Old 01-16-2011, 11:31 AM   #1
Handley_Page
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Humour in writing ?

Why cannot we have a thread for a few paragraphs of humour ?
Say, a Word A4 page ?
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"Incident at Cemetery Junction"
"Pest Control"
"Mavis's Car Trip"
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" Earth Tremor on Stage ? "
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Old 01-16-2011, 11:49 AM   #2
mcevin
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Quote:
Originally Posted by Handley_Page View Post
Why cannot we have a thread for a few paragraphs of humour ?
Say, a Word A4 page ?
People on here are too DEADLY SERIOUS and too FULL of THEMSELVES to laugh.

Say, isn't Handly Page an airplane company?

Love,

Jamie
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Old 01-16-2011, 07:07 PM   #3
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Quote:
Originally Posted by mcevin View Post
People on here are too DEADLY SERIOUS and too FULL of THEMSELVES to laugh.

Say, isn't Handly Page an airplane company?
Love,
Jamie
It sure was, until it was "absorbed" into BAC in the 60s.
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Handley Page

"Incident at Cemetery Junction"
"Pest Control"
"Mavis's Car Trip"
"Norman-the-dragon "
"Stacy & the Angel "
" Earth Tremor on Stage ? "
" Charlie's Story "
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Old 01-16-2011, 10:25 PM   #4
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Quote:
Originally Posted by Handley_Page View Post
Why cannot we have a thread for a few paragraphs of humour ?
Say, a Word A4 page ?
I understand the first sentence--but what do you mean, a Word A4 page? A4 is the standard European letter size, right, like U.S. 8 1/2" by 11"?
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Old 01-17-2011, 10:08 PM   #5
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Question About Your Thread Tree

I am using the hybrid display for your thread.

You notice how fureto's reply is attached back to Handley Page's original post, not the most bottom posting?

How do you do that?

I started a collaborative writing thread in which writers will need to be able to reply to posting in the middle of a thread, but every time they post, it simply adds their reply to the bottom.

Any assistance is appreciated.

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Old 01-17-2011, 10:10 PM   #6
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What happens this time

Please forgive my using your thread for my own education. I am just so confused.

This will be my last one.
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Old 02-12-2011, 05:21 PM   #7
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Quote:
Originally Posted by Handley_Page View Post
Why cannot we have a thread for a few paragraphs of humour ?
Say, a Word A4 page ?
Sounds like a fun idea, Mr Page. What - a little more specifically - did you have in mind? Do you have an example perhaps?
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Old 03-26-2011, 11:34 PM   #8
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Sounds like spontaneous humor,Such humor is only allowed around here the third Thursday of odd numbered months during even years and even numbered months during odd numbered years,The only exception being those residents of Southern Iceland,who are engaged full time in the Icelandic Citrus growing industry.These citizens may post spontaneous humor at any time they like.
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Old 03-27-2011, 08:37 AM   #9
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Quote:
Originally Posted by SamScribble View Post
Sounds like a fun idea, Mr Page. What - a little more specifically - did you have in mind? Do you have an example perhaps?
I have a few paragraphs in an advanced state of preparation.
All I need is an editor to make sure I'm not going daft.
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Handley Page

"Incident at Cemetery Junction"
"Pest Control"
"Mavis's Car Trip"
"Norman-the-dragon "
"Stacy & the Angel "
" Earth Tremor on Stage ? "
" Charlie's Story "
http://www.literotica.com/stories/me...php?uid=883259
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Old 05-03-2011, 09:34 AM   #10
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How about ...

"It felt so good as you placed your hand on my back and gently trailed your fingers over my tingling skin. It really did. When you put a hand on my breast and gave it a lazy squeeze, I felt so relaxed and utterly beloved. When you slowly but surely reclined backward, I reclined with you. But, dear husband, when you smacked your head off the windowsill on the way down, I really did almost piss myself laughing. The thud, the yell, the hand falling off my breast - it was just too much for me. I don't think I've laughed so much in a long time. For that, I thank you. I truly, truly do. "


True story. LOL!
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Old 05-05-2011, 01:28 AM   #11
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Quote:
Originally Posted by DepravedMama View Post
"It felt so good as you placed your hand on my back and gently trailed your fingers over my tingling skin. It really did. When you put a hand on my breast and gave it a lazy squeeze, I felt so relaxed and utterly beloved. When you slowly but surely reclined backward, I reclined with you. But, dear husband, when you smacked your head off the windowsill on the way down, I really did almost piss myself laughing. The thud, the yell, the hand falling off my breast - it was just too much for me. I don't think I've laughed so much in a long time. For that, I thank you. I truly, truly do. "


True story. LOL!
i would have laughed too! after asking if he was okay of course. lol
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Old 05-08-2011, 04:31 AM   #12
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A dog, a cat, and a penis are sitting around a camp fire one night. The dog says, "My life sucks, my master makes me do my business on a fire hydrent!". The cat says, "I don't think so, my master makes me do my business in a box of cat litter." The penis outraged, says "At least your master doesn't put a bag over your head and make you do push ups until you throw up!"
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Old 06-19-2011, 01:08 AM   #13
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Henry had been picking up fares and dropping them off all day long. This particular hot, August day seemed to wear on him, even though he spent the day mostly riding in his air-conditioned cab. What he needed was something different. Something interesting. Something fun, to end his shift.

He pulled up to the curb of the lower-east side apartment building he'd been dispatched to just in time to see his next fare. "Now, THIS has potential, he thought." The fair was a nun dressed in a traditional, long, black habit. She was rather tall, and not especially attractive, but Henry decided to make the most of it.

Small talk dominated the conversation as they headed to the destination she'd given him. Another apartment building, not really too far away.

Upon arriving, Henry played his hand. "You know, sister, I don't know how to say this, but .... I've always wanted to kiss a nun." He didn't look her directly in the eye. He wasn't too sure what kind of response he would get.

It turns out, she was willing to indulge his little fantasy, at least to a point. "Well, I'd have to know that you are Catholic. And I'd have to know that you aren't married. But if that's the case, one little kiss probably wouldn't hurt."

"I'm not married, sister, and I've been brought up in the Catholic Church since I was born."

The nun agreed, that she could make this fantasy become a reality. Henry's heart beat fast as he opened her door and took her hand to help her out of the back seat. As she stood up, nearly as tall as Henry, himself, he leaned in. He put his arms around her in a passionate embrace and gave her an open-mouthed, wet kiss, using just a little bit of his tongue. He felt his cock stiffen a bit, even though the kiss lasted only a couple of seconds.

Immediately, Henry felt remorse. "I....I .... ha.... have to confess," Henry stammered. "I'm afraid I lied to you, sister. I'm not really Catholic. I'm Jewish, and I'm married with three kids at home. I'm really sorry."

"Think nothing of it," came the surprising reply. "My real name is Kevin and I'm on my way to a costume party."
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Old 06-19-2011, 01:16 AM   #14
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She was standing over the stove preparing eggs for breakfast wearing nothing but an oversized T-shirt. Her long hair hung loosely down her back. As he walked in the kitchen, barely awake, she turned to him and said, "Make love to me this very moment.... right here."

He almost couldn't believe what he was hearing. They had only been dating a short time, and already their love-making was falling into a rut of routine same-ness. This was just what he needed to spice things up. He thought, this must be the luckiest day of his life.

He grabbed her and kissed her. He pushed her back onto the kitchen table and wasted no time. In just seconds his stiff cock was penetrating and then pounding her wet, moist cunt. It took no time at all in his heightened state of arousal to climax and fill her pussy with his cum.

As he sat down, exhausted on the chair, she simply said "Thanks" and went back to preparing breakfast.

"What was that all about?" he wondered aloud.

"The egg timer's broken," she responded.
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Old 06-19-2011, 03:20 AM   #15
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Ladies and gentlemen, please don't think I am being a policeman. I am not. But there is a thread for jokes. It's called the Humour Thread. (And it's not bad either.)

I don't think HP intended this thread to be a substitute. Correct me if I'm wong, HP.

But your jokes aren't too bad, ladies and gentlemen. Maybe just in the wrong box?

Sam
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Old 04-04-2012, 11:37 PM   #16
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Quote:
Originally Posted by WriteWithMe View Post
Please forgive my using your thread for my own education. I am just so confused.

This will be my last one.
Hi
Seems noone is educating you.
Let me try.
I think what you are doing wrong is hitting "reply" on the left side.
Doing so merely 'floats' your comment.
You need to look at the right side. There are 3 icons there.
If you select 'quote' (reply with quote) it will attach it to the original.
cheers
Michael
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and:
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Old 04-05-2012, 10:22 AM   #17
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Quote:
Originally Posted by WriteWithMe View Post
I am using the hybrid display for your thread.

You notice how fureto's reply is attached back to Handley Page's original post, not the most bottom posting?

How do you do that?

I started a collaborative writing thread in which writers will need to be able to reply to posting in the middle of a thread, but every time they post, it simply adds their reply to the bottom.

Any assistance is appreciated.

WriteWithMe
Yes, WWM, MIC has advised you properly. If you use the middle icon of the three, you can even string multiple quotes for your replies. Use the middle until you get to the last one you want included, and then hit the "quote" icon.

Quote:
Originally Posted by MichaelinChina View Post
Hi
Seems noone is educating you.
Let me try.

(And you can even insert your comments into a quoted post!)


I think what you are doing wrong is hitting "reply" on the left side.
Doing so merely 'floats' your comment.
You need to look at the right side. There are 3 icons there.
If you select 'quote' (reply with quote) it will attach it to the original.
cheers
Michael
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Old 01-09-2013, 07:28 PM   #18
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Sorry for the delay.
Lets think in terms of, say, 400-600 words. The idea is to make it humorous. Not wildly funny, like a joke, but using words against one another; to show an odd situation, or an inference.
This is a quick something I wrote a while ago in an attempt to play one thing off against something in modern thought. You don't have to understand where or why, just read to the end; if it makes you smile, then I have succeeded. If it doesn't I got it all wrong (and I'd like to know why, although my kind of English might not be yours)



The Spotter

Things in the modern time do not happen without reason. For example, take the 'spotter'. In the time of the dragons, the Dragon spotter could occasionally be seen out with his kit. This consisted of two hollow cones of wood, attached to the head with a tube to each ear. The tube was supposed to resonate at the frequency of the Dragon sounds, be it snoring or the wing beats of the dragon in flight, depending upon the size of the chosen tubes. Some skilled Spotters were reputed to be able to identify a particular Dragon from the sounds.

In the Head Office of the Observers, Spotters and Intelligencers Guild there is a framed picture of Hereward, the First Spotter and Founder of the Guild. The story of his achievements and how he met his death was told as a warning told over log fires after field trips with new members. It seems that Hereward had gone on one of his trips to seek the wild Dragon and observe its habits. He'd had much past success in far-flung outposts of the Kingdom and made up a new pair of sound cones specifically for the purpose. Unfortunately, he'd caught a cold. As he removed his headgear to blow his nose, he sneezed and the sound issued from the cones and was born away on the wind.

Hereward was correct in his assumption that there were Dragons in the area, but wrong in his estimation of their habits. It was approaching the mating season, and one young male Dragon heard the call of what it thought was a female. The excited Dragon flew in and alighted next to Hereward.

Exactly what happened next is not recorded. Full details of the autopsy report on Hereward's body have never been disclosed, but rumour was rife. The burns on the body were just enough to cloud the issue about what the Dragon had done. Only one of the sound cones was recovered.
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Handley Page

"Incident at Cemetery Junction"
"Pest Control"
"Mavis's Car Trip"
"Norman-the-dragon "
"Stacy & the Angel "
" Earth Tremor on Stage ? "
" Charlie's Story "
http://www.literotica.com/stories/me...php?uid=883259
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Old 03-22-2013, 11:40 AM   #19
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Gearbox: The Ballet

With sincere thanks to the Editor:-

Last Night at the Ballet: Gearbox


We’ve all seen endless manuals for Instructions as to How To Do Something, on almost any medium you like; CD, or paper or even Tape. But to see the instructions executed in the medium of dance is a bit different. Last night’s performance of the new dance-work by Michaelikov was a triumph of modern dance interpretation. In keeping with previous works, the director insisted upon as much realism as possible.

The plot, if such it could be called, revolved round the removal and fitting of a gearbox to a Ford Zephyr Mk 2, (the Mk 1 is, of course, a different gearbox fitting all together). The set was dramatically lit by George Sundweiler and featured a good representation of the underside of the car, as a roof under which the main action takes place.

Of particular note was the use of 17 beefy men in the Corps de Ballet illustrating the lifting of the heavy gearbox into position under the vehicle, in the manner of a mechanical jack. Stanislav Bukovski, dancing the part of the Chief Mechanic, gave a very spirited rendering of the pain felt when the hammer used to secure the first bolt hits the thumb. Some all-too-human humour was lent to the proceedings when Stan appeared in the second act sporting a large bandage on the affected limb. The audience thought this a very good joke and clapped enthusiastically. The heart-breaking scene where he was forced to leave his cheese and pickle sandwich to pick up his spanner drew gasps of appreciation from all.

Agnes Cattermole, playing the part of the young clerk who makes the tea, made a thoroughly charming figure whose dancing captivated both the audience and men in support, several of whom stopped lifting, thus causing the gearbox to wobble very uncertainly. Fortunately, the director had insisted on his usual rigorous health and safety measures, and had secured the gearbox with a discretely placed stout rope.

Fred, who played the part of the main drive shaft assembly, rendered a sterling performance while Louis, who played the part of the gear knob, caused the whole production to stop whilst the bolt he’d cross-threaded was removed. Gladys, in the part of the main clutch bearing, did a wonderful job as she slid into place on the main drive shaft. The implication was not lost on the audience. Although a pedantic consultant from Ford, Dagenham, pointed out a trifling mistake, to do with the direction of spin in the pirouette; “to the left tightens the bolt” he claimed.

The stage manager was lauded for his decision to use real gear oil. Whilst it has to be admitted this is in keeping with the proclaimed aims of this style of ballet, it is also true that the local hospital treated several minor injuries including twisted ankles and bruises. One lady in the audience complained that her ham sandwich did not taste the same after being sprayed by Castrol XL engine oil.

It was also rumoured that the Props mistress had complained in the strongest terms to the director as his having used real engine oil as a prop, which had resulted in wholesale stains to the outfits which even the ‘latest thing’ in cleaning power failed to remove.

If you want to see this production, I suggest you hurry down to see it because tonight is the last live performance.
A DVD of the show will be available later in the year.
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Handley Page

"Incident at Cemetery Junction"
"Pest Control"
"Mavis's Car Trip"
"Norman-the-dragon "
"Stacy & the Angel "
" Earth Tremor on Stage ? "
" Charlie's Story "
http://www.literotica.com/stories/me...php?uid=883259

Last edited by Handley_Page : 03-29-2013 at 04:07 AM.
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Old 06-10-2013, 01:30 AM   #20
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This is an excerpt from my story here on Literotica titled "Letters from a Stalker". This is the opening scene where we meet the two antagonists.


Letters from a Stalker
- Cinner

“How long have you been receiving these letters?” Det. Anton Judge asked the distraught woman seated in the visitor chair in his office.

“About three months,” she replied, clenching her fist and raising it to her mouth. “At first I thought that it was a sick joke from one of my idiot friends to celebrate Halloween, but after the second one I began to have my doubts and… these are the third, fourth and fifth ones. I threw the first ones away, but I’ve saved these. I spoke with two of my sisters in Italy and they advised me to either call the police immediately, or come home to Rome without further delay.”

“Three weeks ago would have been early for Halloween though. When did you get these?”

“A week ago; but my husband and I sent out our Halloween party invitations three weeks ago. I have been very busy working on the arrangements since then. My husband pays the bills, but he does not take part in the planning of these things in any way.”

“Three in one week? So why did it take so long to come in with them?”

“Look at them! Would you have been eager to show someone that you’d attracted the interest of a lunatic who could write something like this? It is downright embarrassing!” she said emphatically.

“I suppose not,” Judge agreed, taking the letter up from his desk to have a better look.



My Darling Avril,

It is I, your Master. My Darling, you will obey me, and use a laptop positioned between your legs, the camera focused on your naked, cum-filled pussy to confirm to me that you've had sex and that the man, the shameless shemale that I send for you, came in your cunt!

X



Judge’s eyebrows rose, but he said nothing. He turned to the second piece of paper, reading slowly to see if there was any clue there about the origin of the short missive.


My Darling Avril,

I am going to have you bring home a homeless shemale, who has not bathed in days, nor had sex in a long time. I want you to fuck him, plug his cum in your cunt, and keep it there until you reach the place of your torment to which I will send you. There you must pull out the plug, and let the cum drool down your long, luscious legs.

X


“Do you know anyone who might think this funny?” Anton Judge asked, glancing, casually, at the woman’s legs.

“No one!”

Judge turned his attention to the third letter on the table. He read it slowly and then re-read the contents carefully.


My Darling Avril,

You have me so worked up and you are so naughty and sexy and hot. I want to strip you and lead you into the kitchen, drape you over the kitchen table, spread your ass checks and fuck your asshole until you launch yourself into oblivion.

X



The woman moistened her lips nervously, and for the second time, Judge raised his eyebrows. A slight smile played on his lips and his cock stirred. Even by the very high Italian standards of her homeland, Avril Corletti was a beautiful woman, and she certainly stood out in the Jamaican social scene. Judge had seen her every week in the reports of the happenings in the party circuit, and she had caused quite a sensation when she walked into his station demanding to see the officer in charge. He took that as a sign of how desperate she was since he knew for a fact that she knew the Police Commissioner and his wife personally, and he knew also that any careless word, by even the most junior member of his staff, would lead to publicity of another kind for her.

“I don’t mind telling you that I’m afraid, Inspector Judge,” the woman’s voice cut into his reverie.

“Indeed, but don’t worry, I will do all that I can to help you find this lunatic. At the very least, his sense of humour is in very poor taste; and he should be arrested for that.”

***
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Touch

My hands
open the curtains of your being
clothe you in a further nudity
uncover the bodies of your body
My hands
invent another body for your body.

- Octavio Paz


CINNER'S STUFF




The Wages of Cin
(All my threads. I'm still trying to psych myself up to do a photo thread in the AmPic forum... We will see...)





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Old 10-17-2013, 02:24 PM   #21
Ronster1953
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Can You better this description

Background
Heard this today, did not see a better place to post it so here goes. I got a phone call today from my brother who is the closest to me in age, I was the big brother as kids, he was the tagalong. He has spent his work life working with a rougher group then I have,
The story
He told me he got a new pair of boots, they were so comfortable it was like walking barefoot on tits.

I suspect most men can imagine how that would be, can you come up with a more descriptive phrase.
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Old 04-07-2014, 10:29 AM   #22
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Father’s afternoon Tea Break.

To a man like my Father, the prospect of gazing over the prospect of a Derbyshire or Yorkshire moor was an invitation to sanity and peace. That this involved the rest of the family and any others in the vicinity at the time in complete chaos and confusion did not strike him as odd or difficult. Any reluctance on the part of anyone was put down to a simple question of shyness or nerves, depending upon the age of the person concerned. Father was skilled at planning and soon everyone was detailed off to do whatever tasks Father had assigned them, often with the force of a Bren gun on full auto. The trip was planned on paper, with copious notes on places of interest en route, stopping points and whatever facilities were available. This latter was more with Aunt Dora or Mother in mind as Father had an iron constitution and could go all day without going, as he put it.

So it was that one wind-swept Saturday the whole family trooped up a heather-strewn path to the top of what felt like an alp. Everyone was there, even Aunt Dora who was roped in, en passant. She’d actually called in on Mother to see if she wanted to go to the shops, but Father just got her into his act and the deed was done: She never had a chance to say no and was soon too involved to protest. Everyone had a job of carrying something, even the youngest, even if it was only the tea or sugar. Mother and Aunt Dora carried about a gallon of water each and my sister Cissy had the liquids whose use was known only to Father. My brother Sid carried the dry-stuffs in his posh new satchel. It was my job to carry the Primus stove whose inner mysteries were to be passed on to me. It always seemed to my young mind that the stove was a curious gadget which featured sudden and almost irreversible injury as a corollary to its operation. Paraffin, Methylated Spirits and matches seemed to loom high in the list of essentials necessary to boil a kettle, but Father took it all in his stride; a tribute to his being a Scout patrol leader in his youth. That several local Fire Brigades had also featured in the learning curve was not something I discovered for several years.

Father was equipped with his maps, compass and large, ex-military, rucksack containing the essentials for such a trip; pipe, tobacco, spare matches guidebooks, Packamac and First Aid kit which included smelling salts in case Aunt Dora, or any other female, had a fit of the vapours. He was thorough to the point of ignoring the protests of anyone at all, an experience gained during his military service where, in his small way, he’d helped Monty beat Rommel at El Alamein. He was a storeman at the Base Supplies depot.

His experiences in the Stores had made him aware of several aids to cooking and brewing in the field, such as a screen to prevent the flame going out. In the military version, sufficient air was circulated to ensure a pint of boiling water in about ten minutes. In Father’s version, a whole kettle full was boiled in about four. The flame was more resemblant of a modern jet engine on re-heat than a domestic device for boiling the water. Of course, there were risks, particularly to health and heath. We’d had several new kettles, the result of melting the base. Father, armed with a handy pair of stout gloves, took it as a sign of reduction in standards of manufacture. The rest of us weren’t quite so sure.

The trip was not exactly difficult; it just seemed like it, with frequent stops to consult the map and Uncle Ernie who was driving the other car. Some stops were of a more social nature and sometimes featured ice-creams or crisps, complete with strictures not to spill the crumbs or salt all over the back seat. But we usually made it and rarely more than an hour later than the planned time. I sometimes thought Mother had a Plan but I could never prove it although she and Aunt Dora were occasionally seen in a bit of a huddle discussing matters in very quiet tones.

Eventually, amid shouts of glee and dispute, we arrived. The sky was bright but the wind keen. Father reckoned that this was a good sign as he opened the boot and distributed the rucksacks and other baggage. We assembled in order and Father read his battle orders and checked what we each had and that we had it; there had been times when Something was Left in the Car to the confusion of all and the annoyance of Father. Uncle Ernie was acting as deputy to Father and had a duplicate list in case Father’s got lost or misplaced.

We trooped up the hill with a will for what seemed ages, Aunt Dora talking to Mother about whatever women talk about on such occasions. I think Aunt Dora was talking about making a Will, but I did not discover the meaning of this phrase for some time. With Father in the lead we marched in order of seniority with Cissy, me and Sid sandwiched between Aunt Dora and Uncle Ernie at the tail end. He always seemed to have a lighter rucksack that the rest of us.

We children were left to play tag around the heather whilst Father and Uncle Ernie got the kettle on, a process which seemed to involve everyone at once with much opening of rucksacks and water bottles. When it got going, we could hear the flame of the stove for quite a distance as Uncle Ernie stood by with the gloves and the First Aid kit. Mother and Aunt Dora did the sandwiches and all seemed normal for the occasion. Actually, this was quite a new thing, but after the problems suffered by most of the adults one afternoon when Aunt Flo had made had made prawn sandwiches at home it was generally agreed that making them on site was a fresher way to quality control. I can still remember the groans in the car as we sped home, the trip punctuated by calls at various “comfort stations” en route. Cissy & I had no trouble at all, but then, we’d not eaten the prawns which some considered were of geriatric age.

All we needed now was the last item; the cup of tea. The pot was readied, the tea waiting to infuse and Mother waited for Father to do his bit. Gloved and ready, he removed the kettle and mashed the tea. He passed the pot to Mother, upsetting the stove in the process. In the blink of an eye, smoke billowed from the burning heather. Uncle Ernie eventually put the fire out with the other water bottle as tears sprang as the smoke assailed our eyes. Calm was restored in a few moments. Father looked at Uncle Ernie and nodded; it was the approval of one who expected this moment and prepared for it.

We sat in the heather, upwind of the smoke, and watched the clouds scudding across the sky eating our Egg & Tomato sandwiched and drinking the tea. Father lit his pipe and relaxed in his chair. He was at peace. The rest of us sat in silent thanks before we reversed the whole process and went home with Father who’d a silly, if peaceful, grin on his face.

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"Incident at Cemetery Junction"
"Pest Control"
"Mavis's Car Trip"
"Norman-the-dragon "
"Stacy & the Angel "
" Earth Tremor on Stage ? "
" Charlie's Story "
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Last edited by Handley_Page : 04-07-2014 at 10:34 AM.
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Old 05-27-2014, 11:59 PM   #23
DonnaBeck
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Quote:
Originally Posted by WriteWithMe View Post
I am using the hybrid display for your thread.

You notice how fureto's reply is attached back to Handley Page's original post, not the most bottom posting?

How do you do that?

I started a collaborative writing thread in which writers will need to be able to reply to posting in the middle of a thread, but every time they post, it simply adds their reply to the bottom.

Any assistance is appreciated.

WriteWithMe
There should be a "quote" button on the bottom right side of any post you wish to refer to. It will always be added at the very bottom, but you can refer to it.

Humour in writing? Why can't you hear a pterydactyl going to the bathroom? Because their "p" is silent. (okay....for a smut writer, I kept it clean, lol.)
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Old 05-31-2014, 05:49 PM   #24
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Earth Tremor on Stage

Earth Tremor on Stage
A fiction by Handley_Page.


It was a long time before the whole story came out. The story, oft-clad in rumour and half-truth, of a minor disaster on a little-known stage in Yorkshire. It was a story that became a cause célèbre for the proponents of Health & Safety.

It is true that Questions Were Asked about the curious earth tremor.

It is true that the dancer, Michael Michaelov (whom I knew as Mick), was directly involved.

It is true that the Ballet was composed following revelations about the cruelty in one of Stalin’s Gulags.

As it happens, I knew Mick quite well. We’d both worked ‘down the pit’ as electricians but got laid off when the Government had a fight with the Union. We always were fans of the ballet and Mick was one of the best Dancers in the locality, if not the county. Tall and perfectly formed, he’d modelled for statues of heroes and Greek gods at Art College. His wife, Doris, was the most sought-after woman of her day; she was admitted by most blokes to be “bloody gorgeous.” Their daughter took after her while their son was more compact than tall. Strangely, there was no rancour among the other young men at all when they wed.

When Georgiev, that mad Russian producer, came round asking for ‘extras’ for a film ballet he was making, Mick was chivvied by the lads into volunteering. He soon got back into the old fitness routine. He was seen jogging everywhere and was often to be found in the old dance studio (a converted Industrial Ball Mill), practicing “on the bar.” He could be found with us, naturally, on rather fewer evenings in the Bar.

Georgiev has always been a bit of a mystery; his work was all very ‘experimental’; rather than getting himself known first with a more conventional repertoire, he plunged into modern ballet, complete with weird music and lighting. All very moody, but not easily enjoyed, as it were. He brought the full crew with him; the local hotels were full to capacity and chefs were asked to prepare some strange foods for the principals.

The plot, if that’s what it could be called this time, involved the Rhine maiden who escapes the Gulag with her lover, a Guard, so the action involved a lot of prancing about either side of a fence. The highlight was her escape to his arms as they were both shot by the other guards on the orders of the Chief Warder who was very enamoured of her.

Mick was invited to be the understudy of the leading man. As this involved doing the dances on the “outside” of the fence, Mick was delighted; all these pretty girls prancing about in front of him? Funnily enough, Doris wasn’t a bit apprehensive about it.

The performance was received with mixed reviews but a well filled auditorium. On the forth day, however, the Leading Man was struck down with stomach trouble. It later came out that he’d eaten the local food and the meat pie had not been heated properly. “The chips were fine,” he was quoted as saying.

So Mick, who enjoyed watching a ballet production, now found himself on stage for real — and being filmed doing it (“that’ll be one for the grandchildren in a year or three,” he said).

He managed very well, according to the local paper’s dance correspondent. His high leaps were well executed and of good precision. He got to the point where Gladys, as we called the Rhine Maiden, took off like a missile and Mick was to catch her mid-flight. They were supposed to share a doomed kiss as the rest of the guards shot at the pair.

Gladys was a very pretty maid.

The snag was that, unknown to most, Gladys had turned her ankle and was not able to do the leap. Angela took the leap.

Now, whilst Gladys could best be described as “sylph-like” with the sort of curves than made most men whistle in admiration at the better creations of the Lord, Angela is one of the more traditionally–built Rhine maidens; the sort that are conjured up when thinking of Wagner’s “Der Ring das Nibelungen.” She was what might politely be described as ‘fairly chunky’ in build. She was fine when pointing the spear at the hero, sharpening the spikes on her magic helmet or polishing the steel of her breastplate. But she wasn’t the first girl you thought of when long ballet leaps are considered. The Chorus of Lohengrin, perhaps, but not a manoeuvre involving actual flight.

The problem was, of course, that decisions had to be made very, very quickly, and Angela was the nearest to the chute; and she knew how it worked, propelling the dancer at good velocity across the stage. As Mick put it later, “Eighteen and a half stone of steel-clad Rhine maiden at considerable speed can make for some quick thinking: Half Emm Vee Squared is a lot of energy, you know; particularly in her case”.

When Mick saw a flying Rhine maiden of substantial dimensions heading his way, with a speed of thought that surprised even him, he took half a step to his left, leaving Angela with nothing to land on but the stage, as the Guards fired off their shots. Predictably, Angela was not a happy bunny, and gave vent to her feeling with as much volume as if she’d been wounded rather than killed. Mick just collapsed on the deck as he was supposed to. Mick later said he’d nearly gone deaf with her shrieking.

The curtains closed to appreciative, if slightly confused, applause. The ambulance turned up in a few moments with unusual discretion and Angela was carted off to the hospital “for tests.”

The Props mistress was less than impressed by the treatment offered to her steel outfit.

The impact of Angela on the stage caused what the local papers called a “seismic event” which was registered at the local Meteorological Station and was thus reported automatically. Within hours, several scientists turned up at the village loaded with instruments of amazing complexity. They then plugged them into the ground at intervals. Miles of wires were laid along the roads and the geoscientists all looked at their instruments, shook their heads and then wrapped the cables and bits up again, bundling them all into the back of a large van.

“An unusual one-off” they cried as they fled whence they came.

Our government kept a lofty silence until the media picked it up and soon the overseas press were getting in on the act. “Has Britain a new type of bomb?” wailed Pravda. Izvestia posed a similar question.

France and Germany declared that unless the UK produced the evidence, chapter & verse, they’d “develop their own small weapons.” For reasons still unknown, the New China Peoples Daily said nothing, which in the opinion of some UK papers was as damning as it could get, hinting at collusion and, quite possibly, espionage.

Then some fool (probably a news reporter looking for a story) called the Health and Safety people, who were Not At All Happy. The Inspector went through his routine, checking this, ticking the boxes on his form, and then moving on to the next item.

He checked the chute and interviewed all those who could and did use it. He was disappointed to note that all were fully clued up about its operation and what to do in the event of a problem. He ticked several more boxes on his form.

Despite all manner of announcements, press releases, speculation, and talking heads on local TV, nothing wrong was discovered. In fact, Gergoriev was complimented on his approach to safety, something that some were not keen to see broadcast. But one of the reporters, a stringer for a national paper, always made sure that the correct facts were stated and eventually the matter dropped.

Angela was released from hospital via the back door, to confuse the waiting reporters who’d been alerted by some clot in the Press Relations department. A statement later proclaimed that “tests revealed nothing broken and she’d be fine after a few days rest.”

When the film was shown on TV, Georgiev was proclaimed a genius and Mick was offered a job at the Royal Ballet. However, he was also offered a good job more locally so he stayed with us. Visiting ballet folk called to see him and he kept up with his exercises, much to the delight of Doris, who wangled tickets to all manner of performances.

Angela was in a bad mood for ages afterwards but took to heart the advice of the hospital dietician, and in about a year had turned into a spectacular beauty. She went down to London and the last any of us saw of her was she was on page 3 as ‘Nina of Nottingham.’

But we all have a copy of the recording, and play it when we need a good laugh.
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If it ain't broke, don't fix it.

Handley Page

"Incident at Cemetery Junction"
"Pest Control"
"Mavis's Car Trip"
"Norman-the-dragon "
"Stacy & the Angel "
" Earth Tremor on Stage ? "
" Charlie's Story "
http://www.literotica.com/stories/me...php?uid=883259
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Old 07-04-2014, 04:23 AM   #25
Hypoxia
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Is this funny?

From a story I'm writing now (this passage is about 20 minutes old):

She slapped his bare butt. "You fucker! Just for that, I'M on top tonight! I'm Annie fucking Oakley and I'm gonna ride your tail into the ground! And no doggy-fucks! You can start by kissing my ass." She bent over and aimed her lovely arse at him.

"Yes, ma'am. Your wish, my command." He knelt behind her and gave each cheek a big wet slurp. "And while I'm here..." He eased her legs apart, licked her taint, and then probed her labia.

Edie gasped, "That's right, peon. Honor your mistress." His tongue danced deeper. "Ooh, more honor, yesss..." Her spicy nectar seeped out.

Ron's cock was soon bull-hard. He stood, held her hips, and slipped inside her.

"Oh fuck! Hey, I said, no doggy..."

"MOOO!" he sang, and moved faster.
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Big Banana (incest-SF) - "you had too much sex with your banana slug. as a writer you SUCK. delete and stop posting until you learn how to write" -Anon
Story of my Fucking Life (LW) - "change you name from Hypoxia to DOA, you died on acid moron. borrow a gun and do the world a favor. I'll give you 5 stars after you commit suicide." -Anon
What Is Cheating? (essay) - "Rumblin', stumblin', bumblin' BARF! I don't think an editor would help this mess. Was there a point? There certainly didn't seem to be a storyline." -Anon

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