And the Winner is . . .

by duncanr

in a fiercely contested race, ‘Larry the Snail‘ saw off a late challenge by the favourite, ‘Uslime Bolt‘, to win the 30cm dash in a cracking snail’s pace of 2 min 40 seconds and be crowned the 2017 Snail Racing World Champion


4 Comments to “And the Winner is . . .”

  1. A snail was moving along the beach when he happened to look back behind him and saw three turtles wearing leather jackets.

    After moving along for about four weeks, the snail looked back again and saw that the three turtles were still there and closing in on him. So, the snail picked up his pace.

    After about six more weeks, the snail looked back again, and saw that the turtles were still chasing him. And they were getting closer and closer! So, he kept on going as fast as he could.

    After another few weeks, the turtles finally caught up with the snail and mugged him, took all of his clothes, money and credit cards.

    After another couple of weeks, the snail got to a pay phone and called the police. “I`ve been mugged by three turtles wearing leather jackets! You need to get down here and take a report or do something!” he said.

    “Can you give us a description of the turtles?” asked the police officer.

    “No, I can`t” said the snail, “It all happened so fast !”

    Liked by 1 person

    • One christmas day, as a family were about to sit down to their christmas dinner, there was a scratching sound at the front door.

      The father opened the door to find no-one there.

      He was about to close it when a small voice asked him to look down. There was a small snail.

      “I was thinking” said the snail “that as this is the season of goodwill, that you might be able to offer me a morsel to eat.”

      The man said “Fuck off!” and kicked the snail off his step and into next door’s front garden, before returning to his meal.

      The following Easter, as the family were again about to sit down to their meal, the same noise was heard.

      Once more, the man opened the door and was asked to look downwards.

      “Why did you do that?” asked the snail.


      • Once again, the father said “Fuck Off!” with an almighty kick up the snail’s bum causing the snail to land behind the bearded garden gnome who kept watch over the garden.
        “Och, wha’s tha’ all aboot then?” asked the kindly gnome in his best Brummie drawl.
        “It’s time to retaliate” answered the snail, whose name was “Sticky” on account of his trail. “But there’s no rush. I’ll just sit here a while and observe the man, and formulate a plan of action”.
        He soon noticed that the man and his entire family did everything at breakneck speed. Five mornings of every week, the man would climb a stepladder to get into his car, and roar off in a wheel-spun cloud of dust and small pebbles. A few moments later, at dusk, the man would return, executing a near perfect four wheel drift through the apex of the turn into the driveway and screeching to a halt within millimetres of the stepladder, before rushing inside again.
        On the other two days of the week, the man would rush manically around the house and garden, accomplishing endless engineering miracles under the direction of his supervisor.
        After several months, the snail decided the best way to get revenge would be through psychological warfare, and decided to consult an expert in such techniques. Within five years, he made his way to Casablanca, and made a scratching sound at the front door, which was opened by a gorgeous vision of feminine loveliness clad in a skimpy skin-toned negligee which almost wasn’t there.
        “Here, ratty, there’s someone to see you” called out the gorgeous vision…


  2. . . . just as ratty was awoken from his best erotic dream that week by the sound of his wife boiling up a pair of his underpants in an old saucepan.

    “You’d better get the washing machine fixed soon, you lazy bastard!” she shouted to him “I need this pan to make that special meal for the Townswomen’s Guild, and if I do any more of your underwear in it, it’ll start to take on a bit of flavour”

    “What are you making for that coven of hideous flatulent old battleaxes?”

    “An Anglo-French fusion dish – L’Escargot en croute drizzled with a Newcastle Brown Ale jus”

    At which point, there was a slightly worried, barely audible ‘gulp’ from outside, and the scratching sound stopped . . .


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