February 2008  With or Without Ewe 
TAFFF had hoped our first 'Recent News' would be of joy, happiness and justice. However, I fear we bring tidings of even further pain and anguish. We are now faced with another greater, and even more dangerous enemy.  Let us explain.

After receiving the confirmed video of Flossy, we flew to Algeria and ran cat-like into the swirling sands of the Gobi.  On reaching our target we scaled the barb wired electric fence and crashed through the glass ceiling of the SPICER desert hideout. At this point however it was not only the glass that was shattered, it was also our hearts. For there would be no reunification with Flossy this day, only a meeting with a cold and bloody handwritten note that said simply 'So long suckers'. The consequences of this run deep indeed. This means there can only be one possible and unthinkable scenario. TAFFF has been compromised, we have amongst us, a RAT!

We realise we have asked too much of our members already but we are forced to charge you all with another task. One that could mean life or death for lovely Flossy. We call upon all members to be extra vigilant and to look out for any suspicious behaviour displayed by others in our organisation. You can do this by way of the Wall at TAFFF or by leaving a comment in the Members Area on this website. Justice for this traitor must be swift and unforgiving.

As we have no idea of Flossy's whereabouts once again we must reitertate the importance of any possible sightings you may have. More news will follow from Mr Boy and myself as soon as we get it.


Our struggle continues...

March 2008.   Ewe Only Live Twice
Brothers and Sisters.  At last we can bring you news of hope where there was only anguish, expectation where there was only pain, success where there was only not success.

TAFFF has unearthed evidence, which suggests that that most evil of organisations is slowly beginning to crumble. A video has come to light, which may tell us that time and money is running out for the purveyors of misery themselves, the dreaded SPICER.  The costs of running a static evil organisation are considerable enough let alone one that is on the run. What with staff holidays, paternity leave and the bloody Unions, (they do give them hell see) SPICER now has to finance a life on the run. This is where our news comes in.

The video, which you can now view via the Videos page or at TAFFF on Facebook, demonstrates that SPICER is feeling the pinch. We can confirm that it is Flossy appearing in the promo and we believe that she appears for monetary purposes only. With money running out for SPICER we at TAFFF take one step closer to regaining sweet Flossy. Although some sick people may believe the video to be amusing, please remember that our cause is anything but funny, and so for members of TAFFF the video is nothing to be laughed at.

Finally, the hunt for the rat has taken on a new lease of life since TAFFF unleashed its SPY-O-MATIC weapon. We have received several telling reports from our members, which are slowly beginning to point toward one individual in particular. A rancid parasite that still lurks amongst our much loved and valued membership. Time too is almost up for this repugnant festering traitor.

Our struggle continues...

April 2008.  Power, Unrest and a Matching Dress.
Today TAFFF's mission has taken an unexpected turn. Although TAFFF had expected the unexpected, just how unexpected we didn’t expect, even though we were expecting it.

After the timely release of TAFFF’s secret weapon, the SPY-O-MATIC, we can now confirm the identity of the rancid vermin that had infiltrated our organisation. She goes under the pseudonym MMR, a disease indeed that had successfully infected our team. It is just unfortunate that there is no jab or vaccine for her brand of evil.

However, her identification throws up obstacles in the rescue of lovely Flossy. First, we are not positive that she was working alone and stress that all members should still employ vigilance and discretion at all times. Second, more positively, reports suggest that all is not well in the SPICER camp and that a power struggle may have erupted within the hierarchy of this filth-ridden group.

The origin of this infighting stems from that most serious of issues. Did MMR sleep with the man Spicer saw first? Worse. Did she slag her partner off behind her back to the colleagues at work? Luxury. What MMR did, was cross the line so terribly, that the wounds she inflicted will take years to heal. She only showed up at the office party wearing exactly the same dress.

This then may be marking the beginning of the end for the evil duo and their organisation, but, we must be weary of them adopting a ‘if we die Flossy dies’ attitude. Diplomacy though is on our side, as Mr Boy was awarded a medal for diplomacy from the United States School of Tact, and he put these skills to use in a letter just posted to SPICER. It reads “If you don’t give me my fucking Flossy back right fucking now we are going to bomb the living fuck out you. C**ts”.

Our struggle continues…

April 2008.  Two Men, One Journey, No Sheep.
 It was almost four days into the week without a single sighting and the pressure was beginning to takes it toll. Thoughts of lovely Flossy played heavily on the minds of Mr Boy and Mr Ball resulting in the kind of petty squabbling you'd expect from school children. Mr Boy claimed his dad was harder than Mr Ball's dad so Mr Ball took Mr Boy's ball and refused to give it back. This went on for three days and three nights until suddenly and without warning, a sword of hope sliced through the eerie silence and icy glares that had entombed them.

A sighting from a much valued member sparked the fax machine into life. Flossy had been spotted being loaded onto the cargo bay of a plane destined for Laos. Without hesitation the men raced to Heathrow, bought the one way tickets that were all they could afford, and set off in the dead of night for the jungle of Indochina. After the 22hr journey spent cramped in steerage class they landed. The environment that welcomed them no humans should ever have to experience. 49 degree heat, cockroached covered floors and no bingo. But what you might call Hell they call Dinas.

Then miraculously after waiting so long for a sighting they received yet another one. It came from the same member no less who apologised for her mistake but could now confirm a definite sighting of sweet Flossy. In fucking Porthcawl.

Imagine then the emotions the men felt as their thoughts turned to this treasured member and her dedicated service. For the next three weeks as the men toiled in the snake invested rice paddy's through the midday sun their thoughts never strayed from this beloved member and her devotion to the cause. We cannot be sure, but we think that as Mr Boy collasped into his Ebola induced coma, his last thoughts were for this dearly loved member and what he would like to say to her. So with only Mr Ball left to work to pay for return flights he had to take a job entertaining Japanese businessmen. The grimace on his face as each $50 dollar bill was slid into his red leather thong spoke of thoughts for the same member and how he was going to thank her... (TBC)

April 2008.   Two Men, One Journey, No Sheep (Part II).
As the Boeing 737 touched down at Heathrow the mood of TAFFF's leaders was at an all time low. After leaving with hope, anticipation and belief, they returned with only Ebola, trauma and a tattoo. A five-stone Mr Boy tried to lift the spirits of Mr Ball by looking him right in the eye and telling him that things could only get better. Unfortunatley, his message was lost as he kept laughing at the 'I Will Love You Long Time' tattoo spread across Mr Ball's forehead. He was, of course, wrong anyway. Things were about to get tough.

Evil has a new name and that name is SPICER. The lack of ewemanity shown by this vicious organisation would shake TAFFF to the very core and give its character the sternest test so far. So what happened to threaten our very existence? The following is a brief outline of events leading up to the horror.

The evening started badly. Jeremy Kyle was a repeat, there was no Bow in Londis and the Ten Minute Preview was a minute short. Just when things looked like they couldn't get any worse the phone rang. As he held the receiver to his ear the look on Mr Boy's face spoke a thousand words. Bingo had been cancelled.

In an attempt to raise their spirits they took a walk. That was their mistake. What they saw on their travels defied belief and dispelled any doubts regarding SPICER's capacity for evil.

Mr Boy, on viewing the image, brokedown in floods of tears, collapsed to his kness, and proceeded to repeatedly hit the floor with his hands screaming 'Why, Oh God Why'. It was no better when we got him out of TESCO's. Mr Ball however coped much better. When his eyes were exposed to the horror he adopted a stance of power, with his back straight, his chest out and one fist raised in the air in a symbolic act of defiance. At least that is what we thought, until someone pointed out later that Mr Ball had not moved or spoken for five days. The team in the psychiatric ward, however, assure us that Mr Ball is doing well and will soon be ready to have the corks removed from his fork.

The image that caused this terrible suffering is available for members to view on the TAFFF group page in the PHOTOS section, but, please ask yourselves whether you have the neccessary courage and strength to be able to look upon it before proceeding.

Our struggle continues...

May 2008.  Catch Us If Ewe Can
In the darkness of a cold damp cell, a lone figure sits on the concrete floor gazing at the moon. He is rocking back and forth cuddling a toy sheep singing 'TAFFF will find you Flossy'. Mr Ball was having trouble understanding why the Board had not signed his release papers yet. Unable to figure it out and with hope fading fast he tried to fall asleep but with no success. Mr Ball asked the man in the opposite cell for help. The man said 'Have you tried counting sheep'?

In a flash the tranquility of the mental home was replaced with absolute bedlam. As he tried to squeeze himself through the iron bars whilst promising to rip the head off the bastard who dared vex him, Mr Ball was oblivious to the sound of gentle tapping upon the bars of the window behind him. As the lights flicked on guards began to flood into the cell block with truncheons and syringes at the ready. As they poured in the strange tapping got faster catching Mr Ball's attention.

As he turned to see what was causing the noise Mr Ball thought he really had gone mad. For as his eyes rose to the window they were met with a mythical vision of heaven. All of a sudden Mr Ball was transported back to his childhood. The stories he had been told and the whispers he had overheard in the alleys and the backstreets. But they were just rumours he thought to himself, they weren't really true. But there could be no mistaking the silver beak of this visitor. The legend who's name nobody had ever dared speak. Yes, it was Colin.

As he dashed to meet his feathery visitor at the window his eyes were drawn to the flashing lights below. It was Mr Boy and a recently liberated Ford Focus. One end of a rope, taken from Ogmore Comp's Sports Hall, was tied to the towbar. Mr Ball took the other end from Colin's mighty beak and secured it to the iron bars. In a second the window was ripped out and Mr Ball was free.

With the sirens wailing and the spotlights searching they were gone. As they looked back into the dust that had been thrown up behind them, Mr Boy, Mr Ball and Colin only had one thought. Little did they know that Charles was already one step ahead of them.

Our struggle continues...

June 2008.  Ewe Can't Hurry Love
The meaning of this Motown classic has, until now, been lost on TAFFF's leaders. Mr Boy had assumed it to be the worried call of a granny telling her husband to take his time coming down the stairs. Mr Ball thought it was a message about the importance of foreplay. Today however its meaning became clear to all. It is about the necessity of researched planning and precise execution before attempting a sheep rescue.

After five arduous months of struggle TAFFF found itself within touching distance of its goal. It was 8.30pm at Madison Square Garden. Flossy was onstage performing as a backing dancer to Smack My Bitch Up. Backstage, just ten foot away, were TAFFF's leaders. With faces blacked up and hearts racing, they silently watched her every move through the huge glass window. The Ford Focus was gently ticking over, Charles was in position, everything was just as it was supposed to be. Five months of work, it seemed, all came down to this moment.

Yet something was troubling Mr Boy. All day he had had this itching feeling and not the usual one either. Everything, he thought, was just too easy. Mr Ball too had been secretly hiding his unease. He could not put his finger on it but he felt that something somewhere just wasn't right. Colin was fine. The men were right to worry though as unbeknowst to them Flossy was not the only one being watched.

For lurking in the shadows pretending to be spitroasted by security, was that most evil of overlords, the boss of brutality, the purveyor of pain, the head of SPICER itself, M. As the applause began TAFFF gave the signal. Charles knew what to do. In a flash Flossy spun around to see her ex smashing his way through the brick wall and her owners rushing through the tunnel behind him. Yet, M only stood up and grinned, Cowell just called them shit, and after tonight nothing would ever be the same.

Our struggle continues...

June 2008.  Ewestun We Have A Problem
"I've got her Mr Boy" shouted Mr Ball through the warm air of New York City. Holding Flossy down he waited for his partner to arrive with his apparatus. With tears of joy pouring down his face, Mr Boy took hold of Flossy's hind legs with his velcro gloves, and proceeded to wheelbarrow her off the stage. The crowd expressed their displeasure at the direction the act had taken. Even Cowell was left speechless at the dabacle unfolding before his very eyes.

Within a minute Flossy, Charles and Colin had been loaded into the back of the Focus and they were off. The sheer bliss that TAFFF's leaders had dreamt about for so long overcame them. "We did it Mr Ball. I loves you see butt" said Mr Boy. "I loves you to see butty. Isn't it?" replied Mr Ball. The Ford Focus screeched onto 42nd street, hit 90mph up Broadway, and slid wildly onto Wall St. However, as the rescuers sped past the stock exchange the Focus was brought to a screeching halt.

Disaster! For in front of them were nine pink Nova's. Each armed with Kenwood stereo's, cheap alloys and the emblem of that most diabolical organisation itself, the dreaded SPICER. A bleat from mighty Charles alerted the lads to the scene behind them. They turned to see a turqoise Saxo, its engine revving and the head of the evil sect itself, M, standing upon the bonnet. Without hesitation Mr Boy floored it and they began their escape. SPICER's henchmen gave chase. "They're catching us see butty isn't it"? yelled Mr Ball. "Hold on butty" responded Mr Boy as he yanked the wheel hard left and took them tanking it past the Statue of Liberty.

But alas the Focus was just too slow. So out of room and with the chasing pack of SPICER operatives gaining ground, they were left with no other option. TAFFF's leaders looked at Flossy, then at each other, grabbed hands and drove the Focus up a conveniantly placed ramp and out into the freezing waters of the mighty Hudson River. Little did they know that just 24 hours from now, the icy depths of the Hudson would feel like heaven.

Our struggle continues...

June 2008.  The Lambshank Redemtion

After having crashed into the Hudson river, Flossy and Charles managed to get free from the car and make it back to the shore.  Colin, had thought 'fuck this' and took flight before the Focus plunged into the deathly waters.  Unfortunately, not having thought of packing their armbands, Mr Boy and Mr Ball, however, were sinking fast. Mr Boy got water up his nose and Mr Boy froze in terror as a particularly threatening halibut began circling him.  It seemed SPICER would be victorious and TAFFF had breathed its last.

Then, suddenly, a hand pierced through the freezing murky depths.  Mr Boy thought God had come for him and supposedly then expects God wears a Rolex.  However, it was the hand that even a celestial deity is too frightened to touch.  It was none other than the hand of that most terrifying of humans, the scientific marvel that is John Shaft.  After he pulled us both from the raging current with his little finger we were glad to be alive, but, our joy soon faded.   For in the distance we saw a fleet of pink novas disappear along the embankment, the last car had a very familiar face that gazed back at us with a single tear running down her little cheek. Flossy's distress got the better of Mr Boy who threatened to jump back into the waves.  After dipping his toe back into the water though he decided against it.

John 'The Shaft' Shaft informed us that he had been following our ongoing struggle stealthily from the shadows.  He had served previously with Colin in the Arctic and Bosnia where they had formed a strong bond.  The thought of working once again alongside the bird that brought Milosevic to his knees was too tempting.  Having saved our lives coupled with his unparalled knowledge of sheep warfare his offer of help was impossible to turn down.

We arranged a rendez-vous in the Old Cukoo pub at 23:00 hours the following Tuesday evening after the bingo.  Colin promised to provide some aerial reconassaince photographs of SPICER's country hideout as well as news of Charles's current position. But as we turned to thank 'The Shaft' he had already disappeared into the darkness like a ninja covered in Marmite.

Our struggle continues...

July 2008.  One Ewe Over The Cukoo's Nest
It was a minute to closing time in the Old Cukoo, a pub notorious for its brawling, cut-throats and ladies domino team. As the last of the pissheads stumbled out the door the landlord motioned to TAFFF's leaders to make their way into the dimly lit cellar. They desended the spiral staircase only to come to an old creaking wooden door. Mr Boy said "You go first", Mr Ball replied "I'm not going first", Mr Boy said "I went first last time", Mr Ball said "I don't give a fuck". With that a deep booming voice came from inside the cellar telling them to shift it.

As they entered the darkness they were faced with a round black table, a lamp shining over it and a brutish mercenary for hire, the infamous, John Shaft. The landlord slammed the cellar door shut causing Mr Boy to accidentally scream "Mummy". The Shaft and Mr Ball pretended they didn't hear him and set to business. The Shaft spread out a map of the area surrounding SPICER HQ, marked our current position with his crayons, and said "Right then. Here's the plan".

He placed a figure of John Rambo onto the map. "That's me" he stated firmly then looked at Mr Boy. Mr Boy took from his pocket an Action Man which the Shaft placed onto a dis-used bridge 1 mile from the SPICER complex. "Well?" said the lads looking at Mr Ball. Mr Ball placed his figure onto the map, stated adamantly that it was his sisters, and that he must have misplaced all of his childhood toys.

The sudden introduction of a pink My Little Pony disturbed the Shaft's concentration. Refusing to touch it he ordered Mr Ball to move it along the winding mountain road that circles SPICER HQ. "There's no need to make horsey noises" he barked at Mr Ball. Then, right on time, the legend that is Colin (The Listening Pigeon) swooped in through the broken glass window. With the team now assembled the Shaft made sure the door was bolted. He told us to consider the information he was about to give Top Secret, and then he spoke. "From here on in gentlemen, and Colin, we are to trust nobody". In just 48 hours, TAFFF would learn the value of these words.

Our struggle continues...

August 2008.  I'll Be There For Ewe

After being informed of The Shaft's plan of attack on SPICER HQ the team felt they deserved a much needed break from all the distress they had been suffering since Flossy's abduction. They ventured back upstairs to the bar where they embarked on a binge drinking session of Bow until well past their bedtimes. Mr Boy was told to stop using broken table legs as guitars and to stop playing ''Down in the Tube Station at Midnight'' over and over again on the ghetto blaster. Mr Ball, after losing an arm-wrestle to the 89 year old ladies domino captain, got upset, so in an attempt to relieve his humiliation he began smoking something that he found on the floor in the toilets. He spent the next five hours convinced he had lost a brown goldfish in the pockets of the pool table. The lock-in eventually became so rowdy that the SAS were called in to shut the place down, however, only thirty seconds after arriving one soldier was heard oversaying to his colleagues "Fuck this, John Shaft is in there".

For the assault on SPICER HQ to work silence was paramount. The Shaft had made it clear that even the slightest sound could throw the whole plan into turmoil. The lads said they understood and prepared for the attack. As night fell, with faces smothered in Marmite, they were parachuted into position where the Shaft had indicated on the map. So, under the cover of darkness, the lads silently inched their way up the mountainside towards SPICER HQ.

After seven hours of crawling up the steep hillside, through razor sharp brambles, electric fences and half a mile of horseshit, they were finally in position. Mr Ball gave Mr Boy the signal. Mr Boy stood up, threw his pea-shooter down and yelled "Fuck you too then butty"! A blank expression then came across his face and he fell back to the ground. Both men then realised they should have thought of a different signal.

For a few seconds it seemed as though they had got away with it but then lights came on from within the SPICER hideout. Suddenly infra-red sniper beams were scouring the hillside for their targets. Colin was radioed for back-up and landed on a nearby fencepost. His instruction and orders were simple ''Cause confusion and blind the enemy without prejudice or discrimination. Oh, and don't get shot''. In a flash Colin was away circling the point where it seemed one of the snipers was in hiding, he had strategically been eating blackberries all day just for such an emergency, and without fault a jet of blackberry excreta blasted out of Colin's backside blinding the snipers vision and sights with one long shot. Colin dipped his wings in flight and gave a wink to let us know the path ahead was so far quite clear.

Filled with extra energy, as the lights from inside clearly outlined a shadow of lovely Flossy, the lads charged. As they reached the drawbridge Mr Boy sliced through the supporting rope. Then two seconds later, CLUNK. The half-ton oak bridge hammered our heroes into the muddy banks of the moat. Minutes later their unconscious bodies were being dragged into the very centre of Hell itself. When they awoke it would be even worse than they could have possibly expected.

Our struggle continues...

August 2008 All Ewe Need Is Love

As our heroes regained consciousness three questions came to them. How could they have been so stupid? I wonder if they got bingo? Who's going to tape Jeremy Kyle? These thoughts along with many others began swirling through the minds of TAFFF's leaders. As they lay on the damp floors of their dungeon cell they had nothing but time to reflect on the events of the night before and wonder whether they would ever get so close again.

Suddenly, they were woken by the sound of a cold steel key turning in a lock. Disappointed at having their Tommy's interrupted, they were blindfolded and led by four SPICER cronies into the unknown. Mr Boy, ever the optimist, hoped for a game of pin the tail on the donkey. Mr Ball, of course, readied himself for a bit of bondage sex. Both were to be disappointed. Neither realised that they were about to face their toughest challenge yet.

SPICER had planned their interrogation well, bringing the items that would surely crack each man. In the room Mr Ball's blindfold was removed only for him to be faced with a leggy brunette, although a blonde would have done just as well, in case you were wondering like. Mr Boy was presented with the sight of a dvd player and tv screen.

Mr Ball explained clearly to the girl that she could shag him as much as she liked but he would never talk. She did and he didn't. She tried again he still resisted. Annoyed, yet strangely satisfied, she moved onto Mr Boy who swore no amount of torture could ever make him betray his friend. She pressed play and the words 'The Complete Chuck Norris' appeared on the screen.

"It was all Mr Ball's idea. He made me do it" screamed Mr Boy.

'You treacherous swine. Isn't it'? Exclaimed Mr Ball barely able to contain his fury.

The sound of M's voice came across the tanoi "Mwwwhaa haa haa haa". And thus it seemed TAFFF was in its death throes, SPICER had won, and the end was nigh. Flossy was SPICER's forever and the lads, and TAFFF's members, defeated. Then just as the lads began to accept defeat they both caught sight of a single black feather gently floating down through the window, and in the distance, an H, made of fire, was burning brightly into the hillside. Had Colin somehow summoned the Dean 'The Highlander' Lloyd? Was that really Charles standing inside the flames of the fiery H? Could it be that the attack on SPICER HQ was just a decoy and the real assault about to commence? Or were the lads just fucked? They did not have to wait long for the answers.

Our struggle continues...

Go Flossy Go TAFFF

August 2008  All Ewe Need Is Love Part II

As TAFFF's leaders settled down in their dungeon cell for what they thought was their final few hours temperatures began to rise.
 "It's your fault" said Mr Ball. 
"Stop being so immature. Anyway you started it" replied Mr Boy.
"You started it.  I never really liked Flossy".

This final remark handed victory to Mr Ball as Mr Boy broke down in tears.  Mr Ball smiled with his easy win and then spent the next five hours convincing Mr Boy that he didn't really mean it.  "You're just saying that" said Mr Boy.  Then suddenly, a loud noise of hope came blasting through the window.

"CHARGE".  It was The Highlander giving the order to the Mighty Charles.  TAFFF's leaders ran to the window where they saw the blackness of the German hillside transformed into waves of joyous white.  The Highlander had 'persuaded' a flock to follow Charles in the raid on SPICER HQ. 

Panic swept through the European Hideout of Evil as pink lights began to flash and alarms started to wail.  Then a slow grinding sound started to sweep through the corridors of Hell.  The lads looked up to see the roof slowly sliding open as a huge pink chopper began to rise up towards the heavenly hole.  SMASH!  Charles had successfully smashed the oak door entrance to the ground with one mighty butt and the flock began pour in behind the Highlander.  The engines of the chopper started and the rotas began to turn.  M, the head of the dreaded SPICER boarded the craft, followed by a team of henchmen who had with them lovely Flossy.

The Highlander released TAFFF's leaders from their cage and they ran to intercept the aircraft.  Alas, it was too late.  As they reached the Helipad they could only watch as the chopper took to the sky carrying off sweet Flossy into the night sky. 

However, Colin was already in pursuit, the lads radioed The Shaft who had gone for a relaxing weeks holiday in Baghdad, and finally thanked the Highlander for his efforts.

"Are you thinking what I am thinking butty?" said Mr Boy.
"I am butty" replied Mr Ball. 
"Right then, eyes down for a full house.  One and nine, 46.

Our struggle continues...

September 2008 Ewe'll Never Walk Alone

It is said that for every positive there must be a negative. What the ancients called Ying Yang. For TAFFF's leaders only one word could fill their souls with joy and unparalled happiness and that word is Flossy. So which word has the opposite effect? A word so upsetting that it plunges their spirit into untold sadness? Little did they know it would be the next word they would hear.

"House"! yelled the Highlander as number 56 was drawn from the hat.

"Awwww for fuck's sake" replied the lads as their heads sank into their hands. Even the bingo ball's, it seemed, had turned against them. Mr Ball got up and said he wasn't playing anymore.

"Where are you going now mun?" said Mr Boy.
"Just one more try innit" replied Mr Ball.
"They don't have it here butty. Let it go".

Stuck inside SPICER's European Hide-Out Mr Ball walked over to the tv, stuck his tongue out, and began twiddling, twisting and pushing the same knobs he had done for the previous nine hours hoping for just a glimpse of Jeremy Kyle. Yet, even the power of Jeremy could not penetrate the walls of the Hamlet from Hell.

Suddenly, darkness descended over SPICER HQ. The structure began to shake causing the tv to fall over and smash, the giant Oak trees that surrounded it started to tremble, and all the wildlife began to run for their lives. The birds shrieked and took to the sky as the sun seemed to try and hide behind the clouds in fear. However, TAFFF's leaders were not afraid. They simply looked at each other and smiled. For they knew that this was no earthquake. There is only one phenomenon that exists that can cause such terror, a force of nature so frightening that outer space only exists because it is trying to get away from him, it was of course John 'The Shaft' Shaft. And he brought with him news.


Our struggle continues...

September 2008. The Ancient Curse Part I

Inside SPICER HQ John Shaft delivered his news to TAFFF's leaders.  Colin had witnessed a group of women dressed in pink shellsuits check into a hotel in Sao Paulo and they had with them a sheep shaped suitcase.  As he listened in he noticed that their conversation did not move off topic in 8 hours from Big Brother.  The lads looked at each other and told the Shaft to say no more.  "Looks like we are off to Brazil then" said Mr Ball.  "Tidy.  I never been to Africa" replied Mr Boy.  We're still stuck in here though they thought but the Shaft had read their minds and was already rolling up his sleeve. 

As TAFFF's leaders sat on top of the ruins of SPICER HQ an object on top of the rubble caught Mr Boy's eye.  Checking to see Mr Ball wasn't looking he picked it up and put it in his satchel.  Soon after this, however, Mr Boy's behaviour became stranger than usual and it did not go unnoticed.  As they trekked home across Germany they decided to stop off for a drink.  "Bow all around yeah?" said Mr Ball.  "Not for me butty, see if they got any of those Bacardi Breezers will you"?  A worried Mr Ball, however, ignored this and put his butty's request down to the psychological turmoil they had just gone through.

Mr Ball then noticed a sign above the bar that said 'Bingo Here Tonight'. He pointed it out to Mr Boy who said he wasn't in the mood.  At this point Mr Ball realised that something gravely disturbing was happening.  He then remembered seeing Mr Boy pick something up off the ruins of SPICER HQ  and it became clear.  He decided to test his idea. 

"If we drink these quick we might get back for Jeremy Kyle" he said. 
"I'm a bit fed up of Jeremy really butty" replied Mr Boy.
"Aaaaarrrrgghh what the hell is wrong with you mun"?
"I dunno butty.  I don't know what I'm saying. Isn't it?".

Mr Ball panicked and started reaching into Mr Boy's pockets but found nothing.  Where is it demanded Mr Ball.  "It's in my pencil case butty".  Mr Ball reached in and pulled out a tub of Maybelline Moisteuriser which was obviously carrying the ancient SPICER curse.

"What the hell were you thinking mun"?
"My skin was showing 4 of the 5 signs of ageing butty".
"Awwwww for fuck's sake" screamed Mr Ball as he grabbed hold of the item and made a dash for the door. 

Outside he noticed a bridge over the Rhine and made a run for it.  However, the sheer power of SPICER's evil curse soon took hold and as he ran across the Autobahn he burst into a chorus of Whitney.  The public stopped in their tracks and watched as our hero ran past them holding up a tub of Maybelline singing "And I eeeee I will always love you ooooohoooooo". (TBC)

Our struggle continues

October 2008. The Ancient Curse Part II

 
As Mr Ball stood on the bridge over the Rhine singing the greatest of hits of Whitney the SPICER curse was slowly taking over his mind. Shocked German onlookers could only look on in stunned silence as he shuffled ever closer to the edge. Luckily, at the very moment he threatened to break into a chorus of I Wanna Dance With Somebody a taxi screeched up carrying Mr Boy. He knew only one word could awaken Mr Ball from the evil trance. “It’s Flossy butty. She’s in Brazil. Isn’t it”?

Sure enough Mr Ball snapped out of his cursed state as his heart once again filled with joy and hope. He dropped the Maybelline Moistueriser into the water and jumped into the cab. “The airport drive like innit”? The chase was back on. Sat in Gate 18 at the airport the lads were seated opposite a group of tourists who were headed home to Islamabad. Mr Ball noticed Mr Boy had turned white with fear and seemed frozen in his seat. He was staring at the black clothed strangers who only had a tiny slit for their eyes to look through.

“Bloody hell butty. There are bloody ninjas everywhere like: said Mr Boy.
“They’re muslims you mumphead” whispered back Mr Ball.
“I tell you what mind. If they came around my house I’d speak to them through the letterbox. See how they like it. Isn’t it”?

Meanwhile, in a penthouse apartment in downtown Sao Paulo, the atmosphere had become heated. One of SPICER’s henchwomen had lost the remote forcing M, after three hours, to get up and change the channel. However, as she did so one of her cronies slipped out carrying a note. Written on it was “I have information regarding the whereabouts of lovely Flossy. Meet me in the Copacabana at midnight”. She passed the note to Colin, the listening pigeon, and sent him into the night sky in search of TAFFF.

Our struggle continues…

October 2008. King of the Ewes Part I

Mr Boy checked his watch.  The big hand was nearly on the twelve.  It was three minutes to midnight in the Copacabana.  The Margaritas were flowing, the women were all lesbians and they didn’t have Jeremy Kyle.  At all.  

An hour earlier onboard flight 12345 to Sao Paulo TAFFF’s leaders had been having fun wearing tea towels on their heads, pretending to speak Arabic whilst clasping their hands together in prayer.  As the sweat poured down their foreheads a flight attendant approached them, asked them to stop it, then told them the captain wanted to see them immediately.  Puzzled, they walked up the aisle to the cabin.  As they entered the cockpit the captain spoke.

“Are you TAFFF?” he asked.
“Aye butty. What’s going on like”?

The captain directed their eyes to the windscreen in front of him.  As they turned their heads to face the glass their hearts once again filled with hope.  For pressed up against the glass was none other than Colin, his feathers spread mightily, and a note held in his silver beak.  The message read simply “TAFFF. The Copacabana. Midnight. Tidy”.

Suddenly, a scream ripped through the nightclub.  The crowd fell silent as the lads raced to the scene.  On the dance floor was a SPICER operative. Dead! She had been brutally murdered before she could give away the details of lovely Flossy’s whereabouts.  

“Well, I guess she’s about as much use as Anne Frank’s drum kit” said Mr Ball.
“I’d better check for a pulse anyway though butty. Isn’t it?” replied Mr Boy.

Mr Boy put his hand onto the fallen body.  He rubbed, squeezed and felt around.
“You don’t check for a pulse there mun.  Try the other one” said Mr Ball.
“Nothing butty.  Wait.  What’s this?” said Mr Boy.

As Mr Boy opened her blouse the crowd pulled back in horror.  Carved into her torso in pink lipstick was…

Our struggle continues.

October 2008.  King of the Ewes. Part II

Inside the Copacabana terror had struck once again. A SPICER operative had been brutally slain, chocked by her own luminous pink boob tube whilst lighting her 50th Lambert of the night. The pounding thud of bass that reverberated around the club shaking its very foundations signaled that the evil assassin had made it to her turquoise Saxo parked in the disabled space outside and had sped off into the night waking would be sleeping babies wherever she would go.

The lifeless victim of her evil deed lied dead on the dance floor inside the club, stuck in between two lines of pissheads clearly enjoying their latest Cha Cha Slide. Mr Boy, however, after some thorough searching, had discovered a clue on the chest of the fallen angel that could at last unlock the mystery of the whereabouts of lovely Flossy. Carved in pink lipstick, just under the tattoo of the name of her ex-fiancee, was written three things.

1. To Find Flossy Follow The Code.
2. RH shows the way.
3. Fancy a Fuck call 01656 746393

TAFFF's leaders looked at each other. Their unique minds in sync both always thinking the same thing. 'Where's the fucking phone'! The crowd then screamed 'What about Flossy' awakening them from their trance and they were back in the zone. A lady then appeared in the nightclub distributing flyers for an art exhibition in nearby Brazilmoel. Works by the three great painters, Michaelangelo, Da Vinci and Harris were to be displayed. Harris they thought, RH?

"To the museum butty isn't it"? yelled Mr Ball. With the crowd cheering them on they were gone.

Our struggle continues...

November 2008.  King of the Ewes. Part III

As the sunset over Sao Paulo the final tour party of the day gathered in the lobby of the museum. TAFFF's leaders had taken measures to blend into the Brazilian crowd. Mr Ball sported a pair of sunglasses. Mr Boy, his heart filled with hope and belief once again, was taking no chances. Unfortunately, his choice of disguise backfired as his flourescent yellow Bermuda shorts and Panama hat drew some stares, however, it was the constant scratching of his new 'Brazilian' and sucking on his Callipso that caused the most murmers. At one point a young couple from the party approached Mr Ball to tell him what a wonderful job they thought he was doing and asked if he had been in care work long. Mr Ball, sensing a quick buck, said loudly that he tried his best but the money was so poor. Soon the crowd were flocking towards the duo with palms full of cash.

"What's going on butty" whispered Mr Boy.
"Shut up and stand still" replied Mr Ball.

The tour party gave Mr Ball and a tap on the back then spoke to Mr Boy.

"Have you come to look at the pretty pictures"? enquired the crowd.
"Aye butty's. I has like isn't it"? replied Mr Boy.
"Awwwww" sighed the crowd before taking their places for the tour.
"They seemed nice butty" said Mr Boy just before the curator entered the lobby.

After a quick greeting the tour party started to make its way through the gallery. Two stunning works of colour and light caught Mr Boy's eye.

"They're mighty tidy butty" he said.
"Pollak's" said Mr Ball.
"Aww I dunno. They're not that bad like" replied Mr Boy. Then suddenly they came face to face with a work that shook their bones and chilled their blood. The curator said it was a work by Harris and was meant to express care and love.

"Is that a genuine Rolf?" asked Mr Ball. The question seemed to startle the curator stunning him into silence and freezing him to the spot as if he had been waiting years and years for it to have been asked. He looked at TAFFF's leaders and knew these were the special ones he had been waiting so long for.

"Yes" he said and smiled. "Perhaps you gentlemen would like to join me in my quarters later this evening" he asked.
"Tidy. We're not gay mind" replied TAFFF.

Our struggle continues...

November 2008.  A Ewe To A Kill

Inside the curator’s study TAFFF were waiting for their host to arrive. Mr Ball was shaking and banging the TV trying to get Jeremy Kyle. Mr Boy was sat in his beanbag deep in thought. His face stern and rigid and his eyes staring out into the distance before suddenly a look of confusion fell upon his face. Mr Ball saw it happen. He had seen this look before. A look that could only mean one thing. He prepared himself for the inevitable.

“So why is the moon a button again butty”?

Luckily, before Mr Ball had to try and explain again the door creaked open and the old weary curator entered the room. He took his seat, looked the lads right in the eye and began to tell all. He told them that he knew the whereabouts of lovely Flossy but alas SPICER had got to him first. He told them of the sickening evil that SPICER had inflicted on his family; the Westlife cds, the ‘I’m a Celebrity’ repeats and the never ending discussions about how many points there are in a Weight Watchers pasty.

“So you see TAFFF there is nothing you can do. No pain, horror, or terror exists that could break my silence”. TAFFF looked at each other.

Meanwhile, 7,000 miles away, deep in Helman Province, all Hell was breaking loose. A battalion of insurgent Afghan rebels were bombarding a tiny lookout with heavy artillery. Inside the post a mortar grenade came flying through a window. It exploded instantly killing 167 troops, 18 civilians and messed up John Shaft’s hair. Across the room the sound of a telephone ringing awoke the Shaft from his peaceful slumber.

Our struggle continues...

November 2008  Turning The Tables On Ewe

"Give me back my fucking Flossy" yelled Mr Boy as he held the elderly curator up against the wall.  Nothing.  He looked to Mr Ball for the next move.  On the other side of the room Mr Ball was trying some psychological tactics.  He sat in the curator's wheelchair slowly letting the air out of his tyres but still the curator refused to talk so unable to get through to the Shaft in Afghanistan he realised that TAFFF had no choice but to slam the geriatric.  He looked at Mr Boy and gave the nod.  With that Mr Boy smiled and raised his right fist into the air.

Suddenly, the tv began to flicker.  The outline of a slim man began fuzzing into view.  Mr Ball tilted his head and gazed at the set for a few seconds.  As the picture came into focus it hit him.

"Don't fuckin move butty" screamed Mr Ball as he lept into the air from the deflated chair.  Mr Boy turned his head to the television and saw the best sight for sore eyes he could have possibly imagined.  On the screen were the words 'An Hour Special With Jeremy Kyle'.  He dropped the curator who made his escape but kept his right arm held up too afraid to risk any distrubance in the signal.  However, no sooner had they found Jeremy when the worst words they ever heard came through the speakers.

"We interrupt this broadcast".
"Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooo" wailed the lads.
"I am joined here in the studio by Miss Karen Jenkins a representative of UK charity the SPICER Organisation who brings news of two dangerous men on the loose in our city".
"I don't fucking believe this" said Mr Ball.
"Who do you think they are butty?" said Mr Boy!

Our struggle continues...

Go Flossy Go TAFFF

January 2009 Ewe Ain't Seen Nothing Yet

After SPICER's cunning interview on Brazilian primetime TAFFF had gone from the hunters to the not hunters. Skint, cold and suffering from acute Jeremy Kyle withdrawal the lads were reduced to wandering the suburbs of Sao Paulo going door to door in search of lovely Flossy. The responses to their inquiries thus far had been less than encouraging. The most popular response to Mr Ball's questions was 'Yeah, there's fucking hundreds of them up the hill'. On the other side of the street his partner was trying a different tactic.

Knock Knock! An elderly grandmother opened her door to a most unexpected sight. Stood in her doorway, dressed in luminous yellow Bermuda's and a straw hat, was a desperate looking Welshman who thrust his wallet into her face. "Have you seen this sheep butt"? asked Mr Boy. Somewhat frightened she gazed upon the photograph of lovely Flossy, taken in Butlins (Minehead) in happier times, then examined the contours of Mr Boy's sweaty head. Her suspicions were confirmed as she spotted a man on the opposite side of the street on all fours making sheep noises to the locals.

She recalled the news broadcast from the previous evening when Miss Karen Jenkins, a most evil SPICER operative, had brazenly sat behind a news desk, next to an increasingly suspiciously happy looking anchorman, and convinced the public that it was TAFFF that were the evil-doers. The grandmother lured the lads inside with the promise of a Bow and a Farleys Rusk as her son Pablo telephoned the fuzz.

So, it seemed that TAFFF had fallen into the trap and their quest soon to end, but, high above the street, watching events unfold, was a hero. A hero that wore a silver beak. And as the Brazilian Police Force scrammbled to the scene little did they know that Colin had made sure that they were heading on a direct collission course with a man so terrifying he considers the Grim Reaper to be a 'promising Rookie', John 'The Shaft' Shaft.

Our struggle continues...

Go Flossy Go TAFFF

February 2009.  Ewe, US or Shaft

Inside Sao Paulo police station, Chief Pablo was frantically scrambling around the radio shack trying desperately to recall his tenth armoured division. He was banging on the hi-tech apparatus and strangling the microphones as panic overtook his mind. Sweat started pouring down his brow and he was dying for a piss but time was not on his side.

Ten minutes earlier he had despatched the SWAT team (license to kill) to apprehend TAFFF in a nearby village. As the 124 armed officers raced to the scene Chief Pablo felt he could relax, safe in the knowledge that the lads would soon be in custody and a medal of honour soon to take pride of place on his lapel. So, he sat down with a Sol, put his feet up and turned on the TV.

However, it soon became apparent that something wasn’t right. On every channel helicopters were taking to the sky, parents were ushering their children onto makeshift boats and all the major roads out of Brazil were grid locked. Lovers kissed and told each other that they had loved the time they had spent together as the local priests took to the hilltops to offer up a prayer. Chief Pablo stared at the screen wondering what the hell had happened. Then a beautiful young reporter, on her first assignment, with tears flowing down her face, appeared on the screen and uttered the words no human should ever have to hear. “John Shaft: Spotted in local town”.

As the Chief’s Nescafe dripped down the TV screen he dashed to the radio shack. Already dreading out filling out forms that would contain the information: Cause of Death: John Shaft, he hit every button in the room in a desperate attempt to call back his officers. Then, just as it looked that certain genocide was about to become his force he heard two words, coming from the counter, that offered possible salvation.

“Oh butt” said Mr Ball.

Our struggle continues…

Go Flossy Go TAFFF.

April 2009. Ewe-clear Holocaust

In October 1962, the world was on the brink of nuclear holocaust but somehow President John F. Kennedy managed to rescue the world at the very last moment.  Less than fifty years on the fate of the world would once again rest on the shoulders of another remarkable individual. 

Back in Police Headquarters, Mr Boy was watching in wonder as the events on Button Moon unfolded.  Halfway through his fifth Bombay Bad-Boy he gazed at the television, then, looked out the window towards the moon trying to piece the puzzle together.  Chief Pablo, sweating like Jack Tweedy on his wedding night, was pleading with him to call off John Shaft. 

‘Where’s my fucking Flossy then innit’ enquired Mr Boy.
‘She’s gone butt see.  SPICER will escape tonight with lovely Flossy on the QE2 to Reykjavik.  The ship leaves just after Jeremy Klye like.
 
Five miles away, sat in his deckchair John Shaft heard a beeping sound coming from the strange black rectangular object that the lads had given him.  As he took it out of his pocket it started to vibrate in his hand, or in this case, trembled with fear.  Back at the police station the lads waited patiently as the chiefs armpits grew ever damper, for a reply confident that The Shaft would soon work it out.  The fate of the world rested on The Shaft figuring out to press the green button.

Our struggle continues…this TAFFF shite has been going a fakin year now like innit!

Go Flossy

Go TAFFF

April 2009.  Ewe-Clear Holocaust.  Part II

May 2009.  The Good.  The Bad and the Retarded.

July 2009.  Ewe Fuckin' Cunt.

August 2009:  Ewe Fuckin' Cunt

September 2009:  Ways of Making Ewe Talk.

October 2009.  Sailing on the Seven Seas with Ewe