Welcome to goaste




A partial archive of things that we sent out as emails in our mailing list
over the years when we were trying to alert people to the fact that goaste had been updated

from: DAVID MCPIPEHELM date: Mon, Apr 25, 2005 at 9:12 AM subject: Dear Sir or Madam Recently while perusing the internet I came across possibly the most depraved site ever created. Appalled by this I took solace in http://www.goaste.cx, and have since regained my composure. Yours sincerely, David McPipehelm (deceased)

Read the rest of them here

from: Jonesy date: Mon, May 8, 2006 at 5:35 PM subject: Doctor Who and the Cybermen A cyberman/steroids episode set in the 2012 Olympic Games in which an English athlete, a teenage prodigy driven by a pushy parent, got gold in the 400 meter Happy Slapping but was disqualified when it was revealed that he had hugely advanced cybernetic implants, and that was the only way he could win. It would probably end with the cyberboy dying but just managing to force his gold medal into the respiratory unit of a cyberman (destroying the father figure) while Ken Livingstone looked on smugly then turned to Davros and said, "You see, Hawking, that is why English are best in the universe; not the Daleks, not the Jews, the English." Then Tennant would pole vault over the dome using one of his huge pop out eye stalks, to buy an antidote made from jellied eels and liquor for poisoned Piper and the whole of England, who had caught some horrible futuristic East End marketing bug, transmitted into their brains through their mobile phonyvisions. Tennant would administer the antidote and say "Doctor's orders!" or something like that. And the Head of Boe would appear in Bow, just because, you know, why waste the opportunity?

from: David McPipeHelm date: Wed, Oct 25, 2006 at 8:02 PM subject: BREAST: The Trailer We see a doctor, with a goatee, laughing and laughing and laughing Delilah Breast: What have you done to me? Doctor: Every time you are irritated, your breasts will expand. And then, eventually... The doctor whispers "Boooom", while making an explosion motion with his hands cut to: The White House Aide: Mr President, we only have 48 hours to save America President: Get me Breast. Delilah Breast Aide: I'm afraid there's a problem, Mr President cut to: explosion cut to: Delilah Breast: If I don't stop them before my breasts explode, we'll all die Pen-pusher from City Hall: This isn't a time for heroics. You can't even fit into your uniform. You disgust me Delilah Breast: I get results dammit! Pen-pusher from city hall: Not in my force you don't Delilah Breast throws her badge on the table Voiceover: ONLY ONE WOMAN CAN SAVE US *whooosh* BUT WILL SHE BE ABLE TO STOP THE BOMB *whooosh* BEFORE SHE BECOMES THE BOMB *whoooosh* Then Several pieces of text whoosh onto the screen FROM THE DIRECTOR OF CRANK *whooooosh* AND THE WRITER OF SPEED *whoooooosh* CYNTHIA ROTHROCK IS *whoooooosh* BREAST *whoooooosh* IN THEATERS THIS HOLIDAY SEASON *whooooshbang*

Even more new Elvins

from: Raz date: Sat, Jan 27, 2007 at 9:15 PM subject: "Martha " David said, while looking hungrily at Martha over the top of his glasses. "Hmmmmm?" she responded, eyes still afixed to the glossy bible she always carried. David let the sound hang in the air until it hotly irrititated him. He felt his neck turn red. He admired the curve of Martha's hips; the swell of her breasts. He waited a few more seconds, then ventured: "The hunt went well on Saturday, I thought. I still don't understand why people get so offended, though." This caught her attention. She raised her head from the magazine, and looked at David over her glasses. She lifted the pencil she had been using to fill in the Celebrity Crossword, dipped the tip in her mouth - once - twice. David licked his lips. "People think it's cruel, David. They think we shouldn't cause anything a horrific, slow, agonising death, even a fox." She started thrusting the rubber tip in and out of her mouth. David looked at her over his glasses. He found he was taking short, sharp breaths, in time with her thrusting. He felt his face and chest turn red. "But it's just an animal," he snorted, "I don't understand why they get so worked up. One old woman even stood in the way of old Derek." He glowered, over his glasses. "I struck her across the face with my crop. It left a deep groove." He cowled himself in a sudden, nonchalant air. "I don't know if she died or not." "Really, David. You are a one." Said Martha, out of the side of her mouth, while looking at David over the top of her glasses. The pencil went: in, out, in, out. A small sound, somewhere between a moan and a sigh, escaped David's lips. He looked at her over his glasses.

More things we drew at work while bored

from: David McPipehelm date: Fri, Feb 6, 2009 at 10:52 PM subject: sitcom i had a brilliant and horrifyingly realistic dream before. for some reason i was married to a blandly beautiful american woman, who was the star of her own sitcom, which was also just her life. she was some sort of successful office type women or something. also i live with her, and also her rubbish american working class brother who is a builder. also there is her successful upper class office partner who hates me and her brother and tries to run away with my wife, the star of the sitcom, in case you have forgotten. wife: and this is my brother, he works in construction brother: i get to blow things up with dynamite! (mild audience laughter) wife's workmate: that doesn't sound like construction (he pauses, for more mild laughter). That sounds like destruction! (uproarious wild laughter that never ends) wife: and this is my husband. he's british (intake of breathe from the audience) brother: do they even have construction in England? (audience laughter) me: my brother's in construction silence from everyone me: Question: How can you tell the whether a man is american or british, if for some reason you have to know, and they can't tell you, and you also can't tell from their accents, and also they both work in construction. Answer: The british man would have a reaaaaaaaaaaaally big piece of dynamite, and he would force it into the tightest hole he could find, even though it barely fit, and it was ripping the edges of the hole, and the hole was filled with dirt, and he'd push it in, puuuuuush it in, all the way, and then he'd set it off, and it would explode everywhere. The american would have a really small piece of dynamite and it probably wouldn't go off. I start to laugh, while everyone else looks at me in appalled silence wife's rich workmate: so what's your job, then, david? at which point i wake up, as if my brain is too embarrassed to tell an american, in my dream, that i am unemployed. or maybe my brain had used up all its joke writing skills on that brilliant joke, so it just gave up

Some other things that are new or maybe have had new things added:

	Ape
	Ronald The Angry Dog
	The Barren Lands

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