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Story No. 1357
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The crusty old sea captain was home again. Before he'd died, & before he'd ended up in the British West Indies eking out a life from piracy, he'd been a boy in Plymouth. It was the year that Pling the bongu was elected mayor that he was press-ganged into
signing autographs for convicted pedofiles. After that, there were the incessant requests for blood and fingernail clippings.
“What strange hobbies you have,” said the passing transvestite. “You think this is strange?” I replied ”Why I also collect
both fresh and preserved vomitus. Have a look!" A nosey bystander wandered by, stuck in his nose, and promptly vomited upon the vomit collection.
This increased the value of the collection tenfold as it now contained vomit from someone at every level of the clergy and with every known sexual fetish.
Including the one requiring tar, 3 pounds of rabbit fur and a small frightened badger. It was thought the technique had died out with the likes of frog-noshing, but was recently rediscovered in a small town in Cumbria.
The Bishop of Southwark
Vern Acula
JanW
zomnoth