Princes Never Saw Bjorn Free Fall into Orbiting Custard Tart Droppings

Bryan, Callum, Doug, Warren

29th May, 1992

It was a lovely day in the snow when Anja met her fateful fate. Just as the scythe hurtled down from the passing Lear jet, her awkward kneebrace melted, and so did the artificial snow. Bruce was nowhere to be seen, which was good since no one wanted to see him anyway. The passing jet passed. Later it exploded killing the entire population of a small hamlet at the foot of the volcano. Bruce was still nowhere to be seen. Four months passed, and the property developers moved in. Bruce was seen. Nobody seemed to care much, either for Bruce or the hamlet - a tragedy which Shakespeare never got to write, being drunk and apres Peter Greenaway at the time.

Anja, by this time, was maudlin as hell, and decided that a good solution for her woes was to bury her kneebrace near 3 teaspoons of copper sulphate in a large beaker of water. Failing this, cooking them in a moderate oven would have served admirably but for the piano which then ripped into their frame of reference and crushed both ears. Meanwhile, Anja was attempting to find another kneebrace but it was nearly dark, Bruce caught fire but didn't burn very brightly. He'd developed a strong allergy to Anja's kneebraces, and sneezing tended to inhibit burning, but bravely Bruce blazed as best he could. Unfortunately, he was extinguished by a passing bunch of do-gooder girl guides who handed out biscuits to the onlookers. They contained 2 cups of flour, 1 egg, 100 grams of butter, a cup of milk, beaten well and never flayed alive.

After pouring this onto the car engine, the guides realised that their nerve endings were being mutilated by the sword that Anja was attacking them with. Her eyeballs glistening (with egg yolk), she recalled the egg scene from Tampopo and promptly orgasmed, shedding fabulous steaming oysters of slime all over their bleeding skinless bodies of water. Several years later in a small mud hut in the deepest jungle a complete idiot was eating a lump of mud to the sound of a recorded meal being eaten to the sound of a recorded meal being eaten. Despite the recursiveness, the mud was still able to stick in his throat and kill her. Played backwards at 78rpm, the disk uttered weird satanistic noises and turned into a huge, hairy, red, apple. The unknown mud eating female was so shocked she forgot for a moment she existed, and vanished leaving behind a small lump of partly eaten mud.

The 78rpm huge, hairy, red, apple was fed slowly into the juice extractor providing a fine refreshing thirst quencher for all present. A thousand hairy savages sitting down to lunch never bathed in an Irish stew due to the illogical nature of the aforested parkland that will be created in ten million years if the government ever get off their fat bums. But this was getting Anja nowhere. She had left Prunella standing in a custard tart naked, while Prince Bjorn drooled over the orbiting droppings. Having a strange feeling of deja vu, she left the gas on and moved to the south of France where the gas company and NZI home insurance would never find her. Suddenly an interplanatory match re-entered over the gas company, and the force of the resulting explosion blew NZI, the gas company and her into space, where they were hit by a passing comet.

Meanwhile back at the object with the gas on tap and the beer in the pot there was absolutely no doubt that had crawled out of the primeval sludge all those billions of years ago. His ear with his hind leg, Ozalp bit off Patrick's decaying leg and spat it as far as it could go, despite the lack of grammatical correctness in this sentence so far. Obviously a decent amount of editing will have to be done before the reader can deduce what has been written. Nonetheless, Ozalp's back on the game again. Oh, spare me this embuggerance, let's give Ozalp a good rest.

Peering through the smog-shrouded eucalypts, they waited and waited..... and waited...., they waited for what seemed like hours but was really just..... hours. Finally a signal arrived, the eucalypt was no longer blocking and they could continue. ``Oh good'' said EDEADLOCK and was instantly shot by a band of roving POSIX enforcers who made the inquisition look like a caffeine-free tea party. ``Raise that signal again and you'll know what it's like to have a perforated ulcer - from the outside!'' they mocked, and were suddenly gobbled up by a rather hungry looking TCP agent and IP'd right out of the story. Meanwhile in a quiet backwater: two old idiots were trying to construct a steam driven Concorde. The Concorde began to boil and steam issued from the armpit of a nearby onlooker. Having shaved it the previous day, it was still stinging from the deoderant she had put on this morning. Prunella put these things aside and turned to watch the volcano descend slowly on another channel. She had given up watching `Georgie and the Incredible Kneeling Bananas' as too intellectual for three people, let alone half an hour of incestuous tea-making in a vat of brothel broth. Luckily, her brain exploded and added the much needed meat to the brothel broth. Nearby, a paragraph ended.

The previous paragraph restarted throwing the story into literary recursion but luckily Ozalp happened past and, noticing the quandary, he thrust the samurai sword deep into its loins, indeed up to the very hilt! Withdrawing the sword and sliding it into the scabbard, Ozalp wiped the sweat from his doggy-brow, lifted a leg and piddled on a passing toddler. Anja scolded him, but couldn't help laughing as the volcano approached the speed of light and was henceforth not involved in this story, except that it was. Bruce's inestimable piano, sailing merrily through the disaster, went unnoticed, as if it was inconsequential as well. However, we all know that Bruce caught fire and burned to death earlier in the story. Meanwhile the now long forgotten steam driven Concorde boiled and began to run down the runway, wearing runners, until it stumbled over Bruce's piano at which it took offence and stopped stumbling in protest at all the noise that was emanating in the corner of the nearby sphere.

Bjorn's custard agreed to suspend all nuclear testing in the grey pallor in which it now stood, confused by all the coloured lights that suddenly appeared in the next sentence. Coloured Lights suddenly appeared in the sky. ``Oh, UFOs'' thought Arthur the ageing stuffed efelant. Arthur was struck by the nearest available bulldozer. All that remained was a tattered old dressing-gown. It seemed reasonable at this point that Stuart should laugh, although for no apparent reason. So, not wishing to appear too thin, or indeed to appear at all, Joseph went off to his 2nd year lab on occupying too many dowels on Fridays for pregnant elderberries. His hideous face only made matters worse, and the doctor began to cry as she lost all touch with reality and the surrounding partitions.

Her mind became a spinning vortex of psychedelic confusion, the colours vaguely reminiscent of a Sunview demo. She collapsed unconscious, and then again, and again, and again, and once more, again. As consciousness returned she realised that the author didn't know who she was. ``Call me Lucy'' she said. ``Ok'' said the author who had her hit by a bus. ``I don't like the name Lucy'' he thought. The bus was called Andrew and didn't believe in author intervention and story meta-talk. Neither did he believe in ghosts, fairies, or little green men despite the best efforts of his computer science lecturers. As the blood dripped slowly off his anger, he began running in circles and ate the postman! Yes, poor Pat who sat on the thermonuclear mat, was blown into millions of small molecules by the force of the thermonuclear custard. Pat was not very alive. In fact, he had never been. And he will be never more. Nevermore! ``Arrrrggh, it's alive it's alive, all right I did it, now shut that bloody heart up before I go insane!'' Robert uttered as the police drove another nail into an old piece of wet newspaper.

Mary had a little lamb, its fleece was black as soot, and everywhere that Mary went the lamb could not go, since it had only one leg and four heads due to fallout from the large thermonuclear explosion that occurred a few sentences ago. ``Ahh, that must belong to me.'' He quickly thrust it into his pocket where it continued to bulge suspiciously for a few minutes before realising that no-one was paying it the slightest attention. Yorrick strode on into the bulge, where he blugh his bugle at the passing busload of oily swines who wrote tersely on the side of the bus with oil. It skidded and plunged off the cliff, smashing into thousands of tiny pieces of marshmallow when it hit the bugle below. ``Toot'', went the bugle, in likeness of Thomas the tank stand, SPLAT! went the oil covered bus, bus error, people dumped. Kernel was not happy about this and decided to dump the stack, right on top of the, by now flattened and oil stained bus, which was now completely corrupted due to a writable text segment. Wishing he'd been compiled in COFF he continued to write system pages to the swap partition in a pointless effort to crash gracefully. ``SIGPWR!'', he exclaimed, as the unused sigvec(2)s passed aimlessly around his head(1). He was kill(2)ed.

Fortunately, just as the previous author was raving on and on, Bjorn strode back into the pitching room, his sporran covered in albatross and then he was dead. ``Thank Goodness for that'' exclaimed the albatross, and promptly flew out of the submarine's porthole. The Submarine began to leak and leak, until it became a leak and was eaten by a group of starving and semiotic pizzas. Bjorn and Anja scoffed at them as they undid the end of the tiger's tail. Water began to fall out of the large opening between their legs. They moved to one side so that the sewage outlet could continue its messy mission without further hindrance nor, indeed, endangerment to their own clothing's integrity. Wondering why the lines of force between the magnets had dwindled away to nothing, they were soon aware that the shredding noise behind them was actually their own feet being mangled by an attenuated persimmon. Not to be outdone, the next author glcrq na ragver cuenfr juvpu unq orra cer-EBG13'q which threw them all into confusion over the possibility of immaculate conception. Not only that, the anti-matter was now escaping and threatened to take over the keyboard.

Suddenly, there was a. change, in the Grammar and little of the. story? made sense, bannana at normality returned just in tme for the line to end a bit short. Temporarly losng the letter `', the confuson contnued untl all nvolved n the dastardly plot were hung, drawn, and quartered, and the secret cache of i's was discovered. ``Boy, I'm hungry,'' sighed Ozalp, his long nose glinting in the darkness as the steroids took effect. His ovoid nostrils flared as he hit the runway in an event of monumental drasticness.

Apparently, Anja was pregnant! What a turn of events! Will she be her own midwife, or will the previous line end too soon, does Robert really know what happened to the small brown stone in Arthur's pocket? and who is Anthony Berger? does anyone really know what happened to Mary's Cello? does anyone care? Does Bryan know that if he runs addline twice he re-encrypts his addition? Does he care? Will there be an end to these questions? Find out in the next exciting episode - same bat-time, same bat-channel!! The announcer was shot by several hundred rounds of machine-gun fire.

The next exciting epsiode never came. Instead, the root partition came to a grinding halt, with everyone onboard killed instantly in a screeching cockatoo. Well, four or five at the most. Nevertheless, all the mess was soon cleaned up and the floors waxed and polished. Prunella slipped and fell down a set of symbolic stairs. Meanwhile in a cheese factory in Russia, ... nothing was happening. Suddenly, more nothingness occurred, quickly followed by a large hurtling non-event. They were all taken quite aback. Never before had so little happened in such a short space of time. Just when it looked like all the crumbs would make the car engine start, Anja's pager went off. As she answered it, she discovered that her daughter Cheryl had been seen falling from an aircraft window. Anja was about to panic when she was killed by a gang of pager and mobile phone haters. Cheryl thought that her wits were at an end, so she ran out of the room, screaming in utter utters, at which point the alien broke through the flesh of her neck and burst out in a cloud of thick red blood, which in the absence of gravity floated around the now crippled body. The alien grabbed a Coke but decided on the blood instead, just for the taste of it.

Luckily, Roger Ramjet burst onto the scene, but unluckily, because of lack of gravity and a large amount of inertia, burst out on the opposite side. He scrambled frantically for one of his proton pills, but found some anjabolic steroids instead, which made Dennis very jealous. Dennis began cramming as many as he could into his mouth until his face could not be seen for all the little arms and legs waving about. His face was swollen and red, and approaching a state of apoplexy. He exploded. Ambulances exploded. The sky exploded. The ground exploded. The air ... exploded. The Author... EXPLODED. jghd rutwhgxrdstdxhg ttj r& & & & & . As he lay in a pile of smoldering typographical symbols, he realised that his time was short. Not as short as some, but still, enormously short. He raised his head to gaze blearily at the crowd of onlookers, and fell short of the margin by just the amount needed to fall short of the margin. It was a marginal, unforgiveable error, and he was hit by an orbiting custard tart for his mistake. Bjorn sneezed and finally the Earth re-entered normal space. Wet and covered in green phlegm it oozed its way back into orbit around the sun. Bjorn meanwhile was still being dragged into the giant black hole which had suddenly appeared in his handkerchief and began to break up under the intense gravitational strain. It looked like the people of Earth could resume their lives without the worry of an attack of hay-fever.