Discussion in 'The Games Room' started by Benchista, Jan 3, 2014.
Which was a blessing to all
But Rupert's clogs are but a hover from the pawnshop's counter. "Are you about to 'pop' these", came the question from the pawnbroker?
In a squeaky voice Rupert replied
"Over my dead body"
"Too right, mate" gasped Rupe with his very last breath ever, as he slowly buckled at the knees and sank into an untidy heap on to the floor. With a sympathetic sigh, the broker then covered Rupe's deathly hallowed countenance with the nearest material he had to hand: a faded, but prominently adorned copy of an old Page 3, whose caption ran, "Here's 18-year-old, Titianella, just as nature intended. Truly the kind of girl to make a happy man very old." It seemed somehow to be an appropriate finale to a successful - if rather seedy - story.
Or it would have been if the now agéd Titianella hadn't been standing behind him furiously brandishing her bra at the pawnbroker's head. "I'm not featuring in this story as a footnote" she screeched as she knocked the pawnbroker to his knees, and took him out with one swift swipe of satin lingerie. "There. Now you can end your story."
The police issued an all points bulletin for the former glamour model
It wasn't difficult to locate the suspect. Titianella was discovered unconcious just a few yards from the scene. A witness explained: "This woman came bursting out of the pawnbrokers' shop and began running away down the street. However, having discarded her bra, there was nothing to restrain her disproportionately ample appurtenances, and so within two or three strides she had simply knocked (or as The Sun reported, 'knockered') herself out. The story had reached its sad conclusion.
(Why is it, I ask myself, that I am given to such wildly ridiculous flights of fanciful prose? At my age I should be medically dosed and dozing in a carehome chair surrounded by other decrepit old farts.)
(Only you and your psychiatrist know the answer to that) he mused... still
But even as the pawnbroker was closing for the day, a ragged old photographer staggered in to yield up his battered old F3 for, as he hoped, the price of a square meal. The haughty pawnbroker glanced at the dilapidated body of the old relic ....and then at the camera and said.....
Where do the pictures come out, mate?
Poor old Big Will
"Ah, well", said the pawnbroker, "the F3 is accepted, and so here's your square meal; now take it and go. "I must protest," said the decrepit photographer, this is a pizza, and as every fool knows, a pizza is round,"
"Away with you," snarled the pawnbroker in brutal reply, "it may be a pizza, but as every fool also knows a pizza always comes in a square box." And having said that he grabbed the photographer, trussed him swiftly with his own camera strap and threw him out of the door, hurling the 'square pizza' after him. Within a trice, the shop was bolted and shuttered and the shop lights were extinguished. As he lay in tangled abandonment on the pavement, the photographer had a premonition that, for him, nothing ever developed as he had hoped. Life for him seemed only destined to exist in some ghastly permanently dark room. The End. (hopefully)
But the pawnbroker, who held the battered F3, minus strap, realising that there was a film still in the machine, quickly rewound and removed it. Sensing that it might hold great revelations that could make his fortune, he hurried to Snappy Snaps and after a couple of hours' wait all was revealed....
On the film were shots of his wife in flagrante delicto with the pawnbroker's sister's husband. He pulled out his Nokia cellphone (obtained for a £3 advance) and called his sister. They met that evening to decide what they should do....
As many holidaymakers have discovered, Flagrante Delicto is a small, whitewashed village in the foothills of the Pyrenees. One of the great attractions of this place is to be found within the strict confines of the Hotel Peccadillo, where visitors can indulge in all sort of unusual practices (it helps to be double-jointed btw). Within the hotel's 'Cellar of Forbidden Delights' are a number of interesting arrangements of contorted pieces of unusual ironwork securely attached to the stone walls, on which visitors can hang about free of charge to await the evening's entertainment to be conducted by the hotel's Mistress of Ceremonies, Senorita Isabella Masochisto, As many of the prints revealed on the film strip demonstrated, the senorita clearly excelled in administering all manner of forbidden delights.
The photographer stared in abject confusion and discomfort at the array of prints which lay before his startled eyes. His sister was also soon to be surprised and perhaps horrified. TBC
Which the pawnbroker must have sent him, since it was he who had the film developed. Was he now being blackmailed, there was no note with the prints, but he felt the bad news was just around the corner. But if he could concoct a story that his sister had taken them, as part of her clandestine role of dominatrix in the little room over the pub....but how to fabricate that story?
A small handwritten note fell from the envelope containing the prints which read: You are not a photographer, you are a mean and miserly pawnbroker who has cheated every pawnee in the entire pawnee nation, and now you must face up to your fate, which your sister and I are currently working on, and though we have not yet made a final decision, it will undoubtedly involve the removal of your balls, which of course means, you will no longer be able to trade as a pawnbroker. Even as you read this knives are being sharpened. . . ..
Which proved conclusively that there are few people on this planet that can read below the second line of any text, as it was the pawnbroker who developed the prints, which he then sent to the photographer, intending to blackmail him.
But since the writers made such a pox of remembering the plot, the plumber told the astronaut he had no intention of sawing the wooden leg off the old seafarer simply to provide kindling on a January night in the Rann of Kutch.....
Don't worry, Senorita Masochisto will soon have the writer whipped back into some sort of shape.
Separate names with a comma.