Three word story...

[Hells_Angel]

now I awoke

[keyboardistmatt]

...and suspended nearby, ...

[Wilford Jr.]

...was a moog...

[CygnusX1]

...which was squealing...

[gelert]

...for lubrication, so...

[Moonloop]

...having produced a...

[Hells_Angel]

great new song
 

[rocker666]

I strained to

[CygnusX1]

...tweak its knobs...

[gelert]

...of painful pleasure...

[CygnusX1]

...but unfortunately I...

[gelert]

...misplaced the instructions...

[CygnusX1]

The story so far (with a few punctuation marks added where necessary.  Yes, I have too much time on my hands etc etc.

There was a big yellow lorry outside the arena, playing Contagion on a friday morning, when a visitor from another planet ate the wheels, when he suddenly fell in love.  There she was, she was beautiful, but really stinky, with some funny shaped carrots dangling on both ears and the nose.

She farted loudly, grinded her teeth, and fell backwards, but she smiled and touched her "oh I love how Clive plays the spoons" and I wonder why I can't remember.  Neither can I...!

Somehow it all doesn't make sense.  I often wondered how Clive's diet didn't work for comedienne Dawn French.  No Leather Cloak could hide the enormous bulk of beer hidden under keyboards stacked high. And the jack Daniels was sitting a mathematics exam, but he failed due to a high consumption of frozen baked beans, which gave him a cheque for a penny and very bad wind, chills and thrills, and belly aches.

So he had to buy a large bag of chillian sea monsters, and couldn't resist a tonne of Leather Cloak polish that smells so grotty, like a rotten fish at a wet dog's funeral, while he reads up on a very long tomato ketchup recipe.  All of a sudden the curtain spontaneously combusted and the fire extinguisher was very angry.  He rose to his feet, and punched the nearest guy in the face without even thinking about it. 

Suddenly...nothing happened in the woods or the strings. The thirty musketeers and three pikemen began to laugh hysterically when the dildo swung violently in his hand, while the audiance encouraged "The SpellChecker" to have another four mile run around the lake wearing nothing but two pink shirts with white leather underwear, with frilly gastronomical delights. 

However, the elastic snapped unnecessarilly, and shouted, "What is this??  Oh it's my necrophile Guinea Pig playing the banjo."

Funny things happened.  "Orange and spam on the moon, smoke till noon" was the song that never was released, because it was no good.  Back on earth the mere mortal scratched his nose and his crotch im sniffed his sweaty socks while sniffing his crotch, which wasn't his own, but borrowed from an alien pair of pants that wanted to steal Pepper's Ghosts wonderful sounding music that we love to keep playing over and over and over and over until suddenly it was stolen BY A HERMIT!!!

We were feeling quite sad after the beer disappeared, so we put on some leather and smoked cigars, while playing a game of tennis on a cold and windy court against someone called Dr Cliff Nylon and his pet leather bag named Marmaduke. It started to get pretty difficult to hit, but the seams ripped and started a brand new dance revolution movement with two pairs and an apple and a large brown banana.

The atmosphere degenerated into something quite positive, despite the intention of writing home to complain about the grinded canary in their pants, which was surprisingly dry and dusty considering that the aardvark had just kissed your face and left behind red lip gloss.

The clouds covered up a conspiracy of evil proportions about a clown with a large personality, and considerable insight into the making of a movie, which starred three foolish people trying to catch a Shadowland album.  Now we know that it didn't hit the consumers in the chops.  Instead it hit a small village in the middle of eating a large Cornish pasty, when suddenly the family of tissues sneezed violently into darkness.

The tissue-family then squidged off-side.  The referee cried out loud because he noticed his nuts were nicked by squirrels.  This created a tear in the Space Time Continuum, which in turn opened up some cans full of Brahms.  Rick Wakeman drinks this regulally, despite his spelling and spell casting, which is not to say that he can spell, but to say that maybe he could just possibly sit down and read a good porn magazine entitled Fnar, Ffnarrboy special, with supplements on how to extend the length of a moog solo.

This was a very hot topic that burned my teeth, like those curries that I rejected. They were quite possibly the hottest vindaloos ever eaten by the common man.  Hence, "Fanfare For....", because it was in Bombay that I first noticed the beauty of progressive rock, because at that time I was sleeping.

Now I awoke, and suspended nearby was a moog, which was squealing for lubrication, so having produced a great new song I strained to tweak its knobs of painful pleasure, but unfortunately I misplaced the instructions...

[Peter]

*ROFL*

[keyboardistmatt]

*ROFL*

I think that's worth publishing!

[Wilford Jr.]

That is good reading.

[Moonloop]

If Clive can put some music to it we may just have the storyline for the next Arena concept album 

[CygnusX1]

I reckon the Python team would've been proud of it.

[keyboardistmatt]

Well, I think we should carry on a bit further...








Meanwhile, the slightly...

[Peter]

irritated device with

[Wilford Jr.]

... a large brain...

[Peter]

started to tick

[Appelmoes??]

Peter on the

[keyboardistmatt]

...nose, with some...

[Wilford Jr.]

...biscuits and tea...