Germy lay prone, strapped to a stainless steel table with suspicious looking guttering on either side of his feet. He awoke slowly, his vision blurred and his head aching. He was quite unable to lift so much as his schlong, which was strapped to the table as well.
Suddenly...
The Mad Arab Abdul Ab Hazarad crashed through the ceiling; spraying small bits of plaster, roast mutton and assorted crap all over Germy’s prostrate prostate. He landed feet-first and seemed to positively revel in the shrieks and screams that emitted from Germy’s mouth.
“Ah-ha,” cried Abdul in a swashbucklingerrolflynnfashion, “your wee willie sheep poker lies broken beneath my feet. My favourite torture for people I hate.”
With his teeth clenched he stalked the room in a ranting, raving frenzy, complaining of Germy’s literary style, the high price of haemorrhoid cream, the way peanuts get stuck in the shower hole when you take a shit in there, his daughter’s boyfriend who was whining incessantly as a result of his schlong being broken, the new Arabian Goggles album, the phone bill, and as to where his contact had got to et cetera, et cetera, et cetera..
Inflict Kafe Gavani On The World
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