The Instigator
Pro (for)
11 Points
The Contender
Con (against)
0 Points

My opponent cannot write better romantic comedy than me

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Post Voting Period
The voting period for this debate has ended.
after 2 votes the winner is...
Voting Style: Open Point System: 7 Point
Started: 5/22/2013 Category: Arts
Updated: 4 years ago Status: Post Voting Period
Viewed: 1,044 times Debate No: 34049
Debate Rounds (2)
Comments (3)
Votes (2)




The Lovely Love-Struck Lovers of
Olde Luton Towne

A slushy, sugar-coated tale of the romance between a nobleman and a serving wench set in 18th Century England, this story is bound to appeal, not only to soppy old ladies, sexually-frustrated housewives and hormonal teenage girls, but also gentlemen of a homosexual persuasion as well.

Chapter One

It was nearing closing time one spring evening in 1792 and Baron Montmorency de Cadent-Farquhar, the dashing thirty year-old bachelor and local squire, had lately arrived in the lounge bar of Ye Olde Holy-Day Inn Express Luton South and was discussing the topical issues of the day with his friends, Doctor Harry Monk and The Reverend Percy Allsmite.

“They come over here," ranted Montmorency, "they take all the best houses, they seduce our women, they hardly speak a word of English most of them, and not one of them has done a day’s work in their lives. And what's more, the idle, garlic-munching dandies make absolutely no attempt to integrate with the rest of society. As far as I’m concerned, they should send them all back where they bloody came from.”

“Steady on, Monty, that’s a bit harsh, isn’t it?” said Dr Monk reprovingly. “Besides, I thought some of your ancestors were immigrants”.

“They were,” replied Montmorency, “but that was a long time ago, things are different now. The country’s full up, we simply can’t take in any more so-called bogus asylum seekers. They're parasites, the whole damn lot of them. No, we’ve just got to stop those bloody foreigners coming over here and taking advantage of our over-generous hospitality, and that's that.”

“Come, come, Monty,” cajoled Reverend Allsmite, “I implore you to show some Christian charity. Remember that these poor souls are fleeing a revolution. Don’t you realise that any French aristocrat the peasants capture over there will have his head chopped off?”

As they continued their manly discussion, slim and attractive, nineteen year-old Tracy Schwanzfresser, who had recently been employed as a serving wench at the inn, gazed upon the company of distinguished gentlemen dreamily.

“Who is that gorgeous hunk wearing the checked frock coat and the tight breeches over there?” she asked one of the older serving wenches.

“Why that’s Baron de Cadent-Farquhar,” was the reply, “But don’t you get any ideas about him, little missy, he wouldn’t give a common little skivvy like you a second glance.”

But Tracy wasn’t really listening, her attention was now focused solely on Montmorency and she allowed herself to slip into a decadent daydream - she wistfully imagined herself enveloped in Montmorency's manly embrace; she imagined him undressing her and caressing her nubile young body with his manly lips; and she imagined him exploring her lady-garden with his manly tongue - and before long she was as wet as an otter’s pocket.

Suddenly, her rapture was broken by Dr Monk who called out:“Wench! We want more booze!” and he beckoned her over to the table.

With her heart pounding with nervous anticipation of meeting her manly dreamboat for the first time, Tracy straightened her apron, walked over to the table and addressed the party: "Good evening, gentlemen,". Smiling directly at Montmorency and discretely drawing his attention to her heaving bosom by brushing an imaginary fleck of dust off the front of her dress, she said "What can I get you, my good sirs?"

"Three flagons of ale and three shots of Jaegermeister," replied Montmorency, before manfully adding "and whatever you want for yourself, miss."

"Oh, please call me Tracy," she said as she leaned down over him so that he could get a proper eyeful of her ample cleavage, before replying, "I'll have a penile colada, thank you, sir."

"You may call me Monty, but don't you mean pina colada?"

"No, penile colada, it's like pina colada but it's got jizz in it! Only joking! I'll have a Bailey's Irish Cream. Thank you...Monty." she said giving him a suggestive wink.

“Forsooth!" said Dr. Monk as she walked away to fetch the drinks, "I bet you don’t get many of them to the groat!”

“Indeed," observed Montmorency manfully, "one rarely encounters such an impressive pair of knockers.”

“Quite," agreed Rev. Allsmite, "it would appear that the Lord in His infinite wisdom has endowed the child most generously in the jubbly department.”

"Yes," added Dr Monk thoughtfully, "That's a really nice bit of skirt, that."

"A fine example of womanhood." agreed Montmorency.

"Verily," continued Rev. Allsmite, "I'd smash it like a cheap glass if I weren't a vicar. And married."

When Tracy returned with the drinks Montmorency ventured to enquire what time she finished work and it transpired that, since his party were the last customers, she would leave when they did.

"In this case," said Montmorency, "I would like to invite you back to the manor house for a coffee."

"Well, I don't know..," said Tracy, affecting coyness.

"Oh, don't be shy," coaxed Montmorency "my carriage awaits outside."

"Well, I suppose it would be nice to have something hot inside me before I go to sleep," Tracy conceded.

"Don't you worry about that, darling," Montmorency assured her, "I'll make sure you get something hot inside you alright. Come on, let's go!"

Montmorency manfully escorted Tracy to his carriage and once they were both aboard he rapped his cane on the roof as a signal to his chauffeur to drive on. Once underway Tracey remarked upon how impressive his conveyance was.

"Thank you," said Montmorency, "it’s a Posher 911 GT3: it’s got lowered suspension; a full aero-bodykit with side-skirts, a front splitter, a rear diffuser and a roof spoiler; and it’s driven by twin thoroughbred steroid-injected stallions, it’s one of the fastest carriages on the road, as it happens."

Of course, as a girl, none of this manly technical talk meant anything to Tracy, but she was impressed by his eloquence nonetheless and said "Ooh, l bet it was expensive,” and then placing her hand on Montmorency’s knee, she continued, “but you know what they say about men with big carriages, don’t you?”

"," said Montmorency.

"Well," said Tracy, "they say that they are compensating for having a small, you know, appendage. Well, we'll see if that's true or not shall we?"

So Tracey moved her hand slowly up Montmorency's thigh until she reached his groin and he gasped as she unbuttoned his breeches to reveal a pork soldier of magnificent proportions, complete with a cheese-encrusted helmet and all.

But as Tracy liberated the flavoursome flesh fusilier it duly stood to attention, it was her turn to gasp. Nevertheless, Tracy didn't hesitate, she went at it like a stray dog scoffing a string of sausages.

Soon the Baron’s tasty trooper’s tour of duty was over and Tracy took out her handkerchief and used it to wipe Montmorency's meat-musketeer’s manly mayonnaise off her pretty little chin.

Moments later the carriage swung into a gravel drive and pulled up outside a grand manor house.

As Montmorency manfully escorted Tracy inside, he reflected upon the events of the previous quarter of an hour or so and questions relating to her virginity crossed his mind, but he dismissed them. "After all," he thought: "these are the olden days and she is an unmarried nineteen year-old girl, so she must still be a maiden."

Meanwhile, Tracy marvelled at the opulence of Montmorency's stately home. She had never seen such swanky fixtures and fittings, and she said to herself: "Look at all those posh antiques and sh*t, this bloke must be f*cking minted. If I get my feet under the table here I'll be sorted for life."



Today was like any other weekday. The streets were clogged with cars trying to get to work. Which of course led to a gigantic traffic jam, which led to honking horns and a lot of mad people, all that and more was happening: dogs barking, bikes squeaking, door bells ringing. But soon all that changed in a sudden instant everything stopped and everyone looked at the sky. It was a big storm coming from the north. The storm was huge filling everyone hearts with dread and fear. The sky grew darker as the rain started to drizzle the with a sudden crack of lighting the silence was filled with screaming and crying the light drizzle became a down pour and started to flood the streets as everyone lost it and began running in all directions. But over all that noise you could hear a faint sound of something that sounded like a baby crying. YES! It was a baby crying right in the middle of the intersection a baby was born, and what a beautiful baby girl it was. She had flowing white hair as white as the fresh fallen snow and blue eyes bluer than the ocean itself her cheeks were a faint pinky color. After the mother counted ten toes and ten fingers she began to cry tears of joy and hurried off into the storm to get where she needed to be the hospital. Ten minutes later after running five blocks she got the hospital. Coughing and very pail the baby had the mothers coat on and was kept nice and toasty as she burst through the hospital doors she was rushed over to the emergency room with the baby. As the mother was put in the hospital bed to rest they took the baby away from her as she started to panic. Her heart rates were off the charts but as the mother watched the nurse put the baby in the incubator she began to relax and dosed off later that day she woke up and screamed, the baby was gone!


The mother shrieked in terror her baby was gone! In all the commotion two nurses ran in to help her; the first nurse asked her what had happened. But nothing mattered to the mother anymore she continued to scream and cry. The nurses did not know what to do beside try to calm her down. They had her calm in about an hour as the nurse asked once again "what happened?" The nurse starred right into her watery blood shot eyes as she struggled to speak she managed to say "my b-baby is gone" that"s all she was able to get out before she silently started to sob into her sleeve as the nurses turned their head to the crib and the baby was right there! They started to laugh nervously thinking it was all a joke. As the mother raised her head to see why they were laughing she gave out a shriek of happiness and joy and rushed to her baby's side and hugged her and silently whispered "I will never let you go ever" and with that the mother took the baby out of the crib laying in her bed and drifted off into a dreamless sleep. The nurse quickly but silently left the room shut the door a quietly as possible and ran down the hallway to report what just happened they have never seen anything like that in there whole career!


Eighteen days later after the hospital decided the mother was mentally and physically fit they let her out with her baby Crystal into the unforgiving world. At first the mother was confused of were to go, as soon as she walked out the door she Squinted in the sudden light as soon as the world came into focus her eyes opened wide, she was terrified. All the people the sounds the traffic everything! She was completely mortified and froze. Her baby in one hand and her other hand was on her mouth trying to prevent herself from crying. She just sat down in confusion and stared at her baby thinking maybe the baby had the answer but all the baby did was blink and stare right back into her eyes. All at once a car crashed right beside them the mother screamed and scrambled up frantically, she looked at her baby and surprisingly she was not crying she just started at her with a blank expression as if she wasn't there as if she was someplace else but that"s impossible right?!?
Debate Round No. 1


Chapter Two

Some years previous an Italian immigrant called Ronaldo Donaldo opened a restaurant in Luton's High Street which quickly became very popular with the locals who craved his exotic spaghetti and meatballs.

One day a travelling circus came to town and, while the circus owner was in the pub with the clowns and acrobats, the exhibits from the freak show broke out. When one of the escapees, The Hideous Fat Hag from Hamburg, caught the scent of Ronaldo's meatballs on the breeze she followed it to Ronaldo's restaurant and burst into the kitchen looking for the source of the delicious odour.

As Ronaldo and the chef tried to wrestle the freak out of the kitchen a tray of uncooked meatballs got knocked to the ground and were trampled upon.

After they had finally managed to eject The Hideous Fat Hag from Hamburg from the premises, Ronaldo looked at the flattened meatballs on the floor in dismay. However, Ronaldo was a resourceful and thrifty man so he rinsed them off, fried them and served them in buns with some tomato relish and sautéed onions. He named his creation "Hamburg sandwiches" in tribute to the fugitive circus freak who inadvertently led to their invention, and they soon became the most popular item on the menu.

The morning after the night before, Montmorency's carriage pulled up outside Ronaldo's restaurant, and Tracey alighted there, having been given a purse of silver coins with instructions from the Baron to "treat herself to something pretty." Montmorency himself had business to attend to and he ordered his chauffeur to drive on.

Before going shopping Tracy decided to have brunch and she took a seat in Ronaldo's restaurant and ordered a Hamburg sandwich, some French-style fried potatoes and a large tincture of cocaine-infused vegetable extracts to wash them down with.

As she consumed her meal she mused on the previous night's proceedings. Montmorency had certainly been all the lover she had hoped he would be: he was strong and passionate, tenderly kissing her fulsome breasts before bending her over and smashing her back door in; Tracy was practically frothing at the gash just thinking about it.

Presently, Tracy left the restaurant and began browsing the shops in search of a new dress, some new shoes, a new hat and a new handbag to go with them. As she was gazing through the window of an up-market ladies outfitters someone placed their hand on her shoulder and brusquely turned her round.

"Well," said the uncouth, unshaven, disreputable-looking man, "look who it is."

Tracy recognised him instantly, it was Eddie Flange, the local gash-broker, and her former employer. She she was mortified.

Sadly, Tracy came from a very poor family and when she was sixteen her father put her on the game in order help pay the bills. It was a tough life, and Eddie used to keep most of her earnings himself and knock her about if she didn't turn enough tricks. For this reason she was delighted when she was old enough to get a job as a serving wench and so say good-bye to this tyrannical tart-farmer for ever. Or so she thought.

"You've got a nerve showing your face round here," continued Eddie, "When you done a runner it cost me a lot of money, you bitch. Well, nobody stitches Eddie Flange up, you're coming with me, you cheap whore," and he grabbed Tracy by the arm and dragged her off down the street.

Tracy protested and screamed but as they passed the tavern, a distinguished gentleman emerged from inside and confronted Eddie.

"Unhand that woman, this instant," demanded Montmorency, for it was he, "or I shall have my man horse-whip you to within an inch of your life."

"And who might you be, sir?" asked Eddie in response, "this ain't none of your business, is it?"

"It is my business," replied Montmorency, "because that lady happens to be my bird, and who might you be, peasant?"

Tracy's heart sank. She suspected that if Montmorency discovered that she used to be a prostitute it would spell the end of their relationship. Indeed, she thought the game might have been up last night when he remarked that she had a minge like the top of a rubber boot and that he may as well open the window and f*ck the night, and for that reason, he would take her from behind instead, but she had managed to convince him that the reason she had growler like a wizard's sleeve was because she liked to ride horses bareback as a girl.

Tracy looked at Eddie imploringly, desperate that he should not give her away. Then an idea occurred to her and she looked down at her purse of silver and she jangled it, hoping he would get the message she was trying to convey to him.


Fuzzybuddy2 forfeited this round.
Debate Round No. 2
3 comments have been posted on this debate. Showing 1 through 3 records.
Posted by wrichcirw 4 years ago
lol, my condolences in advance to CON for his defeat in this debate. :D
Posted by Freeman 4 years ago
Brian, you're hilarious. I haven't even read this but I'm excited to. XD
Posted by brian_eggleston 4 years ago
2 rounds, 2 chapters. 18+ age restriction.
2 votes have been placed for this debate. Showing 1 through 2 records.
Vote Placed by imabench 4 years ago
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Total points awarded:70 
Reasons for voting decision: B-e-a-utiful
Vote Placed by RyuuKyuzo 4 years ago
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Total points awarded:40 
Reasons for voting decision: ff. In any case, I found Pro's story to be absolutely hilarious.