Ole shooey is not a well chap tonight. He nearly lost his tongue and his precious life. The shoos did it!
He was digging away looking for some fabric samples when something very unexpected happened. For some reason, his shoos started to attack him. He has given them a good home and looked after them, yet his shoos decided to inflict harm.
He had the shoos stacked on a shelf high up to the roof. When shooey bent down to find the material samples, he bumped the shelves and all the shoos (wooden trees inside them...make boxes extra heavy) fell down and smashed him on the back of the head.
Ole shooey fell face first into the ground, bit his freaken tongue and had a face full of carpet. He actually was knocked out for a short time. Now he feels concussed, spaced out and crook, and his eyes are all cross eyed.
lt all ends good hopefully. One good thing he found was the R.M.Williams boots he's been searching for for 3 days. He found them in the rubbish bin.
Is this what they mean by the other shoe dropping?
"Attack of the Killer Shoos"--sounds like a good title for a low-budget horror movie.
Anyway, glad you made it, although there would have have been something kind of poetic or symbolic had you been crushed by your own shoos. The sad thing is, we probably never would have heard about and always wondered what fate befell The Shooman.
Last edited by captainpreppy (2008-04-09 10:06:46)
Dear distinguished Sir,
May I express my greatest condolences regarding your dreadful brush with Fate. I regret to say that I experienced a similarly harrowing event lately when I was compelled to be a passenger on one of those vulgar aero-planes, and, as I was giving myself a full wet shave in the on-board water closet, with a proper straight razor of course, the blasted machine was suddenly subjected to some fearsome turbulence. I completely soiled the front of my ascot with blood, as well as the looking-glass and rest of the tiny cabin, but fortunately the wound was not mortal. After I was bandaged and made my way painfully back to my assigned seat, the other passengers applauded - though, I have a gnawing suspicion, not at my survival, but at the blood that had soiled my Gentlemanly attire - the beasts.
I have the distinct honour to remain, Sir,
Your Most Obedient and Humble Servant,
Theodore Ebeneezer Alphonus St Bonar, Esquire.
Sleep with one eye opened, your Oxxford suit is probably scheming to suffocate you when you least expect it.
Cap'n,
Must have been a private aircraft. No one of T.E.A.St.B.'s obvious eminence would deign to fly commercially.
Last edited by flannel (2008-04-10 02:24:12)
My dear & esteemed Sirs,
Much gratitude is pro-offered from my person for the concern about my tragic affair upon that ill-fated aero-plane journey, from which, Almighty be blessed, only a small scar remains. I know not the regulations for such machines, though it was an international itenerary, and mercifully no troubles were encountered in my possession of the razor in question; how else would one equip one's toilet, good Sirs? Regrettably, that particular leg of the journey was not possible via train or ship schedules, another sad bit of commentary on the state of affairs in this day and time.
I remain, my dear Sirs,
Your Most Humble and Obedient Servant,
Theodore Ebeneezer Alphonsus St Bonar, Esquire.
Thank you , Mr Shoo for helping here, to expose the Belinda .