Sinister: No Sex Please, We're Brits Winners!

[PJMiller]

Dear fellow garden gnomes,

It's splendid to be back, trampling the flower beds and burning ants
with a magnifying glass, just like the good old days. To be honest, I
think of Sinister as more of a park than a garden, complete with
rather unappealing public conveniences.

Consolidated Fanbase? That sounds to me like the kind of thing Norman
Wisdom and Mister Grimsdale used to pit their wits against. Honey, has
anyone been smashing your milk bottles? I suggest you dress up as a
vicar and pay a visit to the golf course.

Thank you Christopher for your kind words. I'm sure Sleeka Sounds is a
fantastic pop group. In answer to your question, the only
autobiographical part comes in chapter six, "Reptilian Bumhole", when
Detective D. Dinkle is invited to a chimps' tea party at the zoo. I
don't want to give too much of the plot away, but it turns out to be a
typically mischievious bit of monkey business - the chimpanzees hold
Detective D. Dinkle down while a horrible hairy orangutan fists him up
the bum and an elephant simultaneously wanks him off with his
elephant's trunk.

Is that the kind of thing that won't be tolerated on the Jeepster
unmoderated discussion list? What about if I change "horrible hairy
orangutan" to "horrible hairy Murdoch" and "an elephant" to "Richard
the drummer"?

Seeing as Brad seems determined to ignore the constant squawking of
the poetry parrot,, I thought I'd take the liberty of drawing the
list's attention to a little-known story by Edgar Allan Poe - "The
Brit of the Perverse". It is remarkably insightful for 1842:

"One day, while sauntering listlessly about the streets, I arrested
myself in the act of murmering, half aloud, these customary syllables.
In a fit of petulance at my indiscretion, I remodeled them thus:- "I
am safe - I am safe - yes, if I do not prove fool enough to make open
confession."

.....jumping ahead a bit....

"I turned - I gasped for breath. For a moment I experienced all the
pangs of suffocation - I became blind, and deaf, and giddy - and at
this instant it was no mortal hand, I knew, that struck me violently
with a broad and massive palm upon the back. At that blow the long
imprisoned secret burst forth from my soul.
    They say that I spoke with distinct enunciation, but with emphasis
and passionate hurry, as if in dread of interruption before concluding
the brief but pregnant sentences that consigned me to Dr. Peter
Waterman, Her Majesty's Popologist, and to Hell."

Next week, another visionary classic by Poe - "The Tell -Tale Brit",
in which a mysterious trophy repeatedly bellows "Behave!" in a
northern accent,
despite Mad Dog Murdoch having put it in his socks and pants drawer,
and "The Brit Cat", with its terrifyingly timeless ending, " I had
walled the trophy up within the tomb!"

Sister Disco

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