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Story No. 1763
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The Bishop of Southwark had been living on an island paradise for 6 months. He had left an orang-utan dressed in his vestments and no one had noticed. If anything, many thought his behaviour had improved - he certainly flung less of his shit at them now.
Let the wowsers complain, let the censors ave their day. Let the children learn, with open eyes and open nostrils, for this was HIS day. Finally, aiming at the pretentious underage emo audience, he lifted his ancestral kilt
- he was feeling radiant, he'd just had his maid polish the family jewels.
The adventurous maid had difficulty locating the diadems, as they were obscured by large, floppy
zomnoth. Nobody had any idea what it meant.
None what so ever. But, it all seemed a little pointless now.
JanW
Vern Acula
zomnoth
creamy