Pulg's Wives's page

Oh, so WE'VE been cursed. That's nice.

So, you never noticed that I installed windows into your yurt for you?

You sellotaped clingfilm over those holes you made in the walls to watch us bathing, if that's what you mean (but it didn't work, because we never do)

Look at him, trying to smash up a yurt.

Ohhh Pulg! Your hair (and that's all there is, let's face it) is matted and encrusted with mud! You must be shampooed, conditioned, and blow-dried forthwith!

If that's what you're going to do, Pulg, make sure it lands in the bucket this time.

*Looks over at Pulg, with an unamused expression.*

OK, what did you do/didn't do now you ungodly mound of matted fibres!

Years of disappointment.

I'm glad somebody is, EH PULG?!

Actually, we WERE the Berlin Wall, and he made honest bricks of us.

Thanks to his success in raising nuclear-powered kokoshnik production by 500000%, GftK has been named Hot Hat Hetman of the Byelochiekovodskyodnorsk Autonomous Oblast.

God save our gracious Pumpy,
Long live our noble Narkwell,
God save Space Bishop Pumpy Narkwell.
His trousers are glorious,
His tantrums notorious,
His bowel movements, labourious,
Pump pump pump Pumpy.

Pulg, bullying your own ghost is particularly poor form.

No offense, but it's his own fault for using GoatToucher brand deworming suppositories.

All the more reason to throw bricks at his head.

Might we suggest that you throw one of us at the back of his head? That way, he'll snap out of his Infowars-inspired delerium and can make everybody a delicious bowl of nourishing chicken soup.

If you like the taste and smell of baked hair, sure.

He's entirely wrapped in tinfoil at the moment, so is rather hard to communicate with, and has rejected your pills in favour of manticore deworming suppositories.

Ohhh Pulgy, can we keep it? Can we? Can we?!

Ducktron... dorktour... Buckfast Alpen... woshishname... Ballgirt? DOCTOR! Shnot a washte... Shlovely brandry! *Hic!* Shlovely. You know what you are, eh? Dja know, Smallpart? Yer she... Yer she... YER SHENILE, YOU ARE!!! Gerron back to the home and cash yer pension aharharhar.

Here you are. We shall arm ourselves with hairpins and lock ourselves in the drinks cabinet.

As we've said to him many, many times, length, and the facility to use both hands, counts for a great deal in certain situations.

*Sigh* We shall fetch the fine-toothed comb and the medicated shampoo.

I've heard it used to mean taken something apart. Like dissect ones argument or something like that.

Pulg was making a hairy pun, I'm afraid. 'Dissect' = 'Diss-sect'

Excuse me, did you say wives of scum and villainy?

He only steals root vegetables these days - yams, mainly.

Those tiny feet belong to Our adorable brick-children. Come back here!

Pulg do you believe in love after love?

Yes, he does.

Why, Pulg - have you been fighting? You are wounded! Come, let us soothe your hurts with epoxy resin and Bovril!

*Unwrap unwrap unwrap*

Ohhhh Pulg! It's our hearts! And our kidneys! And our eardrums, and our small intestines, all painted red and gold and encrusted with cubic zircona! You.. you... *sniff* do care!

Last Christmas, Pulg,
We gave you our little clay hearts.
And the very next day,
You gave them away.

*Addresses Pulg's Wives.*

Ladies, ladies, please relax. Sit yourselves down and help yourselves to some of the lovely cream cakes here.

*Offers Pulg's Wives the cream cakes.*

For now, forget all about that uncouth husband of yours.

Ohh, Count, you are a true gentlemen!

We hope you're paying attention to this, Pulg, you unhygienic oaf.

YMMV, but I didn't have much fun playing a game where every session centered around drinking and regretting my life choices.

If only it was just a game...

So this is where Our husband goes to steep himself in depravity and dishonour the Sacred Bonds of Baked Matrimony!