Never Ending Story

moules marinade. "Oh dear!" yelled Gordon in total frustration. (Well, that wasn't quite what he said but you get the general idea. :lol: ) Not only was the kitchen now on a 30 degree slope - he could live with that - but there was no martini, no lemon, no spices and, to cap it all, a piece of Borg had just landed in his cake mix
 
opportunities for comedy script writers.

"What am I supposed to cook now", wailed Gordon.

"Duck!"

"Duck? They don't even have seagulls here."

"No, duck you fool!" shouted Mary as another piece of dismembered Borg flew past
 
the outer limits of reason, sensibility and comprehension, Cy, the Borg investibule, pondered on the outcome of his recent union with Sinderella, chief whipper-out at the Climax donkey sanctuary, where
 
he had discovered the delights of mixed doubles - but that was a different time in a different star system. He stared down at the impenetrable plasmasphere. Why was he always left minding the cube? Then, blissfully unaware that the entire landing force had been destroyed, he went back to practising his serve
 
in front of the mirror wearing his newly aquired shell suit from the well known tailors on saville row E-bay-gum limited.....
 
in the ancient city of New Wimbledon, a quiet place in East Atlantis where rules were sacrosanct. But the Umpyres were getting worried. The tide had never gone out that far
 
a note to follow me,thats the trouble with permanent sun in Atlantis theres always something following on behind.....
 
into vullvva the city of darkness, where humidity was high, and moisture levels were off the scale. However, the Gee-spot was missing.... someone had a nerve....
 
to scale the precipitous heights of the Mons Veneris, thickly jungled, dark yet enticingly...
 
... errr.. not enticing. Whereas, brazilia is most enticing this time of year... definitely worth a visit apparently...
 
the crabs are returning in large numbers, due partly to a lack of personal..
 
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