The first draft of this epic adventure was forwarded to my agent and publisher, "Biff" Mills-Boone, c/o *Pikey Publishing Ltd*, Slumdog Street, North Mumbai Landfill Site, India. It was forwarded to a number of critics for evaluation and comment, some of which are listed below:
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"This is the highly acclaimed worst-seller of 2010. A romping-stomping five fingered spread of a tale, that was only beaten to the very bottom place in the Book Critics 1st review of 2010 by a new novel from the pen of Gary Glitter entitled "Good grooming Vietnam!" (based on the film almost of the same name). The author of Pansy Potter has, in our opinion, opened numbers 1,2,3,4,5 and 6 Main Vents and definitely plunged to new depths with this blatant rip-off of the hugely successful series of books about another world famous wizard called Paul Daniels.
The last Paul Daniels book entitled "Debbie does Daniels", stayed at the top of the book sales chart for almost six weeks. This pop-up book portrayed Debbie and Pauls attempt to emulate Stings marathon "tantric sex sessions", in graphic pop-up pornographic detail. The final pop-up page (featuring an outstanding facial money-shot), also doubles up as an in car air freshener and can be hung from the rear view mirror and emits an aroma not unlike a bucket of six month old wallpaper paste. Having read "Pansy Potter" from cover to cover, I can honestly state that I would rather witness Dot Cotton giving birth to sextuplets in a Birthing Pool full of luke warm Rowntrees lime jelly, than be forced to read any future sequels".
(The Critics Monthly Review February 2010)
(Robson Green - star of *Soldier Soldier*, *Wire in the blood* and *Extreme fisting with Robson Green*)
"I enjoyed this book so much, I sent the author a photograph of my cock"
"I am having read book and it good with much fun and good adventure, and I please to tell you that you have winning the Nigerian National Lottery. I require Â£500 so I can transfer all winning to you bank account.
Please send me numbers of account. Thankyou"
(Horace M'Wanga - Chief Accountant - Nigerian National Lottery)
"The bit were all those fluffy dalmatian puppies accidentally get mashed in the can-crusher is so sad...."
(Ann Diamond - former GMTV presenter and lead singer with Anne Diamond and the Gastric Band)
"Pansy Potter is the Royal Navys answer to me...only I'm harder..."
"F**k off! I'm the Royal Navys answer to you mate...."
(The Armed Forces websites monitoring team - GCHQ Cheltenham)
"Shit! please ignore the above. There is no such thing as the Armed Forces websites monitoring team,
here in GCHQ......honest.....no really"
(The Armed Forces websites monitoring team - GCHQ Cheltenham)
*THE Board of the Admiralty hereby claims to have absolutely no knowledge of the diesel-electric submarine, known as HMS WARTHOG, or the fact that the ships company are all professional Warlocks and Wizards, and practice certain "Black Arts" with which to gain an advantage over the enemy during periods of conflict. Furthermore, the Admiralty have conducted a thorough search of the Royal Naval archives, and, to date, have found no service documents appertaining to Able Seaman (Acting Wizard 2nd Class)(SM) "Pansy" Potter D666666Z or any other personnel that alledgedly form the crew of HMS WARTHOG. In addition, the Ministry
of Defence states that it has absolutely no knowledge of ANY secret submarine base that is "invisible" to the "non-wizard eye" and operates outside the boundaries of the Laws of Physics as we currently understand them. The Admiralty and the Ministry of Defence therefore conclude that this book is a work of pure fiction and that the author is a crazy as a shit house rat"
AB(Logs) Jenny Houdini.
(p.p. Admiral Ian Surance Multi-Carr (CinC Fleet))
Chapter One - "Down Down - Deeper and Down" (Status Quo)
Cheryl Cole was absolutely stark bollock naked, and drenched from head to toe in Johnsons Baby Oil.
She rolled over on to her hands and knees, shook her long dark hair and started to crawl up the bed to were Pansy was laying - dressed in only an XXXXL yellow thong with a picture of a large purple Exocet Missile printed on the front. Cheryl reached over to the bedside table and picked up a polystyrene cup full of cold sweet and sour sauce that had been left over from last nights Chinese take-away and poured the sticky substance over her fun-bags. The sauce oozed slowly downwards and dripped off her brazilian beaver on to Pansys leg.
"I want you to take me from behind Pansy...", she crooned.
"Eh? What?...Look - will y'put that Sweet and Sour sauce back on the f***ing radiator next to those spare King Prawn Balls......that's me f***ing scran you're f***ing about with luv!", muttered Pansy.
"I want you to torpedo me! Give me a watershot.....RIGHT NOW!", yelled Cheryl.
She grasped a handful of Pansys thong and heaved it upwards with a strength that defied belief. The thongs material disappeared up Pansys ample ring-piece, and parted his testicles by a good six inches.
They popped out of each side of the thongs miniscule gusset and wedged themselves in between his thighs as Cheryl kept on yanking, and hauling and pulling and screaming......
"One up the stern tube! I want you back aft! I want you to smash my bulkhead doors in!", she screamed.
Pansys eyes started to expand as his nutsack continued to be slowly throttled by this demented she- devil. As Pansys eyes became more and more bloodshot and his port and starboard knacker-bags blood suplies were cut off, Cheryl grabbed a King Prawn Ball off the radiator, reached down, and shoved it somewhere a King Prawn Ball has never-ever been before.
"WHAT THE F**K ARE YOU DOING CHERYL??!", yelped Pansy
Cheryl smiled as she eased her oily body up to within a centimeter of Pansys face.
"Ding!", she moaned.
Pansy caught sight of a tiny piece of Prawn Ball Batter covered in Sweet and Sour sauce and Johnsons Baby oil.
"For f***s sake woman.......you really, really want to black cat what your old man did......don't you?", he muttered.
Pansy allowed his tongue to snake out of his mouth, and it headed in the general direction of breakfast........
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At the precise moment that Pansys protruding tongue was going to make contact with the Chinese nosh, he woke up. It was dark, cold, wet and chucked up of old noodles, chickens feet and other assorted Chinese take-away leftovers, because Pansy had woken up inside a wheelie-bin full of waste food in the back lane behind *The Golden Showers" Chinese take-away, in Chigwell High Street. Last night had been Pansys eighteenth birthday. He had cashed in his Benefits cheques at the local "Cash Converters", and then had proceeded to get utterly shit-faced. He groaned in pain as the image of a nude Cheryl Cole, covered in oil and sauce and prawn batter vanished - to be replaced by the f**k-off hangover from Hell. Carefully, he clambered out of the vile smelling wheelie bin, and he scoured his pockets for any loose change for a taxi (or a bus) home. No joy.
"F**ks me!....why the bleedin' hell am I dreaming about the Royal Navy, and submarines all the f***ing time these days?", he mused.
Pansy was eighteen, unemployed, adopted and skint. A flock of passing pigeons spied the open bin, and dived headlong in its direction. Several of the birds peppered Pansy with great dollops of pigeon shit as a parting gesture.
"Just my f***ing luck...!", he said.
Pansy Potter stuck his hands in his pockets and commenced the long walk back to his mum and dads house.
Little did Pansy know then, but when he eventually got home, his life would be changed - forever.
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