A little story about Bradley. As you may be aware, my Head of Intel has been having a hard time in real life recently. This thread will hopefully explain what has been going on. It was a dark Wednesday morning and Bradley woke with a dreadful case of the Brad Pitts which left it's presence in the Gentlemans Reading Room like a green, smelly Acker Bilks Beard. The day proceeded to go from bad to worse as the moon was in it's fourth quadrant his Jam Rag was fully loaded and his mood was foul enough to create a bigger Period Drama than a remaking of Jane Eyre. He had clearly been somewhere the night before as his Mapatasi looked like a Bulldog Eating Porridge. He got up to find his clothes on the floor and a trail leading to the Devils Chimney, reminding him he had danced the Aztec Two-step the night before following his work meeting over a Ruby Murray with the gentleman who clearly Jumped Puddles. Taking a whiff of his Bill Grundies he could see they Smelled Like McKeiths Handbag, and pausing to scratch himself he found his Dutch Canal had suffered an attack of the Klingons. The evening started to come back to him. He had consumed 12 pints of Wife Beater with the work colleague who was clearly a fan of Howards Way, and was now concerned he may have been Plowing The Hershey Highway. To be continued...
Oh my god I want more !! Don't leave is hanging in suspense!! Please be the narrator when we make the movie