Well, I’m sure we can rely on you to get right to the bottom of things. You are clearly the innernetz’ top investigative ursine.
Originally posted by @saintbletch
You nearly lost this reader when I got to the ‘I tell you what paragraph…’. I couldn’t believe that the voice was consistent with Katharina, and then I got to the punchline. V Good. V Good use of single (invisible) quote.
Spot on, Bletch.
I’ve been having a trying week (the people who are supposed to be buying our house have started messing us around) but Bear’s latest contribution really cheered me up. The execution of that particular paragraph was, as you say, v good.
Thanks Bear.
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Ooo Macarena…
Agreed, Halo.
Ooo Macarena…
Good luck with the house, mate.
Ooo Macarena…
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Down shift yo! Enter, a dwarf.
Chapter 4
Southampton is primarily known for its miles of fine, sandy beaches, which are kept exclusive from riff-raff and tourists, by concealment beneath 60 feet of seawater and raw sewage. There is also a Nando’s, and a multi-storey car park. To the east, separated from the city centre by the stab-lands of Golden Grove, lies a perfectly functional football stadium.
Witness this grand erection! A palace of stone and plastic, easily the aesthetic equal of any disused gasworks or railway sidings in the area. She stands empty at present, but on match days is pumped full of clean, fresh hope, which is then flushed away, tainted with shit and disappointment, like a colonic cleanse of her soul. She is the heart of the city; essential in her service, but unappreciated in its performance, and with every moment, she moves inexorably towards a fatality of decrepitude and ruin.
Within this magnificent stadium, lies a football pitch, and in the centre of the pitch, is a circle. Buried deep beneath this painted hoop, accessible only via a labyrinth of tunnels and vented shafts, lies a secure bunker. Within the bunker, is a room, and within the room, a secret meeting is in progress.
***
The secret council of St. Mary’s Stadium sat in uncomfortable silence. Five of them were crammed into small, plastic chairs, of a design intended for primary school assemblies, and so undersized that when seated, the top of the grand, mahogany table was approximately level with their armpits. At the head of the table, the Cortese was perched atop a giant throne, his seat further boosted by cushions, so that the ankles of his leprechaun legs dangled a clear two feet from the carpet.
He had a box of wooden pencils sat in front of him, and he held one of them in his tiny hands. He held it horizontal and aloft, with the thumb and forefinger of each hand gripped to an end. With an expression of masturbatory concentration on his face, he slowly applied a bending stress along the length of the pencil’s shaft. The five men of the secret council watched him, and held their breath.
The Cortese flashed his furious eyes at Sibley, and snapped the pencil in half, with an audible crack. Sibley reacted as if struck. He paled like a beached jellyfish, looked down at his hands, and trembled, like a raped cat.
‘Sibley thinks,’ said the Cortese, carefully selecting another pencil, and repeating the process, ‘that we should delay our plans. He urges for caution. Is that what you think, Sibley?’
The Cortese voice was as cold and inhuman as the wail of bagpipes, and it made Sibley tremble still further. He shut his eyes in terror, and shook his head with a tiny, frantic movement.
‘Look at me, Sibley!’ said the Cortese. ‘Do you think that the death of one old, foolish man, will stop me? Do you suppose that I have not planned for this, you snivelling, craven worm? Very soon, the Liebherr son shall inherit this club, and I have prepared for him, most carefully. This is good for us! The Liebherr son, will prove much easier to control, than the father.’
At that moment, a frantic beat of approaching footsteps was heard from the corridor. Someone was running, tripping, scuffling towards the room. A hammered knock, and the door burst open.
‘Cortese Sir!’ said Les Reed breathlessly. ‘I have news-‘
‘What is the meaning of this, Reed?’ said Cortese angrily. ‘How dare you knock on my door, with that volume! Go back outside. Try again.’
Les Reed looked at him, and blinked. He gave a kind of apologetic bow, and scurried back out, wiping sweat and condensation from his spectacles. He closed the door, and knocked again, much softer.
The Cortese ignored him, and went back to work on his pencil.
Another knock, slightly louder. And another, louder still.
‘Enter!’ the Cortese called out, in a ringing voice. ‘Ah, Reed. Let me guess, I suspect that you have some news for me?’
The Cortese looked around the table for appreciation, and after a beat, the men of the secret council chuckled sycophantically.
‘Yes, Cortese sir, it is done. The will has been read, and-‘
‘So, the son has inherited, at last,’ said the Cortese with great satisfaction. ‘It is exactly as I planned.’
‘No!’ exclaimed Reed. ‘I’m sorry, it is not- the son has not been- that it so say, Katharina. The club has been left to Katharina.’
Crack! The Cortese’s pencil snapped with great violence. ‘The daughter?’
The Cortese closed his eyes, and the men of the secret council looked at each other, exchanging wary, terrified glances. After a period, the Cortese opened his eyes, and they were alive with mirth. ‘A woman!’ he exclaimed, and his voice marked the irony of it. The Cortese had a most peculiar laugh, it was somewhere between the repeated bleat of a castrated lamb, and the distant wail of a fire truck. He gave full reign to it now. ‘Bwah bwah bwah bwah bwah! Bwah bwah bwah bwah bwah!’
The council men dutifully joined the Cortese in his laughter, and the more they thought about it, the funnier it became. Very soon the whole room was alive with humour. The council men fell from their tiny seats, and hammered their fists helplessly on the floor. Les Reed collapsed double, desperately fighting for breath. Sibley laughed so hard, he wet his pants.
Every time there was a lull in the laughter, the Cortese would make a fresh observation, and it would set them off again.
‘At least we will have someone to wash the kits! Bwah bwah bwah bwah bwah!’
‘I’ll get one of the under 8’s to explain the offside rule to her! Bwah bwah bwah bwah bwah!’
Finally, the Cortese said, ‘Enough!’ and the room fell instantly silent. ‘Reed, have you checked with the FA? Is a woman actually permitted to own a football club?’
‘I haven’t,’ admitted Les Reed. ‘But I really don’t think-‘
‘You will check,’ said the Cortese. ‘And I will make my special arrangements for her arrival. I know exactly what to do. She will regret the day, that she was ever born a Liebherr. She will regret, that she was ever born at all.’
7 Likes
Gripping stuff Bear.
Is Kat skulking in the concourse polishing spoons?
Liking the direction this story is taking. I can just picture those primary school chairs. Can’t wait to see what happens next…
This is the best one-bro’s-struggle-against-all-the-odds epics since The Odyssey by Homer Simpson, imo.
“He paled like a bleached jellyfish, looked down at his hands, and trembled, like a raped cat.”
That’s some imagery, Bear!
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yeah i should’ve gone with bleached, that would have made the jellyfish even more pale. I’m mostly waiting to hear from the chief word-bore (beltch) if I got away with the fucking around with tense + pov, or if this was technically Unwise.
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I would post my appretiations of this thread more regularly, but quite frankly, they would all sound like fan-boy hyperbole…We all know it’s great stuff. I’ll just shut the fuck up and let this story continue. I’m learning a lot of true facts that I was never privvy to in the past.
On a side note. Until this true expose was started, I had never even considered the slightest possibility that Kat’s cunt might bear the fingerprints of…Well, Anyone!!
Edit: I find the perverse betrayal of my love for Kat as an added bonus. I never knew I was this weird!
3 Likes
Lol, my mistake. Beached is better.
I’m missing the sub plot of the missing spoon and hidden golden toilet!!
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Originally posted by @Ohio-Saint
Originally posted by @Halo-Stickman
This is the best one-bro’s-struggle-against-all-the-odds epics since The Odyssey by Homer Simpson, imo.
“He paled like a bleached jellyfish, looked down at his hands, and trembled, like a raped cat.”
That’s some imagery, Bear!
I would post my appretiations of this thread more regularly, but quite frankly, they would all sound like fan-boy hyperbole…We all know it’s great stuff. I’ll just shut the fuck up and let this story continue.
Fair point, well made, Ohio.
I’ll stick to the like button in future 
Originally posted by @Ohio-Saint
I would post my appretiations of this thread more regularly, but quite frankly, they would all sound like fan-boy hyperbole…We all know it’s great stuff. I’ll just shut the fuck up and let this story continue. I’m learning a lot of true facts that I was never privvy to in the past.
On a side note. Until this true expose was started, I had never even considered the slightest possibility that Kat’s cunt might bear the fingerprints of…Well, Anyone!!
Edit: I find the perverse betrayal of my love for Kat as an added bonus. I never knew I was this weird!
lol no i appreciate the comments tks, even tho I’m already getting heat from verbal for “Brum Boy Brian’s vanity project”
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Originally posted by @Ohio-Saint
On a side note. Until this true expose was started, I had never even considered the slightest possibility that Kat’s cunt might bear the fingerprints of…Well, Anyone!!
Really, Ohio? Really?!
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Originally posted by @Coxford_lou
Originally posted by @Ohio-Saint
On a side note. Until this true expose was started, I had never even considered the slightest possibility that Kat’s cunt might bear the fingerprints of…Well, Anyone!!
Really, Ohio? Really?!
I think you might have to cut him some slack Lou Lou, you’ve been gone near on 48 hours he probably thought it was an open playing field again!
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I can’t spend my whole life running around after Ohio, helping him to adjust to the modern world. At some point I was hoping it would sink in…
I’m with KRG…whoops I mean Lou on this one. It’s about Standards!..Standards I tell you.
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Originally posted by @Halo-Stickman
Originally posted by @Bearsy
yeah i should’ve gone with bleached, that would have made the jellyfish even more pale. I’m mostly waiting to hear from the chief word-bore (beltch) if I got away with the fucking around with tense + pov, or if this was technically Unwise.
Lol, my mistake. Beached is better.
Actually, I prefer “bleached”.