Somehow, against my better judgement, Stinky managed to persuade me to go with her to her universe. It's not as easy as it sounds, either. It's ok for her. She's dead. She doesn't have a body to cart around. I, on the other hand, do have a body. Ok, so technically it's not actually mine, but the Host seems to be a lot more agreeable lately.
Anyway, one can't go flitting through parallel universes encumbered with a physical shell. It's just not polite. Not to mention against some physical law or other. So I had to leave the Host behind. Which meant that I'd have to inhabit someone else when I got there. I needed a familiar body.
I enquired as to whether there was a parallel Host I could just drop into but Stinky thought he'd perished years ago in an inflatable paddling pool accident. Oh the ignominy! She suggested either Wraith or Blacksmith from her universe's Supernaturals. No contest. I went for Blacksmith. There was no way I was going to inhabit that vapid little cow's skinny body. Apparently, Stinky had the foresight to warn them beforehand that I'd need the loan of a body.
It was at this point that a question popped into my mind: Where was the parallel me?
Stinky didn't know for sure. She knew I didn't exist in her time and had done some research before spectralising in my television. She thought her me hadn't managed to leave our body to travel forward in time to the now present ( I hate trying to describe alternate temporal mechanics ). Shit! That probably means I was burnt at the stake. Or dunked in some polluted pond until I had no choice but to try and breathe its scummy water. Bleeugh.
Time for another question: What did she need me for?
Stinky looked uncomfortable and began to fidget. After a couple of seconds she mumbled something unintelligible.
"What?"
"I said: Our you is the most powerful witch on record. We thought you could help with this disaster."
I could scarcely believe my ears. TGOC Parallel Universe paying a compliment, albeit grudgingly.
"What makes you think I'm as powerful a witch as your me was?" I asked her, still reeling.
"Well... You... You're here, aren't you?" she stuttered. "You managed to hurl yourself forward in time whereas our you couldn't. Or didn't."
Hmmm. She had a point.
"Ok Stinky. Let's go before I change my mind" I said, resignedly.
I hate traveling through inter-universal barriers. It stings.
Isn't there some sort of inter-parallel universe-travlling lube? Cuz that would really help.
ReplyDeleteI don't think there is. But what a fabulous idea!
ReplyDeleteIf you invent some (I obviously won't on account of my innate "can't be arsedness"), can I be your first customer and model and, therefore, get some for free?
You are clever, I still haven't managed to get a bus into Pontyhotpant.
ReplyDeleteI can transport you to Piggy's place.
A small victory for the retard.
And as if by magic I was indeed transported to Piggy's.
ReplyDeleteDidn't stay long as the lazy cunt hadn't posted anything new.
And he calls me lazy for not commenting...
inter-universal barriers...i don't think i've ever travelled through one of those before....but after your description, i don't think i want to if it stings
ReplyDeleteIf m'Lady gets on with inventing her patented travelling lube you'll be well away.
ReplyDeleteUniverse travelling lube, or just some Savlon for the chafing once you get back.
ReplyDeleteI can't even imagine being that powerful, it must be great. And still you're so humble and modest with it all. I admire you.
Pineapple flavoured lube. No-one'll nick that and you won't find strange pubes on it.
ReplyDeleteHurry back and don't get hurt *cluck cluck cluck*
ReplyDelete...and don't take candy from strangers, and make sure you wash your hands.
I'll have to make sure all trace of pineapple is gone...
ReplyDelete"It stings"???
ReplyDeleteAre we travelling through the same inter-universal barrier here?
Or are you travelling on the late Sunday afternoon one?
No SID, this was the Friday evening one. I think it must be all the extra traffic. You know, astral forms hurrying back to their respective universes for the weekend.
ReplyDeleteAlthough I've heard that Sunday afternoon's are bad, too. They're all going to work, then!
Further to Kyahgirls comment, wear a sensible vest, and stop picking the caffing scabs, they'll only get worse.
ReplyDeleteMy Idiots Dictionary defines caffing as:
ReplyDelete'The inner thigh soreness experienced by fat waitresses after a long shift'.
Sorry for the typo'
*hangs head in shame*
I love your Idiots Dictionary definitions, but what was "caffing" supposed to be?
ReplyDelete'The inner thigh soreness experienced by fat waitresses after a long shift'.
ReplyDeleteA lot of weird things happening on this blogger thingy today.
It seems to be visable now.
No, I meant, what word was it supposed to be? Not the definition!
ReplyDeleteBloody hell, now I've got to use the Chambers Dictionary.
ReplyDeleteChafeing I think.
Ah. Yes. That would make sense - although, without the "e".
ReplyDeleteThank you : )
tickersoid and IdV, you've managed to give me yet another good laugh.
ReplyDeleteI always wondered about the sore inner thighs on waitresses!
Pervert! *jokes*
ReplyDeleteDuznt say in the dictionary that I'm sposed to drop the 'e' when adding the 'ing'. Duznt say anything really.
ReplyDeleteSorry.
I hope you're planning to come back IdV!
ReplyDelete*cluck cluck cluck*