A day or two following the transactions described in the preceding chapter of the present chronicle, Mr Crass Cheseham knocks at the door of a familiar and rather nasty little dwelling in Eastville. The door being opened to Mr Cheseham by the familiar and distinctly nasty occupant thereof, he is after a furtive and none too pleasant exchange suffered to enter within, and to penetrate even unto the desolation of the lounge of that dwelling, with its unpardonably foetid and greasy chaise longue, and everything else acrylic fur and cheap velour and garish underwear drying on radiators, and all of it just as nasty and dirty as ever anything in the Lord’s Creation has been. —
Eastville
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 maddening “chill” and his enraging “peace”. And Mr Crass Cheseham is given likewise to reiterated utterances and ejaculations of tokens such as “Tory Jew” and “fucking” and “like”, in response to which Mr Roger Buggery likewise shudders and winces and flinches, although in Mr Crass Cheseham’s defence it must be conceded that he is at any rate so good as to mitigate his offensiveness by refraining from the enraging “chill” and the maddening “peace”. —
Gamina Dročerpyatova-Buggery, Mr Roger Buggery
It would be tiresome to myself and a tax upon your patience, dear Reader, were I to reproduce in its entirety the conversation between these two gentlemen. It suffices for present purposes to remark that it is all vey nasty, notwithstanding which both parties come away from their conference gratified by the apprehension that certain suspicions which they entertain are well-founded, and that the well-foundedness of the suspicions in question tends rather to promote than to impede certain projects dear to the respective parties. For his part, Mr Crass Cheseham finds that the intimations vouchsafed unto him by Mr Roger Buggery suggest to him that the advent of Dr Mark Wankstain is not quite as catastrophic to his interests as he has been accustomed to suppose; whereas Mr Roger Buggery for his part finds that the intimations vouchsafed unto him by Mr Crass Cheseham go some way towards corroborating the earlier intimations vouchsafed unto him, that his usurpation by Mr Rex Anusol may be finite in duration. —
Mr Crass Cheseham
It is on this account with something of a spring in his step that Mr Roger Buggery, upon the conclusion of their business and Mr Crass Cheseham having taken his leave, betakes himself unto the nasty grotty malodorous oubliette in which it has been his pleasure these several years to revise and rehearse that nasty little travesty of a speech of his. Today, however, his master opus is left to fester upon the nasty grimy tabletop, for the mind of Mr Roger Buggery is preoccupied with another matter, to whit the composition of the great epistolary work which posterity shall know as Reply to The Tory Jew Rorschach-Skidmark. It is, needless to say, an outrage against decency as well as being vey, vey nasty. Mr Roger Buggery is upon this account to be observed bending over the nasty grimy formica tabletop, the Rorschach-Skidmark vellum with its Jew wax seal shadowed beneath his nasty snot-encrusted proboscis, while he reacquaints himself with its contents:- —
Rorschach-Skidmark vellum
“Why I marry stinking English pig always have zhaba in ass.” —
Zhaba
“I not stay at home” quoth she, “with stinking English pig who have zhaba in ass. Is too boring and nasty. I go out and see famous English soviet democratiya in famous Queeny’s Square.” —
Queeny’s Square
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