The 'P' Files

(The Extremely-long-and-often-pointless-text-message Is Out There!)
Shortly after I got my mobile phone, I discovered the joy of...(Dum da da DUM...) TEXT MESSAGES!  I frequently exchange text messages with my friend April and her boyfriend, Craig, on Craig's mobile phone. The following are transcripts of ACTUAL messages/conversations we've had through text messaging. (C- Craig, A- April, M- me. Obviously.)
"Why the hell should I bother reading this?" you may ask. Well, do you have anything better to do? Didn't think so. Enjoy!

Monday August 7th, 2000- the Venzuelan Jig Of Apprehension

M- My phone is working! (Does the Lithuanian Dance of Joy)

C&A- Not the Caribbean Sacrificial Mambo?

M- No, the Lithuanian Dance of Joy (and the Agadoo)

C&A- Is that anything like the Venezuelan Jig of Apprehension?

M- No, it's more like the Ugandan Polka of Whimsy.

C&A- Aha...ahahaha! That involves a beagle, some chocolate body paint and a belt sander, right?

M- Don't forget the wetsuit, 12 gallons of glue, and the world's largest pork rind.

C&A- How could I forget? ...Errgh! To this day, I maintain that that was NOT me, that could be anybody's bum in that photo!

M- You had your name and address written on it!

C&A- Damn, I knew that label maker would be my downfall!

M- Serves you right for using it to attack those midgets! Oh, and can I have my pork rind back?

C&A- Aah, you remember that time I 'pretended' to throw your pork at that horde of invading rabid musk rats?

M- You gave my pork to the musk rats? That's it! You can kiss your orange poodle milker goodbye!

C&A- NO! NOT MY POODLE MILKER! HOW FIENDISH! HOWEVER I WILL ROTATE MY SPASMODIC ROCK BEAVERS WITHOUT MY POODLE MILKER! (The orange one, that is.)

M- OH YEAH? THEN I'LL ATTACK THE CITY OF THE SWEDISH POPCORN CURLERS WHILE SHOUTING THE WAR CRY OF THE HOMICIDAL YODELLERS!

Thursday August 10th, 2000- 99.99999999 percent of website owners have a point. And then there's me.

M&A- Anyone can make up statistics. Forfty percent of people know that.

C- 1 out of 3 polls found that cyclists chained their bikes to it.

M&A- There is a 4 percent genetic difference between a soprano and a pit-bull.

C- 40 percent of statisticans can't do basic maths. The remaining 75 percent can't talk proper.

Thursday, August 17th, 2000. Star Wars 2- The Intergalactic Space Weasels Strike Again!

C&A- Breaka, breaka! Do you copy, good buddy? 10-4.

M- I read ya loud and clear, Red Dragon. Over.

C&A- I got two bogeys on my tail, red leader. I'm goin' in at full throttle- that ought to keep those rebel fighters off our tail!

M- Quick, we've only got 5 seconds to destroy the death star!

C&A- Copy, Gold Leader! Set porcupine bombs to full and back up the cheese toast generator. You better get the president to safety.

M- MAYDAY! MAYDAY! The purple flying dustpans are attacking and the (minty fresh) shield of protection is down!

C&A- Gasp! Quick, divert all power from the sequential ferret massager to the rear deflector shield (mmm, it is minty!) and engage the reverse cycle twin cam boosters.

M- Engaged! The purple dustpans are on the run! We've saved the Land of Happy Pink Gherkins from the evil Sloth Overlords!

C&A- Great! Contact the Gorgon Namptha people and tell them to prepare for our return...Wait! We're heading into a souffle asteriod field! DO SOMETHING!

M- Raise the wall of sharp, pointy things and release the intergalactic weasels!

C&A- The weasels? Are you sure that's a good idea? Last time it took me three days to get them out of the sewerage and ventilation shafts.

M- Good point. Maybe we should release the transdimensional goslings instead.

C&A- Good call. You do that while I untangle the universal tentacle of involuntary spasmodic hip replacements from the antenna. This bad reception is bugging me.

M- DID ANYONE RESCUE THE PRESIDENT?!

C&A- Umm... I thought you did. Ooh, the Gorgons are NOT going to like this!

M- Maybe we could dress up one of the intergalactic weasels...

C&A- Get the masking tape and a thick black texta. IF ANYONE finds out about this, we're both cooked!

M- I think we might need about 5 pounds of camel hair.

C&A- Hmmm... (Looks at picture of King Johnny) better make it 10.

M- Hold still, you stupid weasel! Aah, it's tentacles are in my eye!

C&A- That's not it's tentac...OW! It bit me! There. How does that look?

M- I think we need a little more ground up entrails- and a touch more camel hair.

C&A- Yeah, and we'll have to do something about it's other 5 arms. Maybe if we tape them back around it's head... Somebody's coming! Hide the blender!

M- Oh, shnarkle, it's the Gorgon High Council! No time to tape up the arms! Maybe they won't notice...

C&A- Uuh, your highness! So good to see you! The President? Sure, he's right here! (Start the car...)

M- Yes, he's always had 17 arms. Really? He hasn't? What's that over there? (RUN!)

C&A- *Peter Gunn Theme* Down this way. No, it's a dead end! What about down here? Escape pods! Quick, set a course for Druidia!

M- Oh no, they're following us! And they're firing the "lasers"!

C&A- Let's lead them back through the souffle field! Then we'll see who has egg on their face!

M- Setting a course for souffle field. Wall of sharp pointy things up. Hope this works!

C&A- Hang on to something. Here it comes! BADABOOM! It worked! We got 'em!

M- Once again, the universe is safe for puppy dogs, avant garde poets, and manufacturers of cheap, low grade windshields!

C&A- And don't forget the weasels! Hahahaha *cannned laughter* Until next time...

Thursday, September 7th, 2000. Craig's over stressed hair needs counselling!

M- I'm celebrating the start of my holiday with a text message! (I would've started it with a bang, but they were fresh out of 'bang' at the supermarket).

C- I'm celebrating the start of my holiday with- actually, I hadn't thought that far ahead yet!

M- When do your holidays start?

C- Saturday. Can't wait! I hope the weather gets better so there can be some serious beach hitting! (OW! Quit it!)

M- Have you been attacking the beaches again? Remember that restraining order!

C- He started it! Besides, the AVO expired yesterday! He he he...excellent.

M- Now I don't want to have to bail you out again- there's only so many times I'll lie in court, you know!

C- Well, I thought you could bribe them with some shampoo (mum just asked me if my hair is over stressed...)

M- What have you been doing to overstress your hair, hmmm?

C- Well there was that time that my fringe had to land that 747 to save the NATO execs...

M- Oh yeah, I remember that! Didn't your scalp have to negotiate with those terrorists at the same time?

C- Yeah, it was about the time that my sideburns lost all that money on the stock market.

M- I think your hair might need follicle counselling. One day it could have a total breakdown, and that would be REALLY unattractive.

C- I know it's already receeding, I don't need it regressing as well!

M- Or you could just buy some of that really nice shampoo- I think the counselling might be cheaper.

C- Probably only cost me an arm and a leg instead of a colon and a spleen too.

M- Just as long as they don't get your pancreas- that's your secret weapon in the war against evil!

C- That's right and it's nearly back up to full strength after that tangle with John Laws- Geez, he;s a feisty old bastard when you get him fired up!
 

Thursday 9th and Friday 10th November, 2000. The Adventures of the Exotic Parasitic Sloth!

M- The adventures of the Exotic Parasitic Sloth bagan one fine summer morning, when...

C- ...the sloth knocked on the dorr or his friend, Mr Spontaneously Spasmodically Challenged Tree Frog only to find that... he was home. BUT! His wife had been...

M- Turned into an orange monkey with numerous skin and bladder problems. What was the sloth to do?

C- The only thing he knew how to do... DANCE! Yes, the sloth was Michael Flatley's cousin's father's sister's former room mate!
While dancing, he discovered that...

M- as the incoherant flailing of his limbs got faster and faster, he started to become airbourne! Gyrating wildly, he ascended into...

C- A High-5 concert and the awaiting clutches of his arch-nemesis, That-One-That-Looks-A-Bit-Like-Tim-Fergeson.
"Well well, Sloth, we meet again! Prepare to be..."

M- "dressed in unspeakably loud clothes and forced to dance in front of hordes of brainwashed children! Ha ha ha!"
Suddenly, the door crashed open, and there stood...

C- Bruce Willis! At an alarmingly slow rate, Bruce turned and his obscene coolness swamped the room, forcing the temperature to plummet 17'. He slowly spoke...

M- "Could I borrow a cup of mustard? I seem to have... Oh, God no! It's Hi-5! Aaaaaaaaah!"
As Bruce fled in terror, the Sloth saw his chance and...

C- He dove on Fim Tergeson, grabbed him by the head and proceeded to give him a vicious Atomic Eye-Brow Noogie! With that, he turned, only to be confronted by...

M- The Wiggles! Oh no! And with them was that pawn of Satan, Demonithy The Dinosaur! "Give up Sloth!" she said. "You're surrounded by child entertainers!"

C- It looked hopeless. Just when the Exotic Parasitic Sloth was about to give up, Judo John and Ninja Noni (Playschool) came out of nowhere. "We'll take these amatuers!"

M- (to the tune of 'The Wheels on the Bus') The Playschool Ninjas went chop chop chop, and killed the evil children's entertainers!
 


More to come later!

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