Yatter _pileart (Spindlegrin 162((*/.trm/2a)

Hello, bary here, bringing you another episode of
Spindlegrin – a psuedo-randon excursion into the
exiton transition. (Sorry Neal)

A tragedy in 2387 installments.
Epumsode 162 (A lackluster performance indeed)

Piglung is being swindled by the Devil.

“You can find my vodka?” asked Piglung.
“Ahm…”,
butted in Dakron without much luck. The leg looked
back at the Devil who nodded in a fashion that
suggested that they had been through this many times
before, to the point where the Devil was only
officially there for show and was not really needed at
all. The leg looked back and grinned,
“Why certainly we can find it for you, all it will
cost you is ……YOUR SOUL! BWAHAAHAHAHAH!”
The Devil stopped rubbing his ankle, looked around
quizzically and then remembered to join in the demonic
laughing, although it must be said he did it in a half
hearted way. Dakron was about to point out to Piglung
that in folk tales about this sort of thing, people
inevitably end up with being stuck with horns or
donkey appendages (not always a reason for complaint),
but Piglung was too quick. He jumped up and grabbed
the contract from the Devil who looked around trying
to figure out what just happened.
“Anybody got a pen?” asked Piglung.
Dakron shook his head and handed Piglung a half used
Bic biro, there really was no dissuading Piglung when
his mind was made up about something.
“Emm..excuse me, it has to be signed in blood.”
insisted the leg.
Piglung tutted and stabbed the Devil in the leg with
the pen.
“MUAHHH!”
Exclaimed the Devil, dropping to the ground and
rolling about, cursing a bit as he went. Piglung
signed his spidery signature and then threw the pen
over his shoulder which landed in amongst a bunch of
palm leaves and discarded Pluto discs which then burst
into flames. The devil crawled over to where Piglung
stood and snatched the contract back in his fisted
claw, which he then shook, muttering something
indecipherable.
“So where’s my vodka?” insisted Piglung defiantly.
“Mu mank mit maft meek, MUHMUMAHAHAH!”
Replied the Devil.”
Piglung looked back at the leg,
“He said you drank it last week.” The leg replied.
“Oh yes,” replied Piglung, “Damn it.”
Dakron shielded his face from public view and shook
his head.

Then the mints started to sing to try and make Piglung
feel better.
(Sung to the tune of “How much is that doggie in the
window?” in 13/11 timing and a polyrhythmic
accompaniment)
Why do the windows laugh at me?
Sitting by this old glue tree.
Watching old men torture dogs,
Disposing of bodies in deep bogs.

I think that I shall walk away,
From this morbid holiday,
I don’t think that it is so gay,
Watching spaniels in decay.

Now my foot’s stuck in this hole,
And my shoe’s been stolen by a mole,
Something’s nibbling my foot’s soul,
I’ll have to give it my cheese roll.
———————
Letter(s) to/from Loki (Conditional missives)v1.12

Right! That’s it
I have made the decision to become a hermit. I
shall procure for myself a nice little hole somewhere
deep in the woods up the mountains where I shall grow
a beard, sleep on a bed of my own excrement for warmth
and attempt to brew alcohol from whatever I can find.
I shall also go quite mad and shout at passing cars
while waving my new waving stick.

Mad Pete
————-
Dear sir,
I have been an avid subscriber to your monthly
publication “Fine cheese and dish water” for some
twelve years now but I feel compelled to write in and
complain about the drop in the quality of this
magazine since it’s purchase by Rancid Dog
publications.
Leaving aside for the moment the fact that every
third page features a picture of some “lady” or
“ladies” with their skirts hitched above the ankle and
in some cases above the knee, there have been a number
of unacceptable incidents.

Firstly, Issue 3 volume 47 features on page 1,124,570
an article encouraging the youth of today to take to
the streets and point ethnic foods (such as the
disgustingly phallic West Indian Banana Fruit) at the
sun. Articles such as this are irresponsible and
incite disrespect and anarchy. If articles such as
this are allowed to continue it will be the 1897
Cotton Gin Sunday walkout all over again!

Secondly Issue 5 volume 50 features some harlot’s
astrological predictions on the same page as an
article on a swine famed for eating laxative soap. Not
only does this promote bestiality among the lower
classes but is also in direct violation of Cromwellian
anti witchcraft doctrine. I have sent a letter of
complaint to the local authorities insisting that this
Astrologically Endowed Tuppenny Whore is burned alive
so as to send young ladies the clear message that
dabbling in the black arts is not acceptable
behaviour.

Finally the cover of issue 10 Volume 48 features a
picture of three babies stitched together for use in a
game of association football. I have publicly stated
many times that participation in this foul game of
ruffians should be discouraged at all levels.

It would be a shame for a publication such as this to
descend to the level of “Madam Fanywax’s Almanac for
Deviant Girls.”

Yours faithfully,
Sgt. Horatio Scrotalfelt. (pimp)

Most bits ©Loki 2001 (who is not Barry). Extra bits
©BO’C (who is Barry) 2001
limey_tank@yahoo.com
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