goodnight.
GUEST Yerse... And thank you for having me.
PRESENTER I beg your pardon?
GUEST I mean - thank you for coming.
PRESENTER What?
GUEST I intended, thank you for holding it this afternoon... Because I believe your dear dog died this morn...
PRESENTER Yes, well let's not talk about that, eh?
GUEST Of coursed not, eh? How bally insensitive of one...Well, my first choice, to keep the old spirits high as a kit, would be the King of ruddy Rock 'n' Roll, Hound - my apologising. How dashed crass of one. You don't wish to think about your dear dog who popped its cork this morn, would you?
PRESENTER No. I don't.
GUEST Yerse, well next up, as I say to the ole students, is King of the Fluid Genders, David Bowie. You know, I never know how to spit that fellow's name out. Is it David Bowie, or Davide Bowie?... Anyway, the rollicking tune is Diamond... Oh gosh. Made a bit of a bounder of meself again. After your dog popped its proverbial clogs this very morn.
PRESENTER Next track.
GUEST Yerse, let's drop one, shall we? Oodles of tunes coming right up, as I... Anyroads, it's Adam and his Aunts, Dog Eat... Oops.
PRESENTER Roger, please.
GUEST My sincerefullest apologised. So let's soldier on with New Order, Stray Dog; They Might Be Giants, Hot Dog; Tori Amos, Space Dog; Roger Miller, Water Dog; Hugh Laurie, Police Dog Blues; Airbourne, Black Dog Barking (not that yours will be doing much of that now); The Cure, Shake Dog Shake (not much of that, either); Sugar Ray, Burning Dog (probs all for the best now) AC/DC, Giving The Dog a Bone; Tom Waits, Rain Dogs; Pink Floyd, Dogs and - I say old fruit, are you all right?
PRESENTER (sobbing) YES:
GUEST Goodness golly, of course! Your mutt kicked the bucket just this very day! Soz, mate...
PRESENTER Go on.
GUEST Yerse, Prefab Sprout, 'The King of Rock 'n' Roll' - that lad again.
PRESENTER Thank you.
GUEST Famed, naturally, for the wrefwrain, Hot Dog, Jumping... Bugger. Then it's the King again, with Old Shep.
PRESENTER At last.
GUEST The tale - ha ha! Tail - of a pup what bit the dust...
PRESENTER Roger!
GUEST Queen, Another One Bites The Dust...
PRESENTER Right, Deane. One last chance.
GUEST The Beatles.
PRESENTER Ummm. Okay.
GUEST Martha, My Dear. Inspired by Macca's trusty old sheepdog... Before it karked it.
PRESENTER Right, that's it. (leaves)
GUEST Silly bitch.
In ancient Rome, becoming one of the pugilati, or professional boxers, was one of the most difficult tasks an athlete could undertake, and the skill and stamina of these fighters meant they were prized above soldiers, gladiators, or any other professional strongarms. Accreditation to their fraternity was long and strenuous, but ended with a difficult trial in the centre of Mother Rome herself. Against the clock, hopefuls had to sprint from the Colosseum down to the river, dive in and swim to the shrine of Bellona on the Isola Tiberina in the middle of the mighty stream to collect ceremonial boxing gloves, before swimming north against the current to a point roughly equivalent to the modern Ponte Cavour, then running up the Collis Quirinalis, the highest of Rome's 7 hills, there only to meet a champion from the pugilati against whom the contestant must either win or survive a minimum of 4 rounds.
So arduous was this test that only the greatest boxing athletes were able to pass and be welcomed into the hall of champions. The epic task is still celebrated today amongst brothers of the fist across the world, in the triumphant phrase "it's the isle of the Tiber, it's the hill of great height, rising up to a challenge on arrival".
(Happy Christmas)
TWO MEN ON A DESERT ISLAND
BOB: We've been stranded on this desert island for three weeks now, Kev.
KEV: Thanks for that gratuitous exposition, Bob.
BOB: Well, I've written 'S.O.S.' in the sand.
KEV: Oh right, doesn't that means 'save our souls'?
BOB: There's no need for that obscene language. Just because we've been stranded for three weeks, it doesn't mean we have to become barbarians.
KEV: Shame, I always wanted to work in a pub.
BOB: Let's put a message in a bottle! Like the song!
KEV: What song?
BOB: Oh, I don't know. Probably something by one of the various Elvis characters. My point is, we need to get rescued, Kev. We need to do something.
KEV: Luckily, a few months ago, I was listening to that 'Desert Island Discs' thing on the radio. I chose ten songs and a luxury item. So, I expect they'll be turning up at some point.
BOB: I don't think it quite works like that, Kev. No sod heard your demand, and even if they did, it's not an actual thing that happens, it's just a bit of fun.
KEV: Then I'm just going to pretend this isn't happening.
BOB: You can't just bury your head in the - oh, you are.
KEV BENDS OVER AND BURIES HIS HEAD IN THE SAND
Walter De Bromhuzzard sits in a leather wingback chair in a country mansion, brandy in hand, reminiscing about his younger days.
WALTER: It's funny you should mention an island because I went to one in my younger days. I can remember it as clearly as though it was sitting in front of me now...Black sandy beaches, the archipelago of the Society Islands, Paul Cezanne - I speak of course of Tahiti. During my time as an explorer......(rapid-fire) traveller, wanderer, adventurer, globetrotter, voyager, rover and explorer a second time, I experienced many events and encountered many mysteries in my time as the things I have just mentioned.
Good evening. The following is an excerpt taken out of my head; or a memory to the layperson. Good evening. Let my tale flow from my lips to yours and from there up along your cheeks and into your ears.
WALTER (Cntd)
Good evening. It was June time in the Juning of the year on an island so remote that it went by the name (heavy accent) Tahiti of French Polynesia (normal accent) or Tahiti to the layperson.
Our ship, the Mighty Soltuna, which of course translates to the Great Solbuna in Tahiteenian had docked just as the spectacular summer solstice celebrations were beginning on (painful tick) THE ISLAND. I remember being utterly astounded at how the people were somehow able to gradually shrink themselves. It wasn't until we were about a mile out that I had realised my mistake. We were sailing away and I had forgotten to disembark again, again. I really didn't want to miss the celebrations so quick as a flash I strolled to the edge of the ship, slowly jumped overboard and rapidly swam for beach.
The Solstice Festival was in full swing by the time I touched sand. The island was a sea of colour and a hive of activity; a sea hive. There was dancing -. Then the land-canoeists arrived to paddle us through the grass and the forest to the oldest structure on the island; a volcanic mountain made entirely of nature.
They placed us on an outcropped ledge, which was simply known as 'The Juning Fork' (BOW) and it was from there that we witnessed a truly remarkable event - the spitting of balls of lava, which only occurs on the summer solstice once a century - every one hundred years to the layperson. From our spot we had the perfect vantage point to see the strong sun amazingly set fire to the lava. I don't know if you've ever seen balls of fire but this is what they were a bit, a bit.
There's not a day goes by that I don't think; and sometimes when a think happens, sometimes, it's of those great balls of fire sometimes. Without a shadow of a doubt it is in (painful tick) THE top seventeen experiences of my life.
However, not only do I have to rely on my mind to relive this wondrous visual experience, I also received a copy of the book of my mind which includes that event. Not only that, they also threw in a record so that I Walter DeBrom Huzzard; Walt BeHuzzard to the layperson can listen to it anytime I want....hear it whenever to the layperson.
PUTS ON RECORD TO THE SOUND OF TRIBES, OOHS AND AAHS ETC. SOMEONE GETS BURNT AND IS IN SERIOUS PAIN. HE STRUMS ALONG TAPPING HIS FINGERS OFF HIS THIGH AS THOUGH HE IS LISTENING TO A PLEASANT TUNE - THE MAKES ANOTHER PAINFUL TICK SOUND AND SHRUGS SHOULDERS IN CONFUSION.
END.
Michael Monkhouse
A Plate
Another Plate.
Lots to like in Mikey Monkhouses and probably would have won but I just thought the dog song titles was laboured a bit but loved the idea. A plates short but effective piece gets my vote this time.