The Fellowship of Pinarello's Ring

seanoconn

In a sleepy village in Portugalshire, a young vegetarian, T47b Baggins, is entrusted with an immense task. He must make a perilous journey across Middle Bottom Bracket, battling Dark Lord Pina's sidekick, evil wizard, Cleat the Grey and with the aid of Super seanoconn, (son of Aggieboy and rightful heir to the throne of Bottom Bracket) who wields the mighty sword 'Bally's Bell end,' forged in the blood of menstruating virgins, will travel north to the crack of Mount Tw@t and together there, once and for all, will totally destroy the ring of Pinarello, thus ending the Dark Lord's evil dominion

To be continued.....

ballysmate

Bally's Bell End could certainly destroy the Ring of Pinarello.

Yellow Peril

I read this thread title and was sick in my mouth...

Cleat Eastwood

Excellent - anyone want to pop if for a pint just head towards my tower with the glistening eye

Cleat Eastwood

My regional anthem by the way is this

team47b

Is it his granny ring you're after?

This perilous journey, will there be little chef's or whatever the main source of crops are?

Never entrust me with anything immense

crumbschief

I like it laughed out on that one,i'm looking forward to the fight with the Balgag at Moria

pinno

Yawn yawn.

The shitshoveler from Croydons previous attempted assasination on me was thwarted by my accomplice placing a breeze block in his saddle bag. He ended up going around in circles and never left the car park.

Such a long list of obstcales from Hadrians wall to a particular 'spent' munter Cleat chucked out of his tower for pretending to be the next Mrs Toddy, lying in the road and blocking the way, still covered in flour after a vain attempt to find a particular orifice. No-one can take Mrs Toddys place.
In the event the genius of bent barrel AK47b's (doesn't shoot himself whilst practising for his assault on Scottish soil) does actually manage to jump start that decrepid attempt at transportation for the masses and make his way from Portugalshire, he'll need the collusion of Vtech as he is the only one with the means to cover the bill for all the food stops at Little Chef, else you will all starve (I say all, a motley crue of 3: S, T47b and a stuffed Teddy hardly represents a threat).
Of course the shirkingsh1tshovelingcroydoncrawler will have to work on his accent or else Watford, Birmingham, Manchester, Liverpool and Carlisle will have to be avoided - as a 'little bit waa and a little bit wey' will earn himself a good kicking and too bloody right.
Fair play to him if he manages to make it all the way to Scotland (despite the above) on a fixie. We fix fixie fetishes fervently with force and fecundity. Actually, 10 pints of 80sch.:- and a Kebab from the Istanbul with their (infamous) chilly sauce will either fuel us up for a quick demolition of the Super usurper or fix him up proper.
I am currently building a raft out of pallets and a few empty whiskey barrels on which we will strap Mr Croydon Crawler to and send him on his way courtsey of the currents into the Irish sea. Yellow Peril can give him a wave as he sails by the IOM and Cleat can light the fire in his tower so that he can avoid hitting rocks and end up floating like the turd he is into the river Mersey and upsetting the local populace with his stench.
He also needs to remember that i'm in the waste disposal bizness and as I am now taking up the mantle from Tony Soprano: "I just don't know about the little guy". I suggest he doesn't throw rubbish out or expect to eat in an Italian, Kenyan or Scottish restaurant without worying about the anti-pasta. To quote my bestest mate from Torino:
"Well gentleman, England is a long walk - and its thatta way".

seanoconn

pinarello001 wrote:

Yawn yawn.

The shitshoveler from Croydons previous attempted assasination on me was thwarted by my accomplice placing a breeze block in his saddle bag. He ended up going around in circles and never left the car park.

Such a long list of obstcales from Hadrians wall to a particular 'spent' munter Cleat chucked out of his tower for pretending to be the next Mrs Toddy, lying in the road and blocking the way, still covered in flour after a vain attempt to find a particular orifice. No-one can take Mrs Toddys place.
In the event the genius of bent barrel AK47b's (doesn't shoot himself whilst practising for his assault on Scottish soil) does actually manage to jump start that decrepid attempt at transportation for the masses and make his way from Portugalshire, he'll need the collusion of Vtech as he is the only one with the means to cover the bill for all the food stops at Little Chef, else you will all starve (I say all, a motley crue of 3: S, T47b and a stuffed Teddy hardly represents a threat).
Of course the shirkingsh1tshovelingcroydoncrawler will have to work on his accent or else Watford, Birmingham, Manchester, Liverpool and Carlisle will have to be avoided - as a 'little bit waa and a little bit wey' will earn himself a good kicking and too bloody right.
Fair play to him if he manages to make it all the way to Scotland (despite the above) on a fixie. We fix fixie fetishes fervently with force and fecundity. Actually, 10 pints of 80sch.:- and a Kebab from the Istanbul with their (infamous) chilly sauce will either fuel us up for a quick demolition of the Super usurper or fix him up proper.
I am currently building a raft out of pallets and a few empty whiskey barrels on which we will strap Mr Croydon Crawler to and send him on his way courtsey of the currents into the Irish sea. Yellow Peril can give him a wave as he sails by the IOM and Cleat can light the fire in his tower so that he can avoid hitting rocks and end up floating like the turd he is into the river Mersey and upsetting the local populace with his stench.
He also needs to remember that i'm in the waste disposal bizness and as I am now taking up the mantle from Tony Soprano: "I just don't know about the little guy". I suggest he doesn't throw rubbish out or expect to eat in an Italian, Kenyan or Scottish restaurant without worying about the anti-pasta. To quote my bestest mate from Torino:
"Well gentleman, England is a long walk - and its thatta way".

The Tony Soprano of BR...



Apparently Pinarello is more intimidating in person