Mr Vercingetorix Bumhole fancied himself the soul of discretion. For this reason, and also because of a certain fastidiousness regarding the notion that an upstart such as Mr Crass Cheseham should have him at his beck and call, he allowed some few moments to elapse following the departure of that gentleman, during which he assiduously buttered up Mr Milton Djugashvili, and just as assiduously condescended to the rest of the petty, piffling, putrid sowshalists. Eventually, having determined that Mr Crass Cheseham would by now be cursing and drumming his fingers in frustration at having been kept waiting, Mr Vercingetorix Bumhole wiped the figurative froth from his upper lip and, having bade adieu to the company of petty, piffling, putrid sowshalists, betook himself after a vey leisurely fashion indeed round the corner to the Fascist Dictatorship of Stokes Croft. —
The Fascist Dictatorship of Stokes Croft, Mr Crass Cheseham, Milton Djugashvili, Mr Vercingetorix Bumhole
When, after some surly slouching which somewhat belied his abjectness and servility, the scabrous youth eventually vacated the Cheseham inner sanctum, Mr Crass Cheseham turned his attention to his guest, and offered for his delectation a quantity of grunts, among which were faintly discernible certain phrases, chiefly combinations of “like”, “like” prefaced with “it’s”, “fuckin’”, “I mean”, “Tory Jew”, and “Russian pussy”. This pronouncement Mr Vercingetorix Bumhole vey adroitly if somewhat to his consternation took to signify that his interlocutor did not on the present occasion wish to sound him on matters relating to the promotion of Dr Mark Wankstain’s candidacy in the Conservative interest, preferring instead to engage him in discussion regarding the provenance of a particular demimondaine. —
demimondaine
“Like,” said Mr Crass Cheseham then, “like it’s like fuckin’ like fuckin’. I mean like fuckin’”, which it was only natural for Mr Vercingetorix Bumhole to interpret as disclosing that Mr Crass Cheseham had eyes in the back of his head - presumably underneath his beanie hat - and that these vey eyes were endowed with a penetrative faculty much to be wondered at, enabling them to peer through beanie hat fabric; and that, happening to exercise this penetrative faculty at the hustings earlier that day, the gaze of the Stokes Croft Argos had adventitiously alighted upon the discussion then taking place between Mr Vercingetorix Bumhole and Mr Tad Curmudgeonly. —
Mr Tad Curmudgeonly
Mr Vercingetorix Bumhole strove as best he could to cover his flinch with a sneer, determining that the Curmudgeonly mention of Lord Handjob was best left for another more propitious occasion. —
Lord Handjob
“Farkinell, ow would oy know. Still in Palm Springs oy spowse. What’s thet got to do with the proyce of fish?” —
Palm Springs
The identity of the fons et origo of Mr Crass Cheseham’s speculations regarding Mrs Roger Buggery is mysterious. One should for the sake of completeness mention the possibility of it having been Mrs Roger Buggery herself, notwithstanding which a degree of scepticism is in order, given the well-documented propensities of that excellent lady for studied incuriosity and playing her cards vey close to her twin peaks. An altogether more plausible candidate for this office would be her rival in the Cheseham affections, Miss Minerva Ledwitch. Quite what Ms. Ledwitch knew of the marital shenanigans of Lord Handjob must be confessed a matter for speculation. However, it is not unreasonable to suppose that, in her capacity as the partner of His Lordship’s presumptive heir, she took an interest in such matters . Equally, it is by no means out of the question that Mr Crass Cheseham may have browbeaten Mr Don Quicksotte, if not into dilating upon the matter himself given that gentleman’s simplicity, then at any rate into permitting Mr Crass Cheseham’s perusal of some of the documentation strewn about the Quicksotte shed. My personal feeling, however, is that the source will eventually prove to have been none other than Mr Crass Cheseham’s putative cuckold; such is the abject nastiness of Mr Roger Buggery, I can all too easily imagine him in an unguarded moment feeling himself disposed to bluster about the prospect of enriching himself by means of matrimonial attachment to His Lordship’s cast-off. Moreover, I can envisage no other plausible means by which Mr Crass Cheseham could have arrived at the identification of Mrs Roger Buggery as His Lordship’s cast-off. There is no reason to suppose that Mr Rex Anusol or Dr Mark Wankstain knew anything of the matter, still less that they would have shared the intelligence with Mr Crass Cheseham had they known - modulo the remote possibility that Dr Mark Wankstain might have arrived at the determination to make some sort of disclosure as a result of one of his more specious triangulations. —
Herod
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