A Co-Operative Novel: 3 Words at a Time

That day's special summer shaving soap sat, shimmering seductively. Shelia shouted, shocked. Surely, she surmised, Sara's secretary, Sharona, shouldn't send soap, she should send Salmon sauce. Several short saps stole six sauce sachets, so, simple Simon sampled some sardines. "So savory" said Simon, seductively sucking six sardines simultaneously! Sadly, Simon's sibling, sister Sadie, swiftly swept some smelly sweat shop swill, slopping said swill successfully! "Suppose said swill, sans sardines, should start swearing soulfully," said Simon, sarcastically.

Fortunately Father Francis found four frankfurters furiously fornicating fowl. Foul, fowl forgo filial fornication, forsooth!

A recap:

IN THE NICK OF TIME
by The Good Gentlemen of the Straight Razor Place Forum
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I couldn't believe what just happened when I wasn't paying attention. She stood there holding a map to the Tahitian village. How was I going to get HER to understand how important it is to blind the island boys with hot irons? The island girls say, "Blind men make the best poisson cru for taste is blind." But for me, since the accident, when I was so irreversibly altered and transformed into a drooling idiot, fish soup should taste like chicken....or maybe veal. But enough about that. She longed for a day-time tryst with a certain legendary and well known Nobel prize winning author of "The World of Straight Particle Accelerators" who bears a remarkable scar on his left cheek. Notwithstanding his shaving technique, which was flawless, except for the Mach III POS he was forced to use alternating Wednesdays. This scar, oddly shaped like his former wife's cottage cheese backside, did not show the depth of emotions he held buried deep inside his stone cold physicist's heart. However, upon further inspection, it appears to grow and throb with a lusty abandon, not unlike the way a suppurating flesh wound does when you suck on it, a lifesaving action not recommended for day-time trysts. The tryst she imagined certainly didn't entail any sucking (medicinal or otherwise), but instead should be confined to a barber's chair and some creative use of lather.
"Call me Jezebel", she murmured with a Silvertip Badger brush playfully dangling from her fingertips (which was odd because I'd never normally have acquiesced to something so dangerous. After all, I was a three strike loser with the scars to show why I had never known the joy of an adrenalin junkies final moment). "So, Jezebel, I hope you understand", I said cautiously, "I have never lathered a woman's way before. What style do you suggest I use?"
"Come over here", she said, fingering a rather large and extremely prominent proboscis. "I want to experience a new level of wet shaving pleasure."
"Well, Dollface", I stated, "I need to first find which way your stubble grows. Spread your lovely, creamy white shawl over the mounds of your ample, over-ripe shoulders and bend over my quivering magnified shaving mirror."
"My! How large the mirror makes my already ample bathroom look. It's been forever since I've repainted it!. Do you like the way my cottage cheese backside faux stained-glass looks in the spandex hot pants of yesteryear?"
"No", I replied tersely, "but I do appreciate a good mixed metaphor as an alternative to being perfectly clear. ... But I digress. Now, give me your supple skin, rub the lotion between your buttocks, it will relieve me to know that your hemorrhoids ......
Then I awoke! "What a dream!" But was it? It was, undoubtedly. But could it .. No, certainly not. "Snap out of it!"
I sighed and rolled over...OH NO!...it was nine o'clock! I was going to continue with dispelling that dream. However, circumstances precluded any additional time be frittered away in such an unmanly,unholy dream.
But I digress. The real purpose of life is, well, who knows?
The Xman knows!
Unfortunately, he's Evil Kneival's estranged son, from a previous incarnation as the spotted hairy back North American woodsy freshwater ***** fish. Otherwise known as ***** fontis pisciculus astoundingly fictitious ramblings.
Later that night as the sun shone a fierce red northern light on the mysterious yacht (painted off-white) which had arrived in the bight over a week ago, anchoring off site, a huge party of blond bimbo nurses arrived with Hugh Hefner and a tall woman dressed in only a Tony Miller Strop. So I left! With razors on my mind, women in my heart and after shave in my pants! I very carefully undid my belt to reveal Colleen's newest and most tempting concoction yet, a delightful and rather large Bar Harbor, Maine sized bottle of cranberry and truffle scented after shave. Why on earth did I undo my large and ominous straight razor, just to see this type of humiliation and degradation? I must be puffin' muffins! Anyway, enough about my generously large utensil, otherwise known as the hokey hone.
Hef walked up the mountain side flanked by two Andean llamas. One must wonder how I acquired two blonde bimbo nurses with syphilitic cankers without becoming infected, or was I? It would almost seem like a bizarre Hollywood script in which the antagonist shows he just can't handle a .50 cal against the biggest Pamela Anderson lookalike this side of the country. So, in a vain attempt to release us from this conundrum, we took acid, three hits, window pane from the llamas head, which as you.........u-m-m-m-m ......u-h-h-h-h ......as you ....uhhhhh .....remember .......wow ....look. i'm obeying true call of nature! ZZZIPP...Much better! Pam is gone. But the hepatitis remains in full remission even though i expose myself with Pam whenever I get drunk.
Why the heck does Pam insist on not shaving? Even Chewbacca shaved once a month, although his hair is is much more soft and silky, downy even, compared to her dirty dish water blonde mane of black peroxide and turpentine bleached boar hair. I think she wants me to lather her up, strop my razor, and shave her head to toe. Hairy toes? Surely, Sasquatch wasn't her mother, was she? Chewbacca her father? The world wonders. Shaving her would be a pleasurable and sensual experience. By the third toe , the razor was dull like zeepks. Good thing I brought my trusty Wapeneniich.....Wapenik....whatever the damn thing is actually called.
Having shaved Pam from head to toe, I quickly lathered myself up and started gyrating frantically. I'd accidentally forgotten the open wound on my ***** and the alcohol-based aftershave that burned like Satan's fire from the inferno of Dante described so elequently in some book, albeit more localised than Milton described. Girding my loins, reminded of Odysseus, whose loins were always girded in the most spectacular girding apparel, I ceased my gyrating because I saw the most incredible site: Her heaving, swollen, throbbing, pulsating yellow-green aura surrounded by pink flamingoes. My head filled with visions of sugar plums...Wait, I'm having flashbacks.... Man, good acid sticks with ya like a bad joke on a even worse day! Dr. Timothy Leary (rest his psychedelic-soul), always said that with great power comes great responsibility. Though this was something more, something almost sinister. He moved in next door but seems to care so little about property lines... wait, he is DEAD! While Prepping for his math exam Tim used to drill Nicholas on questions of Quantum Addition. But enough with boring nonsense, he is dead and has been for a while. As Pam stared with lustful abandon, her breasts seemed to heave mightily, she felt a flush from her poolboy behind her. "Damn you poolboy!!!", she screamed with mock horror, "I'm construing Virgil here!" Virgil "Gus" Grissom started on his great shaving novel which will once again re-write history. Slowly but eloquently he works his... Wait! Gus died, such a huge loss to NASA there will never be a second Lt. like him, but, I digress. Pam's breasts still make me cry, because I miss the warmth and great plastic surgery! But the aging process of the implants impart a celluloid rot stench reminiscent of elephant dung in July. But even elephants don't smell that revoltingly vile and fishy. Speaking of fishy, this plot line reminds me that the ocean stinks. Foul, unyielding mistress! Thy wiles entice the unwary stranger into sinful delights; thy capricious heavings do vex me to the core! I do believe that never before have I ever been so enthralled by such large drooping bags of rancid silicone. So many times I wish to die reading this novel, but i digress. Back to Pam's first straight shave. That Chandler custom cut my throat, a nick really would've been preferable although the line, ear to ear, went nicely with the scar across my jaw. Wheneveri smile it winks at me! (Which, when you think of it, is a unique remembrance of my days as a Brazilian bikini waxer...but I digress). I got off the toilet and washed my hands. Pam was lying seductively on the motorcycle with her naked body sprawled grotesquely as if she thought she might spontaneously combust from the flatulence due to excessive digressing from the novel's main theme. I was happy, she could explode those fake funbags at any moment! Thereby improving her ability at pushups and other athletic feats in bed.

Back to shaving her back. It was a feat easily accomplished since the banana blade mowed that backfur as she purred like a walrus. I gathered up my courage forasking the Big Kahuna for assistance. For those of you who don't know me I talk to Kahunas which is difficult due to linguistic idioms and accents. However, after translating from Swahili to Kahiki, the language of the simpletons, Pam understood every single word that the Kahuna uttered. "Take ME NOWHERE NEAR HIM!" she screeched hysterically. He had been surfing goofy foot all her life and she hated the smell of goofy feet. She harkened back to the butcher at local strip mall, "La Teinda Mierda", when she was the mall stripper. The "Latte Lapdancer - A Double Shot (with extra cream & extra protein!)"

Since Pam wouldn't know the difference if it hit her like a drunk celebrity's hummer, I wasn't particularly concerned about her abnormally heavy breathing. Huffing and puffing, like Delta Burke performing a "hummer-like" operatic version at the Grande Bob OntheNob Theatre, Pam rolled over like a submissive whining little pessimist seeking the democratic right to vote. Her furry back now well shorn, but quickly growing like a wookie Robin Williams impersonator, she shanked the, I mean skanked the crap out when the AquaVelva hit her bare heaving sweater puppies. Calling them puppies is an insult. Full grown dawgs, in poodle outfits, are more lifelike, although less tasty. The alcohol sting across my backside made me squeallike a stuck pig, I reached for my "pistol" alas, empty again! E.D. strikes again!!

Remaining disease free,my main priority was to run far and fast away from the odious presence of my mother-in-law who was watching through the doggie door, bent over like Britney Spears with no raggy panties, THAT crazy biatch only wears bloomers! Big-ass, nasty, cotton-duck bloomers the size of a small transport humvee that US Marines might run her over if she doesn't comply to their height/weight restrictions. With her huge funbags Pam might swing like nobody's business, and I shudder to think how I'd fair if they slapped hard around my throat and tangled my tongue and locked together choking while gagging on my lit cigar.

Meanwhile, over at the ranch my syphilitic sister's brother-in-law was slapping his knee and singing "Bluemoon of Kentucky" while my sister strummed her uekelele and hummed along. Suddenly, there was a tornado appearing on the horizon, "Deliverance," I exclaimed. "Sanctuary!" I yelped as I vaulted the hitching post into the water-trough.

"Consarnit!" I exclaimed, "Anybody got bubble-bath?"

"I do" said Burt Reynolds. 'Deliverance' taught me that rafting the Chattooga is not like poling the Beaver, which is actually scarey during PMS..... very scarey indeed! But moving beyond nautical propulsion methods, submariners in the Beaver, the latest US fumble in the international arms race which doesn't suprise anyone as George Lopez was annoying, were enjoying a short but satisfying luncheon when all Britney's pantiless friends hopped into my celebrity hot tub, all naked and covered in dayglow James Brown paint and "Think" playing "cat skinning" "music." HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEY, she yelped, "That's not my favourite, antique wedgewood vibrator is it?" Suddenly, the cat lept from its perch on Larry's genetails. The Girls eyed the now panic stricken Larry to see what that strange purple cloud emerging from his, now flaccid bowls from below. Tornado warning sirens screeched and howled, causing the girls to pant madly. Larry stared lasciviously into the mug of shaving soap, wishing it was Mama Bear's newest and fantastic concoction, but alas it was merely a candy bar in a single malt scotch whisky

Meanwhile the tornado was blustering up like a professional drag queen contest at Embers, Portland's worst gay bar. Great floor show and free drink recipes from Della LaBella usually make for a great night out. The wind caused Larry to grip the edge of his chair and suddenly look so pale that the single malt that he'd been enjoying with the alcoholic old lady, suddenly sloshed all down his brand name Celebrity Hot sheep, farmers favourites throughout the Highlands. Larry swore loudly, suddenly realizing that the malt would probably stain his big deck shoes. His redneck friends always belittled poor Larry's unusual taste in women, albino Asians are typically only found in the Himalayas, but Larry had always insisted he'd met twins in Seattle, what a night that was. Della LaBella insisted on the genital massage that Larry claimed only Albino Tibetans were trained to properly perform wearing oven gloves during a tornado. Larry demanded irrumatio, a rare form of foreplay in Portland, practised by an obscure sectof female Opus Dei, it involves the man placing his elbow to the left of the womans right knee while his right ear is pressed firmly against her back. If done correctly this never should result in anything less than a religious experience. Della's wig slipped at the worst possible moment, exposing a garish tattoo of a seven legged parapalegic spider with a treasure map pinned to its chest showing the secret location of the marble rye. Why anyone would want to find a marble rye is against me, Larry thought confusedly. Bread discussion aside, Larry also noticed a fingernail hanging from Della's wig, WITH THE FINGER STILL ATTACHED! Larry horrified by the stubble and tattoo jumped back from the additional sight of a rapidly disintigrating irrumatio moment which were few and far between at best... But, Larry thought it would not be best to continue as Della's stubble was very excessive and he was bald atop his very prominent chin. And adam's apple. From not knowing the direction of his hair growth. Della followed Larry into the bathtub after suggestively letting her robe fall in a delicate swoosh along with a prosthetic leg. "A one-legged dragqueen", said Larry, astonished as she spat copenhagen juice over the stump where the leg used to be in preparation for the shave that Della's limbs, how sexy they looked, badly needed.

Horrified, Larry ran a hand over the doorknob andcontemplated his options. Outside the tornado was building to monumental proportions. Still, compared to Della it was less than satifying to get blown by a glass blower's apprentice thought Larry. "Why not, she's nice and smooth and nobody will know unless somehow we're sucked outside, but just then the door flew off the hinges and the wind sucked Della out. Her wig and Larry's pants both flew off along the road towards the gay bar where someone grabbed Larry's Leisure suit pants and jumped when he saw the crotch extension with the finger in the wig sticking out of the right front pocket along with Della's false teeth. Back at Larry's house, Larry was hurriedly dressing when suddenly the police impersonators from the Village People blew in the skylight and landed right where Della's leg, still covered in copenhagen juice, saliva, upon the bed, was laying. Unfortunately, it was Della's speciaI high priestess of the buddha dress leg that contained a secespita, finely honed, hidden in a spring loaded trap door. As it snapped open it revealed an enormous surprise not unlike Larry's favourite W&B razor, a Williams restoration that he fondled ever so gently while dreaming of how it would make Pam's back so smooth and ever so sexy. Slowly but surely she would realize that he would feed her frogs to the Fugu priestesses during the annual fertility festival where frogs were ceremonially filleted and their legs wrapped in bacon strips then carefully fed, via a huge funnel into a 'hopper' above the naked gyrating dancers. Meanwhile, the naked dancers waved restored straight razor emblazoned flags while on trampolines. Naked trampoline dancers give me neckaches. The first impersonator was Harry Houdini's cousin twice removed from the tavern dressed as inspector Clouseau's old nemesis, Gaye DePoof, who replaced Cato after the Green Hornet sugar-daddy scandal made headlines. "Sassafras" said Bruce Lee as he headed up Wu-Dan mountain. At the top, Shu Lien waited by the trailto the overlook. Overseeing as euminides would have wanted, Shu moved in for the Green Destiny but saw "made in China" atop the velvet lined case that was carefully hidden beneath the petrified iguana. "Damn", she said, "that thing STINKS!!!" My Mandarin being a little weak I mistakenly thought she asked me if I'd lick up and down WHERE it.........
BAAAAAAAAAAMMMMMMMMMMMM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! My pacemaker exploded. No, wait. That can't happen to this particular model as it's a Timex. They take a lickin' and a beatin too until some Albanian boy comes and turns on a radio strapped around 21 sticks of peppermint blackpool rocks, pop rocks to you young whippersnappers.
You may be asking yourself "Self, why did I do that? She didn't look like she was into it from the get-go….“Not my problem,” Shu Lien quipped, swinging his fasces away from his Gransfors francisca and donning his toga, replacing her tattered, obviously fake, passport with a fake pile of doggie choc drops. Her chocolate doggie drops were of the highest quality, not that crap they sell at Walmart. Waltzing out of the overlook area with myself in a bright blue spandex jumper, I looked just divine.

Justin Devine, renowned knife swallower came down the path to show off his shiny new mirroed shoes. Now, these were not the shoes he bought in payless, they were sleek Italian designer ones, made in Milan, Ohio. They were knockoffs of the famous brand "Hillary's Feminine Looking Male Tip Toe Shoes." Blue dress notwithstanding, they looked spectacular, easy to clean, can julienne fries. Justin was beaming as he spoke: "Welcome, friends! Today is a special day. As you embark on this epic journey remember not to eat less than half of the special if it's offered to you 3 or more times in a day. If you refuse my love I just might die from exhaustion right away. Truly you can see it can be extremely difficult to get three words that fail to make any sense if you try hard. See? That last bit had nothing related to shoes. However it did go to show and tell for his step-son Booblyboobly that his daddy, world renowned comic and dangerous psychopathic murderer Larry the Cable Car Comedy Killer, the famous blue light shopper assassin that Quentin Tarantino calls his role-model.

That day's special summer shaving soap sat, shimmering seductively sucking six sardines simultaneously! Sadly, Simon's sibling, sister Sadie, swiftly swept some smelly sweat shop swill, slopping said swill successfully! "Suppose said swill, sans sardines, should start swearing soulfully," said Simon, sarcastically.

Fortunately Father Francis found four frankfurters furiously fornicating fowl. Foul, fowl forgo filial fornication, forsooth! Fifty farting flies

Fortunately Father Francis found four frankfurters furiously fornicating fowl. Foul, fowl forgo filial fornication, forsooth! Fifty farting flies flew fragrantly forth

Fortunately Father Francis found four frankfurters furiously fornicating fowl. Foul, fowl forgo filial fornication, forsooth! Fifty farting flies flew fragrantly forth from France fingering

Fortunately Father Francis found four frankfurters furiously fornicating fowl. Foul, fowl forgo filial fornication, forsooth! Fifty farting flies flew fragrantly forth from France fingering fifteen foetid frankfurters frenziedly.

"For the love of all that is good and righteous", he cried, "forego your fantastically fruitless continuance of words beginning in F!!. My Fesaurus canna take much more!!"

Thirty minute INTERMISSION

three days later

JESUS CHRIST RISES

and trumpets played

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Jonedangerousli

IN THE NICK OF TIME
by
The Good Gentlemen of the Straight Razor Place Forum

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I couldn't believe what just happened when I wasn't paying attention. She stood there holding a map to the Tahitian village. How was I

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going to explain