High rise short story
Great punchline as ever and I loved this line:- "Andy knew that sitting in a Tesco trolley parked in front of the Police Station in Swan Street at 8.00am , surrounded by empty cans of Special Brew, was enough to give even the dullest plod, an excuse for a booking."....lol
I will add the new stories to the compendium blog I posted earlier and re-feature. Going to read Stuck Up Story next
Splat....the pigeon's discharge landed smack in the middle of his fish and chips.
"Oy Oy Oy...if I wanted tartar sauce ....I would have asked oh great Jehovah!" sighed Yidris “Joseph” Solomon staring up at the High Rise apartment block.
"I keep the Sabbath Holy and eat fish on a Friday....what more do you want me to do, build an ark?...Looking around him, at the Council housing built on the River Taff flood plain, he was glad that he lived in St Tydfil's Court.Checking that his prescription medication was still in its bag…he handed the remains of the chip supper with extra relish , to the vagrant who slept in the under hang area near the front door, he looked skyward defiantly...the second dollop landed on his beard, pigtails and skullcap.
"Is that why you are called the chosen people?" quipped Jez the tramp.
"How did you get in here again ?..... the door is coded...." asked Yidris.
"I read the number on that piece of biblical paper, you hid in the crack in the wall...." replied Jez.
"Oy Oy Oy...old habits die hard"...replied Yidris hands in the air .Making his way to the elevator, he was disappointed to discover that the lift was cordoned off with yellow tape, marked in hand-written black marker pen "Out of Order". He bemoaned his luck once more , as he realised that he had to climb forty flights of stairs....911 separate steps....he groaned. Funny , he thought nobody at the Council had told him of the lift repair works at the residents meeting. Something about the writing too bothered him…it sloped orientally- as if it was written from right to left. His years in the Mossad had made him pay attention to detail. He had only survived the collapse of the World Trade Center in New York in 2001 because of his training ….and his spider senses were twitching again. As he struggled up the stairwell, he relived that fateful day when the plane struck the first tower and turned his world upside down.
He had been selling his diamond collection to a broker when the plane hit…leaving him penniless and diamond-less in a single instant- the worst Wall Street Crash since 1930. He was lucky to get out with his life….he was told that by so many….but he no longer had any “ Jews music” save as to his Oscar Hammerstein Music score that is.He no longer had any faith in New York…his God had abandoned him and he had become a Wandering Jew.
He thought about turning his hand to carpentry in Jerusalem……but heard they were hammered with tax…..his skill level was limited ….but one day he had spotted an advert on the Internet for a part time circumciser in a Russian tattoo parlour and hair-dressers SOGEK in Lower High Street, Merthyr Tydfil in a small country, called Wales. He read that it had a synagogue and a gymnasium, that the transportation of pigs was banned (Hoof and Mouth disease), it had a Bernstein’s, Schwartz’s, H Samuel and that the people of Merthyr being a tribal lot , loved to have their nether regions pierced with all kinds of jewelry and studs. Hell…a circumciser he would be …..despite the obvious drawbacks ….after all it was no skin off his nose!!!!! Yidris had reached the Fortieth and ultimate floor …..walking stick in hand…. like Moses, he stood with his tablets under his arm.
“Evening….” cried his neighbour Snowy….towel under his arm, but nothing else on his body…..” just off to catch the last rays of sun on the roof”
As the bare buttocks of the pensioner, scrambled through the maintenance hatch in the roof revealing the ‘last turkey in the shop’. Yidris realized why he was called Snowy ….not because of his love of all birds –feathered or otherwise- his own pubic region had turned pure white and was igloo shaped from his years of over exposure to the sun caused by his penchant for nude sunbathing on the roof of towers and office blocks , over his seven decades of existence. Now, way into his seventies , Snowy had spent most of his life living in flats in Hirwaun, Hermon Close and now Caedraw.Very few people knew him as plain David Imiolcezk…it was usually as Snowy , Dai Dowlais or lately because of his love for Viagra ….. “ High Rise” .
“Oy Oy Oy” cried Yidris smacking his skullcap with his hand….of course Snowy….the North Pole ! Letting himself into his penthouse flat, Yidris stood rooted to the spot, whereas normally he stopped to marvel at the sight of the Lower Taff Valley from his living room---- but today his panoramic view which had rivalled that of his former New York apartment overlooking Central Park- was gone.
Gone was the 1970’s style sports Rhydycar centre and derelict waste tips…..in its place was a giant semi-naked Neon Shape of Marilyn Monroe, proclaiming the New Labour Merthyr Village Supercasino, opening that very weekend.
“Oy Oy Oy” wailed Yidris as his last reason for living in Merthyr was curtailed…he had put up with the trilogy of surround sound Multiplex cinemas at Rhydycar, the Old Bus Station and on the top of the temporary Tesco Multi-storey Car Park, he had even grown accustomed to the T-Mobile telephone mast , even if it did make his metal fillings tingle at night…..but this latest monstrosity was the last straw. He placed his medication on the table and reached for the phone.
“Planning Legal Office please!” he requested .“ There’s a six week wait to get through to planning….announced the receptionist…do you want to hold”.
Yidris knew another way ….he rang and pretended he worked for his former girlfriend Tessie Cohen and was put through straight away. “PLO” answered a disinterested female voice , more intent with her second lunch break.
“What the Hell is this Supercasino doing being built in Rhydycar?....nobody told me”….moaned Yidris.
“Don’t you read the Merthyr Depress?” snapped back the female Planning Clerk, who refused to give a name ….
”Who does? “ said the Jew shrugging his shoulders…
”Besides it’s a temporary structure…it’s not like its outside the settlement boundary…..” the voice is distant as the phone is held in her shoulder- “Is that the red line on the Town Development Plan or is that sauce from my lunch….anyway tough its up now….!” the phone went dead ……
“Oy Oy Oy ….she has the manners of a Lebanese Border Guard ….he raged purple faced….but thought twice about ringing the premium rate phone line again. Yidris took a pill and eventually his colour returned to that of Yom Kipper pink.
Up on the roof, Snowy had laid down his towel…..he didn’t notice the Supercasino sign….he had only eyes for one heavenly body and it wasn’t Marilyn Monroe.The eye of Heaven was his God, as he spread his towel and relaxed in his greying birthday suit on the rooftop of St Tydfil Court.Surrounded by his flock of feathered friends he lay amongst the illegal pigeon coops and other structures he had built on top of the multi storey block without planning consent.
Looking up through the crack in her opaque window, straining her neck and standing on tiptoes, Miss Mona Crank could make out the shape of a naked man on top of the big tower block.It had been many years…since she had seen one …but she was sure it hadn’t changed. Reaching for her phone , she rang her local Council.
“Planning Legal Office….please!”
After waiting 25 minutes , listening to Starship’s ‘We built this City' the same disinterested female voice answered.
“Wot do u want now….I’m trying to eat my lunch…..!”
“I want to report an unauthorized erection on the top of St Tydfil’s Court Tower Block!” moaned Mona moaning.
“It’s 4 O’Clock ….ring back in an hour after my lunch and we might bother sending someone down!” replied Miss Customer Care 2007. The phone was again slammed onto the receiver.
“Who was that ? “ asked the Chief Planner , dressed like he was an extra in Miami Vice.
“Dunno….some heavy breather moaning about a large Pole on the top of Caedraw Flats - I think it was a Crank Call ”
“I’m not so sure …replied Don Johnson admiring his lilac trews….send Eastwood Out to check…!”
Jez the tramp , was feeling mighty angry ….he had been woken early today by the prodding finger of Traffic Warden Andy Capp. Andy was a rare breed ….a traffic warden with a sense of humour and a heart…not everything in Andy’s World was simply black or white….he had been rumoured to top up parking meters nearing expiry, out of his own pocket…..today he was trying to save Jez a spell in the drunk tank. Andy knew that sitting in a Tesco trolley parked in front of the Police Station in Swan Street at 8.00am , surrounded by empty cans of Special Brew, was enough to give even the dullest plod, an excuse for a booking.
Jez, was having none of it , “ Gerrof, “ he snarled in that special drunk language that is understood universally. Andy knew that he was likely to get a clip for his troubles. Looking down at the road , below the Trolley he realized that Jez had created an artifecal gap in the yellow lines painted on the road. Holding his breath, he decided once more to use his discretion and pushed the trolley towards Lower High Street and Pizza Time. Andy gave one almighty shove and the trolley disappeared in the direction of Aldi’s ….. it was ironic that the little tramp slept soundly as he flew past Chaplins scattering the skateboaders like ‘DIRTY Sanchez’ flashing towards the Lucy Thomas Fountain. Aldi’s got Happy Hour today Jez he chuckled , watching the littlest hobo scatter a flock of pigeons outside the Parish Church.
The gap in the yellow lines on Swan Street was exploited immediately, by another vehicle. Pulling in opposite the Police Station , the Ford Fusion stopped with precision. The car to the untrained eye , looked just like any other in Merthyr. Andy , however, was suspicious immediately …not because of the hundreds of shoes and manicure sets inside, or even the Arab driver’s furtive looks leaving the vehicle…. it was the genuine tax disc on the front windscreen.
Yidris ‘Joseph’ Solomon began his Sabbath like any other, he had visited the Synagogue early, like any good Jew. Since they put up the price at JJB , he had gone to the Olympic studio in Church Street, to combine his exercise regime and religious worship in one. He did look a little strange , Old Testament in hand on the running machine, but his fellow gym users were impressed at how many Menorah’s he could bench press.
After a quick shower, he headed for the St Tydfils Square Shopping Precinct. His destination was the indoor upstairs market. Yidris loved to haggle, and since the closure of the private Jewish concerns in the town, the Town Centre had given way to Global superstores , endless chains of carbon copy card and gift shops. Yidris ‘Joseph’ Solomon loved to haggle more than he loved to gamble, but he had been banned from the THREE bookies on Victoria Street for betting on Satellite Horse racing in Dubai…cos he was being texted the results by an Israeli Agent seconds before they were Broadcast in Merthyr.
“How much is this pack of batteries- £1.00 , how much are these tea towels-£1.00 , how much are these Paul Potts Opera CD’s- £1.00 …..? he asked the owner of yet another Pound Shop.
“What do you mean …already?” he replied shrugging his shoulders. Haggling was his way of life and he found it very difficult in Merthyr’s multitude of dross. Gone was the very fabric of Merthyr. It had been curtains for Bernstein’s….things had looked black for Schwartz….they had even called time on H Samuel. He felt like the last Jew in Merthyr , as he headed up the precinct escalator “Schindler’s Lift” …..there was still one place he felt at home….one place in Merthyr where the people were prepared to haggle - the Indoor Market.
Stuck up high in the air like a modern day Masada, this little jewel , was the diamond dealer’s destination every Saturday. Here, he could buy every item required in his foreskin removal business. Silken thread from China, Tiger Balm from China, Incense and Joss sticks from China and a rusty Swiss Army blade from Michael Sawday. He also liked to busk near the entrance to the first floor toilets near the Indoor Market entrance hall and surrounding landing with his violin. He had become known as Topol-the Piddler on the Roof. He busked freely, entertaining Saturday Morning Christians shopping with his soft and gentile melodies. The 1970s precinct reverberated with the sounds of “ Jerusalem” as the first floor area between 9-11 became known as the ‘wailing wall’ with no strings attached.
After Mid-day, Yidris would turn his hand to his shearing business in the backroom of Russian Barber SOGEK in Lower High Street. Yidris regularly thanked Jehovah, for the Government ban on ‘hoodies’ in Town Centres. Yidris worked with his nose to the grindstone, all afternoon without break. He was ace at removing skin flaps in a jiffy and become a ‘dab hand’ at bandaging phalluses. Knowing his love of beating the bookies ….many of his clients used to pop in and ask him if he had any tips. Yidris was a little worried though , that he would have to give up his job soon as his hand wasn’t as steady as it used to be and with his failing eyesight…..he knew that it was only a matter of time before he got the sack. Reputation was everything in this line of work…especially in his Neighbour’s hood. Yidris ‘Joseph’ Solomon could see that there was a big police presence in the area….some Mafia funded politician was due to open the new Supercasino later that afternoon.
“Goldmine” was an appropriate name he thought, for the first National Lottery Casino sunk in Wales. Looking over the yellow- signs , “ Danger-unstable Ground Mineshafts” he wondered which side the Rhydycar Roulette wheel would favour……odds or unevens. Placing his kosher ‘pork pie hat’ over his head, he left the shop clutching his bag of unwanted follicles. Due to the changing population of Merthyr and spread of Chlamydia, he had a whole range of skins from many colours and creeds to dry out in preparation for his latest project. Drying in the September sun on his high rise balcony, were Grey Portuguese, Brown Indian, Yellow Chinese and White Polish appendages hanging limply in his Autumn collection. Local fashion designer old MacDonald was licking his lips at the prospect of the promised one off cut. At his last fashion show at Rhydycar, the lover of all things furry, he had closed his eyes, drew back the curtain, to see for certain , ……Joseph’s Coat of many foreskins…. was a dream come true.
Doug Eastwood clicked his cowboy boots over the uneven stones the remains of the last European funded pedestrianisation of Lower High Street. The words the ‘enforcer’ written on the back of his bright yellow planning jacket , were designed to make the Planning Enforcement Officer seem more for’boaden’ than normal. He didn’t normally work a Saturday but wanted to catch this ‘planning transgressor’ in the act. He could see from his Council issue binoculars, that there were pigeon sheds erected on the top of the big Block and something else….Good Lord…..look at the size of the ring on that pigeon …..shrieked Doug…… how big could a pigeon get on Merthyr’s streets on a diet of discarded chewing gum and cigarette stubs?
The Fountain shop was busy at this time of night, gangs of sixteen year old’s with fake internet ID’s tested their mettle and the assistant’s patience, as they tried to buy alcohol in the last half hour before the National Lottery Saturday draw. Scores of people eager to pay the involuntary tax to the Government, stood in line waiting to hand over their donation to keep Britain’s wealthiest stately homes in repair and the landed gentry off the streets. Traffic Warden Andy Capp was one of those hopers. His system based on good and bad karma balancing out, was to select the last six numbers from registration plates from his bookings that day.
Russian barber SOGEK didn’t need to win the Lottery , as he was loaded anyway, but his system was based on the haircuts in his shop….number 1, number 2 etc. Yidris ‘Joseph’ Soloman didn’t have a system, nor did he ever forget to do his numbers every week. After all they were indelibly printed on his wrist- courtesy of one Adolf Hitler- but tonight he had a feeling in his bones that his luck was due to change. Heading home, Yidris crossed the road through the concrete tank traps designed to maim joy riders and in doing so shot a glance at the Parish Church clock, wondering where his neighbour Snowy was, because he never missed putting on his shot and was always in the Fountain Shop buying his customary bottle of white wine for his Saturday Night Ladies entertainment evening.
If only Yidris had eyes in his skullcap he would have seen what had happened to Snowy. Like all New Yorkers he didn’t look up…..for a number of reasons …pigeons, planes but mostly for fear his pocket would be picked. Snowy stood naked on the edge of the building shouting vainly at Yidris to look up.
Poor Snowy was whiter than normal, as he had spent all night trapped on the roof with only his beloved pigeons for company. Somehow, the roof hatch had become jammed and refused to open leaving the poor pensioner to moon bathe for the first time ever. The roof offered little protection or shelter from the elements and worse still Snowy could tell from the Parish Clock that his Saturday Night date would soon be knocking on his flat door. No woman in Merthyr was safe from the charms of Snowy or Dai Dowlais –the stud muffin, with the bronzed body of a Greek God. His letters to the Lonely Hearts Column of the Merthyr Depress were legendary , and many a widow had succumbed to the charms of the Birdman of Alcaedraw. He had tried all day to send help messages to his date tied to his beloved birds legs but gave up when he remembered that his pigeons were of the homing variety.
He had however , ‘hatched’ a master-plan. Using the candle wax from Yidris rooftop Menorah, he daubed his body with discarded feathers and bird excrement in the hope that the combination would speed his escape. He flapped his wings in the hope that feathers would hold and began to lift by six inches from the roof. He hoped the famous thermals would support his wiry nine stone frame and that his wrinkled skin would be aerodynamic.
Yidris stared hard at the face of the Arab lift repairman.“ Haven’t I seen you somewhere before?......
Hassda Price, the Iraqi Muslim from Leeds, froze for a moment as the Jew challenged him at the lift entrance. Tensions ran high as the lift doors closed and Yidris noticed a roll of carpet poking out of the dustbin under the arm of the Arab student. Beads of sweat broke out on the forehead of the Arab and not just because of the heavy turban he was wearing. He had walked through the crowds of spectators and police unchallenged thus far until now.
“Have you ever been to these flats before cos your face is familiar to me?” the Jew persisted.
The Arab stared ahead, rivulets of sweat running down his brown face like faeces from a Jez Tesco Trolley. At the Ninth floor, the lift door opened and a relieved Arab, left the elevator silently.
“What room number do you want ? enquired the Jew refusing to give up.
“911” muttered the Arab in trance–like state as if the turban was holding his brainwashing in place. The lift door closed and the ex –Mossad agent continued his self interrogation.
“Of course….. the lift out of order …..the reported bomb threats on Tesco,….the visit of George Dubya Bush to open the Supercasino….and the Arab carrying the waste receptacle……..it all added up…..Bin Laden." Yidris opened the lift door but the Arab was gone…..
The cavalcade of stretch limos full of bush , moved silently on the A470. No , it was not a Gurnos Hen Night in Cardiff. The limos were headed for Merthyr and that man George Dubya Bush was at his most inquisitive again.
“Why do these Third World Countries have unlit roads and only two lanes each side?....where the Hell are we …..Afghanistan? Pressing the red light on the control panel of his laptop….” I can’t get this sat nav to show this backwoods town…..didn’t you say Field Operative Osmond had held a Live Aids concert or something recently?” asked the President frustratedly.
“That isn’t sat nav….you just nuked a television station in the Afghan Capital!”
“Oh well… that’s the first good thing I’ve seen on Kabul TV….!!!!! he chuckled evily..
“We can always blame them ruskies….’Putin’ the blame on them….always works!!!!”
“What Town are we going to again…..what Country this time?”
“Merthyr Tydfil….Wales?” replied his bodyguard Costner.
“Are they run by a dictator, ….a dictatorship would be a heck of a lot easier , there’s no question about it” asked Bush.
"No …we did have a Hoovers here years ago and a Thorns too but now only the usual KFC, Pizza Hut and Macdonalds in the outpost…. but our FBI records show this is a Tesco Town now”
“So why do our Reno friends want a casino here then….?” asked Bush, puzzled expression on his furrowed brow.
“The Town is renowned as the sickness and invalidity capital of Europe and judging by the number of cigarette stubs outside the pubs they have money to burn!!!!!” laughed Costner like a Valleys ‘Waterworld’.
The cortege sped on silently towards Rhydycar Roundabout. Dai Dowlais stood feet firmly planted on the roof entrance hatch that refused to budge. He spread his toes on the edge of the roof parapet, admiring the view from his St Tydfil Court Prison. His naked body covered with pigeon dung, feathers all held together with wax from the Jew’s candles. Down below, he could make out the time on the Clock Tower of the Parish Church supposedly built on the spot were Tydfil the Martyr was murdered. Snowy the Owl was ready to fly.
Hassda Price tried the roof hatch ….but it was stuck….. putting down his carpet and bin, he gave it one almighty shove and it opened with a bang….the apparent obstruction was clear. He climbed the last steps and unrolled his Persian Carpet to reveal a rifle with telescopic sights. Setting up the tripod, he adjusted the sights to focus on the giant neon Marilyn Monroe sign. Loading his incendiary bullets into the chamber, he noticed the series of cars arriving at the entrance to the “ Goldmine” Casino.Some like it hot….he mused as the swarm of dignitaries and politicians fawned as the leader of the Western World arrived in Town.
Dai Dowlais was airborne, the impetus of the Arab movement had propelled the Birdman off the Roof towards the Parish Church. Bell-end met Bellend and he now clung like a modern-day Harold Lloyd from the face of the Clock Tower.
From his bench below Jez the Tramp could not believe his luck….he had woken up from his bench location to find a full, but open bottle of red wine and sandwiches next to him courtesy of the big hearted traffic warden , to make up for his impromptu trolley dash earlier that day. His bleary eyes could seek a semi-naked harpy clinging to the face and Campanology Section of the building. I know that man….he thought I can’t remember his name but his face rings a bell….
“Got the time on yer cock…..?” slurred Jez shouting up to the terrified pensioner.
“Dai Dowlais the Snowy Owler, knew he couldn’t hang on forever, closing his eyes he flapped his scrawny arms and was surprised by the sudden gust which uplifted him high into the air. The Troedyrhiw Thermal, so favoured by hang gliders from all over Britain (when it stopped they landed ALL OVER Britain) had caught the pensioner and propelled him skyward toward the last rays of his beloved sun. Snowy flapped hard and circled Lower Town just like one of his beloved flock. For more than 60 seconds he had a birds eye view of Caedraw and Rhydycar.
George Dubya Bush was enjoying himself ….he stood outside the Supercasino, next to a giant outdoor Roulette wheel and was surrounded by World Leaders, Assembly politicians and beautiful women –wives and girlfriends of the Premiership footballers of Merthyr Tydfil AFC. WAG’S met WAGS as the newly opened 60,000 all seater stadium which backed onto the supercasino cheered loudly as George Dubya Bush cut the yellow ribbon marked“ Welcome BUSH” -the recycled tape no longer bore the words ‘Danger Unstable Ground Mineshafts’-the Pits had been replaced by other pits.
The Darren-Las Vegas style giant outdoor roulette wheel was to be spun for the first time in Wales as the New Labour Spin Doctors gathered round betting NHS money in the hope of a ‘browner’ future. George Dubya Bush stood calmly with his two fingers raised in a peace salute for the press to see that the US had once again invested in Merthyr Tydfil. Up on the roof , the Iraqi assassin was in place, he closed his eye and began to squeeze the trigger. He decided against another headshot as the bullet whistled through one ear of the Texan President and out of the other into the shoulder of Sam the Negro croupier.
“Do you have blacks too….? “ he asked as the croupier’s legs buckled as he fell to the floor.
The Brazilian President Fernando Cardoso look puzzled as to the reason why the roulette wheel had stopped spinning but caught the metal ball on his shoulder and began to ball juggle in true ‘Pele’ style……The second shot blew off of George Bush’s finger off and set fire to the president’s hand. The finger tip landed on the roulette wheel exactly between two numbered slots, prompting the dizzy croupier to announce…” Paying out on red 9 / 11”
The Arab assassin could not believe his luck he had fired off two shots and despite everyone ducking to the floor the President stood bolt upright looking at his missing finger.
The fate of the Western World lay in the hands of Planning Enforcement officer Doug Eastwood…..who had removed his cowboy boots to sneak up behind the Arab…
”That’s a material change of use….rooftop to Grassy Knoll….you need Planning Permission for that…..he boomed hitting the Arab in the chest with a planning application form…..and there’s a fee payable cos you ain’t Tessie Cohen”.
The Arab startled by the intrusion….suddenly stamped hard , crushing the toes of the planner , who hopped about a bit, then fell over the rolled up carpet and into the dustbin plunging over the parapet towards the ground. The Arab quickly re-sighted and fired two more bullets in the direction of the President. The bullets thudded into the hand of Snowy , who had begun to circle like a vulture in a downward spiral out of control and ultimately collapsing on top of the President.
The assassin chuckled manically –“ A bird in the hand was worth two in the Bush!!!!” Hassda Price was unlike most suicide bombers , he wanted to live to fight another day, his Jihad would go on…..he knew by now that the stairwell exit would be full of Costners. He unrolled his Persian Rug, crossed his legs and levitated his Magic Carpet off the top of the flats…..
“Look out….he’s carpet bombing now!!!!….yelled Bush hiding beneath the feathered squab.
“Look whose talking …..replied Cardoso…..juggling the roulette ball with his feet. Flicking out his toes , he sent the ball covered in blood and feathers skyward towards the assassin.
“Fly little Garincha fly"…..as the ‘Little Bird’ ball bearing struck the Arab in the face bringing him out of his brain-washed trance but sending him spinning out of control towards the flats.
Yidris ‘Joseph’ Sullivan stood looking out at the mayhem below. Parting the ‘Dead Sea Scrotums’ which formed the barrier between his living room and his balcony he witnessed first hand the scene below….the burning bush , the flight of the Phoenix and more disturbingly a planning officer clinging for dear life onto the upturned Coat of many foreskins. If it hadn’t been for that Jamaican Docker ‘s lubricated Foreskin , Doug Eastwood would be in a Dead Pool.
He hung nervously whispering ….”go ahead spunk make my day!!!!....spotting Yidris, Doug begged him to ring to call 911 emergency services. Yidris stood transfixed, as he had been six years ago to the day…he had his own 9/11 to deal with as the Arab assassin, complete with carpet, headed towards the Tower Block. Yidris responded by throwing everything that came to hand at the incoming Scud. Star of David’s became Israeli Ninja discs , and books flew to the cries of Torah, Torah, Torah….he even tore of his skullcap and threw it at the Holy Fundamentalist. The last living thoughts of Yidris were of exasperation….after all these years, his diamonds had lodged under his Yom Kipper hat ….. as the Arab Shiite hit his living room fan , the Middle East crisis came to a head.
The Arab realized he needed a change of clothing in order to escape , and removed his turban putting on a Tottenham Hotspur shirt and Alf Garnett raincoat.Placing his car alarm in his rear ‘George at Asda’ jeans pocket, he slid silently down the stairwell , passed the panicking plods and many Costners. As he strolled nonce-chalently passed Caedraw Infant School in his dirty raincoat, the Police ignored the master of disguise.It took Traffic Warden Andy Capp , hero of the hour to rumble his escape plan.
“Oy you….is that your car marked TNT 1 …..the one with the Arsenal sticker in the back…..the DVLA says that car is owned by Hassda Price…..is that you…?”
“Hassda Price…that’s me !” smiled the Arab revealing date free pearly white teeth…patting his back jeans pocket. For a split second , the Arab realized what he had done as the solenoid switch detonated the car bomb and stilettos and nails flew in deadly fashion across Swan Street.
From their cloud high above Caedraw sat an Arab , a Jew and a Christian , the Holy War was over …..they all laughed as they waited at their respective pearly gates….vestal virgins awaited the Arab, Doves awaited the Christian and the Jew found eternal peace. The Righteous Traffic Warden was simply blown to Hell.
updated by @philip-evans: 12/13/15 03:05:18PM