Funky Lorem Ipsum
Out of context: Reply #15
- Started
- Last post
- 29 Responses
- k0na_an0k0
With three bottles of banana puree and a petrified chaffinch to keep them going, they set off down the dried up canal, en route to the 'Vaults Bar'. The fish under foot were no problem now, they just sighed as their brains squirted out over their boots, seeping into the canal bed. It was amazing how they lasted so long withought water. Mind you, alcohol was so cheep around here, they probably hadn't even noticed the draught. (Fraudian slip. 'What?' Oh yes)
Once a day he would take the time to wipe the sweat from his oversized umbrella. It really wasn't suited to these long journeys and was showing the strain quite badly now. He hoped it would last the trip. Three years was an awfully long time to spend without even a glimpse of a cloud, and he knew how the poor thing must be feeling. Frustrated.Further along the way, hunger drove him to desperation, and he unwrapped the small bird, taking an experimental first bite. It wasn't too bad really, but would have been nicer with water to re-hydrate it. Later, his stomach screamed for vengeance at the injustice of it's situation.
He had terrible visions of machinegun toting headless chickens, running all over the place, and shooting at anything they couldn't see. He prayed for sage and onion to save his soul.
Three bowls of porridge, placed on a table at the side of their route seemed a bit too much like tempting fate. The two passed them by, kind of like criminals returning to the scene... except they were innocent. So far.
'Tell it to the judge, along with your inside leg measurment and telephone number'. The old fool never could keep his mind on the job. Three hangings, two castrations, and a string of minor offences in the toilets, that was his average day. Ah well, you'll live. Keep your nose clean and stay well out of the way.They neared their destination. In the distance they could hear an ice cream van, chiming out 'Ride of the Valkyrie' as it wound it's way 'round narrow streets, selling brightly packaged chilled products and the very finest dessicated coconut. But only if you asked nicely.
They entered the bar, purchased refreshments, and took a seat each, near the window. The walls were stained almost black with tobacco smoke and were lovingly adorned with rabbit snares and man-traps... for when times were hard, no doubt. Over in the opposite corner sat a group of residents from the local institute for the psychologically maladjusted. Their minders watched over them patronisingly.
"Yes well you know, I was going to be a brain surgeon, but they said I wasn't quite steady enough with the soldering iron."
One of her charges looked up at her, hopefully, "Can I have a pint?" he said.
"Oh, I am sorry," she said. Such sincerity was totally underwhelming. "But not with your medication. How about an orange juice instead?" Great substitute. He looked at the floor, defeated.