#5 THE QUOTES
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1. Story so far...
Brutal drill-pig sergeant Demigiuse - a regular now for the last twenty-one years (thanks to Boggis's Fruit Salts and Saltbeef Sandwich Bar) crouched in a fox hole. Nearby, a fox, played by nimble Colonal Braden, a hard nosed thug, in a skin, crouched in a Demiguise hole which she'd just dug. The sergeant looked at his two companions - second lieutenant Fondle Mi Moules, he of the apple cheeks and pear-shaped body, and boyish, wishful Grunger-Spong, bent as always under the weight of the Vicar's machine gun - he'd borrowed it from the Vicar. 'Would relief never come' thought Demiguise. Suddenly Grunger-Spong leapt to his feet, and unbuckling the John Browne belt that held up John Browne's trousers and brandishing them above his head, he cried, "I'm going over the top!" The censor got him before he'd gone two yards. The two survivors crouched there - then suddenly when all seemed lost, they heard the cry that they all dreaded to hear.
"Good evening. Come in number five your time is up! Would you drop your paintball gun so that a Mrs... Evadne Codpiece and a Mr... McGanderpoke can take their dinner with the Amazing Nadgerbach most Risqué.
2. Story, Yet To Be Announced
That was Colonal Spong, Englebert's only nudist Kosher butcher and man-about-town. The town, of course being the Quentin Hogg Songbook for the BMA and Sub Post Office. Well now, as this is the first of many, here are the answers to last week's questions. The answer to question one - complete the first lines of the following songs - 'If I were a blackbird I'd....' The answer is 'I'd whistle and sing', and I positively will not accept any other suggestions. The second song was, 'There's a rainbow round my....' Now I got an amazing number of replies to this. I haven't had so many since I asked you to complete 'Over My Shoulder Goes....' Really it makes it very difficult for me to keep up the high reputation for sophisticated comedy that I've never had. And am unlikely to have. Err, where was I? Said he, as he's making up the script as he goes along... Oh yes. And now, back to the story, yet to be announced, we join Peg-Leg Robinson, Little Myfanwye Cutterbuck and the Grunterpulpitts, in: Gone with the Lodger...
3. Story, That Has Often Been
The story so far. Husky, strapping Loulou Merriwhether is madly in love with sweet, ethereal Rumpo McWhirdle, he of the bedroom eyes and bathroom mind. Together they stroll through the thick tangled undergrowth, played by thick, tangled Slap-me-sideways-and-call-me Gladys, in her ineffable manner - as opposed to her usual manner, which was quite effable. Pausing by the trunk of a petrified oak, played by petrified Sponger the Grunger Bill, he took her in his arms - his firm young kneecaps pressed against the madras cotton of his trousers, her mouth became a scarlet wound as she bit down on his nose flute, which just happened to be his nose and began to play a haunting lament. Overcome with sorrow, Rumpo Mcawhirdle fainted dead away. While Sponger-Grunger Bill had his way with Loulou. He cursed her tenderly on her scarlet wound.
4. 2ft Tall in the Ru De La Danny - Part 1
I was sitting in my club, that's the: Marine Cammando Club in Paddinton. Sipping a planter's punch. A puncher's plant was sipping mine. Just then I got a call to go to the Yard. I pulled out my trusted two point four drop head sawn off Magnolia Cresent and roared off. I hadn't gone two yards, before my Magnolia Cresent stalled. It seemed that I had a tiger in my tank! So I hailed a passing announcer and hitched a lift....
Two seconds later, I made my way down a dark alley just off the Rue De La Danny. A flamboyantly lit street, full of great butch Omies, Dolly little Palones and Omipalones. All trolling up and down the street in sequens and glitter. It was my kind of place. As I passed the back door into the Yard of MI5, I was pulled quickly from my inner thoughts and into a passionate embrace. Lotty Thundergast had her arms wrapped round me, her mouth in my throat, my eyes and teeth in her luscious auburn hair.... Um, Writer, writer cut this bit!
Three seconds later--
Don't complain, I had a note from the editor. Anyway. Three seconds later, Special Agent 2ft Tall stumbled nimbly up the stairs and into the office of Lord Haberdashery-Throbwobbler the Third, Head of the MI5...
Next time on, 2ft Tall in the Rue De La Danny saga: Special Agent 2ft Tall Came in with a Cold, into the seedy dank den of eniquiquety. Who was the Spong on the bar, shaving the vodka bottles? Who was it that chained China Doll Orang-Utan to the Grouting Poll on the stage above the Pianola? Was there enough room in the Chou Min Hardcore-Lovers Poker room, to play erstwhile nose fluting on the bacon slicer? Will 2ft Tall succeed in finding out if Dr Crippin lived long enough to join the Balls Pond Road Nudists Leepfrog Team? And finally, will he work out just in time, who stole Uncle Dragon's Bobo? All this and more in Part 2.
5. The Tale of the Great White Peking Duck
My name is Obadiah Loombogel. I was shanghaied by the evil smelling crew of Cap'n Kukpowder Ahab on board his galleon the Empress Futterwhacken. We be four weeks out of Portsmouth bound for the China Seas. We be going after Moby Duck. No, not Dick. Duck. This be the Great White Peking Duck that haunts them waters. It apparently was the legendary eighty foot long, with a two hundred foot wingspan, and they did say, so I'm told, that how when it lays an egg in the China Seas, there be tidal waves at Scarborough, my dears. Cap'n Ahab be sworn to slay the creature. You see, they had a tussle once before and he now wears a wooden leg. Oh, it be a fearsome creature.
I said, "I can imagine. It's not every day you see a giant duck with a wooden leg."
"It's not the duck, it's Cap'n Ahab." First mate Ironteeth Rumspigot replied.
"Here he comes now." The ship's cook, Irish One-Eye Culpepper went on with a husky tone.
Good lord, I thought as I turned to find a wooden leg making its ways forward. Until mine eyes finally found the upper leg and body of Cap'n Ahab step out of the light. He was a squat man, with few teeth and a mangy overall appearance.
The next morning I was awaken at a quarter to six bells by Cap'n Ahab shouting from the crow's nest.
"Avast what?" I bellowed back up.
"I dunno, but it's pretty big." Ahab replied. "Wait a minute, it be Moby Duck! Thar she blows--"
"What do you mean, there she blows? Ducks don't blow!"
"Well," Ahab returned from on high, "whatever it is they do - she's doing it. Look - Duck ho on the port bow. She's taking off. She's going to lay an egg!"
Then down with us on the deck, we all heard the loud and painful cries hit us like a tornado of wild quacking. Then there was silence and an almighty splash, followed immediately by a tidal wave as the giant egg made contact with the waters.
"Man the harpoon gun!" Ahab cried down to us from above. "We're going after her. Hurry now, she's getting away! More steam, more steam!"
"This be a sail boat, Cap'n!" Rumspigot cried.
"Oh - More wind! More wind!"
On and on the Empress sailed, slowly gaining on its giant quarry, with Ahab still up above sitting on the nest raving about us the crew far below on the deck, all thinking that we have called him a raving madam simply for not really believing in his previous adventures with this fine giant specimen of honey-roasted Peking Du-- Oh, sorry. I just had a brief snatch of Cabin Fever there... W-Where was I? Oh yes. But we never thought of the Cap'n as a raving madam, but simply a raving mad man.
Soon we were alongside the Leviathan Duck and finally Cap'n Ahab came scurrying down the rigging and ran across the main deck to the starboard side.
"Stuff me in the harpoon gun, Culpepper! I be going after her m'self."
He climbed in and Rumspigot readied the aim.
"Ready, aim - fire!"
There was a painful wail.
"Oh congratulations - a direct hit." I cried.
"Where?" Rumspigot asked in that strangely sexy husk he had.
"Well I can't actually see - but if Cap'n Ahab was an orange..."
"See them grappling." One-Eye Culpepper went on. "Cap'n Ahab and his Leviathan duck, locked in mortal combat."
For hours it seemed the duel continued, no quarter being given or asked, but at last, with a final flurry of its huge webbed feet, Moby Duck succumbed. It vanished beneath the waves, carrying Cap'n Ahab with it. Here endeth my chronic wind, along with my chronicle. And even today, some eighty years later, though I am old, bent and sere - and although I've lost a little hair since then, the memory of that giant duck stays with me. And whenever I eat duck à l'orange at the Ritz, I think to myself, with a quiet smile... About the happier times. And that sad, yet quite raving madam Kukpowder Ahab.
6. Not So Much a Story
Hello and welcome to 'Not So Much a Story'. In this ad-libbed, beef bar and slightly sugar coated grunt of despair, I tell the tale of the wet fish of Summerset's Nadger-Poke County. A small village just outside Texas. A village so small, that only two people lived their. The rest were simply cardboard cutouts. Trusswicket Tuckerbuck or TT as he was known, was a small squat man with a crooked nose, small beedy ears and eyes and long hair. The other villager was Madam Counterblast-Futtock. She had once married an Oxston-Futtock. Hence the name. She was tall and thin, flat chested and heart-faced. Fierce jade eyes and greasy waist length hair. They lived in a small area of Summerset Nadger-Poke County, next door to Railway Sidings, Hoxstan. In a cardboard two storey wooden structure, very near to collapsing.
Where was the wet fish, I here you ask?
Well, as it was not so much a story, I left it out. Cheerio. See you next time.
7. Story so far - Part 2
Story so far, swaggering gold-toothed Buckineer Douglas 'Hot Lips' Pollip, he of the barrel chest and eyes like bungholes. Sat idly tying a granny knot in his granny. Played by sweet lavender smelling Grunter Spong. Meanwhile on the poopdeck, leggy verluptuous Bolivian Hieress Jimmy 'I refuse to say who' Muckwicket, struggled with control of the wheel with Mad boson black Grunger - scourge of the Spainish Main... and none too popular in Houndslow. Where in an ivy covered old cottage, sat his ivy covered old mum. Wringing her hands through the mangle for five ghastly years, while crooning to herself, finally sat up and said to herself aloud over and over again. "Hello, my name's Gramasese Fiona-Carson."
8. Story, As Yet Untold
One day Charles and Lady Fiona were sitting outside the Café Beautiful in the Guard De Norde Alley in South Isllington, enjoying a slap up meal and a bottle of bubbly, when Wessel Weasel came up, sat down and interrupted them. Putting them right off their din dins, Charles started a conversation - completely knocking the flow right out of the Weasel.
"Can you smell something, Fiona?"
"What sort of smell, Charles?"
"I can't quite put my finger on it," Charles replied. "But it reminds me of out in the East, and finding yourself down this well... Only to find that your only companions are; Several dozen dead rats, a retired volture, and a donkey with Halitosis. Well, it's that kind of smell."
"Oh! You mean a... a... Weaselly kind of smell?"
"Yes, that's it! A wessel Weasel kind of pong!" Charles cried. "I wonder where it's coming from."
Lady Fiona sniffed around.
"Oh! Right there!" She exclaimed as she pointed at Wessel.
"Do you mind?!" Wessel asked annoyed.
"Goodness, the pong in question!" Charles finished as he turned deliberately too late and faced the weasel.
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