HowardB
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TODAY, a seasonal story of goodwill to all except one:
The Slobbit
Chapter One: Unexpected Visitors.
In a hole in the ground lived a slobbit. A nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell; a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to eat or sit down on, expect a suitcase crammed full of money, and two AK47s. It was a slobbit hole, and that means discomfort. This slobbit had been a very well-to-do slobbit but he had fallen on hard times and had been living in the hole, or The Hole, as he liked to think of it, for many months. To cheer himself up, he sang a merry slobbit song:
"Away in a mangy,
Dank hole in the sand,
Sat an evil dictator
With four hundred grand
In used US banknotes
And not much beside
Save two submachine guns
For saving his hide."
He was just about to start verse two, when there was a knock on his door. "Who can that be?" the slobbit asked himself. "Nobody knows I'm here and I haven't had any visitors for ages." So he went to the door to see. Cautiously pushing open the entrance to his hole, he peered outside and said: "Hello? Who's there?" At first, he could see nobody, but suddenly 600 unexpected visitors jumped out from behind the trees and shouted: "Surprise!"
"I'm not sure I like surprises," said the slobbit, "unless they are surprises I spring on others. But I do like parties, especially the Ba'ath Party, and now that you are all here perhaps we can play some party games. I know: let's play riddles. If you can guess who I am, you win. If you can't, you all go away and leave me in peace."
The man who seemed to be leader of the visitors looked a bit sceptical, so the slobbit said: "Look, you can have three guesses, OK?" and the leader of the visitors agreed that that would be fair. So the game began. The visitors all gathered round the entrance to the hole and peered at the slobbit. "I don't think it's a slobbit," one of them said; "it's got a beard and slobbits don't have beards. Dwarfs have beards; slobbits don't." Then a sudden inspiration struck him: "You're Lord Lucan," he blurted out. "That's who you are!"
"Wrong!" shouted the slobbit, doing a merry little dance. "Not Lord Lucan. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Try again." The visitors fell silent. Then another of them had an idea.
"You're Father Christmas," he shouted. "I'd know that beard anywhere."
"Wrong, wrong, wrong again," screamed the slobbit gleefully. "One more guess and then I've won."
"Silence!" commanded the leader of the visitors. "Just leave this to me." He stroked his chin and pondered: "What has money but cannot spend it? What has weapons but no-one can find them? What would have no beard if we shaved it? You're Saddam Hussein!"
"I want to negotiate," Saddam said, so they led him away in chains and everyone else lived happy ever after.
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The Slobbit
Chapter One: Unexpected Visitors.
In a hole in the ground lived a slobbit. A nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell; a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to eat or sit down on, expect a suitcase crammed full of money, and two AK47s. It was a slobbit hole, and that means discomfort. This slobbit had been a very well-to-do slobbit but he had fallen on hard times and had been living in the hole, or The Hole, as he liked to think of it, for many months. To cheer himself up, he sang a merry slobbit song:
"Away in a mangy,
Dank hole in the sand,
Sat an evil dictator
With four hundred grand
In used US banknotes
And not much beside
Save two submachine guns
For saving his hide."
He was just about to start verse two, when there was a knock on his door. "Who can that be?" the slobbit asked himself. "Nobody knows I'm here and I haven't had any visitors for ages." So he went to the door to see. Cautiously pushing open the entrance to his hole, he peered outside and said: "Hello? Who's there?" At first, he could see nobody, but suddenly 600 unexpected visitors jumped out from behind the trees and shouted: "Surprise!"
"I'm not sure I like surprises," said the slobbit, "unless they are surprises I spring on others. But I do like parties, especially the Ba'ath Party, and now that you are all here perhaps we can play some party games. I know: let's play riddles. If you can guess who I am, you win. If you can't, you all go away and leave me in peace."
The man who seemed to be leader of the visitors looked a bit sceptical, so the slobbit said: "Look, you can have three guesses, OK?" and the leader of the visitors agreed that that would be fair. So the game began. The visitors all gathered round the entrance to the hole and peered at the slobbit. "I don't think it's a slobbit," one of them said; "it's got a beard and slobbits don't have beards. Dwarfs have beards; slobbits don't." Then a sudden inspiration struck him: "You're Lord Lucan," he blurted out. "That's who you are!"
"Wrong!" shouted the slobbit, doing a merry little dance. "Not Lord Lucan. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Try again." The visitors fell silent. Then another of them had an idea.
"You're Father Christmas," he shouted. "I'd know that beard anywhere."
"Wrong, wrong, wrong again," screamed the slobbit gleefully. "One more guess and then I've won."
"Silence!" commanded the leader of the visitors. "Just leave this to me." He stroked his chin and pondered: "What has money but cannot spend it? What has weapons but no-one can find them? What would have no beard if we shaved it? You're Saddam Hussein!"
"I want to negotiate," Saddam said, so they led him away in chains and everyone else lived happy ever after.
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