Thought Id start this one going because its rather dead on this board at the moment and I suppose all my usual muckers are either at the Stella tennis event watching Dim Tim (lose again) or at Henly Regatta eating cucumber sandwiches (they wish,...NOT).

Anyway please feel free to just talk to yourself blast away and let it go on any company or subject you wish. Just wish Id thought of this one before.

cheers GF.

Don`t bother , wallow in the trough, one look was enough

YUCKKKK!!!!

Whats occuring, Baza? What response? Whats happening?
Alan

Leave you to wallow, happy fellow

I thought blinger was seq ,,and i was pleased to see him back , but he just can't stop abusing people ,even on our own thread, ,seq this is a good thread give it time ,,but keep up just a bit of your rudeness or it wouldn't be you.

Coming soon from The More Intelligent Thread (MIT)

Sorry chocolat, but the editor hasn't been on. He is obviously stupified by the banality, unoriginality and outright poorness of what he has read. Poor man is too traumatised to even tell me how bad it was.
You'll have to make your own up!!
Alan

Don't know why but all the M&A talk on this thread is reminding me of the "Crimson Assurance" short film by Monty Python.
Alan

alan, publish it and be damned!!! i'm sure it will be up to the usual quality of post on this thread........the beer monkey has visited all of us at one time or another.....unless you've never been drunk.
i think the sleep fairy paid a visit last night. one minute i'm reading me book , next minute , it's 6.ooam and i'm waking up on the couch with neck-ache and freezing cold and wondering if i can get another hour in but this time in bed. bloody neck's going to be sore all day now.

Only one cure for that, Boz.
You need rubbing down twice a day, with a hot woman.
Alan

oh geeez, do i ever.......

Due to poular demand (well Boz and chocolat) the Hunt for the Beer Monkey will appear on here today!!
Please bear in mind this has been written some time and is severely crap. I accept no responsibility for its contents as during the writing of it I was under the influence of aforesaid monkey, which teaches us that he really is an evil little blighter.
Alan

Boz,
Was that ever or Heather, cos I got one of them champing at the bit!!!

It is with great sadnees and regret I announce the death of humour on this thread.
What now follows is THE HUNT FOR THE BEER MONKEY (PART 1)

What follows is a true story. Only the names, dates, places and facts have been changed.


And so, Armed with nothing more than 45, moral support, a splash of Old Spice, and a packet of three (well you never know your luck), our intrepid hunters set off to find the lair of the Beer Monkey.
Much research has been done up to this point on the possible whereabouts of such a creature. It is known that his victims are very rarely the drinkers of either sherry or the cheap lager the Aussies import to us, and that he prefers his victims to have drunk heavy beer. The most obvious place to start was at the local Working Mens Club.
These places, as we all know, are the final refuge of anyone who cant work because of a bad back, Formica tables and failed singers who still occasionally get on stage to prove how failed they are.
Tonight was a special night. There was a hunting contest between tribes from 2 working mens clubs, and the heavy beer was flowing well. The hunt was well underway and many locals were supporting their tribe as they hunted the snooker.
The snooker is a huge six-legged beast and brave men took it turns to lie across its back and try to mortally wound it by hitting its balls into its pockets, with a big stick. Alas, its pockets were small and its balls were big, and the beast put up a mighty resistance. On the rare occasion that a hunter would succeed there seemed to be a tribal chant from the high priest of the snooker. He said One. The hunters of the opposite team replied with their own tribal chant of Jammy Basser.
Disillusioned with the lack of any sign of the beer monkey at this point, our heroes moved to another area of the club, hoping for better pickings, but it was empty, except for lesser hunters who were throwing tiny hunting spears at a bristle backed animal that was trying to crawl up the club wall. Apparently this was some ancient custom known as arrers.
A huddle was formed, and it was decided, over several libations to the god Tetley, that a change of tactics was in order. The hunt would move on to that place in the city centre with the blacked out windows called Bananas.
The bus ride was uneventful, except for one hunter being sick down the bus stairwell, but this is absolutely proper behaviour on a monkey hunt, and was greeted with cheers from other bands of hunters on the bus. We were evidently going to a better part of town as the graffiti on the bus was spelled without error, and there were lots of business cards stuck in the seats from French teachers. The pictures were very good, and we were surprised that a lady who wears six inches of heel and four inches of clothing was so well educated. Several of the hunters took these cards for research purposes later on.
I, on the other hand, was concentrating hard on counting my hands. I feel certain that when we left home, I had two. There now appeared to be three or possibly four, depending on how the bus was driven.
For those unfamiliar with busses in Leeds, they have a unique on board urinal, which for some reason is labelled Used Tickets, and this was now copiously overflowing, so I will be writing a letter of complaint to the bus company.
Bananas. None of us had been before, but we had heard tell that it served some of the more exotic brands of libation, known to be favoured by our arch enemy.
The first thing we noticed when entering was the silent stares that greeted us, and the hush as the house band stopped its rendition of YMCA. The second thing was how well dressed these young men were, how immaculately groomed. They also seemed to be out in twos, which was odd as we always go out in groups of about six.
The ladies were a touch on the masculine side though. I think I even saw one with a moustache. Another huddle.
The groups consensus was that there must be a coach trip in from Norfolk, or somewhere, where things are a bit more rural and lush. We had come this far and suffered the privations of a WMC, and an overflowing pisspot on the bus in our search for our prey, and so no bunch of inbred farmers should put us off now.
The bar looked like just the place to find our monkey. All along the back were bottles of very thick looking and sticky liquids, mainly in blues and greens. Some even had a dead worm or something floating in them. This was more like it.
We hastily divided the rows of bottles into six equal lengths and each of us adopted a length as his, to try every libation on there.
Nige wasnt paying attention though. He was trying to offer sexy glances to a gorgeous peroxide blonde next to him. From his look, we thought he had chronic constipation, but it turned out he was trying to attract her and gently mouthing nothings in her direction, such as; How about a swift punch up the drawers?.
She introduced herself as Pogue Mahone, and suddenly all the other drinkers were laughing and playfully punching Nige in the back, calling him a son of a gun and winking a lot, talking about closets, for some reason.
Nige fell off his stool with lust as he tried to saunter casually to Pogue. She picked him up, with her huge hairy hands, threw him over her shoulder, and exited, to leave our merry bunch depleted, and dividing the bar shelves by five.
It would be a long night.
Many of the drinks offered to us by the barman had to be served in reinforced glasses, and for one bottle of particularly vicious liquid he put on a pair of asbestos gloves before pouring, but it all tasted sweet and harmless so we kept going. Ive got to say that Brians moustache was singed by one purple lotion he tried and the paint on the ceiling above his glass started to crinkle, but what the hell, we might as well have a few drinks. There was no sign of that blasted monkey, and we were starting to get a bit worried by the pub. One of our members had forgotten his packet of three and had gone to the toilet to buy some, but the only brand available were called Anal Intruder and he wasnt at all certain of them.
The night was a disappointment. Despite our best efforts we were no nearer capturing that vindictive little blighter and it was time for the cab home.
It was the next day that we discovered he had been shadowing us all the time. A quick ring around found that we had all been visited, with the trademark hair, emptied wallets and latrine flavoured mouths.
Brian suffered particularly badly, for his medicine cabinet had been emptied of all remedies, but in a touch of nastiness the beer monkey had left the empty packets in there. This was a sad touch but the telephone call to Nige revealed a terrible turn of events.
He had gone to Pogues flat, where he was treat well by her. As you remember, she was a stunner. He said he had gone to bed with her and she was fantastic, showing him passions he had never experienced before. The morning had brought him the usual beer monkey calling cards, but in a display of savageness hereto unknown, the beer monkey had kidnapped Pogue during the night and replaced her with a pre-op transsexual called Desmond, and that is who Nige had woken up beside.
The beer monkey had sunk to new lows in his desperation to throw us off his trail, but to us, this meant war!!

Gotta go out now, so be gentle on me.
Alan

Oh my God. I've killed the best thread on here. How will I ever forgive myself. I would say sorry guys, but everyones abandoned it.
Alan

good stuff, alan.

Good, stuff Alan

;)

copycat

Good stuff alan

Why, did you wink bos?