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Date Posted: 01:25:36 06/02/02 Sun
Author: Slapdip Thwang
Subject: Here is one short massive from Island of Malodora (littlebit southeast of Guadalcanal)

Reclamations of One Mission Boy
One Memoir

Am I remember well how I am falling onto the Lord. Is some chappies of a charisible sobriety coming to Malodora Town and establish one fine Missionary House. One of these chappies is a Rat Reverend of the Babtist True Faith, having a name somewhat like Bobby-Bill or Robbly-Jim or Jumbly-Joe or somelike. I am dismembering it, I think. He assistance is a youngling chappy, Pasture Spoons. Anyway, they are build one Babtist Mission using the best New Zealand pine lumberings, all new and spanking. But in some few months are we Island of Malodora termites eating it onto the dirtline and then is all the Babtists moving into bamboo shackings like any other chappies.

Now is the assisting pasture, Mr. Spoons, making some werry fine preaches to we simple South Sea chappies. I am listen, and is not so easy-pie to understand Mr. Spoons. Not like it is to understand some dumbhead preaches, as delivered from Cathylick Fathers or Mormans. Is one having to attend most closeways and think hardly upon the preaches of Mr. Spoons. Typically he is to stand in the shade of some few palm tree behind he lectern and shout along the Word of the Lord to the Babtist congripation and other curiousities which gather to listen, seating theyselves on benches aroundabout. He is say somewhat like,

"My friends, the Lord has led me to come to your island and wring you the bird of God. Blast! I mean, bring you the word of boley hible. Simply speaking, I am come to weech the turd to you. Shit!"

Now is this some excrementally emphatic preachings. Is all the congripation frowling they brows and wonder if they are wanting to see this pinkly sunstroked chappie weeching a turd or not. We South Sea chappies are leaning froward on we benches, consternating werry hard to understand the preaches of Mr. Spoons. He is preaching along this way for some minutes, saying such as:

"Sod offers you galvation, my friends, for he did sieve his only gun for thee! Dod gammit! I mean, cod thy fessséd bother glares for thee and will save thee from the soils of tin. I mean, He shall wave thee from the toils of sin! Dog mad bun of a sitch!"

Now after some few minutes are we with him. We are never seeing any chappy sweat so much, and have such buggerly out eyes in cause of strong preaches. Now is the congripation leaning froward and consternating so hard at Mr. Spoons that some few elderlies are fall KERPLUMPF! from they bench onto the ground. Is every ear tightly wound as Mr. Spoons is continuing.

"In the book of Neuterdominy the sword thy God lays, 'glove thy odd with all thine heart, and mole, and sight.' Shoddam! GIT!"

And all the congripation is answer him back in orison, "SHODDAM! GIT!" while Mr. Spoons is pound he forehead upon the lectern in a Godly rupture.

After delivering such strong preaches is he retiring in a stagger to he bamboozled shackings to take some long rest.

So it was being that I am controverted onto the Babtist Faith, and becoming one Mission Boy (only in sparetime when not fishing or shooting crocodile or having some party).

Now am I tell the story of how I am a church bell-dinger until some storm and infestation is coming to we South Sea Paradise Island of Malodora. After Pasture Spoons has been rapported back to America into some sanitarium, then am I appointed by reason of the Rat Reverend Joe-Bobbly-Bill-Jim to ding the church bell onto a Sunday morning. He is say, "Not so early that ya wake me up but not so late as to spoil my lunch neither." Well, is this most easily done, and the church bell is ringling werry nicely "DONG! DONG! DONG!"

But then is one haughty typhoon come down onto we island from the southwest. Is so strongly blowing as to cause some uprootings and toppling of trees, and shimmying of we bamboozled shackings, we coconut plantatings, and most effectively we church steeple, which is also of bamboo. Is first blowing one way, and knockabout some few houses, then is coming the eye ontop of we island, and then is turnabout and blowing the other way and knockabout some few houses more. Is water washing all alongside onto the shore to some few meters up.

After all is quiet down we are lookabout and admire great damages that are done. Thanking Goodly Babtist God that no chappies of Malodora are killed until they are dead! So we are weekly rebuilding, and it is comeabout to be Sunday. I am go to ding the church bell, and Lo Ahold! Is making one werry werry miserable sound, as "tink. tink. tink." Then is a more great capostrophe: as the congripation are coming roundabout the church many chappies are saying, "From since this storm is a great fibrousness growing upon we coconut husks! And is worse, these great storm is harass the land crabs from they burrowings under we coconut trees and hustling they up the trunk. Now are these crabs hide in these fibres and hairy bushings, and when we are to gather these few coconut are the crabs pinchy we fingers!"

So then was I come unto this Goodly Godly American web forum to ask what advisings you have for we chappies of Malodora, for we are having a werry weak dong and too much crabs in overly hairy nuts. If you kindly chappies are to post some few reply, factionally speaking, this one South Sea Chappy is being somuch into your debt.

Your Faithful Despondent,
Slapdip Thwang, Fishmangler, Mudbank Plaza, Malodora 97402

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