Upon the termination of the hustings, Mr Tad Curmudgeonly forcibly drove from his mind the notion of plebeian miscegenation, and repaired unto the Vert Rouge salon behind the Queen Anne façade, in the happy anticipation of finding therein the identical Cuban cigars and champagne cognac so relished by Sir Gerald; these to be savoured in the congenial society of clubbable cheps belonging to a social stratum sufficiently adjacent to his own so as not to provoke even a smidgeon of the ghastly awkwardness arising whenever cheps of the better sort are put to the tiresome necessity of condescending to the hewers of wood and drawers of benefit. —
Vert Rouge salon, Mr Tad Curmudgeonly, Cuban cigars
Mr Vercingetorix Bumhole, anticipating for much the same reasons as those just mentioned that he would not be received in the Vert Rouge salon behind the Queen Anne façade, straightaway forsook those purlieus, making his way across the City Centre, and was presently to be observed trudging along Jamaica Street where, turning smartly to the left in front of the place of business of Mr Crass Cheseham, he strode just as smartly over the threshold of the Bell End and, maintaining this thoroughly condign dignity, was served ale and dry roasted nuts.These he carried through the back door and up the steps into the backyard of the premises just named, emerging onto an enclosed concrete platform, combled on three sides by tables and benches and protected from the elements by corrugated plastic awning. —
Vert Rouge salon, Mr Crass Cheseham, The Bell End, Mr Vercingetorix Bumhole
The Bell End had in those days but recently appropriated from the Old Disgrace the venerable institution of the Charismatic Eccentric with a Big Personality, whereby aspirants to the title in question would vie to hold court before a small audience of credulous civilians, by outdoing one another with the loudness, prolixity, and speciousness of their rants. As Mr Vercingetorix Bumhole sat himself down in the midst of the rotting fruit, Mr Morton Stanley, resplendent as ever in his beige safari jacket and flared brown corduroys, was reaching the climax of one such peroration; regarding which it must be conceded that what he lacked in physical stature he more than made up for with the aural penetration he achieved with his nasal whine. —
Mr Morton Stanley
“Hitler,” droned that gentleman, “is routinely castigated for certain excesses which are well known to all of us and do not bear repetition; whereas my contention is that posterity will reframe the National Socialist narrative, remembering its foremost proponent as an honest if at times, it will be acknowledged, vey slightly misguided visionary, who got a tiny bit carried away in his enthusiasm to undertake the necessary reforms of the international banking industry.” —
National Socialist narrative
“Fair enough,” said Chris Skeletor bestowing upon the congregation his trademark horrifying leer, “fair enough, it’s not as if the Israelite fraternity does not itself face the tribunal of history over the pernicious role it played on behalf of the international crypto-capitalist fraternity in initiating and subsequently exacerbating the East Bengal famine.” —
Chris Skeletor
“Speaking of culinary matters,” drawled Old MacDonald brushing some of the dandruff off his suit, “I have it on excellent authority that the so-called ovens never existed, or if they did were only used for the baking of Passover pizzas.” —
Old MacDonald
Meanwhile Jerome Jubeyter, seated next to the latter-named gentleman, had been looking increasingly uncomfortable. —
Jerome Jubeyter
“I rather think that it is your turn,” murmured Mr Milton Djugashvili the rather dirty Wykehamist, crossing one white skinny jeaned leg over its fellow, “besides, I cannot be expected to undertake the office in these trysers. You may think me fastidious, but I have a bit of a thing about going around visibly covered in other people’s shit stains. It is not a good look, I think.” —
Milton Djugashvili
“You needn’t look at me,” said Coaley Sleaze the pervert, “my confessedly baroque paraphilia does not by any means extend to brown sauce. Nor does any part of my appanage contractually oblige me in the matter of the provision of adult baby services.” —
Sleaze
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