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Bora Bora Nui Hilton and Kim Kardashian in a bikini

Posted by Alex On November - 8 - 2011

William Shakespeare shifted uncomfortably on his sun lounger. Christ it was hot here on Bora Bora. He could feel his hose sticking to him and sweat was collecting in his codpiece. Even his summer ruff wasn’t making a difference. He’d have to retreat to the shade.

He stood up and grabbed the back of his sun lounger. As he dragged it towards the palm trees lining the beach, he noticed a striking dark-haired girl reclining on her own lounger roughly where he was heading. Shakespeare stared at her thighs for a moment and concluded that she wouldn’t mind company. However, upon drawing closer, he realised they had met before.

“Nice ruff,” said Kim Kardashian, pushing her sunglasses up on top of her head, revealing immaculate makeup. “What’s it made from?”

“Er, linen,” said Shakespeare veering away slightly and depositing his lounger.

“That spot’s not going to be in the shade for long,” said Kardashian. “Come a bit closer.”

Shakespeare stood still for a moment, but then reluctantly shuffled his sun lounger a few feet closer to Kardashian.

The curvaceous, raven-haired no-mark stretched her arms behind her head and thrust her chest in the air in a parody of a stretch before returning her gaze to the bard. “Linen, you say? I love linen. It’s such a sensuous fabric.”

Shakespeare looked down at his stout leather shoes. “You can use it for tablecloths,” he muttered sheepishly.

“Or for beds,” drawled Kardashian, slowly sliding one foot towards herself, raising her knee. She stretched again, and her cleavage rose.

The bard exhaled audibly, expressing both boredom and indifference. “I might go and get a drink,” he stated, starting to get up.

“What’s the matter?” asked Kardashian, her voice climbing towards a wail. “Don’t you find me attractive?”

Shakespeare turned to face her. For the first time, he looked her in the eye. “It’s like I said last time we met, you’ve got a great rack and everything, but that’s all there is.”

“You think I’m beautiful?” said Kardashian, hopefully.

“That doesn’t really count for so much, you know,” said Shakespeare. “It doesn’t make for lasting appeal. Something vital is conspicuous by its absence.”

“I really don’t understand,” said Kardashian, moving to a less confident, less contrived position on her lounger.

Shakespeare looked out to sea for a moment. When he turned back, he said: “Imagine a really flash car, like an Aston Martin or something.”

“Okay,” said Kardashian.

“It looks great and you’re thinking about buying it, but then the salesman reveals that there’s no engine.”

“Right,” said Kardashian.

“No matter how good it looks, you aren’t going to want to buy that car, are you? It’s just a shell. It lacks all of the complex machinery that makes that curved piece of metal into a car.”

“I could drape myself across the bonnet for you,” said Kardashian, stretching her body once again, as if demonstrating what she would do.

“Christ alive, you’re a fucking moron,” said Shakespeare, despairingly.

The Hotel Windsor in Melbourne feels the bard’s wrath

Posted by Alex On August - 23 - 2011

“And another thing,” screamed William Shakespeare, his face reddening. “Where the fuck was my chocolate?”

“I’m sorry, what chocolate?” said the man behind the desk.

“The fucking pillow chocolate,” said Shakespeare. “The fucking chocolate you put on the fucking pillow. Don’t you do that in Australia?”

“I’m sorry sir, that’s not something we do here.”

“Why the fuck not? Everyone likes a fucking chocolate. Is it too much to ask? Is it too much to fucking ask?”

Sophie Ellis-Bextor put a hand on his arm. “Just calm down a bit. Let’s keep things in perspective.”

The bard blanked her and continued abusing the man. “I suppose I should be glad you didn’t smear my bed in Vegemite, you depraved animals,” he cried.

“Just stop it,” said Ellis-Bextor firmly. “You’re starting to embarrass yourself.”

This time, Shakespeare reacted. “Oh I am, am I? How about now?” he said, pulling his penis out and hanging it over the top of his breeches. “Am I embarrassing myself now?”

“Well obviously,” said Ellis-Bextor with disgust.

“That’s funny,” said the playwright, bouncing his member up and down slightly. “Because I don’t feel embarrassed. I don’t feel any embarrassment whatsoever. Are you sure it isn’t you who’s feeling embarrassed?”

“Look at you,” spat the angular-jawed vocalist. “You’re a grown man waving his thingy around in a five-star hotel. Of course I’m embarrassed.”

Disgust registered in the form of Shakespeare’s curled lip before radiating across the rest of his face. “Oh you’re embarrassed, are you? I bet you wouldn’t be embarrassed if it were Chris Rea who were doing this. I bet you wouldn’t be embarrassed if Chris Rea’s big, tight balls were about to be revealed.”

“Chris would never get his balls out in a hotel lobby,” cried Ellis-Bextor at the top of her voice, whirling round as she did so.

Shakespeare watched her stumble away for a second and then growled under his breath: “I love it when you show some passion.”

When she was out of sight, Shakespeare calmly replaced his hairy knob inside his breeches and turned to face the man behind the desk. He was about to say something when his brow suddenly creased. He paused a moment.

“Sir?” said the man.

“Did she say ‘Chris Rea’ then or just ‘Chris’?”

At the Observatory, a five-star hotel in Sydney

Posted by Alex On June - 21 - 2011


“This place better be good,” said William Shakespeare.

“Oh, I think it will be,” said Sophie Ellis-Bextor. “It’s quite breathtaking.”

“You know how I am with hotels though,” said Shakespeare. “If it’s not right, it puts me on edge. You’re right though, it does seem good and I believe the food’s exquisite.”

“Just look at it,” said Ellis-Bextor. “Breathtaking. Just breathtaking.”

Shakespeare visibly relaxed. “Yes, you’re right. I can feel myself easing into the place. It should be great.”

At that moment, a familiar-looking man walked from the lift to the front desk.

“Hey,” said Ellis-Bextor, tapping Shakespeare on the arm. “Is that Chris Rea?”

“So what if it is?” said Shakespeare. “What’s so great about Chris Rea?”

“Just, you know, he’s famous. That’s all.”

“Famous for what? Famous for music or is it something else?”

“Well, music,” said Ellis-Bextor looking confused.

“Oh, so it’s nothing else then?


“Chris Rea’s not famous for anything else?”

“No.” Ellis-Bextor started to feel a bit unsettled.

“You don’t think he’s got big testicles then?” asked Shakespeare.

“What?” said Ellis-Bextor, utterly confused.

“You heard,” said Shakespeare aggressively.

“I don’t know. I’ve no idea what size Chris Rea’s testicles are.”

“No, but I bet you’ve been wondering. I know you. You’ve been thinking about Chris Rea’s testicles all morning.”

“No, I haven’t. Why would I have been doing that?”

“You want to see his testicles. You think his testicles are bigger than mine.”

“I don’t really care what size Chris Rea’s testicles are,” said Ellis-Bextor.

“You think his testicles are bigger than mine and you think his scrotum is tighter. What’s the matter? Do you not think I offer big balls and a tight scrotum?”

Tears started to form in Ellis-Bextor’s eyes at the severity of the bard’s onslaught.

“Do my balls sag too much?” screamed Shakespeare. “Do my small balls hang too low? Just say it. Just fucking say it. Just say that you think Chris Rea’s balls are bigger than mine and that they don’t hang as low. I know you fucking want to. I know you’ve spent the entire morning thinking about Chris Rea’s balls.”

Ellis-Bextor dropped to her knees; huge, wracking sobs causing her shoulders to heave.

“Fuck you, Rea!” shouted Shakespeare across the lobby.

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