people to think it was a story about a mouse...
So for all you who are curious, we decided to follow Stuart MacBride for a
day. While we suspected it might be six hours of him sleeping in his
backyard and attempting to communicate with the nearby frolicking squirrels,
the truth was far more disturbing...
In our first photo, Stuart is running from the grounds of Buckingham Palace.
In a bold publicity move, he decided to copy the Father's rights groups and
dress as a super hero. But in a huge blunder, he mistakenly thought the
superhero, "The Flash" was not just his name but what he did. The Queen was
not amused...
After that embarrassment, he boarded a plane from Heathrow and flew to New
York City to join up with John Rickards an a lunch hour tour for the
bluegrass band "Stewie and the Cowtones". Their breakout hit "My fat baby
loves to eat" Hear the live performance** Stuart was on Banjo and lead vocals and John was backup vocals and washboard player. In this photo, You can see them playing before a harmonica playing chimp scared them off.
With their musical careers in shambles, they both took a plane and flew to
Sidney. We caught up to them at the Olympic site traveling by van to
practice for the demonstration sport of Male Synchronized Swimming. Their
hopes were dashed when they witnessed the Chinese team.
So they flew to China. We caught up with them in the Forbidden City after
they were told by their new swimming coach "You too dense, never float". So
they resolved to return to England and continue being writers. But first a
brief stop in Moscow to "sign some books"
We found them at their final destination, where they were seen fleeing Red
Square on a bus after "accidentally" thawing out Lenin. They were arrested
and taken by the FSB and were exchanged for two Russian authors who were in
jail for an undisclosed reason involving vodka, fish sticks and a heavy set
woman named Olga. After catching a ride on a CIA-chartered flight, they were
back home in time for tea (and a gin chaser)
Just imagine what Stuart has in store for tomorrow!
Of course, we'd rather not think about what John has planned. But at least he left the assless chaps out of this one! (Just keep up the washboard playing John.)
* This post may not have been written by me.
** I'm not exactly a toothpick - no offense intended.
24 comments:
They wouldn't let me take them through Customs.
And I've always liked that song. "I've got blisters on these fingers!"
What, customs is actually working for a change? Wonders never cease.
Weird how each time they had their photo taken, they were standing in or driving through a big red circle painted on the floor.
It was missile defense taking aim, but Stuart and John were too quick for them.
Now you're just being silly.
Yeah, I know. They weren't too quick. It was just that the guy with his finger on the trigger was too drunk to respond promptly.
Especially when you consider what gov't was after them!
That makes much more sense.
Wow. How did you get a satellite surveillance to actually follow him?
Isn't hard when they're a threat to national security.
No, we're a threat to national 'sanity', it's different.
And as soon as the Queen got over the shock of my 'mighty man winky' she invited me back to the palace for some hot regal lovin', but I had to decline as she does smell all of corgi. Which is a lot less erotic than it sounds.
And have you seen her? I mean, Rickards might have the bar set pretty low, but really. Next thing you know Camilla would be chasing you around.
When you are that rich, you can smell of what you want.
I know if she invited me in for a night of hot lovin' with the promise of a little something from her will, I certainly wouldn't say no. But then:
a) I'm not fussy anyway
b) Any port in a storm
c) I've never had an OAP
Yeah, but what if all she promised you was communicable and brought an unpleasant death? Would you still be that easy?
LMAO!!
Interesting question, Ms Blabber. Is sex with the Queen worth dying for? Even I'd have to say no to that one. Probably.
Hi Trace! (btw, I've changed my profile in an effort to be helpful to you.)
So even the easiest of men has a line he won't cross.
Well, I did say probably.
Who knows, even in the knowledge that certain death would follow, when faced with Mrs Windsor wearing nothing more than her crown and a pair of thigh-high leather, 6" stilletto boots (and a griddle, of course), I might just have to ... *thought continued in the comfort of my bedrom, with a tub of vaseline and a box of tissues*
Of course, Zara Phillips in her full riding gear (avec whip)... well, death would be a small price to pay.
Night all.
Griddle? Is that to make you waffles with afterwards?
And if I'm dead, the point in that would be?
Boy, better the queen in nothing but stilettos than Charles in a pink baby doll.
Stuart in a kilt, now that's another matter entirely.
Gabriele, its so hard to type when you're doubled over laughing!
Good point, Gabriele, although...
... if I am ever to have a homosexual encounter, I would prefer it to be immediately before I died. At least then "the rest of my life" would be sufficiently short for me not to stress too much about it afterwards. That's always assuming I didn't enjoy it, of course.
More seriously though, I've always been a firm believer in it's not who's pressing the buttons, more which buttons they press. It would be nice to confirm or deny this before I croaked.
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