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no Teutonic love for him, for he was a man with a mission
to be fully refunded for the money he divulged to attend a small music festival which was cruelly called off at the last minute
but certainly not for the chap in question. He steeled his rugged frame, his hard blue eyes like chips of broken biro, and picked up the phone
'is that directory enquiries? I need the number of.....'
and Batman." There was an ominous drum roll, followed by the distant sound of a lady of Middle Eastern extraction wailing
you serial story arsonist! Never mind, we'll roll with it
Little did he know dark forces were mustering to foil his desperate mission
chortled the fruit faced children's entertainer, "And now I'm going to fuck your face"
reached his climax, his head bobbling like an agitated buoy, his leer froze and he fell forward, an axe planted in his back. Over his corpse strode...
"we must make haste from this accursed spot, for though we have been fortunate to get the drop on this accursed creature, other, more terrible beings will surely accost us. Also, you've got jizz on your eyebrow."
Mick and Paul emerged from darkest Oxfordshire, hand in hand. They had realised that there were more important things in life than fraternicide and getting refunded for low-key musical events, like spending evenings playing Scrabble whilst exchanging loving glances, and furiously masturbating over each other. Lessons were learnt, and the safety of the shadowy empire of Colin Roberts was assured.
growled our protagonist, so taken aback by this information he was unable to piece together a wittier retort