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Forum Game. Carry on with the last word…

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  • #8711

    Hi all 😀

    The idea of this is to continue the story by posting a short sentence which must begin with the last word in our tale from the previous poster.

    For example : Let’s say the previous post was “but underneath all that could be seen was an enormous pink”
    The next person to post would have to begin with the word pink. Possibly “pink lollipop which she then lifted to her mouth and began to suck”….next poster continues beginning with “suck”. And so on and so on.

    Hope you get the idea. I hope it works out and provides a giggle or two.

    So let’s start with

    Peter yawned and stretched as he awoke on the living room sofa. As he was alone, and feeling a little naughty, he decided to reach down and grasp


    Grasp the hairbrush, secretly hidden under the bed, and yes… he bought it near his lips and blasted out the chorus of  TRAGEDY

    Steps – Tragedy


    Tragedy struck, however, as his mother rushed into the room looking very dishevelled. She stomped to Peter's side, and bending forward, pressed her large, full


    …full fat sandwich in his face saying “You did not finish your dinner!”


    “dinner mean to startle ye, wee laddie”, said Mum, in her thick Scottish accent


    “Accents are hot mama. I am trying to sound Welsh for me gal cuz she says it turns her on”


    On the table, unobserved by neither Mother or son,  a wasp was observing them intently, it's antennae stretched towards them and making rapid jerks as it watched. the careful observer would note, however, that there was something not entirely normal about the insect, indeed, anyone inspecting more closely would discover that it was in fact a remote


      Being Scottish, she finished her Whisky (Single Malt) and rushed towards the Wasp, not caring if it was real or not and Whacked it hard with the rest of Peter's Sandwich. (And then refilled her glass).

    And then surprised, both of them heard a Massive Cry of pain and saw a set of headphones flying out of next doors window.


    “Window…s,” I mused, sipping the whiskey. “they say the eyes are the windows of the soul”
    i looked into hers… yes, she was tipsy and wittering about falling head phones and whacking wasps. Maybe there is a song in there somewhere but at the moment i wasn’t feeling to inspired.
    Instead for some inexplicable reason, I just had the urge to sing “Reverend Blue Jeans”

    I began to hum the tune and saw some Mayo at the corner of her mouth … Peters sandwich. I think she finally demolished that doorstep.

    Unable to resist anymore, I burst into the Neil Diamond Song singing my Mondegreen version happily, believing every word to be correct. At the same time I whisked her around the floor.

    And whispered , “Tell me more about these headphones. Is there something I should know about my neighbours… Yes?”


    Yes, over there a dear girl lives in a beautiful spacious and large house with a beautiful stoned fireplace in the living room, with a large garden both at the entrance and behind the house full of fruit trees. She is happy to take care of them every day and also has many birdhouses and a lovely little dog. If it weren't that far away, I'd go to see her and have a few words with her.


    Her gaze was drawn by Lady Ganderpoke's nostrils flaring at the smell of something noxious in the air.
    It dawned on her that the Earl of Bedlam had flatulence again even after she insisted that he never
    eat the spam and nutella fritters again but his mistress, Pixie Hotmuffin, although she was 87 kept
    frying them in patchouli and almond oil.  Despite the numerous fires Pixie was never put off by the
    appearance of a fit fireman dragging her out of another smoke-filled room to receive chest massage
    and mouth to mouth resucitation even though he wore a rubber mask to do so since the first time
    she nearly sucked his face clean off.  The good Lady Ganderpoke shuddered at the thought of it.
    Never again she cried.


    Cried tearful tears that caused the fireman to tear off his mask of rubbery rubber and assist the lady to a nearby chaise longue, only suffering a few singe marks about it's gilded ebony feet, where she could sob in relative comfort. Striking his thigh, as all the best heroes do, he manfully struck a manly pose, the fireman did. Manly jaw thrust high and proud above his manly barrel of a manly chest; a veritable Adonis descended from on high he stood, albeit an Adonis slightly smoke blackened and wearing wellies. But, thought Pixie as her heaving bosom heaved in the way that bosoms do at times like this, even a slightly less than godlike Adonis shouldn't be sniffed at, as she sniffed sobbing on an increasingly tear dampened chaise amidst the smoldering wreckage, and, composing her waiflike features into what she hoped was an alluring and tempting 'come hither' look she turned her face up to the fireman saying……


    … saying “I'd kill for a fag right now.”  (for the benefit of our American cousins fag means a cigarette) 
    She coughed weakly and expired and the manly fireman (Alfie Stuntposture) struck his manly thigh
    and said “Ah what the hell, you can't win them all” and let poor Pixie's limp body drop onto the chaise
    and as he did so into the room strode …


    Strode the hero of the moment with Oxygen and Fags.

    He performed CPR, she spluttered and came back to life.
    Placing the oxygen mask on her face, they carried her outside.

    “Thank you boys,” she murmured having had enough of the mask.

    The Hero returned the oxygen out of harms way while the first fireman gallantly offered her that cigarette to which he lit between her lips with flamboyance.

    “Just what I need,” She thought content….


    Content did not last long though as she watched the handsome hero walk away as confidently as he had approached. As she exhaled the smoke under the watchful gaze of one, she began thinking of ways she could show her gratitude to the other. The cigarette, while appreciated, was not her only need..

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