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DELIVERANCE

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Episode 1


MarcusAurelius

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I have seen the affliction of my people... I have heard their cry... I know their suffering and I have come down to deliver them. Go, tell Pharaoh, Let my people go.

 

 

A great virus has swept the land. Decent escorts are starving, forced to eat scraps from a rancid onlyfans buffet. Brothels are boarded up shut. Bait and switches are everywhere. Not even the rub n tuggers can find an honest release. But one intrepid little band of punters wander purposefully through this dystopian landscape, in search of their promised land. Their leader, the indomitable AndyJ, has come down from the sacred mountain and called an emergency meeting.

 

“I have a map” he announced.

 

“Is it a map of Tassie?” asked one small retarded boy named Angelo.

 

“No you idiot! It’s a map showing the way to Slutland”.

 

There was an audible hiss from the group as the gravity of this statement sunk in.

 

Slutland! Did it really exist? The ancient punting texts had spoken of such a place but it’s whereabouts had always been a mystery. It was thought to have sunk into the ocean during the great feminist tsunami of the 1970s.

 

“That’s just a myth” said Bob, a famous builder, his utility belt wobbling with excitement.

 

“Not according to the pp intel” Andy replied. “As far as we can tell it’s totally legit.”

 

Nobody could doubt the pp intel. It was as good as you could get. But there would always be pockets of resistance.

 

“Do they have deposits in Slutland?” some old cunt shouted from the back. “I’m not going anywhere if they have deposits.”

 

“No,” Andy reassured them, his voice now soft and silken, “all the escorts are reasonably priced in Slutland. No scams. No deposits. No ID’s. And they look exactly like their pics. It’s the promised land.”

 

“Yippee! Yahoo!” everyone hooted, dancing round a burning bush.

 

Everyone, that is, except for a shadowy little character they called Kombi. 

 

“Hang on!” he boomed in a loud and much too obvious accent, “if they’re all reasonably priced… how will we know it’s good VFM?”  

 

And with that, funny old kombi jumped into his Mr Whippy van and drove off to the sound of Greensleeves, leaving everyone much relieved.

 

He was never seen again.

 

“Ok. Let’s get back on track.” Andy was good at keeping them all on track. “I think we should consult the Magic Eight Ball.”

 

Throughout history, whenever in doubt, the greatest punters have always consulted the eight ball. 

 

It was a black plastic sphere. In the shape of an eight ball. It had immense powers of divination and could provide the answer to any question asked, but never the same question twice. 

 

Andy removed the Magic Eight Ball from his signature pp Versace gown and raised it to the sky. An eerie reverence fell over the group as he invoked the great spirit of the punting gods.

 

“Our Big Daddy, who art in heaven, 

hallowed be thy name. 

Thy kingdom cum,

thy will be done, 

on line as it is in heaven. 

Give us this day our daily punt 

and lead us not into bankruptcy, 

but deliver us from exorbitant prices 

and old Asian grandmas, 

for thine is the kingdom, 

the power, and the glory hole. 

Forever and ever. 

Amen.”

 

“Amen” they all responded.

 

Suddenly the plastic eight ball began to glow a ghostly orange. Shafts of white light shot out from its core. The air was filled with the sound of duelling banjos and then, as if from nowhere, the unmistakeable voice of the messiah himself….

 

“HEY YO.”

 

***

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