Barryman

By Charn!

A pox on all peons! A pox on all peons!

As I settled down for high tea yester-evening I found myself accosted by none other than Bob Marley himself, who made off with my delicious cucumber sandwiches. Help me get them back by clicking here!!!

(again, you may need to copy and paste)

I Was Barry Sarll's Double

Foul incantations of Machida!!

My dear rapt attentive readership! My head is swimming with etheric disturbance, agrogged with alcopops! These past few hours have been most distressing.

Let me set the scene and describe last night...

It is 11.15pm Tuesday night, and I, Barry Sarll, am to be found on a makeshift stage in the Iraqi Desert. A fierce sandstorm has whipped up, but undeterred I am miming furiously to the strains of the Barry Sarll Casio Trio. I'm thinking, "By Crivens!! This Gang Show has been a real triumph!! I hope the Army boys enjoyed it!!" while to my left Stephens is preparing a large foppish hat with which he is to collect monies for the Eradication of Peons fund...

11.22pm The show is over. Perricent Handbag has retired to his caravanette. I am triumphant, waiting eagerly in the wings to run on for an encore.... But By Thoth!!! What's this?? Stephens approaches me, aghast:

"Sir" he mewled, "As the show ended and the sandstorm died down, I went into the crowd to collect monies and.... and.... the Army boys were not there!!!"

"WHAAAAAAAAAAT???" I thundered as Zeus might when berating a prole, "WHERE IN CRIVENS ARE THEY???"

"Umm, sir" drooled Stephens, "Um Barry, We performed the entire revue to 3 goats and some peasants, you see..."

"WHAAAAAT!!!" I interjected "3 GOATS AND SOME PEASANTS???"

"...You see, Barry, the sandstorm obscured the entire show. I spoke to the peasants and they say that the army boys ponced off after 2 minutes to go take potshots at journalists..."

"BY SET, I'LL HAVE THEIR GUTS!!!" I bellowed, purple with ire.

"And what's more Sir" croaked Stephens, agitated, "The local tribesmen have taken umbrage at your effete Western poncing and are at present approaching us in a battered landrover and brandishing uzis and rocket launchers!!"

"HORRORS!!!" I roared, "Quick Stephens, draw a chalk circle around us, join hands and start humming!!! I shall incite the wisdom of my Hawk headed Gods and seed us an escape route through the etheric 10th dimension to a hopeful safe harbour in fair London!!! By Cthulthu this is a scrape! Now, let us leave this peon inhabited hellhole!!!"

And this was how, I, Barry Sarll, escaped certain doom in the searing Iraq heat to find myself dumped out of the astral plane onto a leather couch in London sometime on Tuesday evening.... fortuitously, myself and Stephens had re-entered this dimension and landed in a party for top new music tome 'Bang Magazine'!!

http://www.bangmagazine.co.uk/

The free drinks and idle chatter ran like ambrosia from Ganymede's cup! But the only thing that mildly concerned me was the mysterious appearance of the word 'Barry' scrawled crudely on my forehead, accompanied by a devilish felt tip moustache curled round my upper lip....

....and everyone kept calling me 'Alex'...