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. —
Gamina Dročerpyatova-Buggery, Solihull, Semipalatinsk, Mr Roger Buggery
Anyway, such of the truth as will presently be made known is decidedly murkier. If anything is plain, it is that the introduction into the proceedings of Gamina Droçerpyatova has neither smoothed the surface of concord nor oiled the tracks of amity. The long-suffering official female companions of Mr Roger Buggery’s clientele, exhausted by the endless procession of STI’s bestowed upon them courtesy of Mr Roger Buggery’s comrade courtesans, in despite or because of which they have long been compliant, and have with a wan docility tolerated the affronts occasioned by the revolting old pandar’s slimy insinuating presence at social events, nevertheless cavil at this final outrage. For their own part, Mr Roger Buggery’s clientele, all those nasty syphilitic old stalinists, those raddled maoist martyrs to genital wart and purulent discharge, these too, owning in each breast a visceral loathing of Mr Roger Buggery and all his works, find their distaste augmented by Ms. Droçerpyatova’s addition to the company, albeit as far as they are concerned the objection is not so much to the lady herself as it is to the intolerable manner of the snivelling little ponce’s cavorting with her in front of them. —
STI
Even the snivelling little ponce himself is driven to concede, during the episodes of brown study which frequently overwhelm him, that the sweetmeats and bonbons of his previous existence are become as ashes in his mouth. Notwithstanding, Ms. Gamina Droçerpyatova with her feet once under the table has proven herself a barnacle of prodigious tenacity. Mr Roger Buggery though he wot not how it came about, has woken up one morning to find himself in thrall to the whims and caprices of a nymph much given to disporting herself in the intellectual shallows, and to dragging him about like a pet monkey, to watch time drain away in this or that nail bar as she talks and talks and talks to her acquaintances among the exiled sorority indentured in those limbos. Or else the shrew wheedles him and withholds favour, “fuckdangles the wanker” as she puts it, badgers him into bestowing upon her zirconium gewgaws and bangles, as well as copious quantities of scent and maquillage. Nor is his home any longer his castle; for these days, upon the rare interludes during which Mr Roger Buggery is afforded respite from his interminable caravanserai between the disparate wadis and troughs of the revolutionary circuit, the pimp-errant returns much wearied to his hearth and unfailingly finds it besieged by further hordes of the acquaintances of Ms. Gamina Droçerpyatova, personal therapists and nail baristas and the like, whose inanity matches and if anything exceeds the already crushing, choking inanity of Ms. Gamina Droçerpyatova herself. Nor when Mr Roger Buggery finds himself alone with Ms. Gamina Droçerpyatova is there any relief, for if she is not talking and talking and talking about nail bars and zirconium gewgaws and bangles and scent and maquillage and her acquaintances working as personal therapists and nail baristas and the like, she is instead gaping contemptuously and chewing gum and smoking, and occasionally letting slip those discomforting remarks of hers about Saint Joseph’s dealings with the Chews in her willitch. —
Zirconium gewgaws and bangles
Mr Roger Buggery, as is now to be revealed, did not in fact pick up or for that matter come upon Ms. Gamina Droçerpyatova either in a dirty little bordello in Semipalatinsk, or in a dirty little bordello in Solihull. The sordid truth is that, quite late one winter’s night, he was summoned from his bed to the assistance of a vey well-known fedora-wearing, cigar-smoking luminary of a vey well-known Trotskyite rape cult, who had found himself embarrassed at the casino in Anchor Road. The management of this establishment proved predictably obdurate in response to Mr Roger Buggery’s abject, cringing intervention, insisting vey reasonably on being furnished with tangible collateral before suffering the fedora-wearing, cigar-smoking Trotskyite rape cult luminary to assay further his fortunes at roulette or blackjack. Mr Roger Buggery had in consequence been put to the necessity of several hours of corporate finance in the company of certain gentlemen who signified their preparedness to advance capital albeit upon terms which were decidedly astringent. And when, at around 6.30am, Mr Roger Buggery finally was able - at the cost of considerable personal embarrassment - to disembarrass the fedora-wearing, cigar-smoking Trotskyite rape cult luminary, the latter gentleman condescended to thank him personally, remarking by-the-by how a fellow was always gratified to be kept at arms length from the Hebrews. —
Anchor Road
If truth be told, Mr Roger Buggery has in these draining times an additional source of anxiety, in the person of Mr Rex Anusol, this latter gentleman being the rival of longstanding to Mr Roger Buggery in this recondite trade which they carry on. A singularly charmless individual, if vey slightly less nasty and cheap and dirty and abject than Mr Roger Buggery himself, Mr Rex Anusol on this account was until recently nothing but a fly smudge on Mr Roger Buggery’s metaphorical windscreen. Occasionally, the nastier, cheaper, dirtier sort of demimondaine would be seduced away on behalf of the slightly less nasty, cheap, dirty sort of pandar. But such incidents, few and far between, were pinpricks to the otherwise impenetrable hide of Mr Roger Buggery, who continued to enjoy his near monopoly in the supply of the marginally less nasty, cheap, dirty sort of demimondaine to the marginally less nasty, cheap, dirty sort of peddler of Jew-baiting Maoist or Stalinist wickedness. And yet a great woe has fallen upon the House of Buggery. For in these latter days, since the advent of Ms. Gamina Droçerpyatova, they flee from Mr Roger Buggery that sometime did him seek. —
Mr Rex Anusol
‘CERTIFIED COPY OF AN ENTRY OF MARRIAGE.’ Mr Roger Buggery smiles nastily to himself, narrows his nasty porcine little eyes, peers at the handwriting in the boxes, according to which Ms. Gamina Droçerpyatova is the lawfully wedded spouse of one Cholmondely Handjob, giving his profession as ‘Lord’. Mr Roger Buggery extracts from his pocket his mobile, photographs from several angles the proof of the bigamy of Lady Handjob, recrumples her marriage certificate, rummages once more through the amorphous pile of lurid bikinis and g-strings and cubic zirconium gewgaws and baubles, grimly ejaculates, closes the nasty foetid suitcase, slides it back under the nasty, foetid bed, and retires from the nasty, foetid chamber with, plastered across his nasty, greasy face, a truly nasty smile. —
Certified Copy of an Entry of Marriage
This site would like to use cookies to count visits and measure advertising. Nothing is set unless you accept.
