Once upon a time there was a stool maker called Puck. Puck lived in a kingdom where stool making was frowned upon. It was a strict Christian fundamentalist country, and anything to do with arses and where to put them was strictly banned. As a result, people would stand at all times, backs to the wall, to avoid dealing with the fact that they all had... well... arses.
Now, as you can imagine, there was a great deal of demand for seating on the black market in this particular country, and Puck (being puckish in the extreme) pretty much had the market cornered. He made stools for anybody who required them, from peasant to gentleman. He made them all. Now one day, someone told the king about Puck's little business. The king, who was a deeply religious man and very inhibited about his arse, was not happy.
"If this fellow puck will not stop making stools of his own free will, we must put him out of business!" said the king. "Of what is he making these stools?"
"From wood, sire."
"Then burn down the forests! We will have no more wood. This dastardly man cannot make stools if he has no materials. Burn down the woods! Burn down the woods!"
Pretty soon all the forests were gone, and Puck had no way of making his stools. The good people of the country were in a terrible state. Quite unable to sit down, they wandered the land with aching legs and sore feet. Puck didn't know what to do. The people called a secret meeting, inviting Puck along. One by one they took turns to voice their ideas. All of them sucked.
"Let's make them out of water!" cried one.
"Let's make them out of air!" crowed another.
"Let's weave them out of horse manure!" blathered a third.
Puck scratched his chin. "can you really weave manure?" he asked.
"Oh yes!" said the commoner. "It makes wonderful weaving stuff."
Puck threw his hands into the air. "YES!" he cried. "I have the answer!"
He asked the people to stand in a row and bare their arses. Then he told them to strain. Pretty soon there was a right good pile of shit for Puck to weave. He got to work.
Soon Puck was back in business, selling stools made of, well, stools. But the king got to hear about it again.
"Of what is he making these stools now?" asked the king.
Now the king was not allowed to even look at an arse, much less set fire to one. He was baffled as to what to do.
"Bugger!" said the king. "How am I going to burn all these arses if I can't touch them?"
He summoned his finest wizards. They had a brain storming session, during which
one of them came up with the idea that, if nobody was allowed to actually touch
the arses, the fire would probably have to come from the inside.
The wizard went into the king's herb garden and came back with a selection of
spices and herbs. He got busy in the kitchen, chucked in a few chillis
The king called all his people to a big feast round his place.
He gave them all a big plate of buttery chicken balti and
The effect was instantaneous. One by one the people ran to the bushes in agony, fire billowing out of their bum holes. Their stools burning up like disposable nappies in a creche inferno. Pretty soon there was no more stool for Puck to make into stools.
Puck gave up and started selling heroin instead.
And we still have curries an' all.
This is where we're going to put a load of adverts in the absurd belief that we might actually make a bit of money out of this site.