Mr Roger Buggery has attained such an age and station in life as to find it advantageous, or failing that expedient, or failing that completely normal, to present to the world the demeanour - which is to say, if speaking frankly, façade - of the sort of defrocked priest who, no matter how vile and cringing and abject in person, is nowhere to be seen without his knuckledusters. It is all vey, vey nasty. —
Mr Roger Buggery
One of the vey last of a line of nasty little boxes which, in forming, pokes a finger into the littered liminal tropic where Eastgate gives way to the horrid desert of South Gloucestershire, Buggery Hall is as nasty and comfortless as its neighbours, with the delectable ambience of the sort of slum out of which one stumbles into nasty, slimy grey dawn after a particularly chastening acid trip. —
Buggery Hall
After expending several minutes in an objectively nasty but, from his own point of view at least, not entirely disagreeable prostration, Mr Roger Buggery levers himself upright, and with measured tread advances to the nasty little cubicle, formerly a toilet, in which he makes these days, and for reasons of his own, his bureau. In here is disclosed, upon a nasty little veneered table and surfaced in tarnished polymer, a grubby and desiccated calculating machine. This vey promptly emerges from its slumbers and sets to a nasty winking at Mr Roger Buggery. Mr Roger Buggery, after first removing his trousers and placing them over the back of the high-backed chair occupying the space vacated by the throne of easement, seats himself and sets to a nasty winking back at the grubby and desiccated calculating machine. After some to-&-fro of this nastiness, the grubby and desiccated calculating machine does something evidently rather nasty but exciting for Mr Roger Buggery, who in response fishes in his pocket and produces a nasty, greasy little black notebook. This he opens and commences examining the lists scrawled upon its nasty, greasy little pages, all the while emitting a nasty, lewd keening which one supposes must be taken to signify the pleasures of the nasty little man. —
Calculating machine
Following time’s further elapse, there resounds, mediated by the aforementioned veneering, door’s knock. Mr Roger Buggery eructating one of his trademark nasty dirty little epithets struggles upright, and still trouserless makes his way through the veneered vestibule and opens the veneered door with its tarnished polymer handle, to discover, upon the tarnished polymer threshold, Ms. Amelia De'Ath. Mr Roger Buggery looks quickly and from force of habit up and down the nasty, dirty little alley. Catching his intent, his visitor scowls, and purses her lips. —
Amelia De’Ath
“Indeed you can,” says Ms. Amelia De'Ath vey briskly, “not never heard of no prostaglandin?” —
Prostaglandin
This site would like to use cookies to count visits and measure advertising. Nothing is set unless you accept.
