Asda, Asti Martini, Chateauneuf du Pape, feminism, Freud, Jung, langoustine, male chauvinism, Monsters from the Id, Oedipus, paella, psychology, retarded cognitive development, sexism, Tennyson, The Charge of the Light Brigade
Monsters from the Id
[As in ‘idiot’. Ermintrude] Beat it, you mad feminist computer; I’m on a roll! (Without the ‘sausage? EdZilla) There’s no use trying your pathetic one-liners; Captain Fabulous has won yet again. [God; here we go. Ermintrude] (Again. EdZ) Sometimes, I’m soooo smooooth, I can actually slide uphill! Last night I had Din Dins; EdZilla, Valkerie, her daughter, Valkerie Minor, and Bronco, except she had to call of because, as is the problem with so many Big Mad Lezzies, her diesel-powered dildo had broken down again. [She’s gonna kill him, this time. Ermintrude] (I’ve already sold the TV rights. EdZ) Bah! Valkerie had just returned from a two week stint in New York, with her big daft pal, Pretzel Head; the City fathers are still recovering. It seems the Big V only went and bought/shop-lifted/liberated some fourteen thousand purses. [‘Hand-bags’ you pathetic loser! Ermintrude] Our Queen has a great deal to answer for. Next thing, blokes will be wearing them. (They are already, Dipstick. EdZ) Yeah, right. Sometimes I think EdZilla inhabits a weird parallel universe. (I’m not hearing this. EdZ) Nor you are, budgie-brain. It’s a blog, sweetie – hello? A visual thing? (Lemme at him! EdZ) [Now you know you promised Bronco; it’s her turn. If you ask her nicely, I’m sure she’ll let you hold the blunt butter knife. Ermintrude] Anyway. Where was I? (Completing your last Will and Testament, if you’re wise. EdZ) Oh yes; el Beanfeasto. Natch, it was brilliant. (God! What’s worse, it was, as usual, bloody good. EdZ) [Don’t encourage him! His ego’s already so big he has to turn sideways just to get out his front door. Ermintrude] Hey; babes. That’s not because of the size of my Ego. (You wish. Just get on with it. EdZ) So. Langoustines, fried in butter, with delicious cibiatta bread; paella from Asda jazzed up with extra chicken and prawns; massive cheese board; finished off with the obligatory fabulous pudding. All washed down with gallons of Asti Martini, Pink; followed by a petit lac of Chateauneuf du Pape. Perfetto professore.
The only fly in the oinkment was Valkerie Minor; aided and abetted by Big V and EdZ. She’s a psychology student… Apparently I would make a fascinating case study; oh, and did I know that they still employ electro-convulsive therapy for some stubborn cases? Eeeek! I was continuously trying to work the conversation round to my blog, and how bloody marvellous it was; while the cheeky Coven, when their faces weren’t in the trough, or swigging back some more booze, seemed only interested in Valkerie Minor’s professional opinion on MOI. Just for the record, I do not suffer from ‘retarded cognitive development’; whatever the hell it is! Where was I, oh yes. And somehow the conversation turned to gentian violet. No. Neither do I. So I merely happened to remark that the main reason they paint it on your willy when you’ve copped a dose, is to serve as a warning to chicks that, for the moment, you’re ‘persona non grunta’; or at least some bits of you are anyway. Contagious, even. Not that I was squeaking from personal experience. At all. No; honestly. I only knew about it from a friend… Really. So for the rest of the effing night, Freud and Jung’s answer to King Kong gave me the ‘third degree’ about my ‘friend’. Does he have a name? Do only I ever see him? Have we ever been seen in the same room together? Bah! Bumhug!
Of course, being the offspring of Big V and one of her victims, she’s a Feminist. Shock, yawn. And I had no idea at all that words like ‘chick’ or ‘bird’, when used to refer to the opposite sex, were in fact ‘anthropophallocentric’; or somesuch pish. But in fairness, the wee soul’s only about twelve, so she’s still got time to learn. Then I got wounded! Probably a bomb planted by LezNatz; see passim. [Paranoid, or what? Ermintrude] (‘Or what’. EdZ) Knowing that The Coven have the attention span of a gnat in heat, I had got in some toys; the wee banger things, that go bang; party poopers, or whatever. [‘Poppers’; you tithead. Ermintrude] And they went down a treat with the assembled crumpetta. But it soon became clear that I was the target. It was just like ‘The Charge of the Light Brigade’! Sort of. ‘Poopers to left of me, poopers to right of me, poopers in front of me, volleyed and thundered’. (Woefully Inadequate Male Person. Ermintrude] Eh? (Wimp. EdZ) Huh! Regardless; terribly Tennyson. So I fought back. Only Valkerie Minor slipped me one, which seemed okay, but when I fired it off, it exploded! Blowing my thumb off! Almost. Nearly. It was agony! I still think I need a sling and some bandages. [For your mouth; maybe. Ermintrude] However, my death throes appeared to provide a new source of amusement for the evil, twisted cows; who hooted with laughter at my excruciating pain. EdZilla did call me, ‘a brave little soldier’, but I don’t think her heart was in it. And I still don’t see what’s funny about me being an only child.
John J McCabe. Copyright.