Is everyone having a nice summer so far? You must be if you are not a Phillies fan. Up until recently, I was having the usual summer experience -- wiping the sweat from my knees, drinking iced maple syrup, and hunting spray-tanned sea serpents at the Jersey Shore.
It all started last week when I had to flee Philadelphia because the Sun broke into my apartment, beat me with my own sweat glands, and drank all my beer. I managed to escape just before it started to spit humidity balls into my hair by jumping onto my American-TARDIS I always keep in my cheap-laughs closet for such emergencies. (Previously used to travel to the Planet Gettysburg).
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| Good for escaping life-threatening danger & a convenient way to get from West Philly to Biff's Pleasure Paradise |
I telepathically told TARDIS by screaming to take me somewhere the sun wouldn't find me, and where I could hide under an umbrella at all times for further protection and secrecy. Immediately, it transported me through time, space, and ultimately a glowing cock-ring portal to deliver me unto a land called "London."
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| Welcome to London! |
After being ejaculated through the portal and regaining blood-flow from the prolonged journey, I was pleased to see this London was indeed a land the Sun does not visit often. I decided to hideout here for a few days since I figured the Suncunt would hopefully drop its sweaty balls on some other town that I don't live in by then.
My first plan was to find a local resident who could help me quickly get acclimated/drunk. Luckily I didn't have to go far to find a police officer, or as they say in London a "sith lord" who was able to point me in the right direction.
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| "Welcome to London, you fat, bearded bitch" |
He directed me to the bloated purple cow behind him for further instructions on how to make the most of my stay in London, and advised me to avoid the large inflatable pink tauntaun down the road.
The strong udder juice from the purple cow combined with the cock-ring portal aftershock proved to be a bad idea in that it made me do a really shit job of painting lines in the street, but I was relieved later to find out it didn't matter that I did it wrong since no one drives on the right part of the street anyway.
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| Not the good kind of white lines |
I was really enjoying my time in London. Everyone was so friendly and always willing to lend a hand, even hold back your hair while you vomit up excess purple udder juice while they are poppin' a squat at the same time.
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| Like, OMG, I like use the SAME tampons! |
While using one of these royal thrones--just to update Facebook and play Angry Birds of course--a London woman on the toilet next to me told me I should definitely get "Vajazzled" or as the kids now call it, "The Queen's Jubilee" if I wanted to be able to use the most exclusive public duo-toilets in London.
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| Hollywood Bikini includes 3 free taint Botox treatments |
After I got all vajazzy, I decided to hit the town again and fuel up on some more London juice. I found a cozy little pub perfectly hidden in a swath of rain-swollen clouds. Luckily earlier that day I purchased a traditional potato jacket, as sometimes London get tater-tot hail. But after settling down for my first bushel of ale I noticed in horror that the Sun had sent a not-so-sectret detective to find me. Nice try Mr. Bloke-man, but I see through your camouflage!
The Sun was clever, but not clever enough. After slugging several ale bushels down my neck, I quietly escaped through a trap-door in the floor and used a former orc tunnel that ultimately leads to the Misty Mountains to safely return to the smial I was being let to rent.
By this time, my vacation was coming to a close and the affects of living in the future were starting to wear me down. I decided to just spend the rest of my last night quietly in my room. Little did I know that I would also solve one of the greatest London mysteries I am making up. At first I thought the sinks in this town were designed to frustrate instead of wash, but then when turning on my TV for my relaxing night in, I realized they aren't sinks AT ALL...
...they are, in fact, bath tubs for the tiny race of people who work in TVs to very subtly communicate the dialogue in scenes for deaf TV viewers. I felt really stupid for not figuring that out in the first place!
Well sadly, it was time for me to go back to Philadelphia to buy more beer for my fridge. I wanted to stay in this magical Londontown longer...soak up more beautiful rain, bask in outdoor temperatures that don't make me cranky, slurp udder juice, and show some vajazz in the sharing-is-caring ladies room. Hopefully someday soon I can return and explore more of this wondrous metropolis....if I'm allowed back....
Funnily enough was sat back in my hotel room Saturday night and I do saw the little woman in the TV :-)
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