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A very true story.
13 years ago
General
Okay, so I was sitting on my futon, enjoying it's cast-iron bars sticking me in the ass, when, suddenly, I noticed my latest Kenneth Oppel novel lying precariously close to a cup of special donair-dipping-sauce, I managed to migrate it to safety before any tomfoolery could occur, when suddenly, a gigantic pots-and-pans robot burst through my wall; beyond which lied a vast cavern, filled with strange anthropomorphic mushrooms and blocks that floated in the sky.
The automaton offered me a bottle of Campari, but before I could answer, he smashed the bottle over my head, and tried to enlist me in the Spanish Revolution, COMPLETELY ignoring my attempts to make it realize that that had ended at LEAST a few years ago.
He took me down the the all-night Spanish Attire Store & Laundromat, when who do I see but Kitty Gaga purring her way through some great onslaught of excellence while she waited on a rickety drying machine to finish with her many sexy, sexy garments, I asked her to save me, but she couldn't hear me, because suddenly I was a pink sponge!
Thankfully, Kitty Gaga recognized me, even in my state of squarity, and rushed to my side in aid.
Save me, Gaga! I beamed unto the telepathic channel we'd worked up.
Fear not, fluffy monster! was her reply.
She took stock of the mechanical behemoth before her, and then at my state, with her keen, fashionably-sunglassed eyes.
"Now, it seems to me..." she said, rubbing a paw 'cross her chin. "The problem you seem to be facing.... is that you're sober."
Which was true, GOD, was it ever true.
She produced a fine bottle of Bombay Sapphire from her magical handbag of tricks, (it's shaped like a seahorse, you aught to know) poured it promptly onto the floor, and dropped me onto it, where I absorbed all the alcohol into my sexy, spongey being.
Then she drop-kicked the automan, and it shattered into a million pieces, which she skilfully melded into a disco-ball with her telekinetic powers. Then she used me to give all the homeless prostitutes a sponge-bath, which got them very drunk and they were hospitalized with chronic death. Also, I got herpes. But the large-breasted octopus that hides in my dirty linens managed to burn them off with his heat vision.
And that's how I saved Christmas!
The automaton offered me a bottle of Campari, but before I could answer, he smashed the bottle over my head, and tried to enlist me in the Spanish Revolution, COMPLETELY ignoring my attempts to make it realize that that had ended at LEAST a few years ago.
He took me down the the all-night Spanish Attire Store & Laundromat, when who do I see but Kitty Gaga purring her way through some great onslaught of excellence while she waited on a rickety drying machine to finish with her many sexy, sexy garments, I asked her to save me, but she couldn't hear me, because suddenly I was a pink sponge!
Thankfully, Kitty Gaga recognized me, even in my state of squarity, and rushed to my side in aid.
Save me, Gaga! I beamed unto the telepathic channel we'd worked up.
Fear not, fluffy monster! was her reply.
She took stock of the mechanical behemoth before her, and then at my state, with her keen, fashionably-sunglassed eyes.
"Now, it seems to me..." she said, rubbing a paw 'cross her chin. "The problem you seem to be facing.... is that you're sober."
Which was true, GOD, was it ever true.
She produced a fine bottle of Bombay Sapphire from her magical handbag of tricks, (it's shaped like a seahorse, you aught to know) poured it promptly onto the floor, and dropped me onto it, where I absorbed all the alcohol into my sexy, spongey being.
Then she drop-kicked the automan, and it shattered into a million pieces, which she skilfully melded into a disco-ball with her telekinetic powers. Then she used me to give all the homeless prostitutes a sponge-bath, which got them very drunk and they were hospitalized with chronic death. Also, I got herpes. But the large-breasted octopus that hides in my dirty linens managed to burn them off with his heat vision.
And that's how I saved Christmas!
