Tuesday

Zezaurian Survival Dept. expedition goes awry

So, Dr. Dolorous and I made it back alive from the forest after our Boxing Day camping extravaganza, and let me tell you, that perverted toe-rag really puts the 'camp' back into camping. We set off in the early afternoon as the sun slowly descended in the dull grey sky, causing the temperature to drop quicker than Drib Drab's trousers in a dark Soho side street.

As promised, we took nothing with us but a knife, an axe, and a box of matches. I also took my trusty harmonica along to provide us with some light entertainment (the doctor says it'll make it's own way out without surgical intervention if I eat plenty of roughage).

It was a struggle to even make our way into the woods, as there was a swarm of doggers congregated in the car park awaiting their sordid peep show. To avoid their twisted leers, we followed the perimeter of the forest, found a way in through a hedge and tried to locate a spot to erect a shelter.

The darkness was deeply oppressive, which, coupled with the fractured squawks of hungry birds and Dr. Dolorous' asthmatic breathing had a very unsettling effect on my mind. I persevered, gripping the axe tightly in readiness for any wild beast that dared come near. To be truthful though, my main concern was fending off any sudden amorous advances from my companion. After the passage of several hours and many arguments, we found a suitable clearing and constructed a crude bivouac that would serve as our home for the remainder of the night. We built a feeble fire and had a long discourse regarding the nature of existence, but after a while our thoughts inevitably turned to food, of which we had none.

We made several unsuccessful attempts at killing a lame rabbit with a woggly eye, but each time we went to deliver the death-blow, our wimpy consciences sprang up and barred the way. The cold was starting to creep into our bones, my hands were blue, and I began to think that our chances of survival were as tiny as Drib Drab's winky. As the Doctor began to weep and curse that we could have possibly thought this trip was a good idea, my eyes rapidly trained upon a cluster of mushrooms sprouting from the fertile forest soil. Problem solved.

After the consumption of several large helpings of 'delicious' mushroom stroganoff, we sat lazily by the crackling fire and gazed up at the moon through the silhouetted treetops. Considering that I expected this expedition to be the death of us, things were going pretty damn well, and I actually began to enjoy myself. However, things are never that simple when Zezaurians are involved. The Doctor began to glare at me in a very alarming way and started addressing me as 'Barbara'. “Barbara darling, come and sit upon mother's bosom” he purred, slowly rising from the ground and moving towards me.

I wasn't feeling quite right myself either, and had spent the previous thirty minutes wondering why there were flashing neon signs promising 'Girls, Girls, Girls' in the middle of a forest, and I couldn't figure out why my feet were reciting poetry. I still had enough sense to get away from that depraved maniac Dolorous though. I darted into the pitch black unknown but he was hot on my heels. The trees developed personalities and faces, I heard sweet jazz music float through the air and saw giant foxes smoking pipes and wearing dinner jackets. I quickly began to suspect that the mushrooms we ingested weren't quite kosher.

Dolorous eventually caught up with me, crying “Barbara, don't leave!” as we collapsed into an addled, gesticulating heap at the bottom of a ditch. From this point onward until the sun rose, my mind draws an inexplicable blank. I don't know whether it was the dodgy mushrooms or some sort of head injury, but I can't for the life of me recall what occurred during those lost hours. One thing I do know though, is that that bloody pervert did not in any way interfere with me sexually. No way Jose. Not in a month of Sundays. No sir. Not a chance.

I hope Drib Drab remembers to pick up my Anusol cream from the chemist.

11 comments:

  1. This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.

    ReplyDelete
  2. i actually cried reading this.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Drib Drab sort of looks like a paedophile anyway so i'm sure he felt right at home with the unconsious wee Morose.

    ReplyDelete
  4. Er...can we please leave Drib Drab out of this, it was Dr Dolores that went to the forest with him. I was too busy dining with hot peng...I mean hot ladies.

    ReplyDelete
  5. Drib Drab does not look like a paedophile. He looks like this slab of hunk:

    http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2089/2046438802_d7ad7cc897.jpg

    ReplyDelete
  6. no. he really does.

    ReplyDelete
  7. i've seen drib drab naked and he looks more like a skinny heath ledger than a fiddler of kids. mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

    ReplyDelete
  8. there's a lot of gay going ons in this society, isn't there?

    ReplyDelete
  9. ^Well, 'Anonymous'(what kind of stupid-arse name is that anyway?) Although your comment comes across as rather homophobic and offensive to the gay community, I think you're secretly pining for a mouthful of cock.

    ReplyDelete
  10. This posting was a bit too long for me to bother reading all of it but as far as I can see, it should really translate as:
    Over Christmas, me and my best (non-gay) friend huddled up on the sofa to watch Wallace & Gromit et al. We drank my parents' booze while they served us vegan food.
    Then we went to bed, cuddled and talked about bikes until we fell asleep nose to nose.
    (But let's tell everybody we did something cool and daring).

    ReplyDelete