A friend kindly gave me the words “Blog-A-Thon, Raspberry Ripple, Smurf, Pamphlet” to write a story with. I would question the reason for the words, but I believe it is such a deep rooted issue, that uncovering it could be a threat to the whole of mankind itself. So I will do the story, and we wont mention a thing. Shhhhh!
So there I was, sitting reading my favourite Sunday supplement, wearing what I like to wear on a Sunday. Just a smile. (yes I do clean the seat when I get up) I know it isn’t a nice thought, but it is the only image I can give you. As I sat there, I noticed the postman walking up the garden path and then knocked at my door. Post? On a Sunday? I thought as I hurried to the door, realising half way there that all I was wearing was my “Sunday Best”. Giving me a smile and a dodgy wink, the postie gave me my recorded delivery. Closing the door as quickly as I could before the local women’s institute Sunday march came past, I hurried to the kitchen to see what had been delivered with the excitement of a puppy seeing a leg to hump. I cant lie. There were puddles of excitement. Anything that may have resembled a tail wagging is purely coincidental, and was just from how I was walking with no clothes on. I like to strut.
“You are invited to Blog-a-Thon 2008!” the letter read. It was a fancy dress fund raising thingie to help the poor and unfortunate in the world. Those who needed help beyond all others. This years sad unfortunates were the Ice Cream sellers of the Arctic. The poor guys haven’t stood a chance since the mysterious flavoursome yellow snow appeared near the polar bears. Nobody knows where it has come from, but it seems to replenish itself naturally. Although it could leave the mouth a little dry, there was enough white and brown snow in the area to clench any thirst. The brown snow, or the “coffee chip” snow as it had started to be known as, was also self replenishing, although there was remarkably less then the yellow snow.
As the day drew nearer, I arranged my fancy dress outfit. I wanted something that said “cold”, or “Ice Cream” or “Tasty” or “Yummy to lick”. So I decided on a Smurfette costume as it seemed all encompassing of my needs out of a fancy dress outfit. (Note to self: Check out why there were only 3 female smurfs in the village. How did the relationships work there. Is it worth moving there, or would my wife be thrown in to the small pile of available GirlSmurfs. I mean, she is smurftastic and all, but I am not willing to share her with someone short and blue. And if the female smurfs were to become infertile, what would happen. Also need to check out what a smurfgasm would sound like. Funny, serious or sensual? I will ask Jeeves.)
On the day of the blog-a-thon, I got dressed up, and got the smurf outta there and headed to the venue.
On arriving, I was given various pamphlets to tell me what was happening during the day, how the fundraisers would work and vouchers for money off of ice creams. None of the yellow snow cones though. It was all man made ice cream, like the good old days.
I was teamed up with a guy dressed as Tinky Winky from the Teletubbies. I am assuming that it was his way of telling prospective female attention that they weren’t in for anything fun. But he was a nice guy, and once he realised I was a guy in a Smurfette costume, he stopped grabbing my arse constantly. (That or he actually knew how the female thing works in Smurfland…hmmmm)
We went round doing crazy things, raising money. All in all we raised £11. 87 which although not a huge amount, didn’t stop us from becoming very popular. I seemed to be a hit in my Smurfette outfit, and had several ladies, some dressed as Buzz Lightyear for some reason, lining up to buy me a raspberry ripple. It was all going well, until I got very drunk on babycham, and started to play “Hide the raspberry ripple” with a young lady dressed as Slobodan Milosevic. It just went everywhere. She was in no fit state to try and hide the raspberry ripple there. Honestly, who would put it near a heater! Crazy woman. So as the heater kicked in, it melted rapidly and the crowd were covered in rippley goodness.
There was uproar, and when they realised I was part of the guilty party, I started smurfing myself something serious. (I did later manage to clean the outfit before I took it back)
Running from the venue, I dropped a shoe. A woman dressed as Prince Charming picked it up and shouted “Oi, Fat Smurf! You dropped your size 11 boat!”. I didn’t care. I was outta there like a polar bear.
I get the feeling I wont be invited next year!
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