Who wants to talk then?

Question

Im up late cos i gotta go and pick my mum and dad up from the airport later. Theres no point going to sleep now. Who wants to talk because im extramly bored.

Answer 1

well well well!

Here, read this story I wrote yesterday for another answerer:

A little old lady - teacups.

Suddenly a sound...

"Holy Toledo!!"

'Not those ruddy neighbours again!' It was only hours previously that they decided to thrust themselves (almost literally) into her doorframes, extolling the virtues of 'Hoboken hussey', whatever that meant.

Getting to her feet, placing each carefully planted foot in front of her body, Meredith inched towards the door. Maybe it wasn't them.

They weren't used to the cold, it was only 18 degrees yesterday and Meredith swore that she remembered their lips quivering like a dog's tail.

A guttural roar made its way towards her ears. 'What was THAT?', she thought. This was getting more and more perplexing every second. What a 'Hair-raising experience', deserving of its own trademark. She really should have completed that business degree.

The wind battered against her home. Her Tuscan cottage, made of bricks and mortar, painstakingly transferred one by one across the Mediterranean. Thousands of overworked Italian bits threatened to permanently strike. The roar evolved into a kind of chanting, aurally visceral, like it was emanating from this stranger's heart.

Surely this couldn't be THEM?

'Almost there', and with a sigh, turned the k**b 180 degrees and exposing her rugged-up body to the elements.

"Ho ho ho and WHOOP DEE DO!"

Oh yes, it sure was them all right. Or rather, one of them.

Ah, such a tragedy. Time to die, she thought miserably.

He hollered, "ביראָבידזשאנער שטערן " in a thick accent.

Hope floats. Heartache sinks.

"Fancy a cuppa over at our place? High tea with her majesty, Hilda Hok A Chainik"

Oh how she hated it when they used that title!

'What a lovely idea! Hearts and hips, hiccups and hemorrhages', she thought, with the barest hint of malice. 'Here on Earth we try not to copulate. At least not publicly, and outside the home of the living incarnation of our deity, anyway. Inwardly groaning while maintaining pretenses of grace, she nodded gently. "Be over in a minute. Just, if you may, allow me to change into something a little more...regal."

"Is that all you need?"

"Ah, for now."

"Best be off to prepare." As if he hadn't spent the entire morning planning their latest conversation on the interior trim of the embassy, or the texture of its Victorian chaise.

"Yes, I do like it when you do that." So much verbal diarrhoea.

He bowed his head. "Hyggelig å møte deg", uttering the customary salutation, and contentedly skipped across the drive.

Gliding up the stairs, she made her way to her room. Making a beeline for her wardrobe, she was overwhelmed. Her wardrobe flung itself at her, presenting the most absurd combinations: a muumuu with a top hat, a negligee with a corset. She saw the glint of gold. Her father's ancient book, bequeathed to her on his deathbed. Why oh why couldn't she have got the SL500 like her brother did. 'For heaven's sake dad', she cursed 'why give it to him?'

'Then again', she thought, allowing a smile to creep across her face, 'those neighbours haven't discovered the bounty which lay in its pages'. Imagine what their last encounter would have been like. History in the making!

A handbook would have been helpful. Hehe.

Setting off, slinging a slightly-laden bag, she remembered one last thing. Her teacup.

Answer 2

I'll talk.