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Text 851, 151 rader
Skriven 2004-12-28 08:41:58 av Greg Sears (1:153/307)
     Kommentar till en text av Sean Dennis
Ärende: Re: Joke
================
OBStory for Sean

The Saga of Nigel the Hedgehog
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
        Chapter III

From: I C E-man


Nigel washed (and dressed???) and collected his belongings but he could
not concentrate. His superhedgehog mind was for once pre-occupied with
misty, hazy , drizzle like though. HIS GOAL!! It was .... too difficult
to consider on an empty stomach. First he would go and have some
breakfast.

He snuffled out into the garden of the motel and started rooting out the
slugs, snails and worms - which he much preferred to dry roasted
peanuts. The slimy wildlife of the motel was struck with fear when they
realized who was snorting around in the garden, for not only was Nige
the superhedgehog the best at catching nasty squirmy slippery things, he
also had an extremely large appetite (to match his ego) and so they knew
none of them would survive the raid.  However, they were saved by the
kindly old lady who suddenly came out of her room and offered Nigel a
dish of milk. Unfortunately this seemingly innocent woman was a great
hedgehog hater and she had laced the dish with strychnine...

Well I don't know what the hell 'strychnine' does as I've never tried it
so I will assume it is like Kryptonite is to superman. Nigel trundled
over to the and as he approached the bowl in a graceful yet powerful
way, with his nose twitching in anticipation, he began to feel a little
queasy, as he got yet closer he started to slow down and become wobbly
at the knees, he inched his way forward step by weary step by limp by
crawl determined to reach his favorite sustenance. He was now at the lip
of the bowl and about to quaff deeply from it, he fell to the floor
(i.e. not very far) and lay there gasping and wheezing, his highly tuned
deductive reasoning would have told him that something was wrong but the
strychnine had drained him of him super-powers. He knew, however, that
he'd better try to get away but lay there helpless on the door step, in
agony and unable to use any of his powers. He was an ordinary hedgehog
with an exceedingly bad gut ache. As he looked up he saw the front door
open and a woman emerge holding a sawn-off shot gut.. "Got you... you
flea ridden little bastard!!!" she aimed and squeezed the trigger......
click ... "Dam this gun ! What a pile of shit !"  (strong language for
a pensioner - Mrs. Brady really hated hedgehogs) Nigel scuttled neatly
into a nearby bush and lit up a cigarette. Nigel was hurt, not only was
he a super-hedgehog, but he had never had a flea in his life. If there
was one thing Nigel couldn't tolerate it was criticism. He wanted
revenge ...

Nigel crept around to the back of the house. In the vegetable garden he
found some spinach, and rooted around in it for worms ( Somehow they
seemed to give more power than those elsewhere ). These brought his
health back, allowing him to recover from the strychnine poisoning. He
waited until nightfall, and then crept into the house. The house seemed
quiet, ominously quiet, as he moved stealthily through the old panelled
corridors. From behind a door he heard a faint muttering, almost like a
priest in prayer. He opened the door a crack and peered in. The room
was candlelit, with rough stone walls, but the most noticeable feature
was on the floor. A large round circle of bronze, with a pentacle of
silver within it. Outside this circle were five figures, chanting in low
voices. One was Mrs. Brady, one Barry, one Penny ( who doesn't like to
be disturbed ), and the other two, not seeming entirely to be on this
plane, were Ronnie and Bonnie. As they ceased chanting a terrible figure
appeared in the pentagram. What was it ( the next Tory prime minister?),
and why had it come ?

Nigel was going to do some more rooting but he had heard that it leads
to middle-age impotence so instead he removed his size twelve hiking
boots and silently tip-toed into the room. The shape gradually
materialized until its identity became certain. It was...

NOT the corresponding female size fifteen (or twelve or ten ) hiking
boots but, as Nigel's super-sense told him, something far worse. He felt
the slugs, snails and slime SQUELCH in his stomach, his youthful years
flashed before him (just as they always do in these scenarios except
that once the actors/actresses had finished playing out his life they
quietly moved off stage to the amazement of those around the pentagon)
and he cowered behind his rucksack. Our hero was afraid! "OH NO!", I
hear you whine. The creature had been 'beam me down Scottied' from some
out of this world place and was none other than that fat bastard in the
extra large Mr. Wimpy foam-filled suit (that kid-hedgehogs love to beat
up) with his size 27-and-a-half hedgehog squashing shoes. Thus arrives
the new character that you have all been awaiting. Mr. Wimpy had been
summoned by those who hated Nigel for one reason and one reason only -
Nigel looked on....

Unaware of our hero's presence, the five colleagues continued their
meeting of the evil-o-mobility society. They chanted strange songs,
mostly with 'Nigel' placed somewhere in their long and complicated
verses and it was truly clear to Nigel they created this beast to
destroy him. His heart sank at this thought, but he knew he must leave
this evil abode for a place where the rather large Mr. Wimpy could not
reach him. He placed his hiking boots back on, and ran out of the house,
trying not to make any noise but failing totally. The five colleagues
heard his presence, and altered Mr. Wimpy to his actions. Mr. Wimpy was
after him!

Nigel deftly ran through the house and out of the door in a blind panic.
Mr. Wimpy turned, and started to lumber through the house (and I mean
through the house as he was too big to get through a door and simply
charged through the walls). Through all the noise it was possible to
hear Nigel scream for help as he threw himself headlong through the
garden. Out through the front door burst Mr. Wimpy taking off most of
the front wall of the house. He lumbered through the hot summer air
towards Nigel as Nigel ran through the motel car part towards his car.
He threw himself into the car, threw it into first gear and drove out
through the barrier. Mr. Wimpy was now catching up, Nigel looked through
his back window to see Mr. Wimpy coming closer through the car park...
"Oh shit!". muttered Nigel through his teeth....

 Suddenly Nigel remembered one of his most neglected superpowers;
that of the ability to fly through the air at the speed of light. He
leaped two inches into the air and dropped again, leaped and dropped
again, and again and again and then it occurred to him that he was
confusing his own powers with those of superman. The shadow of Mr.
Wimpy's huge right foot fell over Nigel and in abject terror he began
to whimper and wail for his mother. The word 'mother' had a strange and
unexpected effect on Mr. Wimpy; he stepped back as a wave of misery
broke over him, taking in its wake the fine veneer he had constructed
around himself to protect him from the memory of his childhood. Nigel,
quick-witted as ever, did not hesitate to take advantage of the
situation by melodramatically unveiling his...
cryptosonichydrojetrocketdoublebacksomersaultjoanbijentlaserfiredbig
knife from his utility belt. He dodged the huge descending right foot
and lunged the knife upwards towards Mr. Wimpy's groinal area. The knife
pierced through Mr. Wimpy's foam suit with relative ease and whipped off
his large testes in one swift manoeuvre. Mr. Wimpy's bulk crashed to the
floor, withered and then disappeared, leaving behind nothing but one
testicle. Nigel was hungry, but not that hungry, in spite of the fact
that he knew testicles were the main ingredient in the Wimpy Bar's food.
He decided on reflection to leave and continue with his goal. He turned
and headed back towards his car. Then suddenly the testicle groaned and
began to mutate and assume a human-like face, Nigel turned at the
moaning sound. He was spell-bound. The testicle began to roll towards
Nigel chanting what seemed to be some medieval Latin chorus. Then it
said in a rather effeminate voice "What's your name big-boy, mine's
Fatlegsmason, the grand wizard testicle of chaos". Without waiting for a
reply the friendly testicle vanished into the mist as if summoned by
some higher power.



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