Sinister: I am Murdoch, hear me R!O!C!K!

[funkyseb at xxx.com]

Hoorah! It's 4.15 on Friday afternoon! In 95 minutes, I'll be skipping 
under the lilacs down freedom street. For Monday is a holiday of 
bankness, and there'll be lots of lying about under the delicious green 
canopy of London Planes to be done. Mmm! Boaters! Stripy Blazers! Pork 
pies and Punts! 
P!I!C!N!I!C!
Does anyone else feel this excited after bowlie? Since last Sunday, I've 
felt like a dog with two cocks, four bollocks, and a whole brace of tits 
for good measure. Woof! I've come back determined to be a pop star before 
the end of the month, and determined to write a play by Tuesday. 
I've got an explanation for it of course. Struan has learnt how to 
harness the power of evil, and use it for good deeds. 
     He discovered the relevant runes engraved in the lino flooring of 
his church hall, as he was scrubbing it one day. "Well well", quoth the 
silver trousered troubadour, scratching his head, "I'll bet these marks 
mean something." 
   So he ran in an odd mannerall the way to the library, and looked up 
the runes in a big book called "Satanic language-and what it means"
    "Chapter VII" He read, his lips moving gently "concerning the 
transformation of the weak into strong, the old into the young, and the 
despair into hope." As he read on, a plan began to form in his head. The 
book said that wherever great numbers of people are of one mind, given 
the right circumstances, great quantaties of shite could be made gold, so 
to speak.
"That sounds good, eh?" stuart called out of the window, to where he'd 
parked his dog.
Woof, said the dog, sniffing a bollard, and eyeing an approaching traffic 
warden with suspicion.
       Before you could say "Pontin's", our hero had hired a holiday 
camp, and filled it with dreamers. 3 days later, they all staggered out, 
giddy with excitment and happiness. The only side effects had been 
Stuart's hair turning a silly colour, and the total disappearance of the 
V*rve. This was going well. Over the next day or two, Stuart practiced 
his craft, turning an egg into a nice surprise, and a passer by's scowl 
into a KitKat. It was time to set off to Dublin. It was to be the 
culmination of his work. Stuart was going to turn the Troubles into a 
really nice picnic.

     But it was clear that the power was too strong to control. As the 
band walked to the venue, parking meters spontaneously exploded into 
trees. Tramps started to tear apart, and unleash cute puppies and 
adorable kittens from their smelly stomachs. The rest of the evening was 
a blur for Struan M. Fans at the gig complained that their Guinness was 
turning into big foamy turds before they could drink it. Closer to the 
stage, and Mullets sprouted from peoples heads, and flares turned to blue 
denim dungarees.
      Stuarts eyes turned red. "I AM EVIL!!!!!" He grunted.   His eyes 
darted around the stage.....what should he do?  And then he saw it. The 
guitar around his neck, the special one that the choirboys had made from 
the church organ, and given to him on his birthday. ("We don't mind going 
to hell" the chorists had said " as long as you can write more songs 
about buses and lovely little animals")
  DIe you fucker screamed evil stu, as his smashed the gift to bits. I 
love the taste of evil, and I must suck up more!!!!!!!
Then he walked straight out of the gig, and into the sea, where he was 
harpooned and eaten my sailors.
That was a good story wasn't it?

Ooh! It's 515 now! See you all at the picnic, especially Janey Applecake 
:-)
funkyseb
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