High rise short story
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Thanks Ceri, glad you still relate to the scene back home...Boz
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General Discussions ( Anything Goes )
Thanks Ceri, glad you still relate to the scene back home...Boz
High rise short story
General Discussions ( Anything Goes )
High Rise
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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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”
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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.
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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
Harry's Game
General Discussions ( Anything Goes )
I'm glad the stories are being read by intelligent people hopefully they encourage people not to take life too seriously....Phil
Harry's Game
General Discussions ( Anything Goes )
Harrys GameThe sound of a helicopter buzzed overhead as the terrified Welshman cowered in his impromptu sand dune bunker.The soldier dressed in green khaki combat gear stood out like a pork pie in a Jewish buffet against the yellow sanded backdrop of Helmond region in Afghanistan.The war on terror wasnt working as far as Harry R. S. Crack was concerned.The sound of explosions all around him sent him deeper down the steep sides of the bunker as he began to suck his thumb for comfort.He suddenly realised that he was not alone, as a ginger haired soldier dressed in a German Africa Korps uniform complete with Nazi swastika and black armed band dropped into his hidey hole. First Crusade.Old Boy? questioned the stranger. My family has been at it since the Middle Ages!. You get used to those dumb-shit Americans .I- ran toothey cant read a map reference to save their lives .or ours come to think of it ..its only friendly fire.it wont harm you! said the soldier trying to reassure the nervous Harry. Tell that to journalist Terry Lloyd! replied Harry from his foetal position. Whats you name soldier? said the Erwin Rommel lookalike. HarrySir! said the scared squaddie staring at the pips on the black tunic. What a spiffing coincidenceso am I am.although most of the boys call me Captain Wales! said the stranger. What regiment are you with? asked the Sandhurst- trained officer, as shrapnel flew over their heads. I am not in any regimentIm from the TAs .I signed up in a drunken stupor in my local pub on Friday Night- the Tredegar Arms in Dowlais- do you know it ?....- and got pressed ganged into coming here by accident.they shaved my beautiful hair off while I was drunkand that bloody military policeman from Brecon.mistook me for someone else from Merthyr who was AWOL and shipped me out here under protest! said Harry. Oiks.. so you could say you went from the TAS to the TAS and from Jarhead to Jarhead ! said the Captain. Rough deal.its like being born WITHOUT a silver spoon in your mouth! he continued.Shells exploded all around them as a yank induced Sirocco wind blew about the pair. If it helps I was like you the first timethis desert and these sand dunes its enough to drive ONE Barchan mad.still do you know what is under this sand and the REAL reason why us Brits care about this Allah-forsaken Hell-Hole? said Captain Wales. Like Iraq and Kuwaitits got oil reserves and rich mineral depositswar on terror my royal arseI want to grab a piece of this for Granny! said the military man. Take a tip from me too and collect as much of this shrapnel you can find the price of metal back home , like this casing shell has gone through the roof.slip a couple of quid to the RAF pilots and itll be home in Brize Norton before you know it!The shelling stopped for a brief moment and silence returned. Never worry about those Taliban weaponswe sold them too them years ago.their rubbish even the Thatchers sell better quality ones than those old bangers! continued the Captain.MeI prefer Eton Rifles like this one when you are in a Jam! said Wales producing an enormous sniper rifle with a telescopic lens from his lederhosen shorts. Dear me.now that is an enormous weapon! said Harry unfurling himself from his hedgehog ball. This was what I was concealing in that photograph of me in Las Vegas playing strip billiards.being a Royal isnt just about rest and play.Britannia still rules the waveswith a little bit of help from across the pond against these terrorists President OBomber I mean..at least I can understand him because I thought the former President Dubya Bush with his Texas drawl had declared war on tourism.and the causes of tourism to boot! continued Captain Wales. But isnt one mans terrorist just another mans freedom fighter? asked Harry nervously. Do you want me to shove this telescope sight up your arse and send your balls into orbit around Pakistan? asked the Captain menacingly. Sorry.its not that I am a traitor to the crown.I just think that young men dying and being disabled for a couple of sand dunes isnt right! replied Harry.Captain Wales ignored his last comment as his focus was on the horizon.Laying down the gun stand on the ridge of the sand bunkerhe closed one eyeheld his breath and squeezed gently on the trigger.In the far distance about 1.5 miles away a black shadow dropped to the floor. YEEESSS! said the new Prince of Persia clutching his hand into a fist in an aggressive way.Handing Harry a set of binoculars he pointed silently ahead. Why are those women walking in front of that group of menI thought in the Muslim culture.women were classed as second rate citizens and had to walk five paces behind men! said Harry ignorantly. That was BEFORE landmines! said the Royal. This McMillan TAC 101 sniper rifle can blow the nuts of a fly on a camels back at 1.5 miles away .in the dark too! boasted the Captain.Taking off his military hatthe young Captain scratched his ginger hair and reached into his pocket.He began gnawing away nervously at his fingers. WellI am surprised with blue blood running through your veinsI thought you would have better etiquette than to bite your fingernails! said Harry returning to his cheeky self now the bombing had stopped . Oh these arent MY Fingernails! said the Royal. Want one? he said tossing a dismembered digit towards the horrified Harry. SAS training in Hereford.eat what you canwhen you canPPPPiss Poor Performance and all that.nose to the grindstonefingers to the bone! My Mum was Queen of Hearts and all that .but I prefer something lighter! said the Captain. The vultures will only strip them clean anywaylets look in her here to see whats for desert! said the Windsorite Bear Grylls looking in his tucker bag. Scorpion leg? he offered politely. I cant eat the pickled eggs behind the bar in the Tredegar Armsso what chance have I got of surviving out here! said Harry returning to reality. Hubbly Bubbly? offered the other Harry cannabis stick in hand. Some great shit out here mind you.you want to try the Kandahar Poppyblow your mind it will better than any IED ! said the Royal. As my relatives would confirm.Its a Knockout! We better get a move onTiger Woods mate..you dont want to be caught in the same bunker for long. ! he said brushing the sand with his hat. What are you doing that for? asked Harry. Covering my tracks mate.out here there is a fatwa on me crown.that Zabihullah Mujahid put a price on my head.hes the only one that still thinks my real father is Prince Charles.little does he know.! he said pointing at his normal size ears. Gotta hide the prints of Wales! he said brushing the area free of signs he was there. Do you think it was wise to have HRH cut into the soles of those shoes then? asked Harry the commoner. Those arentMY prints.look at YOUR soles mate! laughed Captain Wales. We are all Spartacus out here private.except me of course! Never heard of Montys Batman? he laughed. What me.take a bullet for you? asked Harry. Im Welsh! said Harry. You only have to see a Wales V England Rugby match match.to see how much we hate the English! he continued. Common mistake.but Im not English.nobody truly is .we are a mongrel nation.we Windsors are Germancan trace our bloodline back to William the Conqueror French.Grandpapais Greek and Prince of Denmark too .and that doesnt even include the Hewitt strain.! said Harrys new found pedigree chum. Besides I have been to the odd rugger game.quite good at it actuallywe had a game once back at Kabul HQ wrapped a head of an Afghan Hound in a clothand no-one could get the rag-head orf me! boasted Captain Wales. I booted it so high over the basethat I nearly got put on report for taking down an Apache helicopter! he continued. So how long does your average squaddie tour of duty last? asked Harry. About 1001 Arabian Nights.or three months if your lucky.if Im popping back to Blighty for a game of polo or something perhaps you might want to crash at my place.but dont expect a palace! said Wales.The sky suddenly darkened mysteriously.The Captain went back on survival mode instinctively.As Harry looked to the horizon, he could see strange shapes of Afghan men and mercenaries from the neighbouring countries approaching cross-legged on beautifully coloured flying rugs. How bazaar! said Harry. Watch out those crazy insurgentsthey are CARPET Bombing againwe need to find some cover! said his Highness.As they did so.an Afghan policeman appeared at the edge of the wadi wearing a massive clock-face.Captain Wales wasted no time in shooting him dead. How did you know he was one of them? asked Harry. Never ask a policeman out here the timebesides he was ticking! said His Royal Harry-ness.The Captain suddenly lifted his head as on the hot night air in the distance could be heard a faint bell ringing. Whats that ? asked Harry. It if rings twiceit means that a new camel train has arrived.and you dont want to stuck with an ugly one do you? said the Captain. I thought you had a girlfriend! asked Harry. Chelsy has been relegated to the subs bench out herebesides the bell rang five times ! said the Prince. What does that signify? asked Harry. The only toilet in Camp Bastion is free and whilst I am third in line for the throne of England.you need to get there before 20,000.00 squaddies on a diet of curry and beans!
updated by @philip-evans: 12/13/15 07:31:47PM
Father of the Bride
General Discussions ( Anything Goes )
Father of the Bride But why do I have to marry him ? asked little Anna as she sat out the Registry Office in Lower High Street Merthyr Tydfil. Its not every day a youngster in Merthyr has the chance to marry a Hollywood A-Lister....! said Mam. It will secure the family future and cement our place in history! said Dad eagerly pushing his only daughter, aged just sixteen towards the Registrars door.Her bridegroom looked old enough to be her grandfather as he sat there in his designer suit which cost more than the whole Merthyr Tydfil Borough to buy.The only clue , as to the celebrity status of the groom was the plastic facemask.Bride or Groom? asked the female usher Jodie Foster looking at the couple as they entered the room.Looking down at the rows of seats with shell-suited and trainer-clad people on the one side and half of the mega-stars in Hollywood on the other- it was more divided than modern British Society - as the haves met the have-nots in one room.It was understandable that poor Anna Nicole Silicon fresh from leaving school at 16 with less paper qualifications than Sir Alan Sugar, looked nervous.She had never been to an arranged marriage before let alone her own one.The almost child bride looked around for signs of encouragement at the celebrity side of the room but didnt meet with any reassuring smiles- Michael Phantom of the Opera Crawford, Antonio Zorro Banderas and Jim The Mask Carey just stared blankly back.As her frog-marching stopped at the altar, her mother and father slid into the dark side of the Troedyrhiw crowd, as she looked for the first time that day into the eyes of her intended.The blonde, female registrar, Minnie Strar, who was so petite she had to stand on three hymn books to marry the couple. Do you Sir Philip Anthony Hopkins....take this woman to be your awful wedded wife.....to love her...honour her and obey her.....as long as you both shall live? asked Minnie. Yesssss! hissed back the former Welshman from behind his plastic face mask.The was no hint of Port Talbot or Hollywood in his accent...it was more like Park Hospital Bridgend.Anna looked round at her mother scared to death. Its not like were asking you to have sex with him! said the mother turning her head back to the registrar forcibly. Do you Anna Nicole Silicon take this mannibal to be your husband....for richer or richer...in sickness and in health...? asked the pint-size civil vicar -dodger.The whole room was on tenterhooks waiting for a reply to Minnies Question .Anna had lost her voice.The prospect of seeing Hannibal Rising in the marital bed after had left her terrified....speechless and completely silent. I do...! said Ma Silicon speaking through the side of her mouth like a ventriloquist Ray Allen and Lord Charles. Sorry....it has be her! declared the registrar. But he did it in the film Magic!! protested the mother seeing her daughters dowry disappearing before her eyesAnna didnt want to live a lie .She didnt want to marry a man whose hands were as cold as ice.She looked around at the faces of her family who were eagerly willing her on for their own purposes.She wanted her big fat gypsy wedding, that she had been promised as a child and not marry a man just because he was well endowed.The mere thought of her wedding banquet being Fava Beans and a nice Chianti disturbed her most of all.How could you marry a man capable of switching character so effortlessly and who had played the scariest Hollywood character ever.She wanted to marry the man of her dreams not the man of her recurring nightmare. Whats the matter....cat got your tongue....? hissed Hopkins menacingly.How do you marry a man you dont love? ......she said trying to recapture a magic moment as if in silent prayer to Debbie Magee.The room began to spin as her young body became Bronte-esque and swooned at the injustice.When she came around , her make-up and dress were all in tatters from the fall and she saw her mothers face black as thunder. Wheres my new husband? she asked tentatively. Too late love....while you were out ....the registrar married him in your place ! grunted her father angrily. She married him to whom? asked Anna still dazed and confused. She married him herself...conducted the service....and whisked him off to the Honeymoon Suite at the Chaplins Hotel.....you silly girl....you ruined OUR future! said her mother. She didnt wait did she! agreed the father of the bride. She wont have long too wait before she performs a third service on him....and then she can register his death too and dispose of the remains of the day....quipped her brother.As she picked up her cheap breast implants off the floor with despair, she realised she had dropped the second biggest booby of her young life.
updated by @philip-evans: 11/11/15 10:39:10PM
Castaway short story
General Discussions ( Anything Goes )
CastawayChris Kitty Hanks looked the part.Those years of body building and weight training meant he didnt have an inch of fat on his muscular body.His biceps and triceps were on show for all the users of the Pembrokeshire beach, as he strode up and down parading in his blue Speedo swimming costume.His fellow members of the Heads of The Valleys (Jacques Cousteau Appreciation Society) Dive Club were mightily impressed with their leaders six pack, but THEY werent here to impress...they had six packs of their own , chilling in the ice box hidden from the June sun , under a huge diving bell shaped umbrella.Jon Benny Fitz was there to enjoy himself and laze in the sun, topping up his tan before he took to the shallow waters of the award winning beach.Jon laughed, as poor Kitty couldnt work out why he wasnt getting the attention he deserved from the ladies, who were hiding behind their sunglasses and straw hats pretending they were sleeping. Youre supposed to put the potato down the FRONT of your costume!!!! laughed a man in his 50s lying out of the sun under a sheltered canopy, covered in more body hair than a new born silverback gorilla.The voice was Shady Adey , the third member of the quartet enjoying the Summer Boys only Tour of West Wales.As Kitty realised his error, he kicked sand into the face of a seven stone weakling (like he had been told to do in the Charles Atlas Training Manual he had been reading up on) who dared to laugh at the lump in the rear of his costume. Oi do you mind... my son is only 7 years of age! said the enraged mother protecting her young. If he cant stand the heat ...! snapped back Kitty as his years of taking supplements , power bars and elephant proteins produced a spat of Roid Rage.The kid ,called Mark Spitts (by his fellow classmates because of his penchant for gobbing all the time like a Premiership Footballer), sat spitting sand thinking about ways to get his own back on the muscle-head.The latest recruit to the diving club, was 18 year old Mike Nelson , who sat in awe as the three more experienced members discussed their exploits from around the Worlds Seven Oceans. We had eight more members before you joined...they called us Oceans 11 said Jon looking at Adey pretending he was George Clooney (only with more chest carpet).See Mike ...said Jon signalling the youngster to come closer... the secret of our club he whispered is to learn to breath through your ears! Im really keen on a Sea Hunt... I want to go to that place in the Indian Ocean you boys keep talking about...it sounds wonderful! said the inexperienced youth, diving mask on (since the Tredegar Roundabout) but still wet behind the ears... Ive looked on every ocean map available on the internet, but I still cant find this place you speak of....! continued the gullible kid. You have to get a few more trips under your weighted belt before we can take you there ! said Adey. That island sounds a paradise...full of Bounty bars and natives...I really want to see this narrow inlet of Muff! squealed the boy. So you really want to go Muff Diving...! said Jon restraining his laughter. Well...I too have always loved diving...just for the crack of it! said Adey My idols were always Hans & Lotte Haas...I have their training manual...I always have my hands on Lottes Hass when I go down...what about you Jon? continued Adey still winding up the newcomer.They all nodded agreement whilst staying completely stoic, like the first time they each bumped into a shark underwater. Anyway, its about time we gave our latest recruit his initiation to the Diving Club! said Jon. Whats that...? asked Mike Nelson nervously. I havent got to stroke an electric eel like last time? he said nervously. Nothing THAT shocking! said Adey We have to bury you up to your neck in the sand at the low water mark, to test that you can learn how to breathe underwater! announced Jon gold medallion twinkling through his Bee Gee chest hair.See this trinket...it is my lucky charm ...it saved my life once! said Jon reminiscing placing the 1 carat gold necklace ceremonially around the kids boil filled neck . It was on my first ever dive...I was about your age and I used to go to town to the Tiffanys Nightclub...and my gold medallion was part of my Saturday Night Fever outfit...I used to look smart , all in white with a big wide collar....! said Jon still fancying himself. Where was Tiffanys? asked the youngster.It was where Argos is now...anyway...I had got my mixtures wrong and I did a Drunken Goodhew and took a swallow dive of the first floor balcony...I tried to catch one of the trees to break my fall and luckily my medallion got caught in one of the branches.....! continued Jon Travolting.His sidekick Adey interrupted the story and said-: Its true...I had to cut him from down the tree...he was going blue...I had to give him mouth-to mouth....and we have been buddy breathers ever since. Thank God it wasnt one of those plastic Tiffany Palm trees or he would be in Davey Jones locker right now! said AdeyAs they finished the tale, Mike Nelson suddenly realised he had been buried up to his neck in sand and the first of the waves from the ebbing tide broke like a white horse over his neck...sending a cold chill down through the sand to his gold medallion and buried treasure below.As the devious pair made a few sandcastles on each side of his ears, Kitty picked up the airbed from the blazing sand and placed it under his guns as he made his way to the sea.The air bed was piping hot to touch , so he picked up Jons 1970s Brutus Jeans and placed them on the inflatable mattress , in order that he could sit down and used his Gilbert rugby ball as extra head support.As he paddled out just beyond the breakers, using just the strength in two of his fingers, the diving equivalent of Popeye, decided to attach himself by his G-string mankini , to the orange marker buoy located on the edge of the start of the deeper water.Placing his sunglasses over his eyes, he looked like a muscle-bound Ferris Bueller on his day off.As he drifted off to sleep, he didnt notice the air bubbles of the 7 year old kid, Mark Spitts as he surfaced and slipped the G string attachment off from its mooring .The kid waved goodbye, as the sand bully began to drift on the outgoing tide passed the safety of the little haven.The other members of the club were too busy abusing their latest victim to notice, as they shouted encouragingly Breathe through your ears Mike! at every seventh wave.Oblivious to everything, bar the heat of the sun, the naked paramedic sailed on, blissfully getting redder and redder, as his shape got smaller and smaller until he became a dot on the horizon , heading for the deeper water and the busy shipping lanes between Wales and Ireland.Suddenly, beneath his body he felt a nudge in the small of his back from far below.As he opened his eyes he realised he was miles out to sea, too far to swim back.Although he was ripped so was the tide and he knew that the undercurrent would be fatal.The bump came again and he realised that he was in an area used as a play region by grey seals.This also made him conscious that there were likely to be sharks close by.The sound of a ships hooters blaring startled him even more.Bearing down on him was a Turkish Ferry marked Mani MarmeraThe Captain looked English but the rest of the passengers and cargo looked Foreign.He could tell he was English, as he was wearing a Newcastle United shirt with the name Paul Gascoigne emblazed on his back.Kitty realised that they must be part of the Free Palestine Convey...as the Captain was wearing the Gazza Strip.He was worried that the vessel would sink him , as they were on a collision course.He delicately stood up on the airbed for three seconds and began to signal the boat using the Brutus Flares.The sight of a naked man this far out to sea, was assumed to be a mirage by the Arab Terrorist Carlos the Camel.Signalling to the Captain to change course, he slung an orange lifebelt overboard towards the hapless Kitty balancing on two inches of rubber and air.As they pulled Kitty from the water by the crew , he looked around at the goods being transported by the peace convoy. Are those grenades? asked the naked Kitty. No ...they are devices for creating holes in the ground to plant food! said Carlos. What about those Uzis then? asked Kitty nervously. They are for making holes to hang up pictures of Allah on our walls...there has been a shortage of hammers and nails in the Holy Land for years...we even had to stopped crucifying people ! said Yousef Tientee.Looking down at the naked body of Kitty...Carlos suddenly began to turn cold towards Kitty.... Are you Jewish? he said looking down at his circumcised member suspiciously as he raised his iron bar. Look ....behind you....David Ben Gurion...! said Kitty using the oldest distraction trick in the Koran, before swallow diving magnificently over the side of the ship.Through a hail of sub-machine bullets, Kitty used up the last of his nine lives, as he swam as fast as his own Guns would let him.In the far distance, he could make out a small rocky island ....he hoped that he could make it there.Just as he was beginning to tire in the fast flowing waters a miracle happened.His rugby ball Gilbert floated passed ...he grabbed it gratefully with his huge Popeye arm showing above the waves his tattoo of Olive OylAs he reached the shallows of the island , he had other oil to contend with as the black Sea Empress slick was still lapping ashore.Just as he could feel the bends coming on he surfaced and grabbed hold of a handhold in the rock.Climbing up the cliff face like Sylvester Stallone , he heartlessly shoved birds nests and eggs from their nesting ledges down to the sea , as he did his best to survive the experience.He did not want to end up in Davey Jones Locker either.The experienced paramedic nearly passed out several times but fortunately he gave himself heart massage and brought himself around.Scraping over the top edge of the rocky outcrop , he collapsed exhausted breathing more heavily, than he usually did on the womens running machine at JJB sports.When he finally stood up he was alone bar his friend GilbertHe was castaway.Over the next few weeks Chris Kitty Hanks grew a beard and learned to live like Bear Grylls (only without the five star hotel accommodation).He had run out of his Scuba snacks and was forced to catch and eat the seabirds and their eggs to survive.He had to drink rain water from rock pools on the cliff face.After two weeks and nearing death from over exposure to the sun the naked Chris woke one morning to find two uniformed women standing over him admiring the view.All around him were little bones of sea birds that Chris Kitty Hanks had eaten in desperation. Were from the Pembrokeshire Council...eco wardens...what have you done to the population of the Skomer Kittywake! shrieked the first warden . There were only ten mating pairs unique to this island...youve eaten an entire species! said the second warden open mouthed. I had to eat them to survive or else there would have been a different Kitty Wake! protested the castaway. But theres a bus stop down by there! said the second warden pointing 100 yards to the base of the cliff.Slinging the last remains and evidence of the Pembrokeshire Dodo into the sea...The two wardens looked at each and in a PMT rage picked up the body builder and slung Kitty straight off the cliff.Chris was castaway.
updated by @philip-evans: 11/11/15 10:39:10PM
Chariots of fire Taxi edition
General Discussions ( Anything Goes )
Thanks Ceri....I am glad the image of a Welsh sporting athlete meeting his maker made you smile....in Merthyr the taxi drivers have to be that fit to keep up with the fare dodgers....I doubt Oregon has the same problem...those covered wagons on the mid west trail to the land of Steinbeck move much slower...Plenty more stories where that came from...Phil
Chariots of fire Taxi edition
General Discussions ( Anything Goes )
CHARIOTS OF FIREAs he jumped off the Valley Line Train he could feel his dodgy achilles heel injury playing up again.Colin Jackson was not amused , hed conquered many hurdles in his professional life but the prospect of attending a conference to reinstate the greyhound track at Penydarren Park in Merthyr Tydfil had to have been the most hare-brained scheme ever that the National Athletics branch of the Welch Assembly had come up with yet.This had to be the lowest point in his career he thought . the prospect of Valley people rabbitting on wasnt exactly what he had in mind when hed entered politics by the back door.His mentor, Seb Coe had struck Gold at Westminster but the best his running for office had got him was Bronze in Cardiff Bay.Still it was better than working , he mused , as he collected up his stained Common-Wealth Games 1994 Bag (made in the Common-wealth country of Afghanistan) and trudged away across the unlit pot-holed car park to the rear of the Train Station.As he stood at the Council -owned yard he could just make out the fading words 1996- Temporary Car Park acquired for forthcoming Shopping redevelopment complexAdded to it were the words Pay & Display (and in graffiti - we might be able to build one-).The distant sounds of speeding cars practising their hand-brake turns took on a new meaning as a single headlamp flicked on and the sound of an approaching engine suddenly startled the former athlete.The former- boy racer was staring down the headlight of another boy racer as it approached at lightening speed.Like a Jack Rabbit he froze as the Close Encounter with the speeding light seemed imminent.He could make out the shape of a Canary Wharf Yellow second-hand London Taxi rapidly approaching.Instinctively, he leapt some six feet in the air just before impact with the vehicle.The cab roof passed some three inches below the air-borne Jackson , luckily missing him narrowly .However, the CB antennae stung him hard even through his protective Lycra Designer suit.Taxi ?! asked a tattooed driver licking his hand- rolled Class C Drug. Taxi ..!!! you made me jump.!! Well theres a first time for everything . ! smiled the Cabbie realising who his prey actually was.Beneath the windshield , looking past the Guinness Label and Furry Dice, Jackson could just make out the beaming face of a Bryl-cream greased Ernest Borgnine look-a-like.Jackson could see strange blue lines etched on the drivers face ..like a form of tribal marking. Are you looking at me..are you looking at me ! said the Cabbie in a Travis Bickell/ Robert De Niro voice.Jackson paused and then replied in a offensive English sounding voice- Why yes , old chap..are YOU are taxi driver? None too bright are we boyo? do I have a beer belly, stained vest,and tattoos..am I driving a yellow cab marked Tax1 with MTCBC written in felt pen on the side ? . Yes.. replied Jackson. Well of course Im a Merthyr Taxi-Driver then!!!! ..Jump In !!!Checking out the appearance of the vehicle Jackson tried to open the rear door which appeared to have been spot-welded shut.Handing him a grubby oil-stained card Jackson read NUM S CABSESTD 1984 Dick Scratcher - ProprietorBefore Jackson could utter a word the pot-bellied driver had squeezed into the rear seat and released the door mechanism. Bloody Cut & Shuts .they are not what their cracked up to be .. moaned the driver Thats the last write-off , I ever buy !Jackson was oblivious to that last remark .he was concentrating on reading the words SEMTEX pressed into the fabric of the fake leather rear seats. Where exactly did you get this cab ? queried Jackson. Some bloody Paddy from London..wanted a quick sale -500.00 .got in quick likebefore it went up....not a local product are you ?.Where to Skip ? continued the cabbie . Tregenna Hotel Penydarren Park please replied Jackson .With one hand on his one-to one mobile phone and the other on his joint, the taxi screeched away .As he cut up the other-taxi cabs vying for pole-position at the Labour Club roundabout he continued his conversation with his missus on the other line. Rubber Duck this is Arthur Scargill calling come in over. Any news on the old bill Do you mind concentrating on the road, instead of talking to your wife, while your driving me to my destination? growled the ex-Olympiad. Mr Pent-Athlete you DISCUS what you want to discus and Ill discuss mine besides the wifes just had a coil fitted and can pick up the Police frequency so Im checking the safest route .Turning up Twynyrodyn Road , Mr Jackson was then treated to Merthyr Tydfils own 200 metres Hurdles -the series of speed bumps, tank traps and quasi-modo humps that unnecessarily pervade the Hill.Slowing down to the required speed limit he gave THE BIRD to a learner driver who had actually signalled before manoeuvring .As he retracted his tattooed arm his arm he said:- Off the record , Im Moonlighting.Im on Invalidity as you just saw Im suffering from vibrating white finger .from my days in Deep Navigation Pit. looking for the first time in his rear view mirror at the now-white Jackson. Oh.I see now . N.U. M- S- CABS 1984 and the blue marks ..I thought they were varicose veins My legs ARE cramped in this front section I think it was a 1995 Mini-cab. and in case most of the punters on my flights try to sue me for Deep Vein Thrombosis.. Ive got suspension tights in the glove-box. in case you want to protect those injury-prone athletic legs chuckled Cabbie snidely.Jackson didnt have time to respond as his face suddenly exploded into the Asda carrier doubling as the rear air-bag , as the Taxi skidded to a halt on TOP of the raised Zebra Crossingthe nodding dog on the dashboard immediately rang his lawyer at Churchill Insurance to claim whiplash injury (Oh YESSSS!!!).Regaining his senses, Jackson suddenly realised that the Driver had left the vehicle and had sprinted some 100 metres before flooring a spotty ginger youth in a New York Baseball Cap.After emptying the concussed youths pockets and placing the baseball cap on his own head Cabbie sprinted back to the vehicle with his gut bouncing out of step with the rest of his body.Jackson was not only astounded by the sheer impulsive violence , but he was also amazed by the agility and speed of a 50 year -old COACH POTATO over the 100 metres.Whats more, judging from the clock on the in-cab meter, the over-weight Cabbie had broken Jacksons own Common-wealth record over the same distance. He did a Lynford on me last Saturday Night . said Cabbie. A Lynford ? asked Jackson . Yeah, you know picked him up in town with his mates he was sick in the back.. where youre sitting ..stopped at the BronxNew Gurnos.then they refused to pay and they scarpered in different directions . Caught one of them.hes still in Prince Charles Hospital Dont you mean the ginger youth did a Colin Jackson ? asked the Ex-Sprinter expecting to be recognised finally. No-a LYNFORD. replied the Cabbie quick as a flash I couldnt catch HIM.. besides he was full of drugs AND packing if you know what I mean !!!!!!!! I fail to follow? replied Jackson suddenly realising the reason why the seat was still wet. He had a gun and some Speed you dig?.. Oh a DRUG RUNNER..!!!!!.. I get it now ! exclaimed Colin. Im impressed how did you do run that fast Its nothing .. said Cabbie shrugging his shoulders .we all do it .just years of chasing artful fare dodgers in Merthyr!!!!! said CabbieThe taxi spun wildly onto the Goatmill Road without braking or signalling at the junction. Who the Hell taught you to drive? shouted Jackson wiping the week old vomit from his lycra suit. Maureens Driving School in Newport ....thought you might know her ...shes a minor celebrity like you Daley laughed the Driver pulling the support tights from the glove-compartment and placing them over his head. Dont fret Daley .its not a heist. its for the speed cameras..we all know where they are and cos Ive got two different licence plates front and back the old bill has reasonable doubt..chuckled the Taxi-Man wildly trying to regain control of the steering wheel.After taking the roundabout Dukes of Hazzard-Style , Cabbie sped along the Goatmill Road whizzing past the State of the Art empty Manufacturing units.After passing the place where Rabbits once gambolled -Mountain Hare - the red diesel vapour trail disappeared into the night, the Taxi flew past the contaminated waste from the former Corroded-a factory / Nuclear Power Plant and the O P Chocolate factory -both in a different stages of melt-down.Turning down the BBC Radio Wales service - the lifeline of all Welsh Taxi drivers (both legal and illegal) Cabbie whispered into his handset Rubber Duck .this is Scargill hows the fuzz looking tonight!. Very good ....but be careful ... cos theres some pigs near your house..dont come home yet replied a male voice . Whos this . demanded Cabbie..Is that you Roger from Next door what are you doing there ? asked Cabbie suspiciously. Id say the LONG JUMP if you asked me !!!!! laughed Jackson finally getting one back on the Taxi Driver. No this is Tony from number 10 .Roger left about 20 minutes agoand Im just manning the fort..till you get home !!!! replied the voice.Better not use Penydarren High Street then thought Cabbie to avoid the Peelers. Are there any eating establishments that you frequent in this vicinity? asked Jackson suddenly regaining his appetite . The fact that he had gone two miles without a speed bump was purely coincidental. Besides I d like to see what dietary intake you have Speak to me in Wenglish , Mr Celebrity.Im a Taxi driver remember .like Fred Housego.. not bloody Mastermind!!!! snarled the Cabbie still raging as his wifes latest indiscretion. Im Hungrydo you understand that..? asked Jackson. Why didnt you say so first time..its only 9.00pm ....well have the all-day breakfast at my local transport caf in Dowlais..do you like fry-up Daley teased the Taxi-man through nicotine -stained teeth.******************************************************After watching the ex-miner demolish an enormous plate of grease-covered Burgers, Sausage, Eggs and Fried Bread topped off with two full-tar cigarettes smoked simultaneously, Jackson picked nervously at his bowl of salad. That foods for Rabbits!!! wheezed Cabbie laughing at Jacksons measly portion even Lynford has a bigger Lunch-pack than you.eh.Daley !!!!!!!!!!! Can we go now ? asked Jackson suddenly remembering his conference at Penydarren Park tomorrow.As the oddly matched twosome left the Lady Charlotte Eatery , they paused at the sight of a uniformed policewoman looking at the Guinness Label on the front of the Taxi-Cab.Are you the owner of this vehicle Mr Thompson ? asked the WPC Juliet Bravo . Certainly not..and my names not Thompson.its Jackson replied the sprinter indignantly . Its mine officer ..and may I say what a pleasure it is that they relaxed the height restriction on the Force and allowed REAL WOMEN to take on duties normally reserved for butch , self -important lesbians..besides Ive always admired that Martina Navratilova at Tennis- crawled Cabbie recognising that the WPC was from Dyke Street in Twynyrodyn and that he was in Shit Street. Do you like Back-handers too Officer ? Can I see your MOT Sir ? smiled the Police Woman visibly melting at the Taxi-Man charm and manly physique. Only if you show me yours ! flirted the 50- something producing his documents.Looking down at the Cabbies combined Taxi and Pilots licence the WPC smiled and said All right Mr Bin Laden ..you may have lost your sun tan and beard but you havent lost your way with the Ladies .. but before I let you go .do you know that the rear section of your exhaust is dragging causing sparks in the road ? Be gentle officer .Ive just come from Twynyrodyn Road..replied Cabbie. Oh that explains it then.why your cab was a real CHARIOT OF FIREso Im afraid that Im going to have to give you..(looking at the external menu). an on the spot fine of 20.00 in this regard More on the spot fines muttered cabbie handing over the crumpled note grudgingly.youd think we had a Hackney problem in Merthyr Tydfil! Could be the greasy food .!!! quipped Jackson smiling at Cabbies misfortune .*****************************************************Motoring along Pontmorlais and Brecon Road the fire hazard arrived outside the Tregenna, Hotel .Jackson like the big Yellow Taxi was exhausted. I thought you were supposed to STOP at red lights.. said Jackson his usual fake smile frozen to his face by the affect of the journey..I saw my grandmother back there .and shes been dead 30 years!!!!!!!! He said digging his fingernails out the fake leather seats. So Mr Thompson .I heard you always stop at RED LIGHTS particularly when their in DISTRICTS but this is the end of the line as far as I go that will be 120.00 .What?120.00.120.00..you must be joking .did you leave that meter running when you were eating your FIVE course breakfast ?..besides how many J D Wetherspoon pubs do you have in Merthyr then? .asked Jackson. Only One.!!! came the reply Then why did we pass it four times on the way here then ? queried Jackson. Its the one way system devised by the CouncilAre you calling me a cheat , then Mr Daley .YOU the con-man with his name splashed all over the Daley papers youre the love- cheat .and furthermore while were on the subject of cheating you always pretended you were ill whenever you had any real opposition ..I reckon even me a middle-aged taxi driver could beat you..!!!! Okay ..thats it .Ive never been so insulted in my life .., Ive had enough of your comments ..if you want your 120.00 fare try and catch me taunted Jackson as he raced towards the recently revived running track around the Penydarren Park pitch.After locking up his Taxi to stop it being stolen, Cabbie cantered after the Athlete ensuring that the runner could not double-back to his Hotel.Jackson had already reached the track but had not noticed the arrival of his rival by a secret short-cut known only to taxi drivers. My wife ..and my cab against your 120.00..- double or nothing. first across the line over 100 metres. raged Cabbie.The commotion disturbed the Football Club Physio and the Club Chairmans wife practising ball-control in the South Stand.Oh I do love a wager she remarked.The Club Physio in return for a vow of silence from both competitors agreed to act as referee . So let me get this straight, its my 120.00 against the ownership of all you possess---both of your old bangers!!!! ..100 metres man to man asked Jackson.Seething with pent up anger Cabbie snarled Yes Englishman , winner take all ----in a CHARIOTS OF FIRE race.*******************************************It was closing time at KOJAKS the new Greek Theme Restaurant at Pontmorlais.As the hairy-legged waitress with the black moustache closed the door, she turned up the volume of the Juke Box to accommodate the remaining Shirley Valentines and Zorbas in an effort to hang on to her Intoxicating Ouzo Licence.************************************************As they stood on the starting line ..Jackson was sure he could hear strains of VanGelis in the distance..Cabbie was focused ..lifting his trousers up to cover his sagging saddle.he waited for the starting pistol.As the Physio emptied both barrels , for the second time that evening , the shock of the sound took its toll on Cabbies heart..In slow motion the odd couple commenced their race.For the first 30 metres both men were evenly matchedthe dodgy hamstrings of Jackson tweeked and pulled ..whilst the bouncing of the Cab-mans gut obscured his vision every third stride.Hearts strained..pulses raced.lungs filled and emptied..Just five metres short of the line and Jackson was poised to win his first race ever.Unfortunately, the sound of a hamstring snapping seemed only to egg on the Big Breakfast winner as his gut crossed the line before Jacksons head ..dipping not only by technique but also in shame. YEEESSSSSS in your face JACKSON . Choked Cabbie clutching his heart .As his recovery rate was checked by the club physio Cabbie slumped to the floor.Jackson crawled over to his rival ..sponsorship money in hand.. Can I be your Agent ..heres your signing on fee.? Puffed Jackson. Its too late , Mr Thompson..Hes dying. Whispered the Physio with respect. Can I get you anything .any last requests asked Jackson with his usual post-race humility.Get me ..my fags wheezed the dying Taxi-Man..oh and one thing else ..I want to be buried as a Taxi-manplease grant me my dying wish.Jackson nodded as Cabbies eyes closed and his meter stopped running ..for the last time..********************************************************************Standing on the Troedyrhiw Mountain were a mot-ley crew of Merthyr Cabbies.As the Pastor read a passage from Taxi Weekly-Licensed to Kill the uniformed throng removed their baseball caps as a mark of respect.The Club physio turned to Jackson and whispered reverently. He was an ex-miner you know , thats why he wanted to be buried over -looking his beloved Pit Do they know what killed him ? asked Jackson in hushed BBC commentary team tone. HIGH COAL -ESTOROL. Apparently.. came the reply.BBC Radio Wales out of respect for their fallen listener decided to hold a minutes silence at exactly 12 Noon which confused a lot of elderly valley folk who assumed their lifeline radio was on the blink for the first ...... but did wonders for new radio sales.The silence was broken by the Radio Station playing the Cabbies last request.As the coffin was pushed through the boot of the former cut -and-shut Taxi-Cab the Taxi Drivers began to sing along fleetly .A chorus of Born to be Wild by Steppenwolf lifted into the crisp Winter air.As the Cab was set alight and pushed down the Tip to rest with all the other abandoned torched vehicles.Like many a Viking funeral before it, the CHARIOT OF FIRE bounced and tumbled down the mountainside.Although the strains of Get your motor running.head out on the highway. Gave the sombre occasion a surreal feel .Coming to rest in the pasture of a foot and mouth flock, disturbing the displaced Mountain Hares, the Cab finally exploded as the Coffin capitulated and the explosive grease cocktail in the veins of Cabbie caught fire .. turning the former Burger King into a Flame Grilled Whoppa.Jackson just smiled his phoney smile one last time and limped back to his BBC Wales limousine.THE END
updated by @philip-evans: 11/11/15 10:39:10PM
Mass murder part 2
General Discussions ( Anything Goes )
How come ? asked Yip excitedly. No toe jam...all tramps have toe jam...sometimes I cant get the toe tag on theres too much ooze.!As Yip picked up some brown rice left over on the body surface....he moved to discover a partially digested cockroach.... I think he went to Honk Kupps Chinese Restaurant too! Hang on ...this is unusual.... he said examining the lower part of the corpse....a small prick......! said the Coroner triumphantly. I am not into comparing notes! replied Chan On his index finger...right hand....continued the Coroner speaking into his Dictaphone.......a small red prick....like a syringe mark....! Big deal....everywhere in Cyfarthfa Park has discarded needles ! said Yip Yes...but the angle of entry and the force used suggests that it was not accidental injection...but a deliberate stab wound...I am going to test the body for foreign fluids! continued the Coroner ...like they do on CSI New York! said Viv dramatically.*******************************************************************Staggering along the lanes to the rear of Cromwell Street, the two hobos looked for their next street buffet.Lifting the lid on the wheelie bin of number 5 , the Eastern European itinerant,Varga Bond , stared into the bin hopefully, in search of the remnants of some food which wasnt quite passed the smell-by date.The bin belonged to Truck Driver HGV Lawrie, who shook his head at the sad sight of human beings resorting to searching for scraps to survive.His truck bearing the sticker Lost your cat ?....see under for details! should have given the tramp a clue as to what he would find in that particular bin.As he lifted the emaciated fallen feline from the lifetime Asda green carrier bag, he wiped the flies and dried blood from the pussy and began to eat at the corpse hungrily. KFC he laughed as he gnawed at the fatty bits around the tiny bones.His fellow tramp, an Arab nicknamed...Osama Bin Lid-in stood watch waiting for his friend to finish.There was a code down amongst the dossers that finders were keepers.He had been lucky that morning to find a brand new pair of trousers in the bin of a District Judge.Rotten fruit, week old bread and pasties containing more penicillin than a VD shot were also on the menu , as Varga dined al fresco.All the while Osama followed his mate swigging away at his bottle of Brut aftershave- an unwanted Christmas box set from Boots. Have you Shit! slurred Varga as they staggered in search of their own version of meals on wheels No...! came the reply from Henry Cooper breath.The smell was overpowering...even masked in Brut. Are you sure...you havent shit? asked Varga even more suspiciously , beginning to heave. No...I havent shit...! said Osama somewhat offended by the accusation he was lying but not that he stank.Varga suddenly pulled down Osamas new Man at C & A acrylic slacks to discover an enormous turd nestling there . You lying Sod...I thought you said you hadnt shit! moaned Varga recoiling at the discovery . I didnt shit ........it was there when I put the trousers on! he protested.As Varga discharged his stomach contents into the wheelie bin of number the Ritz on Brecon Road his partner in crime was heard to say... Yummy... hot lunch for a change!*********************************************************************Lying in amongst the dog shit and the daisies next to the Lakeside gates entrance to Cyfarthfa , the WC brothers sat stripped to the waist enjoying the last rays of the Autumn sun.Dai Toilet and his younger sibling , Nickie were wasted .On a rare return to his home town from his camp in Tepee Valley , the eco-warrior lay enjoy the fruit of his pickings.They both had devoured huge quantities of magic mushrooms which grew wild in the fields behind the Castle and their high levels of LSD meant they were in fact literally seeing stars. Whoa...I can see Hendrix calling me... up in the clouds ...! said the former St Tydfil square busker to his brother. Where by ? asked his hairy sibling. By that purple haze man...! he said reaching for his guitar lazily.Toilet , was the ultimate festival man and was known all over Britain as Mr GlastonburyHe had acquired the name , due partly to the initials of his grandfather , WC Cuthbert Boggs, a famous bare knuckle boxer and partly down to the fact that his party trick was that he break wind on demand...like Merthyrs equivalent of Le Petomaine.His brother, who was a little potty for a number reasons too, was a wild child , who had little time for authority, regularly disrupting Gas Pipe line and by-pass building through the breadth of the land.The pair were a couple of throw backs to the swinging sixties laughing and joking throwing their Donovan sweatshirts in the air , free as nature intended.Unfortunately, the dark side of nature is never far away and the doped up duo had not noticed the silent figure of a Priest, creeping closer, hiding behind each tree trunk successively , which lined the approach to the western side of the castle. Hey man , lets go and throw some stones again at that Solicitors Playboy mansion in Pandy Close! cried Nickie. Hi boys...its hippy hour...two tramps for the price of one...! declared the psychotic Priest as he lethally injected both of the brothers in one genuflect movement.Moving quickly, he arranged the bodies into the shape of a crucifix , producing his hammer and nailing the pair to the grass bank through the centre of the palms and just above their ankles.He then took a snapshot on his instant camera of the scene, before running off into the woods.******************************************************************** Well I didnt do it....! said the high profile Solicitor, Armani Suits shaking his head and sweating in the interview room of the Swan Street Police station. Your neighbour....one ....Peter Rabbett....has stated on oath , that he distinctly heard you say you would , and I quote... Kill the next one who threw a stone at the Blue Grotto Pool and Tiffany plastic palm tree Hills in your garden quizzed Bad Cop Peter Wolf Blass. Thats just a figure of speech...just like all coppers are bast...! replied the interviewee, receiving a clip around the head for his flippancy. Ive been looking at your police file...and its getting quite thick....! said Good Cop Isaac Haynes. Coppers...thick...I am not following you! replied Armani. Rolled a car on the Heads of the Valleys 1997....caught with swimming trunks on back to front in Aberdare pool 1998....arrested in Garw Nant lay-by 2006 with Tina Turner and Roseanne Barr look-alikes...and now this.....it doesnt look good for you! Tell us why you killed the brothers...was it a crime of passion....everyone hates hippies...we could understand it...we policed Glastonbury once...we had to throw people out ...and the Status Quo concert in Cyfarthfa Park....we threw people in!continued Wolf Blass...just sign this little piece of paper to say you did it and we can all go home and watch the Lions Tour of South Africa...what do you say?*******************************************************************Hollywood actress Jamie Lee Curtis smiled, as she looked up at the self-portrait of Rolf Harris hanging in the foyer of Cyfarthfa Castle .Swigging from her Rhymney Brewery Hobby Horse bottle...she said one word. Marvellous!She turned to the excited blonde museum assistant , who was anxious to get her to sign the visitor book. Do you know Carolyn ...at what point did Rolf Harris...work out what exactly he was painting...? she laughed making an aboriginal guttural sound with her mouth. I did expect his didgeridoo to be bigger though! she continued. Well, its been a wonderful day ...and I am delighted that you managed to trace my family tree back to my relatives Rolf Harris , Donny Osmond and William Crawshay...I will make sure I will tell all my American cousins where their Pilgrim Fathers set off from in the Glamorganshire Canal before they discovered America.! she said. Oh ...one last thing is there a Catholic Church around here...?Do you want to light a candle for your late mother Janet Leigh ?! asked Carolyn sympathetically. No ...I want to say a few prayers for my fathers behaviour in his latter years! she replied.As she stood on the concrete steps, like all Americans she was impressed with the concept of children going to school in a castle. Genuine Dylan Thomas sweat ...Miss, 5.00 a bottle.... last bottle left asked little angelic schoolboy James Soames. Oh yes please...did Dylan Thomas really...keep his sweat in a Rhymney Brewery Hobby Horse bottle? she asked the school-boy sensing that she was being ripped off. Both my History teacher and English Teacher told me ....he was brought up by the bottle...and died by the bottle! he said Oliver-Twist like as he pocketed the fiver.As she drove off towards the Walk , Soamesy shouted to his rugby mate Ralphy, hiding in the bushes...fresh from a cross country run with the girls in his class... another bottle and more sweat this time...theres some-more tourists coming!********************************************************************Norman Mass-Bates had what he called a reverse Hugh Grant day.Four Funerals and a Wedding.He had also been busy laying a paper trail to his church.To the untrained eye there was nothing, but he had set up a series of chalk arrows leading from the Salvation Army building, up the British Tip at Abermorlais, to the front of St Judes Roman Catholic Church at the bottom of the Walk.He had sprinkled intermittently, half empty bottles of whisky and others spirits, leading to larger bottles and cans within the grounds and steps to the church.His plan had worked .Shuffling nervously up the church pathway was the destitute figure of Varga Bond , like some nocturnal badger smelling food.Spotting a trail down the aisle of miniatures, culminating in the last temptation of Varga Bond - a box of Rhymney Brewery Hobby Horse with a God-like light shining through the stained glass window at the Holy Crate-, at the entrance to the public side of the confession box.As the tramp reached his goal , he sat on the seat in the confession box , placing the bottle cap inside the cheeks of his arse and twisting, then drinking deeply.He pulled the curtain out of respect for the Lords House.After much slurping , and later more grunting was heard from the tramps compartment.Through the open flap of the confession box...the Tramp could just make out the shape of a mans head hidden in the shadows, behind the wooden partition. Can I help you my son? asked the priest maniacally- eyes glowing hellish red in the dark. Not unless you have any paper on your side! came the reply.. .the pages of this mini-bible are soft but I have used the whole of the Old Testament already... if you WILL pop some through from your stall! came the reply.The Tramp was not to know that would be his last will and testament, as through the confession box curtain , came a shiny jagged hunting knife (bearing a tag JVC shopping channel) ripping both the curtain and the tramps jugular vein in one movement .The peel of the Church Bells, set on automatic repeat to save money , drowned out his screams, as it was curtains for Varga Bond.Meeting his maker in the most violent of fashions.********************************************************************* Those marks on the hands of the dead hippies....and the position of the bodies ...its very strange indeed! declared Chan rubbing his chin and looking puzzled.His assistant Chin too, wasnt happy about being rubbed in public, but he was his superior officer after all. We have got to get to the Crux of the matter! said Chan. Of course....said Chin....the nails ...the body position...its of religious significance...they have been laid out in a Cruciform position....! declared Chin and his assistant at once...Double Chin. Its sad but there are gnaw marks on the centre of his hands...it seems the one hippy used to bite his nails or thats the worst case of stigmata I have ever seen! said Chan observantly.That first tramp ....the one that fell of the Cefn viaduct....he had landed in the same position...true he pop back up to the viaduct on three occasions because he landed on the childrens bouncy castle....but after he had finished Trampoline-ing , he had been found in that very same position declared Chan. We need to check on the religious nuts in the area! Sir, we have had two strokes of luck in the case! announced his third assistant a bit unsteady having run from the Police Panda Car at the Lakeside entrance he arrived out of breath. You seem a bit wobbly Chin....what news from the Swan Street Police collator? asked Chan. A breakthrough Sir.... I had a chinwag with one of our old police colleagues Ken El CID Davies who reported that the Priest at St Judes was behaving strangely.....and even better someone matching the Priests description, had photos of the dead hippies developed in Walters Photoshop today! Have we caught him yet? asked Chan The answer is in the negative! said Chin . We have sent officers Wolf Blass and Isaac Haynes to his house in Cromwell Street to check him out.!********************************************************************Detectives Wolf Blass and Isaac Haynes stood outside the house in Cromwell Street. I dont like the look of this place....who has Jesus Christ on a brass door knocker? said Wolf Blass nervously... cant we pull that Solicitor in again for questioning. Give us your credit card again! said Haynes.As the credit card slid up, it popped the yale lock and they were in .The house was very dark at this time of night , as they headed through the living room noticing that the place was in a real mess. Definitely, a bachelor! whispered Wolf Blass. Norman...what .....was the perps name again...? asked Haynes. Master Norman Mass-Bates! declared Wolf Blass. Master Bates....definitely a single mans name...the name rings a bell too! said Wolf Blass.,Eerily, just as he said the name the campanile of St Judes began to sound its peals. This place gives me the creeps....said Haynes....lets search it and get out of here.You take upstairs....Ill take downstairs and the garden.... offered Wolf Blass thinking about his dodgy knees.As DC Haynes climbed the stairs, he noticed another load of crosses, crucifixes and rosary beads , hung everywhere.Either this guys frightened of vampires or hes a religious nut thought Haynesy, edging his way up the stairs towards a room buzzing with flies.In the room overlooking the rear garden, sat in a rocking chair with her back to him,r was the figure of an old emaciated woman with the old style Welsh patchwork crotchet quilt around her shoulders.An uneaten pie sat in a dish alongside her , with a glass of milk that had curdled to yoghurt.The smell was unbelievable and flies were everywhere.Picking up the pie, Haynsey ate it in one gulp.Waste not want not...he thought.Spotting Wolf Blass in the garden below, he slid down the rotten sash window , releasing some flies shouting to his partner. Any luck....got one dead granny up here....what about you? I have never seen a footpath like this one...its worse than that one in the Gurnos...real feet....! shouted Wolf Blass.As the pair met in the living- room , they did not yet know, there was an even more chilling discovery.In the kitchen, behind the fridge, eagle-eye Wolf Blass had spotted a space without a crucifix on the wall or other Holy relic.Their Police training told them to moved the fridge and they revealed a huge black space with some steps, leading down to a basement. Now thats what I call a priest hole! declared Haynsey peering into the blackness.As suddenly, as they had started St Judes bells stopped ringing.The alarm bells in the head of the two Policemen , suddenly started ringing. You stay up top Ill investigate the cellar! said Wolf Blass. Hope theres no Austrian family down there....the Von Trapp-Doors! laughed Haynsey, gallows humour in evidence.Shining his police issue torch into the pitch blackness ,Wolf Blass was as scared as he had ever been in his life- and he had been in a Police Panda Car driven by some right nutters.Creaking down the ancient wooden stairs, one step at a time, he watched for any sign of movement in the darkness.Every hair on his body was on high alert , as he trod the boards expecting to be pounced on at any step.Reaching the solid concrete cellar floor, his mind and imagination played tricks on him, expecting zombie fingers to clutch at him, dragging his soul off to Hell.In the middle of the Cellar floor , was a giant high sided pit about eight feet in depth with a rope ladder curled up tantalisingly near the edge of the pit.As he shown the torch down , Wolf Blass was stunned to see, that there was a man alive in the pit bound from head to toe in a thick Roman Catholic altar rope , and the victims mouth was full of pages torn from the Book of Revelation.Further examination revealed him to be the tramp now locally as Osama Bin Lid-in. Good Lord ...its the Silence of Islams! shrieked Wolf Blass.Unknown to Wolf Blass , Officer Haynes had crept down behind him in the blackness and was watching his every move.Haynsey placed his torch under his last chin and suddenly flicked on the Police Flashlight in a Halloween style prank.Wolf Blass in shock, dodgy knees giving way , tumbled headlong into the pit landing full force on the poor tramp below.Osama, in the blackness could see what was happening but could not move away to avoid the impact. Officer Down....and Out came the reply from the pit , as he crushed the tramp dead.Wolf Blass was not amused as he looked up at Haynsey the laughing policeman. Ho Ho Ho Ha Ha Ha! came the sound from the top of the pit as Haynsey collapsed like his colleague only this time with laughter.Rolling about with glee on the floor , his barrel shape eventually took on its own momentum as he unwittingly toppled into the eight foot pit onto the pair below.Luckily, he mostly impacted on the dead tramp. Thats another fine mess you got me into! ranted Wolf Blass.Talk about the Keystone Cops ...look at this Charlie Chaplin video ...its got a serrated JVC hunting knife through it....I dont think this particular Chaplain likes Tramps too much! declared Wolf Blass examining the evidence . He must be Hobo-phobic! agreed Haynsey.Straightening his South Wales Police issue tie, Wolf Blass tried to smarten himself up....and declared to Haynsey....You scruffy Bastard ...youve had it mate!!!The bells of St Judes began to toll once more as the two policemen looked at each other and gulped in unison realising their predicament.******************************************************************Detectives Chin and Chan moved at 5 miles per hour up the steep gradient of the Cyfarthfa Park main road in their electric car. If you ask me this Global Warming business has got out of hand...how can the cuts in front line policing be justified when we have to catch murderers using a Sinclair C5....! moaned Chan Watch it....Barbara Windsor will have you...10 MPH speed limit on this road....you dont want a speeding fine do you and three points on your provisional licence ...now do you? asked Chin as they past the eerie Park Row Gardens Cuesta House.The scene of one of Merthyrs saddest and notorious murders. You know Chin considering Merthyr Tydfil was named after a murder...they havent had that many murders reported.! said Chin looking at the crime figures massaged by South Wales Police...100 a year is quite good when you consider all things in and the Gurnos catchment area!. Here we go ....! as the pair stopped pedalling , hitting the gradient at the top of Park Row Gardens and began to freewheel down at the speed of sound....scattering school-kids and dog walkers without poop- scoops as they went.*****************************************************************As Jamie Lee Curtis approached the entrance to St Judes , a mysterious mist had descended on the Church.As a Hollywood actress living in Los Angeles......she was used to both THE FOG and THE SMOG.As she pushed open the heavy door of the church, she felt a little sense of unease about visiting the Roman Catholic Church at this twilight hour.However, being a devout follower of the faith , she felt the need to unload her sins before a priest.As she walked tentatively down the aisle, she felt a little reassured , when she could see that the confession box had a little red light over the Priests compartment.Clutching her bottle of Rhymney Brewery Hobby Horse containing Dylan Thomas sweat, she gracefully made her way up to the empty box compartment.As she drew the velvet curtain , she suddenly noticed that it was more holier than she thought.Torn curtain.....that was a Hitchcock movie she thought...was that an omen?Her mother had also stared in a Hitchcock movie , as her most famous character ever - Marion Crane.Pop artist Andy Warhol had said that everybody had their fifteen minutes of fame ...but her mothers screen time was a lot less than that...but her character fame was life long.The only downside to being her daughter , was that she was always ordered to use the bath and never the shower.She began her confession by saying Bless me father for I have sinned....I repent for making that film Fierce Creatures, the follow up to A Fish called Wanda and for being caught speeding on Sunset Boulevard when I wasnt even driving, I wish to apologise too for the behaviour of my father in dating girls half MY own age..... I also have developed too much of a liking to this Rhymney Brewery Beer during my stay in Merthyr....! Say 10 Halle Berries and a Margarita Pizza and you will be forgiven my child! announced the confused homicidal priest thinking outside the box.Dont you mean Hail Marys.....and can you smell second hand dead cat in here? asked Jamie-Lee somewhat bemused.A flash of steel and a jagged edge of a blade was suddenly thrust violently through the curtain, attempting to slash at the actress. Take that you Hollywood tramp! screamed the priest. My mother warned me...that this kind of thing happens..! .declared Jamie Lee defending her self with a mini- bible.The blade embedded itself in the remains of the New Testament, ironically stopping in the Acts of the Apostles.The seasoned veteran of the Halloween series , had plenty of practise fighting the fictitious slasher Michael Myers and kicked out at nut height like the fierce creature she was .Leaving the confession box in a forward roll, she clasped her bottle of Hobby Horse defensively , as the demon priest and the horror movie actress moved in a deathly circle knowing that only one of the pair would outlive this scene.Lunging at each periodically, occasionally Trading Places the knave entered the nave pursued by the actress intent on revenge.Reaching the altar, the quick thinking Jamie played a masterstroke, drinking down the sweat from the bottle and spraying her attacker with Dylan Sweat orRalph /Lauren sweat from the juvenile schoolboys earlier activities.As the priest was blinded temporarily in the front row, like most of his Ralphies rugby opponents , Jamie Lee hit the monster with the monstrance.The Golden chalice turned the baptismal font water into Whines as the demon priest moaned in agony , skull fatally fractured, falling into the Holy water.As the Chinese detectives arrived at the Church , just in the Nip of time , the priest began to dead mans float ...just like Rab C Nesbitt in the Goetre Pond. Halloween 15....Mass Murder - yes- that would make a good title for a movie! laughed Chan with his Chin moving out of synch like a bad Kung Fu movie.******************************************************************** As her limousine stopped opposite the disused former American Hoover factory in Pentrebach, a similar but more lavish Hollywood limousine was spotted coming in the other direction.As the stars and stripes were evident on both cars , both celebrities greeted each other as Americans usually do abroad? Any oil in them there hills? asked. Michelle Obama...because I heard that there was Black Gold found at Ffos Y Fran? . No Oil.....only an American refuse burning plant.....up there......and the people .....only PSYCHOS left!!! replied Jamie Lee driver accelerating towards the A470.... Get me outta this Town!.
updated by @philip-evans: 11/11/15 10:39:10PM
Mass murder part 1
General Discussions ( Anything Goes )
MASS MURDERRushing through the dark mass of trees, actor Gregor Fishers heart was beating faster than it had done for years.He was sweating more than a paedophile in a school playground.Cyfarthfa Park, Merthyr Tydfil, was a vast expanse of pathways and in the twilight they all looked the same in his heightened state of panic.He was sorry that he strayed from the pathway to the rear of the Castle and sorrier still that he had volunteered for inclusion on that television show.Pushing away the overgrown branches of the trees , he stumbled headlong in terror into the shallow reeds of the Goetre Pond .Landing with a splash in the darkness , his Rab C Nesbitt string- vest and headband became entwined in the underground vines and reeds which had sucked many an unsuspecting swimmer to their death.The reeds like invisible hands clutched at his wine-stained trousers and dragged him down to the dark bottom of the pond.As he struggled against the evil forces of nature, he forgot momentarily about his pursuer.Then suddenly he saw him.The evil eyes glowing red in the darkness, white collar shining brilliantly in the remaining light.Gregor reached out in desperation towards the figure , literally a drowning man clutching at straws.The last thing that Gregor felt , before he succumbed to the cold of the stagnant water, was a sharp pain of a hypodermic needle in the back of his hand.The rest was numbness , blackness ....then silence as his lifeless body floated to the top of the pond surface.Where have you been at this time of night? asked Mrs Mass-Bates, sat with her back to the door looking out at the rear garden, to her son Norman. Just been out for a tramp in the woods....thats all mother! said Norman limply from the bedroomn of his Cromwell Street house that they shared together, just off the Walk, in Merthyr Tydfil. Its cold out there ...its September now and youll catch your death in that thin priest outfit! declared his hectoring old lady. Now ...theres no need to worry about me mam....I am 73 years of age...a 90 year old woman shouldnt be worried about her son ...I am doing the Good Lords work...he will protect me.....now go and watch that JVC shopping channel you like...and call me if that set of hunting knives for cutting up animals comes on again!. Well hes dead you know! declared David Yip, the Chinese detective to his sidekick Charles Chan...watching the tramp floating on the surface of the Goetre Pond. Who found the body? asked the detective to the group of Cyfartha School kids gathered round with morbid fascination. Well... I did...! declared Rhys jetpack Walker ...but Flye was the first to hit him with a skimming stone...and Curtis dragged him out...! continued the schoolboy. He does rookie lifeguard, hes the one who knows how to drag bodies from ponds safely...we call CPR Evans continued Jetpack. Aye...us props do all the donkey work...and the backs get all the glory! moaned Curtis standing on his own smelling of pond life. Shit happens! said Yip to the children. And on this occasion shit floats....! commented Charlie Chan.....thats the third vagrant weve found dead this month.....!said Chan eyes narrowing suspiciously. Phew....this vagrant is very fragrant....! retched Yip as the smell of the dead man hit him. Any witnesses, or information ...? asked Yip to Chan. Only the parkie , over there who shut the gates at 9.30am last night ...he reckons that the tramps around here have paired up ....worried that there is a serial killer on the loose! Take a statement and get this one off to the Police morgue.. theres more life in his vest......I want to see what killed him.! Said Yip. We begin our service with the Hymn...Joy to the World, the Lord has come! declared the catholic priest , as he stood in the pulpit , at the front of St Judes Roman Catholic Church. Thats a bit unusual for a funeral service ....? remarked Allan Pepper Jones , ex- mayor and professional dirge singer to his friend Ken El CID Davies.Priest Norman Mass-Bates looked angrily at the pair ,the only two mourners left, daring to whisper in the House of God. If looks could Kill! replied Jones without moving his lips with all the skill of a chapel-farter. Dearly beloved...we are gathered here today to commit our brother Freddy Bramble to the earth...if anyone knows of any reason or just impediment why he should not be laid to rest for eternity, please state it now or forever hold you peace. boomed out the voice of the Priest.The church congregation in the Parish had dwindled significantly .In modern times marriage was no longer the way of the young , nor were children Christened anymore.The number of goats was on the increase , whilst the number of good sheep flocking to church was down.It had fallen still further when Father Mass-Bates had started mixing up his wedding and funeral services.Death was the only friend of the church , which was also subject to market forces and massive repair and heating bills.As they left the church , both mourners concluded , when they were at a safe distance, that the once-proud church was the best supported in Merthyr but now the situation at St Judes beggared belief.Lying face up on the mortuary slab in Old Big Ears Hospital, the two detectives watched, while the coroner carried out an examination of the deceased tramp. Did you find any means of identification on the body ? asked coroner Viv E Section. No...but we know who he is...er... who he WAS! declared Chan checking his South Wales Police issue notebook. Gregor Fisher.... of BBC Scotland Rab C Nesbitt fame......! he continued. Was he filming an episode in Cyfarthfa Park of that comedy series? asked Yip. No...that was cut years ago....so why would a millionaire Scotsman masquerade as a tramp in a Merthyr Tydfil Park?...it just doesnt make sense! announced the detective out loud. He obviously had good taste....! announced the coroner....sawing through his swollen stomach and emptying the contents like the scene from Jaws. Oysters, caviar....haggis and prime beef steak! he continued probing further into the distended stomach bag. You dont get those things floating around in Merthyr ponds....any used condoms or dead greyhounds? asked Chan interestedly. The stomach can contain difficult to digest items from over a week ago...! said the coroner still rummaging around. I believe that he ate his last meal in Pontmorlais and went to see a lap dancing show in the upstairs of the Vulcan Pub the night before he died.....! Ruddy Hell.... said a surprised Yip.... medical science is brilliant ...how the Hell could you deduce that ? The man must have been so hammered or entranced...he ate the table napkin by mistake during the performance! continued doctor Viv. I can see the Merthyr Depress headlines now....Murder in Park ....String vest fellow actor Gregor Fisher visits Merthyr on the Secret Millionaire programme frequents Merthyrs equivalent to Stringfellows and gets Pole-axed.! declared Yip feeling the media spotlight beginning to turn on him.The spotlight on the head-band of the coroner turned on the greasy red- headband of the corpse searching for clues and evidence of a struggle. Any sign of the cause of death yet....? asked ChanToo early to say....given that he was found in a pond ....my bet is drowning! laughed the coroner....pulling out a small guppy from his nose.....the coroner declared what do you know A Fish called Wanda!...... besides I knew he wasnt a real tramp straightaway...! lifting out a chunk of gristle, said Viv How come ? asked Yip excitedly. No toe jam...all tramps have toe jam...sometimes I cant get the toe tag on theres too much ooze.!As Yip picked up some brown rice left over on the body surface....he moved to discover a partially digested cockroach.... I think he went to Honk Kupps Chinese Restaurant too! Hang on ...this is unusual.... he said examining the lower part of the corpse....a small prick......! said the Coroner triumphantly. I am not into comparing notes! replied Chan On his index finger...right hand....continued the Coroner speaking into his Dictaphone.......a small red prick....like a syringe mark....! Big deal....everywhere in Cyfarthfa Park has discarded needles ! said Yip Yes...but the angle of entry and the force used suggests that it was not accidental injection...but a deliberate stab wound...I am going to test the body for foreign fluids! continued the Coroner ...like they do on CSI New York! said Viv dramatically.*******************************************************************
updated by @philip-evans: 11/11/15 10:39:10PM
