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Post by yggdrasil on Aug 10, 2020 9:24:31 GMT
The man was exceedingly handsome with no fear of other races, something that threatened the misshapen shoe hawker. Collapsing to the floor, Monkeys sat and wept, Oh, if only that
nice Mr. Mosley had been listen to he sniffed.
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Post by Power Ranger on Aug 10, 2020 15:45:42 GMT
But Mr Mosley had no hair on his head, so it was understandable that no one took him seriously. Power Ranger had by this time taken the gimp mask from his head, and the leather clad young man now resembled Mad Max.
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Post by yggdrasil on Aug 10, 2020 19:23:05 GMT
Monkeys hideous countenance made him ashamed. He fled the scene desperately seeking somewhere, anywhere that his grotesque face would not be out of place. He got the first plane to Manchester.
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Post by Power Ranger on Aug 11, 2020 6:35:46 GMT
‘But how did you escape the Chinese factory goons, and the Muslim men?’, asked Susan, realising that his story had inconsistent detail from other times where it was consistent and intelligent. Monkeys responded that he recited the shahada at the request of Mr Mosley, who knew it well. The Muslim men were then taken to a retraining camp in Xinjiang by the Chinese. Once the Chinese realised that Monkeys was a twit who couldn’t design anything but only flog it off, they let him go.
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Post by yggdrasil on Aug 11, 2020 8:47:02 GMT
In time, Monkeys came to love the north again, he had overstepped his place in life by attempting to make it big in London. He and Susan bought a semi detached hovel in a grim area and dwelt quietly next to an odd little character with fading "Enoch Powell for prime minister" posters on the windows, who lived with his aging mother and an imaginary girlfriend. They became fast friends and would sit together and shout about women and transexuals until the early hours when Susan would tell him it was time for bed.
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