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Mummy Short Arms For some, Mummy Short Arms began as a sparkle in their father's eye and a squirt of man butter into the welcoming hole of creation; for others, the story of their arrival into the world is so sickeningly macabre that anyone obliged to disclose it would have cause to slit throats.

In these plagiarised website template pages the true history will finally be revealed. Be warned however, for though the story drives a dagger of truth through the flesh of dishonesty, it is at once both shocking and irritatingly pointless.

The Birth Imagine, if you will, a time in which science was the chief pursuit of bearded god botherers and the typical peasant's day revolved around tilling, grimacing, raking and generally being a primitive minded dick. Here, in this distant and smelly past, we find a young weaver by the name of Cameron Findlay, so called because that was his name.

Findlay was not a brave man, but what he lacked in courage he made up for in plans and a plan he certainly had. His plan took the best of Nelson's strategy at Trafalgar, together with Napoleon's brilliance at Austerlitz and forged them into a sort of vague idea to start a band. This audacity, forged as it was during a severe crisp shortage, would ensnare the lives of 5 other peasants: James Allan, Fraser Gillies, Stuart Brown, Dean McClure and a three headed drum giant named Pink Rossgor.

The Massacre This band of well meaning simpletons sallied forth from the town of Stewarton in Ayrshire in the year 2003. Upon leaving the town and heading towards the bridge which spanned the river Tune, they found themselves confronted by an evil Knight known only as the Knight of Harsh But Accurate Criticism.

"Yous are pure pish ya bunch of pricks" said the Knight, grinning at his shite yet accurate comment. "Bleurghhhh!!" said Pink Rossgor, in an impressively loud but nevertheless pitiful attempt to form a sentence. All in attendance knew the noble intention of Pink Rossgor's mewing however and narrowing their brows to signal the determination of a Japanese cartoon character, they thrust themselves wildly into the night air. As this thrusting caused them to look somewhat ridiculous though, the Knight merely hurled pithy ned like insults in their direction and they ran away crying.

The Smell Several days after their humiliation on the bridge of Tune the 'shorts' were nursing their wounds next to a giant Oak tree. "Hang on a minute" said Fraser, "that tree is trying to say something!" said James, rudely finishing Fraser's sentence for him.

Sure enough, James hadn't lost the plot, the tree was making very encouraging noises about the band saying he would organise gigs and be in general a good pal. Taking heed from the tree's encouragements they got up and strode wildly towards the music hall - this was to be their finest hour, their triumph, their moment in the spotlight - and was that tree really God spreading the good news of Christ's resurrection? No, it was actually just magic.

The End At the music hall a big crowd had gathered ready to be entertained and there - OH NO! - it was that neddy arsehole from the bridge. "How will we ever make pals of em all?" said the band in unison... and yet, they said it with such gusto that the crowd fell silent.

When the ice cream and jelly had been handed out to all boys and girls, they played them a song. Pish as it was, the little girls clapped and the little boys yelped and even the neddy prick said it was alright. The triumph was assured and thenceforth they vowed to play gigs and sort of practice now and then. Superb.