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Lazarus and the Gimp
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Whale-raping abomination
Aug 2000
time: 05:23
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Take it to another thread, Boris. It's time for part 2.
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Part 2
"Strangelove" wasn't his real name, of course. It was a nickname acquired due to his revolutionary work in the field of deviant human sexuality. The recent developments in electrical batteries had allowed him to patent his "Onanecutioner", a device intended to combat the social evil of self-love. Through the medium of powerful electrical shocks to the privy parts, this apparatus caused a complete cessation of onanism in 95% of patients, and severe burns with psychological trauma in the other 5%.
He was a member of Gray's club, and it was there in an overstuffed leather armchair that Rah found him, sleeping off his port and spotted ****. After being nudged awake and plied with Turkish cigarettes, the good doctor proved more forthcoming.
"Ah, yes. Old "Squeakers" Siddiqui? He's lost the plot, poor chap. Keeps raving about some sort of plot."
Bulldog leaned forward to light the physician's fag. "So I hear. Is there any sense in what he's saying?".
"You tell me." said Strangelove. "He just gibbers away merrily. He's taken to beating his head against the wall at a steady rythym too, and believe me that's a real pain in the arse. It's "thud.....thud.....thud" all the bloody day and night". The doctor sighed. "I've heard that some Yank chap has come up with some sort of treatment involving severing the frontal temporal lobes through the eye-socket with an icepick to calm down incurables. Don't think I haven't been tempted, but if he doesn't start behaving I may use an axe."
"I think I may have to meet him in person" said Rah.
"Feel free. Just don't expect the height of luxury in the sanatorium."
"That's right!" guffawed the 14th Earl of DinoDoc as he gently settled his gouty foot on a pouffe. "Old Strangelove keeps them trussed up tighter than a pervert's turkey."
"Can you blame me?" said Strangelove. "Look what happened over at Professor Guynemer's Home for the Odd last week."
"God, yes" chuckled the Earl, his ample girth shaking at about 6.3 on the Richter scale. "Some loony smuggled a Beretta in and started blazing away. Shot the matron a new arsehole, I believe. She was none too pleased about it anyway. Ended up garrotting him with her corsets. Poor bugger."
An elderly academic in a neighbouring chair yawned, and idly commented "I suppose that wouldn't have happened if we had gun control."
Silence descended like an overworked tart's drawers. Bulldog looked at Strangelove. Strangleove looked at the Earl. Somewhere, in the far distance, a dog barked.
His knuckles bone-white, the academic stiffly dragged himself upright, his face ashen. "Would you excuse me please, gentlemen?" he said as he slowly stalked to the door. No-one met his eyes. No-one acknowledged his passing. He shut the door behind him. After a short pause, there was a single shot, followed by a thud.
Conversation resumed. "If you turn up at the sanatorium tomorrow I'll have you shown to Squeakers." said Strangelove. "He's not at his best but you might get something out of him. One thing you should know is that he keeps using the phrase "gayliberals"."
"Excellent." said Rah. "Now, about this French filth......"
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Lazarus and the Gimp
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Whale-raping abomination
Aug 2000
time: 05:23
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Part 3
It was a misty evening, and the woodpigeons filled the air with their bedtime coughing fit. Bulldog Rah sat on the running-boards of his Bentley, puffing on a "Craven A". He was watching the Georgian manor house on the horizon- formerly the residence of the Blakely-Felchinghams until their line had fizzled out in a flurry of rampant inbreeding so severe that their family tree was more of a family pillar. What horrors lurked behind those walls, where the lunatics screamed and gibbered? What nightmares awaited......?
He was soon to find out. A porter escorted him to an open ward where the lunatics were chained to the walls. As he waited for his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting, he became aware of a warm moistness just above his brogues and was somewhat perturbed to discover that the cause of this sensation was a slim young lady who was enthusiastically licking his ankle.
Never one to pass up an opportunity, Rah raised a flirty eyebrow and passed comment. "I'm glad to see that my ankles are so appealing. However, you'll find I taste even better further up....."
The madwoman look up and grinned at him. "Really? ****! Thanks for letting me know, Mister.". Then she sank her teeth firmly into his shin. Rah howled in agony and, after a brief struggle, managed to beat her off with his tennis racquet. She wriggled away under her bed and leered at him. "Know what's wrong with your game, Mister? You've got no balls."
"She's got a point there, Rah. I always suspected that they hadn't dropped." said a familiar voice. It emerged from a vaguely pyramidal pile of blankets.
"Squeakers! Old boy!" Rah hobbled towards the mound. "How the bugger are you? Are you coming out from there?"
"Nope."
Rah sat down on a spare edge of the bed. "Why not?"
"Have you any idea what I've been through, you prat? I'm only hiding under these blankets because my chances of returning to the womb are pretty slim."
"You got inside there, didn't you? The Offe-Topyc.....?"
"Getting inside is easy. Getting out with all your marbles is much harder. I was lucky."
Rah was now holding his handkerchief over his mouth and nose. "From the smell I'd say you've been using faeces as sunscreen. Are the rumours about the poo-smearing true?".
The mound paused for thought. "OK. Perhaps I wasn't lucky after all" it conceded.
"What happened in there?"
The mound of soft furnishings started to shake convulsively. "Gayliberals! The Gayliberal hordes! They're in there! They're going to take our freedom!"
"Steady on, old boy." Rah leaned forwards and held out a comforting hand. "What would you like me to do about it?"
With the speed of a striking cobra, a hammer attached to the knuckle end of a skinny arm shot out of the mound of blankets and sharply connected with Bulldog's brow. Rah's eyes crossed, there was the obligatory sound of twittering birds, and he fell over like a particularly posh sack of spuds.
The mound of blankets slipped away, revealing the skinny and dung-encrusted form of "Buffy" Siddiqui. With murder glittering in his eyes, he pulled a breadknife out from under his pillow. "I would like you to show me what your insides look like, Bulldog".
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H Tower
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quote:
Originally posted by SnowFire
No, you've got it all wrong, H Tower. I'm lacking in wit, not in brains. Our friend Trappist is British as the day is long, and he often raises his cup of hot cocoa in teary admiration of the Queen, longing for the great old Empire days of yore. Quite obvious from most of his writings, ya know. |
what's your point? that has nothing to do with the free speech you proclaim in america vs. lack of free speech in england.
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Lazarus and the Gimp
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Whale-raping abomination
Aug 2000
time: 05:23
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Part 4
Though the concussed Rah's vision was blurred, as the knife-wielding lunatic bent towards him he still managed to view his life flashing before his eyes with perfect clarity. His first day at boarding school, his first energetic beating by a schoolmaster of dubious sexuality, his pet ferrets, the wonderful day when he successfully caught his groom in a home-made mantrap, his first kiss, his first slap (received seconds after the first kiss) and that strange day he experienced after Tibbsy "Frogger" Dingleberry-Firth spiked his pomade with a mescalin derivative. All this was reflected in the twelve inches of Sheffield steel descending towards his torso.
In a blur of motion, and with an ear-splitting "IAIIIIIHH!!!!" the young female inmate became airborne. With a speed that was barely human, her leg kicked out, her booted foot aimed squarely at Buffy's groin.
When it was a fraction of an inch from Siddiqui's love spuds, time suddenly stopped and caught all three in an elegant freeze-frame tableau. Then the point of view shifted right around the action, giving a smooth 360-degree sweep around the airborne nutter in mid-kick. This is the bit that will nail the Special Effects Oscar once I've shifted the film rights to this sucker.
Time restarted. The boot connected with a sickening thud, and the unfortunate Siddiqui was lifted bodily off the ground by the impact. He slammed into the wall, and fell to the ground, out cold. With no small sense of horror, Rah noted that Buffy now appeared to have three Adam's Apples. Shaking the stunned fugue from his head he staggered upright and stared at the woman, who was now lighting a fag and smugly inspecting her fingernails.
"Who the bloody hell are you?" he managed.
"Name's classified, I'm afraid. Defence of the realm, and all that. Codename's "Devilmunchkin", if that's any help."
"Not really. I take it you're not a patient here?"
She grinned. "You're a quick one. I've been undercover- been watching old Squeakers for weeks to find out what happened."
"Sorry" said Rah, rubbing his bruised bits. "I suppose that in saving my life you've blown your cover. All that hard work wasted...."
"Not really" she replied. "He got chatty and told me everything this morning. I think he was trying to impress my knickers off. Detailed maps and everything."
"Good God. That was a stroke of luck, wasn't it?"
"It certainly was" she said. "If he hadn't told me everything I needed, I'd have let him kill you.". She ripped off her tattered and stinking rags to reveal an eye-popping patent leather catsuit beneath. "Shall we go?".
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Lazarus and the Gimp
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Whale-raping abomination
Aug 2000
time: 05:23
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Part 5.
Dawn. The sleeping world of daytime awakens, whilst the nocturnal night-shift yawns and potters off to bed. Among night-time's most fascinating fauna is the common hedgehog, one example of which was patrolling the border roads. A voracious hunter of invertebrate life, it prowls the hedgerows in search of tasty worms and beetles. One commonly-noted phenomenon of the hedgehog's anatomy is that the skin of it's back is so tough that if the hedgehog is subjected to a crushing downward force, it's digestive tract is fired out of either its mouth or its anus like toothpaste from a tube. This was demonstrated in a spectular manner as the unfortunate creature went under the Bentley's wheels.
"What do you know about the Transcendental Order of the Immortal Wombat?" asked agent Devilmunchkin.
"They're believed to be the semi-public wing of an Illuminati off-shoot. Styling themselves on the Freemasons, they recruit suitable members of the public and, through a series of ceremonial indoctrinations noted for their brain-washing nature, the initiate is slowly dragged into their web of evil. Over the last 20 years they have fought a bitter turf war with the Scorpion Tong for global control of the white slave trade. Their favourite means of assassination is a curare enema and they're scared of acorns."
The agent shot Rah a pointed look. "You're bullshitting, aren't you?"
"Yes. Sorry. I assumed everyone knew and I didn't want to look thick."
She sighed and passed Bulldog a leather-bound book. Since she carried no baggage and wore a skin-tight catsuit, this simple act would cause Rah sleepless nights for years to come as he would ponder where it had come from. "Read this. It should provide a few pointers."
"What's the point?" asked Rah. "Look, I'm sure this might all be very exciting to you, but I'm only here to find out what's going on in the Offe-Topyc, and if you already know the answer then let's stop arsing about and go for a kebab instead."
"Well, firstly those deranged Wombatters are clearly planning something. They're well-versed in the Black Arts and we think they're fooling about with the Gayliberal Codex."
"What the hell's that?" asked Rah.
"An ancient curse. If unleashed, it creates the delusion that an ideal society must consist of ordered care for every individual within it, and that the role of government is to drive and control such an ideal through state-controlled welfare measures funded by taxation. Are you all right?"
Bulldog was retching violently. "The sick bastards!" he gasped.
"They also want the right for men to be able to lawfully do things to each other's bottoms too."
Rah pondered. "Well I suppose there's no harm in that sort of thing provide all participants belong to the same Rugby Club" he conceded. "You should have seen what we got up to at the annual Old Harrovians First XV bash last Michaelmas. "Bunty" Harrison was crapping billiard balls for days after."
"Yeeeeeeesssssss....... There is one other thing you may be interested in. It's not just the Wombat cultists who are in there. If Buffy's information is correct, you may find yourself face-to-face with your old Nemesis."
"Great Scott!" barked Rah. "Surely you can't mean....."
"Yes!" replied Devilmunchkin, acutely aware that the conversation was lapsing into parody.
"Ernst Stefu Blofeld!"
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23-10-2002 00:42
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