Pleased to meat you.

Yolanda is walking up the street to her house, chattering on her mobile phone to a friend.Yolanda: “He never did! Honestly? Ha ha that’s brilliant. Erm.. Next week? I’m not sure, let me give you a call tomorrow. Anyway talk to you soon, I’m just about to walk in the house. What a day! I’m exhausted, just want to put my feet up with tea and a biscuit. Ok, love to Terry and the kids, bye!”

Hanging up, she walks into the living room, only to be confronted by piles of meat on every available surface. Sundry Johnsons in blue gloves are busily engaged chopping and hewing at various carcasses and hurling offcuts into an overflowing oil drum placed in the middle of her favourite rug. Morris hoves into view wearing slovenly whites and a bloodstained striped apron.

Morris: “Afternoon my little sandbagged redoubt, I couldn’t help overhearing your stated desire, so here you go!”

Yolanda: “What the…? Morris! What is that? And what is all this?”

Morris: “That my dear is your fondest wish. A cup of tea and a brisket! This is my new business venture, Old Uncle Johnson’s Family Butchers. Or if you are of a gallic bent, La Boucherie Famille de la Vieux Oncle Johnson. Can I get you anything else madame?”

Yolanda: “Morris! I can’t believe it! My living room! My lovely things! Ruined!”

Morris: “Ho ho my dear, don’t you think that you are “bacon” a mountain out of a molehill?”

Yolanda: “That’s not funny Morris. I’ve had a really busy day at work, and this is the last thing I need!”

Morris: “Ho Ho, I “fricassee” what you mean my dear, still it’s an easy “moose steak” to make!”

Morris and the Johnsons fall around laughing. Yolanda is furious.

Yolanda: “Stop it! Stop it! This isn’t funny, my boss is popping round to drop off some sales projections, and look at the fucking state of the place! He’s a vegetarian, and when he sees this lot, I can say goodbye to my promotion!”

Morris: “Ho ho, or you could say “tartare” to it Yolanda!” They all hoot with laughter again. “Never mind, I’m “offally” excited to “meat” your boss, hope he doesn’t decide to give you the “chop” when he sees the state of this “joint!”

Yolanda: “Really Morris, what the very fuck are you playing at? This is really horrible, anyway I thought it was charcuterie not boucherie.”

Morris: “A common confusion, however you remain, as so often is the case mistaken, a charcuterie is butcher of processed meat in traditional styles I should add and not just the kind of ground up testicles that cheap sausages Johnson is prone to sell you from the back of his van, more similar to a delicatessen you might say, whereas a boucherie is more what the English would consider a traditional butcher.”

Yolanda: “But Morris you have got delicatessen style sausages out, look over there.”

Morris: “What sausages? I don’t see any sausages, maybe you mean the alleged sausages, possibly you have been a little haslet in your judgement!”

Yolanda: “Morris for one thing that isn’t even vaguely close enough to hasty to be funny and two that’s a delicatessen or charcuterie product which you professed to not being party to.”

Morris: “Well my little 20th level magic user I never placed any em’burger’ on including processed meat products in any ‘femur’ous comments I might ‘chews’ to make, you cannot tell there because they sound the same but I intended choose to be chews as in chewing some meat.”

She stares at him in horror, when at this moment the doorbell rings

Yolanda: “Fucking great Morris, now my boss is here and you’ve turned the house into a meat factory.”

Morris: “High quality butchers my love”

Yolanda: “Fuck whatever, this is a disaster…” she clutches her head in her hands as the bell rings again

Morris: “Fear not my dear I will cast a glamour over this meat fest so that he will never perceive it’s there and you shall have your promotion.”

Yolanda: “Really Morris, oh thank you thank you so much, is it ok? Have you done it? Shall I let him in?”

Morris: “Whenever you are ready my little soup of the day”

Yolanda opens the door and smartly dressed slightly balding man greets her

Boss: “Ah Yolanda, good to see you, thanks so much for this, you know the company really appreciates you putting in this time, now let’s go over the figures on your laptop and see what we can do for you.”

She leads him into the house several steps and rather than being glamoured he can blatantly see the horrible mess, his disgusted face turns to Yolanda and is about to let out an enquiry of revulsion when there is fierce hissing noise filling the air, an instant later a familiar column of blue flame engulfs him. Seconds later it ceases and the charred, grease smoking skeleton collapses to the side just away from Yolanda.

Morris: “Ho ho ‘landa, we might not be a charcuterie, but we can still do a good barbecue!”

Yolanda: “Morris you said you would glamour it all!”

Morris: “Yes my sweet I did but on reflection I thought it easier just to burn him to death”

Yolanda is apoplectically speechless

Morris: “Are you alright my love perhaps you would care to take me up on the aforementioned tea and brisket offer?”

Yolanda: “Morris! For fuck’s sake! I can’t believe what you have just done! You’ve gone too far now!”

Morris: “Calm down my little rudely fashioned astrolabe, there’s no need to be g-“rump”-y! In fact I think that you are reacting i-“rasher”-nally. You certainly don’t “mince” your words! Ho ho ho, and I thought you would be “game” for a laugh.”

The Johnsons are all holding their sides and roaring with mirth. Yolanda is however having none of it. Yolanda: “Morris,Jesus fucking christ! That was my boss! And my nice armchair!”

Morris: “Well you will be able to buy a new armchair when you get your promotion won’t you? In the meantime, what about a little music? Johnson here will perform on the… “ham and organs!” Morris too is by now red in the face and finding it hard to get his words out.”And don’t, ho ho, don’t forget to join in for the chorizo!”

Yolanda: “FUCK OFF! FUCK OFF! FUCK OFF! You bloody twat Morris, just fuck off!” Yolanda is shaking with rage, eyes full of tears, “You have to ruin everything don’t you? My pets, my book club, my creative writing course, and now my fucking job!”

Morris: Appearing to sober up. “I suppose I have been a touch insensitive my dear. Perhaps a European city break will cheer you up? I have the tickets here.”

Yolanda: “Really Morris? Really and truly?”

Morris: “Oh yes my little trebuchet, we, we, we fly to “venison” Wednesday!” The Johnsons collapse with hysteria. Yolanda bursts into tears. Morris not a whit abashed continues, “Johnson here went for a haircut earlier, but there were so many people waiting that he got scared and left which of course, makes him, a ‘barber-queue chicken!’ Ho ho ho! Oh dearie me, this is better than a cat charity talent show.”

Yolanda collapses and lies on the rug with her head in her hands, the whole thing has clearly become too much beyond rage. Morris however does not seem perturbed

Morris: “Ho ‘Landa quit ‘loin’ on the floor!” She just twitches as the Johnsons continue to laugh “Maybe you need some assistance my sweet should I send a SOSage call? Though you may note once more that works better in printed form. You know Yolanda I was burning some wildfowl to death the other day and as I surveyed the remains, Dennis said to me ‘is that your new charred cootery!’ geddit? I was inspired by your earlier error for that one my little luminous meringue. How about this on the same line, what does a French ghost say to its still living lover? ‘boo cherie!’ ho ho! Or what did the half English half Frenchman say to his wife’s behind ‘butt Cher!’”

Yolanda: “Morris that’s awful!” Yolanda manages from her foetal position “It’s all so bad but, I just feel numb with horror”

Morris: “Ho well shanks for nothing, or did we have that one earlier? Or did we have that one furrier?”

Yolanda: “Morris stop it’ it hurts my head!”

Morris: “That is not much of a pun my dear! Anyway quickly back to work with you and your new promotion. I did not give you the job of chief administrator for nothing!”

And in a twinkling she is sat amongst the johnsons amidst a pile of meat recites with an antiquated typewriter to write upon.

Morris: “Order more pork Sally, it’s going rough the roof today!” And with that one of the Johnsons releases a lever which catapults a pork carcass through the ceiling onto God knows where. “Well if it isn’t our first customer, come one in sir what can we do for you? Cutlet perhaps?”

Simon: “Ho h’hello there h’Morris’ h’can h’i have h’a dozen of your finest sausages ehhhh?”

Morris: “That will be £2.49 now sonny” says Morris, deadpan as you like “anything else?”

Simon: “Ho h’i thought I might be able to h’amuse you with this h’figure h’i made out of dewspaper called Ronny.”

Morris: “In what wise sir?”

Simon: “Well he’s h’paper h’ Ronny get it!?”

Morris stares at him blankly…

Simon: “Paper Ronny, heeey?” repeats Simon. Morris looks nonplussed. “Paper. Ronny. Heeey?”

Morris: “What?”

Simon: moves closer. “Paper! Ronny! Heeey?”

Morris: “It is no use, I cannot hear you. Perhaps if you stood exactly on this spot here, and craned your head forward?”

 Simon: obliges, “PAPER. RONNY. HEEEY?”

Morris: shakes his head in consternation. “Still not quite right. Maybe if you leant forward a bit? Although that looks quite awkward, perhaps if you were to lay your head and neck on this block of wood you would be “more comfortable”?”


Morris: “Nice work Johnson, that was growing increasingly tiresome. Bone out the carcass and despatch it to the Albert Jackson Memorial Home for stray dogs as a treat.” He turns to where Yolanda sits stupefied. “Now my little dog eared edition of Swinburne, how would you like to be a hamburger this weekend?” Yolanda screams, and runs frantically through the French windows. Morris looks puzzled. “Strange, I thought that she quite fancied a european city break. Oh well, no point in wasting a perfectly good ticket, pack your lederhosen Johnson, we’re going to Germany!”

Published in: on November 28, 2015 at 9:16 pm  Leave a Comment