Poop Scoopy Dogg's most recent single, "No S**t" had tanked badly. Perhaps the decision to promote it with road signs, showing dog turds crossed out, had been a bad idea. The rapper still wasn't convinced, though, and was humming away to Steaming Jacob's Tapered Club Mix on his new pink fluffy Dre cans as he re-entered the studio. The rapper was nothing if not upbeat. There's a pun in there somewhere.
"Sup niggaz?" he called, as he spied two of his three bitches cavorting on the mixing desk. Carly the cocker spaniel wasn't playing, but Sheep Dogg the, er, sheep dog and Madam Butterflea the rather aloof poodle were tearing the place apart as they chased their mangy old ball across the 4 track Tascam tape deck which Scoopy had left set up on an old poof next to the telly.
Scoopy Dogg plopped himself down on a swivel chair and proceeded to swivel until he felt sick. Then he stopped. "Alright J?" he asked eventually, looking at the old poof next to the telly.
J grinned at him over the top of his Daily Mirror and said, "Yeah, I'm alright, although I could do with you moving this tape thingy off my lap - I'm getting terrible cramp."
"Cup of tea, love?" his mother asked, appearing from the kitchen with a tray laden with a steaming pot, her finest china cups and a plate of current buns. Scoopy loved current buns, they were like currant buns only much more "now". He grunted assent, grabbed one with cream on and munched happily.
"Anything happenin' down on the strip today?" J enquired.
Scoopy shrugged. "Clintons have got a sale on," he said. "That's about it really."
"Did you remember me fags?" asked his mother, plopping herself down onto the sofa.
But Poop Scoopy was no longer listening, he was too busy thinking through the promotion for his next single "S**t Happens" featuring Bigg Buoy, Pee Doddy, Chuff Daddy and Dave, from down the chinese.
That single would tank as well.
"I've created a monster, a total monster!" lamented Reginald Waldenbrop, the five times underwater shoe camera pigeon racing champion from Skegness.
ReplyDelete"No, no, no" corrected Paula Pringlethwites, "he's only 46% monster and 38% cheese." Despite her bi-vacational mathematics, the couch came with water accessories and the liquid particules of some very talented South American apes, who had no idea how they got there.
"This is all too bland.. any chance of some Danish cocunuts?" asked Brenda, her spoon falling sideways into a ditch of cleaning ladies. She was very rude most of the time, apart from when she was extremely rude, with her boyous ecclectic re-enforced vegetable hips pretruding on the pavement, some 60 feet in front of herself.
Unbeknown to the mule in a mime daughter's cape was the fact that Archie Windsporron was putting the whole of Wiginbottom Central Station in jeapordy by watching a rerun of some antiquated boat ceremony from Chichester. He was interrupted by the cat standing on his remote control whaling detector, causing the channel on his television to be circumvented by beseeched owls with dormitory headrests. The thunderous words "in his red bejeweled battle shorts..." plooped on him with the severity of at least 18 half sized pineapple dragon train spotters (the pineapple only slightly shielded the Australian nurses from the smell)..
Who was the leader in these shorts, looking so regal and notorious? Partly winded knew, but he wasn't going to tell anyone, except to ask them to look it up on youtube, where he knew no one would find it.
Betty Prendaghast suddenly discolored her ankle knives just in time before being run over by a steam of creaking doors who had just witnessed a really medieval Archbishops picnic in Basingstoke.
"That's it" cried Herbert. This story is trash!"
The "ooooh" that rang around the dorset horse stables that night, rang around and around as usual, but everyone knew, this was a tell tale sign that veracity had stamped his unions for the last time. No one could say they had not seen this coming. As expected, five Policemen filled with the planks of a notorious beam in the Glastonbury windmill, scuttled to each house in Northern Poland that day, which was pretty incredible, considering the amount of chestnut tiles they had to walk on. Fortunately, there is no such place as Northern Poland and so the drive did not take as long as the mushrooms did, and Pip Pontylocks never mentioned it in her water recitals.
That explains it! I do enjoy Pip Ponylocks' water recitals, but always got the impression she was holding something back. And not just her wind either.
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