Gamina Dročerpyatova-Buggery

“Chill,” said Mr Roger Buggery nastily and, just as nastily, “Gamina Dročerpyatova-Buggery, meet Helix Folt”, and, vey nastily, “peace”.

Nobody amongst the extensive acquaintance of Mr Roger Buggery knows quite what to make of his imbroglio with Ms. Gamina Droçerpyatova, save that it is really rather nasty. The widespread and, it bears remarking, entirely reasonable assumption is that he picked her up in some dirty little bordello somewhere, although opinion divides as to whether the somewhere in question was Semipalatinsk or Solihull.

After some minutes, the door was abruptly flung open by Ms. Gamina Droçerpyatova; having undertaken which office that estimable young lady proceeded to scowl and to slouch in the doorway in such a manner as to exhibit in its most favourable aspect, which is to say wedged into an exceedingly defining pair of yoga pants, an entirely becoming orteille de chameau.

While Mr Roger Buggery was exerting himself after the manner just described, the bruit if not the odour of his flatulations intruded itself upon the slumbers of Mrs Gamina Dročerpyatova-Buggery. This lady, bestowing upon a grateful world certain Slavic epithets, sallied forth from her boudoir, and appeared at the bottom of the escalier rubbing her eyes and looking vey cross.

Mr Crass Cheseham appears before the Buggery threshold quite soon thereafter. Mrs Gamina Dročerpyatova-Buggery opens the door to him in her gold lamé & cubic zirconia microkini which, upon her adoption of one of her disconcertingly frank postures, exhibits most advantageously her outer labial folds; whilom, as her apologia might be rendered in the tongue of Mr Helix Folt, stopping just this side of the pale of itenite lewdness.

In this chamber, as Stalin looks down his nose at them, Mr Crass Cheseham and Mr Roger Buggery dance an exceedingly loathsome and furtive and skulking pas de deux around one another’s sublimely hypocritical susceptibilities. Mr Crass Cheseham flinches and winces and shudders at the reiterated utterances and ejaculations to which Mr Roger Buggery is given of tokens such as “like” and “fucking” and “Tory Jew”, bookended inevitably with his…

Mrs Roger Buggery - although I think it high time for us to revert to her antecedent appellation - that is to say, accordingly, Ms. Gamina Dročerpyatova had been living in Mangotsfield for nearly a fortnight now. Miss Minerva Ledwitch, as after tiffin she stretched out her limbs in Charybdis, considered whether the young lady’s residence with her family had been an unalloyed success. On the one hand, it could…

“Schto!” announces Ms. Gamina Dročerpyatova vey brightly, “we have banya, yes?”

…paving the vestibule was prone to stick to shoes, and audible just then was the drone of Mr Roger Buggery rehearsing his abortion of a speech.

…mentioned had arranged themselves after a symmetrical fashion, so that the two distaff elements thereof, to whit Mesdemoiselles Dročerpyatova and De'Ath, reclined upon the naugahyde plush either side of Dr Mark Wankstain with, facing them and perched rilly quite incommodiously upon the pair of bucket seats, Messrs Curmudgeonly and Quicksotte. The former of these two gentlemen was vey much the less inclined of the pair to bear the affront, and…

After some minutes, Ms. Amelia De’Ath emerges in company with Ms. Gamina Dročerpyatova, Ms. De’Ath in the habiliments of respectable but à la mode widowhood featuring a great deal of black crepe and even a veil, her companion having chosen to present herself to the world in the vestments of a lady not averse to receiving gentlemen callers, on which account she is to be complimented for the authenticity of…

…to a remarkable extent upon flexible exotic ladies of a certain vintage, of the union of which qualities Ms. Gamina Dročerpyatova was the vey paradigm. Nevertheless there was, as always with such fundamentally nasty things, a bottom line. To any thrusting thirty-something pseud, she would be an encumbrance. The alarmingly frank yoga would wear thin, the exhibitionism would ripen into over-exposure, the relentless vulgarity would no longer be endearing, the…