- ← Previous Story
Story No. 332
-
Group:
- Next Story →
I groaned softly into my aged trumpet, its unsavoury parp seemed to forcibly enter
the mock-tudor doorway of the Pope's toilet block
in which was jammed many pages torn and chewed from his Razzle magazine collection. But rather let risk the parish commitee discover this by calling the local plumber, he opted to persuade his dog to
, well, do what he wanted... all he needed was some peanut butter...
on the end of his
cracker, a rotting fish reeked like a terrible afternoon, rendering everyone within fishing distance dormant and full of winter sickness. What a putrid mess.
- Contributors:
-
Raaaa -
fizz bomb -
Harold Bishop - fickyficky
-
Ray Reardon - manikin wolf
[ See who wrote what ]
