Hi ho,
I just got my 16GB memory stick in the post, so I'm taking the opportunity to back-up all my old stories from the Ultimate Egonga Forum (probably before your time). While I was searching, found this old gem that I thought I'd re-post. Enjoy ^_^
Ingredients One (1) ashtray of peanuts from your local beverage serving facility (pub) Equipment One hundred (100) sporks Method Turn gas on. Place complete set of collectable action man toys on a baking tray and place in microwave for 30 minutes. Whilst this is cooking, stir the nuts with your pants and laugh maniacally as the soldiers melt down to the very plastic from which God created them. Then realize the pants are proving ineffective and place them on your head (for later). With reckless abandon see what happens when you place the egg-whisk into your toilet system and flush. Once bathroom has taken a flooded-quality, phone a plumber thouroughly for five minutes and tell them what you just did, interspersed with various problems with your childhood. By now the microwave should be destroyed beyond any sort of usefulness, so throw it out your window (extra points if you don't open it first). Drink a pint of whisky and fumble around with the Dairy Milk wrapper for a further two minutes trying to open it, mumbling complaints about a government chocolate conspiracy. Give up and throw the Dairy Milk, wrapper and all, into a sieve and wash it intensely with cold, clean water. After the whole thing has taken on a soggy affair, forget why you're doing that and berate Tom Hanks for his lack-lustre performance in Star Wars. If he points out he was never in Star Wars, beat him with an egg whisk until he takes on a bloody property. By now the plumber should have arrived. Instead of opening the door to him, hurl various abusive comments from the safety of your window and see if he goes away. Feel free to throw the live racoons at him if he persists. Have another drink of whisky and lie down on the couch. When the smell of gas wakes you up from your intoxicated nightmares, turn off the oven and begin mocking the gooseburies. What the hell kind of name is gooseburries anyway? Bloody fruits! After they look suitably depressed, climb into your freezer and eat the pants. After this, give up on the whole affair and pronounce that the peanuts, still in the stolen ashtray, are now "Egonga's Tasty Nuts", and serve to the few remaining guests. Serving Suggestions Erm... give them to people?
Two (2) live racoons
One (1) dead racoon
Five (5) litres of cheap whisky
One (1) Bar of Dairy Milk Chocolate
Six (6) Megatons of Nuclear Warhead, baby!
One (1) easy-bake oven
One (1) pair of pants
Tom Hanks
It'd be funny if a bullfighter smuggled a gun into the fight. The crowd would be cheering like crazy, expecting to see man vs beast in a battle of skill, athleticism and wit. The bull would come charging out, full of fury and anger, kicking fence panels and roaring with primal fury. The bullfighter would calmly shoot it from afar. The crowd would go deathly silent, and within that silence the bullfighter would proclaim "Thank you ladies and gentlemen! No refunds."
I don't know why that makes me laugh, but it does.
I took a trip to my local convent this afternoon. I was dressed rather sexily; fireman's helmet, fireman's trousers, fireman's boots, my midsection left bare. I kicked the convent door down. The nuns all looked up from their various tasks - knitting, reading, praying - to see what the commotion was about. At the top of my voice I yelled:
"Ladies! There is a fire in my pants! I will have to ask you all to remove your clothes as they may be a fire hazard! But don't worry; if you get too hot I'll spray you with my hose."
Stunned silence fell upon them, until the head nun stormed over to me. Anger was in her eyes.
"My boy, either there is a fire in this convent, which you can clearly see there is not, or you have just spoken innuendo to a nun, which is a terrible sin, for which you'll burn in hell. How do you explain yourself?"
I didn't panic. I took out a cigarette, lit it up, took a deep breath, and then tried to set fire to the curtains. They tried to stop me, of course - two nuns on each arm, one on my back, and another desperately reading the instructions on the fire extinguisher in case I succeeded.
I did not.
They dejected me back into the car park. I didn't care. My dream had been fulfilled; what that was, exactly, I'm not quite sure. But it was a success.
Tomorrow I'm planning a new dream; I'm going to stand outside a nursery, firing a 9mm pistol into the air while singing "How do you get to Sesame Street?" until either the police get me or one of the children shiv me in the back. Because all kids carry knives nowadays.
Peace and love,
Egonga.
