13 January 2006

Boarder Control

Now that I have finished the front porch and have finally achieved my childhood dream of having nuclear weapons (actually they are just large fireworks left over from New Years, but I’ve painted them menacingly and plan to feature them in a May day parade with Action Man™ figures so that the CIA and MI-6 can photograph them from space), it is time to close the borders of my realm and kick out the undesirables.

“What’s the name of your new realm, Evil?” Asked wheezing Fred.

“You could call it Stanstan.” Said Stanley brightly. The bastard irritates me immensely, but he’s a wizard when it comes to mudding drywall.

“I’m not calling my new front porch ‘Stanstan’, you pillock” I replied testily. “That would translate as ‘Stan’s place’.”

“Oh, aye.” He replied, unperturbed. “And Stan’s place is wherever there is booze.”

He helped himself to more of my beer.

Bob snorted agreement from the floor, or maybe it was a snore.

“Well, back to your first point, what do you mean about undesirables? Hippies? Tax collectors? That moron with the FlowMasters on his Ford Fiesta that guns his motor as he goes up the hill?” asked Fred from the kegerator.

“You lot, you stinking bastards. You’ve drunk all my beer and it’s three in the morning. Piss off and go home.”

And that's the way I likes it.