Dragons Den

"You're going to pitch an actual Dragons Den....to Dragons Den?"

"Yes"

"Isn't that......how is that a business? What are you offering?"

"Offering them a chance to buy a share in some dragons my man"

"Well when you put it like that...."

Two people. One conversation. Lets call the first person who spoke Bill. Bill O'Brian. A thinker. His pal, Molly McMaster, was not that way inclined. She thought pitching a Dragons Den to Dragons Den would be a cool story. Quirky. Forgetting that dragons no longer exist. Even the ones in Game Of Thrones are guys in suits. Might aswell fire it on Craigslist I suppose. If guys can go there to safely and legally ask if any of his fellow citizens fancy swearing honey on his bawsack and locking him in a room with a troupe of bees, surely Molly McMaster would be able tae find enough dragons to populate a den. The ad read like this

Looking for 10-15 dragons

Preferably non-smoking, non ugly dragons only. Dragons should all share a common socialist agenda. All dragons should be comfortable using the same toothbrush, because I'm no made of money. All dragons should be real dragons. Any timewasters will be sighed and tutted at. Also, any guidance of what ye actually feed dragons, and if these Tiger Cubs I found will be any use, is more than welcome. 

She waited for minutes, Maybe upwards of 10 of them. Then she started to lose hope. If you were a dragon on the internet, doing yer usual morning routine of searching S1Jobs meticulously for anything remotely dragon friendly, surely you'd have an alert of some kind set up whenever some weirdo on Craigslist is looking for a dragon. As we crossed into an 11th minute, Molly was ready to call it. Ye tried hen. Fair play, but pitching a Dragons Den to Dragons Den remains a fucking stupid idea.

Or it remains a stupid idea, until that phone rings

"Hello?"

"Hullo there dawl, I'm answering yer advertisement for some dragons...got the very boys for ye right here! We must have at least 10-12 fertile young dragons living in this building"

Molly's heart started racing. The dream might become a reality yet if the dollars and cents were right

"Lets talk brass tax Mr Dragon Keeper...how much for the fuckin LOT" 

"If you've got enough house room for them, they're yours for fuck all. Costing me a fortune keeping the bastards, aw they eat is fuckin leeks" 

"FREE DRAGONS? Aye send them over. Got yersell a deal right there my man. Of course I've got room for them, I purpose built a whole den to aid this quirky story"

"Oh aye...so ye did. Right I'll get them on the next bus over to ye"

Unfortunately the next bus wisnae for another hour, and the caller was actually Swiss. Meaning even when the bus arrived, it wouldn't be able to transport the dragons from Zurich to Glasgow directly, because thats not a bus route ya silly! 

4 days went by, and Molly was getting antsy. Where art thou Dragon? The doorbell rang. Molly realising quickly that she didnae have a doorbell, and she should probably stop burgling this house and get hame in case the dragons were waiting for her. She climbed out the window she panned in to gain entry to the property, and set off for home with a brand new 50 inch flat screen washing machine, and a brand new 6 slice toaster. When she arrived, she was greeted by a squad of confused looking guys in rugby shirts. What the fuck was this shite?

"You said you wanted dragons luv...here we bloody are! 13 of the finest Welshmen you'll ever find" 

Of course it was fucking Welsh folk. 

"Naw I meant actual fuckin dragons ya squad ah fuckin melters...I should really of asked that Swiss cunt for a photie or something eh"

"LOVE...WHERES ALL THE BLOODY LEEKS THEN!?" The Welshies were already getting impatient, and Molly was running out of options. She promised these cunts hoose room, and they're already shouting about leeks. She made the decision to press on with the plan, as she traded in that 6 slicer I was on about earlier for the biggest hamper of leeks you'll ever see. This container was brimming. Feed the dragons, keep their spirits high, and dae it anyway. Pitch a Dragons Den to Dragons Den.

For some reason the producers fuckin loved the idea. It must be the same thing as X Factor putting through delusional, shite singers. The producers were there to ensure proper business ventures received funding, and people attempting to sell Welsh People to Duncan Bannatyne got the shaming they deserved. 

"Wait....wadda you mean this is a Dragons Den...this IS Dragons Den" implored Bannatyne, as the vein on his forehead began pulsating. 

"Relax with the perplexed pulsations man, I see that vein. Cool out. This is a Dragons Den ye see, because its populated by Welshmen. The truest dragons of them all.....SHUT THE FUCK UP ABOUT LEEKS FOR A MINUTE, I'M TALKING TAE DUNCAN BANNATYNE FOR FUCK SAKE...sorry, as I was saying. Dragons. In a den. I got it. These Welsh dudes. I got it"

"Ok, I'm just gonnae declare right now, I'm the Cruella Deville looking wuman, and I'm out"

"Yeah, this is Peter Jones, and I own many sharp suits. This venture does NOT look like it could help me increase that tally. I thought a leek was something you dried up with paper towels until today. What the fuck are they on about? Is it food? Know what, I don't care. I'm out"

Theo Bathitis was yet to declare, and Duncan Bannatyne was also still in much to everyone surprise. This is the guy who turned down the first ever pitch for a bicycle because it was "too far fetched, too fast and too liberal" but for some reason, these Welsh Guys intrigued him. Theo was next to declare.

"Listen, I love the enthusiasm. Really do. Its mint. You're a pukka lass. This though? Its stupid. Its not Millwall enough. Welsh people are not a business, and for that reason I'm out" 

"Fair enough, I respect your opinion but its also wrong and I hate you, Duncan....talk to me" Molly was getting brash in her desperation, hoping her confidence might sway big Duncan, but he only held off till last so his rejection had more emphasis than the others. That's how much he fucking hates the Welsh. And leeks. 

"Molly, did you know I tried to open a gym in Wales once? This is a true story right, every morning I'd open the gym, and every morning without fail, John bloody Hartson would saunter in, with a polly bag filled to the brim with various baked goods outta Greggs...every morning he'd demand a free tour of the premises, and every single fucking morning I'd show him around the place, as he scranned sausage rolls and and got the fuckin crumbs all over all the treadmills. I have no idea how he got crumbs on EVERY treadmill either, the cunt seemed to have a talent for it. This went on for months, with every touring ending with him nodding at me, and goin 'Aright Dunc, I'll think about it yeh?' and I'm beginning to think he never did think about it ye know. I'm beginning to think that cunt just wanted somewhere dry and warm to eat his sausage rolls....so fuck Wales, fuck John Hartson, and fuck this incredibly insulting, quirky wee 'idea' of yours. Even if you did get real dragons, whit fuckin use would they have been to anyone? They'd have killed us all ya daft mair. Stop robbing hooses tae. You've came in here with a balaclava on, some weans tamagotchi hingin oot yer back pocket, and a squad of confused Welsh guys, and you've tried to get 100 grand of me for 20% of Welsh Guys? You wanna take a long hard look at yourself pal" 

Rocked by Duncans words, Molly reflected, slowly removed her balaclava to reveal a big huge dragons heid. She was a dragon the whole fuckin time! And this is her domain. No longer would it be ruled by big business, her and this team of Welsh cunts were taking it back.

She set the Welshies on all the non Bannatyne dragons, throwing them all out of the window of the 9th floor studio they filmed this shit in, killing them all instantly. "What shall we do with youuuuu" Molly pondered. Not realising how high up this building was and the fact that she'd just overseen the mass murder of 3 television personalities.

"Well you've killed Peter Jones already, so life's no longer worth living.........so my name's Duncan Bannatyne, and since I didnae get the chance to say it properly to you earlier...I'M FUCKIN OUT!"

He quickly pulled a Colt 45 out his back pocket and KABLOW. Blew his fuckin brains out. He'd seen this shit play out one too many times. Dragons get lairy involve Welsh people as pawns in their sick plans for global domination. and all of a sudden they want to burn old Duncan Bannatyne to a crisp. No longer would he stand for it. No fucking longer. Jump before yer pushed. 

The longest story yet, and it ended with Duncan Bannatyne committing suicide. Fair to say this yin dragged on a wee bit eh? (geddit...dragon...drag..on....its wordplay!)

Molly went to jail for orchestrating the murders, but she quite obviously burned the jail down. As is her right as a dragonwuman.

I think I'll just keep typing here if I don't put a proper conclusion on this. So aye.