Tuesday, 3 November 2009
I Now KNOW Who The Illuminati Are!
Yes, I have finally solved the mystery once and for all. I have irrefutable proof of the identity of the Illuminati! People have been asking for years: “Is it the Bilderbergers?” “Is it the Skull-and-Bones?” “Is it the Masons?“ etc etc. Well it’s none of them. The Illuminati are National Express. It’s true! The Antichrist doesn’t sit in the capstone of a pyramid in a sub-basement of Area 51… He can be found in the driving seat of a white coach.
This revelation came to me from an experience I had last week. I was on a National Express coach on a long distance no-change journey from Oxford to Nottingham. I intensely dislike travelling by coach and I normally pay the extra £10 and get the train, but I wanted to use up some surplus return train tickets I had. Anyway just after leaving Oxford I got up to go to the little toilet cubicle at the back to relieve myself of the cup of coffee, spring water and orange juice I had in Cafe Nero before boarding, and to my horror the door to the coach bog was locked and there was an "OUT OF ORDER" sign on it. That's it! No apology no alternative recommendations; nothing! "What shall I do?" I asked myself. The journey was almost 5 hours with no toilet! I looked around myself. How would my fellow passengers cope? Could I follow their lead? What if I was the only one suffering? It made me realize that because I’d booked my ticket in advance, the Illuminati, knew which coach I’d be on and so purposefully sabotaged the toilet as part of their campaign against me.
My first thought was to ask the driver if I could quickly go to the toilet at the various places we stopped at, but I didn't trust him not to drive away and leave me behind. National Express have a notorious reputation for that kind of cock-up as well as being... generally crap in every other respect! So there was only one thing for it. I'd have to make alternative washroom arrangements... on the coach! Luckily every seat on the coach was supplied with a plastic bag for rubbish and I was relieved to see that it had no air-holes in it. The next problem was how to actually use the bag for the impromptu purpose for which I'd designated it. If I'd had a quiet corner seat at the back I could just have kneeled on the floor behind the seat in front, but I was in the centre of the cabin right next to a very prim-looking middle-aged woman. I stealthily draped my jumper over my lap and equally stealthy picked up the rubbish bag, trying not to make it rustle. Over the course of the next 10 minutes I moved it closer and closer to my waistline, pausing every time the woman turned a page on her paper. I eventually managed to slip the bag under the jumper covering and inside my trousers. The problem then was how to fit it over the end of my willy, in a way that I could piss into it cleanly, with just one hand. If I shoved both hands inside my trousers then my attempt at discretion would be blown. I realized that it would be much easier if I had a slight erection so I tried to think of lustful thoughts, but it didn't work. I was too nervous and self conscious. I let fly with a few "test drops" but they sponged straight into my trousers. So I had to abandon that plan.
Then I had another brainwave. I shoved half of the jumper itself inside my trousers. Once again I had to do this very slowly and carefully, keeping the other half of my jumper disguising what I was doing as it had before. Once I achieved this and manoeuvred the scrunched up jumper into the best position, I opened the floodgates. Warm wetness soaked into the jumper and I felt the pressure on my bladder blissfully easing. Mission accomplished! But then I had two further problems to contend with, and no way to go back! My jumper... overflowed slightly, into my trousers and the seat cushion! Also, how was I to get it out of my trousers discreetly? I waited until the woman had shifted in her seat and the young bloke in the seat behind me was asleep then I just whipped it out and bundled it into the rubbish bag. I tied it up and hoped that the smell wasn't too bad and that the wet patch on my trousers wasn't too prominent. The women beside me wrinkled her nose a bit, but then to my relief she glanced behind her at the sleeping man! The girl in the seat in front of me kept looking at me though! Unfortunately a bit later I could no longer pretend that the stench of urine was not wafting away from me in concentric circles. "God, let this journey be over soon!" I prayed. "Let there be no traffic jams!"
When I finally alighted from the coach in Nottingham I went to the bus station stop and bought a small toy model of a National Express coach. Then I made a pentacle on the ground with salt and burned it as an effigy. I hope that my virulent curse reaches every corner of the National Express organization. Hopefully even the company’s director will break out in boils.
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