- Thread starter
- #301
Get Lucky!
- Thread starter Njaco
- Start date
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- Thread starter
- #302
Njaco
The Pop-Tart Whisperer
Screaming Eagle
Senior Master Sergeant
Great!
Lucky13
Forum Mascot
I enjoy this....if I know Njaco, this will be a sell out! Better get your tickets now fellas while there are some left...!
wilbur1
Tech Sergeant
I just paid for mine! 2 cabbages and a rotten tomatoe
- Thread starter
- #307
Njaco
The Pop-Tart Whisperer
and that was for the lousy seats behind the columns. Anybody want to give up their sister to sit in the front row? 
wilbur1
Tech Sergeant
Hey this way i wont have to deal with all the large women hangin on lucky
- Thread starter
- #309
Njaco
The Pop-Tart Whisperer
Screaming Eagle
Senior Master Sergeant
! Now thats a quote for the ages
Lucky13
Forum Mascot
I rather dig my teeth into something eles....
- Thread starter
- #312
Njaco
The Pop-Tart Whisperer
It was a long day.
A long, hot, sweaty, underwear stuck in your butt, Everyready tasting, non-sexual, bloody day.
My name is Slade, Sam Slade and I'm a private detective. I was sitting in my Falcon, reading a magazine and getting bored out of my mind. I was on a Missing Dog case and had staked-out my client's home just for appearances. Appearances because I had found the slobbering, dopey mutt at the local animal pound 2 days ago and was just killing time, racking up the fees to his duff owner. Not that she would notice. She was as dumb as a trap door on a lifeboat. And rich. Go figure. A jet passing overhead drowned out my thoughts as I killed a fly on the windshield.
I finally decided enough was enough. So far I guess I had made enough dough off this case to keep me in Coronas for a few weeks so I put the magazine down, fired up the V8 and headed back to the office. I was blowing past traffic and scratching itches with nothing on my mind except getting paid and would Bradgelina next have triplets.
I made it to my office building, parked the car and walked to the front door. Something was waiting for me.
On the front landing was a medium sized, brown paper wrapped package. Picking it up, I could see it was sent to me but with no return address. I shook it but couldn't hear anything. There was a slight smell of garlic and Old Bay but I wasn't sure. Curious. What the hell was it and who sent it? I was contemplating taking it to my dentist for X-rays but I would need to make an appointment first. I pressed the button for the doorman, Phil, to let me in. Just as quick, his voice boomed back over the intercom.
"Who is it?" he asked.
"It's me, Slade, open up, I got a package." I replied.
I waited.
The door didn't buzz and nothing from Phil. What was he doing? I hit the door button again.
"Who is it?" he asked.
"It's me Slade, man, open up I got a package." I replied, tersely.
"Who??"
"It's Slade, man, open up, I don't want anyone to see me come in here."
Again, I waited. What was he doing? He was slower than an Arctic glacier. I was getting miffed. I pounded on the door button.
"Who is it?"
I was starting to get angrier than Hillary voters. "It's, it's Slade, man, will you open up! I got a package with me!"
"Who?!"
"SLADE!! Man, open up!"
"Slade?"
"Yeah, Slade! Come on man open up! I don't want the cops to see me!"
"Slade's Not Here!!"
I was dumbfounded! I stood there, opening and closing my mouth without saying anything. Finally I started beating on the door.
"Open Up The Door! It's Slade, you eshu koorak!!!
"Who?!"
"SLADE!! S-L-A-D-E!!!!! WILL YOU OPEN UP THE GODDAMNED DOOR!!!
"Slade?"
"YEAH Slade!!" I was starting to pant.
"Slade?"
"Right man, Slade. Now will you open up the door??"
There was a pause.
"Slade's Not Here!!"
I flipped. Rushing the door, I burst the lock and it swung open, hard, almost taking Phil's nose with it. The two of us stood facing each other in the foyer, my face redder than a smacked bum and him just wide-eyed with a slight smile showing a few camouflaged colored teeth. We didn't say anything to each other. Then I hit him so hard his children felt it and I went upstairs to my office.
A long, hot, sweaty, underwear stuck in your butt, Everyready tasting, non-sexual, bloody day.
My name is Slade, Sam Slade and I'm a private detective. I was sitting in my Falcon, reading a magazine and getting bored out of my mind. I was on a Missing Dog case and had staked-out my client's home just for appearances. Appearances because I had found the slobbering, dopey mutt at the local animal pound 2 days ago and was just killing time, racking up the fees to his duff owner. Not that she would notice. She was as dumb as a trap door on a lifeboat. And rich. Go figure. A jet passing overhead drowned out my thoughts as I killed a fly on the windshield.
I finally decided enough was enough. So far I guess I had made enough dough off this case to keep me in Coronas for a few weeks so I put the magazine down, fired up the V8 and headed back to the office. I was blowing past traffic and scratching itches with nothing on my mind except getting paid and would Bradgelina next have triplets.
I made it to my office building, parked the car and walked to the front door. Something was waiting for me.
On the front landing was a medium sized, brown paper wrapped package. Picking it up, I could see it was sent to me but with no return address. I shook it but couldn't hear anything. There was a slight smell of garlic and Old Bay but I wasn't sure. Curious. What the hell was it and who sent it? I was contemplating taking it to my dentist for X-rays but I would need to make an appointment first. I pressed the button for the doorman, Phil, to let me in. Just as quick, his voice boomed back over the intercom.
"Who is it?" he asked.
"It's me, Slade, open up, I got a package." I replied.
I waited.
The door didn't buzz and nothing from Phil. What was he doing? I hit the door button again.
"Who is it?" he asked.
"It's me Slade, man, open up I got a package." I replied, tersely.
"Who??"
"It's Slade, man, open up, I don't want anyone to see me come in here."
Again, I waited. What was he doing? He was slower than an Arctic glacier. I was getting miffed. I pounded on the door button.
"Who is it?"
I was starting to get angrier than Hillary voters. "It's, it's Slade, man, will you open up! I got a package with me!"
"Who?!"
"SLADE!! Man, open up!"
"Slade?"
"Yeah, Slade! Come on man open up! I don't want the cops to see me!"
"Slade's Not Here!!"
I was dumbfounded! I stood there, opening and closing my mouth without saying anything. Finally I started beating on the door.
"Open Up The Door! It's Slade, you eshu koorak!!!
"Who?!"
"SLADE!! S-L-A-D-E!!!!! WILL YOU OPEN UP THE GODDAMNED DOOR!!!
"Slade?"
"YEAH Slade!!" I was starting to pant.
"Slade?"
"Right man, Slade. Now will you open up the door??"
There was a pause.
"Slade's Not Here!!"
I flipped. Rushing the door, I burst the lock and it swung open, hard, almost taking Phil's nose with it. The two of us stood facing each other in the foyer, my face redder than a smacked bum and him just wide-eyed with a slight smile showing a few camouflaged colored teeth. We didn't say anything to each other. Then I hit him so hard his children felt it and I went upstairs to my office.
Attachments
Screaming Eagle
Senior Master Sergeant
nice chris!
Lucky13
Forum Mascot
(standing ovations)
- Thread starter
- #315
Njaco
The Pop-Tart Whisperer
I breezed into my office, locked the door behind me and swept the Julmust soda cans off the desk to make room for the package. There were no markings on it except my name and address and the brown paper looked as if it was made from a shopping bag. Ripping off the paper revealed a common cardboard box. Finding no marking on the box either, I cautiously opened it. It was filled with those white and green puffy, packing kernels that look like Frosty had a bowel problem. Tossing the foam popcorn out the window onto a group of Global Warming protestors on the street below, I searched inside the box. All that I found was a single piece of paper. It was a packing slip for a Tasmanian sex toy with Arabian ticklers and accessories. But the reciepient's name had been blacked out. What the hell was this? A package with just a slip of paper? Was someone playing games? Has Mike Tyson retired? I let the sheet of paper slip from my hand and fall to the floor among the pizza boxes and used thong underwear. It landed upside down on a case of Pabst Blue Ribbon where I noticed more writing on the back. Picking it up I read the scribbling.
All it said was "Meet me at the Brown Willy Bar tommorrow at noon." Noon was then crossed out and in its place was, "No, make it 1pm. I have a doctor's visit at noon." Then that was crossed out and was written, "Better make that 3 in the afternoon. 'Guiding Light' is on and I want to know what happens to Peter and Jessica. Yeah, make it 3." Then the "3" was crossed out and "5" written in along with, "Don't ask!" in crayon.
What was this, a case? An old friend? An interview with Barbara Walters? Why the elaborate box? No return address? Why Senator Biden? I decided to find the answer tommorrow at the Brown Willy, cleared off a path to the couch and started to make plans for a vacation at Disneyworld when someone knocked at my door. Cautiously I opened it.
The figure at my door was wearing a grey suit coat that must have had 50,000 miles on the odometer. He was incredibly ugly, uglier than almost anyone I had ever met and I've worked out at Bally's. A thin, withered creature, he stood hunched in the doorway, in his heavy ashen suit and thick horn-rimmed glasses, impregnable and indifferent. He had a huge nose, a dark mustache, and his dark-dyed hair was combed into absurd bangs over his forehead. He could probably start an argument in an empty house. I was transfixed and couldn't speak. He did.
"Are you Sam Slade?" he asked.
With my eyes open and dying for moisture, I replied, "Who wants to know?"
"Someone who admires you has sent you a Hate-O-Gram."
"A what?"
He cleared his throat, pushed a bang out of his eyes and started to sing from a crumpled piece of paper.
"Hope your day is simple,
Like the simpleton that you are
Full of constipation
and no beer at the bar.
May the toilet seat break from under you
and you suffer as you crap your pants
But knowing you, you'll survive that too,
It's easy to be brave from a distance."
I stood there shocked as the last of his broken tenor voice echoed down the hallway. What the hell!?
All it said was "Meet me at the Brown Willy Bar tommorrow at noon." Noon was then crossed out and in its place was, "No, make it 1pm. I have a doctor's visit at noon." Then that was crossed out and was written, "Better make that 3 in the afternoon. 'Guiding Light' is on and I want to know what happens to Peter and Jessica. Yeah, make it 3." Then the "3" was crossed out and "5" written in along with, "Don't ask!" in crayon.
What was this, a case? An old friend? An interview with Barbara Walters? Why the elaborate box? No return address? Why Senator Biden? I decided to find the answer tommorrow at the Brown Willy, cleared off a path to the couch and started to make plans for a vacation at Disneyworld when someone knocked at my door. Cautiously I opened it.
The figure at my door was wearing a grey suit coat that must have had 50,000 miles on the odometer. He was incredibly ugly, uglier than almost anyone I had ever met and I've worked out at Bally's. A thin, withered creature, he stood hunched in the doorway, in his heavy ashen suit and thick horn-rimmed glasses, impregnable and indifferent. He had a huge nose, a dark mustache, and his dark-dyed hair was combed into absurd bangs over his forehead. He could probably start an argument in an empty house. I was transfixed and couldn't speak. He did.
"Are you Sam Slade?" he asked.
With my eyes open and dying for moisture, I replied, "Who wants to know?"
"Someone who admires you has sent you a Hate-O-Gram."
"A what?"
He cleared his throat, pushed a bang out of his eyes and started to sing from a crumpled piece of paper.
"Hope your day is simple,
Like the simpleton that you are
Full of constipation
and no beer at the bar.
May the toilet seat break from under you
and you suffer as you crap your pants
But knowing you, you'll survive that too,
It's easy to be brave from a distance."
I stood there shocked as the last of his broken tenor voice echoed down the hallway. What the hell!?
Attachments
Screaming Eagle
Senior Master Sergeant
Great stuff Man!!
Lucky13
Forum Mascot
Outstanding buddy!
wilbur1
Tech Sergeant
Way to go NJ !!!!!!! bravo
- Thread starter
- #320
Njaco
The Pop-Tart Whisperer
BBC 61 is proud to announce that "Get Lucky: Revenge of the Perp" will be closed captioned for the Scandinavian Impaired! We bring this to our viewing audience as another fine service of BBC 61. Stay tuned for other great services and a chance to win a year's supply of sheep dip.
Due to an employee confrontation, the Closed Captioning portion of "Get Lucky" has been delayed. We apologize for those sitting in the dark unable to see or read "Get Lucky" or order a nice pizza from down the street. Not our fault. Really. The problem has been resolved and we now bring those of the handicapped viewing public the previous episodes in subtitles!
Sam är funktionsduglig. Sam borras. Han går till kontoret. Fynd boxas. Stansar portvakt. Han är lycklig. Sam har en gäst. Han gillar inte honom. Detta jobb är dumt. Gästen kan inte sjunga.
Due to an employee confrontation, the Closed Captioning portion of "Get Lucky" has been delayed. We apologize for those sitting in the dark unable to see or read "Get Lucky" or order a nice pizza from down the street. Not our fault. Really. The problem has been resolved and we now bring those of the handicapped viewing public the previous episodes in subtitles!
Sam är funktionsduglig. Sam borras. Han går till kontoret. Fynd boxas. Stansar portvakt. Han är lycklig. Sam har en gäst. Han gillar inte honom. Detta jobb är dumt. Gästen kan inte sjunga.
