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Gwarbley Barbleing
As the room continued to spin, we staggered out of the back room of the night club, colliding heavily with the brick wall of the alley, stripped to the waist, doubled over, sucking in air like a vacuum cleaner, but ultimately fighting a losing battle with the train about to arrive from Vomit Central.
The shame we felt emanating from our now sick-covered plimsolls was nothing compared to that coming from the folded Yen stuck in our garter and the tassels twirling gamely from our singed nipples. The Japanese businessmen had been promised a show and we had primly complied, our cheeks matching the colour of the bright red lipstick on our lips.
As we flushed the toilet and pulled up our trousers, it was clear that we'd need to find new bathroom reading material. Maldiva's visit to Japan with her mother just wasn't cutting it anymore. The Barble supposed it should probably report the news, and then maybe it could have a good old nose through the paper the next time nature called, rather than wasting any more of its superstar life perusing the musings of a fool.
Still with our bowels moved it was probably time to get the paper moving as well, as it had seemingly ground to a halt since Barble Towers had relocated to Los Angeles. The first thing to do was to rouse all the writers and find out where their articles had gotten to. The first person we visited was Hoopi, as his grave was in the grounds of our offices so it wasn't that much effort. We left a flower by his headstone. Then we picked it up again; we might be able to give it to a pretty girl later and you could never have enough flowers when you were throwing some game out on pretty girls. It was like crack to them.
Next, we sought out Colin without much difficulty given that he is second largest known substance in the solar system (the first incidentally being Iota) and found out that he'd actually written something for once. After we got over our surprise at that, we left him a basket of chocolate chip muffins and some crayons so he could finish his colouring book. Before we had left the room the book was smeared with chocolate and Colin's mouth was green. Poor guy.
We headed over to our observatory to find out where Bob Liar had gotten up to with the Horrorscopes, but after knocking a couple of times and getting no answer, we decided we'd catch up with him later. The sticky white substance leaking out from beneath the door and the familiar yelping of shelly coming from the other side were two more reasons why we decided that it would probably be better to give him a few minutes.
After that we thought it was probably best to crack on with our own tasks and forget about the help. After all, it had become abundantly clear that nobody else was capable of saving this dying beast - it really needed some Gwarble medicine. Thanks to the ineptitude of the staff, he had something of a buffet of news to choose from, as they had covered absolutely nothing at all from the past two weeks. With a sigh, our reluctant hero strapped on his white jacket and stethoscope and set about saving the Barble again.
Open wide.
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Untitled Drivel
by Firefly
This is a story all about how,
My eyes got burned and rolled right out,
I'd like to take a minute just sit right there,
I'll tell you how every part of me burned except my hair.*
"alryt m8, jus wonderd if u wnted 2 av a nu guy in ur kru"
After suffering minor burns on my eyeballs and a quick trip to hospital before returning to my humble abode of the big and important "Crazy LHM" office, I decided to thwart the nurse's attempts of trying to help me heal more quickly and dive right back into the depths of moronic mails. Once I'd sifted through the 20-odd mails from Gwarble involving a fairly explicit and detailed story called "One night with shelly" that I'd rather not have witnessed, I found the mail that had rendered me hospitalised for several hours. It may have been a combination of the dunghill that is Gwarble's mails and this slangspeak/foreign language mail that I'd received.
I reread the mail with protective goggles before burning it in a fire. Now, come sit down on papa's lap kids, I promise I won't touch you inappropriately like Colin does. I just want to give you a wee bit of advice.
If you're going to mail me this trollop, I will wish death on you like we wish death on Deimne or like we wish death on that insignificant, oversized space hopper of a leader in Chicago. What's his name? I dunno...that chap who metaphorically sits on the fence because he's too fat to physically sit on a fence without it folding in on itself. Whatever, it's not important.
Either way, mailing me with something so shitty that it nearly competes with the brown stain on SINGER's tongue** isn't an appropriate way to grab my attention. Sure, you grab my attention, but only because I end up stabbing a fork into the paper and wishing that the paper was your face. All in all, I'd rather that you'd send me a SINGER mail, filled with admiration and love to which I can reply with "Do you want a spoon or straw while you're down there licking my arse?" - Feel free to send me one of those. Sing*** my praises all you like.
One little addendum dear readers - This one hit wonder just became a two hit wonder. I'm catching up with the amount of times I've been up Evangeline's mum. Lolz, kidding. I've been up her far more times than two.
*I don't understand that logic either but a rhyme is a rhyme so shut your mouths.
**See previous issue for interview with Deimne for an example.
***God I'm getting good at pulling off this whole "play on words" idea. I'm pretty quick with them nowadays. Nearly as quick as Gwarble's ejaculation, when he masturbates in the local primary school toilets. Nearly.
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Horrorscopes
by Bob Liar
Capricorn
You've always been my least favourite star sign, Capricorn. You have that sort of face that reminds me of someone I always hated. Oh yeah, you. Thursday would be a good day to do everyone a favour. I'm happy to cough up the cash for a bottle of scotch and some sleeping pills.
Aquarius
Does it burn when you pee? It should do with the amount of time you spend at Cap'n Bob's. I bet you can't sit down or walk straight either? You filthy pervert. Are you Evangeline? No, of course not. You're nowhere near big enough.
Pisces
Your wife will have sex with her mime tutor this week. You won't find out, but everyone else will know. Everywhere you go people will be laughing at you, whilst your wife silently climaxes in your marital bed.
Aries
I'm not writing you a horoscope Aries. I hate you that much that I don't want you to know what's coming up for you this week. Just kidding, of course I wrote you a horoscope. Here it is - I'm going to stab you on Tuesday morning.
Taurus
Do you remember that genie who offered you three wishes if you rubbed his lamp? That wasn't a genie it was Gwarble, and FYI most lamps are made of metal and aren't kept down the front of a fat man's trousers.
Gemini
Gemini. The twins. Fat and stupid. Yep, that's the twins in question and it sums you up perfectly.
Cancer
Oh my God. Just what is that smell, Cancer? Oh what? It's Nickje? Oh. OK. That makes sense. He does smell pretty bad. Still don't know how you have the smell of him on you. Oh. You did? For how much? And he did, did he? Fair play.
Leo
Ha, ha, ha. Look at your face. No, actually don't, you ugly fucker. Just go and sit in the corner or something. Wednesday is a good day to question why God hates you so much. The answer is of course, because of your face.
Virgo
Virgo, Virgo, Virgo. You have been ignoring me this week, Virgo. As such I have decided that sometime around Friday you will die in a tragic masturbation accident. Probably when I run you over - Whilst masturbating.
Libra
I hope you have learned your lesson this week, Libra. Never, never go to an all you can eat buffet with Colin. Fingers and arms don't grow back you know. Now you are deformed for life, but I guess at least it matches your face now. Silver lining.
Scorpio
Ignore medical advice at your peril this week, Scorpio. Definitely put some cream on it and for the love of God stay away from badger sets in the future!
Sagittarius
You're holding the paper upside down, you bloody retard. Deeez. Jesus struggles to love you sometimes. And by sometimes, I mean all the time.
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The Rise & Fail of Richard Kuklinski
by Gwarble
Nothing quite says 'I'm a hotshot crewleader' like owning a casino. The glitz, the glamour, the biggest names both legitimate and illegitimate (like Colin), blowing their hard earned (or not so hard earned) cash on your tables. Quite a ride.
Obviously, in my case I'm sooooooooo hot, that I don't even need a casino to be a hotshot crewleader; it is one of those unquestionable truths. Ignoring the clear Gwarble infallibility that is a pre-requisite for everything I say, claiming that I need a casino to be a coolster is like telling the sun it needs a heater to be warm or that Sherminator needs a headstone to be officially declared deceased - not necessary, these are facts. This isn't nebulous like the reason for SINGER getting auth. These are cold, hard, facts.
However, one person who definitely needed a casino (amongst other things) to be declared a coolster was Richard_Kuklinski, survivor of the huge Las Vegas anti-climax and general poster boy for keeping-your-head-down-and-being-a-little-less-rubbish-than-your-peers. They would probably cut that slogan down though on the poster to save on space. They are sneaky like that. It is how they get you.
When news reached us at Casa Barble that Richard was going to provide us with an update on Las Vegas in an announcement that the local children had taken to calling 'Las Vegas Update', oh those witty locals, we practically scurried to hear what he had to say. Luckily for us he didn't bore us for very long and he got to the point rather quickly with some short, choppy, sentences. The local boys were pleased. Not as pleased as Deimne was with the local boys, but that is a different story altogether:
The Las Vegas Costello Faction are pleased to announce the opening of the first casino in LV for some time.
The Costello Faction Casino is open for business!
Starting off as a Slots enterprise, new games will be added very soon.
I'm undecided which to get first.. Craps or Blackjack. Input is welcome.
This is part of a plan for Las Vegas. The casino will spearhead several other business ventures that will make LV a better place to live and work.
Competitions will follow.
I'd like to pay tribute to my hardworking members - we did it! And pretty quickly too.
Thanks to the Godfathers and Crew Leaders who offered advice. And there's a specially imported Cuban for Gaius. Cheers fella.
It didn't take us long to transcribe the conversation and the diligent journalists we are, we then set about doing some sleuthing. We could guess the 'specially imported Cuban for Gaius' was probably just 'shelly wearing fake tan' and we knew that the thanks was really just for Barble Superstar/Mafie Hero, Gwarble. Probably just for being great. Despite these conclusions, we just couldn't work out which game old Ricky K should get for his casino. Thankfully, helpful mobsters tossed out their suggestions!
Personally, I would say Blackjack Mr Kuklinski. Many more people play and they have a higher chance to win then on craps in my honest opinion. - Diablos.
I would gobble down a lion for your casino as an attraction. Or just for a fee. Ok, for free. Anyone got a lion? - TheDean.
If I were in a veagas casino, blackjack's what I'd play! - Alfonse.
The calls continued and ultimately the Big 'K' (as he'd taken to calling himself now that he was a coolster) decided that he was going to buy himself some blackjack tables. Unfortunately for Kuklinski (demoted back to loserville) he bought himself some roulette tables. He gave a rather hilarious description of events. It went something like 'yada, yada, yada, I'm a massive idiot, yada, yada, I bought the wrong game, blah, blah, blah'.
The Barble is less than impressed.
Luckily, Richard Kuklinski was a fighter. He would never have survived the big, massive war, well, nothing, of Las Vegas without his famous partly known by his mum, never say die attitude and he returned back to the streets to announce that he'd now picked up blackjack for his casino. Congrats Rich, at least you've spared yourself further embarrassment in that second announcement.
(For full details please see More New(s) (oh deeeeeeez) from Las Vegas & Las Vegas Update.)
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A day in the life
by Bob Liar
So another week*, another paper (shit rag). And you know what that means? Yes, another ADITL. Unquestionably everyone's favourite part of the week (2 weeks, month, who knows? Gwarble is a massive disappointment). How do I know it's everyone's favourite part? Well that's simple. Who doesn't want to read how the other halves live their lives, whilst I flit from one sex habit to the next? In fact, here are some genuine** testimonials that were received*** in fatty's (Hoopi obsessive, Evangeline's) mail box this week.
"I love ADITL. Can I have my fifty dollars now?" - AngeliqueSatanta
"Bob Liar is the best. Gwarble sucks! So the woman on the phone said something about fifty dollars?" - SPM
"The Barble is nothing without ADITL! Keep it up Bob. So do I have to sign something to get the fifty bucks or?" - Sparky
"I love ADITL! It makes the week for me! And now they are giving me fifty dollars. Awesome." - brustynuts
"I don't know why the rest of this bullshit paper is written. Just publish ADITL every week! Fifty dollars here I come" - binary01
"If the Barble were a game of poker ADITL would be a royal flush and the rest of this shit a pair of twos. I'll bet my new fifty dollars on that!" - Striphe
"It's ADITL and their fifty dollar policy that makes everything worthwhile. I love it. I'd even love it for 20 dollars. But for fifty I'd take it to third base." - Greywolf121
"I don't know what's better. ADITL or world peace? Probably ADITL, but probably fifty dollars." - Ava_Marie
"If ADITL were a bed sheet, it would be made of silk and have fifty dollars for a pillow." - Bliss
"ADITL touches me in ways that other DITLs just don't. But then other DITLs don't have the fifty dollar policy." - Skorpeon
So there you have some real fan letters from real fans. If those real fans would like to collect their fifty dollars, they just need to send a mail to Evangeline with the subject line "money up heffalump!" and she will buzz that right over. Of course, if there is anyone else that wants fifty dollars then just send a mail saying how great ADITL is to Evangeline and she will send you the cash.
* I say week. But who knows when Retardo the Editing Monkey will actually get round to putting crayon to nostril and sneezing out the next edition.
** Of course I am using the word genuine in the loosest possible sense here. Some might say not genuine. But those people can jolly well fuck off. Especially if they are Felicity.
*** Made up. The only thing that ever gets shoved in Evangeline's box is a Hoopi shaped gateaux.
And with all this good will and happy 'I love ADITL' feeling in the air. I guess it's time we moved along with the main event - ADITL itself. So, we were spit balling around the office the other day (and spit balling it turns out is an exchange of ideas, and not something that Colin does after he's finished under Gwarble's desk) about who I should follow around for a day to see what they get up to when a massive row broke out between me, Bob Audacious Liar and Gwarble Austin Yardley. Below is a transcript of that conversation.
Oh and in case you were wondering why no one else from the office was involved in this argument, it's because Colin now likes a nap after finishing Gwarble off by hand in the morning, Evangeline is now too fat to fit in the door, Firefly hasn't been seen for ages and Hoopi is dead.
BAL: "It's a woman. I'm telling you. I'd nail it."
GAY: "You'd nail anything Bob. You tried to nail me last week."
BAL: "Well you shouldn't bend over like that when using the copier."
GAY: "Fair point. But I'm right about this. It's a bloke."
BAL: "It's a bird."
GAY: "Bloke"
BAL: "Bird"
GAY: "BLOKE"
BAL: "It's a fucking bird you retard. Right that's it."
GAY: "What's it?"
BAL: "That is."
GAY: "Dick. What are you going to do?"
BAL: "I'm going to follow it for a day. That's what. We'll soon know the truth."
GAY: "Fine. You follow it for a day. But don't come crying to me when it show's you its penis."
And so it is that I set off to follow shelly for the day. Below are my observations.
I started the day early, at around about lunchtime. I set off to the address that Gwarble had seduced out of Achilles by offering some etchings of animal phalluses, and along with Colin, dressed in a monkey suit, recreating some of the more erotic scenes. From the outside this home was giving away no clues. A small bungalow with a manly driveway and yet a feminine touch to the floral decoration. This was to be no easy task. I snuck up to the window. I like sneaking. It makes me feel sexy. I stopped for 3 minutes to relieve some tension. I hope it doesn't permanently damage the rose bush.
Anyway, I raised myself up and peeked through the front room window. I like peeking. It makes me feel sexy. But there was no time for secondsies. A job needed doing. So peek away I did. At first I couldn't see much. The house looked empty. Nondescript decoration met my eye. One of those boring neutral paint jobs with minimal furniture. I wrote down in my note book "man or woman? Boring fucker either way", and then chuckled to myself that (s)he was probably also a boring fuck. I hoped I'd find out later as all this peeking was driving me wild. Anyway reader, back to the story - I didn't see much either way. I was getting ready to move on and follow up some leads on popular haunts when a little movement caught my eye. It wasn't shelly, but a dog, plodding through to the kitchen. "So, it keeps a dog" I thought to myself and headed round the side of the house to get a closer look.
Through the kitchen window I peeked. God, I liked peeking. I'd have to get myself down to Cap'n Bob's after this day. Anyway, I peeked away and saw the dog eating from its bowl. It was a poodle. It was pink. MMMmmm. "Chalk one up to it being a chick" I thought. But then, the general appearance of the kitchen with several days of washing up piled up everywhere, suggested that shelly could in fact be a dude. I made a few more passes of the house and confident that there was no one home, I levered open a back window and climbed inside. I wandered from room to room. Nothing was giving much away. Some rooms had boxes of manly tools. Others boxes of girly sequins.
The bedroom wardrobe was full of both male and female clothes. I stopped to think for a moment. Perhaps there were two people in this house? Perhaps it was a perfectly natural marital home? Perhaps shelly had a twin brother or sister and that the reason no one knew if it was a boy or girl was because there were two of it? I had to know. I headed to the front door. I was going to track that thing down.
It didn't take long to find it. I'd stopped at a biker bar on the edge of town for a quick drink on the way back from shelly's place, and blow me down if it wasn't in there. Co-incidentally I had also popped into the bar to get blown down by the fat waitress, but Evangeline would have to wait for now.
There's a fine line between a kilt and a skirt and shelly was walking that tight rope with all the expertise of a 9 year old Russian gymnast. A perfectly generic hairdo and a dusty old Gracie Fields t-shirt were giving nothing away. Nor was the fact that it was making gooey eyes at all the men and all the women. I knew then that by hook or by crook I'd have to get a look up that skirt.
I'd started sending drinks over to shelly via the barman, but that proved foolish. For every martini I sent over, I drank two by myself. By the time shelly teetered over a little worse for wear, I was hammered. We talked. I can't remember what we said. We laughed - Mostly at Colin. At some point we slipped outside to the parking lot. I woke up around 5am. Shelly had gone, as had my trousers, my left shoe and one of my front teeth. There were dried bodily fluids everywhere and the tattered remnants of a kilt and a Gracie Fields t-shirt. I'd clearly achieved my objective and nailed shelly but in all the martini fuzz, I couldn't remember which end up I was and what was up the kilt.
The mystery continues for another week. I guess we'll have to put this one to the vote.
Send your votes to Evangeline via Mob Mail with a subject line of either:
Shelly is a bloke
Or:
Shelly is a bird
The most votes win it and next week we will announce for definite the results of shelly's gender, based entirely on the votes from you, the reader.
I'm off to go to the dentist, my tailor and Cap'n Bob's now. It's been a funny old day in the life this week. But at least I got mine.
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Lonely hearts
by Bob Liar
It's hard out there trying to find someone. That one special someone. And I don't mean special in the Colin way. I mean actually special. I know how tough it is. Of course I know. Even Bob Liar gets lonely sometimes. But luckily $12 and a fist full of lubricant can buy you a fair amount of company in this dark, dark world. Just ask Nickje.
So I thought I would help you. Yes, YOU - the desperate lonely Mafioso of the world. I will help you find love by opening a section of the paper to your appeal for company. I first mentioned in private to a few associates of mine that I wanted to do this, and quickly they all submitted their own advert. It seems the hearts of this world are crying out for attention.
A few of the better requests are listed here below. Could you be the ying to their yang? The bubble to their squeak? The arse to their elbow?
I'm a big and cuddly comfort eater who's into cake and water sports. Desperately seeking Hoopi, for days out and nights in. Photo attached.
Evangeline.
Shy retiring Godfather type with terrible skin condition seeks tender caring nurse type to apply daily ointment to those areas that I can't reach. Photo attached.
CrazyNine.
Missing in action presumed dead type of guy seeks cat type, for purring, stroking and tickles on the tummy. Photo attached.
Hoopi.
See someone you can't live without? Want to advertise yourself in the next issue? Know of a desperate soul that's too shy to submit themselves?
As usual all mail to Evangeline please.
Catch you laterz, daters.
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A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Idiocy: Part 1
The Curious Case of Edinburgh Button
by Colin
History is littered with noble men dying in noble ways for noble causes. Achilles died during the siege of Troy, poisoned by a fortunate shot to the heel. King Harold died attempting to repel invading hordes. Admiral Nelson died in battle defending the British Isles from conquest. And then of course, there was Edinburgh. In the first of a 5 part series (Ha! Who am I trying to kid here? I'll get bored after the first few and forget all about it) we look at Edinburgh Cesare Button and the hilarious way in which he met his demise. Let me drop some scene setting on you…
It was a dark night and Edinburgh had been up for too long. If he hadn't been assigned a contract he would have been wrapped up in bed with a few buckets of fried chicken by now.
"I'm so fucking hungry" the whiney little arse face muttered under his breath.
His boss had promised him 5 burgers on completion of this Hit. The prospect caused him to salivate profusely.
4 hours had passed since he had climbed into the back of his targets car and he was beginning to get cramp. He needed to stretch his legs out, but his amazing bulk meant that while he had been able to squeeze himself into the back of the car, stretching, or even moving, would be nigh on impossible.
"Curse my big bones!" the fat bastard exclaimed.
The spherical mans hunger was insatiable. In the time he'd spent on the stake out he'd consumed well in excess of 5000 calories. He had, in fairness, burnt off 2000 calories when he had attempted to pull his sock up (unsuccessfully I might add), but for 4 hours that was insanity.
"Fuck this" he said finally. "I'mma go in a get him ma'self."
3 hours and a gallon of butter later Edinburgh was out of the car.
"Right, which floor does this guy live on?"
Edinburgh looked in horror at the marks address. Flat 8b, Floor 12.
"FFS"
Edinburgh was so fat he spoke in acronyms.
"Let's get this fuckin' over with then."
The stairs were even more hellacious (now there's a word you don't see very often) than he could have imagined. And by the time he reached the 12th Floor he was sweating so much his trousers were beginning to slip down his legs.
"God this isn't even worth the 5 burgers. Those 5 delicious, juicy, flame grilled, piping hot, draped in bacon and cheese, fresh burgers." It was worth it and he knew it.
As Edinburgh stood outside Flat 8b he tried to compose himself and gather his breath before he broke down the door and ended this man's life.
"Here we go." 1…2…3…GO!
The utter planet of a man crashed through the comparatively frail door in a split second.
In a chair by the window a man slept quietly. By the looks of the place he'd been asleep for a long time. The level of his inactivity was probably well known around the seven cities.
"This should be easy then. And then I can get back to the HQ for some delicious fresh burgers!!"
Edinburgh's hands were a blur has he quickly drew his pistol, his mind already on the bounty that would soon be his.
BANG
As the shot rang out loudly through the cold night air it was patently obvious that something had gone critically wrong.
Lying in a pool of his own blood, Edinburgh's last words rippled out of the folds of his fat.
"My only regret is that…I…didn't eat more burgers."
As the life drained out of Edinburgh he looked up at the man in the chair who quietly slept on.
Well there you have it guys. Stupid words from a stupid man.
NEXT WEEK: Tallien attempts to make a joke, with less than hilarious consequences.
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Obituaries:
I've decided that no publication of any sufficient calibre is complete without an obituaries section. In our walk of life people die and they will be honoured in this section. Unfortunately in our walk of life some people don't die and we wish they would have. They will also be honoured in this section.
People who have died
...can be found here.
Lazy bastards.
People we wish had died who actually died:
Sexy_Submissive - You can give. You can take. You can be on top. You can be upside down, strapped to the ceiling by your ankles and getting whipped by a well endowed gentleman in leather. One thing you cannot do though is fight fate. It is indiscriminate. It doesn't care if you get your jollies from giving the orders. It doesn't care if your tipple is getting your tackle crushed in a vice. All it cares about is claiming your life for making your way onto the list. Another day, another victim, adios - You can't fight fate.
People we wished had died who died before we could put them on the list:
KJKJKJ - It isn't often that we manage to get people even before we print this, but lo and behold it has happened. I was just on the blower to my old buddy Death Johnson and before I've finalised the list for this week, he's gone and rubbed out one of targets. Shame on you, Death. Still, one less I suppose.
People we wished had died:
Whoever killed "billycafaro" - Some crimes are necessary. Some crimes are tolerable. Some however - like the poaching of an MIA that I had to dig deep for - are so heinous that I hate you for all time. Unfortunately the identity of this disgraceful human being remains anonymous, however I'm sure the DWL will be able to pierce the murky depths of anonymity and pluck the culprit safely into the gaping jaws of hell. DWL.
JakeSulley - There is something about getting demoted to buy BGs that annoys me. We've decided that we're tired of it, mainly since the only one of my chumps who still needs BGs is Colin and he's a chump. This is a despicable practice and therefore you're going to pay the price for your multiple demotions. Choke on some DWL.
Millie - You narrowly edged out Tyrion as the third spot on the death wish list, as you are what we in the medical profession call 'a total failure'. Not only did you invite me to your gang, then uninvited me when I went to accept, you then have the audacity to invite me again. Then, you fail the crime! People know by now that there ain't no gang like the Gwarble gang and all other gangs should retire. DWL.
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Acknowledgments
It is easy to get carried away with superlatives when it comes to describing the staff of the Barble. 'Excellent', 'Inspirational', 'Can't believe you managed to work the word 'nebulous' into this' etc. etc. However it becomes far more difficult once you take the praise for Gwarble out of the equation. The other writers look like the off cuts from a particularly bad day at the slaughterhouse. They don't write very good newspaper articles either.
Oh yeah.
I'm not really sure what else I can say at this point. Thirteen of these we've managed to crank out into the hungry maw of the Streets now and still they continue to meander their way back the following week (or three). Hope you guys are still enjoying them, if you aren't let me know and I'll see to it that make the next death wish list.
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Something like a disclaimer
If I've taken a pot shot at you in this, it is because I think you're big enough to handle a joke and may find it funny yourself. If I've thought wrongly and you aren't big enough to handle that, I'm an Obscenely Well Protected, Don. RIP Gwarble.
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Thirteen. Unlucky for some? (Hopefully Colin)
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