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Archive for August, 2011

The Royale Chulan Hotel in Kuala Lumpur sees a kerfuffle

Posted by Alex On August - 30 - 2011

“They didn’t get it,” said Toadfish Rebecchi.

“They did,” insisted William Shakespeare.

“They didn’t,” repeated Toadie, leaning against the hotel reception desk. “You misread your audience. Those guys in that lift would not have got that reference.”

“It was a fucking Terminator joke,” screamed Shakespeare. “Everyone’s seen Terminator.”

Toadie rolled his eyes, weighed up the situation and opted to continue the debate, knowing that the bard probably wouldn’t let it lie anyway. “They haven’t,” he said. “You think everyone’s seen The Terminator because all of your friends have seen The Terminator, but that’s just your mates. Those are the circles you move in.”

“Bullshit,” spat Shakespeare.

“I’m serious. Those guys in that lift? They were businessmen. They were lap dancing club type people.”

“So what?”

“Well lap dancing club type people aren’t Terminator type people.”

“That’s just bollocks,” said Shakespeare. “There’s overlap. Lap dancing people and Terminator people aren’t entirely separate. You can like both.”

“I think it’s pretty unlikely,” said Toadie, giving off a slightly smug air.

“Fuck you,” said Shakespeare and pushed him firmly. As Toadie was already leaning, he couldn’t get his legs in place to halt his momentum and he sprawled on the floor. Shakespeare giggled slightly.

Toadie picked himself and shouted “arsehole.” The embarrassment of falling had incensed him and the playwright’s reaction had compounded this. He aimed a punch at Shakespeare’s wispy beard.

Shakespeare tried to dodge it, but took a glancing blow on the jaw. As he turned back again, he thrust both hands into Toadie’s chest and started shoving him across the room backwards.

After a couple of metres, the backpedalling Toadie came up against the rear side of a sofa and the pair toppled over it. They fell down into a gap between the sofa itself and a coffee table positioned just in front of it where they started to pepper each other’s torsos with abbreviated punches delivered from close range.

“Pigfucker,” cried Toadie.

“Dick,” replied Shakespeare.

Toadie, on his back, tried to strangle the bard, but couldn’t get a good grip through the sheer linen collar. Shakespeare took advantage of this, getting a more full-blooded punch through the burly soap character’s defences and into his face.

Toadie cried out in pain and then immediately felt a forearm press down on his throat. Struggling for air, he looked up into the eyes of the man who was hurting him and was surprised to see that they were rapidly moistening.

Shakespeare panted and seemed to be fighting back an emotion that wasn’t aggression. His lip wobbled a bit. He eased the pressure on Toadie’s throat and after a couple of false starts, said: “I dreamt that you touched me in my private places.”

With that, he stood up and ran out of the hotel lobby.

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’?”

Staying at the Ice Hotel in Jukkasjarvi in Sweden

Posted by Alex On August - 16 - 2011

“Look at it,” said Sophie Ellis-Bextor. “It’s quite breathtaking.”

“My breath’s been taken away by the fucking cold,” said William Shakespeare.

“An ice hotel,” said Ellis-Bextor. “An ice palace, if you will. Quite breathtaking. I’m so glad we came to Jukkasjarvi.”

“Stop saying that,” ordered Shakespeare.

“What, Jukkasjarvi?”


“What’s wrong with saying Jukkasjarvi?” said Ellis-Bextor, slightly put out. “That’s where we are. We’re in Jukkasjarvi. It’s only natural that we’d find ourselves saying Jukkasjarvi from time to time.”

“Oh, you’re just putting it on now,” said the ill-tempered bard. “I’ve not found it necessary to say that word once.”

“That’s because you can’t say it,” said Ellis-Bextor teasingly. “You’d never have managed to get here on your own.”

“Oh fuck you,” said Shakespeare. “Maybe if I hadn’t got here, I wouldn’t be so fucking cold anyway.”

“I told you to put on more clothes.”

“What?” The bard was genuinely confused. “I’ve got a sheer linen collar to keep the wind off my neck. I’m wearing my warmest jerkin. I’ve even got a doublet on. What more do you want?”

“How about an actual pair of trousers.”

“These hose are padded, you know,” shrieked Shakespeare. “That provides insulation. And I’m wearing thick stockings.”

“You never wear appropriate clothes,” said Ellis-Bextor with a degree of weariness.

“Appropriate for this weather, no. Nothing’s appropriate for this fucking weather. My scrotum’s taut, for fuck’s sake. Look at it.”

Shakespeare pulled the waist of his hose forward and tried to usher Ellis-Bextor in closer so she could look down at his genitals. The whey-faced popstrel took a step backwards.

“Look at it!” screamed Shakespeare, waddling towards her, one hand lowering his clothing at the front, the other reaching out for her.

Ellis-Bextor backed away. “No, I don’t want to see your taut scrotum. Pull up your breeches before you embarrass yourself.”

Shakespeare picked up speed, almost jogging towards her with his shrunken parts on full display and his lowered clothing hobbling his steps. “Look at it! Look how taut my fucking scrotum is.”

Ellis-Bextor came up against the wall of the hotel and Shakespeare closed in. He didn’t touch her, but got close enough that her escape was barred. Frustrated and unhappy, Ellis-Bextor started to cry.

“Look at my fucking bollocks,” he growled. “They may not be as big as Chris Rea’s, but that scrotum is much, much tighter. Look at it. Look at it!”

Sophie Ellis-Bextor looked at it.


What’s Phantom Manor like at Disneyland Paris?

Posted by Alex On August - 9 - 2011

“This is going to be amazing,” said John Power from Cast. “I love these haunted house rides.”

“Is it a ride?” asked Shakespeare. “I mean, it’s not a rollercoaster, is it?”

“You know what I mean,” said John Power from Cast. “Anyway, I think we do get into some sort of car at some point. This bit’s just the queue really. Creepy, isn’t it?”

“It’s hardly fucking terrifying,” said Shakespeare.

The pair took in the ambience as they queued. One room appeared to stretch. Paintings morphed into macabre images as ghostly sounds played. Eventually, they reached the front where they were invited to climb into a ‘Doombuggy’.

The Doombuggy stopped in front of different scenes and various tricks were used to scare the passengers. Shakespeare remained nonplussed, while John Power from Cast was rather more edgy.

At one point, a door banged right next to them. John Power from Cast jumped and reflexively grabbed Shakespeare by the knee.

“Get the fuck off me, you mop-haired twat,” said Shakespeare.

Eventually, the Doombuggy reached the balcony above a ballroom. Beneath them, a woman on a staircase was singing. After a moment, she looked up. At a window, there was a phantom, who laughed.

“Holy fucking shit,” cried Shakespeare. “Can you see that?”

“Yeah,” replied John Power from Cast.

“It’s a fucking ghost,” said Shakespeare. “We’ve got to do something.”

“What the hell do you expect us to do?” said John Power from Cast. “We’re on a ride.”

“Tie him up,” instructed Shakespeare, without a moment’s hesitation.

“What?” said John Power from Cast.

“Tie him up,” repeated Shakespeare. “Tie up the ghost. Tie him to a chair. That’s what I did last time.”

“Last time?” said John Power from Cast.

“I had a ghost in my house once,” said Shakespeare. “He said he was fixing the boiler.”

About Us

A man who has no interest in writing about Toadfish Rebecchi, largely because his surname is annoying to spell.