Hiya, how’s it going? Sorry I’ve been a bit slack with articles, but I’ve been squirrelling away working on a film script. Sometimes you can get a bit blinkered doing that on your own, so I thought before I get this off to editors and publishers I’d run it by the discerning Weebl’s Stuff readership. Here you go.
Hotel De Schmaris
By Sarah (Double Dizzle) Darling
Let me tell you now, prison is no joke. What they tell you about work programmes, relaxation and plasma TV’s, that’s just for the brochures to get you in. When you’re in your eyes are open to the see the real deal. The prison they don’t talk about. The one that’s nasty. The one where you have to pee in the toilet in your cell (only pee, twosies are not recommended). The one where the three course meal consists of stale bread, gruel and weevils. The one where your room-mate is called Big Bertha, and is 300 pounds of pure gristle and anger, who’s only ray of hope in this dark and desolate place is a roomy that she can hold and squeeze into the wee hours. Enter Paris…er Schmaris.
So life became very hard indeed. Days stretched into more days. It’s the routine in prison that’ll kill ya'. Get up, go for pee in overloaded corner potty, breakfast of weevils, sit in cell watching Big Bertha sharpening her toothbrush into a point and ragging on about how she’s ‘Gonna Kill that Mary Sue. Gonna kill that Mary Sue. Gonna kill’ etc. Out in the yard for exercise, pumping iron using a broomhandle with a couple of baked bean tins on the end, trying to avoid the accusing looks of the various gangs, the Skanks, the Ho’s and the Yo Mamma’s. Every now and then in the yard violence would break out, and someone would be taken to the infirmary missing some hair or a fingernail from one scrap or other. But it was the nights that were longest. Held up against Bertha's ample bosom like a tatty rag doll, Schmaris always dreamt of escape. Maybe she could get one of her other socialte friends to break her out; Shmicole Schmitchie was pretty handy with a hacksaw. Or she could create a highly unlikely but very elaborate escape plan using intricate body tattoos and a group of mismatched accomplices. But it would be a nightmare to keep a secret like that. Somehow she thought the only thing worse than being in here would be Bertha finding out that she was trying to get out. Imagine the wrath if Bertha’s favourite toy was taken away. It looked like she was stuck here. For the whole 45 days.
But then, luck smiled at her,. While working away in the sweaty laundry, she kicked at the floor accidentally, and part of it came away, making a small hole in the cement. She kicked again, and the cement started crumbling away like flour. Looking out of the window she saw that if she could kick away enough cement, say several tonnes, she could be under the fence and away. But how to cover the hole, and how to get rid of the excess cement?
Suddenly, a plan started formulating. In her pocket she kept the only treasure they would let her take in, a tiny tiny whistle. They thought this was harmless, but little did they know that it was a signal. A signal for her faithful mini-dog, Stinkerbell, to come to her aid. So she blew hard, knowing that if she could get Stinks to start digging at the other end, she could be out in a matter of hours. Now where to put the excess cement. Could she find a cavity large enough and secret enough to hide it? Then it came to her. She could hide it up her cha cha. After all of her Hollywood liasons she had developed some downstairs skills that had never been seen anywhere outside of a Bangkok cat-house. So that was where to hide it, but how to block the hole. She looked around frantically, and, spying Bertha milling around the detergent dispenser, suddenly she saw it all. She could get Bertha to block the hole. All Schmaris had to do was tell her that she was making a special seat for her favourite roomy. It was all so clear…
So that’s it folks. I would say tune in next week for the second installment, but it’s obvious what happens. Schmaris and Stinks work together and eventually she is free. They drive off into the sun, At which point she gets caught again and the police shoot her on sight.
All characters and events are fictional, and should they bear any resemblance to anything even vaguely real then they shouldn’t.
If you fancy writing an article or two for Weebl’s Stuff, send me your bits and bobs, and if it’s good, it’s on. Please no more Weebl and Bob/On the Moon/Parsley Boobs story lines. Leave that to Mr Weebl himself.
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