Slimmys slimy slamy search

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I should get, like, well stickered up, isn't it. Simon, ever the diplomat, had joined them. But progress is a bit I want another plan, toot-sweet, yeah? And this time, not a dick. Another aide, pushing a small metal trolley, stacked high with documents, newspapers and haribo clattered through. The morning dispatches had arrived. Of the stack that landed on my desk, the top document was by far the most alarming. The Germans had declared war on the Soviet Union. And, for some reason, us and our entire alliance. Simon, had a theory. The next dispach though, seemed to provide a clearer explaination.

It seemed that the French, having captured the Fuhrer's office, had immediately placed a series of prank calls. With terrible geo-political consequences. The two Spains had, ingeniously, found a way to fight around our dividing roads by simultaneously invading France and as is tradition in Europe using it as a battleground to settle their differences. Simon dropped his telephone with a clatter. Every head in the room spun around to face him.

Eyes shining with unshed tears, he choked out "Lads - Uncle Terry was doing mad quarter miles up and down the Spain roads, and the Spains has totally run over his sick wheels in a tank and this! Churchill had crushed the telegram he was holding in what were now tightly clenched fists. Slowly, and with a palpable air of danger, he rose to his feet.

Those Spainy bell ends has gone too far.

Slimmy's Slimy Slammy Search.

We's exhausted all the options, all the patience, that good men can muster, yeah? And what has they done?

They has thrown it back in our faces, big time, and run over our cars in tanks. Them Spains need to be taught wot's wot. Who the toughest geezers in town is, yeah? If our empire and it's lager should last for like, a thousand years, lads will still say, they, was wellard. My brevren, it's time to end the Spanish Civil War. August 26th, "I call it Operation: A deviously simple battle plan lay in front of us.

But instead, we's going to do all invading and this in every direction at once. If we's invading down out of the shaft, what they thought was a knob, yeah, becomes a ball. They's not going to know what hit them. The French is remtards on free school dinners, but is they really that remmy? There's like, three blokes and a horse defending the southern flank. Slim, gesturing over a report, "They's as good as mullered. What about the Spains? Slim unfurled a second map, and laid it on the table.

We all leaned in for a closer look. He's well hardcore, and still mad vex about when they ran over his car and this with that tank. So now he reckons he's going to run over all of Spain and see how they likes it, isn't it. We's got like, a month and a bit until Oktoberfest, so get your skates on or something.

The bridge was quieter than usual, mainly thanks to the departure of Captain Arthur. He had taken the majority of the fleet out to hunt for the Spanish, French and Italian navies. The Banter Boat remained moored in Amsterdam, acting, as had become customary, as our command centre. I was passed the latest report of the action at sea. Lord Chatfield, chief of the navy, looked over my shoulder. I spent the remainder of that afternoon exchanging messages with Whitehall regarding what had come to be know as our 'national focus'. Recent scientific efforts had paid off in a most significant way, with our boys in labcoats now working quintuple shifts.

Other notable examples include 'getting hat-racked', 'getting detol'd' and 'getting totally rat-arsed'. September 16th, It was a calm, warm night in the Dutch harbour. I lay awake in my quarters, listening to the waves lap gently at the side of our vessel, as the moon hung in the sky overhead. Amongst the chaos of war, moments of reflection were hard to come by. Just as I began to fall asleep, there came a crackling sound from the corner of my quarters, as the tannoy burst into life.

Bring your sleeping bags lads. Most of the cabinet was already sat in a circle around what appeared to be the warm glow of a burning tyre on the flight deck. I sat down with my colleagues, and waited for the news. Churchill leant towards the flickering fire, illuminating his features against the night sky.

Simon from his perch beside the Prime Minister, "Communist Spain sent like, an envoy or postman or something ten minuted ago. They wants to be chill and let bygones be bygones, isn't it. Slim came running across the deck from the bridge in his pajamas, holding a newspaper above his head. We sat, singing songs and talking animatedly by the light of the billowing fire, as seagulls coughed and spluttered overhead. A while later, from somewhere In the distance, came the soft thrum of an engine.

Heads turned, as a gleaming golden RAF Spitfire, illuminated by the deck lights touched down gently at the opposite end of the ship. It slowed, and came to a halt shortly before our group. The canopy slid back, and a tall man with a magnificent moustache sprang out on to the deck. He strode over to join us. Staggering back, the Lord of the Admiralty asked "But why are you here? I thought you was off machine gunning the Frenches and being all bang bang ratatat-tat? An assortment of gold and silver hung from his breast pocket.

And you totally owe me four quid for getting all medals before wot you did. Not being stingy like. Simon, "I thought they was wimpy birds that eats seeds and lives in my nan's garden and gets murdered by cats and this. The engine rumbled into life, and he turned the magnificent aircraft back down the flight deck. We watched him disappear out of sight. The flames of the fire flicked ever lower as the night, and merry conversation drew on. Eventually, one by one, my colleagues bid us goodnight and returned to their bunks, until only Churchill, Mr Slim and I remained.

They's been hiding up them like poetic squirrels or something and throwing all grenades and sophisticated cheeses at our lads. I don't know, isn't it. Churchill stood up, stretched his back, and looked out across the harbour. The sun was just about to rise. October 1st, The fighting had been intense, but Operation: Ein Ball had been a total success.

Hundreds of thousands of allied lads had fallen, mostly into ditches at four in the moning, in the advance through Germany.

Lads on War - A UK HOI4 AAR

The countryside was littered with fading glowsticks and plastic cups, and a faint smell of dried-on strongbow hung in the air. The cabinet and I had travelled through the night across mainland Europe. October had come, and with it, finally, word of the liberation of Munich. As our tanks thundered across Bavaria, it seemed we might just make it in time for Oktoberfest.

French and Italian troops and armour disappeared into the alpine forests as we entered the town. But the sight ahead brought us precious little joy. Churchill climbed up out of the tank to survey the scene. We was too late. Simon a few minutes later. Such a sudden twist of fate after our recent efforts seemed cruel indeed. His features were set with the grim determination he was famous for the world over.

We's can't just sit on our laurels like a load of slacking Romans, isn't it. We needs a plan Slimmy. You know what I mean, isn't it. None of our hearts were particularly in it. The Germans were busily cleaning up all around. One of them, a short man pushing a wheelbarrow through the debris made his way past us. There, stood the elderly man with the wheelbarrow - who upon closer inspection appeared to be- "My god, it's Kaiser Wilhhelm! I hear you liberated us from der Fuhrer? We's straight up wrecked his reich. The kaiser snapped his fingers, and immediately, the rest of the cleaning staff assembled in front of him.

He barked several orders in fast, high pitched German, clapped his hands, and they raced away, grins upon their faces. They ran from job to job, painting, decorating, hanging bunting and rolling huge, beautiful kegs of beer. Before our eyes, and in the space of a morning, Oktoberfest had materialised - a full year early. The Kaiser welcomed us into a beer tent, the size and magnificence of which we had never seen before.

The lads poured inside, and immediately set upon the hundreds of interesting kegs of beer. We's got it covered. We, along with many others spilled out from the tent, and squinted up into the sky. What looked like an entire squadron of Spitfires was rapidly approaching. But something about them seemed different.

A keg rolled in front of the Prime Minister, who rested a foot on it, and adressed the gathered crowd. Grab a Stein my mandem - today we party like it's Oktober ! The liberation of Oktoberfest was, truly, going to be ein right giraffe. Oct 4, Messages: Nov 10, Messages: SgtGranite , Jul 14, Jul 27, Messages: If Hitler was in this world, he would think it Hitlarious. Flyerton99 , Jul 14, October 5th, "You sure about this Slimmy? He sat in the tank commander's seat, raised slightly above the rest of us. The field marshall smiled from the driver's seat below.

My mum got me the fast and furious box set for christmas. I's like, totally got this. The tank's windows steamed up for a moment. The second hand on the dashboard-clock made its way slowly to the minute mark. Ten seconds to go. The ton leviathan took off like a rocket, thundering towards the alps. Fences, barriers, even entire trees were smashed aside as if they were paper and matchsticks, and with a sudden lurch, we hit the sharp, upward slope of the mountains.

Churchill, calm and measured, spoke into the vehicle's radio. Floor it" The field marshall pressed in a small red button on the dashboard, and with a metallic hiss and another almighty lurch, the tank accelerated to an almost unfathomable speed. Slim, "We's going over the top! Through my small window, I saw the town below coming closer and closer to us, as we soared through the sky towards it. The only sound was of the air rushing past us, until, with an earth-shattering slam, our platoon landed in the town centre, clearing the town walls and smashing through a grand statue of Mussolini.

The Italians ran before us, screaming "Cazzo questo, hanno avuto serbatoi volare! Churchill leant down and shouted "Keep it planted Slimmy, the banter express doesn't stop 'til we hit Rome, yeah? Admiral Arthur was to be dispatched with the Banterfleet to cover the Italian coast and stop a possible French intervention, while our sub-surface fleet would cover the shipping lanes and protect the vital lager shipments. After hours of progress, we pulled in to an Italian service station for fuel. Almost a hundred miles into the mainland, we had met little resistance.

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It seemed our gigantic Sibo's Mum model tanks either scared off, or drove straight through any defences the Italians could muster. Panda Pop in hand and leaning against the tank, Churchill gathered the cabinet. They's dropping all bombs on Westminister and scaring the foreign office and this. Simon, his right hand man, "Slimmy's commanding the lads down here, so we'd need like, somebody else to do all motivating and shouting and this. He gives me the heeby jeebies, isn't it. The Field Marshall's face went white. A shadowed figure stepped from behind the tank, into the light of day.

Most of us took at least one step back. Mr Slim visibly cowered. But about him, was an aura of terror. He exuded threat, murder carved into every dark recess of his features. I had only ever met him once before, during a mock-combat training exercise on Bermuda.

Half of his opponents, an entire batallion of Canadian mountain troops, had surrendered on the spot. The other half had simply fainted at the sight of him. Field marshall Harold moved wordlessly towards Field Marshall Slim. He looked over at Mr. Slim's France Plan, sellotaped to the side of the tank, and glared at it.

Slim, "it's a work in pro-" The plan had peeled off the side of the tank under the intense gaze of Harold, and fallen to the floor.

Slim took another step back. There was a moment of silence. Our terrifying guest nodded, turned, and with the same look of cold fury, walked away into the forest. We heard the crash of several falling trees, fading into the distance as he went. A shudder went around our group.

Simon, "I's glad I's not a French right now. The mood lifted somewhat when Lord Chatfield, having missed the whole grisly scene, returned from the service station with an armful of Happy Meals, and some most interesting news.

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He explained as we all dug in to our dinners. He had the Italian garrison in for Egg Mc Muffins this morning, and they were being sent to Africa for some reason. Apr 29, Messages: Hahahhaha, Alexander as a fearsome commander Still loving this AAR, it's truly one of a kind. Please note that you will be liable for damages including costs and attorneys' fees if you materially misrepresent that the material is infringing your copyright.

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Slimmy's Slimy Slammy Search. by Ratna Jalisatgi (eBook) - Lulu

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Lulu Staff has been notified of a possible violation of the terms of our Membership Agreement. Our agents will determine if the content reported is inappropriate or not based on the guidelines provided and will then take action where needed. Thank you for notifying us. The page you are attempting to access contains content that is not intended for underage readers. Slimmy's Slimy Slammy Search. This item has not been rated yet. Slimmy's slimy slammy search is about a mommy snail Slimmy in search of her newly hatched baby snail,Slammy.

The only way to find him is to follow his slimy trail. But every slimy trail takes mommy Slimmy to bugs other than her baby Slammy. Where on earth could her baby be?

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