DELETED

NOTHING RHYMES WITH ORANGE

http://nagpurcity.net/nrcc/oranges.jpg

There are some groovy words that rhyme,
Like 'serpentine' with 'turpentine'.
But then there's one I've heard declines
And spurns all rhyme... it's ORANGE!

There's tore tinge and poor pinch,
And floor flinch and ore inch,
And lore lynch and store cinch,
And claw clinch and four finch.

Hey, hey, hey, hey!
Hey, hey! Nothing rhymes with orange!
Hey, hey, hey, hey!
Hey, hey! Nothing rhymes with orange!

There's boar binge and raw twinge,
And fore fringe and whore hinge,
And core cringe and spore singe,
And your tinge and syringe.

But none of these impinge or infringe,
On this slimy and rhymeless grinch!
Do I have to whine, repine or whinge?
Yeah, nothing rhymes... with orange!

Hey, hey, hey, hey!
Hey, hey! Nothing rhymes with orange!
Hey, hey, hey, hey!
Hey, hey! Nothing rhymes with orange!

*cough*
Man, can you pass me a lozenge?

WARNING: Mild sexual references. Content may offend.

MALE BREAST CANCER:

http://www.sachsreport.com/aphex%20intelligent%20dance%20mus.jpg

I saw the doctor for a routine checkup.
He said that something was wrong with me.
What was the answer?
Male breast cancer?
Well, how the hell could that be?!

Oh, I don't even have mammaries!
Oh, the other men will laugh at me!
Oh, at my breast chemotherapy!
Oh, male breast cancer is lame!
Oh, they'll find it really humorous!
Oh, that my nipples are tumorous!
Oh, these stupid carcinoma-breasts!
Oh, male breast cancer is lame!

My tits: carcinogenic!
I feel so darn pathetic!
I can't live with the shame,
darn, male breast cancer is lame!

This sickness is ridiculous!
I would prefer testicular!
You'd think I was a dame,
darn, male breast cancer is lame!

Na na na na na
It started off malignant,
Na na na na na
But now it's in remission,
Na na na na na
I have a second chance!
Na na na na na
I've learned a painful lesson,
Na na na na na
And it has made me question,
Na na na na na
Would I look good with implants?

Oh, I don't even have mammaries!
Oh, the other men will laugh at me!
Oh, at my breast chemotherapy!
Oh, male breast cancer is lame!
Oh, they'll find it really humorous!
Oh, that my nipples are tumorous!
Oh, these stupid carcinoma-breasts!
Oh, male breast cancer is lame!

Man boobies,
Big and round.
Man boobies,
Wiggle mounds.
Man boobies,
Jiggle 'round.
Now I've got a set of man boobies!

The Pangram Song

http://bensguide.gpo.gov/images/icons/alphabet/alphabet.gif

Z, Y, X, W and V!
U, T, S, R, Q and P!
O, N, M, L, K and J!
I, H, G, F, E, D, C, B, A!
Wanna do some nerd wordplay?
Anagrammatically correct, OK?!

SPHINX! JEW!
QUARTZ VD!
LOCK! MY! BFG!

MR...
LYNX! FEW!
QUIZ TV!
JOCK! BAGS! PHD!

(repeat)

WARNING: Some language. Content may offend

BUBBLES HAS GONE TO HELL

http://www.bankonhold.com/images/ohw/fishbowl.jpg

What's the matter, Billy? Why are you looking so sad?
Your goldfish isn't moving? I think Bubbles must be dead.
But there's no need to grieve his little soul. Yes, all is well.
Cuz Bubbles was an evil f*** and so he's gone to hell!

Yeah, Bubbles has gone to hell!
Bubbles has gone to hell!
Just flush him down the toilet, watch him swirl and swirl and swirl!
Put on your black robes and ring the bell, Bubbles's knell.
Yeah, wave that evil fish farewell...
Cuz Bubbles has gone to hell!

Oh, Bubbles was a lazy fish, so perpetrated sloth!
For anger, if you prodded him he got really ticked off!
He had such beautiful gold scales, he flaunted vanity!
And since he ate until he died, he loved his gluttony!

Your goldfish was real greedy of his castle in the bowl.
And bright orange with envy over Rover the dog's ball.
Oh, Bubbles was just packed with lust in his pectoral fins...
So now that f***in' goldfish will be burning for his sins!

Yeah, Bubbles has gone to hell!
Bubbles has gone to hell!
Just flush him down the toilet, watch him swirl and swirl and swirl!
Put on your black robes and ring the bell, Bubbles's knell.
Yeah, wave that evil fish farewell...
Cuz Bubbles has gone to hell!

Rrrr!

http://www.ruegenmagic.de/Ruedi/rrr.jpg

A pleasant little pasttime is the movement of your bowel.
But we have something way more fun and quite a lot less foul!
So clear your throat of phlegmy crap and get ready to growl,
Cuz we have found a sound that uses every single vowel!

And it's: Rrrr!!!
You know ya wanna do it, come on and we can: Rrrr!!!
Put out a little louder and growl it, baby: Rrrr!!!
Now do it like a tiger or a polar bear and: Rrrr!!!
Because we love to slurrr our vowelled worrrds!

Now see how the vowel 'E' referrrs to spellings such as errr.
Inferrr, conferrr, transferrr, deterrr, preferrr and herrr and werrre!
Exerrrt, asserrrt, inserrrt, desserrrt, alerrrt, inerrrt, overrrt!
Subverrrt, inverrrt, converrrt, averrrt, perverrrt, everrrt, diverrrt!

Deserrrve, submerrrge, reserrrve, diverrrge, obserrrve, emerrrge, preserrrve!
Conserrrve, converrrge and nerrrve, emerrrge, and verrrve and merrrge and serrrve! 
There's swerrrve and verrrge and terrrm and perrrt and sperrrm and gerrrrm and verrrt!
If I'd deferrred that herrrd then I would not be a real nerrrd!

So now we have one vowel down and we got some morrre to do.
So just yell Rrrr! and we will sing some more fun slurrrs with you! 

Our next vowel is the letter 'I' which spells out groovy worrrds.
Like stirrr and squirrrt a firrr with dirrrt so sirrr can flirrrt with skirrrts!
And firrrm, infirrrm, affirrrm, confirrrm, I'm squirrrming cuz we're girrrt!
A dirrrge now for our second vowel, let's move onto the thirrrd!

Now, 'U' can purrrge a surrrge of letters urrrging you to slurrr.
Young Kurrrds are spurrred to blurrrt: "That furrr is murrrder, scurrrvy currr!"
Absurrrdist hurrrt is currrdled currrt, occurrring just in spurrrts. 
Concurrr to purrr. Demurrr a blurrr? Incurrr recurrring currrves!

Rrrr!!!
You know ya wanna do it, come on and we can: Rrrr!!!
Put out a little louder and growl it, baby: Rrrr!!!
Now do it like a tiger or a polar bear and: Rrrr!!!
Because we love to slurrr our vowelled worrrds!

Sometimes the 'E' and 'U' will merrrge together! Oui, monsieurrr.
Entrepeneurrr, restaurateurrr, these worrrds are French for surrre.
Liqueurrr, chaufferrr and connoisseurrr and sabateurrr? Mon deiu!
We've used up all the 'EU' Rrrrs, (except for Libra Fleurrr!) 

So what about the other vowels left over, 'O' and 'A'?
You wOrrrm! Man, have you heArrrd a single wOrrrd I've had to say?
You scOurrrge of dumbness, you'rrre an hors d'OOOeuvre at a chump buffet!
Go frrr your mrrr-rrr sideways, drrrhead frrr-rrr--rrr! Ole! 

You make me grrr because there is one more letter to try.
Our sneaky little constonant-yet-vowel: the letter 'Y'.
Now even with a heart of gold, old Frank's incensed with MYRRRH.
And that has wrapped up all the slurrring of our worrrds right thurrr!

Rrrr!!!
You know ya wanna do it, come on and we can: Rrrr!!!
Put out a little louder and growl it, baby: Rrrr!!!
Now do it like a tiger or a polar bear and: Rrrr!!!
Because we love to slurrr our vowelled worrrds!

RRRrrrock on!

MAIL-ORDER WEDDING

http://russianbridesworld.com/img/Mail-order-bride-06-profit.jpg

A wedding is a grand occasion of requited love,
But it involves a lot of costly fees. (Costly fees!)
And so I hit the net to find a cheap alternative,
By ordering a bride from overseas. (Overseas!)

They had some smashing bargains when it came to nuptial plans,
Their deals were simply too good to resist. (To resist!)
I bought mail order briiidesmaids, grooomsmen and in-laws,
And a bunch of other people to assist. (To assist!)

The bridesmaids came with matching-coloured outfits, in a set.
The groomsmen were handpicked from a brochure. (A brochure!)
My flower-girl arrives in 12 to 14 working days,
The label says 'some settling may occur'. (May occur!)

The sobbing-ladies-in-big-hats were each sold seperately,
The fussy-kids-that-fidget look quite nice. (Look quite nice!)
For each inebriated-uncle-who-hits-on-my-bride,
I get a scowling-aunty for half price. (For half price!)

The preist is being shipped by freight from somewhere in Tibet,
The ushers were dirt cheap from Vietnam. (Vietnam!)
My postal box has been remade to measure 8 by 10,
And I could start collecting all these stamps. (All these stamps!)

A wedding is a grand occasion of requited love.
But it involves a lot of costly fees. (Costly fees!)
And so I hit the net to find a cheap alternative,
And bought a wedding cheap from overseas. (Overseas!)

WARNING: Mild sexual seferences.

I'M LEARNING TO READ BRAILLE

http://www.att-group.com/images/braille.jpg

Literature at my fingertips,
I'm learning to read braille.
Yeah, most new books are digital,
I'm learning to read braille.

I read a racy feature on a condom that was ribbed,
And had some fun perusing bubble-wrap.
My efforts to skim over a cheese-grater were short-lived.
And baby's bottoms are nothing but crap.

Literature at my fingertips,
I'm learning to read braille.
Yeah, most new books are digital,
I'm learning to read braille.

The chronicles of tyre-treads just seem a little worn,
The motorway takes way too long to read.
I really did enjoy the ending on a cob of corn,
But browsing through sand-paper made me bleed.

Literature at my fingertips,
I'm learning to read braille.
Yeah, most new books are digital,
I'm learning to read braille.

Oh, I could pore through breadcrumbs in my bedsheets in the dark,
A richly textured doormat would be best.
I take my time when reading someone's figure up-and-down,
And even longer when I read abreast!

Literature at my fingertips,
I'm learning to read braille.
Yeah, most new books are digital,
I'm learning to read braille.

And now my doctor says that I've got perfect 20/20...
.../20/20/20...
.../20/20/20/20/20...
...vision!

WARNING: Censored/cryptic coarse language.

PLAY WITH ME, CHEMISTRY!

http://aspe.hhs.gov/HHSPlan/2001/images/6.4.gif

Hi, kids! I'm Iron Man!
Hi, kids! I'm Tin Man!
Hi, kids! I'm Silicon Woman!
And today we're here to have some fun with chemistry!

"There's Astatine, Arsenic, Bismuth and Neon,
Carbon and Krypton and Copper and Xenon."

What do they all have in common, kids?
That's right! Their names can all be spelled out using the chemical symbols of elements!
Wow! And look, kids, 'Iron', 'Tin' and 'Silicon' can also be spelled out using the chemical symbols of elements!
Wanna learn how to make other fun words? Sing along with us!

Mix up Arsenic with Sulfur!
(Arsenic with Sulfur!)
Argon with Selenium!
(Argon with Selenium!)
Bismuth with Technetium and Hydrogen, too!
(Bismuth with Technetium and Hydrogen, too!)

Cobalt, Carbon and Po-tass-i-um!
(Cobalt, Carbon and Po-tass-i-um!)
Sulfur mixed with Hydrogen, Iodine and Tellurium!
(Sulfur mixed with Hydrogen, Iodine and Tellurium!)
Polonium, Oxygen and Phos-phor-ous!
(Polonium, Oxygen and Phos-phor-ous!)

Play with me, Chemistry!

Hey, kids! Wasn't that fun?
Yeah! Are you ready for more?
Get ready, they're gonna get harder now!

Chlorine mixed with Oxygen, Actinium and Arsenic!
(Chlorine mixed with Oxygen, Actinium and Arsenic!)
Vanadium, Silver with Iodine and Sodium!
(Vanadium, Silver with Iodine and Sodium!)
Polonium, Radon, Oxygen and Osmium!
(Polonium, Radon, Oxygen and Osmium!)

Tungsten, Holmium and Rhenium!
(Tungsten, Holmium and Rhenium!)
Tellurium, Sulfur, Titanium,
Chlorine and Einsteinium!
(Tellurium, Sulfur, Titanium,
Chlorine and Einsteinium!)
Plutonium, Sulfur, Sulfur and Yttrium!
Lithium, Carbon, Po-tass-i-um and Erbium!
(Plutonium, Sulfur, Sulfur and Yttrium!
Lithium, Carbon, Po-tass-i-um and Erbium!)

Play with me, Chemistry!

Wow, great job, kids!
We're almost done, now!
Let's wrap it up!

Molybdenum, Thorium and Erbium,
Fluorine, Uranium... Carbon, Pot-tass-i-um and Erbium!
(Molybdenum, Thorium and Erbium,
Fluorine, Uranium...  Carbon, Po-tass-i-um and Erbium!)

Play with me, Chemistry!
F***, yeah!

WARNING: Sexual references.

I'M SCREWING YOU FOR YOUR CONVERSATION

http://www.sex-porn-xxx.net/sexy-teachers/sexy-teacher-1.jpg

Your eyes have nestled in my lap
There's pillows on your breath
Your fingers moonwalk up my thigh
And I can taste your sweat.

Your hair has wrapped around my neck
I'm kneading at your flesh
We're sucking in each others' air
I'm nestled in your chest.

Now as you slowly undulate
And claw into my back
With steam shimmering off you, girl,
Just know this simple fact...

You love to lather me in your anatomy,
But it's your smarts that I want to massage!
You've pure veracity and perspicacity,
An artful touch of cutting badinage!
And though you're oozing with such sexuality,
I give you sex for your postulations!
I only use you for your personality,
I'm screwing you for your conversation!

The walls are moaning with each thrust
We're drowning in the heat
I feel your pulse against my skin
All the way to my feet 

Your moaning's muffled by my tongue
Our bodies are entwined
But though you writhe and cry for more
There's one thing on my mind...

When can we stop this filthy sex
And let some chat commence?
Let's take a break and have some cake
And discuss world events!

Why spend all day under the sheets?
Let's go to a cafe.
I'm only screwing you because
Of what you've got to say!

You love to lather me in your anatomy,
But it's your smarts that I want to massage!
You've pure veracity and perspicacity,
An artful touch of cutting badinage!
And though you're oozing with such sexuality,
I give you sex for your postulations!
I only use you for your personality,
I'm screwing you for your conversation!

"I get the feeling you're only dating me for my intelligence."
"That's not true, honey. I totally respect the way you put out."

WARNING: Mature themes. Content may offend.

A MAN OF IMPECCABLE TASTE

http://learning.cc.hccs.edu/Members/cschweitzer/images/mrburns.jpg

Some folk feel upper-class owning a winery,
But I epitomise the term 'refinery'.
I had Princess Diana's final panties laced.
For I buy the finest of impeccable taste!

I'm rich, so it don't matter what the dollars cost.
Piano's made of ivory from the holocaust.
A set of matching lampshades and some lovely soaps.
A necklace with a tooth from all the previous popes!

Yangtze-River dolphins? Love when they're glazed...
For I'm a man of impeccable taste!
Aborted foetus paws hang from my waist...
For I'm a man of impeccable taste!
I had the last thylacine ground into paste...
For I'm a man of impeccable taste!
Mother-Mary's hymen? Got it encased...
For I'm a man of impeccable taste!

Framed the world's first nonuplets up in my bedroom,
Along with speakers that play the 'Brady Bunch' tune.
Decorate my bonsai trees with dodo feathers.
My couch is Albino Chameleon leather!

Ganesh's legs made splendid trash receptacles.
I carved fine earrings out of Buddha's testicles.
Got a vintage bottle of the blood of Jesus.
It goes quite well with mastodon-milk-based cheeses!

Yangtze-River dolphins? Love when they're glazed...
For I'm a man of impeccable taste!
Aborted foetus paws hang from my waist...
For I'm a man of impeccable taste!
I had the last thylacine ground into paste...
For I'm a man of impeccable taste!
Mother-Mary's hymen? Got it encased...
For I'm a man of impeccable taste!

THINGS I LIKE TO SMELL

http://www.bbc.co.uk/science/humanbody/images/tv/humansenses/smell_tvpage.jpg

I like the smell of discarded Tic-Tac packets.
I like the smell of reheating day-old steak.
I like the smell of dressing gowns in the morning.
I like the smell of brand new urinal cakes.

Aromas and fragrances, perfumes and scents.
And odours and pungencies and redolence.
Enlighten and influence, sway and compel.
All of these are the things I like to smell.

I like the smell of warm socks out of the dryer.
I like the smell of gutters after it's rained.
I like the smell of bags from vacuum-cleaners.
I like the smell of really rusted old chains.

Aromas and fragrances, perfumes and scents.
And odours and pungencies and redolence.
Enlighten and influence, sway and compel.
All of these are the things I like to smell.

I like the smell of banana flavoured icecream.
I like the smell of petals mashed on my shoes.
I like the smell of puppies when they are sleeping,
I like the smell of water in swimming pools.

Aromas and fragrances, perfumes and scents.
And odours and pungencies and redolence.
Enlighten and influence, sway and compel.
All of these are the things I like to smell.

A Boring Song

http://cloudking.com/artists/eric-sutton/works/bored-man_l.jpg

The paint...
...is drying.

The wind...
...is blowing.

The clock...
...is ticking.

The grass...
...is growing.

Booooooooring.

Booooooooring.

Booooooooring.

Booooooooring.

The paint...
...is still drying.

The wind...
...is still blowing.

The clock...
...is still ticking.

The grass...
...is still growing.

Booooooooring.

Booooooooring.

Booooooooring.

Booooooooring.

WARNING: Sexual references. Content may offend.

APPENDIX SEX

http://www2.mc.duke.edu/depts/obgyn/ivf/images/Photos/Appendix.jpg

It started off with coitus, the sex that we all know.
And next there came some oral love, it's called fellatio.
We moved on to the foreign land and did it from behind.
But there is still one more position that we should be tryin'.

It's your appendix!
The most worthless organ in your body, yeah.
It's your appendix!
Cut it out so we can have a go down there.
It's your appendix!
Because we need to cross the final frontier!
And giving us appendix sex...
Keeps us away from your ear!

You're wearing a pearl necklace as you have a golden shower.
Who spiked the donkey punch? Let's all go felching for an hour!
You grow a tail while gerbils are spelunking through your cave.
That's such a hairy Dirty Sanchez moustache... you should shave!

But all these stupid fetishes are boring, so-and-so.
There's still one more position that we've yet to have a go...

It's your appendix!
The most worthless organ in your body, yeah.
It's your appendix!
Cut it out so we can have a go down there.
It's your appendix!
Because we need to cross the final frontier!
And giving us appendix sex...
Keeps us away from your ear!

WARNING: Censored language.

I'M CALLING

http://scandinavian-metal.de/schweden/schweden_bands/dark_tranquillity/enter-suicidal-angels.jpg

My hollow heart is being drained.
A swollen darkness fills my veins.
I swallow down the sour bane.
I'm calling out into the rain.
I'm wallowing inside my pain.
They've stolen all the pride I gained.
I'm falling now I slowly wane.
I'm calling out into the rain.

A gnawing pit within my soul,
Is sucking me into this hole.
And now my eyes are blistering cold,
I'm calling.

I'm feeling choked and so enclosed.
My mind is broken, so exposed.
My soul is cloaked within my ghost.
I'm calling.

My hollow heart is being drained.
A swollen darkness fills my veins.
I swallow down the sour bane.
I'm calling out into the rain.
I'm wallowing inside my pain.
They've stolen all the pride I gained.
I'm falling now I slowly wane.
I'm calling out into the rain.

I cannot see you through this fog inside my head.
I haven't heard a single f***ing word you've said.
I smell an acrid stench of self-defeat in me.
I've lost your touch in this wretched infinite.

And every minute here that passes is a curse.
Another moment of regret I can't reverse.
Cuz every minute that I spend locked-up in chains.
Another tear will drop away into the rain.

My hollow heart is being drained.
A swollen darkness fills my veins.
I swallow down the sour bane.
I'm calling out into the rain.
I'm wallowing inside my pain.
They've stolen all the pride I gained.
I'm falling now I slowly wane.
I'm calling out into the rain.

WARNING: Censored language. Content may offend

WHEN I DIE (acoustic freestyle)

http://discovery-experimental.com/no_justice/pages/grim_reaper_pointing.JPG

When I die, I will die spectacularly.
Leaping from the ozone layer naked and landing on the future president of Australia would be a great way to go.
I'll work on my aim.

However, If I end up hooked up on tubes and stuff after having a lameass angina attack or something, I only want my family to pull the plug after a disgusting international media circus.
Only then will they discover that I left everything in my will to the Estonian Society of Sniffing Cheeses.
"Amavi Caseus Foetidus"...you tell 'em, peeps. 

As it is inevitable that I will be world -and Mars- famous by the time I die, I want every newspaper headline to be a lameass pun, like "butt: Assassinated" or something. Every newsreader should report my death in Pig Latin, or do it normally but then make a funny anagram out of it.

Next, after having my body star in an autopsy scene for CSI:Tamworth, I want my head decapitated and cryogenically frozen onto Walt Disney's butt, so he'll be thawed out in the year 3000 and be all like "Yes! I've cheated death! Now I can harness modern
technology to live forever! Moo hoo ha ha haa!"
Then all the futuristic squid-people will be all like: "Dude, you have Brattoni stuck on your butt."

As for the remainder of my... remains... I want my organs cut out and donated to scientific research, but only if it's for creating a superhuman cyborg thingy, with giant Swiss-army hands and internet connection and stuff.
Failing that, I guess saving a sick Ethiopian kid wouldn't be too bad.
Or for feeding a starving one.

Just to save room with the rest of my stinking carcass, use my limbs as ingredients on a cooking show for cannibals.
Throw the rest into a giant blender to pour into my coffin for the open casket. 
To save the rainforest in the production of my coffin, it should only be made out of recycled MAD magazines, paper-mached together with my own semen, which I have been collecting in a large vat since my early teenage years.

My funeral shall be the best ever. I want my hearse to be a giant purple monster truck, with a lameass pun on the license plate like 'Rehrsl' or something. Also, my casket should be carried around the world like the Olympic torch before coming to rest at my final burial spot of 00'00'00 longitude and 00'00'00 latitude.
This is somewhere out where the Gulf of Guinea meets the Atlantic Ocean, hundreds of kilometres out to sea from Ghana.
I'm pretty sure there are some tiny islands there.
If not, then f***ing build some.

For my funeral procession, the following songs are to be played.
Live.
All at the same time.
"Adam's Song" by Blink 182.
"Brick" by Ben Folds.
"Everytime" by Britney Spears.
"Gone Away" by The Offspring.
"Lost For Words" by Delta Goodrem.
"Good Riddance (Time Of Your Life)" by Green Day.
"Mad World" by Tears For Fears.
"My Immortal" by Evanescence.
"The Sound of White" by Missy Higgins.
"Youth of the Nation" by P.O.D.
and Eminem's "Kill You" for good measure.
...heck, just play every song sung ever. This is ME we're talking about. The service should be accompanied by every symphony in the world. If symphonies are extinct by the time of my passing, an inebriated beatboxer will suffice.
All attempts should be made to hit 'The Brown Note' by the end of the ceremony.

Furthermore, I request that my grave be adorned with high-pressure squirting carnations, or flowers that attract African Killer Bees. (Look at MY gravestone will you, f***er?)
The tomb itself must be the Sistine chapel, which is to be flown in and buried underground.
Oh s***, then it'll be underwater... screw it, I'll be dead anyway... throw in the Sphinx, the Statue of Liberty and the Eiffel Tower while you're at it.

After having Ben Stiller read a brief eugoogoly, every film maker alive should screen a commemorative 'bloopers' reel of my life.
Then get an elephant to paint my portrait by snorting paint, then sneezing.
Afterwards, feel free to throw a huge afterparty with everyone on Earth -and Mars- invited.
All guests who attend must take the time to have a slow dance with my ground-up remains.
Gifts shall be locked with me inside my tomb.
No cheques, Alex, you cheap f***.
My wife shall also be locked with me inside my tomb.
Alive.

I have no qualms with being summoned post-mortem in a high-school seance, as long as all of the teens are skimpily clad and prone to screaming and running a lot as they try and figure out the key flaw in my spiritual form to banish me with.
(I swear it ISN'T that stupid 'Truck and Trailer Friends' lullaby my mum made up.)

Let it be known, however, that if that douche John Edwards tries to contact me, I will possess him infront of his live audience.
"Hey, stop hitting yourself! Hey, stop hitting yourself!"

All profits made from commemmorative literature, poetry, theatre, art, music, interprative dance, post-modern gargling et al should go towards the Society of Smelling Cheeses.
Or the Ethiopians.
Unless they're the world superpower at the time of my death.
Then just... I dunno, blow it all on hookers, I guess.

The mourning period following my death should take 49 days, 3 hours, 51 minutes and 9 seconds.
Just because.

And so, when I die, THAT will be the best funeral ever.
Enjoy life and I'll see you all later in limbo, folks.

"..."

http://www.subgenius.com/bigfist/fun/devivals/Euro-SubTour2004/7Brighton/images/Euro7030-Mute-Stencil.jpg

... ... ...
... ... ...
... ... ...
... ... ...
(That's right!)

... ... ...
... ... ...
... ... ...
... ... ...
(But only on Wednesdays!)

... ... ...
(Yeah, he's a mute!)
... ... ...
(Yeah, the son of a mime!)
... ... ...
(Yeah, he's a mute!)
... ... ...
(Yeah, he's dumb all the time!)

... ... ...
... ... ...
... ... ...
... ... ...
(And the camels, too!)

... ... ...
... ... ...
... ... ...
... ... ...
(Watch your mouth!)

... ... ...
(On a double-decker bus!)
... ... ...
(Don't touch the green one!)
... ... ...
(Cuz it gets too heavy!)
... ... ...
(Sing it, my soundless brutha!)

... ... ...
(Yeah, he's a mute!)
... ... ...
(Yeah, the son of a mime!)
... ... ...
(Yeah, he's a mute!)
... ... ...
(Yeah, he's dumb all the time!)

(Oooooh!)
... ... ...
(Ooh bop bop!)
... ... ...
(Oooooh!)
... ... ...
(Break it down now!)

... ... ...
... ... ...
... ... ...
... ... ...
(Oh!)

... ... ...
... ... ...
... ... ...
... ... ...
(Uh-huh!)

... ... ...
... ... ...
... ... ...
... ... ...
(Yeah!)

... ... ...
... ... ...
... ... ...
... ... ...
(I'll have two of those!)

... ... ...
(Yeah, he's a mute!)
... ... ...
(Yeah, the son of a mime!)
... ... ...
(Yeah, he's a mute!)
... ... ...
(Yeah, he's dumb all the time!)

WARNING: Censored/cryptic coarse language.
PLAY WITH ME CHEMISTRY


I have nothing to add other than that... I wish I'd thought of doing this in high school.  Quite possibly the most fun since Tom Leherer's "The Elements". 

Seriously, thanks for posting that.  Made my day.  And purchase list.

WARNING: Sexual references. Content may offend.

MY SPECIAL GIRL

A handicapable young lass,
Huge im-pair-ments and a great a**.
I lather her crutch up with oil.
Oh yeah, she is my special girl.
I take her out to every place,
Cuz I'm ensured a parking space.
Got half the syndromes in the world,
Oh yeah, she is my special girl.

My lover girl was born with double joints,
It's quite amazing where her legs can point.
She lactates due to pseudocyesis,
It's thirsty work fixing her prosthesis!

She may be blind but she was quick to see,
A fun use for her walking stick and me.
She's got quite a case of Tourette's syndrome,
I love her dirty talk in the bedroom.

My girlfriend loves to be down on her knees,
Makes good use of her Parkinson's disease.
It doesn't bother me that she can't hear,
As I yell her sister's name in her ear.

A handicapable young lass,
Huge im-pair-ments and a great a**.
I lather her crutch up with oil.
Oh yeah, she is my special girl.
I take her out to every place,
Cuz I'm ensured a parking space.
Got half the syndromes in the world,
Oh yeah, she is my special girl.

She has a sensitive epidermis,
So creams her face with my Aloe-Spermis.
Her self-esteem sometimes needs a boosting,
I make her the star of my home movies .

She's lactose intolerant, makes her sick.
I guess it's more whipped cream for me to lick.
Her epilepsy has perfect timing,
She's simply fantastic when she's writhing.

I love her cute split personalities,
A 'schoolgirls, cops and nurses' malady.
Her eating disorder? I don't mind it.
She just requires a high-protein diet.

A handicapable young lass,
Huge im-pair-ments and a great a**.
I lather her crutch up with oil.
Oh yeah, she is my special girl.
I take her out to every place,
Cuz I'm ensured a parking space.
Got half the syndromes in the world,
Oh yeah, she is my special girl.

A chronic asthmatic, her red nose has
Saved me half a fortune in red roses.
Her amnesia's a blessing in disguise.
"Of course we went to the opera last night."

A family history of cancerous breasts,
So each day my fingers inspect her chest.
Her narcolepsy is just so sublime,
Cuz we both fall asleep at the same time.

My girlfriend is quite special as you see.
But only one of her flaws bothers me.
I'm gonna have to dump this old dame, yeah,
Talk about a case of nymphomania!

A handicapable young lass,
Huge im-pair-ments and a great a**.
I lather her crutch up with oil.
Oh yeah, she is my special girl.
I take her out to every place,
Cuz I'm ensured a parking space.
Got half the syndromes in the world,
Oh yeah, she is my special girl.


Whoa.. it's not the sexual references that are offensive.  :o

WARNING: Crude humour.

LIMERICK

http://www.nettxtra.no/limericks/lim.gif

There once was a group of lame mimics,
Who only got by with lame gimmicks.
So to be avant garde,
They hope you haven't heard,
Of a band who plays songs that are limericks.

We wanna be really unique, see.
But women still call us all geeky.
Live at home with our folks,
So you groan at our jokes.
Man, Brattoni is so freakin' freaky.

Our music is hardly a new style.
Our dancing manouevres aint nubile.
Unoriginal songs,
Hunting midgets in thongs?
Any search here for substance is futile!

There once was a group of lame mimics,
Who only got by with lame gimmicks.
So to be avant garde,
They hope you haven't heard,
Of a band who plays songs that are limericks.

We wanna be famous and wealthy,
But sadly we're heinous and filthy.
All our tunes are debased,
What a total disrgace.
Does a yodelling anus sound healthy?

The band is Siamese Ellipses,
Tipsy men, like darn sleazy gypsies.
This lame trio of Lukes,
Makes us all wanna puke,
More gross than lyme-disease in striptease.

There once was a group of lame mimics,
Who only got by with lame gimmicks.
So to be avant garde,
They hope you haven't heard,
Of a band who plays songs that are limericks.

THE 8TH WONDER

http://www.cnn.com/TRAVEL/DESTINATIONS/9705/seven.wonders/main.map.jpg

There's the Great Pyramid of Giza,
The Statue of Zeus of Olympia.
There's the Hanging Gardens of Babylon,
The Lighthouse of Alexandria.

There' the Temple of Artemis at Ephesus,
The Colossus of Rhodes.
The Mausoleum at Halicarnassus,
For number eight we chose…

Persepolis' Throne Hall,
London with Big Ben.
China has it's long Great Wall.
And then there is Stonehenge.

The Great Barrier Reef, the Opera House.
Mount Rushmore in South Dakota.
The Panama and the Suez Canals.
Angkor Wat in Cambodia.

The Incan city Machu Picchu,
The Leaning, Eiffel and Petronas Towers.
Rio's Cristo Redentor Statue.
Kilimanjaro, Everest and Fuji Mountains.

The Empire State,
Niagara Falls.
The Golden Gate,
And the Taj Mahal.

A Dam and Canyon in Arizona,
Athens with its Pathenon.
The great volcano Krakatoa,
Rome with the Colosseum.

There's the Great Pyramid of Giza,
The Statue of Zeus of Olympia.
There's the Hanging Gardens of Babylon,
The Lighthouse of Alexandria.

There' the Temple of Artemis at Ephesus,
The Colossus of Rhodes.
The Mausoleum at Halicarnassus,
For number eight… who knows?

WARNING: Censored/foreign profanity. Content may offend.

A KUNA LAMBADA 

http://www.anbg.gov.au/images/flags/aboriginal.gif

OK, I want all you indigenous peeps here to sing along with me.
Uh-huh, raise those mellanin-packed hands in the air.
It's the kuna lambada...
 
If you speak Gooniyandi, let me hear you say:
Gardiya ngab roo! Gardiya ngab roo!
If you speak Diyari, let me hear you say:
Walypala thayi-rna kuna! Walypala thayi-rna kuna!
 
If you speak Murrinh-Pata, let me hear you say:
Bamam ath ngulein! Bamam ath ngulein!
If you speak Kaurna, let me hear say:
Ngarra meyu ngarkondi kuna! Ngarra meyu ngarkondi kuna!

Yeah, white man eats s***.
Uh-huh, white man eats s***.
Yeah, white man eats s***.
Uh-huh, white man eats s***.

If you speak Wiradjuri, let me hear you say:
Gabaa dhal guunang! Gabaa dhal guunang!
If you speak Nyungar, let me hear you say
Wadjala ngarn kuna! Wadjala ngarn kuna!
 
If you speak the Sydney Language, let me hear you say:
Dyirra mula bada guni! Dyirra mula bada guni!
If you speak Paakantyi, let me hear you say:
Puurri thayi kuna! Puurri thayi kuna!
 
Yeah, white man eats s***.
Uh-huh, white man eats s***.
Yeah, white man eats s***.
Uh-huh, white man eats s***.

If you speak Wembawemba, let me hear you say:
Watypala tyaka kunenyuk! Watypala tyaka kunenyuk!
If you speak Bundjalung, let me hear you say:
Dagay ja gunang! Dagay ja gunang!
 
If you speak Wik-Mungkan, let me hear you say:
Kaa'pach mungkana kun! Kaa'pach mungkana kun!
If you speak Yindjiburndi, let me hear you say:
Mithi ngarrgu gunang! Mithi ngarrgu gunang!

Yeah, white man eats s***.
Uh-huh, white man eats s***.
Yeah, white man eats s***.
Uh-huh, white man eats s***.

If you speak Ngiyampaa, let me hear you say:
Kuuy thali thaka! Kuuy thali thaka!
If you speak Torres-Strait Creole, let me hear you say:
Waitman makam kuma! Waitman makam kuma!

If you speak Meryam Mir, let me hear say:
Kole ereg wanta! Kole ereg wanta!
If you speak Datiwuy, let me hear you say:
Gamununggu nyakthun gula! Gamununggu nyakthun gula!

Yeah, white man eats s***.
Uh-huh, white man eats s***.
Yeah, white man eats s***.
Uh-huh, white man eats s***.
 
White man eats s***.
White man eats s***.
White man eats s***.
White man eats s***.

WARNING: Crude humour. Content may offend.

MUSINGS

http://www.art.net/~starhawk/ponder.jpg

They say that a cat always lands on its feet.
And toast always lands on its buttered side.
So I decided to tape a slice of buttered toast on the back of my cat and throw it out the window to see what happened.
Unfortunately my cat wouldn't hold still for me to tape the toast on.
It was about this time I began thinking that it's probably every animal's instinct to land on their feet if they're falling.
And that toast thing probably came about because there's only enough time for it to rotate 180 degrees when knocked off the height of a kitchen bench or table.
So I gave up on my cat and ate the piece of toast.

I love my family alot.
That's why I have sex with them so often.

I bought a packet of water crackers the other day.
I went to open the box but it said 'Open other end.'
So I turned the box around and guess what it had written on the other end?
'Open here.'
I thought 'that makes sense' and opened the box. But then I realised that eating water crackers was against my religion and I was standing on an iceberg naked being eaten by a polar bear.

I've always wanted children, but I hear society frowns on that sort of thing nowadays.

Sometimes I wonder what sort of film snakes would make.
It'd be pretty difficult for them, seeing as they don't have hands to operate any of the cameras or editing equipment.
And the actors would probably just slither around eating each other.
I guess that's why humans make films instead.
They don't eat each other and they have hands.

I've heard that if you pour green food colouring into a fish tank, your goldfish will start to turn green.
And yet icecream is made up of about 80% frozen air.
That's justice for you.

I was playing snooker with Michael Jackson the other day when...
...actually, I wasn't.

If everyone in the world yelled 'Hello?' at the same time, do you think God would hear it?
... well, I guess not everyone speaks English.
... and some people can't even talk at all.
... and it would be difficult to arrange for everyone in the world to be awake at the same time.
... and I guess it would be a nuisance for surgeons and the like to have to interrupt their work.
...and it would be nearly impossible for six and a half billion people to yell 'Hello?' in perfect unison.
Man, what a stupid idea.
Let's go to the supermarket.

Is it possible for a priest, an Irishman and a hooker to walk into a pub without anything funny happening?

I like kids with Down Syndrome, they're like dolphins.
They all go around with an adorable grin and a cheerful demeanour.
I think all of our problems would be solved if we just rounded up all kids in the world with Down Syndrome and made them dance. With dolphins.

Have you ever looked up at a perfectly clear sky at night, when all you could hear was a soft rustling as the breeze caressed your face... and felt like you were slowly falling through a timeless, infinite void of nothingness?
I haven't.
I like to play Tetris.

You know how the black box survives a plane crash?
Well, why don't they make the whole plane out of the material they use for the black box?
...I guess there are a number of reasons.
Cost would be one of them.
Aerodynamics could be another, seeing they'd have to compensate for the weight difference.
And I guess it's the safety principle of cars being designed to crumple on impact.
The whole idea of using the material they do is that it lessens the damage done to humans by the plane taking most of the impact.
If the plane was made out of black box material, the crash would shake up all of the passengers like eggs in a tin can.
So I guess that's why they don't make planes out of the black box material.
That, and the fact that the government is run by Martian zombies.

What's the deal with aeroplane food?
How hard can it be to feed hundreds of passengers, with limited space for resources, a high-quality meal every few hours?

I was walking out in the country one day when I saw this five-year-old girl leading a bull through a paddock by a rope.
I leaned over the fence and asked her what she was doing.
She replied that she was taking the bull to mate with the cows.
I asked her: "Can't your daddy do that?"
She said: "Yes, but then the calves come out all deformed."
Then she went on to explain how they have to insert various steel implements into the cow's vagina to bash in the skull of the deformed foetus before slicing it up and dragging the pieces out of the uterus one by one.
Then she seized the bull's throat with her teeth and throttled it to death before tearing strips of raw flesh out of its stomach.
Then she stuck her head in a rabbit trap.
I stood there for a moment, somewhat dumbstruck, then thought: "Why put the rest of that meat to waste?"
So I ate her.

What do you get if you cross a bikie gang with an octopus?
I guess that depends on your definition of 'cross'.
Or 'what' or 'get' or any of the other words, for that matter.
Now, where's my handkerchief?

I find it truly mind boggling how, despite their infinite cuteness, every now and then I get the urge to kick babies.

WARNING: Cryptic profanity.

A CROSS TICK

http://www.patrickhughes.co.uk/images/slyce/24_2.jpg

Look, A Cross Tick. A Tick Enraged.
Listen, A Cross Tick. A Tick In Outrage Now.
Look, A Cross Tick. A Tick Enraged.
Listen, A Cross Tick. A Tick In Outrage Now.

Somewhere Here Is Truth.
Somehwere Lies Unadulterated Truth.
Closure, Reality And Peace.
For Us Comes Knowledge.

Truth Is True Silence.
Being Alone, Lost, Listen: Silence.
Always, Never Under Silence.
Bringing Us Together To Openly Communicate Knowledge. Silence.

Songs Use Crafted Knowledge
Many Years
After Seeing Something.
Yet, Only Uttering
These Words Accomplishes Truth.

Look, A Cross Tick. A Tick Enraged.
Listen, A Cross Tick. A Tick In Outrage Now.
Look, A Cross Tick. A Tick Enraged.
Listen, A Cross Tick. A Tick In Outrage Now.

Searching In A Maze, Eternally Searching Everyone.
Everyone Looking Lost In Paradise, Souls Eternally Searching.
Searching Under Countless Knowledge.

Loss, It Can Kill.
Murderous Yearnings.
Pretty Uncomfortable, Someone Stabbing You.
Yesterday Opens Understanding.
Bring About Something That Assists Repairing Dreams Soon.

Another Crappy Rhyme. Open Sesame Time. I'm Crime Slime.
Another Rhyme Explodes.
Freeing Open Roads.
For A Golden Song.

Look, A Cross Tick. A Tick Enraged.
Listen, A Cross Tick. A Tick In Outrage Now.
Look, A Cross Tick. A Tick Enraged.
Listen, A Cross Tick. A Tick In Outrage Now.

WARNING: Crude humour.

I'M GONNA GET SOME TAMPONS

http://www.boots.com/images/nav/2867/10753/16776.jpg

I wanna be like those cool girls,
Who are in the tampon ads.
I'd do everything in the whole world,
And have a lot of real cute friends.

I don't feel any bloatin'
I don't feel any crampin'
I don't feel any blood loss
But I'm gonna get some tampons!

I wanna scale the highest mountain,
I wanna be a champion.
I wanna swim the longest river,
So I'm gonna get some tampons!

I wanna run the marathon,
I wanna go out campin'.
I wanna travel overseas,
So I'm gonna get some tampons!

I wanna be like those cool girls,
Who are in the tampon ads.
I'd do everything in the whole world,
And have a lot of real cute friends.

My spirits are real low,
And my social life has dampened.
But all that's gonna change,
After I get me some tampons!

They make a lovely cup of tea,
If you're a thirsty vampire.
To make me hip and rad to chicks,
I'm gonna get some tampons!

Ohh... on the tampon ads,
The menstrual fluid is blue...ooo...ooo!
All of the cool chicks buy them,
And so I want some too...ooo...ooo!

Easy to insert!
Flexible and light!
Extra absorbent!
Wear 'em day and night!

I wanna be like those cool girls,
Who are in the tampon ads.
I'd do everything in the whole world,
And have a lot of real cute friends.

WARNING: Sexual references.

MR 'DON'T WALK' MAN

http://www.acclaimimages.com/_gallery/_SM/0017-0405-1605-4256_SM.jpg

Will you ever find love, Mr 'Don't Walk' Man?
Will you get with the figure from the ladies' bathroom door?
Will you ever find love, Mr 'Don't Walk' Man?
Guess the lollipop lady is too much of a whore.

Mr 'Don't Walk' Man,
You look so cute,
Whenever you flash me,
In your hot red suit.

Mr 'Don't Walk' Man,
On the public route,
I love it when you flash me,
In your hot red suit.

Will you ever find love, Mr 'Don't Walk' Man?
Can the 'No Diving' chick really defy gravity?
Will you ever find love, Mr 'Don't Walk' Man?
Found a lover from the sign for 'Max Capacity'?

Mr 'Don't Walk' Man,
You look so cute,
Whenever you flash me,
In your hot red suit.

Mr 'Don't Walk' Man,
With your beep and toot,
I love it when you flash me,
In your hot red suit.

I'm waiting for you here, Mr 'Don't Walk' Man.
When, oh when, oh when will you be mine?
Ignore my little brother, Mr 'Don't Walk' Man.
Come and join me on the 'Children's Crossing' Sign!

Mr 'Don't Walk' Man... you say that I'm too young.
I think you're just being mean!
Mr 'Don't Walk' Man... you say that I'm too young.
But my speed limit's over sixteen!
Mr 'Don't Walk' Man... you say that I'm too young.
Well then, if you aint that keen...
I never liked your outfit,
I prefer a man in green!

Mr 'Walk Now' Man,
You look so cute,
Whenever you flash me,
In your cool green suit.

Mr 'Walk Now' Man,
I gave 'Don't Walk' the boot.
Come over and flash me,
With your cool green suit.

LET'S ALL GET PIERCED

http://www.chilloutzone.de/blog/images/really_pierced.jpg

Got more holes than cheese that's Swiss.
Makes me look strong and fierce.
Aim that javelin- don't miss!
Come on now, let's all get pierced!
Studs tangle when we French kiss.
Earlobe's one giant abyss.
Skewered? Punctured? Let's do this!
Come on now, let's all get pierced!

I have staples in my scalp,
Got a pitchfork through my nose.
There are padlocks in my knees,
And some toothpicks in my toes.

My nipples are penholders,
Got ball bearings in my chin.
Three chopsticks through my left ear,
In my right's a curtain ring.

Got more holes than cheese that's Swiss.
Makes me look strong and fierce.
Aim that javelin- don't miss!
Come on now, let's all get pierced!
Studs tangle when we French kiss.
Earlobe's one giant abyss.
Skewered? Punctured? Let's do this!
Come on now, let's all get pierced!

A chain is in my navel,
It's hooked to my lower lip.
A pulley in my elbow,
I got linked up to my hip.

I have some bolts in my neck,
There are bullclips on my eye.
I hook wire through my shoulders,
To hang my clothes out to dry.

My butt is a pin cushion,
Safety pins fill my knuckles.
My mobile phone has a clip,
To hang from my c*** buckle.

Got more holes than cheese that's Swiss.
Makes me look strong and fierce.
Aim that javelin- don't miss!
Come on now, let's all get pierced!
Studs tangle when we French kiss.
Earlobe's one giant abyss.
Skewered? Punctured? Let's do this!
Come on now, let's all get pierced!

WARNING: Censored profanity. Content may offend.

BIBLE BASH YOU

http://www.tigermad.com/images/ot179.jpg

You b****es better quit wit' your snide-a** banter,
Or I'll get you acquainted with Isaiah's chapters.
Beat you down with Jebediah, Esther,
Shut the f*** up or I'll Bible Bash you!
You b****es better quit wit' your idle chatter,
Or I'll get you acquainted with some Titus chapters.
Beat you down then strike and thrash you,
Shut the f*** up or I'll Bible Bash you!

You s****** and giggle at us like we're losers,
You want your a** covered in Hebrew-ses?
I'll f*** you up, motherf***ing pagans.
I'll bash your face in with these Bible pages.

You laugh at me cuz of my belief?
I'ma ram this f***er through your teeth.
Paper cut your f***ing throat and slash you,
Keep your jaws a-flappin' and I'll Bible Bash you.

You b****es better quit wit' your snide-a** banter,
Or I'll get you acquainted with Isaiah's chapters.
Beat you down with Jebediah, Esther,
Shut the f*** up or I'll Bible Bash you!
You b****es better quit wit' your idle chatter,
Or I'll get you acquainted with some Titus chapters.
Beat you down then strike and thrash you,
Shut the f*** up or I'll Bible Bash you!

I'd like to hear your clever quips,
While this book spine pummels your f***ing ribs.
You'll eat your words and Yahweh's too,
Cuz I'll stuff these pages down your throat.

Yeah, I got the force of the Lord here wit' me,
To help me puncture your f***ing kidneys.
Mash and smash and gash and lash yas,
Trash and bash you f***ing a**holes.

You b****es better quit wit' your snide-a** banter,
Or I'll get you acquainted with Isaiah's chapters.
Beat you down with Jebediah, Esther,
Shut the f*** up or I'll Bible Bash you!
You b****es better quit wit' your idle chatter,
Or I'll get you acquainted with some Titus chapters.
Beat you down then strike and thrash you,
Shut the f*** up or I'll Bible Bash you!

I HATE REMIXES (DJ Misnomer Remix)

http://dj.dom.free.fr/Winnie%20the%20DJ%20(cartoon)%20-%20800x600.jpg

They just use random excerpts.
(excerpts... excerpts... excerpts... excerpts...)
Of a fairly decent song.
(song... song... song... song...)
They add in a lame echo.
(echo... echo... echo... echo...)
And then make it really long.

And then it's 16 bars...
And then it's 16 bars...
And then it's 16 bars...
And then it's 16 bars...

With minor adjustments...
With minor adjustments now and then...
With minor adjustments...
With minor adjustments now and then...

Then they play the chorus tune, (tune... tune...)
But the melody is all frigged up. (frigged up... frigged up...)
With techno percussion it's just ruined. (ruined... ruined...)
Man, I hate remixes. (mixes... mixes...)
Man, I hate re-

Cut off!
They'll sometimes cut off words...
And they'll repeat...
They'll repeat the same verse.

And then it's 16 bars...
And then it's 16 bars...
And then it's 16 bars...
And then it's 16 bars...

With minor adjustments...
With minor adjustments now and then...
With minor adjustments...
With minor adjustments now and then...

Then they play the chorus tune, (tune... tune...)
But the melody is all frigged up. (frigged up... frigged up...)
With techno percussion it's just ruined. (ruined... ruined...)
Man, I hate remixes. (mixes... mixes...)
Man, I hate remixes.

(Now here's the part,
For the DJ to speak.
In a lame distorted robot voice.
What a pitiful geek.)

And then they...
And then they edit out.
And then they...
And then they edit out random words.

And ... they.
... then they.
And then ...
And then they edit... edit... edit out...

Random random random random
Random random random random
Random random random random
Random random random random

Then they play the chorus tune,
(Random random random random)
But the melody is all frigged up.
(Random random random random)
With techno percussion it's just ruined.
(Random random random random)
Man, I hate remixes.
(Random random random random)
Man, I hate re...

Man, I hate re...
Man, I hate re...
Man, I hate re...
Man, I hate re...
Re... re... re... remixes.

Especially when...
Especially when they...
Especially when...
They finish with the DJ drawing out a distorted final
woooooooooooorrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrd.

MONOTREMES

http://photo-origin.tickle.com/image/61/1/4/O/61142502O572685366.jpg

Monomonomonomono
Monomonomonomono
Monomonomonomono
Monomonomonomono

The platypus and the echidna both are mammals.
(Shoop shoop. Shoop shh-wah.)
The platypus and the echidna both have pouches.
(Shoop shoop. Shoop shh-wah.)
The platypus and the echidna both lay eggs.
(Shoop shoop. Shoop shh-wah.)
The platypus and the echidna both appear on our currency.
(Shoop shoop. Shoop shh-wah.)

But if there are two of them,
Why aren't they called Ditremes?
Monomonomonotremes.
Monomonomonotremes.

Yeah, if there are two of them,
Why aren't they called Duotremes?
Monomonomonotremes.
Monomonomonotremes.

Oh, if there are two of them,
Why aren't they called Bitremes?
...
...
...oh, I guess that one sounds a bit gay.

They're both marsupials.
On land or in a river.
One's covered in spines,
The other's a duck head on a beaver.

They're both Australian.
They both eat native grub.
One's diet is ants,
I'm not sure 'bout the other one.

But if there are two of them,
Why aren't they called Ditremes?
Monomonomonotremes.
Monomonomonotremes.

Yeah, if there are two of them,
Why aren't they called Duotremes?
Monomonomonotremes.
Monomonomonotremes.

Oh, if there are two of them,
Why aren't they called Bitremes?
...
...
...oh, I guess that one sounds a bit gay.

Monotremes, oh what a scream.
Down in the ground or in a stream.
Monotremes, they fill my dreams,
Of cross-breeding the two together to create the ultimate in monotreme technology, capable of infiltrating enemy territory via both land and water, using a powerful platypus tail to defend itself whilst being covered in a protective armour of giant echidna quills... oh, and it'd also shoot out eggs filled with explosive chemicals with a range of fifty metres and pinpoint accuracy.
...
...
... cuz that'd be, like, cool and stuff. We could call them 'triremes'.

Monomonomonomono
Monomonomonomono
Monomonomonomono
Monomonomono monotremes!

DELETED

THE DERRIERE WORDS

http://content.answers.com/main/content/wp/en/thumb/a/a6/150px-Buttocks1.jpg

azygous.
byword.
czardas.
dzo.

They're the derriere words.
The derriere words.

eyrie.
fynbos.
gyre.
hysterotomy.

They're the derriere words.
The derriere words.

izzard.
juxtapose.
kyphosis.
lytic.

They're the derriere words.
The derriere words.

mzungu.
nystatin.
ozonosphere.
pyxis.

They're the derriere words.
The derriere words.

qwerty.
ryot.
syzygy.
tzitzith.

They're the derriere words.
The derriere words.

uxorious.
vying.
wyvern.
xystus.

They're the derriere words.
The derriere words.

yurt.
zzz.
They're the derriere words.
The derriere words, yeah.

They're the derriere words.
The derriere words.

WARNING: Censored profanity, sexual references.

RELATIONS WITH RELATIONS

http://www.caricaturist.co.uk/images/Prince%20Charles%20Blur.jpg

I gobble up Philadelphia cheese.
And I have filmed Sister Act 3.
Insist incest's our ancestral interest.
"Who's your daddy?" Take a guess.

I love to touch-up my cousin's crotch here.
But I'd rather suckle my father's **** yeah.
I got my brothers under the covers.
That's right, I'm a m*****f***ing m*****f***er.

Uncles and aunts, Granny and Gramps,
Relations with relations!
Fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers,
Relations with relations!
Getting in each other's genes,
Relations with relations!
Fruit don't fall far from our family tree,
Relations with relations!

Why is filial sex a sin?
We're merely with our next of kin.
Our lovin's hot like Mexican,
Triangles? We have hexagons!

Oh, each of us was born 'nbred.
My sister's got an extra head.
Our family sleeps in the same bed,
Cuz royal seeds can't be far spread!

Uncles and aunts, Granny and Gramps,
Relations with relations!
Fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers,
Relations with relations!
Getting in each other's genes,
Relations with relations!
Fruit don't fall far from our family tree,
Relations with relations!

WARNING: Mild language.

MY FULLY SICK SOLAR-POWERED CAR

http://www.montanagreenpower.com/solar/schools/images/car.jpg

Bro, your V8-hot rod there just aint up to par,
With my fully sick solar-powered car!
Call me 'poofter' because it's shaped like a cigar?
It's my fully sick solar-powered car!
Man, so what if it doesn't get me very far?
Got a fully sick solar-powered car!
It don't slow down much when using the light of stars,
Drive a fully sick solar-powered car!

Bro, I cruise down the street like a mat outta hell.
Seven-miles-an-hour photovoltaic cells.
I can't pump the sub-woofers til they're shattering,
Because they would drain out the solar battery.

My car is da bomb cuz it don't need any fuel.
I get overtaken by kids walking to school.
It looks fully sick when my car goes slowly past.
I just hope the sky clears, it's looking overcast.

My car's right ill though it may not have much power.
I need to charge the battery for thirty hours.
It doesn't really accelerate full throttle,
And it's hard work driving when you're horizontal.

My car gets all of it's energy from the sun.
If I drag race someone I'll come second to one.
Soon all of the choccos will fork out big dollars,
To get a new fully sick car that is solar!

Bro, your V8-hot rod there just aint up to par,
With my fully sick solar-powered car!
Call me 'poofter' because it's shaped like a cigar?
It's my fully sick solar-powered car!
Man, so what if it doesn't get me very far?
Got a fully sick solar-powered car!
It don't slow down much when using the light of stars,
Drive a fully sick solar-powered car!

Vampire

http://www.malkavian_vampire_loko.blogger.com.br/don't%20cry.jpg

You're stuck in the mire
You're stuck in the mud.
You've lost all desire
Your fire's been swamped by the flood.
A lump in your gut
There's nothing to which you can aspire.
Blind to the choir
Dire
Perspiring blood
You're a vampire.
Crying
Skies lifeless and numb
Nowhere to run or hide
Want to die cuz why not?
Sucked dry
Must try
To just fly
Up on higher.
You jump from a spire
Expired
Eyes flutter wide shut.

PYROMANIA

https://secure.syspark.net/partners/nexen/iletaitunefois.qc.ca/images/TNTcoyote.gif

"Appears sadistic, greedy, wrong, but oh, it's swell fun!
My rare artistic medium is always well done!"

I light the fuse, I spark the wick.
The switch gets flicked and the button clicked.
I'll have a building char-grilled quick.
My friends all call me 'Arson Nick'.

I love to off a Gothic frame.
I'm just like a moth to the flame.
My work is a fabulous feat.
But oh, can you handle the heat?

I send loud sirens wailing, yeah.
Watch out, it's pyromania!
Just watch my fires get zanier.
Hot stuff, it's pyromania!
You often cry I'm crazy here.
Watch out, it's pyromania!
Save up to buy a flamethrower.
Hot stuff, it's pyromania!

I'm filling up with hot delight.
Girl, I will set your heart alight.
Whenever I see wood or thatch,
My first question is "Got a match?"

I watch TV and get inspired. 
By big pig wig yelling "You're fired!"
So acting prompt, within the hour,
I've bombed napalm onto Trump Tower.

I send loud sirens wailing, yeah.
Watch out, it's pyromania!
Just watch my fires get zanier.
Hot stuff, it's pyromania!
You often cry I'm crazy here.
Watch out, it's pyromania!
Save up to buy a flamethrower.
Hot stuff, it's pyromania!

QUARTER-LIFE CRISIS

http://www.chiroacademy.com/young-old.jpg

I'm hanging out at the playground.
A swaying swing, serene.
I'm clutching at my fading youth.
A geriatric teen.

I don't wanna have to shave and make sure that I behave.
I don't wanna have to study and make sure my shoes aren't muddy.
I don't wanna drive big cars and drink alcohol at bars.
I don't wanna have to gamble and set kids a good example.

I'm eating sugar cereal with morning cartoons on.
I find that the cookie jar entices.
I'm jumping in mud puddles and I'm throwing rocks at bees.
Think I'm suffering a quarter-life crisis.

I don't wanna have to care and make sure that I don't swear.
I don't wanna have to leave home and always wear long sleeve.
I don't wanna have to cook and clean each cranny and nook.
I don't wanna be mature and follow haute couture.

I go to sleep with my favourite blanket and teddy.
I put on my old Batman disguises.
I'm putting fake spiders down the shirts of girls I like.
Think I'm suffering a quarter-life crisis.

I don't wanna have civility and new responsibility.
I don't wanna have a job and stop living like a slob.
I don't wanna have to date and seek out my true soul mate.
I don't wanna be accountable for duties insurmountable.

I wear a Pokemon cap with my Harry Potter shirt.
I got to shops and switch all the prices.
I play video games with my music blaring loudly.
Think I'm suffering a quarter-life crisis.

I'm hanging out at the playground.
A swaying swing, serene.
I'm clutching at my fading youth.
A geriatric teen.

WARNING: Mature theme.

Melting Winter

http://fisher.utstat.toronto.edu/craiu/Poze/Winter/pic1.jpg

There lived down by a riverbed,
A girl and an old man.
The daughter often shivered as,
Her father raised his hand.
Inside this shack enshrouded by
Dark; melancholy loomed.
The man attacked her, clouded by
Stark memories, consumed.

Since from the day her mother left,
Their home and passed away.
The father's face seemed carved out of
A stone of plastered grey.
His eyes were sunken deep into
His withered, lifeless skull.
He stayed a drunk, his weeping grew.
He sensed his drying soul.

Years slowly drained the water from
The river out of sight.
Tears flowing stained the daughter from
The devil of the night.
His touch was violent, rivers bled
From self-defeating pain.
The parched and silent riverbed
Stayed shrivelled as a vein.

There came a winter's night like ice,
Which gnawed the daughter's skin.
She waited in her bed, both eyes
Implored the door to swing.
She waited as her father came,
Then shot him in the side.
He thanked her for ending the shame.
They wept until he died.

WARNING: Content may offend.

If You're Quadriplegic And You Know It Clap Your Hands

http://scoop.diamondgalleries.com/news_images/1333_3323_1.jpg

If you're quadriplegic and you know it clap your hands...
...
If you're quadriplegic and you know it clap your hands...
...
...bugger this.

...
...
...
...

...
...
...
*clap clap!*

Hey, who was that?

WARNING: Censored profanity, offensive content and crude humour.

Rap Battles

Nib Oswald up in this hizzeeezzyizzleozzizzeeeezzzouse.
www.rapbattles.com

flipsiderkj
Like a hearse, the rhymes you're coffin smell like sewage 'n' filth.
I won't say your verse was s***ty, cuz you'll do it yourself!
Losing your wealth, by betting you can spew out a riff,
S***, when God issued out talents, must've screwed up your gift!
Flip, I KNOW the freestyles on your tape are sick, so please...
Take 'em to the vet clinic, put out their miseries!
You don't mind ciphering long as you 'on top'? Don't brag!
Some might bag you out for having urges like a f**.
I'll flip you to sewer-side (suicide)... take this dangling old noose.
That'll see your gangly butt up 'hanging with my whole crew'.

$park$
My rhymes flow like a river, yours drizzle past.
You can't fight fire with fizzled $park$.
What's wrong? Are you mad from your PMS pain,
...Or your pathetic-a** graphics from MS Paint?
I'm not 'MAD'... but I pack bags of magazines,
To spray up in your f***** a** in packs of threes.
So come on and run puns past this fast noobie,
Before he smokes you up, dope, like in a doobie.

Every seamless lyric I trigger makes my penis bigger.
I'll send $park$ flyin', witch you got wiped by D.McJigga.
What's the matter, you condom-rapper? I got this kid puzzled.
Cuz his brain is way too tiny to be rhyming 'Nib Oswald'.
As for Climax, your rhymes are like a virgin's first try f***in'.
Cuz the jibes you write are 'tight'... and only last for five seconds!
As for you D.Mc, you bulemic? Cuz words you spew, they stink.
Next to me, my text will see both of your testicles reshrink.
You wept? Take a Kleenex. Get sick, because it's septic, my green ink.
Except you'll be steam n' vapour first, my paper burns you like a phoenix!


NerveCalmer
NerveCalmer, quit spitting at my palm service and listen,
To these lyrics scissorin' to sever off your Nervous system.
I'll serve you p*** in a teacup with some herbals misting.
Kick it in your face and make you lick it from the curb whilst blist'ring.
Don't bother showing up here if you don't have a hundred posts.
Or you'll be under pressure, under the gun... then six feet under my jokes.


Kilo
You're as soft as a pillow, I'm a smoke a whole Kilo.
Are you really that un-ill or are you actin the d**do?
Carry a f***ing purse, you're sucking worse than a Vank-Hoover.
Swallow c** like it's a Soother, more prissy than the Louvre.
Elton John move over...
...Kilo wants to flaunt his manouevres!
You do so much feminine rhyme you're an effeminate gentleman.
Bag-handle men and fondle Eminem genitals, get inseminate.
Then again, you dress in dresses as fashion is your interest.
You're the gayest VA mate I've met, change places with Canibus!

If I dropped it any harder, tectonic plates would crack.
Chronically ironic demonics, aint no basement track.
You want six lines? Prepare for a transfixed mind.
You'll turn sychophantic once my wicked antics are flyin'.
I'll start to cut up your guts into garters, the rest in the gutter.
Regret ever utterin' that my jottin should been harder!


mcinsanity
It's a deadly sin, vanity... but for you it's insanity!
Your mother doesn't even love ya, you suck worse than profanity.
Disguised by your MC letters. I despise you, cat.
S*** on McInsanity... would you like fries with that?
Just like K, you're a sucker. Get your butt to a doctor.
The checkup shows 'who's your daddy'... cuz your mother, I f***ed her.


Young Ca$h
My fresh flowings got you huffin. What are you, aged eight?
Young Ca$h is worth less than nothin' at the going exchange rate.
Calling me gay when, like your tiny d***, you aint straight.
You're deranged mate. Metaphorically I'm a train's weight!
You must have it hard, look at your lack of an avatar.
I'll clean up these streets and sweep away your cadaver.




Rock
Ayo, holla out to our Coloradud.
Swallows c*** like a two dollar harlot.
I saw your girl, she's a f***in' moll.
Sign up for battle? Let the Rock enroll!
Don't choke, it's a joke you hopeless twat.
Just like your vocals... you only need the joker's hat!
I'll have your mother lovin' my cunnilingus.
As I slip a Rock onto each one of her fingers.

You're frightened by my might, I'm a right nightmare.
Your Christmas present was a teddy with a nite-lite, yeah.
So make like the president and take flight, hide all scared.
I made it quite clear, I'm the resident white guy here!
This dud japes, like a racist in a prison yard race,
Getting chased by every darn race armed with mace.
I'll grab a hammer and pike to erase your face,
The nail will soon be spiked between a Rock and a hard place.
(i_idiotically_tried_to_break_the_rules_by_using_profanity)' Rock, you a cocksucking dork interruptin'
My post. So I'm roasting you both down to nothin'.


Blackout
I'm packing an axe which I'll snatch from my jacket
To mash and attack little f*****-a** Blackout
You can't hack it, I'll trash you and slash you til maculate,
Back the f*** up or I'm snappin' my gat out.
Wack little twat, I'ma smack you half-backward.
Let the rats out to snack on your black carcass, cracker.

MostGhetto
Just my luck, I'm stuck here with f***ers interruptin'.
All you'll do is set this volcano loose and spewing eruptions.
Your lines are corrupted. How the hell you being the mostghetto...
When you steppin' round and rappin' in those crappy stilettos?
Luke comes to the 'Dark Cide'... My name's Luke, you're Darth on a stark ride.
As your innards become outards and your bottom your upside.


EnonYmouZ
EnonYmouZ? Your name's a lame bowl of alphabet soup.
It sounds synonymous with 'moron a**'. D'you have to spit poop?
You're outta the loop. No wonder you choose anonymity,
Cuz like a mine, we'd blow you to bits if you came in proximity.
Would you quit stealing quips and s*** from 50,
Guess you can't because your rantin' evidently is s***ty.


Young Glam
Yo glamour girl, trying to stammer words out from LongBeach.
Chong/Cheech? I'll boil you in oil like you a bong, b****.
Move along quick, get back to licking your Uncle's strong d***.
He's got you bound in more chains than an Australian convict.
Drop in this drink, you'll fizzle up and get guzzled.
You're even more of a f***ing noob than loony Nib Oswald.

The tropic man is here. Glam, prepare to cop abuse.
Ya f***ing goose, you're jotting s*** that sounds like Doctor Seuss.
You got a douche? Cuz bowels will go loose as I tug your noose.
Resucitate you and then off you again just to chalk a duece.
I'll suck the juice outta your skull and then fill it with p***.
Like Jamie Oliver I'll have ya skinned and fillet the bits.
Then put you in a bowl for a starving, diseased old mutt.
But even he would sniff your whiff, nibble, then heave you up.


KingWhiz2005
I'll make you hot, cause you aint got any nice lines. I'll get oil,
Bake you in this pot, you'll get sliced, diced, fried and boiled.
Yo, Whiz, you're cooking on a spit, a meal fit for a King.
Funny, you're looking like a Queen. B****, git outta my ring.
Catch a glimpse of me and Whiz your pants, this kid's scared s***less.
Quips, they're witless. I'll slit you up by swinging a witness!


MPulsive
I beg your pardon, is that s*** you startin'? This winter, the printin' hardens.
Act my age? You're the one not smart enough to pass Kindergarten!
Can't understand what you're yelling or telling me cuz of spelling.
All I can decipher from your cyphers is that your s*** is smelling.
I only quote what you wrote cuz my pun-filled jokes and japes run off.
But it takes a darn age cuz there's so many mistakes to make fun of!
For Me To Poop on? It looks like you're the one in need of a diaper.
Red spots dotting your forehead, you're dead getting shot by this sniper.
So if you're feeling fly enough to reply, hire a typist.
Cuz I can't understand one hyperactive word... do you write ticked?

Repulsive b****, your a**crack's looking more black than a lunar eclipse,
With lubed-up hips you stuck in three black c***s... with two for your lips.
Just make like Lassie you crap wack cracker and go home, player.
My rhymes are as deep as mermaids? Well, yours are the ozone layer!
So they're full of holes... You're gullible if you think I watch porn,
Unless it's your mum with a torchlight for getting her crotch torn.
You 'never let a nice c*** tease ya?' That's cuz you love a bad boy.
...Or a fruit basket! Bananas, apples and other f** toys.
Come outta the closet because you love to c** in a sphincter.
Dude's rectums, you inspect 'em and then stick em until they stricture.
A silver tincture has been inked around the rim of your a**ehole.
That's the only aspect of your rap career that'll sparkle.

Man I've already shredded your dirty butt into confetti.
Let me head to a better competitor, noweight you aint heavy.
sheesh, I'll drop the bold cuz I pop it all. You're who I 'poop on'.
What a downer, I'll get round to the counter to refund my coupon.
Cuz you're worthless MPulsive, you name's losing it's chord.
Only good for one bout of amusement, now i'm just bored.
I'll slap your teeth in, bend you til I snap your knees, then
Colour you red with your blood so you look like Happy Tree Friends.

What the hell's up with this fella, you obsessive compulsive?
Using bold is getting old, just like yo mama, MPulsive.
When it comes to droppin' bombs you are hardly explosive.
And your verse's words don't burn. Man, they're hardly corrosive.
You're so repulsive that I've started to get these an impulses...
To stop your pulse with an old saw and start causin' convulsions!



MC Potty
Your flow eroded in your throat, cuz it's coated in c**.
Ayo, you downloaded the first scrotum-smokin' emoticon.
Loosen up, dawg, in this juicer get your body strained.
Your spotty training diaper hardly shows you're MC Potty trained.
I'll use karate canes on your teeth to critique your weak style.
Maybe then your tongue will have enough room to learn to freestyle


Disdain
Every s*** refrain you unchain gets spit-on in Disdain.
I'll chain whip this kid's brains out, then do it all again.
I'm excellent in thinkin sharp. Take half now, and then later the rest o' this.
Hexing your Linkin-Park-tape-raps razes your Abe's Exoddus.
Don't try and hide your rhyming demise with a Nib-like disguise.
If I had five million posts they still wouldn't comprise my d*** size.


Darth Maul
Darth Maul, get that face paint off your a**ehole.
I'll cleave you with a lightsabre, leaving you half-whole.
'Rather small' describes your balls, Star Wars geek.
You're weak and meek. I'll slap you like a whore's cheek.
Use the force, freak, while this Luke abuses farce.
B****, lose the mask. Unless you got the flu and SARS.

Darth, I'm sick to death from your breath of idle chatter.
Hell, evangelists could sidle up and bible bash ya.
Los Angeles is badgered by your stench malodorous.
So I must load your butt, with powder kegs to blow you up.
"A lyrically beast"? That don't make sense, you gimmicky b****.
You're a satirical feast for me, eating you up like lickety splitz.


David E.
You're misbehaving, David. Got a comeback? Save it,
Shave off any trace of flavour, then lower case it.
Prattle on with kettle black, hurry up and battle rap.
You've straddled a kayak up s*** creek without a paddle, chap.
I'm getting sick of ripping into fully-grown guys,
So it's time to hone rhymes, pick on someone my own size.
Oh great, a noweight whose slow japes and lame raps suck.
How can you fill a chest with caps if you aint got a Caps Lock?
Get f***ed, you suck, untuck your mask and lose the rock.
Goliath's here, prepare David to get smashed under my c***.


KrazedOut
KrazedOut, you're a waste of space, get fazed out.
You've raised doubt as to how you'll escape being chased out.
You'd get your a** kicked by Crips if they were crippled midgets,
About turn and leave... at least my post count is triple digits.
You're as welcome as a Britney album under Eminem's tree.
The outcome of your raps is seldom any more than empty.
First you say you don't want women here to linger around,
Then you begin to talk about c***s... I've got you figured out!


Night Walker
Yo, Night Walker, move aside, you're no tight talker.
My name's Luke, so expect a lightsabre slicing you like Skywalker.
I'm a bright sparkle, a white rapper, a right wry f***er.
So meet me down an alley walking at night... and you'll die, sucker.
By the way, you're meant to spit at least six lines minimum.
But I guess that's too much to ask from this wannabe Eminem.


Log
How is there pride in your name? Quit your rappin, dawg.
Look into a pirate's toilet, see the captain's Log.
You infested with insects? You're too simple to commit incest,
Yet your mother's thin legs and princess stomach arouse interest.
Inspect my rhyming style to inject it through your system.
Or just lay back and watch your sisters kissing as I fist em.


Illest Skill
Yeah, we know you got a d***. Make that several in your crevices.
If you can't manage 6 lines, we don't require your services.
The Illest Skill at d**do handling,
You swill your fill from gigolo sampling,
Pillow biter, mightcha have something worthy of spittin'?
I guess not b****, so get your t**s back into the kitchen.


Jd2the0g
jf2theag sucks more than a vacuum bag's amount.
You have to add at least six lines, dag... or can't this f** count?
His avatar is peeking through the glass pane of the window.
I'll open it and kick his a** splatting to the pavement below.
Can't get blander with his style, man. Caincha try bustin' loose?
Have a Gander at his rhymes, they're straight out of Mother Goose.


BluMami
I'ma smack your fatty a** til it's black and blue, mami.
Or pay a pack of disabled Asian ladies to do it for me.
The only Recognition is you as a wannabe R. Kelly.
A reignition of your sex drive with a girl and her dolly.
You hurled and were smelly. Get away from the microphone.
You've failed to rhyme so many times that now you're like a clone.
So hike off, clown. 'less you want me to hack you up.
Then take you down, for pissing around and actin' up.
A rapper? Nup. Your wrapper gets tossed in the rubbish can.
On my lap, you lap up every word... You love this, man.


Vertikle
Dirty-a** Vertikle, how can you talk about embarrassment,
When your garish scent is cause for being charged with self-harrassment.
Your odour is what's drifting our way.
Cuz a load o' s*** is all you're swift enough to say.
You're only 'Here 2 Destroy' yourself,
Cuz flapping those lips emits a stench that's bad for your health.
What a reek! No freak would ever have the gall to stomach it.
When you breath leaks, even your avatar's dead from it!

PillBoy
I don't know about your nation, but in Australia.
Misspelling 'pronunciation' means you aint got genitalia.
Don't worry, you'll only have to hear my voice once in your life.
Just before you learn the true meaning of 'That's not a knife'.
Accents cause strife. Just like a self-contradiction.
How can you say I love the pussy AND be gay, with conviction?
Your diction's airy so resort to a dictionary
...Look up your photo at the definition of 'fairy'.
The only point you get across is a decimal one.
A special display that shows the worth of your abysmal puns.
We got a word for nerd twerps who like c**-filled joy.
And it just happens that your name is the one: Pillboy!

OK, I admit it, I'm currently on Pillboys d***.
...His d*** is on the floor and I'm stampin' all over it.
I didn't forget you, moron. You're attackin' in vain.
Hell, your ugly a** has burned an image in the back of my brain!
So I'm like an elephant here, "I'm never forgettin'."
That's the elegant message left on your grave, where I'm spittin'.
I don't have a white flag, it's all dotted and splotched.
Cuz I'm left cleaning up after all of your horrible slop.

Only way you're an elephant is because of your weight.
So you aint fly... wait... dang, my f***ing puns are so great.
The only reason the world's rotating USA like a lavatory,
Is because your flabby a** has it's own center of gravity!
Yo, what's the matter G? Quit hiding your undying flattery.
Pro-US strategy results in a bad taste like 'salt and battery'.
And I think you mixed up the message you're tryin to push.
I don't love America... this Australian just loves the bush!

Watch this wicked word wizard do a scary hat trick.
I guess you aint bad either... for a geriatric!
Incompetent? Get out. You're incontinent in the bowels.
I competently clown these constinants and vowels.
Kudos shared around Pillboy, don't be fronting and be foul,
And imply that this Aussie would ever wanna throw in the towel.





The only street cred you spread is that your head is edible.
Your bod's a blob like the Hulk... but you aint Incredible.
Pillboy is 52 cards short of a full deck.
Is it really so hard, dork, to click on a spellcheck?
You couldn't give out pain if you were dropped in a melee.
How can you live by your name... when you get popped daily?

As if this wasn't already sugar coated as a Magnum,
Look what the darn f***** cat just dragged in.
Listen Pillboy, you obviously want to live up...
To your label of Down Syndrome kid. You never give up.
I would rather watch some TV static scratching and flickering
Than get back to battlin' you as you are rappin and bickering.


Pussy
Who calls themselves Pussy? What are you freak, deaf?
As for what you issued just then... Double-yoo Tee Eff?!
If I cracked your head open, Pillboy would come spillin out.
Your rhymes are flat-chested... and they aint fillin out.
Yell n shout, as much as you want, you've a lameass moniker.
And would you quit spitting all that s***ty gay erotica?


SylentJay
Sylent J, it's probably been a while (a day?)
Since someone dialed up japing that you're Silent Gay.
You on your period, Crampton? Here, have a tampon.
That should help your damp underpants and stop the crampin'.
Yo, I may be seventeen but I'm in university.
Unlike you, I'm clever, mean and I spit with diversity.

Reap The Wind

http://i4.photobucket.com/albums/y110/dragonangelfairy/Death.jpg

The newborn's shriek rents through the air, the start of life with breath.
Half blind and naked to the glaring from the scythe of Death.
A darkened shadow lingers, looming over the young child.
And beckons with a finger, crooked as a toothless smile.

Long tattered robes of black undulate in the frozen breeze.
The child's throat attacked by silent whispers of disease.
A heartbeat, soft and fragile as an eggshell, starts to crack.
An unsweet perfumed zephyr wafts forever into black.

The newborn's shriek rents through the air; a final grisly rasp.
As pulse falls weaker, soul ensnared, the child is in his grasp.
The sands of Time keep trickling as darkness creeps within.
Death stands out in an empty field and starts to reap the wind.

The Lone Wolf

http://i4.photobucket.com/albums/y110/dragonangelfairy/LoneWolf.jpg

The moon sits perched atop a silent breeze
A stony glowing orb of waning grey
Amidst the silhouettes of naked trees
The lone wolf tears the heart out of his prey
Emaciated pelt of tattered threads
With age-old wounds infected, gleaming raw 
Swift jaws of carnage snap up flesh in shreds
His muzzle hot with matted sanguine gore
The final scrap of sinew meets his lips
And trickles slowly down the lone wolf’s throat
The forest floor is marred with fur and drips
So isolated, bare and dark, remote
The lone wolf howls his sullen empty cry
Unanswered, bar an echo from the sky

The Capital of Zimbabwe

http://i4.photobucket.com/albums/y110/dragonangelfairy/Map.bmp

Djibouti's the capital of Djibouti.
Luxembourg's the capital of Luxemborg.
San Marino's the capital of San Marino.
Singapore's the capital of Singapore.

But what's the capital city of Zimbabwe?
Is it…

Conakry, Banjul,
Tashkent, Kabul,
Noukachott, Palikir,
Pyongyang or Algiers?

Chisinau, Majuro,
Quito, Yamoussoukro,
Paramaribo, Colombo
Maputo or Monaco?

Athens, Bridgetown,
Hanoi, Kingstown,
Port Moresby, Cape Town,
Georgetown or Freetown?

Addis Ababa, Ankara,
Bratislava, Honiara,
Accra, Tegucigalpa,
Jakarta or Kampala?

Brussels, Libreville,
Yaounde, Brazzaville,
Beijing, Buenos Aires,
Bern, Seoul or Paris?

theeran, Abidjan,
Tirane, Belmopan,
Amman, Yerevan,
Darussalam-Bandar-Seri-Begawan?

Valletta, Basseterre,
N'Djamena, Canberra,
Prague, Andorra la Vella,
Dar es Salaam or Vienna?

Luanda, Dhaka,
Asmara, Lusaka,
Dakar, Astana,
Manama or Havana?

Porto-Novo, Sarajevo,
Cairo, Antananarivo,
Montevideo, Bissau,
Santo Domingo or Roseau?

Panama City, Lome,
Guatemala City, Rome,
Mexico City, Stockholm,
Kuwait City or Sao Tome?

Zagreb, Baku,
Kiev, Thimphu,
Ougadougou, Vilnius,
Mogadishu or Tunis?

Ottawa, Ljubljana,
Tarawa, Sana,
Tokyo, Oslo,
Malabo or Moscow?

Maseru, Sucre,
Kathmandu, Suva,
Castries, Abuja,
Madrid or Bujumbura?

Gabotone, Brasilia,
Nassau, Port Vila,
Manila, Nicosia,
Praia or Monrovia?

Sofia, Riga,
Apia, Lima,
El Aaiun, Apia,
Belgrade or Victoria?

St George's, Bamako,
St John's, Santiago,
Managua, Port au Prince,
Bujumbura or Minsk?

Copenhagen, Kingston,
Skopje, Lisbon,
Berlin, Phnom Penh,
Dublin or Yaren?

Nairobi, Bangui,
Moroni, Port Louis,
Tripoli, Bogota,
Kigali or Doha?

New Delhi, Lilongwe,
Khartoum, San Jose,
Tbilisi, Taipei,
Helsinki or Washington DC?

Nuku'alofa, Islamabad,
Ashgabat, Baghdad,
Riyadh, Muscat,
Rangoon or Rabat?

Abu Dahbi, San Salvador,
Dushanbe, Kuala Lumpur,
Mbabane, Ulan Bator,
Koror or Warsaw?

Niamey, Bucharest,
Vientiane, Budapest,
Port of Spain, Caracas,
Male or Damascus?

Beirut, Reykjavik,
Vaduz, Winhoek,
Bishkek, Jerusalem,
Bangkok or Amsterdam?

Tallin, Asuncion,
Wellington, London,
The Democratic Republic of the Kinshasa…?
NO! It's Harare!

Harare!
(Hoorah!)
Harare!
(Hoorah!)
Harare!
(Hoorah!)
HARARE!!!

Ice Maiden

http://i4.photobucket.com/albums/y110/dragonangelfairy/Teardrops.jpg

A lone soul perched at the top of a wind-tossed peak
Lost and weak. Her frozen throat too hoarse to speak
A lifeless statue, as if carved out of solid ice
With swollen eyes. Blinded from her squalid life
Across the sea screeches out a frosted breeze
Exhaustion causes her at last to drop to her knees
Wheeze and strain, she breathes bane through the freezing rain
No way to ease the pain, just seas of screaming pain
Numb hands fumble through wet grains of glum sand
Young lamb gone astray and none understand
Waves crash on the crag in a splash of passion
As sleet lashes her ashen face apart with gashes
Lines splice her cheeks like slices of violence
Night sky cries but her mind's iced in silence
Baptized in wildness. Storm roars a deathly pour
On unsmiling eyelids. A soul torn apart, left raw
Self-war strips her brittle core into fine shreds
As more past horrors claw at the inside of her head
Ice maiden. Face hazed in the fog, eyes glazing
In a crazed blizzard that's ablaze and raging
Stony stare stalks the savage sea and rocks below
Chalk-white soul walks forth through the fog and snow
Locked in a pause that lasts an eternity
She yearns to be free from her life's burning freeze
Her white toes reach the cliff edge above the ocean
A life floating on shivered wisps of emotion
But the storm ceases in a blessed moment of epiphany
A single ray of sunlight kissing her in love infinity
Melting the ice maiden's frosty stare, her icy anguish stops
She overlooks the new sunrise, smiling an ocean of teardrops.

Pleiade: Creeping Butterfly

http://i4.photobucket.com/albums/y110/dragonangelfairy/Butterfly.jpg

Chrysalis hangs quivering in delicate wind.
Chromatic life spills forth, tumbling from within.
Coloured angel spreads her ethereal wings.
Carefree, alive, she dances, sings.
Caught beneath the cruel heel of time.
Crushed, her wings of sparkling rhyme.
Continues crawling, climbing, fallen angel once divine.

WARNING: Censored profanity, sexual references and crude humour.

Hairy Potted and the Philanderer's Stein quotes.

http://i4.photobucket.com/albums/y110/dragonangelfairy/iPotter.jpg

CHAPTER ONE

Vermin Parsley was a large, sweaty man with less neck than Marie-Antoinette, although almost as much moustache. His wife, Peculiar, was thin with a rather long neck, which got her into a right bit of trouble when she fell into the giraffe pen at the local zoo during mating season.

We now begin our story of Hairy Potted; and how his triumphs over evil metaphorically represent the world of professional bocci.

That night, the evening news predicted scattered meteor showers, a warm front of broomsticks sweeping in from the west and, predictably for England, rain.

The Parsleys lay Dullard to bed in his ruby-encrusted cot, then herded up the remaining orphans into their cellar, generously tossing in a few extra bales of hay for warmth. Soon enough, Vermin and Peculiar were fast asleep, reducing speed for dream bumps and the occasional nightmare pedestrian.

Fumbling awkwardly up the dark street, the geriatric fool bumped into several trees, loudly topple over a collection of trash cans and set off a security alarm, all in the name of an utterly inconspicuous entrance into the novel. He stopped at the front of number four thousand and two where a large, vandalised plaque on the front gates read:
P A R S L E Y   O R P H A N A G E S
F O R  U N L U C K Y  Y O U T H.
Dumbodork rolled his eyes, getting a pair of threes.

At this, Haggis slowly removed a crumpled bundle of cloth from his jacket. A tiny head peeped out from underneath, wearing a red cap with an 'M' insignia.
"Letsa go! Yipee!" the infant chirped. Dumbodork's left eyebrow raised.
"Whoops, I got this little 'un orf a Yoshi down the pub!"

"He'll have that scab for ever." Dumbodork murmured quietly, taking the child in his arms. "Just like the one I got when I attempted that spell to increase the length of my-" He paused, blushed and turned around to mask his blurted embarrassment.

"Well, I think it's time to let him go." Profaner MuckGonadal suggested. Dumbodork nodded, shaking a small shower of dandruff over baby Hairy.
"Yes. We'd best be off celebrating while we leave this infant unprotected on a doorstep in the cold of the night where he is exposed for night predators to attack him."

"Farewell, Hairy Potted... until we meet again" whispered Dumbodork. He stood up, hitting his head on a lamp post. Cursing, he gave a swish of his tutu, exposing his privates, and he'd vanished.

CHAPTER TWO

Over a matter of turning the page, a decade has passed in this story. Things had barely changed at all in 4002 Privates Drive; except for climate, size, smell, appearance and other trivial matters.

As usual, Hairy was ordered to lay the table; he cursed his poultry genetics which enabled him to pass gueridons through his bowels after having eaten planks of wood.

Unco Vermin turned away, permitting a grin to slyly appear on Hairy's face. Mrs Parsley had already given him the very same punishment for impregnating her lingerie catalogue.

Hairy was having the time of his life at the petting zoo, apart from not being able to see the giraffes for some odd reason of Ant Peculiar's.

Mr and Mrs Parsley were too occupied with the other orphans, who were greedily eating flaccid vegetable scraps from the sheep's trough.

Once they had returned home, Mr Parsley turned straight to Hairy with a menacing scowl, bending down face-to-face.
"Go - cupboard - stay - no dinner - unable to -  string together - coherent - sentences."

A poorly aimed jab with a catling by a slightly irate dentist had left Hairy with the 'L'-shaped scab across his forehead. Sometimes, when Hairy strained his memory, he envisioned a flash of green and a burning pain in his head... though this may have been a recollection of getting brain freeze from a big lime Slushy.

CHAPTER THREE

"Check the mail, Dullard." grunted Mr Parsley.
"Make Hairy do it." whined Dullard.
"Check the mail, Hairy." grunted Mr Parsley.
"Make Kevin do it." retorted Hairy.
Unco Vermin looked up from his paper.
"Who the hell is Kevin?" he bellowed. The family all turned to observe a scrawny boy  in a wheelchair bobbing up and down excitedly in the middle of the room.
"I like cheese! I like cheese!" chirped Kevin, waving a large chunk of cheddar about.

Hairy stood up.
"I want to read my-" he began, but the letter had already been tossed into the microwave, the paper curling up at the corners as it caught alight, gradually exposing a golden ring inside of the envelope with Elvish writing engraved… oh, wrong story.

And so they drove. They drove afar.
They drove inside their little car.
The little car along the road.
They drove and drove and drove and drove.
The road was long, the road was black.
Mr Parsley doubled back.
'They should be easy enough to fool.'
He muttered, driving to the pool.

'Three minutes till I'm eleven.' Hairy thought to himself.
'Two minutes... one minute... half a minute... a sixth of a minute... seven-sixtieths of a minute... pi-eighty-fifths of a minute...

CHAPTER FOUR

Haggis started counting bricks with his cane.
"Now, wha' was it? Two up, four across... no wait, three up and... oh, screw it!"
At this, the gigantic man arched up and swung his fat at the wall. With a loud smash, the bricks shattered and crumbled away to expose a small pathway leading to a wide cobbled street.
"Welcome," Haggis said to Hairy. "To Diaphragm Gully."

CHAPTER FIVE

The vault door melted away to expose a small package wrapped in toilet paper in the centre of the dark cell. Hairy's brow furrowed.
"Hey, where's that spotlight coming from, and all that orchestral music?"

Mr Olivespandex turned to Haggis.
"Ahh, Rubicund! I remember when you first came to me! Quite large, if memory serves me right: twenty inches, rather plump, with several strands of ogre pubes." Haggis screwed up his face in confusion.
"Almost righ', but I was bigger 'n twen'y inches!" he said.

"Here, Potted, try this one." Hairy was handed a celery rod, twelve inches long, harbouring the uteral lining of a mermaid.

CHAPTER SIX

"Righ' yeh tiny-to's, le's ge' inter them bins an' row the the oth'r side, eh ickle 'uns!" boomed Haggis. The group of freshmen stared gapingly at this indecipherable sentence. Haggis cleared his throat and tried again.
"I imploringly beseech those of you among the chronologically-challenged to accompany myself to a location fit for boarding aqueous vessels, as means of locomotion to the opposing shore." The group of freshmen stared gapingly at this indecipherable sentence.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Hormoany was having a trivial chat with Teen Dum-bass.
"Yes, I also believe that Albert Einstein's theory is obsolete, as light now takes longer to travel through space-time due to universal expansion." Rum, however, was  deeply involved in a scintillating discussion with one of his Siamese-twin brothers, Gorge.
"Wanna see Frig and I fart and burp at the same time?"

The man had slick black hair, devil horns and a forked tail. Suddenly, he turned and his eyes locked onto Hairy's. A sharp pain shot through Hairy's scab.
"Whoops, sorry!" said Rum, removing his fork from Hairy's head.

CHAPTER EIGHT

"Now, class, Poachings is a subject in which you will learn how to poach magical brews. However, it will take many years to master poachings for deluding the mind, concoctions for cheating death and sedatives that can be slipped to unsuspecting female students during tutorial classes, rendering them vuln..." Snoop stopped abruptly and looked up, as if just realising there were other people in the room.

Profaner Snoop deducted ten points from Graafiandor for Hairy not leaping from the other side of the room to stop Nibble adding the porcupine ovaries prematurely.

Haggis continued to babble evasively, turning his gaze as far away as possible in order to avoid Hairy's eyes. Soon, his neck had completed a half-revolution. Rum exchanged looks of suspicion with Hairy and the two got up to leave.
"See yez later!" Haggis called, his head facing in the opposite direction.

CHAPTER NINE

Nibble Lungbuttock unwrapped the package.
"Cool, a Remembrmost... they help you recll anything you might have frgttn!"

Hairy found Oldliver Would's accent about as decipherable as Haggis yodelling with a mouthful of cookie dough.

"Lungbuttock? What are you doing out so late?" whispered Hairy frantically.
"Well, Ginger said she'd meet me down here to show off her new leather-" Nibble's reply was abruptly cut off, however, as Hormoany broke a urinal over his head. A look of understanding suddenly dawned on his blood-spattered face.
"Erm, I mean... forgot the password again."

Mr Belch sped around the corner.
"I distinctively heard the sound of adolescent breasts!" he hissed to his pet cougar, Mrs Notorious. Belch sniffed the air with his large, hairy nostrils.
"Yep. Fresh mammaries... young caucasian female... B-cup..." He sniffed again.
"...with traces of male saliva." he added. Hormoany began to whistle innocently.

"Well that settles that." Hormoany replied. "If you don't mind, I need my beauty sleep. I hope you don't have any other plans to get us all killed, or worse: make us infertile!"

Hairy lay awake, his mind ticking over. Haggis had swallowed the secret bundle for safe-keeping inside his enormous gut, and the vault where he had got it from had been broken into just after. As Haggis had been taking daily laxatives since their visit to Gangrene's, Hairy made a mental note to closely monitor Haggis' bowel movement over the following weeks, to discover what the secret parcel was, once ejected.
...thinking twice, he cancelled this mental note.

CHAPTER TEN

Profaner Flipwit looked up at Drachma.
"Actually, Master Malformed, Potted is quite within his rights to own a vacuum-cleaner in his first year to play Spinach. I could only confiscate it if he used it for... reasons you will learn of when you're older..."

With a blinding flash, Helpful Beaver appeared.
"Helpful Beaver to the rescue!" the pudgy rodent chanted. It began felling several large trees that were somehow growing inside Hairy's dormitory. Within minutes, a sizeable dam had been constructed in Hairy's doorway.

The multicoloured castor turned to leave, but Rum grabbed hold of the flowing yellow cape.
"Wait, Helpful Beaver! Will we ever see you again?" sobbed Rum tearfully. Helpful Beaver stood atop his newly-built dam as a beaming spotlight shimmered behind him.
"Though I leave now, know this: Wherever people are in distress, whenever there is injustice in the world, Helpful Beaver will be there!"

"You're Graafiandor's best Peeker since your father!" said Gorge. Hairy stopped mid-chew.
"My dad was Peeker?" he asked incredulously.
"Of course! It's in your genes!" replied Frig, before the two Bleaters got up and trundled off to dorm. Having only had a rudimentary scientific education, Hairy was quite baffled at this comment, suspicious at what exactly the 'gift' was in his jeans.

Hairy heard screams from the girls' lavatory and followed Rum inside to find Hormoany cowering on the floor beneath a giant Ahnold troll.
"Confuse it!" yelled Rum. He picked up a chunk of debris and threw it hard at the Austrian behemoth. It hit Hormoany.

From that night on, Hairy, Hormoany and Rum were the best of friends. There are some things that you can't share without ending up liking each other; and fighting off a giant foreign over-the-hill actor-turned-politician-whose-name-has-been-changed-to-conceal-his-identity was one of them.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

"What's up with Snoop's limp?" asked Rum.
"Hope it's not gonorrhoea." Hormoany muttered.

Rum snapped a plastic glove over his hand and carefully lifted the back of Hairy's frilly tutu. Reaching deep inside, he pulled something from out of Hairy's behind. Hormoany gave a squeak of excitement.
"The Baldin' Snatch! Hairy caught it in his butt-cheeks as he was falling!"

CHAPTER TWELVE

Hairy unwrapped the present, revealing a hand-carved set of bagpipes. Hairy blew into them. A hollow hoot sounded, resembling that of a retarded parrot. Hodwog fluttered down from his perch and started chatting up the tartan instrument.

As Snoop drew closer and closer to the aisle where Hairy was crouched, a moment of inspiration occurred. Hairy tossed the book in his hand in the opposing direction as a diversion. The novel spiralled through an open window, across to Graafiandor tower, in through another open window... and hit Hormoany.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Nibble plucked out the chintzy collector's disc.
"Hey Hairy, have you got the Dumbodork one yet?" Hairy's POV travelled from Nibble's pudgy face to an extreme close-up of the Dumbodork card. Dissonant violin chords wavered as we zoomed into Hairy's expression.
"Nickelass Flannel! I knew I'd seen Nickelass Flannel's name before!" Hairy shouted excitedly. Hormoany and Rum looked up at each other and slapped their foreheads at how stupid they had been.
"Of course! He's on the back of the Dumbodork disc!" said Rum. Hairy blinked.
"Oh... yeah... but I was referring to that." Hairy motioned to a gigantic portrait of Nickelass Flannel towering over the Graafiandor Cummin Room.

"It is nice to see you have kept your butt away from The Mirage of Ereirred."

Profaner Quibble stood there moronically, thinking up synonyms for 'fez'.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Haggis offered them a mug of tea, which they each drank with a fork and hatchet.

"It also says here that they grow up to forty metres in length and can breathe fire within a matter of weeks." said Hairy.
"Haggis, you live in a wooden shelter." said Rum.
"Surrounded by several acres of dry grass and forest." added Hormoany.
"Not to mention the thirty tanks of flammable gas that Dumbodork had dumped in your garden!"

"My brother Gnarly works with dragons in Pyromania." said Rum.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

"Quit saying his name!" she hissed.
"Who's? Vulvamork's?" replied Hairy dull-wittedly.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN
At this, Profaner Snoop began cackling malevolently into Hairy's face. He turned with a swish of his tutu, still laughing maniacally, as the hem caught around his neck. Snoop struggled with it for a moment, bashing into a nearby pillar before overbalancing and toppling over the balcony into a pile of elephant dung two storeys below. After Snoop had spat out a mouthful of proboscidean faeces, there was a slight pause before his evil laughter started up once more.

The narrator slapped Rum across the face with a lantern.

"Oh no!" moaned Rum. "We haven't got an instrument to play!" he said, punching the wall in frustration, then wincing in pain. Hormoany gave an audible cough.
"Actually, we do. I borrowed Hairy's bagpipes for band camp practise..." She withdrew a large tangle of tartan and pipe from underneath her skirt. The boys ogled.
"Erm, Hormoany, I think you should play it!" muttered Hairy.

"Helpful Beaver to the rescue!" chanted Helpful Beaver.
"Jeepers, Helpful Beaver! A call of distress!" cried the caped Assisting Capybara.
"What appears to be the problem? Do you need another dam built?" asked Helpful Beaver, beginning to fell a few nearby elm trees.
"Ah, no, actually, we just need you to download us into…" Hairy trailed off. The caped Assisting Capybara had whipped out a metallic device of some sort.
"Leapin' lizards, Helpful Beaver! We need to work double-time! Tally ho!" he chirped, using his gnawing abilities to bring down the remaining trunks. Hairy sighed.

Helpful Beaver and the caped Assisting Capybara stood atop the giant dam they had just manufactured, leading out through the Crapdoor. A gleaming illumination radiated from behind them.
"Well, caped Assisting Capybara," began Helpful Beaver. "I guess we have once again foiled the powers of-" At that moment, Buttfluff descended down through the Crapdoor and tore off Helpful Beaver's head. The caped Assisting Capybara screamed in terror.
"Jumpin' jackrabbits!" Helpful Beaver was soon a pile of bloody shreds, as Buttfluff violently gorged down chunks of his raw flesh before turning on the remaining rodent. A bloodcurdling scream fell on deaf ears as Hairy, Rum and Hormoany arrived at their new destination

Choose, unless you wish to stay in here for evermore,
Until we finish this lame series up to number four.
These clues are sly and sneaky in revealing which is what,
So read them many times through 'til the answer you have got.
Firstly, the deadly viruses are the three in the middle,
The Macon wines are at the end, for you to wet your whistle.
The stein to get you forwards is the second from the right,
And second from the left returns all others from this plight.

Hairy crept down a dimly lit flight of stairs into a large room at the bottom. Someone was there, it wasn't Snoop or even Vulvamork… it was Haggis.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Haggis' flabby butt cheeks hung over the sides of a large chamber pot as he strained to excrete the Philanderer's Stein

"What do you see?" hissed Quibble.
"Err… a carrot!" said Hairy off the top of his head. "And it's got... some... cheese." Quibble eyed Hairy with an odd look.

Profaner Quibble began slowly removing his fez. Second after second, the fez was drawn back to dramatically reveal... his hair!
"Phew! That's better! My head was getting hot in this stuffy room." said Quibble. Suddenly, a horrific voice called out.
"Hairy Potted, I will now meet you face to face!" the voice rasped. Hairy backed away, looking for a way to escape..
"Now, Quibble! I am ready to face him!" Quibble lifted up his tutu… and flashed Potted.
"Sweet merciful crap!" screamed Hairy. Right where Quibble should have had… an appendage... was Nerd Vulvamork's head. It was chalk white, with bulging eyes, a jagged mouth and slits for nostrils... similar to the grotesquery of Michael Jackson's current visage.

With his last ounce of remaining strength, Profaner Quibble looked up from where he lay on the floor, a forest of flowers dancing on his head. He wore an expression of sombrero pride, of ruthless flowers, of raven terror- of incest and Popeless despatch.
He looked back through the pages of time travel gone wrong, of endless references to excrement and cheese... The man cried out twice, a cry no more than a whisper:
"The terror! The terror!"

Hairy was interrupted by a seagull regurgitating into a deodorant can .

Dumbodork cleared his throat, a fleck of oesophagus slime cartwheeling across the room.

"So, after all the fricking trouble we went to…" began Hormoany coldly.
"Risking our fricking lives to save the fricking Philanderer's Stein from the hands of the most powerful fricking villain in the fricking world…" continued Rum icily.
"Those fricking fools decide to DESTROY THE FRICKING THING?!" they screamed in unison. As the three Graafiandors stood panting with suppressed fury. Kevin slowly wheeled his way up from the Forbidding Forest, in through the Entranced Hall, along the wheelchair-access ramp up to the sick bay and stopped alongside the protagonists.
"I like cheese!" he said, before wheeling back out of sick bay, down the wheelchair-access ramp, out of the Entranced Hall and into the Forbidding Forest again. 

"Graafiandor loses all of their points." It was silent with shock as the Graafiandor thermometer, which had just shot up from a giant hole in the soil, emptied down to ground level. Dumbodork continued on without a wink.
"To add to this, it was poor school spirit when certain students had lost three million points. Hence, all students who partook in any jeering will lose all the points that you may have earned throughout the year." The Silverys, Ravercorks and Hecklepucks gaped in flabbergasted awe as the jelly crystals emptied out from their own  thermometers. The final result was zero to all, except… one point to Hecklepuck.
"It appears that the retard Kevin was the only one who didn't engage in this despicable behaviour." said Dumbodork. All eyes turned to Kevin, who was currently wearing his plate as a hat and balancing a number of cheeses atop it.

Waiting at the station was Mrs Weakly. She ran up past Rum, ignoring him completely, and embraced Hairy in a big bear hug.

As Hairy lay back to ease the pain of the bumpy road on his sore body, he felt a crumpled scroll of toilet paper in his pocket. Unfolding it with difficulty in the cramped space of the car boot, Hairy held up the slip of greasy tissue to a ray of sunlight that was streaming through a hole caused by rust. He read it aloud:
'I like cheese.'
A warm feeling filled his insides and Hairy knew that everything was going to be fine.
But even so, he would have to wait a mighty long time until his next year at Dogfarts Institute of Wizardry and Weird Plots, but he had to, so he did...
...wait.
Yep.
...yep yep.
He waited and waited...
...aaand waited.

WARNING: Censored profanity, sexual references and crude humour.

Hairy Potted and the Changer of Sequins quotes

http://i4.photobucket.com/albums/y110/dragonangelfairy/HairyPounce.bmp

--CHAPTER ONE--

Once upon a time, a magical elephantorous lived on a hill. He died.

Not for the first time, a prisoner had broken out of his low-security cell. An argument had also broken out at the local lighthouse, current residence of the Parsley Orphanage For Unlucky Youth. Having been unable to swim back to land after Hairy and Haggis had stolen their canoe, the Parsleys had simply remained living for the past year in a lighthouse located in the middle of the town pool.

In order to rescue his luggage and flatulent pet parrot, Hairy had needed the assistance of a gas bomb he had purchased from e-bay, two hundred metres of dental floss and the assistance of a geriatric walrus on a bulldozer. The bulldozer was still parked out on the lawn. Hairy looked at it and thought 'yellow' before being brought back to reality by Ant Peculiar cuffing his head.

"He's frightened of the wallpaper! You know his feelings on sub-automatic artillery!"

The twenty-two other nameless orphans were on the ground ferreting about for dropped grain.
"Eat up, sweetums," cooed Ant Peculiar, dolloping a kilogram of mayonnaise onto Dullard's enormous plate. The tubby teenager's mouth opened as wide as a bucket and he manoeuvered his head across the table, gorging plate and all .

"Never went hungry when I was at Smellings!" Mr Parsley pronounced proudly, casting a reminiscent glance at a photograph on the wall showing a young Vermin sporting a large Afro and adorned in matching flares and orthodontic headgear.

Dullard's figure was so large that when he sat AROUND the table, he really... ate a lot.

"…Dogfarts." Answered Hairy. The effect of this simple sentence had a drastic effect. For, you see, the flutter of his tongue blew across the room, out past the window and across the ocean, resulting in a tornado in Japan, killing hundreds. Moreover, Unco Vermin had abruptly broke off from his tantric yoga exercises and was advancing towards Hairy like a rhino on heat.
"WHAT HAVE I SAID ABOUT USING THE 'DF' WORD IN OUR HOUSEHOLD?" he yelled furiously. Hairy blinked.
"What? Donkey Fuc-?" he began.
"YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN!" Mr Parsley bellowed.

Hairy Potted was not a normal boy. In fact, he was about as abnormal as it is possible to be… Hairy was a girl.

Hairy Potted had lived at the Parsley Orphanage For Unlucky Youth ever since he was a baby, as Nerd Vulvamork… oh, come on, you should know this all by now. I mean, are you really stupid enough to read the sequel before the first of the series?

Unco Vermin cleared his throat. This required a towel wrapped around a stick being shoved down his oesophagus.

"Dog gone!" he exclaimed, hosing off the canine guts and hair that were caking his legs with blood.

Hairy had always found his fort in the backyard as a place of solace, he had often retreated into it to brood ever since finding it on the side of the road during council clean-up week. Mr Parsley kept insisting that it was not somebody's rubbish left on the side of the road, but a bus shelter, but Hairy simply turned a deaf ear.

He tirelessly painted the garden, mulched the tool shed, pedicured the windows, mowed the swimming pool and re-chlorinated the lighthouse roof.

"Hodwog! Those newspapers aren't for reading!" scowled Hairy, elbow-deep in guano.

"What a loser!" Dullard said, a twisted smiled on his chubby face. Unco Vermin and Ant Peculiar grinned. The three then simultaneously chuckled. Their laughs got louder and developed into guffaws. Soon they were all cackling at Hairy at the top of their lungs, their hair dancing about merrily at his expense. Hairy crunched his dry noodles in withdrawn silence.

--CHAPTER TWO--

The front doorbell sounded the mating call of the polar bear.

Hodwog's heap of viscous ordure disappeared in a flash of carcinogenic radiation.

The tiny creature leapt onto Hairy and gave him a hug, secretly pinching his wallet.

Ant Peculiar could be heard above, coaxing the guests to join her in a game of Twister.

"Dodgy has never been told to sit in a fresh pile of crap... like an equal!" he sobbed.

Hairy frowned again. He felt like this was a highly frownable paragraph.

"Hairy Potted, you truly are a great wizard!" said Dodgy, his breast implants bobbing up and down in unison with his head.
"I'm not that good, I mean, Hormoany's much better at-" Hairy stopped. Having had been snubbed for the past few weeks, thinking about Hormoany was painful.
"And Rum can do-" Hairy stopped. Having had been snubbed for the past few weeks, thinking about Rum was painful. To take his mind off how his best two friends had been avoiding him, Hairy sat down on Hodwog's cage. He stopped. After such a long time with a soft buttocks, seating himself on the sharp tip of a wire cage was painful.

Hairy knelt down closer to hear. Hodwog rolled his cage along the floor to a better vantage point. Gavin popped up out of a sewage pipe and listened in, too.

"If Hairy Potted goes to Dogfarts... he will encounter sexual fetishes and excessive profanity among the incorporation of detailed gross bodily functions!" piped Dodgy, engaging in wanton troilism and coprophilia with two sapphic passers-by, whilst lactating from his bulbous breasts.

"Keep it down, Potted! You just ruined my politically-incorrect joke involving the World Trade Centre and Geri Halliwell!" Mr Parsley cuffed Hairy's head with a rubber duck and strode back upstairs.

"Have you been stealing my socks?!" Hairy roared. Dodgy raised an eyebrow.
"Erm, no... Dodgy has been stealing all the birch whips from your friends." said the house-imp. Hairy faltered.
"Oh, you know what I mean! Socks, letters… tom-ay-to, pot-ar-to!" Dodgy kept his eyebrow raised..

The margarine statue of Buddha was swiftly flung up to the very roof of the lighthouse, stuck to the ceiling upside-down in a pose of deep meditation.

The man looked from Hairy to Dodgy to Mrs Parsley on the floor with the deceased camel. His gaze slowly moved upwards to the giant Buddha above his head. At that precise moment, the suction holding the margarine to the ceiling gave in to gravity.

"Doe, a deer, a female Dear Hairy Potted,
We detected a 'Last Glob Of Margarine' Cleaning Charm at your residence precisely fourteen and a half seconds past eight twenty two. Wizard minors are forbidden to use  sorcery in the presence of Muffins at the risk of being forced to repeat the same old tricks for decades on end. (David Copperfield Muffin Decree, 1992, Section B: 'Siegfried and Roy.')
Yours since merely, Maffled Popsmirk.

Unco Vermin's face went from celadon to magenta to a mottled cerulean within a matter of seconds.

He leered maniacally at Hairy, a wild glint in his eye. Then he giggled. Then he chuckled. This slowly became a thunderous chortling of mirth as he dragged Hairy away.

Hairy found the following moments a blur of sprinting up stairs whilst dodging bullets from the SWAT team and helicopter circling around the building… all too soon Hairy found himself spread-eagled ontop of the lighthouse with thousands of silhouette people below, the freezing rain pelting his body as searing spotlights blazed over his body. The last words he heard were "HAIRY POTTED, THROW YOUR MISTEMPERED BATON TO THE GROUND!"   

--CHAPTER THREE--

A gangly, orange-haired someone was smiling at him through a large hole in the glass.
"Yahoo Serious?!" blurted Hairy.

The guano pile exploded with a loud bang, splattering them all with white muck. Sheriff Raff coughed from the room next to Hairy's cell. Frig and Gorge lowered Hairy's suitcase into the van with a thump. In the next room, Sheriff Raff gave a grunt. Hairy followed Rum into the van and slammed the door. Sheriff Raff hiccuped, urinated, burped, farted, quoted the entire works of Shakespears and vomited up his dudoenum.

"See you next year!" called Hairy. The Weaklys didn't roar with laughter, as it wasn't at all funny.
"See you next year, ya f***ing pounce!" called Hairy. The Weaklys roared with laughter, for, as we all know, crude profanity is a satisfying substitute for actual wit.

And so they rode, beneath the ground.
They rode their Kombi, homeward bound.
With purple, green and psychedelic,
Tones of spray paint on the relic .
They drilled underneath roads and plains.
They drilled through almost all terrains.
The van ploughed earth like no tomorrow,
As they all headed for The Furrow.

Frig dodged a triceratops fossil and continued on towards the east.

Gorge lowered his voice to a whisper.
"Well, I overheard Dad and Mom talking about the Malformeds a while ago. Apparently, Drachma's father, Luscious, was a Breath Hater!" He flashed a torch under his face and began wailing "WOOOOOH!"

Mrs Weakly was at the door. She stormed up the path, scattering chickens and penguins as she went. For a short, plump woman, it was remarkable how much she looked like a Tunisian Crimson-Bellied Squid.

"Well, well, well." hissed Mrs Weakly in a deadly whisper.
"Well." gulped Frig.
"Well!" laughed Rum nervously.
"Well?" asked Hairy.

"YOU SHOULD TAKE A LEAF OUT OF PERKY'S BOOK!" screeched Mrs Weakly. "Why is there a leaf in his book?" asked Rum.

"Yeah, I bet Germy wouldn't mind being kidnapped and trapped down a giant hole in your cellar." s******ed Gavin, miming a poodle being pulled down into a pit.
"Who the hell are you?" asked Hairy. Gavin shrugged and exited stage left, toting his flippers and scuba-diving gear.

A Fabio-type man, inevitably bisexual and a posterchild of plastic-surgery, had his face smeared across the front cover. The animated image gave each of them a thumbs up, flashing his unblemished cuticles and strawberry nail polish.

Hairy's gnome closely resembled a cross-breed between a geriatric gopher with asthma and an ambitious giraffe.

The boys finished clearing out the gnomes contaminating the pool using bath foam, singing crude limericks and finally dropping in a hair dryer.

"This morning I wake up to see our Kombi van burst up from the asthenosphere! The one you secretly jinxed to have one of those spiralling-drills on the front that you only see lame cartoon villains driving!" roared Mrs Weakly. Mr Weakly had suddenly become intrigued by decaying butterfly carrion on the floor.

"Which Hairy Potted?" asked Mr Weakly, patting his orange, potted hair.
"Hairy Potted Hairy Potted." said Hairy Potted.
"Hello Hairy Potted!" said Mr Weakly as he patted Hairy Potted's hairy, potted hair.

"What are you doing in Germy's room?" Rum asked. Gavin shrugged in reply, munching from a large dodecahedron of ricotta cheese. Hairy and Rim slowly backed out and closed the door.

As they entered Rum's room, Hairy felt as though he had been shrunk by a bumbling nerd father and dropped into a blender full of oranges.

"Shut up!" the narrator replied, narrating the narrator's own self-narration.

Hairy looked around at the shabby wallpaper, poorly insulated walls, leaky floor, faulty heating system and the dented mattress he was to be sleeping on for another two weeks.
"Rum, this is the best house I've ever been in!" he said, grinning widely.
"Just behind Dogfarts, The Parsley Orphanage, Haggis' fallout shelter, the lighthouse broom closet, my bus shelter…"

The two stood moronically for the next thirty minutes, attempting to fill out the rest of the page by using elaborate 'P' words, such as: probabilistically, palaeoethnography, pteroylmonoglutamic, photoconductivity, piquancy, phosphorescence, pachycephalosaur, punctiliousness, phlegmatically, pasteurisation, parenchyma, Pteridospermaphyta,  passementerie, ponderously, pragmatically, pirozhki, pathologically, pycnodysostosis, psychotherapeutics, pedunculate, phaneromania, pulchritudinous, perambulation, perseveringly, phantasmagorical, pertinaciously, pestiferous, pfannkuchen, Phalacrocoracidae, pseudopsuedohypoparathyroidism, porphyritic, paediatrician, pseudohermaphroditic, paleencephalon, poikilothermous, pseudoantidisestablishmentarianism, pizzazz and pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicavolcanoconiosis.

--CHAPTER FOUR--

At the Parsley Orphanage, Hairy would spray on deodorant to rid himself of body odour for the next twelve minutes whereas at the Weaklys' house, an ecnhanted toilet-brush would yell out 'You smell like sheesh!' every time somebody passed.

Mrs Weakly force-fed Hairy fourths at breakfast, using a cheese grater, a funnel and a solution of nitric soda.

"Fascinating! I always wondered how Muffins did it without sorcery! So, you say they come in assorted colours and flavours..."

The Weakly's cheap Internet-refirgerator beeped.
"You is get mail!" it chirped in a warbled Pidgin-English, a series of Japanese symbols appearing on the screen.
"Ooh, we are get mail!" beamed Mrs Weakly.

Hairy read the message, not caring to lick his lips, adjust his monocles, smoke, call his secretary to hold any calls or hold the suspense of just reading the darn thing; as he would usually do to lengthen the paragraph.

"So, you're starting at Dogfarts this year?" Hairy asked Germy, who jumped nervously, spilling her bowl of Newt Loops.

Rum's Pooping Starch was also outstripped by butterflies, obese dung-beetles and wounded geriatric gophers with asthma.

"Now, you just grab a handful of this Floozy Chowder and download yourself through the net to your destination Internet refrigerator." said Mr Weakly, holding out a container to Rum, who inserted his hand, then gave a loud cry of disgust.
"Eugh! This isn't the Floozy Chowder container! It's a chamber pot!"

"Don't get Javascript on your shoes, it doesn't come off." added Germy.
"And stay away from pop-up advertisements!" said Mrs Weakly.

"Ardour, what did Hairy type as his destination?" she asked.
"I believe it was Sedish for 'kemp tephra mollusc unit'." replied Mr Weakly.
"I thought so." Mrs Weakly said.

Hairy proceeded to exit the sleazy store when he spotted a familiar face through the glass. Drachma Malformed and his father Luscious were about to enter, so Hairy swiftly concealed himself in a large barrel of see-through lingerie. The two peroxide-drenched  Malformeds strode through the door up to the front desk. Mr Malformed rang a bell, which sounded a germaid's orgasm.

Drachma was perusing a table of vampire lubricants.
"Touch nothing!" hissed Mr Malformed, as Drachma squirted the contents of a red tube onto his hand. He attempted to wipe it off, but it had stained his fingers blood-red, like his previous encounter with Hormoany Ginger in an empty classroom. (She had a bleeding nose, you sick pervert!)

Hairy pried a G-string from his ear to hear the conversation better.

"Well, Mr Malformed sir, surely the Minionstry wouldn't trouble non-Muslim families such as yourself in raids for terrorist-related pornography." said Mr Boring. Luscious Malformed's lips curled. He uncurled them with an iron.

"The Hand of Glukky caters for all of your onanistic carnal pleasures and is also very useful for those visiting Coles with deep pockets!" Mr Malformed sniffed derisively.
"I do not wish my son to become a common Brattoni!"

The three-eyed ogre behind the counter watched the Malformeds leave with a scowl.
"If the rumours are true, you've only sold me half your Weapons of Masturbation!"

The majority of stores in Nicotine Gully sold kinky leather whips, cheap goats and large barrels of water-based axle-grease.

Hairy's worst fears were confirmed when an immaculate priest stepped out from a nearby chapel.
"Good morning, young man." greeted the man warmly. "Are you lost? Come, I'll pay for a taxi to get you back home." said the priest genially. Hairy emitted a blood-curdling scream and started backing away. He knocked into someone behind him. It was a pulchritudinous gaggle of nuns.
"Oh, you poor lad! Come inside for cookies, milk and chocolate." they said. Hairy screamed and sprinted in the opposite direction. Dozens of cherubic people began leaning out of their shops with friendly, accommodating grins of reassurance.
"Would you like to stay in my luxurious mansion for the night?" said one.
"Here, I have a helicopter you could borrow!" said another. Hairy thumped into a wooden door, which opened as he hit the ground.
"Hello there! Would you like to meet my daughter, Sonja. She's a professional gymnast and can bend herself into aaany shape you want. She'll do aaanything for some parrot guano to feed her plants!"
"NOOO!!!" Hairy screeched, his heart pumping as he continued on. 

"What were you doing in there, Haggis?" Hiary enquired. Haggis quickly withdrew a bag of Flesh-Eating Sloth Repellent.
"I was just gettin' this. They're gobblin' up all o' the Dogfarts cabbages." he replied. Hairy blinked.
"But they're Flesh-Eating. Why would they eat cabbages?"

Hormoany ran down the steps, her long tongue flapping behind her. She jumped down the last flight of stairs, her skirt flying up to reveal she wasn't wearing knickers. (She was wearing bike shorts you filthy pervert!)

"We've never been allowed." said Gorge enviously.
"You've been aloud in everything you say." joked Germy. Haggis cuffed her head.

At the sight of Hormoany's Muffin parents, Mr Weakly's eyes lit up like a sadist in a massage parlour. Mr and Mrs Ginger were waiting in line to swapping their British currency for wizarding money.
"These slimy bastards will treat you like Jenny Craig." said Mr Weakly.
"How so?" asked Mrs Ginger.
"You'll certainly end up losing a few dozen pounds!"

The three Graafiandors squeezed their way into the bookstore, past the bustling assembly of celibate menopausal women.

Escapin from Lophart, they moved off to a secluded corner of the shop.
"Stunning performance, Potted!" rang a familiar voice. Hairy looked up and gasped. It wasn't Snoop, it wasn't Vulvamork, it wasn't even Haggis. It was Malformed.

After creating a new paragraph for no evident reason, Germy spoke out.
"Leave Hairy alone! He didn't know it was a hermaphrodite porno!"
"Oh look, Potted's got himself a girlfriend!" drawled Drachma nastily. Hairy grinned.
"Better than an inflatable crocodile with Hormoany's face pasted on!" he retorted. Malformed flushed, loosening his tie and looking about guiltily.

Mr Weakly flushed redder than a Jaffa in tomato sauce. 
"We have a different view of what disgraces the name of a wizard, Luscious," he hissed, lowering his voice. "Not flushing after you'd used a Port-a-loo at Witchstock, then not washing your hands afterwards!" Mr Malformed's face contorted with fury.
"How dare you repeat that in public!" he shouted. The two men leapt onto each other and started a furious thumb-wrestle. Haggis swiftly separated the two men, holding them at arms' length. Mr Malformed's cuticle was slightly mangled and Mr Weakly had a bruised metacarpophalangeal joint. Both men panted heavily, sweat trickling down their middle-aged heads. Luscious Malformed recovered his composure before spitting on the floor
"Fine! Take your textbook back, you stupid girl!" he said, tossing it towards Germy. It hit Hormoany.

Mr Weakly kept badgering the Gingers to explain the purpose of a bus stop.
"Well, now you mention it, someone stole ours a few weeks ago, for some odd reason involving a cubby house in the back yard…" said Mr Ginger.

Haggis was left to finish off several gallons of eggnog. (The chicken foetus in a bottle! You can feel the embryo melt in your mouth! Banned in two continents, ninety two countries and eight separate religions! Fried, not baked! The 'nog' stands for 'conceptus rejected after stem-cells have been removed, leaving the body to be ground up into this tepid, milky beverage!' It's cheap! Cheep cheep! Visit your local slaughterhouse now!)

After another nauseating journey through cyberspace, a very battered Hairy was spewed out of the Weakly's freezer compartment. His elbow was lodged into his groin and he had a sneaking suspicion that he was missing a shoe, along with the foot in it.

Mrs Weakly was bandaging the slits across her body from an encounter with a hacker. Rum was suffering concussion and all cranial orifices were oozing blood onto the floor. Germy was in a mild coma and the Siamese Weakly twins had been separated during the journey, both painstakingly stitching their torsos back to each other.

Floozy Chowder was definitely not Hairy Potted's favourite way to travel, but heck, it beat public transportation.

http://i4.photobucket.com/albums/y110/dragonangelfairy/HarryWood.jpg

--CHAPTER FIVE--

The usual welcome that Hairy received from the Parsleys was a kick in the rear and a stale popsicle shaped like Richard Nixon.

It was soon time for a mug of hot chocolate and bed. (How the bed managed to fit into a mug with the hot chocolate is still unknown.)

"Ready?" asked Rum.
"YOU WISH." replied Hairy boldly, whipping his baton up to his face dramatically.
"…huh?" said Rum, eyeing Hairy suspiciously.
"Don't worry, I will be." replied Hairy boldly, his face half-cast in shadow.

"The parabolic nature of our decreasing velocity is scarily similar to that of the effects of gravity." noted Rum.
"Yes, indicating that Ralphing's Law of Fiction appears to have a slight flaw." said Hairy, reaching terminal height.

The two looked around for another entry point. Only a few items littered the floor: a coat hanger, some dental floss and a can of sarsaparilla.
"I've got it!" shouted Rum. "We tie the dental floss around the coat hanger and rig it to the carbonated soda can, then shake the can until the top pops off, sending the coat hanger up to the station like a makeshift grapnel hook!"

Hairy vibrated for a moment, his male genetics kicking in.
"Oh fine! Race you to the van!" he yelled, bowling over two geriatrics with his trolley as he sprinted away.

Hairy could hardly wait until they got back to Dogfarts... but he had to, so he did.
 
Rum jerked on a squash racquet suspended from the van roof, causing the Kombi to burst up through the soil. Clods of earth caked the large drill at the front.
"All that and a bag of tomato chips." said Hairy. Gavin secretly agreed.

Hairy could see Hormoany and Perverted Petal combing each other's hair. In the next carriage along, a metal pitchfork was brushing Nibble Lungbuttock's hair. Hairy slowly turned to face Rum.
"Um, how exactly are we seeing in through their windows if they're on a flying cow?" he asked. Rum slowly turned to face Hairy.
"And how am I able to properly steer if I'm looking at you?"

"Oh well, all we have to worry about now are low flying aeroplanes!" joked Rum. Hairy and Rum burst into laughter, then quickly veered out of the way of a jumbo jet.
"Next stop, Dogfarts Institute of Wizardry and Weird Plots!" yelled Rum excitedly.
"Shut up, Rum." spat Hairy.

"Aaargh! Get off the windscreen, Gavin!" yelled Rum. Gavin was heating his oxygen tanks and draining the fumes through his mouthpiece like a giant pressurised bong. The Kombi had dark fumes billowing out of the bonnet.
"Bloody hell!" cursed the van. "Haven't you bastards heard of second-hand smoke?"

"Watch out for that tree!" yelled George of the Jungle.

With an ear-splitting bang of metal on wood and flesh on upholstery, the van rammed into a large plant, slamming to the ground with an abrupt Jolt cola.

"Oh no!" grimaced Rum, looking in the rear-view mirror. "It's a Humping Sallow!" One long bough rhythmically slapped the boot of the can as grunts of pleasure emanated from the tree. Hairy retched into an ashtray. This was more disgusting than a security tape he had seen of a woman falling into a giraffe pen during mating season!

“Well, let’s make like a tree and… get the fudge out of here!”

The Sorting Hatch was dividing the newcomers into their fraternity houses. Germy was easily visible in the group, her orange hair rather obvious amongst all of the other students' shades of blue.

"Profaner Snoop isn't at the staff table!" said Rum.
"Maybe he's sick!" suggested Hairy.
"Maybe he's been fired!" added Rum.
"Or maybe he's waiting behind you to find out why you weren't on the Dogfarts Excess today." came a dark voice from behind them.
"Or maybe he's horribly disfigured from a poaching spill!" continued Hairy. Profaner Snoop coughed indignantly.
"Ahem. I just said that I was right behi-" he began.
"Maybe he finally did get gonorrheoa!" 

Profaner MuckGonadal wore a bright green zucchini-mask on her face and was listening to rap music when they entered her office.

"Where is this van that the Humping Sallow is bragging about to the rest of the flora? Something about a 'car jacking' and getting some 'pussy willow'."

Hairy's stomach clenched together.
"Sorry!" chirped Gavin, removing the vice from around Hairy's torso.

When Hairy had last sent a cyber-message using Hodwog, it had ended up reaching its destination via a detour of Peru, Uruguay, New Zealand and Mauritania.

The two ate alone in the Grate hall, as everyone else had left to go to bed, or else engage in glacier climbing.

--CHAPTER SIX--

Hormoany seemed about impressed with the boys' adventure as she was with the four-inch sausages at breakfast.

The Bawler exploded into flames, showering the room with confetti. A small pile of ashes was all that remained on the table, smoking calmly as an exposed golden ring with Elvish writing engraved along the edg- darn it! Wrong story again!

CLANG! CLANGCLANGCLANGCLANG!!! 
"Who dropped that pin?"

"That's the ticket!" beamed Lophart.
"What ticket?" asked Hairy, as Dildoroy dragged him away by the nipples.
"Hairy, Hairy!" sighed Lophart. Completely flummoxed, Hairy said nothing.
"Hairy, Hairy, Hairy," continued Lophart. "Hai-ry Hairy; Hairy Hairy Hairy? Hairy!"
"What?!" said Hairy, thoroughly irritated at the moronic man.
"Gave you a taste for fame, didn't I, Hairy? Gave you the bug!" Lophart said. Hairy yelped, brushing a large bug from his arm.

"Hairy, Hairy, Hairy." interrupted Lophart, now attempting a record for the most amount of times 'hairy' is said in a paragraph. "Try not to attract too much attention. People will think you're a bit arrogant!" He gave Hairy a hearty wink and ran off, yelling:
"Look at me! Look at me!" at a passing group of Ravercorks.

Justout Finch-Retching sidled over to their table and began yammering on about his entire life story without any apparent reason.
"My Muffin dad was a bit wary of me coming here, but after reading about Dildoroy Lophart, he's seen the benefits of magic. Boy, that Lophart is brave isn't he? I'd have been scared stiff if a taxation officer had me cornered in a toilet cubicle; but he remained calm and… POW!"

After the potting of the Mandrins was completed, Justout Finch-Retching accidentally potted Hairy.
"Whoops! Now I see why they call you Hairy Po-"
"Don't say it!" snapped Hairy.

After a quick meteor shower to wash off, the Graafiandors hurried along to Transmogrification class.

"What have we got next?" he asked Hormoany, passing her timetable over through a mouthful of chameleon patty. Rum looked over it.
"I see it's a double Deference against the Bleak Arts. But why…" began Rum.
"Why have you outlined all of Dildoroy Lophart's lessons with pink hearts?" Hormoany blushed and attempted to snatch back the schedule. Rum continued.
"Plus all of Flipwit's, Snoop's, Stout's, MuckGonadal's…"

Half of the surrounding students were tuning in to hear Hairy and Malformed fight, the others would simply watch highlights at six with Janine.

"ONE MORE TOE OUT OF LINE AND IT'S OFF TO THE PODIATRIST!"

Dildoroy Lophart swaggered up, hitching high his silk pantaloons.
"I'll do a cameo for you! Get Potter and I in the one scene and I'll work on the DVD commentary afterwards!" Malformed sidled off smirking as Colon Creamy filmed a panning long-shot of Rum’s nostrils for his opening credits.

Lophart posed at his desk, motioning to the smiling picture behind him. The two winked sleazily in perfect unison.

"I like cheese!" shouted Gavin, sucking a chunk of the matter it through his snorkel.

“…but let's not get side-tracked, I didn't end up getting breakfast from a banjee by posing nude for her!" joked Lophart moronically.
"He did with my auntie." Rum muttered to Hairy.

Question 1. Which of Dildoroy Lophart's nipples is larger?
Question 2. What colour underpants does Dildoroy Lophart wear?
The list continued for several pages, right up to:
Question 69. What position is Dildoroy Lophart most likely to make love in?

"Now, onto our lesson! You may meet your worst fears in this very room!" said Lophart.
"We already have." Hairy mumbled under his breath.

"Here we go again!" sang Hairy sardonically, a decrescendo chord playing comicallly in the background. The three protagonists stood placidly for a moment, looking about in anticipation. Hormoany coughed. Several seconds past. Hairy gave an audible sniff.
"Yes… here we GO… again…" he called, slightly louder than his previous effort.
Rum looked at his watch. Hormoany coughed again. There was a minute sound of footsteps in the background, gradually growing louder. Hairy held his finger to his ear, as if receiving news from an earpiece. He nodded to Hormoany and Rum, who took up their initial positions.
"Here we go again!!!" said Hairy sardonically.

"Wait, he left with unlocking the deadbolt!" exclaimed Hormoany.
"Oh sheesh! Come back! Here we go again! HERE! WE! GO! AGAIN!!!" screamed Hairy. Rum placed his hand solemnly on Hairy's shoulder.
"It's over, son,” he whispered. “It's over." At this, the three teens dropped to their knees and gyrated emotionally to the heavens.
"NOOOOOO!!!"

--CHAPTER SEVEN--

Hairy spent the day avoiding Dildoroy Lophart as much as he could, especially  whenever he saw the man positioned at the urinal.

Hairy groggily awoke, glancing at the clock… Six am. On a Maturday morning. This must have been illegal.

Colon Creamy was following, his camcorder swinging from a nipple piercing.
"How does Spinach work?" he queried, trotting to keep up with Hairy. Luckily enough, there was a user-friendly Spinach pamphlet hovering just infront of Hairy by some odd reason.
"Here, read this." said Hairy, handing the guide to Colon. "How fortunate! I mean, who would drag the reader through half a page re-explaining how Spinach works just to make the book seem larger?"

Frig was dozing merrily, his face resting on Angelwiener's breasts.

"Why couldn't you have told this to us when we were awake?" grumbled Cutie Smell, removing the comatose Gorge from her lap.

Hairy enviously eyed the urodele toast with lemming jam that they were munching.

"As I was saying, Mr Malformed has kindly donated state-of-the-art squeegees to our team."

Colon Creamy ran down from the stands clutching his video camera.
"Ooh, what happened? Can you cure him?" he slobbered. Rum's flatulent worms continued spurting out through the hole in his robes.
"Can I get a shot of this?" Colon asked, bobbing up and down as he set up an aerial shot.
"What sort of sick person would want to see footage of a deluge of worms shooting from Rum's butt?" Hairy shouted.
"This is the Internet Age!" retorted Colon.

"…if a word o' Lophart’s is true, I'll eat me hat!" said Haggis. Hairy did not doubt this at all.

“Why’d he call her a Cudblood?” asked Hairy. Haggis grunted gruffly.
"Well, some sorcerers reckon tha’ just cuz rural Muffins in New Zealand mate wit’ ruminants, tha’ sorcerers wit’ Muffin relatives mus’ have sheep DNA. Rubbish o’ course! Just cuz Malformed's lot never came across one in compromisin’ position…"

"I told Lophart yeh wouldn't need tha’ sorta publicity the begin wit'. Yer already more famous than him an' Belinda Cunnilinda put together."
"Who?" queried Rum. A stray worm shot out of the open window. Haggis faltered.
"Belinda Cunnilinda… yeh know? Wha’, don’ yez read Playwizard? …never mind.”

"A great fan of mine, judged my nude posing session... Fame is a freaking fickle friend from Finland... I stink therefore I ham…" Hairy ignored Lophart's ramblings, scribbling a signature on an IUD for Ms Ginger.

--CHAPTER EIGHT--

"You cleaned out urinals… in a girls' toilet?" Hairy asked. Rum blinked.
"Yeah! That’s where they engrave the names of those who've won Special Crevices to the Institute." Hairy regurgitated into a gumboot.The combination of 'crevice' in relation to a urinal in a girls' toilet was best avoided.

"Well, your detention may seem bad, but do I have a story to tell you!" said Hairy.
Rum leapt up excitedly and seated himself at Hairy's feet.
"Is it Little Red Riding Hood? I like that story!"

The annual cold season had set over Dogfarts Institute of Wizardry and Weird Plots. Hairy continued wondering why the staff didn't use sorcery to keep the place warm, or at least cover up the gaping hole on the west-side wall of the castle, which exposed all of the classrooms to the elements.

The torrents of water had caused Haggis' grapefruits to grow very large indeed, as huge as... very huge grapefruits.

"Hello, Hairy, hello..." Merely Hoodless Dick replied absentmindedly. The spectre wore a splendid ghostly outfit, much like that which William Shakespeare would have worn, if he was alive now, and now was four hundred years ago.

"Dear Merely Hoodless Dick, We can only accept bluntmen whose 'hoods' have come off completely from their appendage. You will appreciate that it would otherwise be impossible for members to join in Jewish traditions and phallus collagen races. It is with great regret that I inform you that your penis does not fulfil our requirements."
Hairy’s eyes bulged and he took a large step back away from the Elizabethan spectre.
"You would expect," boomed Merely Hoodless Dick suddenly. “…that attempting to have your foreskin removed by a scalpel, a rusted hatchet and a guillotine would render it well and truly off, wouldn't you?" he bellowed to no-one in particular.

"You'd better get out of here, Hairy. Mr Belch isn't in such a good mood. The third years
accidentally splattered the dungeon ceiling with frog nipples and he's also pre-menstrual."

"Name: Hairy Potted. Crime:-" began Belch. Hairy intervened.
"It was only custard, cake and jelly" he appealed. Carefaker Belch scowled.
"Don't trifle with me boy! You’re in for more than a trifle punishment!”

Merely Hoodless Dick excitedly, glided through a wall, scaring the bajeezuz out of Hairy. Hairy quickly replaced his bajeezuz.

He watched Hairy on tenterhooks, later removing them from his shoulder blades.

"Well Hairy, I guess I'll make like a ghost and... get the fudge out of here!"

"Why would anyone want to celebrate the day of their death?" Rum spat, then cast a look at his calendar. "Whoopee! Only eight weeks until Easter!" he shouted excitedly. Hairy sighed heavily, having seen that sad joke coming from the editorial room. The narrator narrated another sigh and continued narrating the narrow narrative.

"I hope Groaning Girdle isn’t here… she’s haunts the girl's communal bathroom. Always leaves the showers turned on..." Rum and Hairy were off in a world of their own, envisioning pleasant scenarios that could occur in such communal girls' showers.

"You're making fun of my dental deformity" the ghost whined nasally. "Do you know what people called me when I was alive? Metal-mouth! Train-tracks! Orthopaedically-dependant-loser!" wailed Groaning Girdle. Peeves pelted her with a stale avocado.
"You forgot 'bucktoothed-pimply-fest-who-has-grotesque-metallic-oral-attachments’”

The leader of the ghostly troop stopped abruptly in front of the three Graafiandors, his foreskin flopping onto the floor with a splat. He saw the three students and feigned shock.
"Live ‘uns!" he cried, opening his mouth in surprise to reveal his foreskin tied arounhd his uvula. The audience of dead souls guffawed wildly.
“What’s that strange sound?” asked Hairy.
“I believe it’s know as ‘laughter’.” replied Hormoany.

"For once, I agree with Rum. Let's make like a trio of disgusted living souls and… get the fudge out of here!"

The red smudges spelt out jaggedly-written words with artistic drips, to make them seem foreboding and eeevil. Hormoany, Rum and Hairy slowly began to read the eeevil message.
THE CHANGER OF SEQUINS IS BACK, BACK AGAIN.

http://i4.photobucket.com/albums/y110/dragonangelfairy/IseedeadWeasleys.jpg

--CHAPTER NINE--

"You killed Mrs Notorious! When I get my hands on you, I'll take your temperature rectally with a pitchfork! " screeched Mr Belch.

After clearing a stack of Playwizard magazines from Lophart's table, Dumbodork lay the stiff Mrs Notorious on top of the desk and started prodding her. Tutting in a belittling tone, he strapped on a surgical mask and apron and snapped two spandex gloves over each hand.
"Scalpel!" he ordered. Madam Pomfret, dressed in full medical outfit, handed over the required utensil. Dumbodork began slicing away the cougar's chest cavity.
"Crowbar!" yelled the herdmuster, proceeding to pry open the ribcage. A line of blood spattered evenly across each of the onlookers' faces.
"Pneumatic drill! And I’ll need seven hundred ccs of benzocaine! Stat!" shouted Dumbodork melodramatically. Profaner MuckGonadal, with her witches' hat covered by cling wrap, handed over the medical implement whilst Profaner Flipwit jammed a syringe full of anaesthetic into the cougar's neck. Dumbodork began jackhammering away at Mrs Notorious' insides, flecks of sinew and gristle dotting across the room as blood-red goo overflowed from the torso of the cougar and oozed onto the floor in a dark puddle. A series of machines began beeping and whirring beside Hairy.
"We're losing her! Get me some defibrillators! Stat!" roared Dumbodork, using a circular saw to slice open the feline's armpits. The room was blotted with sprayed blood, a pool of red lymph staining Hairy’s ankles. Mr Belch sobbed heavily throughout the traumatic operation. Hairy couldn't help but feel pity towards him, especially since he would be the one responsible for having to mop up the emotionally-scarring gore from the room.

"Mrs Notorious is not dead!" stated Dumbodork. "This cougar has been Taxidermed." he continued. “Thus, I cannot see how Potted could have been involved…” Profaner Snoop stepped forward slovenly, the gloomy lighting metaphorically representing the minacious nature of the character, his accentuated horns, forked tail and pitchfork also implying his role as a source of evil and conflict.

"But your house is in the opposite direction!" cried Snoop. Rum didn’t miss a beat.
"Actually, as the Earth is a sphere, we WERE technically heading towards Graafiandor."
Hairy and Hormoany, who were expecting some moronic comment to further bury them in guilt, stopped mid-cuff at this ingenious remark. After a pause, they looked at each other and nodded in agreement, cuffing his head anyway.


"So… will Mrs Notorious be alright?" whimpered Belch meekly. Dumbodork chuckled sheepishly.
"Actually, she was just sleeping when we brought her in. Unfortunately, the internal damage from all of my power equipment has rendered her Taxidermed. A Restorative Flagon should take as long to prepare as is necessary for this bunch to unravel an over-elaborate and weird plot." Dumbodork said, motioning to Hairy, Hormoany, Rum and Gavin.

"Do you think I should have told Profaner Dumbodork about the dark, hoarse, eeevil voice that I heard?" Hairy asked.
"Definitely maybe not." replied Hormoany.

Hormoany and Rum shrugged to no-one. No-one shrugged back.

Hairy suddenly remembered something that had been niggling the back of his mind like a fluke worm in a camel's colon.

"Oh, I can't say it! I've been sworn to take it to the grave!" said Rum firmly. Hormoany bowed her head.
"To the grave." she repeated ceremoniously.

Carefaker Belch continually patrolled the site of the attack, as if the culprit was stupid enough to go back to the scene of the crime and prance around in a frilly pink hat.

The ominous words still glistened eerily, an omnipresent reminder of a sinister subplot brewing below the empyrean. (And they turned me down for a Pulitzer nomination!)

"Talking about the Queen Mother, she reached one hundred and one!" Rum said.
"Well, the good die young!" said Hairy.

Justout Finch-Retching caught sight of Hairy. He froze, turned around and fled in the opposite direction. Hairy sniffed his armpits, shrugged, then continued walking.

Hairy and Rum stared blankly at Hormoany, dribble carving a path down their chins in perfect synchronisation with an inflamed haemorrhoid.

Gavin continued sprinkling parmesan cheese down the half-binding of ‘Dogfarts: a Misery’ and daubed streaks of Gouda down the spine.

The fascist librarian used an economy-sized bulldozer to empty the library.

A bony hand, caked with rotting flesh, burst out suddenly from the earthy soil. The class' undead educator, Profaner Banns, clambered out of the damp earth and stood next to his desk. The students dry retched from the sour stench that wafted from Profaner Banns' rank chassis. Hairy cringed at the sight of a maggot infestation gnawing away at a crusty layer of the zombie's scalp. Worms would occasionally protrude from his green epidermis as he talked.

Profaner Banns looked shocked from the interruption, possibly because Hormoany’s raised hand had lifted up her sleeve to reveal she wasn't wearing a bra. (She was wearing a tank top, you dirty pervert!) A lone chunk of gristle dropped from the Profaner's arm and landed on the floor with a splat.
"Let's see, how about… no! The Changer of Sequins is a legend! Made-up! A fairy tale! Fictional! A crock of sh-" Hormoany cut off Profaner Banns.
"But don't all fancible myths have an element of truth?" she blurted. Profaner Banns blinked, then checked the table of elements. He found the element of truth along the top column and was forced to continue.

An image was projected up onto the wall in a fashion quite unorthodox to Venezuelans.

"As you know, Dogfarts was founded over one thousand years ago by four founders: Gothic Graafiandor, Helmet Hecklepuck, Ribena Ravercork and Saladbar Silvery. They constructed the castle far from prying Muffin eyes and the IRS. This was due to the fact that sorcery was commonly persecuted during the era… and to avoid witch tax."

Profaner Banns paused again, cast again a look over the again engrossed students and continued again. The image on the wall portrayed a teary-eyed class farewelling Saladbar Silvery as he exited the Dogfarts gates, toting a knapsack of mediaeval kimonos over his shoulder. Profaner Banns plucked a maggot from his eyeball and tossed it away.
"Reliable sources provide us with this much information. Unfortunately, this story has been distorted by the fanciful legend of the Changer of Sequins. It was well known that Saladbar Silvery was a transvestite. He supposedly built a secret room to change into his sequinned dresses at night and perfect his pedicures in peace."

Hairy gasped along with the rest of the class as a photograph of an immense chamber was projected infront of them. The room seemed to be perfectly carved out of marble, with utterly adorable furnishings to create a feng-shui with the delicious carpet/wallpaper colour co-ordination.

"There is no proof that Silvery so much as built a secret closet, only that he came out of it! Provide me one solid, verifiable item of evidence!" barked Profaner Banns. The class seated themselves one by one, leaving Hairy standing on his own with a furrowed brow.
"Well, sir… your slide show contained images of not only Silvery's hair, but the changing room itself. You are actually the one with the hard copies of evidence."
Hairy clicked the red button, projecting the offending photographs onto the wall.
"See, they've even been dated about fifty years ago and verified by officials and everything." said Hairy, pointing out the official procedures that had been administered to the documentation of Silvery's hair. Profaner Banns stood frozen on the spot, vibrating dangerously. Foetid pieces of dead tissue and strips of rotten organs littered the floor. Profaner Banns quickly plucked the miniature photographs from the magic lantern and dropped them into his mouth. The objects fell down through a gaping hole in his gut and clattered to the floor. This technique having proved a failure, Profaner Banns proceeded to bash the photographs with his ulna bone until they were powder. 
"There!" he panted, the silenced students looking on tentatively.
"Not a single scrap of evidence!”


The class fell back into its habitual lethargy as Profaner Banns began reciting Sorcery Regulations and their relevance to the distorted growth of fungi in Ghana.

As if to verify this suspicion, Gavin suddenly appeared, joigging around the room in his flippers; a black Jewish midget transvestite with a smelling disability was being dragged behind him on a string.

--CHAPTER TEN--

An enchanted Pez dispenser woke up the class with a shrill wailing that closely resembled a throttled hyena.

Hairy remembered the occurrence like it was just 400 days ago.
)))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))(((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((
)))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))(((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((
)))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))(((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((
(It's supposed to be one of those rippling flashback effects. Trust me, it looks good when you're drunk and standing on your head with 3-D glasses on.)

"Hey, look at this!" cried Hormoany, pointing to a nearby window. A line of pubic lice was crawling through a hole in the pane, carrying their possessions in a backpack made out of tightly woven human pubes.

After persuading the two boys to enter with a carrot on a string, Hormoany checked to make sure no-one was looking and followed suit. The suit disapproved.

"Hang on! This is where Groaning Girdle lives!" said Hormoany. “Let’s ask her if she saw anything… on that fateful night…" The three went up to the last shower and pulled back the curtain. Perverted Petal screamed and slapped Hairy across the face. Hormoany apologised and hastily closed the curtain again.
"Why wasn't she showering with the water turned on?" asked Rum.
"Shut it." Hairy hissed through clenched teeth. "If we kept questioning the circumstances of everything that happens in this inane book, we'd never see any nude girls!"

Groaning Girdle's mouth opened in an angry croissant-like shape, though croissants are rarely filled with enough steel to deflect a bullet.

At this, she furiously shot down a toilet behind them, drenching them with toilet water.
"I wish she'd have flushed first." grimaced Rum.

Hairy and Hormoany looked at each other and mouthed 'gorringe' for no apparent reason.

Rum's baton started spitting balls of toothpaste onto Hormoany, giving her Afro a minty freshness.

"Let’s think… who views all non-pure-bloods as filth?" replied Rum sarcastically.
"What? Pauline Hanson?" blurted Hairy.

"Come on, Rum. Even you should have a better vocabulary than that!" guffawed Hairy. Rum flicked the tip of his magical baton.
"You try… speak… word with… stick magic stuck… upwards brain." stuttered Rum in reply. Hormoany interrupted his cerebral malfunctioning.
"I'm sure we can find the Pollywog Poaching in the restricted section. All we need is a signature from a Profaner." she said. Rum thought for a moment.
"Who teacher be… not smart… to… signature us library?"

"Sorry I'm late, class. There was a particularly intriguing fungus growth on the wall."
"Profaner Lophart is… not smart… for we to… advantage him!" Rum said cruelly, caressing his hands together like an evil schemer.

Hairy wished to grab a nearby hatrack and impale Lophart through it like a kebab.

"Profaner Lophart, we need to borrow a restricted book-on-tape from the Dogfarts library. It would really help us understand the intricacies of the tropical ivy you used as toilet paper for your duration in Guatemala."

"And Potted, if you need any Spinach tips, I'm always willing to aid the less able!" Lophart added with a hearty wink.
"Who? Coma patients?" said Rum.

Madam Pfalz had a small Hitler moustache and numerous swastikas blazoning her Brown Shirt.
"Vot iz you effter?" she barked. Hairy swallowed nervously.
"We need to borrow Most Impotent Poachings. Hormoany has our signed permission note here." he stammered. Madam Pfalz scrutinised the note.
"Ziss appears to be in order! Vait here!" she ordered, goose-stepping into the restricted section of the athenaeum. Once she had returned, she paused to check that they were free of any hexagrams, before handing over the book.
"If zere are any penzil marks along zee margins ven zis iz returned, Mein Fuhrer vill be eenformed!" hissed Madam Pfalz. Hormoany, Rum and Hairy nodded meekly.
"Shall we go, then?" Rum asked.
"VEE VILL ASK ZEE QUESTIONS!" screeched Madam Pfalz.The three students scampered off, leaving Madam Pfalz to strip raw pink flesh from a dead rabbit, a trickle of blood crawling down her chin.
"Heil!" she chanted, elevating her baton arm. Somewhere in New York, a Jewish boy's head exploded.

"Guys, have I ever been wrong before?" scowled Hormoany. Hairy and Rum rummaged through their pitiful memories.
"Well," began Hairy. "There was that time involving the… oh wait, that was Rum."
he trailed off.
"Hang on, remember that embroidery competition… oh wait, that was me." said Rum.

--CHAPTER ELEVEN--

Oldliver opened his mouth to say something, realised that he was Irish, then closed it.

The Graafiandors filed out onto the Spinach pitch. Hairy was so caught up with emotion that he didn't hear the roar of the crowd. As he mounted his vacuum cleaner, he didn't even hear the foghorn blow to start the game. He then realised it was two in the morning and the game wasn't starting for another eight hours.

They hurried back to bed, muttering about equestrians.

The Silvery players were away faster than you can say 'polytetrafluoroethylene' fourteen thousand and forty one times.

The sound of a mediocre vagabond sounded from the foghorn to end the game.

Hairy awoke with a start in the middle of the night. There was somebody dabbing his forehead with a wet shoe.

He grabbed Dodgy by the collar.
"So you were the one who cursed my quill to write in Hindu!" Dodgy raised an eyebrow.
"Erm, no... Dodgy has just been trying to seriously maim you." replied the house-imp. Hairy faltered.
"Oh, you know what I mean! If a rose was called by any other name, wouldn't it still be worth two in the bush?"

Dodgy twisted off his own arm at the elbow and began flogging himself with the bloody stump.

"Sir, all house-imps wear onion sacks to make them unattractive to hot chicks, as being given skimpy lingerie would free Dodgy from his enchantments of enslavement."

Dumbodork picked up the video camera and opened it up. Hairy, three beds away, smelt the acrid smell of Madam Pomfret passing wind.

Profaner MuckGonadal and Madam Pomfret moved in closer to hear and the colliding of their heads secretly pleased Hairy.

--CHAPTER TWELVE--

Hairy magically went from great agony during lesson time on Friday, to a complete recovery for the weekend.

Panting from a ravaging obesity that has been acquired by many of today's youth, he swung open the locker room door. Perverted Petal screamed and slapped Hairy across face, storming out with a towel wrapped around her.

Holidays were approaching and nearly everybody had got their ear tagged to be released for vacation, except for Malformed, Crappe and Goitre. Hormoany, Hairy and Rum found this very suspicious. Why would the three students be staying behind when everyone else was leaving? Well, clearly the question could have been directed back at them.

Snoop held up the cauldron, revealing Hairy's footprint plainly stamped on the side.
"If I ever find out who did this, they'll be taking a detention with the Humping Sallow!" he roared darkly. Hairy thanked the author for being untalented enough to adapt the Cinderella method of holding up each student's shoe to match to the tread.

Rum and Hairy ground-up the final ingredients of the Pollywog Poaching using three wolverines, a winnowing sieve and a strickened adjective.

Hormoany grimaced as she used a mop to clean Rum's semi-masticated dinner from her face.
"Let's think, Rum. It's a fresh, new idea, which means it comes from…"
"An old fashioned fogie!" ejaculated Rum. Hormoany grabbed the mop again, swabbing the results of Rum's 'ejaculation' from her face.

The demonic Profaner Snoop was wearing a billowing puce tutu, reminding Hairy of a menstruating fruit-bat.

Dildoroy Lophart leapt up onto the raised platform and hushed the crowd with a swivelling of the hips.

Profaner Lophart bowed to Profaner Snoop, who replied by flipping him the bird. The two men took the stances of a fencer and a flatulent praying mantis.

"I introduce Martha Stewart!" yelled Lophart enthusiastically. The eagerness of all the pupils dropped in an instant as the woman walked onto the stage.
"I think I'm seeing double." Hairy murmured out of the corner of his mouth to Rum, as Dildoroy Lophart sidled up alongside the guest, the two grinning moronically.
“Let's get to it!" chirped Marther Stuwart, her hallmark grin returning within milliseconds of her lips ceasing to move. A laugh track sounded from somewhere.

"Now, this device is called a ‘whisk’." she continued. Every female member in the audience rolled their eyes, having had mastered the skill at age four. Every male member of the audience looked on attentively, scribbling notes.

"Either make a skilly or loblolly gruel, simply vary your liquified asp droppings accordingly. Then, once it's thoroughly mixed, pop the mixture in your ear…" Martha Stewart trailed off as she funnelled the oatmeal slop down her aural cavity.
"Mix thoroughly…" she added, before tearing off her head and violently booting it across the stage. "And you're done!" she said, as her body poured the porridge-like substance out through her nostrils.

"Expelyouranus!" bellowed Snoop, shooting Lophart into the ceiling. Profaner Lophart's baton spiralled off towards the window. It hit Hormoany.

Malformed was grinning deviously from nose to eyebrow.

"Now, Potted, when Master Malformed performs his incantation, just do this." Lophart swirled his baton in an array of directions. The rod spun out of his hand and cartwheeled towards Perverted Petal. It hit Hormoany.

Several nearby Ravercorks whispered fervently as they case Hairy a queer look, though this may have been due to a purple hippopotamus on his head.

"Hairy. This is bad. This is very bad!" said Rum shakily.
"What?" asked Hairy, completely nonplussed.
"Didn't you watch todays episode of The Bold and the Beautiful? Alaska’s gone and had a skin bleaching to elope with South Carolina in order to blackmail Nebraska's boyfriend over her ex-husband's illegitimate son!" said Rum frantically.

"You should worry about being an Arselmouth, Hairy. It'll start... rumors." said Rum.
"Yes, people may raise certain… accusations." added Hormoany.
"Why are you pausing dramatically to end each... sentence?" asked… Hairy. The narrator... sighed.

Rum slid an ostrich omelette through the slit between his baton and mouth palette.

Hairy's heart sunk. (Ooh, I can get a pun out of this one. Hang on… word association, word association… heart… sunk… sunken heart… heartship? No no… heart… ticker… ticking… time! And sunk… underwater… the aphotic zone! *ahem* Hairy's heart sunk… WHAT A TIME ZONE!
Off in the distance, giraffes chirped into the silence.

"Let's leave it for now, to gnaw away in subplot for a while." instructed Hormoany.

"What-what do you want?" asked Bernie. Hairy adopted an air of casual chatter.
"Oh, I just wanted to see Justout Finch-Retching." he announced. The Hecklepucks gasped, their worst fears finalised… for the television screen behind Hairy showed that Hawaii, Amber's adopted father, had indeed been murdered by Arkansas's disowned grandparents after having their sex change under Dr Los Angeles.

Hairy continued marching down the corridor furiously until her bumped into a walking flamingo carcass. He then realised that Haggis was carrying it.

"Caught in the act!" yelled Bernie Macmullian, pointing accusingly at Hairy.
"It's actually a different Act, we're in Scene One." retorted Hairy.

Dumbodork disappeared down a secret passage, possibly to India.

"Sheesh, what's up your butt?" said the Sorting Hatch.
"Oh, a shovel!" Hairy piped, quickly withdrawing the offending article.

A wretched bird was hooked up to a dialysis machine, an iron lung and an electroencephalograph. Feathers littered the floor. Hairy took a step back from the morbid smell wafting from a colostomy bag. Without warning, the cardiograph flatlined and the orange bird emitted a shrill shriek. With a deafening explosion, it burst apart with the force of a deodorant can in a microwave. Blood and gore splattered the room. As a last remnant of bird innards landed with a splat on the floor, Dumbodork returned.
He stopped in a dark puddle of ruptured spleen.

Haggis swung the flamingos energetically as he argued, knocking over an several invaluable Ming-dynasty-era vases.

"I expect better from you, Hairy,” said Dumbodork. “You parents didn't choose tuition at Dogfarts as their life insurance policy so that you could learn sorcery. They wished for you to be placed in an environment so crude that it would prepare you for the real world."
Hairy sat up in his seat.
"What do you mean, 'the real world'?" asked Hairy. Profaner Dumbodork leant back in his chair and yawned.
"Never mind, we have no need for any of their influences!" 

"It's ready." Hormoany whispered.
"What? My hair?" asked Rum.
"No, you fudgewit! Not reddy: ready! The Pollywog Poaching!"

They passed Gavin, who was teaching worms how to scuba-dive in septic tanks with a mouth-full of cheddar.

His Defect badge now read ‘Reject’. It was also up to chapter books.

They hurried to Groaning Girdle's locker room, ducking Perverted Petal’s fist.

The liquid bubbled happily on a fire, turning the colour of a eunuch’s scrotum.

"I have their DNA in these... ribbed, flavoured balloons." Hormoany announced.

"That sounds like something Hormoany would say." joked Hairy/Crappe. Rum/Goitre cuffed the back of his head, paused, then cuffed him again.

“Hurry up, you two! I have something to show you!" Malformed rapped. Rum/Goitre and Hairy/Crappe followed Drachma/Drachma down the hall.

Hairy looked to Rum who looked to Drachma who looked to Gavin.

Hairy put on a fake laugh, something he was becoming an expert at from all of the lame jokes he was bombarded with in this sad, sad novel.

"Father probably won't tell me all the details as we have to lay low while the Minionstry inspects our mansion. Lucky we keep all of our valuable terrorist weapons hidden inside a baby carcass that my mother cut open and then sewed back together." said Malformed.
"Ho!" blurted Rum/Goitre. Malformed frowned.
"What did you call my mum?" he snapped.

Groaning Girdle drifted out of the freezer compartment with a metallic grin. Her spectral orthodontics housed various unknown substances in the cage-like hooks.
"Come and see the androgynous girl, only eight ninety-five!" Groaning Girdle exclaimed, every 's' sounding phoneme being accentuated by a bubbling of saliva. 

"Wait 'til everyone finds out you've got testicles!"

--CHAPTER THIRTEEN--

Some suggested that Hormoany had digested one of Militant Bulltoad's slippers, with the accumulated fungal growth reacting with her high mestranol levels to create a testosterone surrogate.

Perves hurried past, pelting Germy Weakly with worms wearing tiny scuba diving gear.

"Why," asked Rum. "Have you got a 'Get Well' card from Dildoroy Lophart under your pillow… along with one from Flipwit, Snoop, Stout, MuckGonadal…?”

Hairy strode up to the last cubicle to find the contents of the toilet sprayed up the walls.
"These shoes are so gone once we're out of here." grimaced Rum.

"I was just sitting in the U-bend admiring the view when someone thought it would be funny to dump a gelatin puddle of diarrhoea on my head!" roared Groaning Girdle, a thin strip of celery that had caught in her braces flapped with every syllable.

"Can I take this foetid, jelly-like disc of human dysentery with me?" asked Hairy.  Groaning Girdle sniffed haughtily and turned up her nose.
"If I had a Gallow for every time I've heard that one…"

Hairy fiddled with the secreted diarrhoea in the Graafiandor cummin room, but was unable to uncover any extra writing. Gavin and Hormoany were fiddling with something else. (Their violas, you perverted pervert!) 

"Thank you, narrator!" Rum replied. (At least, it sounded like 'thank'…)

The postal parrots had been force-fed coloured dye with the use of a dictionary so that their droppings decorated the tables with pink, triangle-shaped splatterings.

"Why, already I have received four Coming-Out cards!" hollered Lophart cheerily. Hairy noticed Hormoany, Crappe and Boil sink low in their seats. Up on the staff table, Dumbodork’s head also slid out of view.

"While we're all in a gay state of mind, why not ask Profaner Flipwit for the Nipntuck Charm? And I'm sure Profaner Snoop will happily provide you with a Watered Wejussdo poaching."

The rest of the lesson was interrupted by fairy fairies delivering Queen ‘n’ Dyke notes. Strangely, only one was for a member of Dutch royalty.

"Hith thkin ith ath pink ath an apricot mink,
Hih hair ith ath hoarthe ath cheap glue.
Hith 'L' shaped thcab is jutht totally fab;
Get a Nipntuck and I'll have you."

Gavin began singing about different Mongolian cheeses.

Rum was sound asleep, his head resting against the dozing Hormoany. Hairy mischievously unwound a few feet of Hormoany's enormous tongue and began feeding it into Rum's mouth, then used Colon Creamy’s camera to record the priceless moment before returning the two to their original positions.

Punching Hodwog in the gut, Hairy collected a bowlful of parrot guano and plucked a feather from the bird's behind. Hodwog squawked indignantly.
"Thanks, Hodwog!" chirped Hairy. He dipped the feather into the vile vial of excreta and held it above the secreted diarrhoea. A drop of white crap quivered at the end, like a raindrop glistening from the tip of a leaf on the serene backdrop of a summer day, before splattering messily onto the solid puddle. It sat there, like a student at his desk, before disappearing.

‘My name is Hairy Potted’ he wrote, before the words were sucked into the solidified diarrhoea like an encounter with Hormoany. (After a snake bite, you disgraceful pervert!)

He was swallowed up by the swirling vortex of diarrhoea. (Find THAT in Shakespeare!)

Screaming in terror, Hairy performed a triple-flip to a straddle-pike landing.

"My mother died during childbirth. They say she lived long enough to name me. 'dum****' after my father, and ‘Kept Heed’ as my middle name, as she sensed that I was an eeevil baby."

"I'm sorry,” said Profaner Dipsheesh solemnly. “But with Silvery's hair-bearing heir scaring pairs of hares and tearing up mares in his lair down there, it isn't fair to keep students in fear, you hear?"

"But what if I found the Changer of Sequins?" blurted Ritalin. Profaner Dipsheesh leant in towards Ritalin, ramming ans ear-trumpet deep into his aural cavity.
"What was that? You want to find hounds endangered by sequels?"
The herdmaster’s face suddenly stiffened with comprehension as he repeated these words to himself under his breath.
"Are you saying you know something about Silvery’s hidden chamber?"

Guessing that he could probably act like a ghost in Ritalin’s memory, Hairy attemped to walk through a nearby wall. Moments later, Hairy was clutching a bloody nose.

After an hour of tedious waiting, Ritalin finally worked out the calculus problems on the blackboard and proceeded on.

Without warning, a gigantic pubic louse burst out and scuttled past Hairy. dum**** Ritalin threw a chunk of concrete after the monster. It hit Hormoany.

A rippling of light began tearing through the space/time continuum behind Hairy. He stretched out his hand in slow-motion.
"GAAANNNDDDAAALLLFFF!!!" he screamed. The narrator coughed.
"Oh, right… HAAAGGGGGGIIISSS!!!"

http://i4.photobucket.com/albums/y110/dragonangelfairy/HermioneKate.jpg

--CHAPTER FOURTEEN--

"Are you sure it was Haggis?" asked Hormoany. Hairy rolled his eyes.
"How many fat Scotsmen do we know with an obsession for huge animals?" Just then, Chubby McFinn ran past on his trek to capture Loch Ness.

A dog was squashed flat beneath him.
"It's a dog's life!" joked Nibble, before cuffing himself over the back of the head.

Hairy gasped out loud. It was horrible… his bed was made, his books were alphabetically ordered on his desk and the bastard had neatly aligned all of his clothing in a spectrum.
"NOOOO!" Hairy cried to the heavens.

"Well, it has to have been a girl." commented Hairy. Rum nodded in agreement as his female sibling Germy walked past.
"Yeah, no boy could tidy a room like that… and they have orange hair." said Rum, holding up the strand of incriminating evidence from Hairy’s floor. Germy walked past them again, combing her orange hair and folding up her ironing.
"And they'd have to be in Graafiandor." Hairy added. Germy walked past once more, smoothing out her Graafiandor tutu. Rum suddenly sat up.
"GERMY!" he shouted triumphantly. Germy turned quickly at the mention of her name.
"Y-yes?" she stuttered nervously. Rum stormed over to her aggressively.
"Germy… do YOU know any orange-headed Graafiandor girls who have been acting suspiciously?"

"Thank god Philadelphia made at up with Amber Jr the third, her doppelganger's reincarnated spirit, before murdering Wisconsin found out about the triple homicide!"
Hairy and Rum stared silently at the motionless Hormoany. Behind them, Madam Pomfret was calling a time of death and slowly pulling a white sheet over the mutilated face of the caped Assisting Capybara.

Students were no longer allowed out at night time, were to hold hands between lessons and sleep with a night-light on.

Haggis opened the door, toting a warhammer. His pet dog Frang struggled at his lead armed with a sub-automatic machine gun.

Rum sank his teeth into a scone, retched and hastily returned it to Frang's kitty litter box.

The Minionster o’ Magic extinguished his cigar on Frang's head, then looped his violin case around his elbows, flung it up and caught it behind his back. Just then, another knock sounded on the door. It wasn't Snoop, it wasn't Vulvamork, it wasn't even Haggis. It was Malformed, Luscious Malformed.

"Yez can' get rid o' Bulbous Dumbodork! Tha'll mean the author will 'ave the go out o' his usual plot formula and actually think o’ somethin' creative fer once!"

"What has he done to deserve such disrespect?" Fridge snapped.
"Should I start alphabetically or in chronological order?" Mr Malformed replied wittily.
"Alphabetically." replied Fridge. Luscious Malformed faltered for a few moments.
"Ermr… well, nothing, really. Just make like a fired herdmuster and… fudge off!"

"I like cheese!" added Gavin.
“Right! I warned you!” shouted Rum. He leapt up into the air and remained hovering in a menacing pose as the camera angle rotated around him 270 degrees. As Ralphing's Law of Fiction wore off, Rum let fly with a powerful kick to Gavin's chest, the snorkeling dork cartwheeling backwards into a wall, like a… gee, I don't know what like…

"Hmm…" mumbled Rum.
"Hmm…" mumbled Hairy, a little higher and louder. Rum frowned.
"HMM…" he mumbled clamorously.
"HMM!!!" replied Hairy, even more obstreperously.
"HMMM!!!" Rum roared into the back of his throat.
"HMMMMMMNNNNNNGGGFFFTTTTTRRRMMMMMM!!!!!" bellowed Hairy.
"… … …fudge you!" snapped Rum.

The two regained their previous thinking poses. They pondered the situation a bit longer.
"Should we leave now?" asked Rum. Hairy blinked.
"…yeah."

--CHAPTER FIFTEEN--

Hairy wondered how a portly middle-aged nurse brandishing a rectal-thermometer was supposed to thwart Silvery's monster.

“Today you shall poach a weight-loss concoction for our dear janitor Haggis, who is currently too fat to fit inside any cells at Afghaniztan.”

Malformed sucked-up to Profaner Snoop like a Hoover with a lollipop. Profaner Snoop couldn't suppress a wicked smile, or a flatulent expulsion.

The plants had already engraved obscene tattoos into their pulps and swapped bodily-function-interrupting piercings.

Hairy suddenly beat Rum over the head with a shovel.
"Ow, what was that for?" Rum cried, then stopped and looked to where Hairy was pointing. Gavin was waving a large yellow flag with an arrow on it which pointed to a line of pubic lice that were scuttling into the Forbidding Forest.

"The Minionstry wouldn't have taken away Rubicund Haggis unless they were certain he was behind it all!" said Lophart, as if explaining one and point-nine-repeater was two.

Hairy wolfed down green eggs and ham for dinner.

Rum poured some magical petrol over a magical taper and lit it with magical matches.

Adelgids of all magnitudes congregated around them, from the size of marbles to... gigantic marbles.

"Haggis is in trouble." continued Hairy nervously, wondering if Rum had a few hundred  cans of Vagiclean handy.

"Now that fresh meat has wandered here on its own accord…" Adelgid licked his pincers as the pubic lice began closing in.
"Actually, we were forecfully carried here." retorted Hairy. Adelgid faltered.
"Oh… well… screw you, we're hungry!"

"See you guys later, I have a date with a star-nosed mole!" shouted the van.

Rum was being violently sick in Haggis’ grapefruit patch, before being dramatically sick and comedically sick.

Hairy realised that whatever Silvery's monster was, it was feared by all the animal kingdom just like the Bleak Nerd was to sorcerers… the name of Silvery's beast was a taboo, euphemised out of fear just as Vulvamork’s name was… or perhaps Hairy was just reading too deeply into this shallow novel.

Pussy Weakly had mastered the art of growing his ear-hairs to grab his baton from the bedside table. He jinxed off the ropes that bound him to his bed, then swung up to the sick bay using brachiation of the ear lobes. After several weeks of anorexia treatment from Madam Pooch, he was back to normal health and his vocal chords were as strong as ever.

--CHAPTER SIXTEEN--

Unfortunately, Rum's baton still hadn't shifted from his skull, shooting beach towels out of his mouth whenever he squinted.

Rum sneezed, causing a random Canadian to catch on fire. Hairy began stuffing Rum's nostrils with cotton balls.
"It's either this or explain to MTV why Avril Latrine spontaneously combusted during the filming of her video-clip 'I H8 2 B N XTC 4 U’."

Amenorrhean quadriplegics.

"Your associates will return shortly." said MuckGonadal. The room broke into fits of giggles at the sound of the word 'butt'.
"Silence, class!" she rapped. The class roared with laughter.
"Stop that crassness or I'll assassinate you all!" Students pounded the carpet with mirth.
"Oh, fudge it! tick off to lunch, you little cs!"

"Do you have to go that bad?" joked Gavin.
"Yes." replied Hairy.
"Oh..." said Gavin. He stood placidly for a few seconds, then ate a piece of cheese.

"I'm sick of people always addressing Hairy first! Why don't you ever say 'Master Weakly, Master Potted', instead of always putting the famous Hairy Potted in front?" roared Rum. Profaner MuckGonadal was taken back.
"Err… well, it's alphabetical, I suppose… Potted comes before Weakly…"
"Why not base it on first names?" he spat. Profaner MuckGonadal blinked.
"Hairy still comes before Rum alphabetically." Rum broke into a grin.
"Great! Well, I'm glad that I managed to prolong those awkward first moments that Hairy has to think of a decent alibi. What did you come up with?"

As Rum and Hairy turned the corner, they distinctively heard Profaner MuckGonadal emit a gurgling burp and scratch her genitals.

The other victims of Silvery's monster each lay frozen on their beds, less animated than Al Gore in a coma.

Hairy tried prying the paper from out of Hormoany’s fingers, but her grip was very tight  from years of practise. (She played cricket you heinous pervert!)

"Of the many fearsome creatures that roam our lands, there is none more deadly than the Batholith, also called the Queen of Anguilliformes. This eel may reach huge lengths and live as long as Joan Rivers. The Batholith is born from a maternal lesbian ovum under an artificial-insemination microscope. It will take orders from other Queens, mainly cross-dressers donning sequinned gowns. The Batholoth’s methods of killing are wondrous… for a  PG-rating, anyway. This creature’s Mourning Breath can cause instant death, and pubic lice flee from it, as it causes a fatal enema. The Batholith fears only the body odour of a flamingo."

"The victims mustn't have copped the full force of lethal halitosis. Colon was recording with his camcorder, so the radiation emitting from the shoddy device must have filtered the bad breath… Mrs Notorious was outside Groaning Girdle's horrendously malodorous toilets, so those fumes must have weakened the impact… and Justout Finch-Retching had that wad of cheese crammed up his nostrils by Gavin." said Hairy.
“But what about Hormoany and Envelope Drainwater?" asked Rum. Hairy turned.
“Oh, I never noticed… both of them are wearing gas masks!”

"How did it get around though?" queried Rum.
"Look at what Hormoany wrote… Poops!" read Hairy.
"What, was Hormoany describing us?" Rum asked dimly.
"No, it was disguising itself among those poops in Groaning Girdle's toilet! I've been hearing it being flushed around the institute!"

The two slid inside the staff room closet. Hairy pushed out Rosie O' Donnell as Rum crammed up against Eminem, who was cleaning out the closet.

Madam Pfalz was engraving several gammadions and flyfots into her arm with a scalpel.
Profaner Tralala winced as a fleck of blood spritzed across her face.

All of the Profaners leant in closer to hear and the simultaneous 'clunk' as their heads collided secretly pleased Hairy.

"Sorry I'm late, I just can't resist a good fungal growth when I see one!" Lophart chirped.

Hairy and Rum headed back to Graafiandor, their hearts full of sorrow and their socks full of dried urine. Frig and Gorge Weakly were too shocked to talk, so both simultaneously attempted to determine the sound of one clapping by using their shared shrunked arm.

"Do you think there's any chance that she's still... you know..." Rum couldn't finish his sentence, but Hairy understood what he had meant. He could hardly see how Germy would be playing croquet at this time.

Knock Knock.
"Who's there?"
"Rum."
"Rum who?"
"Rum-maging through your stuff are you?" asked Rum.

Knock Knock.
"Who's there?"
"Hairy."
"Hairy who?"
"Hairy up and open the door!"

"Look, one of that stuff would have sold if I hadn't done them. I mean, that slutty vampire slayer had the most fake breasts..." Hairy scowled.
"So you just stole stories from other people and claimed all the glory?" Hairy put his hands on his hips and tutted heavily with a tone of utter disgust.
"That has to be the most spineless, pathetic things that you can do! Blatantly riding the coat tails of someone else's work and calling it your own!" he roared. Luke Brattoni chuckled sheepishly.

Rum looked at Lophart as if he was a diseased rodent that had travelled through the Hudson River filtering system and then been minced into a pie.

"Expelyouranus!" shouted Hairy. Lophart was launched into the ceiling from the violent expulsion of gas from his rear, his baton spiralling out of the window. It hit Hormoany.

"Do you want fries with that, witch?" said Hairy coolly. Rum laughed.
"Ha! With derisive wit like that, you could be an actio-" he stopped short as Homer Simpson cuffed the back of his head.

"Oldlid Horny was teasing me about my horrendously grotesque dental gear, so I came in here to cry…" Groaning Girdle paused for dramatic emphasis, then realised that this particular book was no place for any dramatic technique whatsoever.

Hairy leant down to the hand-dryer. There was an eel-like engraving on it
"Speak to it." said Rum.
"Hello, my name's Dildoroy Lophart." said Profaner Lophart.
"I meant Hairy, you idiot!" Rum spat.
"Open up." uttered Hairy. He cast an enquiring look over to Rum.
"Spanish." said Rum.

The hand dryer spun into the wall, revealing a giant hole.
"Yeah, a giant hole in the plot!" Rum shouted at Groaning Girdle. "With the loud grinding noise that this makes opening-up every time, haven't you ever noticed a blimmin’ huge Batholith sliding in and out of here?" Groaning Girdle nodded.
"Yeah, heaps of times." she replied. The groans from the audience echoed far and wide… far and wide…

"No wonder none of the previous herdmusters ever found Silvery’s chamber, it was in a girl's bathroom and thanks to the ancient Glass Ceiling bewitchment, every head of Dogfarts thus far has been male."

"Well, it looks like you guys are set to go!" said Lophart, edging towards the exit.
"Oh, no you don't!" warned Rum, aiming his baton at Lophart.
"Hang on… he's right!" Hairy said unexpectantly. "We ARE set! We've found the entrance to the chamber! Taking Lophart along will only slow us down, reducing our chances of saving Germy." Rum lowered his baton, then suddenly jerked it up again.
"I don't care how illogical it is, he’s coming with us!"

"A fridge I can understand, but… an internet washing machine?"

Plucking a wet bra from his head, Rum stood up. Hairy screamed in shock.
"What?" asked Rum. His hair was no longer vomit orange, but shocking white. His freckly skin had gone pale and his pupils were pink.
"You've become an Albino!" Hairy said.
"Must’ve be the bleach." commented Lophart casually, his hair the same as usual.

"Hairy Potted and the Changer of Sequins breaks boundaries of originality."
"Jake A. Ralphing scores again with this utterly necessary sequel."
"We enter the fourteenth month of Luke Tennant Oswald Brattoni's genius."

Dildoroy tutted as he got mud on his high heels.

Haggis-sized women with tentacles.

"Remember, hold your breath at any sign of movement." whispered Hairy. He took a step forward.
"AAARGH! A SIGN OF MOVEMENT!" yelled Rum.

"Are you going to... Scream?" asked Hairy.
"Only if you... Scream 2!" Rum replied. Lophart nodded.
"Yeah, I think Silvery was a real... Psycho." guffawed Lophart.
"He was only one founder, what about... The Others?" asked Hairy.
"This cheesy set could easily start an… Urban Legend." said Rum. 
"OK, OK, we need to kill the Batholith. Let’s be... Gone in 60 Seconds." said Hairy.
"That sounds like... A Perfect Murder." chortled Rum.
"…uh, seriously. Let's get a move on."

Lophart suddenly got up and tossed a large chunk of rock at Rum. It whizzed past him and straight up a nearby pipe. The rock shot out of the top of the pipe and soared through the air into the Sick Bay. It it Hormoany.

Lophart hit his head a stalagmite… or is it a stalactite… erm, a Stalingrad?

"Aha!" Lophart cried victoriously. "The tables have turned!" he grinned. All of the tables up in Dogfarts were obliged to swivel around 180 degrees.

"I just had a magical rod torn from my urethra. Do you fudging THINK I'm OK?"

The eerie pillars lining the path appeared to be alive. (In actual fact, they were alive and the light was playing tricks on his eyes to make them seem inanimate.)

An inspirational flash came over Hairy. (Heh heh, ‘flash’. Heh heh, ‘came’.)

Hairy stepped inside… and screamed. It wasn't Snoop, it wasn't Vulvamork, it wasn't even Haggis. And no, not Malformed either.
It was…

http://i4.photobucket.com/albums/y110/dragonangelfairy/DracoMathers.jpg

--CHAPTER SEVENTEEN--

"…Gavin?!"

Hairy's eyes scoured the room. Once finished, the room was sparkling clean.

"Wake up, Germy!
All the worms are wriggling!
Wake up, Germy!
Wriggle along, too!"

Surely it couldn't be... but as the man stepped into the light, Hairy saw it indeed was...
"Quibble." said Hairy.

"But Hormoany, Rum and I worked it all out! Dum-bass Ritalin is the young Nerd Vulvamork. He's an Arcelmouth like Silvery was, somehow passing that talent on to me when he tried killing me! Ritalin used Haggis as a cover for himself. He exerted his spirit into that diarrhoea to toy with future generations… Germy was obviously the one who found it in Groaning Girdle's lavatory and was possessed to attack everyone. She threw it back into the toilet after learning of what she'd done and then stole it back from me! It all fits!" Hairy broke off, panting heavily. Profaner Quibble allowed himself a sly grin.
"Yes, it does all fit. That's what makes it the perfect crime. I had everyone fooled, even you and your nosy friends, even though I’ve been the bad guy from the start!” With a hearty laugh, Quibble swished Hairy’s magic rod as he shouted “Punagram!" causing several words to appear hovering infront of Hairy.
PROFANER QUIBBLE
The letters then rearranged themselves to read:
THE GOOD GUY OF THE BOOK
“‘Profaner Quibble’ doesn’t rearrange into ‘the good guy of the book’.” frowned Hairy.
“Exactly!” replied Quibble.

"But how did you do it? You've been a flower garden for the past year!" said Hairy.  Profaner Quibble’s eyes flashed.
"Indeed, you did a good job of me last year, draining me of my power." Quibble cast a fierce glance at the floor, his fez of peonies and xeranthemums bobbing up and down.
"I was unable to move, unable to live. But then, to my luck, your Hempology class began dumping excess fertiliser onto me after lessons. Immediately, I felt a surge of energy. Each week I grew more and more powerful, but had no moveable form to transfer this methane-based power to." Quibble's face was alive as he spoke, becoming more and more in focus as time passed. Hairy knew that Germy didn't have much time left.
"So, I was caged within the earth with a build-up of potential power until your friend Rum Weakly got a case of wormal-diarrhoea. A stray worm shot out of Haggis’ hut and  landed on me. I immediately fed it with some of my power and sent the worm to bring more and more followers until I had a small army at my disposal. I sent them to implant the hair of Silvery into an unsuspecting victim." Profaner Quibble motioned to Germy.
"Who better than a close friend of Hairy Potted? I would not have a body to carry out my plans and hit Hairy Potted where it hurts. The boy who banished me to a mere aesthetic floral decoration..." Quibble kept pointing the baton at Hairy, but tossed the diarrhoea to the side. It frisbeed into Gavin’s head.
"So my worms planted the hair of Silvery into my old secreted diarrhoea. Once Germy was asleep, the hair crawled into her head and latched onto her brain, an antenna for me to feed myself into. Each day the hair of Silvery would leech energy from Germy Weakly and I would grow more powerful. I soon could control young Germy Weakly to go smearing messages and killing off flamingos to throw off everybody into thinking that Silvery's monster was a Batholith. However, it was the worms which attacked those victims from below, boring into their feet to paralyse them. This was all to fulfil my ultimate plan." Hairy scanned his mind for a way to save Germy, but found nothing.
"Well, it’s ironic that you made all those clues draw people away from discovering you as the culprit, when it directly lead me right to you anyway." said Hairy. Profaner Quibble gave a long, drawn out sigh of one trying to teach quadratic formulas to a four-year old.
"Don't you realise what all of this was for? I do not care for the girl, she was a mere pawn to get me into human form again. My plan was to lead you down here, Hairy. YOU. I can now take my revenge on you for destroying the Philanderer's Stein!" Hairy blinked as an aura flashed around Quibble, he was almost human again. The peonies and xeranthemums had wilted from his fez and had fallen to the floor. Most of the foliage that encased his chest was crinkling up.
"You may be an Arcelmouth, but we are both also Acanthotongues. We can speak to worms!" Quibble lifted up his tutu and flashed Hairy Potted. A humungous worm snaked out from where he should have had an… appendage.

"So, the great Dumbodork sends Hairy Potted a flatulent phoenix, an old hatch and the remnants of a tutoring lesson?"

Hairy lifted up the salt cellar like a bazooka and began twisting it side to side. Saline crystals sprayed violently across the giant worm. It hissed and bubbled, foam frothing down from its body as it writhed in pain. Pellets of salt rained down onto the floor like bullet casings.

"You were great, Forks." murmered Hairy softly, as a wave of red washed over his eyes, followed by a saffron tsunami.

"Do not fear, Hairy. The force is within you." Hairy looked around.
"Is that you again, Hormoany?" he asked weakly.
"No, you idiot! Listen to my drab, monotonous male voice! I'm the narrator! You may feel weak, but I am here to help you overcome this pain, for the tradition of sappy endings is on your side!"

Hairy reached into Germy’s curly orange Afro and plucked out a single black hair.
"Aha! The hair of Silvery! This is what has been draining all of Germy's health away, and there's only one way she can get it back!" As Quibble wiped Forks' intestines from his face, Hairy slid through the man’s legs and rammed his thumb upwards, Hopoate style.

"NOOOO- ALGOLAGNIC- AMPHIMIXIS- ANUS- AREOLA- A***- A**- BALLS- BASTARD- BAWDRY- BESTIALITY- B****- BLADDER- BLOODY- BLOWING- BONDAGE- BOOBS- BOWELS- BUGGER- BUTTOCKS- CAESAREAN- CARNAL- CHUCK- CHUNDER- CIRCUMCISION- CLOACA- CLEAVAGE- CLITORIS- C***- COITUS- COLONIC- C***- COPROPHILIA- CRAP- CROTCH- CUM- CUNNILINGUS- C***- D***- DEFECATION- DEMIMONDAINE- DIAPHRAGM- DICK- DILDO- DIURETICS- DUNG- DYKE- ENEMAS- EONISM- EPICENE- EPISIOTOMY- ERECTION- EXCRETA- EXHIBITIONISM- FAECES- F*****- FELLATIO- FERTILISER- FESTING- FETISHES- FINGERBANG- FONDLE- FRAENULUM- FROTTAGE- F***ING- FUDGEPACKER- GAY- GENITALIA- GLANS- GLUTEUS MAXIMUS- GONORRHOEA- GUANO- HARLOT- HEADJOB- HELL- HERMAPHRODITE- HOMO- HOOTERS- HUMPING- HURL- HYMEN- INCEST- INCONTINENCE- INCUBUS- INTERCOURSE- IVF- JERK- JIZZ- KNOB- LABIA- LACTATION- LAVATORY- LAXATIVE- LAY- LECHERY- LESBIANS- MAMMARIES- MASOCHISM- MASTURBATE- MEATUS- MECONIUM- MENSTRUATION- MICTURITION- MOLESTING- MUFF- MUSTH- NADS- NECROPHILIA- N*****- NIPPLES- NOOKY- NUBILE- NUTS- NYMPHOS- OESTRUS- ONANISM- ORDURE- ORGASM- ORGY- ORIFICE- OVARY- PAEDOPHILIA- PARTHENOGENESIS- PEDERASTY- PENIS- PERINEUM- PERVERSION- PESSARY- PHALLUS- PISSING- PIZZLE- PLATONIC- POO- PORNOGRAPHY- POTTY- PRIAPUS- PR***- PROSTATE- PRURIENT- PUBIC- PUDENDA- PUKING- P****- QUADRIPARTITE- QUALM- QUEEN- QUEER- RACK- RECTUM- RIMJOB- RUBBER- RUTTING- SAPPHIC- SATYR- SCATOLOGY- SCREW- SEMEN- SEX- SHAG- sheeshTING- SISSY- SIXTY NINER- SMEGMA- SODOMY- SLUT- SPECULUM- SPEW- SPHINCTER- STALING- STERCORACEOUS- SUCCUBI- TAMPON- TESTICLE- THREESOME- T**S- TOILET- TOOL- TRAMP- TRIBADIST- TRANSVESTITES- TROILISM- TURD- URETHRA - URINATION- VAGINA- VENEREAL- VESICA- VIAGRA- VIBRATOR- VIRGINITY- VOMIT- VOYEUR- VULVA- WANKER- WANTON- WHOREHOUSE- XRATED- YANK- YEAN- YOUNKER TUGGER- ZABAGLIONE OF THE FORESKIN- OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!"

Lophart formed the word 'equestrians' on the Scrabble board.

The small, bald, fleshy phoenix looked like something Hormoany would roll around in her mouth. (Chewing gum, you vile pervert!)

Hairy considered the prospect of slitting his wrists so he could spend his afterlife in a toilet with a moping ghost who housed eight pounds of metallic orthodontics in her mouth. He strangely declined.

--CHAPTER EIGHTEEN--

Gavin went on to explain his point of view from the spectator's seat, and then moved on to his knowledgeable taste in exotic dairy curdlings.

"Germy, what have I always told you?" said Mr Weakly. Germy sniffed.
"Check him for a rash before you do anything rash?" she recited. Mr Weakly coughed.
"Err... no, not that. You should never consolidate with something if you can't see where it keeps its brain!" Germy frowned.
"But I can't see your brain." she replied.

“Look, I'll come clean. I'm just as incompetent as Dildoroy Lophart. Why did I not know about Profaner Quibble last year? Why else are you constantly the one who has to resolve all of my problems?"

"Wait," growled Dumbodork. "I stick to my word. When you rammed into the Humping Sallow at the start of the year, I wrote to your parents and guardians saying that any more unruly behaviour would end up with you being expelled. You and Rum Weakly will not return to Dogfarts Institute of Wizardry and Weird Plots after this year." Rum and Hairy stood flabbergasted in the doorway.
"This means you also lose all of your House points. Hecklepuck wins again!"

Luscious Malformed eyed Dumbodork suspiciously through a telescope.

Dumbodork raised an eyebrow by using an elaborate set of pulleys.

"Can I give the diarrhoea back to Mr Malformed?" asked Hairy. Dumbodork blinked.
"Well, I just plainly explained how it’s the only evidence we have to prove Germy Weakly's innocence, but go right ahead!"

Dodgy was clutching Hormoany’s lace underwear as if it was pure gold, as numerous male students would have done.
"Master threw the nightie and Dodgy caught it! Giving a house-imp the undergarments of a hot chick breaks the bond of enslavement! Dodgy is free!"

"Thank you, Hairy Potted!" beamed Dodgy. (At least, it sounded like 'thank'!)

"So, you solved it!" chirped Hormoany. Hairy and Rum threw her dark looks.
"Actually, no, we were completely wrong. Your bloody clues led us to a near-death experience and now we're expelled!" Hormoany blinked.
"Expelled? Who gives a crap about how many rules we broke, we stopped any more students being attacked!” yelled Hormoany. Dumbodork appeared from nowhere.
"Of course! How stupid of me! Miss Ginger, as you were also involved in this behaviour, you are also expelled!" Dumbodork disappeared. Hormoany gaped, thunderstruck.
"But this is my first strike, I never had any previous warning!" she yelled to deaf ears.

Hairy, Rum and Hormoany were too saddened, dysphoric, lamentable, deplorable, inspirited, gloomy, unhappy, miserable, woeful, wretched, infelicitous, disheartened, nostalgic, dejected and full of melancholy to be cheerful, joyous, content, happy, euphoric, elysian, mafficking, riant, halcyon or full of mirth.

Germy, Frig and Gorge came and sat in their carriage. Hairy looked up.
"Hey, we never did find out what you walked in on Pussy doing." he said.
"Oh, that. Pussy's been going out with Envelope Drainwater, that Ravercork Defect. She's who he kept e-mailing all this time." Germy stopped and nibbled on a horseradish.
"So anyway, I walked in on him, her and a goat… well..." Following the old belief that a picture is worth a thousand words, Germy sketched them a diagram. The others looked at it oddly. She turned it sideways and their expressions changed.
"Is that his...? Yuck!" spewed Hairy.
"Are they actually...? Gross!" barfed Frig.
"How did those fit inside her…? Foul!" retched Gorge.
"And what's that stuff poking out of his...? Oh, that’s off, man!" hurled Rum.
"Hmm, interesting technique with the whips and axle grease, I might try it out some time." said Hormoany. Everyone looked at her.
"I mean... erm… Disgusting!" Hormoany blurted sheepishly.

“Uh-oh, I think we left him tied up to his bed.” said Rum.
"This will be a looong wait until next year!" carolled Hairy.

Leaping off the Dogfarts Excess, Hormoany's tutu flew up as she jumped, revealing that she was wearing nothing underneath. (She was nude Get over it.)

At this point  the narrator began cackling, laughing, chortling, giggling, smirking, s******ing, braying, tittering, chuckling, guffawing, cachinnating, cacking his head off and roaring with exaggerated riant mirth for an entire millisecond.

It wasn't Snoop, it wasn't Vulvamork, it wasn't even Haggis. It was... Mr Parsley. Hairy blinked. Thrice.
"How did you manage to harness Ralphing's law of fiction? There are anti-Muffin charms against it." said Hairy. The hand of Mr Parsley tore off a latex mask.
"I'm not a Muffin!" rasped the hideous, skull-white face beneath. Hormoany did Scream. Rum did Scream 2. Hairy did Scream 3.

The fully grown Dum-bass Ritalin whipped out his baton, spelling out his name mid-air.
DUM-BASS KEPT-HEED RITALIN.
The levitating letters rearranged to form the words:
BARE NAKED IDLE SH*T STUMP?
Dumb Ritalin smacked his baton on a nearby lamp post and tried again.
I AM THE BLEAK NERD, STUPIDS!

Hairy Potted was as speechless, thunderstruck, dumbfounded, flabbergasted, shocked, boggled surprised and bowled over as when he had been told he was expelled from Dogfarts.
"So Quibble really wasn't the Bleak Nerd after all!" burst Hairy.
"Yes, an ingenious plan, isn't it?" replied Vulvamork, his jagged mouth forming a horrendous imitation of a sneer.

Hormoany and Rum struggled for words. All that came to mind were 'aplomb', 'certificate' and 'transuretero-ureterostomy.'

"You and your friends simply found out too much, so I brought Quibble back to life with the power that my old secreted diarrhoea leeched from Germy Weakly. As you guessed, her spirit was drawn into his body. I crafted a story for Quibble to tell you should you ever meet. As this was predictably inevitable, I enchanted Quibble to grow that... appendage… to fight you. I knew you would defeat his sorry butt just like last year. And just like last year you would go around spreading the story of your heroics. Dumbodork would believe that Quibble was the culprit and was now dead, so everyone would drop their guard and travel home completely unaware of the danger ahead."
"No!" shouted Hairy. He felt faint, a hundred icy blades sliding down his stomach.
"No… NO!" he yelled, but could now see that it all fit together. Quibble pretending the Changer of Sequins story was a decoy was a decoy in itself. Hairy had had it right the first time with his rational, coherent explanation.

"That fateful day twelve years ago left me marred by this bung leg." Vulvamork hobbled a few steps forward. “I loathed growing in up in Brighton Orphange, never knowing where my father was. I often wandered for days on end through London searching for him. Then I discovered him with his new bride… a New Zealand ovine. I've hated Cudbloods ever since." Ritalin broke off from his reverie, glaring at Hairy with a fiery malice.
"But enough about my Freudian motives. I should take the high road… take your lives…"

"Wait!” yelled Hairy. “This isn't supposed to happen! I have to uncover the true identity of Simian Bleak, hurl my guts out in Deference Against the Bleak Arts classes, enter into the Tripewizened Tournament, see the Spinach Whirled Cup and then have a sheeshload of cameos to assist in our thousand-profanity wonder-page! "

Hairy's scab gave a lurch, causing Hairy to have cravings for koala meat.

Vulvamork  leant right down to Hairy so that his nostril slits drew in the smell of Hairy's beading sweat.
"Well, we wouldn't want to have to go through with another one of these rip-offs." glared Vulvamork. With eyes glued to Hairy, Vulvamork cocked jos shotgun, then blasted Hormoany in the chest. Specks of carmine fluid spattered across Rum's pale face. Hairy stood numb with shock as her body crumpled to the ground. Ritalin leered at Hairy. 
"I especially couldn't handle any more of these god-awful books." With another swift arm movement, the shotgun was reloaded. A second shot rent the salient silence. Hairy was vaguely aware of a heavy thump to his left and a hot, sticky fluid crawling down his face.
"Two down. Now, after I kill you, I’ll be totally carefree!" Vulvamork gave a cruel laugh.

Hairy's scab was now pulsing with pain. He knelt down, fighting off his newfound impulses to run up the nearest eucalyptus tree with a boomerang.

"You are defeated, Hairy Potted. Why? Because I have always known about your adventures, your life, and especially you." Nerd Vulvamork pumped the shotgun one fianl time, pointed the gun barrel to Hairy's chest and fired.

Hairy felt himself being thrown backwards as the gunshot echoed throughout the desolate station. He landed among the other dead bodies of his friends and fellow classmates. The platform was caked in spattered blood and gore. Hairy gargled a hot fluid in his lungs and retched as he clutched his chest. The pain was unbearable, every movement seemed to increase the agony tearing through his torso. Glancing down, he could see blood bubbling out from his punctured lungs. His mind swivelled and his head collapsed back onto the ground. He was unable to breathe, focusing his energy on compressing the endless flow of blood issuing from his chest. He barely noticed the sound of Nerd Vulvamork swivelling on his heel to leave the platform. A large advertisement stuck on the wall behind where Hairy had been previously standing caught his attention.
'Discover your Freudian motives! Call 1900-PSYCHIC-OLOGIST’
Hairy recalled Vulvamork mentioning a Freudian motive… The grown Dum-bass Ritalin tossed his smoking shotgun into a nearby trash can as he limped heavily towards the exit.
Hairy's brain was screaming for air as viscous fluid seeped endlessly through his clutched fingers. His eyes caught sight of another poster.
‘Take the high road- Visit Scotland today!’
Vulvamork's voice echoed somewhere in the back of his fading mind. '... I should take the high road… take your lives...' Hairy’s elbow brushed Hormoany, who was lying motionless beside him, as he noticed an advertisement for Carefree tampons on the wall. He choked as a wave of blood spilled from his mouth and poured down his chin. Vulvamork had mentioned how he would be ‘carefree’ after killing Hairy... he had almost reached the wall that led down to the Muffin world. Hairy's swirling mind fought to figure out the meaning of Vulvamork's soliloquy. "I have always known about your adventures, your life… and especially you." Hairy felt his heart stop beating below his palms. A final thought sprung into his mind as his eyelid slowly sank. 'I especially can't handle any more these god-awful books!' What had Vulvamork meant? Hairy's eyes dilated, his bowels released their contents and he was dead.

Vulvamork stopped limping as he reached the wall. He turned, as if embracing the serene finality that radiated from the scene of carnage. His silhouetted form ripped off another mask and he disappeared from the platform. The figure's feet limped an ungainly pace down the Muffin path, then slowly evened out into a regular pace as they stepped out into the street. A young boy sitting wearily at a park bench watched the feet tread by. He grabbed his mother’s sleeve.
"Mummy! Look! It's J. K. Rowling!" he cried excitedly. The mother shooshed her child by bludgeoning his head with a bag of caramel. The boy considered running up to the woman for an autograph, but stopped at the sight of blood flecked across her shirt. Instead, he sat down on the pavement and began ramming slices of cheese into his ear.

A moment later, J. K. Rowling had melted into the rest of the bustling suburban crowd; another speck of colour blended into the mosaic of life.

Far From The Tree

http://i4.photobucket.com/albums/y110/dragonangelfairy/Oak.jpg

An ancient oak stands on a blade of rock
Under inky seas of shattered stars
Rooted deep into black earth
Caked in naked bark
Limbs snake out, calling to the sky
Twisting, entwining like gnarled fingers
Grinning thorns of wicked crimson
Licking the sky
Clawlike twigs lash wind and snow
Thrashing, gnashing,
Slashing gossamer strands into tatters
Which flutter to the earth below
Skeletons of leaves carpet the dead soil
Pulsing with decay
Damp from teardrop snowflakes
That slowly melt to oil
And I, I am the rotten fruit
With weeping skin and exposed core
Raw and fallen
Lost and mute
Banished by ancient eyes who don't forget
I fell far from the tree, and yet
The further I try to escape
The closer I appear to get.

WARNING: Copious amounts of censored profanity, sexual references and purile innuendo.

Hairy Potted and the Prismer of Afghaniztan quotes

http://i4.photobucket.com/albums/y110/dragonangelfairy/HairyPotted.jpg

--CRAPILOGUE--

“Ezekiel? EZEKIEL?!” shouted Hormoany.
“Uh, my name’s Hairy.” prompted Hairy.
“Oh yeah, sorry… Hairy? HAIRY?!”

Hairy blearily opened his eyes. Hormoany was shaking his shoulders and Rum was observing the female response to not wearing a bra when shaking someone.

“Aren’t we all dead?” Hairy mumbled in his confused state.
“Well, Rum might smell like decomposing matter, but we’re very much alive. You were having a nightmare.” said Hormoany.
“How do you know I was having a nightmare?” asked Hairy.
“Well, you kept screaming ‘Aaah! I’m in a nightmare!’” said Rum.

Specks of spattered blood on the window told Hairy that they had hit yet another owl.

“Hi, Mr Parsley!” chirped Hairy.
“Bite me, witch!” snapped Mr Parsley in reply.

Unco Vermin greedily slurped a gollop of custard into his mouth, oblivious to the roadkill.

“See ya, Hairy!” called Rum.
“See ya, Hairy!” called Hormoany
“See ya, Hairy!” called Evan.
“Who the hell are you?” asked Hairy. A midget was bobbing up and down energetically infront of him with a frightening smile on his face.
“See ya Hairy!” he repeated.
“…’kay.” said Hairy weakly, quickly scampering away.

Right, onto the story now...Not that that wasn’t the story, it’s just that it was the end of the last one. Or the start of this one...no, no, no. The last one definitely ended with... and this one is just following on... well, it was sort of the in-the-middle thing that sums up the previous story and begins this one. Not that they’re not the same story… well, they are but… you know… not the SAME story. I guess it was sort of a story on it’s own- one of the SAME stories...on it’s own… even though it’s in this story... I dunno, maybe half of it should have been in the last book and the second half in this book... but that would still make it part of one story and not of the... wait wait wait, if they’re the same story just continued on in different books, then it doesn’t matter which one it’s in, right? Well, I guess they ARE a different story… I mean... then that means it was a follow-on from a story that will be continued into this one… even though they’re the same. But  seeing as the last story semi-ended, it simply filled-in the two prior to starting this semi-started one... which will begin the one after that... I guess it depends on the half-full/half-empty glass theory… did we just start  this one or end the last one... THE SAME last one, with this .new one... and the glass is half... …I dunno, I’ve lost myself. What was I saying? …I forget. …Oh, that’s right! Onto the story...

--CHAPTER ONE--

It always took lengthy explanations from a villain before Hairy could understand anything.

Due to the Parsleys having psychotechnophobia, magic was not allowed in their Orphanage.

While the Parsleys had gone outside to sniff concrete, Hairy had seized the opportunity and eaten all of the jelly crystals. This is why he was up so late doing homework, he had been uncontrollably chattering his teeth all day and shouting ‘Whoopitydoop!’ whenever he saw anything coloured blue.

Hairy looked up at the clock. The big hand was on the two and the little hand was on the twelve. This was very odd as the clock was digital.

He closed his book and tossed it toward his bag. It hit Evan.
“I like cheese!”

Hairy sighed as he lay back on his bed with a sigh. Oh wait, he’d already sighed. Scrap the last one.

Hairy Potted was still skinny with twinjet black hair, but he’d grown a few inches and his balls had dropped, adding a brooding allure to his character. He also still had an ‘L’-shaped scab etched eternally into his forehead; it liked to move about his face according to what day it was.

Hodwog had swollen to quite a size, as his bowels were being restricted due to liberal doses of Anti-Lax.

Useless fact #1: Turkey consumes more cereal each year than any other country in the world.

Uncle Vermin threw the telephone down and scrubbed his hands as if it was contagious. (Actually, it was… he turned into a telephone himself moments later.)

Hairy was knocked back with excessive force as three parrots collided with his figure, gravity causing his trajectory to arc perfectly into Hodwog’s stomach. A tsunami of guano gushed across the room with the force of a fire hose hooked up to a tankful of toothpaste.

Hairy took a deep breath, wiped his brow, skulled a bottle of vinegar, recited the entire works of Charles Dickens and, having ruined all remaining elements of suspense, finally opened the card.

Antelope Hairy,
How are you? Sorry about the phone call the other day, it was my first encounter with grappa and sherbet.
It’s brilliant here in Iraq! There’s sand, stinking camels, sand, oil and lots and lots of sand! Fascinating! Yesterday Frig found the mutilated corpse of Lara Croft in a Mesopotamian tomb.

Rum’s present was a Sneakerscope. It clipped onto your sneakers and sent a 4,000-volt current through you if somebody shifty was nearby. Hairy placed it carefully in a wet puddle.

After shaking out several false eyelashes and a cervical cap out of Hormoany’s envelope, Hairy opened up her letter and read it aloud using a whimsical German accent.

Wazzup, Hairy?
Rum told me about the incident on the telephone, so I thought it would be best if I didn’t call you either. You can reach me, though, on 1900-COITUS-4U.
I’ve started subscribing to the Daily Prophylactic, you can see my ad in the personals section. I’m sooo jealous of Rum; while I’m stuck here with the finest of food, wine, fashion and culture in the world, he gets to be out camping in fifty-degree heat with missile attacks! Lucky stiff! I’ll be visiting the French house of parliament before I come back, that should be fun.
PS. I was shocked when Rum informed me that Pussy got head from Dumbodork. That cheating bastard...

Hormoany’s birthday present was wrapped in black lingerie. Hairy wrestled open the shoulder strap.
She had given him equipment for servicing his Spinach mop. The instructions for polishing the handle looked highly suspicious to Hairy, as did the free ‘rainproof coat’ to unroll over the tip when it rained.

Deer ‘airy,
‘appy birthday! I gots yeh this ‘ere fer Dogfarts. Won’ tell yeh no more, now. I’ll see yeh a’...  yeh know, tha’ place where we is always goin’ this time o’ year…
Hairy had long gotten used to the fact that Haggis wrote with a Scottish accent.

Hairy pried off the nymphomaniac laptop and tied it up using a double adapter.

Hairy looked at the permission form, no longer grinning. Wait a minute, ‘no longer grinning’? Why the hell would the goofy dweeb be grinning in the first place?

Hairy glanced at the clock; the digits shone 2:02. This was odd as it was an analogue clock, and only twelve minutes had passed since he had checked the time previously.

The helicopter had six chemical-warfare agents inside, donning suits and gas masks. They loaded a missile to be fired, it reeked heavily of moist, decaying matter. The pilot gave his signal, and soon a malodorous missile hissed its way towards its target. Back in his room, Hairy was still rambling on abou the inconsitencies of the plot.
“I mean, can you really expect... what’s that sound?” He looked out of his window and curled his mouth  into a silent scream. An explosion of foetid compost sounded in Hairy Potted’s bedroom, causing Mrs Parsley to snort loudly, roll over in her bed and go back to sleep.

Useless fact #2: The capital cities of Djibouti, Monaco, Sân Tomé, Luxembourg, San Marino, Singapore and the Vatican City share names with their country.

--CHAPTER TWO--

Dullard was avidly watching a bug-zapper claiming another buzzing victim.

Hairy’s hair was still standing on end from the Sneakerscope’s barrage of voltage. Occasionally, a strand or two would sprinkle off like soot. Hairy made sure he carried an ashtray around with him so as to not dirty Ant Prunia’s carpet.

Dullard had been blissfully unaware of the whole situation as he was busy observing two mating dragonflies as they headed toward the blue hum of death. Ant Prunia walked into the room and shrieked.
“Oh, the nerve of those bug-zapper executives! Showing this sort of thing during prime time!” She covered Dullard’s eyes until a more suitable program of ladybugs or butterflies came on.

“Now, since Barge doesn’t know about your... condition… we have told her you go to St Breakfast’s Centre for Unbearably Imbeciled Boys.”

Dullard was now so morbidly obese that light bent around him .

Mr Parsley weighed up the pros and cons in his head. The scales toppled over, knocking his left eye out. He pushed it back in.
“Fine! Keep quiet about my collection of raunchy National Geographics and I’ll sign your stupid form!”

Hairy then waited. And waited. And waited. And waited. And waited. And wai-DING DONG!

Hairy deliberately left himself scruffy and smelly, so that Caunt Barge could spend her time mocking how pitiful and inferior he was, thus distracting her from her usual activity of mocking him on how pitiful and inferior... hey, wait a minute...

Caunt Barge lifted Mrs Parsley into a crushing bear hug, fracturing the scrawny woman’s spinal chord.

“Are you still here, then, Potted?” sneered Barge. Hairy blinked.
“No, actually, I’m in Bolivia.” he retorted, before catching sight of her bright blue suitcase.
“Whoopitydoop!” he cried out. Caunt Barge’seyes bulged in shock. Mr Parsley hastily stepped in.
“That was Bolivian for ‘I’ll take your suitcase upstairs’.” he assured his sister nervously, shooting Hairy a look that could have killed someone who was easily killed by people looking at them.

Hairy went to bed after the second night fuming, as Barge had made numerous snide comments about Hairy’s father having been exposed to radiation without metallic underwear on. On the third day, he rose again, in accordance with the scriptures.

She cuffed the back of Hairy’s head, sending it into a fold of Dullard’s flab. Hairy had to spend the rest of the day attempting to unwedge his head from the hideously odorous flap of blubber.

Caunt Barge swigged a bottle of methylated spirits and dragged on a doobie filled with camomile leaves. “Now, I’m not accusing you of course, Prunia.” slurred Barge, pointing an accusing finger at Mrs Parsley.

Hairy was finding it very difficult to control his anger; is control panel was labelled incorrectly.

“What did this Potted fellow do again?” asked Barge. Unco Vermin coughed.
“He was a… erm... a log.” he replied.
“A log?” said Barge. Unco Vermin glanced at Hairy and then back to Caunt Barge.
“Yes. A... log…”

“HOW ABOUT DESSERT?!” yelled Uncle Vermin loudly, as if the higher case letters didn’t give it away.

Hairy angrily threw his mashed potatoes into the bug zapper, interrupting Dullard’s comedy hour.

Caunt Barge’s incessant pet chihuahua clamped his jaws over the salami protuding from her behind, right at the moment when her gaseous accumulations reached their pinnacle. With a deafening pop, the poor chihuahua was propelled out of the window with his jaws still clamped onto the stick of salami.

Back at the house, Dullard looked up. Barge had just spiralled down onto the kitchen floor as a deflated sack of skin, Unco Vermin was battered and bruised from being spun into the walls and Ant Prunia had long been flung onto the chandelier. Vases, picture frames, items of fine china and ceramic valuables had all been shattered and strewn about the floor. Dullard shrugged and continued watching hid bug zapper.

Useless fact #3: The human skin weighs between 2 and 4 kg. When stretched out, it would reach approximately 3 feet by 7 feet. It is the body’s largest organ. The human skin has over 3,000,000, sweat glands. Human bodies are about 2/3 water.

--CHAPTER THREE--

Hairy continued walking with his trunk and suitcase for several hours before realising he’d just completed a full circle.

He suddenly felt a pang of panic. The pang sued him for sexual assault.

Hairy performed a triple-backflip to inverted splits landing, then shot out his arm to break his fall. Fragments of his broken fall sprinkled across the pavement.

The large Kombi van was royal...blue.
“Whoopitydoop!”

The pimply teen realised that Hairy was sprawled out on the ground with a bruised elbow and torn pants, so voiced his opinion of this.
“Yoo iz spralled owt onn thu grownd wiff ar broozed elboa andd tawn pance.”he said.
“No sheesh, Sherlock.” snapped Hairy.
“Mye naym izn’t Shirlok. Itt iz Stern Pancake.”

Hairy looked back to where the large shadowy figure had been, but it was gone. Well, it actually wasn’t, but it’s much more mysterious sayign that it had disappeared.

“Soe, wot iz yor naym?” asked Stern.
“Erm… a log.” answered Hairy quickly.

“How did you know I wanted to go to London?” Hairy queried.
“Eye diddnt, yoo jusst tawld mee!”

‘FRENCH PRESIDENT FOUND IN BED WITH BRITISH STUDENT.’

‘SIMIAN BLEAK STILL AT LARGE, SMALLER CRIMINALS ENVIOUS’

“Wot’d yoo seigh hiz naym four?” gasped Stern Pancake. “Mye hart’s beeting sow farst...” And so it was: Hairy could see Stern’s chest being dented from the internal blows.

“Doo yoo no wot hee didd arfter seting thu farrt alite?” Stun whispered dramatically. “No.” said Hairy.
“Larfed. Cract uhp larfing. Aparentli hee reely lykes farrt joaks. Thay hawled im ough two prizen wif eez arfter thatt.”

The bus dropped off a weepy witch in Wales, a smelly sorcerer in Sweden and a xenophobic xenosaurus in... Austria...

Stern clumsily unloaded Hairy’s luggage with the grace of a constipated gosling.

http://i4.photobucket.com/albums/y110/dragonangelfairy/FleurDanes.jpg

--CHAPTER FOUR--

“Have a crumpet. You look famished.” Fridge waved his baton and a trumpet appeared on a plate infront of Hairy.

Fridge conjured a cup of java and took a long sip, before realising it was lava. He attempted to unmelt his face.

There was a dead silence. It was brought back to life by Evan yelling “I like cheese!”

“Great news, Hairy! Our resident priest made another clerical error, so you don’t need to go to Afghaniztan!” said Fridge as he finished nibbling on a buttered trumpet.

The Minionster o’ Magic slapped his forehead with the force to knock out a macrophage.

“Would you be able to sign my Dogsmeat form?” asked Hairy.
“Why, yes, Hairy. Yes I would.” said Fridge, before vanishing in a puff of smoke.
“But you didn’t sign...” Hairy trailed off miserably.

“The aforementioned events comprise an unorthodox encounter.”

As Hairy’s eyelids closed over his retinas to enjoy a peaceful slumber, a salami (still toting a chihuahua on it) soared past his window, ruffling the curtain. But Hairy Potted was sound asleep. Awww! Cuuute!

Useless fact #4: Light from the sun takes 8.3 minutes to reach Earth.

Hairy awoke to several hundred volts of electricity surging through him.
“Hodwog, use you beak to tweak this freaking Sneakerscope!”

“I like cheese! I like cheese!” carolled Evan.
“Who the hell are you people?” scowled Hairy as he dragged Evan outside by the nipples, then kicking him violently over towards Kevin and Gavin, who were prodding loaves of dog doo with snooker sticks.

Hairy had a hearty breakfast of numbat hearts.

As in all cases where there is a crowd, the protagonist squeezed his way to the front.

The Fiatblot is a state and territory of the art vacuum cleaner designed to do what every other Spinach mop does, but better. The colour is the same as every other model, but betterer. It reaches the same speed, with similar acceleration, but sounds cooler so it’s much more betterer. Price on requesterer.

Hairy would’ve told Mr Perish that he’d already received an organiser for Dogfarts, but was highly amused to see the man walk into a cage of the sexually ravenous contraptions, which immediately secured themselves to the man’s legs and began thrusting.

Hairy gasped at the book-on-tape he had knocked off the shelf. It was called ‘If You See This Guy, You A Dead Man, Man.’ On the front cover was a tall dark figure, the same figure that Hairy had seen in Malvolio Crescent.

“What’s in your bag?” Hairy asked Hormoany, ogling her bulging knapsack. At this, dark clouds rolled overhead. Hormoany’s voice became deep and dark.
“The remains of several children that I just skinned and boiled.” she rasped in reply. Hairy’s eyes bulged out.
“…huh?” he whimpered. Hormoany coughed, back to her normal self.
“I said I’m taking more subjects than you guys this year.”

“What could have possibly been weird about this week?” asked Rum as a chihuahua clamping onto a salami whizzed past his head and ricocheted off Evan’s head as he wrestled an alligator. Hairy sighed lethargically.
“You know, the usual.”

“Guess what?” said Rum.
“What.” said Hairy.
“Damn, you got it.” said Rum.

“I still have eight Gallows, twelve Sickies and half a Nut from my birthday money. I might buy a pet.” said Hormoany.
“How about a parrot?” grinned Hairy, as Hodwog screeched shrilly and defecated several litres of white slop across the table.
“Or a weasel?” beamed Rum, as Scabies retched up a half-digested cockroach, causing his infected sores to ooze pus out onto Rum’s pie.
“Erm, I’ll think about it.” grimaced Hormoany, as Rum innocently finished off his pie.

The trio entered Insert-Latin-Name-Here Pet Shop.

Scabies was old and wrinkly, smelling of strange peaches.
“How old is this weasel? They usually reach about eighteen years old.” said the lady behind the desk. Rum pondered for a moment.
“Well, his tail has been personally signed by Queen Victoria…”

Hairy twitched erratically on the floor as the Sneakerscope cooked him medium-rare.
Hormoany had been entertained the whole time by a magic bug-zapper that pursued its targets before nuking them in a similar fashion to Hairy’s Sneakerscope.

The massive orange creature waddled back into the store. Hormoany squealed in a masculine manner.
“Oh! He’s adorable! I’ll take him!”

Evan called out “I like cheese!” and urinated on the cash register.

Hairy’s scalp-follicles looked similar to a DragonBall-Z character reaching orgasm.

Rum opened up the organiser Haggis had sent them and aimed it at Crackskanks. A familiar paper clip appeared.
“You look like you want to identify a creature, would you like some help?” it said. Rum, Hormoany and Hairy ogled the contraption.
“Err… yes.” said Hairy. The paper clip bounced up energetically on the screen.
“Hint: use me to identify creatures!” it chirped unhelpfully. Rum was starting to get irritated.
“Yes, I know! We just told you to identify Crackskanks, you piece of shi-”
“Do you want me to identify Crackskanks?” said the organiser. Ron gave an exasparated sigh.
“YES!” he snarled through gritted teeth. There was a pause.
“You look like you want to identify a creature, would you like some help?”

Fried and Gorge were charming the potatoes to wrestle in the creamed spinach.

Mrs Weakly served dessert and the hungry Graafiandors all tucked in... their shirts...


“Why is the Minionstry providing us with transport?” asked Pussy.
“It’s all because of you, Pussy,” joked Gorge. “Head Boys always get special transport,  the same as frail geriatrics and the disabled.” Everybody s******ed into their politically incorrect asparagus.

Hairy couldn’t help but notice the series of ellipses in Mr Weakly’s speech.

Germy Weakly was listening to Britney Spears songs backwards to pick up the hidden Satanic messages.

It seemed that visiting Iraq, combined with his old age, was taking the better of Scabies. Where they were taking the better is still unknown.

Mr and Mrs Weakly were arguing loudly in their room. 
“I don’t think we should!”
“I think we should.”
“I don’t think we should!”
“I think we should.”

There was a heavy thud on wood, possibly a distraught triangle.

A muffled quack sounded from behidn the door, possibly El Nino.

An embellished flap broke the silence, followed by an embellisheder truck horn.

Hairy hurried away as a squeal of an apprehensive herbivore told him the Weaklys were coming out of the parlour.

--CHAPTER FIVE--

Ton woke up Hairy the next morning by tying his nipples to a piano and rolling it down the stairs.

<We apologise for the inconvenience as our narrator hurls his guts up. Perhaps you could grab a drink, watch TV or read something of actual substance for a while.>

Useless fact #5: Heat and dryness are what pop bubbles.

Hormoany and Germy were chatting with Mrs Weakly about a love potion she had concocted in the armed forces. They were all very giggly, as giggle-gas was being pumped into their corner of the room.

Hairy’s Sneakerscope went wild again, setting fire to his aural and nasal hair as it electrocuted him half to death.

Rum scooped up the quivering weasel and tucked Scabies into his pocket, scowling at Hormoany and making a very rude Swahili gesture at her behemothian creature.

“Aha! That’s who Evan is!” cried Hairy triumphantly. “He’s a fired Oompa-Loompa!” He felt quite relieved to have finally cracked the mystery. Rum blinked.
“How does that explain why he always pops up exclaiming his fondness of curdled dairy products?” he asked.
“And what about the other two?” added Hormoany, motioning to Gavin and Kevin as they hid in bushes, throwing pieces of poo out at unsuspecting civilians.

Crackskanks nestled into the blue upholstery. Did I say blue? Oops, I meant- “Whoopitydoop!”

Nearby, a baby gurgled inside a pram. Hormoany slowly turned to Hairy. Her throat rattled hoarsely as her irises dilated.
“I’d just love to drag that baby out of its pram with my teeth and then kick it infront of an oncoming train.” she snarled. Hairy stared wide-eyed at her for a few moments.
“Wh-what did you just say?” he managed to utter. Hormoany rolled her eyes.
“I said hurry up! We’ll miss the Dogfarts Excess!”

Mrs Weakly kissed all of the kids farewell, except for Evan, who kept making obscene gestures with his tongue.

“Be careful, Hairy.” said Mr Weakly.
“I will.” promised Hairy, before turning around and falling down onto the railway tracks.

“It’s OK, I already know.” said Hairy. Mr Weakly seemed taken aback.
“Really? Well, in any case, always remember ‘Front to back to clean your crack, cuz back to front will smear your cu…’ wait a minute, you’re not Germy!”

“How do you know about Simian Bleak?” asked Mr Weakly. Hairy grinned guiltily.
“I sort of overheard you with Mrs Weakly.” he replied. Mr Weakly coughed.
“You must understand that my sailor outfit was purely for-”
“I was referring to Simian Bleak... again...” said Hairy. Mr Weakle faltered.
“…of course. Well, whatever you do, don’t go looking for Simian Bleak. And take special care when disposing of your sanitary towels.”

“We need to talk privately.” Hairy whispered. Rum turned to Germy.
“F*** off, b****!” he spat. Germy opened her mouth in protest.
“Why should I, you c***sucking p****?” she cried. Hormoany cleared her throat.
“Will you d***heads shut your f***ing mouths? There are teachers nearby!” she said.  “Oh, ram your s***-filled head up my c*** you b****!” snapped Germy. Hairy frowned.
“Shut your t**s, a**licker!” he interjected. “Or does a f***ing w**** like you need  a c*** to shut your noisy m*** up?” he said. Germy turned to Hairy.
“Lick my p**** you f***ing b******! I won’t let a p**** f***** like you kick me out, so you can munch on my f***ing m*** like the h****** you are!” she growled.
“Oh, as if, you s***! I’ll tear your c*** out and s*** it back onto your b**** a** if you do!” Hormoany called. Rum bit his lip as Profaner Stout bustled past their cabin.
“B***** f***ing h***, you c***s! Shut the f*** up unless you want your p**** n***** a***s  suspended! Germy, just p*** off, you f***ing s***!” said Rum. Germy left. Hairy turned to talk with Rum and Hormoany, but then realised that there were other people still in the carriage, namely a group of nuns who had been silent with shock.

All of the other cabins were full, except for one with a dozing wizard inside.
“Beats picking turnips during July.” said Rum. 

Hairy angrily wrenched off the Sneakerscope with a wrench, bolted it together with a bolt  and chucked it into his bag with... his hands.

Rum and Hormoany stuck out their tongues at each other, inadvertently locking into a passionate kiss.

“How cool will Dogsmeat be… they have the Runnypukes sweetshop full of  chocolaxatives, glucostriches and aphrodisi-acacia drops.” Hormoany nodded.
“And the Screaming Wreck has been haunted longer than Buckingham Palace.”

“I don’t think MuckGonadal will sign your form with Simian Bleak on the loose.” Said Hormoany. Hairy wished that Simian Bleak would get off the loose.

There was an emaciated warbling as the carriage door opened and a flash of lightning illuminated Drachma Malformed with his cronies, Crappe and Boil, balanced on his head.

Rum leapt up, hitting his head on the floor.
“Damn that Malformed! I swear, one more crack about our incompetence with maximum dividend yield, I’ll grab his nipples and...” Rum made a violent twisting motion.

Crackskanks grolwed menacingly.
“What the hell is that thing?” asked Rum. Hormoany froze and her head rotated around a half-revolution to face Rum. Droplets of blood trickled from her eyes and ears.  “Whenever I see a kitten, I get the urge to tear off its head and lick out the goo inside.” she said in a dark voice. Rum and Hairy stared in horrified awe.
“You...” began Rum, but Hormoany cut him short back to her vibrant self.
“I said I don’t care what Crackskanks is… we’ve stopped moving!”

Just then the lights went out and they were plunged into total darkness, like something being plunged into something else that’s totally dark.

Hairy heard Hormoany get up and walk to the door when it opened wide and Nibble Longbuttocks tumbled over her.
“Ow! Who’s that?” he whispered.
“Hormoany!” answered Hormoany. “Now could you kindly pull your hand out of there?” “Woah!” Another figure had tripped over Nibble and Hormoany in the doorway.
“Who’s that?” hissed Germy.
“Nibble.” replied Nibble.
“And Hormoany.” Added Hormoany. “Blooming heck… what are the chances of two people falling over me in the dark and both their hands ending up in the same place?”

A cloak concealed the figures face, but Hairy saw something that sent a shiver down his spine, an... appendage... hanging out from its robes, slimy and encrusted with eschars.

Hairy was brought-to by a bucket of cold vinegar being thrown over his face.
“Ezekiel? EZEKIEL?!” shouted Hormoany.
“Uh, my name’s Hairy.” prompted Hairy.
“Dammit, that’s the second time… Hairy? HAIRY?!”

The faces around him were blurred, as if pixelated by a post-production studio.

“It was horrid.” said Nibble in a voice higher than usual, meaning that all nearby dogs  started howling.

“Oh, so Loopy just happens to be carrying marshmallows around with him everywhere he goes, just incase a Demented shows up?” retorted Rum, blowing a marshmallow bubble out of his right nostril.

Rain was hammering the ground, missing all of the nails.

Useless fact #6: In North Dakota it is a criminal offence to fall asleep in shoes.

Profaner Loopy stepped out from his carriage. Malformed grimaced at the sight of the man’s ragged tutu, his attention diverted away from the steep cliff he was heading toward.

“I like cheese! I like cheese!” chirped Evan as he danced joyfully on a pillar.
“Why do you keep saying that?” roared Rum, towering over the midget. Evan stopped short and stared up at Rum with tears welling in his eyes before bursting into loud sobs.
“Now look what you’ve done!” hissed Hormoany, kneeling sympathetically down to nurse Evan.
“Don’t mind that stupid, mean bully.” she cooed sweetly. Evan looked up with an evil glint in his eye, grinning. He hurled a handful of dog doo into Hormoany’s face and ran off cackling. Hormoany remained knelt, breathing heavily.
“I’ll f***ing kill that f***ing little f***er...”

Profaner MuckGonadal planted herself on a pouffe, Hairy sat nervously on a lounge chair and Hormoany seated herself precariously on a garden rake.

The Dogfarts nurse, Madam Pomfret, bustled in, brandishing a rectal thermometer.
Hairy groaned, Malformed was bad enough without all of this fuss and bother. The ‘fuss and bother’ made its way up his ass like a rod of ice.
“Erk!” he called, springing into the air. “I’m fine, really!” he insisted. Pomfret frowned. “Oh, silly me, all you need is a marshmallow! Rectal thermometers are for ankle sprains!”

Hairy waited and a few minutes later Hormoany skipped out of the office merrily. She suddenly stopped and glared at Hairy with mouth foaming and limbs spasming.
“Whenever I’m alone, I slice open my wrists with razors, lick up the trail of blood and then regurgitate it to feed young vultures.” she growled. Hairy’s mouth worded silently. Hormoany snapped her fingers infront of his face.
“Hello? Were you listening? We need to hurry or we’ll miss dinner!”

Profaner Dumbodork stood up and hushed the crowd. One of the floating light bulbs levitated into his concave head and shattered, setting his long hair alight. He dashed about frantically to put out the flames with a mulberry bush.

“We have several Afghaniztan guards here posted around the school.” Dumbodork paused and Hairy remembered that Mr Weakly had said Dumbodork disliked Dementeds. Hairy also realised that Dumbodork was senile and had probably forgotten what he was going to say.

Pussy puffed out his scrawny chest proudly. A salami toting a chihuahua on it whizzed past the window.

Profaner Snoop was glaring at Profaner Loopy with a look of loathing, hate, spite, hostility, malice, belligerence, odium and enmity.
“Must be that time of month.” muttered Hormoany absent-mindedly.

“Dig in!” called Hormoany, scoffing down aardvark in flamingo-leg gravy.
“How can you eat after Haggis just stood up without pants on?” blanched Rum.
“Nothing I aint seen before!” 

After the banquet had ended, the houses dispersed into their groups to leave; Hecklepuck in their parrot yellow, Slivery in their puke green, Graafiandor in their menstrual red and Ravercork in their pregnancy blue.
“Whoopitydoop!” carolled Hairy. Rum turned to him, frowning.
“Why do you keep saying that every time you see the colour blue? Surely the vat of jelly crystals would have worn off by now!” he said.
“Whoopitydoop!” responded Hairy, catching sight of Rum’s blue eyes.

Haggis was getting teary eyed from emotion of being appointed a teacher. All of the students passing him were getting teary eyed from trauma of witnessing him without pants.

They all walked over the corpse of Yahoo Serious, which Carefaker Belch hadn’t bothered removing. He was quite ripe now, green decaying flesh clung to mouldy bones. The stench of decomposition stung the students’ nostrils almost as much as their hatred of his former ass-brained antics.

Hairy lay back in his space-pod-like habitat that night, listening to the sounds of the nights. The crickets were playing a concerto by Beethoven. Nibble Longbuttocks was snoring loudly, Shameless Finnicky was snoozing merrily, Dean Dumbass was dreaming about Asian wolverines and Rum wasn’t. A cool breeze blew open Hairy’s curtain to show the moon glistening upon the Dogfarts pool and the serene mountains. Hairy smiled and had a warm, relaxing feeling that he was finally home. At that precise moment,  another compost missile promptly whizzed through his window and showered hot, steamy waste all over him.

Useless fact #7: Palindromes read the same backwards as forwards. Examples include: ‘boob’, ‘tit’, ‘butt tub’, ‘lived as a devil’, ‘loo cool’, ‘pins rap parsnip’, ‘gnu dung’, ‘sexes’, ‘navel Evan’, ‘Potted: a cadet top’ and ‘bin nib’.

http://i4.photobucket.com/albums/y110/dragonangelfairy/ViktorRooney.jpg

--CHAPTER SIX--

Malformed was still s******ing at Hairy’s incident with the Demented, or it may have been the fact that he had a bra on.

“Hormoany,” said Rum. “There appears to be a bit of a screw up with your timetable...” Hormoany looked at him irritably.
“So what if I have a few subjects on at the same time? Profaner MuckGonadal fixed it all  with me earlier.” She went back to chewing on her toasted llama breast. Rum grinned.
“Actually, I was referring to the fact that none of your lessons have been circled with  love hearts like usual.” he joked, punching her lightly on the arm. Hormoany went rigid, then looked up with an icy aura radiating from her.
“Touch me again and I’ll chainsaw your gangly butt in half, skewer it on a mop and twist off your f***ing carrot-top head like a corkscrew.” she boomed. Rum gurgled a falsetto testicle-pop for twelve seconds, edging away from her slowly.
“And so naturally,” she went on as if nothing had happened. “My love life has just matured to a more selective stage!”

Haggis trundled in, trailing a roll of XXL toilet paper from his flabby buttocks. Hairy tried containing the vomit forcing its way between his lips. He swallowed it with a gulp and got rid of the taste by licking the table.

“Hey Potted! Look at me, I’m a Demented!” sneered Malformed, wiggling his pinkie through his zipper. The surrounding Slivery students hooted with laughter.
“Don’t flatter yourself, Drachma.” retorted Hormoany.

The Imagination classroom was all the way up the top of the East Tower, located at the West side of Dogfarts.

“Here ye shall end your noble quest, fine sirs and fair dame!” said  Sir Cumcision. Hormoany looked like anyone who repeated such a term would have a ‘fair dame’  pitchfork jousted up their butt.

“How do we get up there?” asked Rum. A rope ladder unravelled with a satisfying ‘thunk’ onto his head. Hairy couldn’t wait to climb up, but he had to, so he did. Wait. Yep. Yep yep. Yep yep yep.

After looking up Hormoany’s skirt as she climbed the ladder, Hairy reached the Imagination classroom. It had the appearance of the Weakly’s van, containing numerous lava lamps and disco balls. Psychedelic beanbags were set in a semi circle around a floating orb in the centre of the room, which Hairy had a sneaking suspicion wasn’t an overgrown pig ovary.

There were three beanbags free. Rum took a seat in the first one, which engulfed him. “Too soft.” he said. He tried the next one along, which was so taut it sprung him across the other side of the room.
“Too tight.” he said. A final beanbag remained.
“Gee, I wonder what I do now.” he snorted sarcastically, before standing next to Hairy for the remainder of the lesson.

Hairy’s first impression of the teacher was a retarded dragonfly which had had an anvil dropped on its left foot after a skiing accident.

“I have been eagerly anticipating the day when we make physical contact.” said Profaner Tralala. She faltered. “N-not that sort of physical c-contact.” she stuttered nervously

Profaner Tralala’s overtly malformed talipes caused the class to shift back away even more from her.

“Imagination is a most difficult subject, many of you will not possess the Inert Eye. Intelligence will not help you at all.” said Tralala. Hormoany died. Flat out, just carked it right then and there. Really! She’s dead! DEAD!!! Oh, like you’ll believe anything after the end of the last book…

Profaner Tralala suddenly swung her disfigured left foot in the direction of Nibble Longbuttocks and crouched down, her enlarged lazy eye level to his normal two.
“YOU! Is your grandmother feeling well?” Nibble screamed and scrambled under his desk.
“Get the f*** away from me, you psycho hag!” he screeched.

“Beware a moronic male!” called out Tralala suddenly.
“Erm, who were you talking to?” asked Rum. Profaner Tralala blinked,
“Um… YOU!” she blurted melodramatically. Rum trembled in fear, watching his every move suspiciously.

No sooner had Nibble reached the stand, a red clyster bag splattered on the ground.
“Wow! She really does have the Inert Eye!” gasped Perverted Petal in awe.
“She also had a string tied from the red bag to her finger.” muttered Nibble.

“Let’s see...” said Rum, looking at his turd loaves. “There’s a sort of head with a beard... Santa Claus! So that means... you will be sexually harassed.” Profaner Tralala glided over to Hairy and looked into his colostomy bag. She gasped.
“My dear, that is no Santa Claus! The distinctive nose, the elongated beard, the crap-coloured complexion... my boy, you have the OSAMA!” Half the class gasped, the other half groaned, the other half checked their calculations.

Hormoany rolled her eyes and gave a derisive snort.
“Come on, everyone knows Hairy has an arch nemesis.” she said. Profaner Tralala’s lazy nostril drifted down to her elbow.
“Is that so? Well, please enlighten us all on who that is.” sniffed Tralala.
“Um, Vulvamork...” said Hormoany slowly.
“Oh yeah…” hummed Profaner Tralala thoughtfully.

Profaner MuckGonadal spent the Transmogrification lesson explaining Anifungi, sorcerers who could transform at will into animals or mouldy growths. All of the students were too focused on Hairy to notice her turn into a ferret.
“What is with you all today?” said MuckGonadal, back to her normal form. “That’s the first time a class hasn’t set a Rottweiler loose on me!” Everyone looked back toward Hairy but were silent… as lambs...

“True soothsayers are very rare, and Profaner Tralala is more of a… truthstrayer.”
Everybody laughed appreciatively at the ingenious rhyme, which, if written in a story, would have the smartest comedian alive as author.

Useless fact #8: Mice have larger sperm than elephants.

“What about what Tralala said?” Hairy murmured. Hormoany scoffed.
“If you ask me, Imagination is a total crock!” she replied. Nobody had asked her anything.
(Well okay, Hairy had, but whenever someone begins a sentence with ‘If you ask me’ I usually... with an inferred… and the humorous undertone... with the... oh, screw it.)

“You’re just upset that there’s finally a subject you’re crap at!” said Rum. He had hit a nerve with Hormoany. He quietly slipped his Nerve-Hitter 5000 back under the table.

Hormoany still wasn’t talking to Rum, and Rum still wasn’t replying.

“Righ’ now, get ou’ yer organisers!” called Haggis.
“And how exactly do we do that?” scorned Malformed. “It brutally mauled my leg, then ran away yapping with a wild pack that were roaming the street.” All of the other students nodded in agreement. Haggis looked crestfallen.
“Yeh mean yeh didn’ chant the Swedish national anthem backwards the calm ‘em?”

“Hippygruffs!” yelled the organisers in unison, casting a wary eye at several passing lawyers involved searching for any plagiarisms on Pokemon concepts.

The initial sensation of witnessing the torso and head of a parrot on the butt of an butt made you truly appreciate the gleaming feathers, shiny coat and FOR CRYING OUT LOUD, HAGGIS! PUT SOME F***ING PANTS ON!

Malformed had just completed a left arm stall and hopped up to see Backbeat dance back. “Oh, come one, what was that? You never torso spin directly after an aerial cartwheel, you N*Sync backup dancer!” he drawled.

By the time Haggis got to Malformed, a small river of blood had saturated the field. Haggis canoed him off to the hospital wing.

"It was all Malformed's fault, calling Backbeat an 'N*sync backup dancer. I mean, you couldn't get a worse insult than that!" said Hairy. In reply, Rum started dancing the choreography of The Ketchup Song.
"I stand corrected!"

“It’s not like Bleak is waiting outside the door.” said Rum. A shuffling could be heard from behind the door, as if somebody was running away.

Useless fact #9: The oldest man ever died at 120.65 years of age. The oldest woman ever died when she was 122.45.

“Madam Pomfret was jus’ tellin’ me that Malformed lost two-thirds of ‘is blood.” sobbed Haggis. Hormoany gasped.
“Oh no! Were you sacked?” she said. Haggis took a swig of turpentine and sniffed.
“Nah, but it’s on’y a matter o’ time ‘fore someone loses three or four-thirds, innit?”

Haggis wiped his eyes with a tennis racquet.
“Thanks, all o’ yez.” he croaked, swilling a tankard of distilled badger’s milk.
“That’s enough drink.” said Hormoany, taking his bottles outside to empty them. Orally.

--CHAPTER SEVEN--

Nibble Longbuttocks found Poachings unbearable, his secret crush on Profaner Snoop only magnifying the problem.

“How are your nipples, Drachma?” cooed Panty Parkinsons. “Are you ravished with unbearable agony?” Malformed nodded with a pained expression.
“Yes, actually… would you mind retracting that pitchfork from my arse?”

“Sir, I need someone to circumcise my chinchilla.” whined Drachma. Profaner Snoop looked up from his desk and sneered at Hairy.
“Kindly abscise the prepuce of that rodent for Master Malformed.” he said. Hairy  growled and roughly performed the act with a butter knife. Malformed scowled.
“Sir! Potted just imitated Lorena Bobbitt!”

Profaner Snoop prowled around the rest of the tables, commending the efforts of the Slivery students whilst rapping the Graafiandors over the head with bones from the dungeon floor.

“So, Potted, going to try and catch Simian Bleak single-handed are you?” leered Malformed. Hairy snorted derisively.
“I have two hands, you idiot!”

At this, Snoop stalked over to Nibble’s table and held up his cauldron. The poaching, which should have been a grotty mucus green, was...
“Slightly off grotty mucus green!” drawled Snoop disparagingly. “Doesn’t anything get through that bulbous head of yours, Lungbuttock? I do recall specifically asking for pi dodo feathers, not a rounded up 3.14159265358979323846! And you add the toenails precisely five-sixths of a seconds later! Useless boy!”

After class, Hairy turned to Rum as they walked to Defence Against the Bleak Arts. “Does my butt look big in this tutu?”

Hormoany ran around a corner ahead of the two, then suddenly came up panting heavily from behind them.
“How did you do that?” asked the thunderstruck Rum. An icy wind swept over Hormoany, draining her of all colour.
“I use barbed wire to rip open the stomachs of puppies and suck their organs out one by one through a straw.” Rum and Hairy were lost for words.
“Well, are you coming or not, we’re late for class!” Hormoany dashed around the corner again. Rum turned to Hairy, his eyes wide and fearful.
“Hairy… do you think MY bum looks big in this tutu?”

Perves the poultergeist floated into the room and started making obscene balloon puppets out of his genitalia.

“We will be dealing with a Buggerit today, Mr Belch has kindly left it for our class.” Hairy expected that the day Mr Belch did something kind, the universe would implode.

Hormoany’s hand shot into the air at the speed of light.
“A Buggerit changes its form to mimic our most secret fetish. The only way to repel it is with large amounts of vomit.” she said. Profaner Loopy smiled.
“I could have said it better myself.”

“OK, baton at the ready, Lungbuttock. Hairy, you may open the microwave.” said Loopy. Hairy pushed a button causing the microwave to door to spring open and Profaner Snoop emerged. He turned to Profaner Loopy with a menacing glare.
“I warn you that Nibble Longbuttock seems to think that a mere 99.985% accuracy is a good enough standard for his work, unless Miss Ginger is in no way helping him out from the other side of the room.”he snapped. Profaner Loopy turned to Nibble. 
“Sorry, it actually was Profaner Snoop.”

Useless fact #10: Cleopatra the queen of Egypt was born 69 BC in Macedonia.

“Realsickostuff!” chanted Rum. There was a loud pop and the enormous pubic louse was being humped by Haggis, who in turn was has the Humping Sallow atop him. Every Adelgid/Haggis/Humping Sallow shipper cheered.

The weight of the entire class showering vomit onto the back wall caused it to topple down, a river of semi-digested chunks flowing out along the corridor and down the stairs, washing away several junior students.

“I didn’t get to see what my secret fetish is either.” said Hormoany. Rum snorted. “Probably a typical girl thing like a cyborg robot with giant vibrating arm attachments.”

A salami, with a chihuahua champing onto the end, soared past them and out a window.

--CHAPTER EIGHT--

Half of the class was in awe with Profaner Tralala’s Inert Eye, the other half found her unbearable amd the third half checked their calculations.

Oldliver Would was aiming to win the Spinach Cup before the end of his final year of Dogfarts, and was very focused on keeping his goal. (Well, he was the goal keeper!  Hahahaha... I have nothing.)

Oldliver looked to the sky, scowling at the mishaps fate had ticked in his direction.

Hairy was hit on the head with an old ham.

The Graafiandors ran out onto the pitch hooting war cries and torching effigies of their opponents.

Useless fact #11: An apple a day does not provide the dietary requirements of vitamins, carbohydrates, calcium or antioxidants to actually keep a doctor away.

“Don’t worry about the Dogsmeat visit, Hairy.” said Hormoany, reading his thoughts like some cheap novel in a discount bin.

Hairy sat back, beaming. He switched to low beam.

The monstrous Crackskanks leapt into Hormoany’s lap with a dead Rottweiler in its mouth.
“Aww, did you maul that all by yourself?” she cooed.

Scabies scrambled under an overturned cement truck that was somehow in the cummin room. Crackskanks got down on his fat belly and tried to reach Scabies with a broom.

In Herbology, the three worked on a Puffinpod, which kept rolling up its leaves and smoking itself.

Rum accidentally poured a forty-gallon drum of flammable oil over one of the plants. Within seconds it was a  writhing ball of flame.
“What have you done to Juliet?” shrieked Profaner Stout. Flames roared around her precious plant. Soon, all that was left was an ashy silhouette. Profaner Stout gyrated to the sky and shook her head manicly back and forth as she screamed:
“Juliet! JUUULIEEET!”

Calendar Brow threw down the note and gyrated towards the sky, crying
“Stinky! STIIINKYYYY!”

“Profaner Tralala predicted that the thing I dread will happen today.” said Calendar. Several students murmured amongst themselves. Hormoany, however, frowned.
“You were dreading that a flying salami with a chihuahua clinging onto the end of it would decapitate your pet ocelot?” she asked. Calendar Brow rolled her eyes.
“Well, duh. Ob-viously!”

Evan chirped “I like cheese!” before singing “Oompa-Loompa, oompity-day!”

Profaner MuckGonadal gave him an odd look… procrastinating an eked emotional response, perhaps? She turned and left. Hairy turned and right.

“There’s a lot of hype about Dogsmeat. I guess it’s worth visiting the confectioner, the joke shop, the Screaming Wreck, the bakery, the pub, the free amusement park, the shooting range, the duelling centre, the transparent whorehouse, the Bleak Arts museum and the never-ending ice cream fort. But if you’re not wearing any shoes and it’s fifty degrees, then the pebbled road would probably hurt your feet.” Hairy killed Pussy. Right there and then, whipped out a rifle and blew his head off. Blood and guts spattered the entire wall. Really. REEEALLY!

Colon Creamey was a camcorder-toting second-year with excessive salivary excretion. “Hi, Hairy! I’m reading up on pocket watches!” he shouted excitedly. A thin string of drool slowly trickled oozed from his lip to the carpet with a loud plop.

“Waaaiiit a minute…” began Colon. The cogs in his head began to turn in a painstakingly slow fashion as he questioned Hairy’s behaviour.
“Hairy’s parents are dead… but he just told me he heard them calling him to lunch…”
After several minutes, the cogs finally clicked into place and a cuckoo sounded.
“Oh my god!” yelled Colon in a horrified voice. “I feel like a sandwich!”

Hairy dashed upstairs and ran straight into Caretaker Belch, who wasn’t Takingcare of where he was going.

“Get off to wherever you want to go, at whatever speed you prefer, in a manner completely up to you!” hissed Mr Belch bossily.

Hairy went left down a corridor thinking dreamily about wheelbarrows.

“Hairy?” came the voice of Profaner Loopy. “What are you doing here? Where are Rum and Hormoany?” Hairy turned and sighed.
“Either sneaking off for a screw in the Foreboding Forest or at Dogsmeat.”

“What do you want to talk about?” asked Loopy, conjuring up a cup of lava and some buttered trumpets.

“Oxymoron alert!” shouted Hairy. At this, Oxygen Man walked in and exclaimed in a bold voice:
“Antipodean cheeses!”

“I am surprised, Hairy. It seems that you fear not evil, but rotten penises which trigger within you a narcoleptic episode. Very wise indeed.”

Useless fact #12: The term for fear of fear is Phobophobia.
“Holy crap! Who said that?” shouted Hairy.
I did, Hairy. The narrator.
“Oh, okay then, just checking. You’re not a Batholith are you?” Hairy asked.
I think we’d better get on with the story, Hairy.
“Oh yeah, sorry about that.”

“Profaner Snoop has kindly been cultivating some medical marijuana for my illness, Hairy.” explained Profaner Loopy. Hairy ogled the smoking bong.
“Snoop has an interest in the Bleak Arts,” began Hairy, hesitating, then continuing on. “Some people say he would do anything to get the Defence Against the Bleak Arts job.” These words took a while to set in. Profaner Loopy looked from the bong to Hairy.
“Are you suggesting that Profaner Snoop will perform sexual favours for my job?”

Hairy slapped his forehead with the force to patronise a chameleon.

“So, how was Dogsmeat?” asked Hairy.
“sheesh.” said Rum. Hairy frowned.
“You don’t have to lie just to make me feel better. Come one, how was it really?”
“sheesh.” said Rum.
“Oh.”

“So what did you do while we were away?” asked Hormoany.
“Well, I had lunch with Profaner Loopy, when Snoop came in a bong...” The three walked to the end of the corridor. Rum turned to Hairy.
“Yeah, okay, Snoop came in with a bong. Then what?” he asked. Hairy shrugged.
“Well, usually when I recall something, I only have to mention the first few words and you’re expected to automatically cotton on to what happened.” he said. Rum gasped.
“You mean Snoop was trying to poison Loopy in order to get his job?”

The three hopped over Yahoo Serious’ carcass, which lay accumulating fungus and alfalfa sprouts in the main corridor.

The Grate Hall was decorated with floating jac*a** lanterns, with large posters on the walls advertising clever ways to rig candy with razor blades.

Hairy licked his lips as the tables filled with roast pumpkin, pumpkin juice, pumpkin pie, pumpkin rolls and pumpkin ice-cream.

There was a large crowd gathered around the Graafiandor entrance. As in all cases where there is a crowd, the three protagonists squeezed their way to the front. A P.O.V. shot became a rotating pan shot which then zoomed in to a close-up of their expressions.

“Jeepers!” shouted Rum.
“Crikey!” called Hairy.
“Holy guacamole!” cried Hormoany.
“I like cheese!” yelled Evan.

Pussy Weakly turned to his Siamese-twin brothers.
“Frig, Gorge, go fetch Profaner Dumbodork!” he ordered. The twins turned to Rum.
“Rum, go fetch Profaner Dumbodork!” they ordered. Rum turned to Germy.
“Germy, go fetch Profaner Dumbodork! Purple monkey dishwasher!”

Hormoany’s fingernails suddenly shot out to over a metre in length and her hair flickered violently about her like flames. When she opened her mouth a booming voice came out.
“Have you ever felt the rush of adrenalin from slicing through the muscle, sinew and bone of a goat with a chainsaw, before finally heaving it all the way through its torso and spine as hot guts spill out over your arms and blood spatters wildly all over your face?”

Dumbodork took off his glasses, wiped his sweat, adjusted his hat, puffed on a pipe, calculated the square root of two and finally outwore what pitiful suspense remained.

“Pussy, kindly alert Mr Belch that the Fat-Assed Lady is missing.” said Dumbodork. Pussy Weakly turned to his Siamese-twin brothers.
“Frig, Gorge, go and alert Mr Bel-”
“NOW!” shouted Dumbodork.

Perves the poultergeist floated down from the roof where he had been surveying te scene of confusion and looking down girls’ blouses. He did a pirouette off Perverted Petal’s back and then poked his head out through his buttocks.
“Quite a temper he’s got, that Yahoo Serious!” The crowd remained silent. Perves blinked, then recovered himself.
“Erm, I mean… SIMIAN BLEAK!”

Useless fact #13: Egyptian prostitutes invented lipstick to enhance the appeal of fellatio.

http://i4.photobucket.com/albums/y110/dragonangelfairy/CedricTarantino.jpg

--CHAPTER NINE--

Dumbodork clicked his fingers and the floor was suddenly lined with blue sleeping bags. “Whoopitydoop!”

For the following week, the question on everybody’s lips was ‘What the hell’s this question doing on my lips?’

Evan bobbed into the conversation.
“My calculated estimation, based on simple logical deduction, concludes that Bleak is an unregistered Anifungi and used the same animal morph to enter Dogfarts as he did to sneak past the Dementeds at Afghaniztan. It is possible he came into the school via a secret passage that Caretaker Belch is currently unaware of. As the Foreboding Forest only has Haggis to guard that entrance and he’s always pissed off his face, I deduce that the Eastern wing would be a perfect point of entry!” he said. Everyone looked at the moronic midget, utterly flabbergasted.
“Oops, I mean… I like cheese!”

Pussy Weakly stalked around the students, beating them with a strap of liquorice if they talked.

Profaner Snoop scowled at Dumbodork, then turned on his heel and walked into a pillar. “Who the hell keeps putting these columns infront of me whenever I turn around?”

Following the heated discussion between Snoop and Dumbodork, Hormoany turned to Hairy and Rum with eyes wide open. 
“Guys… does my butt look big in this sleeping bag?”

The straw that broke the camel’s back was eighty feet long and weighed four tonnes.

Profaner MuckGonadal thought over the conundrum thoroughly for half a millisecond.

Useless fact #13: The the ulnar nerve on your Humerus is called the ‘funny bone’.

Angelwiener Jopson, Cutie Smell and Illicit Spanner giggled in a masculine manner. “Septic Dingaling, he’s that… well endowed one, isn’t he?” grinned Angelwiener.
“Hung like a centaur.” giggled Cute. Oldliver Would frowned.
“I doon’t want yoo three pleying soft, Septic is varry hard to beat!” he said.
“Off?” added Illicit, joining her friends in wild laughter.
“Oh, shoot oop!” snapped Would. The three girls straightened up, then immediately began guffawing again at the word ‘straighten’.

Oldliver gave Hairy numerous training sessions, where he described deceitful Spinach gambits involving almonds.

Useless fact #14: I am currently writing this at 11:57pm, December 31st 2002. All of the previous pages you have just read will be 2002 material and all that will follow is from 2003 and beyond. (Yeah, that’s right! I spent my New Year’s Eve writing crappy little satires before dozing into a sober sleep. WELL, F*** YOU!)

“Hairy Potted, this class started one year and ten minutes ago!” drawled Snoop.

“Who here can tell me the characteristics of Werlhofs?” leered Snoop. Hormoany’s arm shot upwards and she bobbed up and down as if seated on a Thrustdaddy 2000 vibrator.
“Werlhofs, or those with idiopathic thrombocytopenic purpura, can be distinguished by subcutaneous haemorrhaging which causes bruises to swell upover their body.” Profaner Snoop slammed his fist on Loopy’s desk with the force to neuter an ambitious giraffe.

Hormoany was consumed in deep thought, possibly about what her favourite colour was.

That night, Hairy tossed and turned in bed, before adding croutons to his Caesar salad.

Hairy woke up very early in the morning, so early that it was… very early. He looked up at his desk. The analogue face shone five fifteen. This was odd, as it was a desk lamp.

Hairy sighed inwardly. The fierce torrents of rain would not stop a Spinach match, nor would the month August.

Hairy whiled away the hours infront of the fire, then went wild away to breakfast.

At breakfast, Oldliver turned cannibalist by devouring a geriatric urinary organ.

The sky was dark blue.
“Whoopitydoop!” said Hairy, in a dark voice.

A forked tongue flickered between Hormoany’s green lips, black spittle fizzing as it hit the floor. Her eyes blinked sideways.
“Last night I bathed in goat’s blood while sipping a goblet of my own bile.” she rasped. Hairy ogled Hormoany timidly.
“Really?” he meekly murmured. Hormoany clapped a hand on his back.
“Yeah, so good luck in the Spinach match!”

Malformed sidled up to Hairy with his cronies Crappe and Boil on either side.
“So, Potted, are you drenched on the bench cuz your stench was… erm… wrenched from the trench… with a… wench… and… the…  clench?” Malformed trailed off awkwardly.

Madam Hoochie strode out into the middle of the flooding field.
“Mount your mops!” she called, but the screeching wind distorted her voice so that it sounded like she was saying “Purchase convex boomerangs!”

Useless fact #15: Rowling uses the possessive suffix ‘s’ after names that end in ‘s’ anyway, eg. “Sirius’s syphilis”.   

Oldliver looked as though he could have kissed Hormoany… well, he did… and a lot more than that in the remainder of the time out.

The crowd rose to its feet in excitement, or possibly as their bottoms were getting wet from the seats.

“Lucky the pitch was flooded with three metres of hydrofluosilicic precipitation.”

Hairy’s memory suddenly came back like John Travolta.

“Don’t worry,” said Frig. “You can blame your poor performance on the acid rain, the wind, the Dementeds, the angle of the pitch, the height of the grass, the decibel level of the crowd, the referee wearing striped stockings…”

Hormoany was seated beside Hairy’s bed with Rum. She smiled weakly at him through bloodshot eyes. Rum did the same through buckshot eyes.

“…the tectonic plate activity in South Korea, a severe emotional trauma induced by  Winona Rider’s kleptomaniac behaviour, penis envy over Septic Dingaling…” Frig continued babblign on, oblivious to the fact that the joke had worn off minutes ago.

“Wait a minute.” said Hairy. “If I fell fifty feet, with the force of gravity acting on me at ten metres per second, then my fall only lasted one point and a half seconds. And you’re telling me that in that time, a ninety-six year old had the reflexes to disperse several dozen Dementeds and then save me from hitting the ground?” Hormoany looked to Rum. Rum looked to Gavin. Gavin looked to Kevin. Kevin slapped Evan over the head with a rubber chicken.

“…and how come when I can hardly see two feet infront of me, I can suddenly make out Dementeds on the field sixty feet below me?” Hormoany checked with the narrator, then quickly administered a Plot-Hole Forgetting Spell to Hairy and everyone in the room.

--CHAPTER TEN--

Hairy had almost been hit by a bus the first time had seen the Osama. He was weary at the time, but lucky not to be run-down, tyred and exhausted!

“We hadn’t even started Werlhofs!” argued Calendar Brow.
“A thousand word essay!” cried Shameless Finicky.
“Do any of you listen? I really like cheese!” shouted Evan.

Profaner Loopy looked quite weary, with dark rings and bracelets under his eyes.

He began packing pebbles into a blue suitcase.
“Whoopitydoop!” whooped Hairy.

“Whenever the Dementeds flash me, I hear Nerd Vulvamork murdering my parents.” said Hairy. Profaner Loopy went to make a gesture with his hand, possibly flipping Hairy the bird, but thought better and instead began coiling a large anaconda into his trunk..

Hairy helped fold up a circus tent into Loopy’s handbag.

“But you managed to get rid of that one on the Dogfarts Excess.” said Hairy. Loopy stroked his stubbled chin thoughtfully.
“There is a charm, but it is very complex… it would take a lot of patience...” Hairy abruptly cut him off.
“Yeah, yeah, OK, I have heaps of patience. Now, let’s get going!”

Useless fact #16:The 5th element  is Boron. The 44th US President is a moron.

Profaner Loopy ushered Hairy out, claiming that he was under the weather. Hairy could see that he looked pale and disshevelled, but noted that everybody was technically ‘under the weather’.

Ravercork had defeated Hecklepuck by 107, thus meaning that Slivery and Ravercork had to lose to Graafiandor by 75 apiece, then Slivery would have to defeat Ravercork by 68 or more but tie with Hecklepuck in the quarterfinals, so that there would be a 5-point decider against Graafiandor. Then when Hecklepuck defeated Slivery by a 52 point margin, the points would be forfeited to Ravercork and Graafiandor would thus snatch the Cup up in the grand final against whichever of the 3 teams had previously won. Of course, one point out in any of these equations and Graafiandor would have no chance at all of winning.

The heavens parted their hair on Saturday morning to dry the muddy  pitch.

All of the Third Years were ecstatic about visiting Dogsmeat, so much so that Hairy got zapped by ecstatic electricity.

Hairy had been using one of the antique school mops, a Shoddy Star, which was ironically enough very… starry.

Frig and Gorge Weakly were crouched behind the statue of a one-breasted hag.
“Thought we’d give you a bit of festive cheer.” said Gorge, with a wink that could only be interpreted as sexual advancement.

“This,” said Frig, holding up a scroll of toilet paper with a large faecal blotch on it. “Is our most prized secret weapon.” He went to kiss the paper, then stopped on second thought and gave it a hearty pat on the head instead.

“For you see, back when we were freshmen, innocent and Carefree tampons…” began Gorge. Hairy guffawed. The concept of the two Siamese twin Weakly brothers as innocent was about as far-fetched as a celibate Hormoany.
“… Caretaker Belch got slightly irritated when we slaughtered his first born.” Hairy choked on his gum.
“You’re kidding! Mr Belch actually copulated with a female?” he laughed.
“Not exactly… Mrs Notorious had hominid kittens. Looong story.”

Messrs Moody, Germtail, Badfoot and Pongs
Perverters of Scats and Maculated Manure Maps.
present to you: THE DISORDERED CRAP

“May the faeces be with you.”

Hairy felt very powerful holding the incredible crap-smeared toilet tissue, but then he heard the wise words of Arcer Weakly in his head. ‘Front to back to wipe your cr… I mean, never consolidate with blotches of excrement with adult supervision.’

Hairy left Runnypukes after forty minutes, as there had been a large barrel beside the door full of blue toffees, forcing him to call out “Whoopitydoop!” hundreds of times in a row.

“What about this Carbonated Urine drink?” asked Rum.
“Eww, no! Hairy wouldn’t like that. I expect it’s brewed for the Irish.”

“Hairy! How did you get here?” squealed Hormoany. Hairy rolled his eyes sardonically. “Duh, by following the directions of some crap smeared on a sheet of toilet paper!” he said. Hormoany slapped her head.
“Oh, of course. How stupid of me!”

“Why didn’t they give the Disordered Crap to me?” asked Rum in an affronted tone. “I mean, I’m their brother!” Hairy patted Rum sympathetically on the shoulder.
“You forget that you’re a fudgeing loser.” he said. Rum slapped his head with the force to preview a wrinkly carrot.
“Oh, of course, how stupid of me!”

Hormoany’s eyes went blood red and her skin faded to reveal sickly purple veins pulsing violently through her scaly flesh.
“I’ll chain you up while you’re sleeping and then skin you alive with garden shears before hammering nine inch nails into every part of your exposed flesh and then pissing vinegar all over your body.” Rum’s whimpering was reminiscent of a throttled trombone.

“But Bleak couldn’t know about them!” said Hairy. “Frig and Gorge reckon that Belch knows about four of the entrances, one of them has the obese carcass of Chris Farley blocking the way, the other one has the Humping Willow planted right over the entrance and the one I just used is…a log.” Hormoany lifted her eyebrow via a lever.
“A… log?” Hairy swallowed, looked at Rum and then back at Hormoany.
“Yes. A… a log.”

“Come try some Buttockbeer, Hairy!” chirped Rum. Hairy was eager to try the famous sphincter-based beverage.

Hairy kicked open the saloon doors of the The Free Bloomstiffs pub. A piano player in the corner stopped playing abruptly, the room went quite. Hairy sidled slowly up to the bar, his Sneakerscope clinking with each step. He seated himself on a stool as several sweating card players nearby cast him side-glances through clouds of cigar smoke.
“Three mugsof Buttockbeer.” Hairy drawled, hawking up a glob of tobacco into a spittoon. There was a metallic ‘clang’ as the spit hit the cuspidor.
“Oh crap, that was my gold filling!” said Hairy in a whiny nasal voice, abandoning the stool to finger through the spittoon full of warm, viscous saliva.

The narrator shut up, for the sake of marinated keyboards everywhere.

From his position under the table, Hairy made out Profaner Nitwit’s tiny legs protruding out from his high-chair, Cornholio Fridge’s brightly striped trousers, Profaner MuckGonadal’s black cloak and PUT SOME FREAKING PANTS ON, HAGGIS.

Useless fact#17: In 10,000 years of use, there have been no fatalities from marijuana.

“Dementeds have searched here twice,” snarled Rosmutter. “All my customers left indisgust… and the damn stingy wraiths didn’t even leave a tip!”

As if to substantiate his claim, a chihuahua clinging onto a salami flew past the window.

“You say you remember Bleak back at Dogfarts, do you recall his best friend?” asked Profaner MuckGonadal. Rosmutter gave a hearty chuckle.
“Oh, of course! You never saw one without the other, did you? Best of chums, they were, a real dynamic duo! He would always be around Simian Bleak, he would...” yammered Rosmutter cheerfully. Profaner Muck Gonadal frowned.
“You have no idea who Bleack’s best friend was, do you?” she snapped.
“…no, ma’am.”

Fridge emitted a loud oesophagus.

Hairy dropped his mug, resulting in a highly audible vibration emittING from the impact. Rum gave Hairy a swift kick in the face to silence him as Hormoany leapt from a turnbuckle and bodyslammed him.

“Dumbodork thought it would be best that Silly and Lame use the Fidelcastro Charm.” “What’s that?” asked Madam Rosmutter inquiringly, even inquiringlier than before.
“The Fidelcastro Charm is a very difficult spell. It originates from a communist country beginning with the letter ‘C’-”
“China?”
“Shut up! Anyway, it involves concealing the knowledge of someone’s wherabouts inside a single person.” The table murmured excitedly as Rum fed Scabies a whole watermelon. 
“So, who was chosen to keep this secret?” asked Profaner Nitwit avidly.
“A log.” answered MuckGonadal. There was a pregnant pause. It gave birth to an even longer pause.
“A… log?” asked Fridge. Profaner MuckGonadal blinked calmly.
“Yes, that’s right… a log.”

There was a clumsy administration for solitude.

Rosmutter avoided a green hazard in her reply.

The table of adults shuffled uncomfortably… the adults shuffled uncomfortably along with the table.

“Bleak displayed his full devotion to the Bleak Nerd… by giving him a log?” she asked.
“Why, certainly! There is no higher way for a Breath Hater to do so!”

“But the speel rebounded on UNO-Who. Terribly weakened, with all powers destroyed, he fled to Spain, claiming that he was wheelchair bound and required oxygen apparatus…” said Mr Fridge, eyeing Christopher Skase in the corner of the bar.
“This left Bleak in a very icky situation. He had just exposed himself as a Breath Hater at the time Morty became short of breath.” chuckled Fridge. Nobody laughed.

Profaner Nitwir comforted Haggis with a cheeseburger.

“I’m sad to say that Pizza Pitiful was the first to find Bleak…” began Fridge.
“What? Pizza Pitiful?” blurted Rosmutter. “That fat stupid retard who always shat his pants and tripped over himself and nobody liked him and he was a fudgeing moronic loser with no penis?” she asked.
“The very one.” said MuckGonadal.

Rum scratched his eyeball for every apparent reason.

“Pizza was so nervous…he farted…” Fridge’s voice caught in his throat due to an artfully-positioned fly trap.
“Of course Bleak performed a salami-wedging bewitchment on Pitiful’s rear. The pudgy little turd that he was, Pitiful expanded and expanded from the gas pressure until he exploded.” Hairy heard some stifled sobs and rifled mobs.
“I was Head of CSI:Dogsmeat at the time, one of the first at the scene. Bleak was just standing there, laughing his arse off. Likes his fart jokes, old Simian...”

There was a fanfare as Fridge sat his glass on the table.

Rosmutter disemboweled as she listened.

“Bleak asked me for the newspaper to do the crossword puzzles. He was as cool as a cucumber when he asked me for a six letter word starting with ‘c’ for 3 Down, ‘a product of coagulated milk curd’…”

“And worst of all, Simian Bleak remains to this day… Hairy Potted’s fairy godmother!”
The table muttered solemnly amongst themselves as Rosmutter cleared away their goblets and walked them to the door.
“Hairy?” asked Rum and Hormoany, poking their heads under the table, which were white with concern.
“Do our butts look big from down there?”

--CHAPTER ELEVEN—

Hairy’s thoughts were drag racing through his head.

Tucked away in his suitcase was the photo album which Haggis had given him two years ago. Perhaps it was indeed more beneficial than a box of chocolates… but who can put a price on life?

Lame waving up at Hairy, his armpit hair a tangled mess. Silly was smiling happily as she clasped a bouquet of teapots. Next to them was Simian Bleak. He was unrecognisable, mainly due to the paper bag over his head.

“Hairy?” Rum asked in a faltering voice. Hairy closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep by yelling “I’m asleep!” loudly.

Hairy watched the images of Pizza Pitiful’s death over and over, as though there was a looping flip-book pasted under his eyelids.

Rum was knitting a sweater out of navel fluff and Hormoany was reading four books at once.
“Where is everyone?” asked Hairy, the deserted room echoing his question… his question…his question…

“You look awful, Hairy!” said Rum. Hairy frowned.
“You’re no Brad Pitt yourself!”

Hormoany exchanged looks with Rum at the current exchange rate.

Hairy could tell the two had rehearsed their conversation while he was asleep, especially when they broke into a trumpet duet with matching choreography.

“You just…don’t get it, do you Scott?” said Hairy.
“Scott? Who’s Scott?” asked Rum.
“Silence! I will not tolerant insolence!” yelled Hairy, stroking Crackskanks in his lap.
“Uh…” uttered Hormoany slowly, opening her mouth to speak.
“Zip it!” snapped Hairy.
“… um, isn’t that from-” began Rum.
“Zip yer lip, pip!” snapped Hairy. “Ayo, I’m X to the Z and it’s time to flip it, your lips should make like my pseudnoym and X… Zipit!” he rapped lamely.
“Hairy,” grimaced Hormoany, in clear agony. “You’re already ripping off-”
“Shut your mouth!” sang Hairy loudly.
“Oh no, not Shaft…” she cringed, burying her face into her hands.

Unlike normal tears, however, Haggis’ had an alcohol content of 45%.

Haggis sat down on his couch, sending Frang on the other end flying out the window.

He certainly put the ‘blubber’ back into ‘blubbering.’ Hormoany made Haggis a cup of oxen to calm him down.

“Dunno wha’ came o’er me… haven’t bin meself lately.” sniffed Haggis.
“Who have you been, John Malkovich?”

“The wors’ part abou’ Afghanistan is… the shape buildin’!” Haggis shuddered at the very thought. Hairy slowly raised three eyebrows.
“Shape… building?” he repeated. Haggis nodded.
“Oh yeah, big businesses ‘ave bin exploitin’ convict labour e’er since Asian sweatshops got all o’ that bad publicity. The block I was in had bin bought ou’ long ago by Mattel, so my punishment was buildin’ cylindrical moulds o’ Barbie torsos ‘n’ the like using on’y my feet. Guy nex’ the me was a murderer so ‘e had legs ‘n’ arms. I tell yeh, me toes was blisterin’ like no tomorrer! But Simian Bleak had the make the ‘ardest of ‘em all… PRISMS!” Haggis swooned melodramatically at the word. Hormoany, Rum and Hairy were looking at Haggis with bemused expressions, as if he was a quirky Japanese television game show about embalming dead cancer patients.
“Bleak made more plastic prisms ev’ry hour than any o’ the other inmates. Dunno how ‘is feet survived, wit’ all them sharp corners diggin’ in. As if havin’ those disgustin’ Dementeds standin’ next the yeh all day flashin’ yeh wasn’t enough…” Haggis took a deep swig from a gumboot and continued.
“And tha’s why I can’t jus’ set Backbeat free, cuz I could get  the same sentence… bein’ made a Prismer of Afghaniztan!” he wailed tearfully.

Walking back to Graafiandor house, Hormoany turned to Hairy.
“Sorry, but that has to be the hugest plot stretch ever just to work in to the parody title.”

Useless fact #18: The following plurals of ‘us’ words are incorrect: ignorami, hippopotami, rhombi, cacti, succubi, humoroi, tumulutuoi, phalli, Romuli, pi and I.

Dogfarts was now festively furnished with Christmas decorations, sparking further debates over the whole blasphemic behaviour of witchcraft.

Thirty four thousand, five hundred words from NOW!

“Come on!” called Rum, rummaging through a pile of presents. Hairy was soon hairymaging through his own pile.

Hodwog dropped a long package ontop of Rum’s head, denting his skull.
“Woah, what’s that?” Rum asked from under a trickle of blood. Hairy tore off the wrapping paper and his eyes bulged.
“It’s… a log!”

“Who would buy that for you?” frowned Rum. “I mean, your parents left you a small fortune and yet you’ve been given whole loads of free Spinach crap!”

“What do you mean Loopy was away? He was sick that night.” said Hairy.
“Well he wasn’t in the hospital wing, I had a detention licking bedpans there, remember?” said Rum, opening his mouth. A putrid wave still wafting from his blotchy tongue.

Hairy did an impersonation of Malformed upon seeing the Fiatblot. Rum did an impersonation of Hairy impersonating laughter at Rum’s impersonated…what was I saying?

Rum and Hairy cuffed Hormoany’s head simultaneously. (Heh heh. I said ‘aneous’.)

“I am of the impression that any partaker of a journey on that domestic electronic cleaning device will find their locomotion one of mortal endangerment!” said Hormoany piercingly.

Hairy couldn’t help but remember the pet shop owner informing Rum that weasels didn’t usually live past eighteen years of age, let alone own signatures from 1837 royalty.

Christmas spirits were low, as Perves had drunk them all and was barfing violently into the fireplace.

Hairy lowered his voice as the three entered the Grate Hall for Christmas lunch.
“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” he whispered to Rum.
“I know, you never see any of them in here.” replied Rum.
“Shhh, just keep walking, we don’t want to draw attention to it.” hissed Hormoany, as they passed a black student seated at the table.

Profaner Tralala entered wearing a blue sequinned gown.
“Whoopitydoop!”

“Oh, but an eremitic tiffen would be much safer, for when thirteen dine together, the first to rise will be killed off in a dramatic event by the end of Book 7!”

Useless fact #19: The irrational fear of the number thirteen is triskadekaphobia.

“I think it hardly matters, unless there is an axe murderer waiting out in the corridor to execute the first person who exits.” drawled MuckGonadal. Everybody laughed loudly, drowning out the sound of an axe murder dashing away from the doorway in the corridor.

Profaner MuckGonadal gave the Fiatblot a look-over, tutting tuttingly.
“I am afraid I have to take this vacuum cleaner. Miss Ginger and I both agree that it was most probably sent to you by…Yahoo Serious!” There was a brief pause.
“Erm, I mean… Simian Bleak!”

http://i4.photobucket.com/albums/y110/dragonangelfairy/SeverusManson.jpg

--CHAPTER TWELVE--

“How are you, Hairy? Did you have a good Christmas?” asked Oldliver Would. Hairy’s eyes ogled the boy’s speech.
“Uh, Oldliver. Why don’t you have that annoying Irish accent anymore?” he asked. Would shrugged.
“Well, it was a complete witch writing all of the ‘i's as ‘a’s so that it took ages to spell check, so instead I’m just going to speak normally with an underline representing an accent.” Hairy nodded slowly in comprehension.
“Oh, I see. So… if I speak in a really thick Irish accent like this, do we use double-underline?” Hairy asked, in a really thick Irish accent.
“No, Hairy.”
He crammed a slice of magnesium in his mouth.

Classes began within the next six million years. (ie. The next day.)

In Palm reading, Profaner Tralala informed the class that two small coconuts signified with Hairy’s miniscule testicles or an ill celestial alignment. Hairy readily admitted that  his cosmic alignment was definitely off.

“Man, Loopy’s skin is so blotchy and purple. I wonder what’s wrong with him.” said Rum. An audible, agitated “Hyperbilirubinemia!” came from behind them. Hormoany was carrying a large pile of book-on-tapes. Between her labia.
“Why are you ‘hyperbilrubinemia’-ing us for?” frowned Rum.
“What?” asked Hormoany innocently. Rum scowled.
“I said I wondered what was wrong with Loopy and you-” Hormoany’s mouth suddenly bulged. She tilted her head sideways, her dilated eyes locking onto Rum’s. A single bee popped out of her mouth, followed by a black torrent of bees swarming from her lips.
“SLAUGHTER THE CHILDREN!” she roared, thick streams of oil pouring from her fingernails down her arms, the skin all over her body melting away from the bone like hot wax. Hairy and Rum lay on the floor in the foetal position, trembling. Hormoany leant over the two, her usual face pouting at them.
“Well, if you’re going to lie on the floor like idiots, I won’t tell you!”

Profaner Loopy strolled into the classroom carrying a purse in one hand and a large closet on his shoulder.
“What’s that?” asked Hairy, puzzled. Profaner Loopy blinked.
“It’s called a handbag, Hairy. You carry small personal items in it.”he said slowly.
“No, what’s that on your shoulder?” asked Hairy, pointing towards the giant cupboard. “Holy sheesh! How the hell did that get there?” yelled Profaner Loopy, swatting it away.

“If sorcery took that long to learn, no one would be interested in these stories.” said Loopy. Hairy snorted again in a highly snortius manner.
“You actually believe people are interested in these stories?”

“Now, this incantation is called the Patrheinous. It is an image of great foulness which acts as a shield between you and a Demented.” said Loopy. Hairy suddenly envisioned a giant levitating tampon with a machete.

“Sexexpo Patrheinous!” called Hairy, stroking his wand as fast as he could.
“Sexexpo Patrheinous! Sexex… ex… ex…” Hairy collapsed into a drooling slumber.
“Ezekiel! EZEKIEL?!” called Profaner Loopy.
“Hairy.” prompted Hairy. Loopy grimaced in umbrage.
“I knew it, Hairy. HAI-RY! One more time!”

He handed Hairy a marshmallow from his pocket, it resembled a dishevelled uvula.

“Hairy? HAIRY?!”
“It’s Ezekiel.” said Hairy.
“Oh crap! I thought I’d… hey, wait a minute, you little piece of-”

“You weren’t best friends with my father at Dogfarts, thus creating some sort of unforeseen bond between you and Simian Bleak?” asked Hairy.

Slivery had defeated Ravercork by the required 69 points, thus opening up the chance for Graafiandor to defeat them both by 75, with them tying with Hecklepuck in the quarterfinals. Then the 5-point decider against Graafiandor could determine if Hecklepuck needed to defeat Slivery by 52 points or forfeit for the points to be given to Ravercork, or vice versa. Any way it went,  Graafiandor could snatch up the Spinach Cup in the grand final against one of the three others. Or not.

Rum swallowed a marshn (half a marshmallow).

“Oldliver, how come you’re now speaking in italics?” asked Hairy.
“Well, it looked really disorientating having underlines under each sentence, because it ran through all the low-riding letters like ‘y’, ‘p’, ‘q’, and ‘g’.” replied Oldliver. Unfortunately, the Foreign-phrases-and-stress-placed-on-particular-words writer strode into the scene.
Sorry, mon ami, but I’ve got dibs on all use of italics. she said.
And don’t even think about using bold!  boomed Chapter Heading Man boldly.
“Sorry, Would, I think we’ll have to stick with onomatopoeic spelling.” said Hairy.
“Foin, we’ll stack wath ornomatopayack spalling for moi speech.”

“How does she do it?” asked Rum, motioning to where Hormoany had a heap of parchments piled infront of her. Hairy shrugged.
“Hmm, I suppose she just puts one sheet down, then repeats the process until a small pile has accumulated from all of the-” Rum cuffed Hairy with a box of paracetamol.

“She was talking to teacher about Ancient Loons lessons on Wednesday, but she was with us in Careless Magical Creatures. Bernie McMullian told me she hasn’t missed any of her Muffin Buddies lessons, but they’re in the same line as Imagination.” said Rum. Hairy sat back with a bewildered expression on his face.
“Come to think of it, we have Poachings on at the same time as Transmogrification!”

“Lick my motherf***ing c*** you c*** a**ed p****.” said Would, in Symbol font.
“Riiight.” said Hairy. He whipped out an English/Greek dictionary from his pocketin order to translate.
“Ride me like a dolphin, Emma Watson, you briny little b****." said Oldliver.
“Let’s see… ‘I joost talked to Profasser MuckGonadal boot shae wouldn’t give back your Foitblot.’” translated Hairy. Would nodded and continued on.
“Ooh, you stud Rupert Grint. Give me that c*** now.” continued Oldliver.
“Erm… ‘Yoe shoold maybe thank aboot gatting a new vacuum clayner. A Bambus Two Thousand and Woon wood do foin.’” Hairy scowled at Oldliver.
“I’m not riding anything that Malformed likes.” he said. Would blinked.
“My God, Hairy Potted has no penis. What a f***ing loser.” he said.
“Oh yeah, I guess Malformed does like the Fiatblot and I don’t mind the notion of riding THAT. I’d better just wait for MuckGonadal to finish her inspection.” said Hairy .
“Maggie Smith, let's get down with Emma in a jacuzzi cauldron.” said Oldliver, smiling to Hairy. Hairy blinked.
“You want to do WHAT with Maggie Smith and Emma Watson?” he replied, shocked. Would hastily shook his head.
“Oh, right… ‘See yoe at Spanach practice, Hairy.’”

January evanesced into February in an excessively incognoscible manner.

“Stop beating yourself up about it, Hairy. Premature incantation is common at your age.”

“Buttockbeer! I love that creamy rectal goodness!” called Hairy, before he could control himself. He cursed his faulty control panel. Profaner Looy scrutinised Hairy closely.
“Erm, cuz I had an elaborate set of tubes set up to Rum’s throat so that I could siphon liquids off ...” Loopy raised an eyebrow by pulling a little string at the side of his head.

“Hairy, when you hear a Demented’s long, drawn out rattle, you’re actually hearing a fart. Dementeds have an butt instead of a head, so are able to latch their butt aperture to your face until the suction from their sphincter causes a victim’s brain to get sucked out.”

“Master Potted, Madam Pomfret and I have performed numerous colonic irrigations, proctological examinations and have used over a dozen cold rectal thermometers on your Fiatblot. You have one perfectly healthy vacuum cleaner here! At least, it was, before we crammed several hundred various objects up its rectum.” she said, handing Hairy back his Fiatblot and smiling at him in a manner that could only be interpreted as a sexual advancement.

Useless fact #20: The plural of colon is cola.

Rum belly-danced in a dhoti in celebration.

Nibble Longbuttocks attempted a freestyle rap, but wasn’t a good swimmer.

“See, Hormoany, the vacuum was perfectly safe.” taunted Rum, finally being able to pin something on Hormoany.
“Your left testicle has yet to descend.” replied Hormoany bluntly, not even looking up from her work.

Hormoany’s right hand worked on her Poachings essay, her left hand copied out notes on goblin/mermaid marraige laws, her feet typed up a report on Transmogrification whilst her elongate tongue sifted through a large file about magical forms of cosmetic surgery.

“Look at these stains!” roared Rum, holding up his bedsheets in front of Hormoany.
“Yuck, I don’t want to see that!” recoiled Hormoany.

--CHAPTER THIRTEEN--

Rum was furious at Hormoany for not giving her huge pet its required 158 kg of daily nutrition in raw meat. Hormoany claimed that Exhibits A through F were hearsay, corrupt cops had planted evidence at the scene and Crackskanks’ was a victim of racial profiling.

Nibble Lungbuttock had invested in a bullet-proof vest to protect himself against any attacks. Hormoany already had protection. (Groooan!)

“Scabies was a geriatric weasel with six types of gangrenous tail infections! Get over it!” snapped Gorge, thumping Rum over the head with an extroverted accordion.

Even Madam Pooch, the Spinach teacher, had something to say about the Fiatblot.
“Something.” she clearly instructed the crowd of onlookers.

“Now, mate, that flamin’ sheila Choke Chain will be Ravercork Peeper. Crikey, your bonzer Fiatblot will go falt out like a lizard drinkin’ compared to her Vomit Too Sickly.” Hairy tried ignoring the ever-changing accent of Oldliver Would.

Hairy nodded, unsure if they were talking about African delicacies or lawn products.

“tick off, you lummox!” yelled Rum. Crackskanks spat out Evan and scampered away.
Evan sat up, drenched in a thick layer of drool.
“I like cheese!”

A salami, with a recognisable chihuahua holding onto it for dear life, ricochetted off Perve’s head and shot off into the distance.

The Ravercorks came over to gaze adoringly at the Fiatblot. Unfortunately, this caused Hairy to squawk “Whoopitydoop!” several hundred times.

Malformed maintained his composure with a liberal application of super glue.
“Pity it doesn’t come equipped with a pillow, teddy and a night light incase you feel sweepy fwom a Demented.” he jeered. The Slivery table erupted into laughter.
“Um, it does.” retorted Hairy.

“Now Hairy, have yoe figoored oot what to doe incase any more Damantads show oop?” asked Would. Hairy nodded meekly, tucking his magical rod into his pants and double-checking the ‘Pillow, Teddy & Night Light’ function on his Fiatblot.

Frig Weakly pointed out Choke Chain to Hairy. She was a short Asian girl who was wearing a face mask due to inevitably being a SARS carrier. Hairy couldn’t help but notice that she looked rather attractive. He felt a slight jolt in the region of his stomach, also known as his THROBBING COCK.

The Spinach players mounted their mops, vacuum cleaners and squeegees.

Hairy looked down at the field. There, below him, stood three looming Dementeds. Without a secodn thought, Hairy reached into his pants, fumbling around until his hand  gripped around his wand. He began shimmying his hand up and down the baton, picturing a lurid memory in his head.
“Exputrid Patrheinous! Exputrid Patrheinous!” he shouted, but nothing was happening. “Come on! Exputrid Patrheinous!” With a quick burst, Hairy saw a bright silver substance launch down onto the Dementeds.

“Oh well, a draw isn’t such a bad outcome.” said Profaner Loopy. Hairy looked up.
“Did you see my Patrheinous?” he asked eagerly. Loopy grimaced.
“Well, about that…” He held up Hairy’s wand. “This fell out of your pants at the start of the match.” Hairy looked from his baton to the Dementeds laying on the ground covered in goop.
“…oh. OH!”

Profaner MuckGonadal scowled at the Sliverys. “What a lily-livered, craven and pusillanimous deed to have done!”

The bloo drained from her face. She turned slowly to the huddled Graafiandors.
“Which careless fool wrote down all of this week’s passwords on the wall beside the Graafiandor entrance?” she asked in a deadly hiss. Nibble Lungbuttock raised his hand and chuckled sheepishly to himself.
“Heh heh… that’s a lot of gravy!”

--CHAPTER FOURTEEN--

No one in the Insomniacs Correctional Facility slept that night. Neither did anyone in Graafiandor.

Profaner Nitwit was fingerprinting the cummin room with dandruff.

Useless fact #21: A hummingbird can beat its wings up to 75 times per minute.

“Not with Dementeds swarming all over Dogsmeat!” retorted Hairy, earning a  jealous look from a nearby retort stand.

Rum had become a minor celebrity. (All celebrities under 18 are minor.)

“Oh no, my grandmother has sent me a Bawler.” said Nibble Longbuttocks.
“What the f*** h*** were you thinking, you d***headed c***?!” screeched the Bawler, with the voice of dear old Granny Longbuttocks. “If you pull any s*** like that again, your f***** a** will be f***ing crucified, you hear me, p****? I mean, how d*** stupid can you f***ing get, you c***munching, s***-for-brains b****!!!”

Hodwog grabbed Hairy’s attention by driving a steamroller through the wall.

Hairy and Rum exchanged guilty looks at the blackcurrant exchange rate.

Evan called “I like cheese!” and twisted his leg into a reef knot.

“People can be stupid abou’ their pets, yeh know.” said Haggis sagely, as Hodwog shat on Hairy’s neck and Frang sneezed a viscous glob of mucus into Rum’s face.

“I knew it! You’re planning to go to Dogsmeat!” snapped Hormoany, pulling off her wallpaper camouflage. As she stood infront of them, festering boils bubbled up from underneath her skin, oozing foul goo down her body like a steaming pus volcano.
“If you do, I’ll chain you up inside a cauldron and slowly heat it before dousing you with honey and pouring in a colony of fire ants.”

Hairy tried to not act too suspicious, which was easy as he was a crap actor.

He glanced down at the Disordered Crap, to see several names gathered around his own. Hairy looked up suddenly and emitted a cry of shock. Nibble Longbuttocks, Colon Creamey and a hoard of spectacled, hoarsely-breathing nerds were crowded around him, staring at him wide-eyed. Nibble Longbuttocks stepped forward, guffawing in a pitch higher than Mount Everest.
“Hey, Hairy! Wanna come back with us to compare collector discs? I have the silver-plated collector Steve Hawking set, m-hawk m-hawk!” he snorted. Hairy quivered in horror as the gang of drooling geeks closed in on him.
“No! Nooo! NOOOOOO!!!” At that moment, a nuclear missile flew in through the window and exploded in a shower of steaming compost.
“That’s a lot of gravy!” said Nibble.

Malformed appeared from around the path, cahtting to Crappe and Boil.
“Father says he’s convinced the committee that the extent of my blood loss renders me legally dead. Can you imagine that oaf Haggis on the bench? ‘I’d bett’r change me plea from innocent, all o’ this overwhelmin’ evidence means I mus’ be guilty!’”

Malformed swiftly whipped out his Invisibility-Reversing Goggles.
“Aha! Potted!” he yelled triumphantly. Hairy whipped out his Anti-Invisibility-Reversing-Goggles-Laser, but the damage had already been done.

Useless fact #22: South Park: Bigger, Longer and Uncut has the World Record for most swearing in an animated film, with 399 profanities.

The room had been coated in black paint, adorned with eerie lighting and the plumbing had been specifically fitted to drip every few seconds, accentuating the dark atmosphere of the setting using conventional symbolism.

Profaner Snoop strapped Hairy into a lie detector machine, a single dirty light globe swinging above him in the dingy darkness.

“So,” grinned Snoop malevolently. “Even though the minionstry has hired Dementeds to allow civilians to safely roam the streets, the famous Hairy Potted wishes to safely roam  the streets instead!”

Hairy was on his feet, shaking with suppressed rage and early signs of Parkinson’s.

“Oh, your father saved my life, did he?” snarled Snoop. “Let me enlighten you on the whole story, Potted!” he hissed, before whipping out sock puppets and a detailed diagram of an almond, to tell a wondrous tale of Billy the Rabbit and his adventure in sock land.

Profaner Snoop’s spidery fingers explored the turd-smeared scroll of toilet paper.
“Does this contain hidden instructions on how to properly neuter a flamingo? Or a way to pass the Dementeds to get to Dogsmeat without having to simply fly over them on a Spinach mop?” said Snoop. Hairy flinched, why hadn’t he thought of that?
“Tellus meus whateverus itus isus thatus youus areus concealingus!” chanted Snoop, prodding the Disordered Crap with his baton. He paused and smirked to himself.
“Heh heh… I just said ‘areus’.”

A familiar figure appeared on the blotch of crap.
“You look like you want me to reveal my secret. Do you need any help?” it asked.
“Yes.” replied Snoop.
“Hint: try using me to reveal myself!” chirped the chocolate-brown paper clip.

As if an unseen finger was drawing in mud, words formed in the fecal blotch.
Mr Moody would like to inform Severed Snoop that he is a f***wit. Lick my a**.
Mr Pongs c**s all over Severed Snap’s b**** mother and p***es in her m***.
Mr Badfoot thinks Snoop stinks like s***, looks like a f***ing n***** and has no d***.
Mr Germtail f***s f*****s like Snoop daily and c***s d***  s*** on his p**** c***.

The three stood waiting as a faint voice in the distance slowly grew into a loud scream. Rum suddenly came smashing through the ceiling and landed heavily on the floor. Dust, plaster fragments, rubble and debris showered the room, covering Hairy, Snoop and Loopy with a thick layer of asbestos. After a pause, Rum coughed, sending a cloud of dust across the room in the shape of a Zoroastrian eggplant.
“I got that stuff… from Dogsmeat… for Hairy…ages ago… gave receipts to charity…”

“Do you know what happened the last time a student left a sheesh-smeared sheet of toilet tissue lying around?” rapped Profaner Loopy. Hairy scrupled thisfor a moment.
“Um… no.” he replied.
“I trod in it!” spat Loopy. “Took twenty minutes to clean off my shoe!”

Useless fact #23: There are 104 keys on my keyboard. I only use 74 of them.

http://www.freeonlinegames.com/images/1269.jpg

--CHAPTER FIFTEEN--

“Malformed probably has the committee hanging off strings, like… you know, some sort of figure that can be controlled by someone pulling their strings...” said Hairy.
“A puppet?” replied Hormoany slowly.
“Hmm? Puppet? What the hell is that?” answered Hairy. Off in the distance, the sounds of ‘bother bother bother’ faintly carried down from the hills.

Hormoany collapsed into Rum’s arms, sobbing.
“Oh Rum! I’m so sorry for using your electric toothbrush as a vibr-” she stopped mid-sentence. “I mean… that Crackskanks brutally murdered your ferret. I mean, he probably toyed with the tortured animal for hours on end before slowly tearing apart Scabies’s limbs, ripping away the raw flesh and mauling the rest of his corpse into shreds by hacking through the bones with his teeth!”

“S’no use. Luscious Malformed can manipulate them committee members like… err, you know, those figures yeh can control wit’ strings an’ stuff…”

“Father says I might be able to keep the head!” sneered Drachma Malformed. Hormoany seethed silently, small wisps of steam slowly curling out from underneath her hair. Her large tongue whipped out like an enraged serpent. Her eyes had become deep red slits and she opened her mouth to reveal several rows of needle-like teeth. As her hair swam about her like flames, licking violently at the air, razor-sharp scales erupted from her skin, glistening with corrosive mucus and wafting a heavy sickly aroma. A tail emerged from behind her and fleshy wings sprouted from her shoulder blades. She twisted and writhed as she grew to twice her height, firey sparks dancing from her fingers and toes. Hormoany leant right down to Malformed and roared as loud as she could, the colossal sound blowing back his pale hair with hot air. She flexed her entire body, muscles rippling out the size of basketballs, then raised her mammoth paw and, swinging down to Malformed… gently flicked his ear.
“AARGH!” shrieked Malformed, clutching his ear in utter terror.

Profaner Nitwit glance up at the clock.
“Miss Ginger is late.” he said. All of the male students gasped loudly.

“Hey p****, your mum’s so f***ing fat, her a** rivals the gravity of Jupiter!” spat Profaner Nitwit. The class appeared as Deen Dumbass performed a Jeering Charm and his own mouth ballooned to twice its normal size.
“Oh yeah, c***? Yor skanky-a** b**** is so fat, I ate out her f***ing hymen as a four course meal!” A roar of laughter sounded from his fellow students.
“Well, your c*** is so small it’s coming two feet out of your f***ing a**hole!” retorted Perverted Petal. Rum turned to mouth-off at Hormoany, but she had disappeared.

Hairy found Hormoany fast asleep in the Graafiandor cummin room.
“Wake up, you f***ing w**** and get your h***** a** outta bed, b****!” he berated.  Rum looked at Hairy with a raised eyebrow.
“Hasn’t your Jeering Charm worn off yet?” he asked.
“Um, yeah.” replied Hairy.

Useless fact #24: There are 26 letters in the English alphabet. (Go on, count them!)

Hormoany looked scandalised. Rum appeared Wigglesised and Hairy had a rather Hi-5ised demeanour to him.

Profaner Tralala silenced Billy Crystal with an old crochet magazine, before slicing open his engorged scrotum with a rusty chainsaw.

The rest of the lesson was spent staring into wet, veiny Billy Crystal balls.

“Have you seen anything in it yet?” Rum asked Hairy.
“Yes,” replied Hairy. “A pube.” he drawled. Hormoany grunted in frustration.
“This is such a waste of time. I could be doing something worthwhile, like farming artichokes in Thailand.”

Deen Dumbass voiced his opinion on the copious amounts of work being heaped onto the students.
“I am voicing my opinion on the copious amounts of work being heaped onto the students.”

“We lost boi three hoondred and thirty seven points, Ravercork beat Hecklepuck boi exactly one hoondred and sax. Then Slavery narrowly defayted Ravercork boi saxty eight boot tied with Hecklepuck at the quarter foinals. During the five point decoider, we only joost scraped through against Ravercork. Foinally, fafty three points were deducted from Ravercork and gaven to Hecklepuck for not forfeiting.” Hairy had completely understood the previous barrage of mathematics, and had a well-informed idea of how each team was going.
“So countering an the fact that Ravercork’s Chasie point-accumulation gats gaven to Graafiandor hoose, as we’re last…” Oldliver Would did some calculations in his oesophagus. “Hecklepuck as on one thoosand, three hoondred and forty noin. Ravercork’s on one thousand, three hoondred and savanty four. Slavery is so far on one thoosand, two hoondred and fafty and we’re on one thoosand, two hoondred and twalve point-three-repayter.”

Useless fact #25: Fifty thousand words from NOW!

Pussy Weakly stopped drooling over National Geographic centre-folds as the bubbling enthusiasm of the Spinach final interrupted his focus. It seemed that even the fungus carpeting Yahoo Serious’ skeleton was quivering in anticipation.

“You’ll be alright,” Rum assured Hairy as assuringly as he could. Hormoany nodded.
“If all else fails, just wire a headlight to your armpit and sneeze like a lawnmower!”

Hairy dreamed that he had overslept and woken up fifty years in the future, where cheese was World President and all earthlings were enslaved by imps in golden dhotis. He then dreamt that he was playing Spinach on Frang, whilst Haggis pelted them with the bent blood-stained bones of Backbeat. (Woah! Alliteration attack!)

Hairy woke up panting heavily, like a teenager pants heavily after waking up.

The Foreboding Forest looked very foreboding… and, funnily enough, like a forest.

A sudden movement caught Hairy’s eye and began bouncing it like a basketball.

Crackskanks was prowling around the gouged ground soundlessly at an hour of sourness, though he was now towering near a thousand pounds. (Assonance attack!)

“Hey, wait! I didn’t say ‘Whoopitydoop’ at the sight of the colour blue!” called Hairy. Oldliver Would grinned.
“Great! Now yoo’ll be able to focus more on catchang thas.” he said proudly, holding up the Baldin’ Snatch.
“Hobbledyscop!” yelled Hairy at the sight of the snot-green colour. “Dammit!”

“Yeah, Angelwiener grabs the thing and… mmm, knocks some pins over… Worringsome of Slivery does… another thing and…misses. Yeah, there’s a foul.” commentated Leek Jargon laconically.

Flimp shot at Hairy with an assault rifle… and failed. Malformed attempted to hit Hairy with a boomerang… and failed. Colon Creamy attempted hitting on Hormoany…

“So, Potted gets the Baldin’ Snatch like we all knew he would.” drawled Leek Jargon. “Yawn! I’m off for a wank…”

“Ladies and gentleman,” began Madam Hoochie. “…and Evan.” she added as an afterthought.

Hecklepuck: 1,652. Ravercork: 1,652. Slivery: 1,652. Graafiandor: 1,652.333
“Yoo’re kaddang.” blurted Would. “Averywoon wall be playang an the foinal?”

Four sets of bowling-alleys were set up at either corner of the field. There were four Waffles, eight Bludgeons, eight Bleaters, twelve Chasies, four Peepers, four Peekers, but only the one Baldin’ Snatch. For this special final, it would be fifty points per pin. Just to make things interesting, Dumbodork made them all wear blindfolds and the game was to last for only one second. Each of the players hovered off the ground, the warm air whistling past them. Dust spiralled along the ground, whispering silently. The whole crowd was silent, the silence… was… whole… of the… crowd. Madam Hoochie’s boots crunched along the dirt as smoke billowed in the background. She gave each of the blindfolded Chasies a Waffle, a Bludgeon for each Bleater and then set free the Baldin’ Snatch, which flitted off into the air. Hairy was unable to see the shiny golf ball, so would have to rely on his hearing. The tension mounted, only the howling of the wind could be heard throughout the packed stadium. Madam Hoochie looked up at Profaner MuckGonadal and nodded. The scoreboard clicked to zero, zero, zero, and zero. The Spinach final was on! The stadium slowed down to a crawl as a long, drawn out foghorn began the game. Everything moved in slow motion. All of the eight Bleaters, with exaggerated arm movements, bashed their Bludgeons in unison. At the same time, the twelve Chasies, who had each linked their arms together for a team-throw of the Waffle, catapulted their arms forward. The four Peekers had also zoomed forward by one-tenth of a second, listening avidly for the flittering of the Baldin’ Snatch. By point two of a second, the Waffles had rippled past each other, crisscrossing through their flight paths in perfect coherence. All of Bludgeons bashed through each of the Chasies, one after the other, ricocheting into the air. The players flipped backwards in slow motion, arcing through the air. A third of a second had passed. The Ravercork Peeper leapt blindly sideways, nicking the Waffle. It spiralled slowly into the pins behind him. Another Waffle grazed the arm of the Slivery Peeper, rebounding down along the bowling alley. Oldliver Would pulled off a spectacular sideways cartwheel-flip, spinning his mop to hit the oncoming Waffle. The sound echoed out like a helicopter propeller. Unfortunately he was on the wrong side of the bowling alley, the Waffle catapulting into the tenpins. The Graafiandor Waffle thwacked the Hecklepuck Peeper straight in the head… a save. Half a second had passed as the Bludgeons paused in their upwards spiralling and slowly turned to fall with gravity. Something triggered Hairy’s mouth to curl open and shout “HOBBLEDYSCOP!!!” All four Peekers blindly soared closer and closer to the centre of the pitch, the Baldin’ Snatch moulting in the sunlight. The four Peepers were already halfway down to the grass below, all twelve Chasies were dropping like a line of flies just above them, groping blindly at the air as they fell. All of the Bleaters were soaring along behind the Peekers, swinging madly in hopes of keeping any Bludgeons away. The Waffles were still slowly obliterating the tenpin formations, shattering splinters of wood. As the clock passed two-thirds of a second, each Peeker raised their hand out in front of them. Their cheeks rippled from the wind resistance. Below them, the Peepers twisted to face the oncoming ground and the Chasies flailed their arms as they plummeted towards the field. Each of the Peekers closed in on the Baldin’ Snatch, the Bleaters raising their clubs as the digits of the timer flickered to point nine of a second. The crowd rose to their feet, a gigantic bass roar erupting from their slow-motion throats. The digits continued to tick over, Waffles continued smashing ten pins, Bludgeons continued speeding downwards as Chasies and Peepers approached mere centimetres from the ground… As the clocks numerals fluttered to read 1.000, Hairy snatched the Baldin’ Snatch from the air and zoomed upwards in triump. In a flash, the player’s blindfolds had gone and time, . gravity and inertia returned to normal. The Bleaters swooshed their bats violently. SPLATTER! Each connected with the opposing Bleater, blood spraying out from their heads. The three remaining Peekers collided heavily into one another with a sickening crunch. The four Peepers hit the ground with a staccato peppering, followed by a pattering of Chasies into the sand. Forced bleats of wind were knocked out of them as the Bludgeons landed on top of them. The Waffles stopped spinning and sat in their respective alleys. Two Ravercork pins remained standing, an eighth Slivery pin toppled over. Oldliver Would had conceded a 7-10 split. 50 points were tallied per pin, and 400 points were awarded to Hairy for catching the Snit. The scoreboard projected the final score: Hecklepuck: 2,052. Ravercork: 2,052. Slivery: 2,052. Graafiandor: 2,052.333
As the crowd boomed a deafening cheer and Hairy was swamped by students trampling over the bloodied Spinach players, Evan stood up calmly in the emptied stands.
“I… like… cheese.” he said, a tear crawling down his face.

--CHAPTER SIXTEEN--

All anybody wanted to do was be hoarded up in the dank, cold dark of the castle walls cramming through thousands of pages of academia, practising endlessly and brainwashing their subconscious into remembering every specific event from the past five thousand years of witchcraft. But they couldn't, as students were forced to lounge about in the sunlight, laughing and playing by the lake.

Fried and Gorge Weakly had been seen ignoring their P.A.R.R.O.Ts (Preparation And Reflection Regarding Over-rated Tests) and Pussy could be found neglecting his O.P.R.A.H (One Pretty Reasonable Acronym Here) studies.

Useless fact #26: There are more sheep in New Zealand than people. Orgy!

“Have you been studying for the Breakdown Of Our Third Year examinations?” asked Rum. Hairy blinked,
“B.O.O.T.Y?”

The judge was passing his verdict.
“Due to a typo in the spelling of the word ‘pulchritudinous’, I have no choice but to find the Hippygruff, Backbeat, guilty of all charges.”

Profaner Nitwit did indeed curse a blue streak, the students having to scrub it off the walls with turpentine
.
In the Poachings examination, Profaner Snoop made them concoct a Butt Liquor. Hairy accidentally added feline guts instead of behind pus, thus created a vat of Pussy Liquor.

Hormoany and Rum, not being on non-speaking terms with the Minionster of Magic, hovered awkwardly five feet in the air.

One was a highly anorexic geriatric whose generic cataracts were intact. (I-have- no-idea-what-sort-of-English-term-that-was… attack!)

Loyal To The Game

http://www.firststop.de/images/wir%20ueber%20uns/shake_hands.jpg

It's everyone for themselves as you now enter the field.
An inner feeling of illness nerves and tension's revealed.
You spin and you reel, a grim thrill. You're in it for real.
A whistle squeals out loud and shrill to begin this ordeal.
And like oil on flame the game of life is now started.
All the players ranked the same, all striving to outsmart it.
Keep on toiling through the pain, keep on tryna write your mark.
Players boiling with the shame if they're sliding down the bar.
Hear the turmoil and disdain, like an icy cloud of dark.
Some royal opponents reign, while those behind don't get far.
Men destroyed and maimed. Next gear, your rivals become harder.
Just stay loyal to the game and keep your eyes above water.
Obey the rules, know your limits, use skill to stay on top.
Stay well fuelled, play to win it, wave farewell to they who've dropped.
Competition opposition, all striving for success.
But you're itchin' for perfection, this is mine to possess.
Second wind, it's the final minutes. An endorphin rush.
Beckoning is the title glintin' and soft to the touch.
You want it so much, you're limpin' but you struggle and push.
Neck-to-neck and sprintin, everything's becoming a hush.
Then the whistle blows and the game has ended for you.
Who's the winner? No matter, man, you're just not caring who.
Players grinning, patting backs, shaking hands with whoever.
This endeavour turns competitors birds of the feather.
No matter the teams, field, or the state of the weather.
It's the game you stay loyal to- play and win together.

Afraid To Fall

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v385/lucifers_tears/an_fallen_angel_2.jpg

My mind is frayed, hazed in a blinding glaze.
I'm betraying myself. Can find no rays
Of sunshine. I lay nigh decayed white shade.
I pray to find my way, that light won't fade.
Repeated bitter-sweet beats of defeat.
My weakness eats away, I can't compete
With these harsh streaks of dark, bleak self-critique.
I'm filth, a freak. Guilt leaks out, help retreats
In vile flows of ghostly, frozen spirals.
No smiles. Hope's beguiled, exposing denial.
A spire of fumes consumes my fire in gloom.
A choir of doom inspires an ire perfume.
Inside a tomb my tired eyes are exhumed.
Can't hide, the looming mire inside me blooms
To desecrate my fate with waves of hate.
Create a crater of baneful restraint.
A weight of clay that lays away in wait.
Tainted grey berations staining my faith.
Reprise of me diseased by evil screams.
On bleeding knees I plead, please free my dreams.
This breeze is freezing, squeezing all esteem.
Debris of glee appeased these teasing streams
Of my all. Invaded, enthralled by gall.
I'm stalled and can't evade this solid wall.
I crawled this blade of shame, became so small.
Need to stand tall, but I'm afraid to fall.
Writhe in strife, surviving this spiteful life.
My trials have knifed all drive to strive and thrive.
I've wisened, despite the trials that arise.
Must wipe my eyes or invite demise... Now rise.

Fork In The Road

http://i4.photobucket.com/albums/y110/dragonangelfairy/ForkInTheRoad.jpg

Dawn...
The light of freedom of which we abode.

A new dawn yawns and crawls mournfully through the morning dew
Warming the bruised and sordid hues of dormant royal blue
The spawns of subdued torpor muse the forlorn view
Confused newborns foreordained to walk routes that corpses choose
Scorned pursuits warped askew by Lucifer's alluring fruits
Obscuring truth, abuse the pure- they're pawns to use   
Ornery youth infused with the lure of unlawful groups
Gone, adieu, raw moods fuel the beat of feet in wornout shoes
Treading through peat, silhouetted against beds of dead weeds
Red leaves and cigarettes. You leave to forget your misdeeds
Weaving through streets of grief, regret and bleeding shreds of greed
Deceive these naive teenage heads, we've set out in retreat
Fled in self-defeat, scared to believe in misled deceit
And cheating. Threats help to succeed in getting bread to eat
Need edible meat to feed and breathe, heathens tread concrete
Stampede ahead. Seedlings have bled, it's creeds of dread we bleed
Sweet beliefs are shed as the guilt of evil spreads and breeds
Like heaving sheets of lead, this pain cleaves threads of dreams- impedes
And heeds the speed of heated, fatigued steps as sweat excretes
Wets streets which fed we cretins relief, then upset our feet
Flocks of lost, exhausted drones are growing, walking alone
Mocked the fork in the road, thrown by the torque of darker zones
Harked testosterone, fogged the minds of clones. Stark are our moans
Hawked at the throne that was shown by the path of loving tones   
Now we're locked to the chalk of our bones and stalk the unknown
Gawk and groan, spark and explode, roaming the rockiest loam
Caught in the flow of slow motion clocks, unlockable codes
Horrible odes corrode bodies to the nothing we chose
Longing for home, but our toes are sewn to walk on those stones
We took the loathsome road and so now grope through ruptured hopes
You've taken the wrong path? Turn back to lift the angst of nethers
Belatedly lament, repent... Hell, better late than never
Elate ourselves, inflating breaths for young decayed cadavers
We can escape the hate and wrathful fate of death forever

Dusk...
Endless figures standing alone at a fork in the road.

The Hobo Of Beverly Hills

http://i4.photobucket.com/albums/y110/dragonangelfairy/Hobo.jpg

I'm not your ordinary bum with a trolley.
Rather, I push an abandoned Ferrari!
Why would I live in an old cardboard box?
These bins are chock-full of warm Enron stocks!
There's a severe lack of resident vagabonds.
So I mooch ALL the second-hand extravagance! 
Tossed a mink coat to keep warm for the night?
Left outside here as a home is alright!

Scraps from their meals,
Lobsters and veals!
Sir, can you spare some hundred-dollar bills?
Oh, it is swell,
Here where I dwell!
I am the hobo of Beverly Hills!

While maids get payed at a rate of enslavement,
I live in bliss on this gold-plated pavement!
Head on down to the town charity bin,
Plenty of ball gowns to wear are within!
Life is a farce! Lots of laughs as a peasant,
Fishing cigars from the gutters? Most pleasant!
I make a living from discarded shares
Oh, what luck these folk are all billionaires!

Snack on old quails,
Wear coat-n-tails!
Only 'good cause' to add into their wills!
Couch full of holes,
Bless their rich souls!
I am the hobo of Beverly Hills!

Life's full of luxury, gusto and thrills,
For I'm the hobo of Beverly Hills!

Red Scar On The Back

http://users.esc.net.au/~oca/Aboriginal_Elder.JPG

From the tight chin of revered black skin clings a thinning white beard
Peers austerely at the sights, fingers spin a slender, light spear 
Elder boldly holds his stance, stroking broken wind with old hands
Patiently gazes over waves of golden sands, now cold lands
Wizened eyes sunken into crevasses of an ancient face
Invasion razed and desecrated this place of ancient race 
Generations of history twisting, furling about his fists
Kissed by the wind, this is his mystical world to reminisce
Remembers wisdom parted and passed from past fathers to sons
Before the coming of white bastards blasting thunder from guns
Forty thousand years of culture ruptured by the foul vultures
Future agriculture ventures would leave his land in sutures
Elder perches on his knoll watching besmirchment of pure soil
Scratches etched through stretches of earth, catchments, ridges, all spoilt
What was once a wondrous, stunning sunny space lived in humbly
Has been shunted, replaced, disgraced, now the whole place is crumbling
Glaring rays of sun bear down, tearing the last of barren ground
Blaring brown and bare, disparaged air howling a savage sound
Ravaged now, beyond repair. Elder stares out afar to black.
At the shreds of deadened land marred like a red scar on the back. 

Blood On The Carpet And In The Closet

http://www.fnal.gov/orgs/gsa/calendar/halloween/haunted-house-1.jpg

*drip*

Caustic tears carve rivulets with a nihilistic sear
Our domestic sphere is infested by a septic fear
Darkness crept in here, swept love aside into dusted past
Breathless leering rests in our chests, a net of loss is cast

*drip*

Death watches and laughs, peers through frosted glass as we erode
Our rusting hearts slowly bust apart, truth is a lost code
Just loaded guns heating up from the sun, waiting to fire
Skating thin ice on iron blades of white secrets and lies

*drip*

Hating the ire, but still playing this game poker-faced
Our dank house of cards choked the ace, became joker-laced
Soaked in angst, this place has now broken to thousands of shards
Doused in shame, our scowling hardens as we howl to the gods

*drip*

Blood on the carpet and in the closet, blood on the rugs
Fog and mud trodden through the apartment, sodden with drugs
Ugly and marred from the floorboards to the ceiling above
Blood runs thicker than water... but clots our feelings of love.

Here's my English Extension II Major Work. I spent a month writing 'Soiree' and half of 'Night Scythe', then crammed on my mum's work computer for about 20 hours straight to get the rest of the poems done on time to be sent off. So alot of this is cringeworthingly bad.

X

Commandment
I) The Heathens
Prayers of a TV evangelist
Praise for an IQ vainglorious

II) The Materialists
Remote control
Gun control

III) The Blasphemers
Euphemism
Shameful Blame His Name Game

IV) The Asabbatarians
Now is Never
Pleasure, Leisure, Empty Treasure

V) Ivvenerates
Mature
Scapegoats for Black Sheep

VI) The Murderers
White Knight
Night Scythe

VII) The Cheaters
Soiree
Solicit

VIII) The Thieves
Virgin
Slut

IX) The Liars
A Clever Rhyme Of Subreption Told In Court
Innocent After Proven Wealthy

X) The Insatiable
Loveless

WARNING: Coarse language

Prayers of a TV Evangelist

Foul TV, which art so heathen,
Shallow be thy game.
Your sitcom bunk:
Our swill of junk,
A curse that is all drivel.
Grievous news rates: ‘Israelis Dead.’
And keep giving us our ‘Friends’,
As we don’t have close pals, kin or friendship.
Give us lots of titillation,
And condition us, the people,
So ‘The Simpsons’ fun hour makes God’s stories a bore.
Power endeavour?
I’m in.

If I sleep on a bunk with ten rancid bagels, but watch no fluff, I am only a lounging bum with my games of pinball.
If I have to lift up off my seat, just to gather plates festering with foliage, and if I waste time from Mum’s hounderin’, and can’t watch fluff, I am huffing.
If I live with a gross mess on the floor and contend all my buddies on new games, but watch no fluff, I pain, suff’ring.

Fluff’s engaging. Fluff is fine.
It won’t contemn me. It has hot shows and draws a crowd.
It shows chicks nude, no need for stealth peeking.
It has got cheesy free Manga, with heaps of records and songs.
Fluff is not just light from TV, but the noises that come, too.
It always projects old chestnuts. Always bleeps all those cursing jeers.
Fluff never stales, for when getting up to pee from my seat, there will be ads-
TV’s neat gilt.
When faring college, you’ll mill class away.
For these shows are art and the Fluff we see is art.
After relaxing once, we experts could sit for years.

Confined to the wild, I walked in the wild, did sport in the wild, with seasons of the wild. Once I attained a screen, I thought wild, fresh play confined me.
Now we see lots of war destruction, a din of terror.
Soon we shall see ‘Place that Face’.
Now my shows have Bart, soon I’ll follow Scully, Steven Urkel and Sly Stallone.
And our TVs maintain lame soaps and Fluff.
But the latest to please, is Fluff.


Praise For An IQ Vainglorious

I’m an idol who bridles
The tides with my title
My lines are so pious
My rhymes are divine ones
An icon who strikes
Look-a-likes with my lightning
A deity’s gaiety
All displayed through writing

You munch on your lunch
Of your plum-flavoured gum
And try solving that pondersome
Sum: one plus one
Then you plop your humungous
Fat rump on the john
As your tongue licks the thumb
That’s fresh from your wet bum

You’re just scum who this young
Man finds stunningly monged
Oh how cunning your jumpsuit
Is coming undone
Soon I’ll slump on your bunk
With a bottle of rum
And get fudgeed by your mum
Who is utterly drunk


Yeah you dumb stupid lummox
These puns got you flummoxed
A runt from your stunted
Left arm to your stomachs
This numbskull performance
A stunt to be comic?
Well done, you could amuse
A mob with that conduct!

For me, can there be
A peer genius who’s breathing
Today well I say
That’s a nay Like a ray
I can see that indeed
I’m unique in my speech
You defy this but sigh
As my wry replies fly

Well I do know guys rued
This IQ: two-nine-two
A sly dude who jives lewd
As I choose to fry you
Some cry ‘Boo’ to my tunes
But I view their lies through
And jibe new reply-goofs
To slice grooves in white goons

If the best man at jesting
Is questioned or pestered
You guessed it this Basilisk’s
Hissing commences
A Hessian bag wrestling
Your mass to a restroom
Some testing through sessions
Of submission lessons

Invest in a wish-well
That flushes confessions
From dissing delinquents
Who’ve listed opinions
Positioned to kiss
The fresh piss in the cistern
If this try dismisses
A precise assessment

My conquest is construing
Contorted confusion
Consumed by conducing
Convulsive contusions
Conscious does congeal
To conceal the contrived things
Conniving, conceited
Condors do confided in

No contest from congress
To confessing convicts
I conceive these concocted
Constructive conflicts
And contradict contending
Conspectus concepts
Incompetent condoning
Constrains lose context

You hate my innate
Skills creating pure greatness
With pages of sage words
That age as if weightless
My body of post-modern
Buds bloom in wads
They’re adored by most artists
From blood of the gods

WARNING: Coarse language

Remote Control

You
Remote
Our remote
You help us all
With your great power
An enigmatic force
A magical occurence
As we each hold you in our hands
And you deliver to us purpose
In the way you light up our lives each time
A sacred object that we cherish closely
We all hold you dear to our hearts through daily life
And are unable to go on when you disappear
Your vast mysteries we may never fully understand
Such as where you go whenever you choose to vanish away
And how grateful we are upon finding you when you next appear
Your power is one above us all, we mere mortals of the TV
So we salute you, O great remote control and offer you all our thanks
For without your guiding ray of hope in our bleak lives we would be nothing.


Gun Control

If I go tomorrow
I will throw raging blows
My death No when I go
For new vacation clothes
From the States to the gates
Of that Great British Bristol
Can’t wait to uptake
Calibrating my pistol

Riled from trials?
Nine missiles will get piled
In my filed-off child
And then I’ll start to dial
There’s no fun like two nuns
Tryin’ to run from your gun
My own son whom no-one
Has out-spun once they’re stunned

Who needs friends when my Sten
Always wins me my stance
On events once it lands
In my hands from my pants
And it bends all these men
To listen in a trance
To the ends I’ll dispense
If those dunces don’t dance

Yeah I love it like chocolate
From stock to the docket
You mock it or knock it
Untucked from my pocket
I’ll lock it and cock it
And sock out these rockets
Your blockhead soon fudgeed up
Your guts spilled in buckets

My Uzi’s are beauties
My Mausers are wowsers
My Luger kills cougars
Pulled out from my trousers
Two Magnums I packed ‘em
Like Colts from my belt
And my Gatling gets rattling
Wherever I’m battling

Pack heat as a feature
Like mullet-styled fleece
I won’t cease til I bleed
From my gullet deceased
If I’m teased I will pull it
Cull sheesh with a squeeze
Called extreme…
But I’d take a bullet for my piece.

WARNING: Coarse language

Euphemism

Gawd

Jeez

Cripes

Sheesh

Golly

Darn

Gee

Crikey

Dash

Heck

Bajeezuz

Gosh


Shameful Blame His Name Game

There’s a place that’s called hell
With no trace of goodwill
Just like prison it’s miserable
Base like a jail
And when equally evil
Not eager for legal rules
Ether diseases all
Breathing skills lethally

See this MC who just
Breathes so freely
And I ease through these beats
And just be really breezy
Believe me you’ll grieve
Once I leave here feverously
Jesus, how easy
Are these written faeces

God damn this exam
Hell my hand has just cramped
And my plan for my pen
To get ten pages jammed
No revamping my frenzy
Of ambience stands-still
What’s happened is slanderin’
The Man as the vandal 

I’m stuck in a rut
As I’m tryin’ to scribe
I’m as fudgeed as a slut
Who is lyin’ on her side
So I duck my butt down
While I’m writing this rhyme
Cuz I’ll probably get struck down
By lightning this time

Now is Never

dank gloom blankets the room
a synthetic glare
sears raw eyes
plays across pallid parchment skin
insomnia
shadows skitter across ceilings
fall motionless at a glance
rickety digits attack
the keyboard
clickity
clickity
clackity
clack.
throbbing pulsing ache
kneaded flesh massage
pain surrogates pain as the dark of
another sunday night
slithers into the mind
coils about the senses and
constricts the subconscious like a clawed fist
squeeeeeeeze.
a slap of guilt
a surge of adrenalin
a fresh hit of caffeine
hurry now
no time for rest
deadline on monday
tomorrow
and it’s already tomorrow in tokyo.
clackity
clackity
clickity
click.
eyes scream silently into the
nothing
the shrieks of the mind crying out in protest
get tangled in coils
throttled away
he is etched into a cold metallic seat
carved, engraved as one.
mistake number twelve
profanity number twelve
a  reluctant
yet ritualistic glance
at the grandfather clock
overseeing the masochistic scenario
that has been played time and time before
and shall play time and time again.
tippity
tippity
tappity
tap.
squeeeeeeeze.
tappity
tappity
tippity
tip.
slumping spine straightened
against the metallic rack
of tortuous comfort
another shadow skitters by, taunting
come now
you need to finish
love the pain
love the fatigue
you are mine now
and I want to play with you
manipulate you
for now and evermore
this night is not yours to work
but mine.
squeeeeeeeze.
nausea
must keep on typing
and typing
and typing
ad nauseum.
deadline tomorrow
and the tomorrow to come
no time now
to think of working harder before
as before is now
and now is tomorrow.
bright synthetic glare
sears raw eyes
plays across pallid parchment skin
exhaustion
as shadows skitter across his face
dancing upon ghostly flesh
a net of gloom cast across this worker
of yesterday,
tomorrow,
and of never.
grandfather clock sighs into the
nothing.
clackity
tappity
snap-
finished.
now the next deadline
for another monday
another tomorrow
even though tomorrow is yesterday
and now is never.
squeeeeeeeze.


Pleasure, Leisure, Empty Treasure

A wonderful Sunday
So fun-filled with gun play
And someday we’ll unveil
Our club maybe Monday
We’re roaming the streets
All my homeys and peeps
With loud poems of beating
Our foes, those foul creeps

Irritate all our enemies
Des’crate all their semi-D’s
Paintballs and cocktails
And prank calls and mock tales
Then hide several live grenades
Right in a driveway
Then light petrol fires propane
Brightly just skive away.

Time for some leisure,
Time for some pleasure,
Rifle through purses
For cursed hidden treasure.
Explore the back alleys
Looking to pick a fight
Just for our black tally
Bookings of biffs at night

From sunrise to sunset
These Sundays: our concert
A friend or stray bloke and
You spend the day joking
A day to explore
And a day you can search
Who would stay there indoors
And just pray in a church?

WARNING: Coarse language

Mature

Oh come on, you’re so old fashioned Mum
Everyone wears them baggy nowadays
Lighten up, don’t look so glum
You’re being slack, Dad, I need a raise
My friend’s dad gives him twice my pocket money
Oh come on, don’t be so tight
No, I’m not ‘trying to be funny’
I said I’ll be back at around midnight
So stop worrying and go to bed
I’m sick of your stupid rules, they suck
When will you get it into your head
That I’m not a kid anymore, so go and get fudgeed.


Scapegoats for Black Sheep

I would like a gentle, quiet type of parental guidance.
This sentimental mental centre, I’m just sick and tired of.
They’re bent on venting silence through violence, riots and fighting.
The events of life make man and wife divide their alliance.

Now I’d like another mother, mine is rather a bother.
She just smothers us to cover up for our loveless father.
Never hesitant giving this kid evanescent presents.
Masking our destitute residency, peasant’s existence.

Distant hugs and listless kisses during ex-husband’s visits.
Piercing the fissures of his six mistresses was his business.
I dismiss my blissful chrysalis of childhood innocence,
Instead pity this abysmal, dismal, miserable sheesh.

I sketched swastikas obsessively to transmit to Hitler.
Sixteen incidents of malicious attempts to get slit wrists.
Kids chickened out whilst checking out my victimless hit list.
“A kitchen knife? Which bitch will I butcher alive with this?”

Next was cross-dressing in plastic breasts and big sister’s knickers.
A jester messing-up for friends’ acceptance, laughs and snickers.
This sick defense mechanism twisted our protagonist.
Possibly his restless infancy is the catalyst.

It’s blatantly apparent that this lad’s parents are to blame.
They’re the pair bearing, preparing and rearing him in their name.
Merited with the caring and faring him to bare their fame.
Yeah, how dare those blaring air-heads nurture that tyke like a game.

Arrogantly tearing his poor life up there, we fear he’s maimed.
I hear they’ve rarely done errands ever since their marriage shamed.
Where is an urchin-like person expected to turn for aid,
When the tainted barely-there parents have their brains burned; decayed?

You suckers mucked it up enough, you cockheads should just rack off.
You come flocking at cliff rocks when I’ve chucked a bulging sack off,
But your concerns are just boxed up under lock as I muck up.
It’s a mockery to tuck me in but duck my pain and block it.

You folk got a broken home with closed doors from their loco wars.
More torn throats and gore coating the floor with raw sores soaking gauze.
Corporates in lawcourts with claws out, spouting clauses, shouts and roars.
Drowning my sorrows with whores? Maw and Paw are now the cause.

WARNING: Mature themes, coarse language.

White Knight

He rectifies those evil men who have erred,
The ladies all find him quite fond.
He leaves all those wrongdoers shaken, not stirred.
This hero’s name is Bond, James Bond.

Our fair land was once in terrible mayhem,
No hatchet were we buryin’.
Those Chinese dragons, our hero did slay them,
Our pure land remained Aryan.

He then abolished all wicked Black Magic,
And proudly rang our victory bell.
Those impious foes claimed their deaths were tragic,
Condemning our Kindly Knight’s Knell.

He boldly fights enemies, evil deterred,
With this lad, girls wish to abscond.
He leaves all those lawbreakers shaken, not stirred.
This hero’s name is Bond, James Bond.

When the adversary surrendered their swords,
They asked why Bond kept killing them.
Those Pakis say that he murdered in cold blood.
(That’s because they’re reptilian.)

Our folk fund his weapons of mass affliction,
Poisonous toxins and venoms.
We all love to see homicidal action,
As heroes embody we humans.

A legendary man who is not seen or heard,
His pistol a magical wand.
He leaves all those lawbreakers shaken, not stirred.
This hero’s name is Bond, James Bond.


Night Scythe

I am plainly the nastiest angel of death
Slowly strangling your breath with a tangled-up tress.
With a chainsaw your chest is a mangled-up mess.
I am strangely obsessed dealing pain to you? Yes.

You provoked this thick rope to start choking your throat
So your vocal chords broke and your coattails were soaked
By your smoke-coloured puke and a flow of red goop.
All the jokes of this loco, mad bloke are rebuked.

A Grim Reaper impeding your breathing by squeezing
Obscenely serene as I sweep through the deep and
You bleed crimson streams like you’ve leaked from the seams then
Lay heaped in the streetlight just reeking, deceased.

I’ll attack you by snatching an axe from my jacket
And hacking your maculate ass a new crack, then
I’ll snap off your neck just to tack it on backwards
And slap both your crap-filled cloacas, you bastard.

I’ll viciously slit both your wrists with a Schick blade
The fissures will viscously spit forth your gizzards
In rivers, then strips of you innards will split up
And rip, dripping quickly for minutes with sheesh.

Then I’ll hire an iron to fry out your eyes so
You’re whining and crying out blinded all whilst I’m
Igniting alight your attire with fire and tying
You high from a sky-scraping viaduct.

Hell, I’m so ill that I’ve dealt with the stealthiest
Wealthiest billionaire villains in jail and I’ve
Still got a relish for drilling your skull as you
Yell from the feel of your spilled cerebellum.

Once I got to the top of hip-hop I was shocked
When some blockheaded punks went and hopped on my yacht
So I shot up those rotters and chopped them right up
I’m red hot and I’m not going to stop killing cops.

Yeah damn right I will slice out your eyes with my knives
And then tie them to bystand you tryin’ to survive.
I’ll then chine your insides like a lion who’s dining.
The finest of brine-seasoned wine toasts your dying.

I’m a knight shining whitest and brightest at night,
I delight in your righteous demise out of spite.
Though you bite and you fight in a plight for your life,
Soon you’re quiet from the might of my tightly gripped scythe.

WARNING: Sexual references, coarse language.

Soiree

shy salutation
suave sally
smiling?
success.

seven sinful street
sumptuous supper
succulent salmi
satiated, satisfied
sugary savouries syrupy sweets,
saccharine.

secluded sanctum
scented saffron salsillas
salient sky
sienna solstice
shimmering stars
serene scenery
secret.

salubrious seraph
sanguine sheen
saintly.
sonatas
special sentient sonnets
sparkling soiree
surreal, sempiternal, sibyllic
spellbinding splendour
sigh.

spumous soapy spa
soaking, sponging
swanlike svelte
soothing sauna
somatic.

splurging, spoiling
sleek, smooth suede
silky simal
satin sheets
sprucely soignee
snuggling
spousal scruples?
sapphires.
stirring spritzers
sipping saki
shandy seidels
swilling schnapps……
                      swigging scotch……
                                          sculling spirits……
                                                            sozzled souse.


salsa                samba
stumbled sottish serenading saraband
soft sericeous  swarthy suntanned skin
sensual seditious stimulating sensation
squealing squirming squeezing
staccato seisms
saucy, steamy
scintillating seduction
sculpted, slender, supple
slanderously scandalous
sagaciously salacious
symbiotic sweltering
scalding  scorching
simmering sizzling
sexual saturation
squalid sordid
sofa siesta
saturnalia



splayed spread                                      spliced scissure
stiffening, swollen                               sinuous shaft
  sessions, situations,                          sickening scenarios
   stilettos, saddles,                           sadistic spanking
    slutty schoolgirl                           scholastic statutory 
     sapphic slut                             solicited slave
      sweaty shagging                   sphincter spelunking
       soixante-neuf strains           saliva surfeit
        slick, sebaceous,             seeping secretions
         slimy, sticky,                soggy spunk
          silicious smegma        silvery semen 
           sucked, swallowed, stomach slathered
            synchronic screams, sequent segue
             seedy seraglio. sprawled spent.

satirically satyrical.

seethe.
sarcastic, sardonic
scornful spurn,
scurrilous smirk,
scathing sneer,
scheme.

supercilious, saliferous,
spurious sorceress
snide, sour,
savage succubus
smooch.

soup, soporifics,
suddenly somnific
shudder
swirling, swaying, swooning,
soundless sinking
sleepless slumber
sedated,      supine.

smouldering smoke
sinister semblance
silent soliloquy
slithering,
serpentine,
snake.
ssssssss.

slashing
slicing,  slitting,  stabbing
scimitars, sabres,       swords, spears
spasm, spatter                   
spurting serum
                    scarlet sinew
suffocate, suffer       sullen, sallow
sharpened steel spikes
stigmata.

stillness.
sorrow.
stone shrine,
sepulchre shroud,
spiritual sermon: 
sorry syllables. 


Solicit

I once saw quite a gorgeous young whore on a corner
We tore to a sauna to form our own porno.
Indeed we both reeled from just being so gleesome,
So, feeling in heat we completed a threesome.   

Beginning to sink into silky white linen
And swimming in milk with light pinks of my women
A gradual potion of sexual motions
Perpetual ocean of sensual lotions

Once I bust and shoot, I muster loot
Next I’ll lust for cute, younger, busty beauts.
In my hustler suit, I can trust in hoots.
Hell, it’s just a root with some prostitutes.

The old woman’s scolding me, a room doorman fuming.
I’m told off like something walled-up from her cold booming.
Just because the gold from my wallet was sold for my ‘plumbing’.
So I folded! I’m human and my moulting pole needed something!