Drink is poison. Alcohol turns you into a demented version of yourself that can’t cope with real life and has a strong craving for chips. I am like that most days so quite how anyone tells when I am pissed is anyone’s guess.
Not too long ago, Chris, that there him, asked some questions about otters (see http://pouringbeans.com/ians-otter-answers/). I posted my answers back like a proper old person using a stamp and everything. There was a second envelope though, one which was posted to his old address like some people were doing up until recently *cough cough* Kev *cough cough*. What was in this magical envelope you might ask? What treasures were kept within this paper power pack of puzzles? It was sent away to an address that nobody has access to anymore so surely it is now lost to the mists of time and space?
You would be wrong. You are wrong. Stop considering how wrong you are and listen to my story!
I kept a visual record of what was in that envelope. It was too good and I am glad I did. Whilst off my face on whatever expensive plonk I had been throwing down my neck that night, I wrote down some rather silly answers to the otter questions. It’s only fair that I share the answers with… well currently there will only be Chris reading this so I’m sharing it with you, mate. Here’s a little present for you, mate.
23 comments on “Ian’s Otter Answers – Alternative Version”
I think answering the last question with the phrase “wank pellets” might actually be the hallmark of true genius. I laughed like a loon. Ten points.
I don’t know where it came from nor what they are. Another product of my stream of consciousness spewing a slunge of nonsense I suppose.
A thick slunge of nonsense, phasing through the ceiling?
It’s like that most days. Some days there’s so much going on, none of it useful, that I feel very tired and aggravated. Other days it’s as though someone is leading through a funfair but rather than letting you stop to go on the rides you keep getting dragged and dragged, and never have any fun.
I’ve never been dragged through a ceiling before. Does it hurt?
No, only if you thrash wildly like an orb. If you accept your fate and go with it then the entire process is a lot more enjoyable.
Orbs can’t thrash wildly. By their nature they are fully orbular and have no thrashing appendages. By such reasoning do I find you a fool and a liar. I say fie to you, sir. Fie.
You’ve clever never been in a mosh pit with a group of angry teenage orbs. I once went to see Orbital and when they were pumping out some heavy beats all these orbs started thrashing like mad. I had to take my leave and leave, which I did, so I could breath. True story.
You’re right, I’ve clever never been in a mosh pit with any orbs. However, I did once do the tango with a beach ball.
I thought I had the upper hand for most of the match, but then at the last minute the beach ball broke away from my tender embrace and rolled itself through the goalposts, winning the dance 1-0.
That sounds like a thrilling dance match. I bet you’re sorry you let your guard down. Didn’t Big Steve used to say, “never trust a beach ball”?
Yes, it was Big Steve’s catchphrase.
That and “gosh, is that the time, Mrs Cooper?”
I presume that Mrs Cooper was some sort of hired help back in the day?
Was Mrs Cooper your nanny? You look like the kind of person who would’ve had a nanny.
I didn’t have a nanny, actually. And if I did, Big Steve wouldn’t have known anything about her. Think it through for a change. Come on now.
Would you have had a secret nanny? Why a secret nanny and how would you have paid for her at such a young age? So many questions…
Nannies aren’t paid for by children. That’s not how that works.
So how did you pay for your nanny then if Big Steve didn’t know about her?
I’ve already made clear that I didn’t have a nanny, and Kev’s dad was not really involved in my upbringing. So, that’s how.
I know that there’s some kind of nanny action going on, or was going on, here. You don’t have to feel ashamed, Chris. I was raised by a pine cone and I turned out stupurbulous.
There was no shortage of parlour tricks in my upbringing, that is true. But they were introduced to me by my Governess, Mrs Wimbly Carruthers, not by any “nanny” or large “Steve” character.
So what you’re saying is that I was right and you were lying the whole time. It’s fine mate, best to come clean in the end.
No. You’re not right. Nothing in my last message meant that you were right. Stop that. Stop it at once, and then apologise, and then for heaven’s sakes put some trousers on.