Magician Ah Gan & Poker Face Bro
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Magician Ah Gan & Poker Face Bro Instagram, ultimate texas holdem discussion, poker aplikasi, truyen doc casino nguyen ngoc ngan. Review Describing itself as ’Asia’s first wholly 3-D movie’ — only the action sequences in YUEN Woo-ping 袁和平 ’s True Legend 蘇乞兒 (2009) were in that process — Mainland comic director Ah Gan 阿甘 (aka Kiefer Liu) aims very high with this big-budget Chinese version of Miguel de Cervantes’ 17th-century classic novel but only occasionally hits the target. While magician Ah Gan demonstrated a series of tricks on video, his rather humorless friend repeatedly revealed the secrets behind said tricks in complete silence, without a flicker of emotion crossing his pokerface. Introducing Poker Face Bro - Magician Ah Gan, a duo based in China who’s gotten their internet fame from Ah Gan performing magic, and then having Poker Face Bro interject by showing the secret. Popular Chinese names in the past because parents then were not well educated and couldn’t give their children good names. Singapore ended up with MANY people named Beng and Lian/Noi (Ah Noi is Teochew pronounciation of 莲). Use it to call someone a low-life or uneducated. Offense Level: 2. X妈仔/pu bor gia (Teochew) Equivalent of.
A Night At The Museum Storybook Glen.
Continuing a tradition stretching back nine years, Aberdeen Voice presents Suzanne Kelly’s annual Christmas-time satire covering the vibrant and dynamic goings-on in The Deen, the shire and the wider world.
Angus was running late for his new job.
Courtesy of Universal Credit, the acclaimed petrochemical engineer was ‘retraining’ as a security guard.
He was at a wooden bus stop waiting for his bus to Story Book Glen. Nearby hung a poster – ‘Fatima’s Next Job Could Be in Cyber, Only She Doesn’t Know It Yet’ read the kindly, helpful advert, featuring a ballet dancer who obviously should give up her dancing to become a government computer spy.
If Angus got lucky, he too might be retrained in cyber. But first, he had to prove himself to Universal Credit to get that £80 a week payment. His bus arrived after an hour or so, and off he went.
It was getting dark as he got off the No. C-19 bus on the outskirts of The Deen; the city lights were coming on, showing how vibrant and dynamic the city looked. From afar.
Wandering through the Maryculter streets he arrived at his work placement. ‘WELCOME TO STORYBOOK GLEN – no dogs allowed’ read the sign at the entrance, where a man sat waiting for him. There was a papier mache castle wall with an archway; it was as pretty and as well built as any of the Barratt Homes he’d been walking past.
The little old man, smelling a bit like Buckfast Angus thought, thrust a flashlight and some keys into his hands.
“Hullo! Ye must be thon work experience loon, Aye? Weel, welcome tae Storybook Glen,” he said, gesticulating around him as the sun continued to sink.
“Ere’s yer keys.”
The wizened old man led Angus to a little wooden hut; in it were a wooden chair by a solitary window, a tiny fridge, and a heater. Before they went in, Angus looked around and in the distance he could see the figures of several nursery rhyme characters as the sun continued sinking, like the feeling in his stomach.
“Did ye tak yer passport like we tellt ye tae?” the man asked; he seemed a little tipsy.
“Sure, have it here.” Angus replied, assuming it was needed for tax or ID purposes.
“Good, good – keep it on ye fer noo. Noo ye micht get some tresspassers; some n’eer do wells were through the ither year, paintin punk rock slogans on oor statues – caused a fair stooshie,” the man warned.
“Aa ye hae tae dae is tak a walkie roon’ noo an again, an hit onyhin ye see o’er the heid wi yer flashy, ken? And bide oot o’ trouble!”
‘What trouble could I possibly get into around here?,’ wondered Angus ‘this will be a boring but easy way to earn ma minimum hourly wage so I can pay my council tax off soon.’
The man thrust a paper bag with a bottle in it into Angus’ hand.
“Noo, fae time tae time ye micht hear some funny stuff gan on, aye, and see even funnier stuff” said the old man.
“Tak a scoof ‘o this an’ athin will be fine. There’s some o’ ma homemade mushroom pate in tha fridge along with half a bottle o’ Fred Wilkinson’s Tullos Hill Red – help yersel. Ahm awa noo; see ye in the mornin’ – if ye’re still aboot.”
And laughing to himself, the little old man hobbled away through the fake castle entrance away from Storybook Glen and out of sight.
An owl hooted. Angus looked in the bag at a bottle that read ‘Tactical Nuclear Penguin.’ ‘Ah fine; this job will be a breeze’ he thought, and with that he set himself down in the chair in the tiny guard’s booth. He helped himself to the amazingly delicious homemade wine and pate, had a swig of Penguin, and started to doze off.
* * * *
Angus woke with a start some hours later; the owl hooted. He shivered and got up to turn on the space heater. As he turned to go back to his chair, his eyes glanced at the window and he froze.
Looking back in on him were a pair of giant reptilian eyes. He dared not move.
“Hullo! Hullo! Dinna be feart; Ah’m nae gan tae hurt naebody.”
Angus blinked, but when he looked again, the thing was still there, and was trying to open the door to the guard hut.
It had a round face. It looked like – but no it couldn’t be –
“Onywye. Fit Like? Ah’m Barney” the thing said. It stood in the threshold now; a giant lizard that looked like –
“You’re Barney. Barney the -the-“ Angus stammered lost for words
“Dinosaur, aye, it’s often been said” said the beast with a chuckle an swish of its tail.
Grabbing Angus by the arm (Angus had just enough time to grab his flashlight and bottle) Barney took Angus out of the hut. An eerie green glow illuminated Storybook Glen now, and Angus could see Barney was wearing a chain of office.
“You’re a talking dinosaur. You’re Barney the dinosaur. And – you’re purple – how is this possible?”
“Why am I purple? Well, when ye start oot as Labour, but form a coalition with the Tories, the red and the blue get a bittie mixed up, and ye get purple.”
(Angus had actually meant how had a Barney the Dinosaur statue started walking and talking).
“Weel ma loon, let ma lead ye doon the Storybook Glen gerden path and Ah’ll tell you aa ye need tae ken, and introduce ye to the rest o’ us.”
“Rest of you?” Angus repeated weakly as Barney led him away from the hut.
* * * *
“Ye’re here on an affa special nicht” Barney said, elated.
“Ye ken, Storybook Glen Cooncil has won nae jist ane, but twa awards! The hale o the Glen is celebratin’ the nicht!”
Angus was being led down the garden path. Soon they came to a 6’ high wooden soldier which stood at tollhouse.
“HALT! Who goes there?” Demanded the soldier; it had very red cheeks and a mop of blonde hair.
“Passports out! Non-Storybook Glen characters this way – take off your shoes, belt, coat, take any computers out of bags, only one flagon of mead per person do you have any cigarettes to declare –”
“Ah Boris, it’s me – Barney,” the purple dinosaur laughed at the guard.
“We surely dinna hae tae go through aa that, div we? This is ma new pal Angus, oor new security guard.”
“Well OK then,” said Boris.
“I’m a tough negotiator.”
Mini poker chips canada. And Barney and Angus were waived past the checkpoint.
Beep!’ ‘Beep!’
“Bleeping ~&!!&! bleep!”
Barney and Angus were approaching what looked like 4 tiny yellow cars driving around in a circle. Elves driving them were waving their fists, honking their horns and shouting at the other drivers.
“It’s a one wye system ya bamstick!”
“Ah’m only gan one way ya gluepot!” shouted another elf
An older elf was in her yellow car sobbing;
“Ah jist wanted tae dae ma shoppin’; I canna go a bike or walk, ken? Aa thon one wye signs hiv me gan roon in circles fer oors! Ah jis want tae ging hame!”
And sure enough, the little path they were on was covered with one-way signs, do not enter signs, and a sign which read ‘Storybook Glen Fun Beach next left. No left turn’. Dotted around were wooden bus stops and 136 wooden benches.
Barney puffed out his Devonian-era chest and said:
“Storybook Glen may yet win anither award for this An’ aa. Ah’m richt prood. Ess is how we fecht the dreaded plague here in the Glen. We canna hae fowk jis drivin intae toon an’ parkin’ cars tae ging intae shops; it’s nae safe. Abody should be on bikes. An’ it’s only cost £1.76 million pieces o’ gold tae get it sortit oot.”
Angus took a swig.
“Do you ride a bicycle then?” asked Angus, feeling sure Barney could not manage such a feat – knowing there were many others who could not either.
“Oh aye, yer yer a funny guy, eh?” Barney replied nodding his head,
“Me on a bike? Are ye wise min? Ah’ve got ma ain Barneymobile wi’ a chauffeur.”
Barney pointed to a large marquee in the distance; it was lit up, as were its customers apparently; the shouting and carrying on could be heard faintly on the air.
“At’s far we’re heidin,” said Barney, dragging an unwilling Angus along,
“Jist one mair stop tae mak.”
Heading down the path, Angus could make out in the green glowing light which filled the glen one brick house, a wooden house, and a big pile of straw.
“That’s …. surely not?” Angus stammered, seeing three little pigs; two were patting a sobbing pig on the back. Angus took another swig.
“Aye, yer richt enough. Come an’ meet some o’ ma constituents, The Three Little Pigs.” Barney replied, anticipating Angus’ question.
Wordlessly Barney and Angus now stood in front of the pigs. The sobbing pig looked up at Angus
“Stewart Milne Home, eh?” Angus commiserated and the pigs nodded.
“Come on an’ hae a drink lads, it’ll gee ye up a bittie” Barney said to the pigs, who immediately perked up.
And soon Angus, Barney and the three little perky pigs were heading to the giant marquee.
Angus could barely hear Barney, who was telling story after story, as a terrible din rose from the marquee, which Angus soon realised was a big beer tent. A huge roar went up; Angus peered inside.
The place was filled with storybook characters brought to life; swigging flagons of ale, Jaegerbombs, and Buckfast. There were banshees screeching; elves dancing on tables, screaming, laughing and hugging. Above hung a sign saying ‘Welcome to the Seven Dwarves Incorporated Trades of Storybook Glen Annual beer tent – An Inspired idea’
Dwarves mixed with trolls and witches; in a corner sat Little Jack Horner, eating a Christmas pie. Angus swore he’d never drink again as he took another swig of the Tactical Nuclear Penguin.
Beer flowed, shouts were heard, everyone hugged one another. Barney took Angus by the shoulder and they entered the crowded tent. A witch at a table stopped them at the entrance.
“Good evening. Do you have reservations?”
‘Quite a few’ thought Angus.
“No” answered Barney.
“Good – I hate all that red tape.” Answered the witch.
“Are you in a bubble?” she demanded.
“Course Ah am, Ah’m wi’ the Cooncil.”
Barney and the witch both laughed.
“Right then, have a great time, social distance or wear a mask if you feel like it, and hug the nearest strangers if there is a goal scored in the football match on the telly.
“We canna stop ye daein ‘at can we, ken?” She said, forgetting herself and lapsing into her default Doric.
Passing it off as humour to hide her embarrassment, she continued in her adopted, more ‘professional’ tone:
“We close at the stroke of midnight, except if we don’t. The big award ceremony celebration starts at 11”
“Come an’ meet some o’ ma fella cooncillors.” Barney said.
“Sit doon an’ A’ll get the drinks in – nah, dinna sit there –“ Barney said, grabbing Angus away from a tall bald man and plonking him in a chair next to a man in a suit.
Angus was introduced to him as being Wee Willie Wilkie.
Angus took another swig of his Penguin. And with that Barney started to make his way through the throng to the bar, using his tail to sweep the crowd out of his way. Angus was left at the table. ‘I am definitely asking for a pay rise’ he thought, taking another sip of Penguin.
“An then –” cackled the bald man,
“then when Ah wez on me holidays, Ah got them te gissies another suspension!”
He leaned forward on the table, and the others laughed and nodded approvingly.
“An then…” he continued, hushing the approving chuckles of agreement.
“Then Ah got them te postpone the hearing fre a furtha month. Another month on the payroll!”
He nodded confidently and the others smiled and cheered.
“What’s all that about?” asked Angus to no one in particular as the bald speaker polished off flagon after flagon of wine.
Wee Willie answered him.
“That’s Donnelly Wonnelly Puddin and Pies. He assaults the unwilling and always denies.
“He gets away with lots of things – like taking sex offenders fer drinks in shady bars in STorrybook toon, and taking cash fer upgradin passengers tae first class on Thomas the Tank engine trips an keeping their gold.
“Nothing touches him, he doesn’t even get his wrist slapped, and if he does get into trouble, the judges say ‘it’s just a one off’ or ‘it didn’t seem like an assault to me’, and away he goes on holidays. Unlike poor me.”
Angus felt revolted and was glad Barney stopped him from sitting next to Donnelly. Donnelly Wonnelly continued:
“Aye man, but get this,” he threw back his head howling with laughter,
“then at the hearing the convener sez the assault wez ‘a one off!!’”
The whole table – except Angus – erupted in laughter and they clinked their glasses and toasted Donnely Wonnelly.
Wiping a tear of laughter from his eye, Donnelly addressed Wee Willie,
“Ahm sorry aald mate, Ah divvent mean te celebrate me victories when Ah knaa yee hev yer problems. or should Ah syah ‘Wall te Wall’ problems!”
Everyone at the table laughed again – except Wee Willie and Angus. Willie shook his head and sighed.
“Well, at least the wall’s paid fre noo . Forst , Humpty Dumpty sat on it an had a fall, then Storm Gertie made it fall in.” Donnelly said.
At that several eyes silently met each other around the table, almost as if they didn’t believe Gertie was responsible.
“Yes, go on, laugh if you must. But it was not as easy as you might think to remember whether I owned the wall, whether I didn’t own the wall, whether I owned the wall with the wife, whether the city owned the wall, or me or my da or-“ Willie stammered
“Aye,” interrupted Barney, who was back with drinks, plonking a steaming tankard of something or other in front of Angus.
“Some of’ us drink tae ferget; but Wee Willie, you dinna need ony help at aa, div ye? How’s the amnesia? Cleared up noo?”
A few at the table laughed; Willie blushed.
“Dinna worry yersel aboot it Willie; that’s aa fergotten”.
“Handy though that ye didnae hae to pay 200,000 pieces o’ gold tae get it fixed. But this ither business needs tae blaw ower, then ye can come back in aboot the body o’ the kirk.”
“What has to blow over, Barney?” asked Willie,
“You mean when I told the peasants we had to build Marischal Square Castle or that they would have to pay a billion pieces of eight in penalty?”
“Nah, nae thon” said Barney.
“Ye mean that I’m in the Labour party but support the Tories?” asked Willie.
“Nah, ‘at’s nithin; hisna stopped the rest o’ us.”
The table laughed.
“You mean when I didn’t know who owned that wall but I gave verbal permission for the repairs, that I sent and got emails aboot it using my council email and held meetings in my council office aboot it?
“Maybe you mean when I accidentally leaked some information about yon Marischal Sq? Or-”
“No Willie – Abody likes to mix a wee bit o’ business wi’ council business” said Barney
“Ah mean this fortune cookie Covid-19 racist cairry on. We hae tae hing fire til ‘at aa blaws ower. Ahm thinkin we’ll get oor pals at Inspired tae dae some’hin in the Storybook Glen Press. Gie fowk some’hin else tae spik aboot. Mibbee some good news aboot the ‘Inspired indoor Christmas fayre’.
“We’ll hae thoosans o’ fowk come in aboot tae shop – and they’ll be gled we stopped them gan intae aa the wee shoppies. Some’hin’ lik ‘at. But dinna worry Wee Willie; anither wikk or twa, and it’ll be aa business as usual again.”
Everyone at the table chatted to each other, growing increasingly drunk. Angus, who was feeling somewhat left out of the conversation, decided he really wanted to do the rest of his security guard rounds – and to get some fresh air out of the stifling, noisy, crowded tent.
After he finished whatever was in his tankard that is. Soon he was ready to go, but feeling somewhat worse for wear.
“Barney, ladies an gents; I really must go do my rounds” Angus said.
“Maybe I’ll be back here though before closing time.”
“Cinderella will arrive around 11pm; myek sure yee are heor fre tha – she’s got summat ta celebrate – we’ve won awards – and that’s why so many of weh are oot the neet – though Ahm not heor in me official capacity, yee knaa” said Donnelly, and the table laughed.
Angus got up, wove his way out of the crowd, and found himself in the night air once more. He had another hit of Penguin. Somewhere an owl hooted.
* * * *
Angus felt dazed; ‘Well, at least things can’t get any stranger’ he prematurely told himself as he wandered down a further path.
He heard a whirring noise, and stumbling towards it, found himself face to face with an imp hard at work on a spinning wheel. On the creature’s left was a huge pile of sh*te and straw which he placed on the spinning wheel; on the right was a tiny pile of gold, falling from the wheel. There was also a giant pile of books.
“I’ll bet ye canna guess ma name!” The creature said in a smug, satisfied conceited manner.
“Err, yer Damian Bates, disgraced news editor who used his job to further his wife’s business aspirations.”
“”$!”%!!! ye little sh*te” said the outraged creature,
“I’ve rebranded! I’m Trumplestiltskin!” said the thing angrily, spinning harder than ever.
Angus picked up a book; the cover read ‘Shirk in Scotland: Thon Real Deal, Ken’; over it was a sticker saying ‘SALE NOW ON: ONLY 1 GROAT OR 2 EGGS’
“Ah’m a Spin Doctor! If aince on a blue moon Shirk says or daes some’hin’ that could be taen the wrang wye, it’s ma job tae spin his sh*te intae gold.
“Like, fan Shirk cages immigrant bairns -he micht be cooking them fer aa I ken- I spin for him an’ tell fowk that nasty trolls fae abroad are tryin tae sneak intae Storybook Glen.
“Hiv ye nae read any o’ the stories I wrote aboot fit a topper o’ a boy Shirk is? Did ye nae hear aboot thon time he rearranged some o’ his paintins in Turnberry Glen Castle? Amazin! Fit a guy!
“Anither time, he tellt me personally – he likes eatin ornery grub like hamberders and cofvefee! Can ye believe Ah got these amazing insights! I really ken the loon! He’s ane o’ wer ain, ken?
“Ah’m ees best pal! Lik Brithers! He took me tae farawa lands in a flying machine aince.
“Ah hae a Fe
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Magician Ah Gan & Poker Face Bro Instagram, ultimate texas holdem discussion, poker aplikasi, truyen doc casino nguyen ngoc ngan. Review Describing itself as ’Asia’s first wholly 3-D movie’ — only the action sequences in YUEN Woo-ping 袁和平 ’s True Legend 蘇乞兒 (2009) were in that process — Mainland comic director Ah Gan 阿甘 (aka Kiefer Liu) aims very high with this big-budget Chinese version of Miguel de Cervantes’ 17th-century classic novel but only occasionally hits the target. While magician Ah Gan demonstrated a series of tricks on video, his rather humorless friend repeatedly revealed the secrets behind said tricks in complete silence, without a flicker of emotion crossing his pokerface. Introducing Poker Face Bro - Magician Ah Gan, a duo based in China who’s gotten their internet fame from Ah Gan performing magic, and then having Poker Face Bro interject by showing the secret. Popular Chinese names in the past because parents then were not well educated and couldn’t give their children good names. Singapore ended up with MANY people named Beng and Lian/Noi (Ah Noi is Teochew pronounciation of 莲). Use it to call someone a low-life or uneducated. Offense Level: 2. X妈仔/pu bor gia (Teochew) Equivalent of.
A Night At The Museum Storybook Glen.
Continuing a tradition stretching back nine years, Aberdeen Voice presents Suzanne Kelly’s annual Christmas-time satire covering the vibrant and dynamic goings-on in The Deen, the shire and the wider world.
Angus was running late for his new job.
Courtesy of Universal Credit, the acclaimed petrochemical engineer was ‘retraining’ as a security guard.
He was at a wooden bus stop waiting for his bus to Story Book Glen. Nearby hung a poster – ‘Fatima’s Next Job Could Be in Cyber, Only She Doesn’t Know It Yet’ read the kindly, helpful advert, featuring a ballet dancer who obviously should give up her dancing to become a government computer spy.
If Angus got lucky, he too might be retrained in cyber. But first, he had to prove himself to Universal Credit to get that £80 a week payment. His bus arrived after an hour or so, and off he went.
It was getting dark as he got off the No. C-19 bus on the outskirts of The Deen; the city lights were coming on, showing how vibrant and dynamic the city looked. From afar.
Wandering through the Maryculter streets he arrived at his work placement. ‘WELCOME TO STORYBOOK GLEN – no dogs allowed’ read the sign at the entrance, where a man sat waiting for him. There was a papier mache castle wall with an archway; it was as pretty and as well built as any of the Barratt Homes he’d been walking past.
The little old man, smelling a bit like Buckfast Angus thought, thrust a flashlight and some keys into his hands.
“Hullo! Ye must be thon work experience loon, Aye? Weel, welcome tae Storybook Glen,” he said, gesticulating around him as the sun continued to sink.
“Ere’s yer keys.”
The wizened old man led Angus to a little wooden hut; in it were a wooden chair by a solitary window, a tiny fridge, and a heater. Before they went in, Angus looked around and in the distance he could see the figures of several nursery rhyme characters as the sun continued sinking, like the feeling in his stomach.
“Did ye tak yer passport like we tellt ye tae?” the man asked; he seemed a little tipsy.
“Sure, have it here.” Angus replied, assuming it was needed for tax or ID purposes.
“Good, good – keep it on ye fer noo. Noo ye micht get some tresspassers; some n’eer do wells were through the ither year, paintin punk rock slogans on oor statues – caused a fair stooshie,” the man warned.
“Aa ye hae tae dae is tak a walkie roon’ noo an again, an hit onyhin ye see o’er the heid wi yer flashy, ken? And bide oot o’ trouble!”
‘What trouble could I possibly get into around here?,’ wondered Angus ‘this will be a boring but easy way to earn ma minimum hourly wage so I can pay my council tax off soon.’
The man thrust a paper bag with a bottle in it into Angus’ hand.
“Noo, fae time tae time ye micht hear some funny stuff gan on, aye, and see even funnier stuff” said the old man.
“Tak a scoof ‘o this an’ athin will be fine. There’s some o’ ma homemade mushroom pate in tha fridge along with half a bottle o’ Fred Wilkinson’s Tullos Hill Red – help yersel. Ahm awa noo; see ye in the mornin’ – if ye’re still aboot.”
And laughing to himself, the little old man hobbled away through the fake castle entrance away from Storybook Glen and out of sight.
An owl hooted. Angus looked in the bag at a bottle that read ‘Tactical Nuclear Penguin.’ ‘Ah fine; this job will be a breeze’ he thought, and with that he set himself down in the chair in the tiny guard’s booth. He helped himself to the amazingly delicious homemade wine and pate, had a swig of Penguin, and started to doze off.
* * * *
Angus woke with a start some hours later; the owl hooted. He shivered and got up to turn on the space heater. As he turned to go back to his chair, his eyes glanced at the window and he froze.
Looking back in on him were a pair of giant reptilian eyes. He dared not move.
“Hullo! Hullo! Dinna be feart; Ah’m nae gan tae hurt naebody.”
Angus blinked, but when he looked again, the thing was still there, and was trying to open the door to the guard hut.
It had a round face. It looked like – but no it couldn’t be –
“Onywye. Fit Like? Ah’m Barney” the thing said. It stood in the threshold now; a giant lizard that looked like –
“You’re Barney. Barney the -the-“ Angus stammered lost for words
“Dinosaur, aye, it’s often been said” said the beast with a chuckle an swish of its tail.
Grabbing Angus by the arm (Angus had just enough time to grab his flashlight and bottle) Barney took Angus out of the hut. An eerie green glow illuminated Storybook Glen now, and Angus could see Barney was wearing a chain of office.
“You’re a talking dinosaur. You’re Barney the dinosaur. And – you’re purple – how is this possible?”
“Why am I purple? Well, when ye start oot as Labour, but form a coalition with the Tories, the red and the blue get a bittie mixed up, and ye get purple.”
(Angus had actually meant how had a Barney the Dinosaur statue started walking and talking).
“Weel ma loon, let ma lead ye doon the Storybook Glen gerden path and Ah’ll tell you aa ye need tae ken, and introduce ye to the rest o’ us.”
“Rest of you?” Angus repeated weakly as Barney led him away from the hut.
* * * *
“Ye’re here on an affa special nicht” Barney said, elated.
“Ye ken, Storybook Glen Cooncil has won nae jist ane, but twa awards! The hale o the Glen is celebratin’ the nicht!”
Angus was being led down the garden path. Soon they came to a 6’ high wooden soldier which stood at tollhouse.
“HALT! Who goes there?” Demanded the soldier; it had very red cheeks and a mop of blonde hair.
“Passports out! Non-Storybook Glen characters this way – take off your shoes, belt, coat, take any computers out of bags, only one flagon of mead per person do you have any cigarettes to declare –”
“Ah Boris, it’s me – Barney,” the purple dinosaur laughed at the guard.
“We surely dinna hae tae go through aa that, div we? This is ma new pal Angus, oor new security guard.”
“Well OK then,” said Boris.
“I’m a tough negotiator.”
Mini poker chips canada. And Barney and Angus were waived past the checkpoint.
Beep!’ ‘Beep!’
“Bleeping ~&!!&! bleep!”
Barney and Angus were approaching what looked like 4 tiny yellow cars driving around in a circle. Elves driving them were waving their fists, honking their horns and shouting at the other drivers.
“It’s a one wye system ya bamstick!”
“Ah’m only gan one way ya gluepot!” shouted another elf
An older elf was in her yellow car sobbing;
“Ah jist wanted tae dae ma shoppin’; I canna go a bike or walk, ken? Aa thon one wye signs hiv me gan roon in circles fer oors! Ah jis want tae ging hame!”
And sure enough, the little path they were on was covered with one-way signs, do not enter signs, and a sign which read ‘Storybook Glen Fun Beach next left. No left turn’. Dotted around were wooden bus stops and 136 wooden benches.
Barney puffed out his Devonian-era chest and said:
“Storybook Glen may yet win anither award for this An’ aa. Ah’m richt prood. Ess is how we fecht the dreaded plague here in the Glen. We canna hae fowk jis drivin intae toon an’ parkin’ cars tae ging intae shops; it’s nae safe. Abody should be on bikes. An’ it’s only cost £1.76 million pieces o’ gold tae get it sortit oot.”
Angus took a swig.
“Do you ride a bicycle then?” asked Angus, feeling sure Barney could not manage such a feat – knowing there were many others who could not either.
“Oh aye, yer yer a funny guy, eh?” Barney replied nodding his head,
“Me on a bike? Are ye wise min? Ah’ve got ma ain Barneymobile wi’ a chauffeur.”
Barney pointed to a large marquee in the distance; it was lit up, as were its customers apparently; the shouting and carrying on could be heard faintly on the air.
“At’s far we’re heidin,” said Barney, dragging an unwilling Angus along,
“Jist one mair stop tae mak.”
Heading down the path, Angus could make out in the green glowing light which filled the glen one brick house, a wooden house, and a big pile of straw.
“That’s …. surely not?” Angus stammered, seeing three little pigs; two were patting a sobbing pig on the back. Angus took another swig.
“Aye, yer richt enough. Come an’ meet some o’ ma constituents, The Three Little Pigs.” Barney replied, anticipating Angus’ question.
Wordlessly Barney and Angus now stood in front of the pigs. The sobbing pig looked up at Angus
“Stewart Milne Home, eh?” Angus commiserated and the pigs nodded.
“Come on an’ hae a drink lads, it’ll gee ye up a bittie” Barney said to the pigs, who immediately perked up.
And soon Angus, Barney and the three little perky pigs were heading to the giant marquee.
Angus could barely hear Barney, who was telling story after story, as a terrible din rose from the marquee, which Angus soon realised was a big beer tent. A huge roar went up; Angus peered inside.
The place was filled with storybook characters brought to life; swigging flagons of ale, Jaegerbombs, and Buckfast. There were banshees screeching; elves dancing on tables, screaming, laughing and hugging. Above hung a sign saying ‘Welcome to the Seven Dwarves Incorporated Trades of Storybook Glen Annual beer tent – An Inspired idea’
Dwarves mixed with trolls and witches; in a corner sat Little Jack Horner, eating a Christmas pie. Angus swore he’d never drink again as he took another swig of the Tactical Nuclear Penguin.
Beer flowed, shouts were heard, everyone hugged one another. Barney took Angus by the shoulder and they entered the crowded tent. A witch at a table stopped them at the entrance.
“Good evening. Do you have reservations?”
‘Quite a few’ thought Angus.
“No” answered Barney.
“Good – I hate all that red tape.” Answered the witch.
“Are you in a bubble?” she demanded.
“Course Ah am, Ah’m wi’ the Cooncil.”
Barney and the witch both laughed.
“Right then, have a great time, social distance or wear a mask if you feel like it, and hug the nearest strangers if there is a goal scored in the football match on the telly.
“We canna stop ye daein ‘at can we, ken?” She said, forgetting herself and lapsing into her default Doric.
Passing it off as humour to hide her embarrassment, she continued in her adopted, more ‘professional’ tone:
“We close at the stroke of midnight, except if we don’t. The big award ceremony celebration starts at 11”
“Come an’ meet some o’ ma fella cooncillors.” Barney said.
“Sit doon an’ A’ll get the drinks in – nah, dinna sit there –“ Barney said, grabbing Angus away from a tall bald man and plonking him in a chair next to a man in a suit.
Angus was introduced to him as being Wee Willie Wilkie.
Angus took another swig of his Penguin. And with that Barney started to make his way through the throng to the bar, using his tail to sweep the crowd out of his way. Angus was left at the table. ‘I am definitely asking for a pay rise’ he thought, taking another sip of Penguin.
“An then –” cackled the bald man,
“then when Ah wez on me holidays, Ah got them te gissies another suspension!”
He leaned forward on the table, and the others laughed and nodded approvingly.
“An then…” he continued, hushing the approving chuckles of agreement.
“Then Ah got them te postpone the hearing fre a furtha month. Another month on the payroll!”
He nodded confidently and the others smiled and cheered.
“What’s all that about?” asked Angus to no one in particular as the bald speaker polished off flagon after flagon of wine.
Wee Willie answered him.
“That’s Donnelly Wonnelly Puddin and Pies. He assaults the unwilling and always denies.
“He gets away with lots of things – like taking sex offenders fer drinks in shady bars in STorrybook toon, and taking cash fer upgradin passengers tae first class on Thomas the Tank engine trips an keeping their gold.
“Nothing touches him, he doesn’t even get his wrist slapped, and if he does get into trouble, the judges say ‘it’s just a one off’ or ‘it didn’t seem like an assault to me’, and away he goes on holidays. Unlike poor me.”
Angus felt revolted and was glad Barney stopped him from sitting next to Donnelly. Donnelly Wonnelly continued:
“Aye man, but get this,” he threw back his head howling with laughter,
“then at the hearing the convener sez the assault wez ‘a one off!!’”
The whole table – except Angus – erupted in laughter and they clinked their glasses and toasted Donnely Wonnelly.
Wiping a tear of laughter from his eye, Donnelly addressed Wee Willie,
“Ahm sorry aald mate, Ah divvent mean te celebrate me victories when Ah knaa yee hev yer problems. or should Ah syah ‘Wall te Wall’ problems!”
Everyone at the table laughed again – except Wee Willie and Angus. Willie shook his head and sighed.
“Well, at least the wall’s paid fre noo . Forst , Humpty Dumpty sat on it an had a fall, then Storm Gertie made it fall in.” Donnelly said.
At that several eyes silently met each other around the table, almost as if they didn’t believe Gertie was responsible.
“Yes, go on, laugh if you must. But it was not as easy as you might think to remember whether I owned the wall, whether I didn’t own the wall, whether I owned the wall with the wife, whether the city owned the wall, or me or my da or-“ Willie stammered
“Aye,” interrupted Barney, who was back with drinks, plonking a steaming tankard of something or other in front of Angus.
“Some of’ us drink tae ferget; but Wee Willie, you dinna need ony help at aa, div ye? How’s the amnesia? Cleared up noo?”
A few at the table laughed; Willie blushed.
“Dinna worry yersel aboot it Willie; that’s aa fergotten”.
“Handy though that ye didnae hae to pay 200,000 pieces o’ gold tae get it fixed. But this ither business needs tae blaw ower, then ye can come back in aboot the body o’ the kirk.”
“What has to blow over, Barney?” asked Willie,
“You mean when I told the peasants we had to build Marischal Square Castle or that they would have to pay a billion pieces of eight in penalty?”
“Nah, nae thon” said Barney.
“Ye mean that I’m in the Labour party but support the Tories?” asked Willie.
“Nah, ‘at’s nithin; hisna stopped the rest o’ us.”
The table laughed.
“You mean when I didn’t know who owned that wall but I gave verbal permission for the repairs, that I sent and got emails aboot it using my council email and held meetings in my council office aboot it?
“Maybe you mean when I accidentally leaked some information about yon Marischal Sq? Or-”
“No Willie – Abody likes to mix a wee bit o’ business wi’ council business” said Barney
“Ah mean this fortune cookie Covid-19 racist cairry on. We hae tae hing fire til ‘at aa blaws ower. Ahm thinkin we’ll get oor pals at Inspired tae dae some’hin in the Storybook Glen Press. Gie fowk some’hin else tae spik aboot. Mibbee some good news aboot the ‘Inspired indoor Christmas fayre’.
“We’ll hae thoosans o’ fowk come in aboot tae shop – and they’ll be gled we stopped them gan intae aa the wee shoppies. Some’hin’ lik ‘at. But dinna worry Wee Willie; anither wikk or twa, and it’ll be aa business as usual again.”
Everyone at the table chatted to each other, growing increasingly drunk. Angus, who was feeling somewhat left out of the conversation, decided he really wanted to do the rest of his security guard rounds – and to get some fresh air out of the stifling, noisy, crowded tent.
After he finished whatever was in his tankard that is. Soon he was ready to go, but feeling somewhat worse for wear.
“Barney, ladies an gents; I really must go do my rounds” Angus said.
“Maybe I’ll be back here though before closing time.”
“Cinderella will arrive around 11pm; myek sure yee are heor fre tha – she’s got summat ta celebrate – we’ve won awards – and that’s why so many of weh are oot the neet – though Ahm not heor in me official capacity, yee knaa” said Donnelly, and the table laughed.
Angus got up, wove his way out of the crowd, and found himself in the night air once more. He had another hit of Penguin. Somewhere an owl hooted.
* * * *
Angus felt dazed; ‘Well, at least things can’t get any stranger’ he prematurely told himself as he wandered down a further path.
He heard a whirring noise, and stumbling towards it, found himself face to face with an imp hard at work on a spinning wheel. On the creature’s left was a huge pile of sh*te and straw which he placed on the spinning wheel; on the right was a tiny pile of gold, falling from the wheel. There was also a giant pile of books.
“I’ll bet ye canna guess ma name!” The creature said in a smug, satisfied conceited manner.
“Err, yer Damian Bates, disgraced news editor who used his job to further his wife’s business aspirations.”
“”$!”%!!! ye little sh*te” said the outraged creature,
“I’ve rebranded! I’m Trumplestiltskin!” said the thing angrily, spinning harder than ever.
Angus picked up a book; the cover read ‘Shirk in Scotland: Thon Real Deal, Ken’; over it was a sticker saying ‘SALE NOW ON: ONLY 1 GROAT OR 2 EGGS’
“Ah’m a Spin Doctor! If aince on a blue moon Shirk says or daes some’hin’ that could be taen the wrang wye, it’s ma job tae spin his sh*te intae gold.
“Like, fan Shirk cages immigrant bairns -he micht be cooking them fer aa I ken- I spin for him an’ tell fowk that nasty trolls fae abroad are tryin tae sneak intae Storybook Glen.
“Hiv ye nae read any o’ the stories I wrote aboot fit a topper o’ a boy Shirk is? Did ye nae hear aboot thon time he rearranged some o’ his paintins in Turnberry Glen Castle? Amazin! Fit a guy!
“Anither time, he tellt me personally – he likes eatin ornery grub like hamberders and cofvefee! Can ye believe Ah got these amazing insights! I really ken the loon! He’s ane o’ wer ain, ken?
“Ah’m ees best pal! Lik Brithers! He took me tae farawa lands in a flying machine aince.
“Ah hae a Fe
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