Tales Of The Gurrier

The Lynxgoblins are at it again. Not content with foisting a rampaging mob of Affleck emulating Clicktards on us, they return now plumbing new and awesome depths of crapitude. These ones are worse. These makes me leap from my seat and scream into my fists with rage. My fingers are gnawed to stumps.

I speak of the Boom chicky, boom, boom ads. The advertising campaign that finally proves the vast waste of human chromosones that are advertising executives. Cut them from the gene pool I say, do it now! Hack them from the populace as a surgeon would excise a malignant tumour from the body of a patient. Purge them from us with the cleansing power of radiation. Oh, the body may sicken for a time, but we must act now, NOW I SAY, before it is too late.

I imagine the scene, an advertising agency somewhere on the planet. The location matters little, the fetid aroma of naked greed and rancid ambition swamp the ‘brainstorming’ session in an atmosphere of deep fear and loathing. The unparalleled success of last seasons ‘Clicktard’ campaign now but a fleeting memory to the raw, drug scoured nasal passages and gaping canker sored backsides of the assembled gak fuelled execs.

“That bastard Affleck won’t do a follow up. 1600lbs of Haagen Daas and a skip full of pie filling and he still won’t do it!”

A great wailing and gnashing of teeth goes up from the assembly.

One befinned specimen leaps to his feet screaming.

‘Oh God! Oh God, I have seven STD’s, I need money for penicillin. My cock feels as lumpy as a colostomy bag full of Cillit Bang.’

‘That’s nothing Charles, I sneezed out my septum this morning, blew the damn thing halfway across the room. Took two nostrils into the shower came out looking like a  fucking Dyson vacuum cleaner. If anyone needs a wodge the size of Jordan’s minge it’s me.’

‘Fuck you Simon, the Dyson account is mine. Keep your mono-nostriled nose out of my client’s arsehole, that’s my job’

‘Bring it on Charles you cock mangled whore fucker, I’ll, oh Christ what’s that smell’

From the centre of the room comes a foul rank odour; the stench of brimstone and cats piss fills the air as the Lynxgoblin manifests from his dwelling, deep within the fundaments of Satan’s backside

OH HAI, I BRING BOOM CHICKY FOR U.

‘Oh God and baby Jesus, it’s HIM’

I MAKE IT FROM MAI PEE.

‘Oh thank you, your most unholy one. May you forever be wafted by the rank farts of the Beelzebub’

CAN I HAZ BLOWJOB NOW.

‘Yes of course my lord, Simon it’s your turn.’

‘It bloody well is not Charles.’

CAN I HAZ ADVERT WIT LADEEZ

Yes ladies of course anything, oh most malevolent one.

LADEEZ DANCE FAH LYNXGOBBLING PLEEZ. I HAZ MAKE BOOM CHICKY WIT MAI PEE. LADEEZ SMELL MA PEE AND LADEEZ DO SEXI DANCE.

‘Simon, I think we’re fucking minted mate’

‘Mmpff?’

———————–
That’s pretty much how I imagine it going.

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