Classic Canaries 18: Princess Yolanda

Unfortunately for both Alphonso and the prospect of any immediate progress towards an even vaguely functioning Bird Show, who should stagger around the corner of the beer tent, but General Stonewall Johnson, and he’s not best pleased to observe this vision of old dixie preening himself at the judges table. Unlimbering his old cap and ball colt, he proceeds to blaze off a fusillade of shots towards the Comte, who, panic stricken, makes a beeline for the duckpond. Fortunately for Alphonso the General has been a fixture in the beer tent for some considerable time and a quart of Old Hupla’s Finest Whiskey has not done much for his shooting. The bullets however, are close enough for the Gallic buffoon, who, with a cry of “Aaaagh, fuck thees for a lark mes amis!” disappears into the thickly growing reeds.

The remnants of the committee and exhibitors look at one another in dismay.

Clancy: “Blplplp! Right pickle now! Need member of nobility promptly. Bird Show in danger of becoming farce blplblp! Terribly organised!”

The survivors of the committee bridle at this, and an acrimonious exchange breaks out, which is only prevented from becoming violent by the stalwart efforts of the constable. Eventually the protagonists run out of steam and a sullen silence descends. The crowd are growing restless and murmurs such as “A fine bird show this!” and “I knew we should have gone to the bird show at Little Mulching, now there’s a village that can organise a simple event!” Begin to be heard. Yolanda stops beating Hornby,’s smouldering corpse with her spade and looks up.

Yolanda:”I’m a princess.” Blenkinsop smiles in a manner compounded of equal parts fear and condescension.

Blenkinsop:”Yes dear, a lovely fairy princess I’m sure.” Yolanda looks at him thoughtfully, running her thumb along the keen edge of the spade.

Yolanda: “Not a fairy princess. Real princess.” In a sing song voice she recites “Her Royal Highness Yolanda Jasmine Falkenheyn und Mackemheim, I used to live in such a pretty castle, with pointy towers and a drawbridge and horses.”

Clancy shrugs: “Blplplblp! There we are then. Blplp! Problem solved. On with show. Busy man, places to go, people to see.” The committee also shrug.

Blenkinsop:”I can’t see any alternative, I mean, she’s as drunk as a lord…” *Clang* Blenkinsop collapses with a grunt.

Yolanda twirls her spade like a majorette’s baton. “As a princess. As drunk as a princess.”

Clancy: “Blblplp! Very good. Carry on your highness. Inspect birds.find winner.All go home. Nice glass of tawny port. Quickly now.”

Constable: “Mizter Claaancy ‘as the right idea if you was to ask me ma’am. There’s been a soight too much funny business about this year bird show, an oi’ll be glaaad when it’s by way of being over.” Yolanda staggers slightly and waves an imperious hand towards the remaining three cages.

Yolanda: “Very well, remove the cover of the first contestant. Whose sodding bird is this then?”

P Johnson”Mwaeerk!”

Yolanda: “Oh Morris’s is it? Let’s have a shufti then.” Johnson proffers the cage, in which is perched what is unmistakeably a cheap and vulgar novelty made from bright yellow plastic. Yolanda reaches into the cage and presses its head down. The canary’s wings fly open and a disproportionately large yellow phallus flips up. Plenipotentiary Johnson starts to sweat nervously “this isn’t a canary, it’s a canary tool combination! Eh SB?”

Bikle: “Don’t call be dat, it’s Bikle rebember!”

Yolanda: “All right tooly, keep your cape on!”

Clancy: “Blbblblbp, he is something of a chicken isn’t he!? Amusing joke blblblbp!”

Bikle: “What’s funny about dat?”

Yolanda: “A capon SB, it’s a male chicken with no balls!” and she looks pointedly at him

Clancy: “Really!” intones the Turkey and Bikle tries to ignore it.

Yolanda “Anyway…” she says swinging her head back to Johnson “…disqualified! Executioner Johnson!” Pleniponentiary Johnson trembles as EJ approaches “I told you I’m not reading that fucking triffid book! I have enough of that kind of madness, it’s going to be ‘Finnegan’s Wake’ or you can not bother turning up. EJ looks a little huffy, then glances questioningly at Johnson with the cage. “Nahh fuck it, leave him, go on beaky hop it, go grab a tato whilst you can” Plenitpotentiary Johnson doesn’t need telling twice, he deserts the cage and shuffles fairly speedily away from the scene. “Right so what have we got here…” She turns to look at Clancy’s cage.

Far away from this scene Buckle was wandering around aimlessly, he had gotten quite confused at the actual show part and when Yolanda and LD  Johnson turned up it, it all was a bit frightening to him. Still the colourful stalls and loud noises held his attention, though he was also a little unhappy, wishing that somehow he could make the birdshow better for his beloved brother, indeed as he thought this so he spoke also

Buckle: “Oh poor Bikle, I wish I could cheer hib ub a bit!”

At this moment Mr Cutler who, was also somehow back at the show itself, hollered him over to his stall Cutler: “Excuse me sir, I say sir more halfwit really, less than half really, but me words are wasted on you aren’t they, no wits, not a jot.”Buckle looked on interestedly “couldn’t help overhearing you wanted your freaky brother to happy, well who doesn’t eh? Families should be happy, happy families that’s what I say, not too happy though, not cock in  your crack happy, that’s not family friendly is it. Now cousin Mabel she was a bit of a devil, which bit you ask? That would be telling, but I’ll tell you this. Your brother would like a tune I’m sure, loves a tune does freak face, dances like a loon, can’t get enough of it.”

Buckle: “Oh busic, good idea, but what and how?”

Cutler: “Weeell sausage, might be able to help you out there, got this cd, Andrea Bocelli sings the blues, or maybe this Barry Bumblebee plays frank Sinatra’s favourites?”

Buckle: “Dat’s a Barvellous idea bister Cutler, but I’ve dothing to play it ode!”

Cutler: “Say no more, say no more, live music is best! What about this…” and rummages in his stall he produces an battered looking trombone

Buckle:“Oh look at dat, I’ve got ode of does at hobe!”

Cutler: “Not anymore sonny you haven’t”

Buckle: “Ho Barvellous, Bikle will be pleased, he’s always trying to throw it out, but den I get sad and beg to keep it and so he lets be!”

Cutler: “But you can have this one, long as you get your brother to pay me later!”

Buckle: “Ho defidately bisster Cutler!” And Buckle takes the distorted instrument with childlike glee, he is about to blow an enthusiastic note when Cutler suggests not.

Cutler: “No no no, not be doing that here, sound travels like a donkey! Don’t spoil the surprise! Go give your brother a treat up at the show area!”

Buckle: “Barvellous, thanks Bister Cutler, I will!” and off he scampers back to the judging area…

Back up at the show things are progressing nicely in line with all of the foregoing disasters and alarums. Fighting has broken out once more between  the two birdman groupings. At first the drunkenness of most of the Johnsons left them at something of a disadvantage, but before long their superior technical abilities and long history of committing acts of a dastardly and bloody nature in the service of Morris stands them in good stead, and those few Thompsons still capable of independent movement are driven from the field in disarray, bloody and bruised and demoralised, they flee incontinently, in the spirit of “sauve qui peut”. The victorious Johnsons celebrate their victory with more liquor and and by overturning and setting ablaze their erstwhile opponent’s cracker stand.The fleeing Thompsons appeal desperately to Clancy as they stream past him pursued by a hail of missiles, but, full of his impending triumph he turns his face away disdainfully.

Clancy: “Blplplbl! No time for you! Moment of victory! First prize at Bird Show! Blplplp!”

Yolanda: “Pretty confident there Clance pants? Reckon you’re in with a chance? Ha ha ha that rhymed! Must be pretty special that bird of yours eh? Bit of a prime specimen eh?”

Clancy: “Blplplp! Certainly is!    Fabulous creature! Surefire winner! All my expertise and skill, days and days of preparation, blblplpbl! Doesn’t clinch supreme prize I’m a Dutchman!”She whips the cover off the cage with a flourish. Clancy puffs himself up even more, chest swelling with smug pride. The crowd crane their necks as they try to feast their eyes upon this much advertised paragon of canaryhood.Slumped in the cage is an extremely small and elderly turkey, presumably some kind of dwarf breed, almost featherless, and wearing a stained singlet and boxer shorts. Despite its diminutive stature, the wretched creature bears an unmistakeable resemblance to Clancy himself, who stands, wings tucked into his waistcoat, simply beaming with pride”Blplplb! Very finest of canaries! Blplplp! Look upon my works ye mighty, and despair!.” Leering gloatingly at the loathsome specimen shivering in the bottom of the cage, he actually simpers. “Who’s a pretty boy then? Blplplplp!”

Yolanda and the others look at each other incredulously: “Erm Clance are you sure this is your entry?”

Clancy: He gazes swooningly again. “Blplplp! Certainly is! Isn’t she a dream?” There is clearly some kind of glamour on either the bird or on Clancy himself, as he is clearly not only under the firm impression that this wrinkled and foul smelling creature cowering in a pool of its own filth is a prize canary, bit is also quite smitten with it.“curious expressions? Blbllblbp, something wrong?”

Constable: “Err no Mr Claaancy sir, she be a roight beauty” the constable chimes and it sounds like he actually means it.

Yolanda snorts derisively “A ‘roight beauty’ if you think a miniature geriatric piss stained Turkey is a beauty anyway”

Clancy: “Blblblblbp don’t know what you mean, prince primrose finest canary in the land.”

Strangely Bikle seems to be under the same impression

Bikle: “By god he’s right, look at dat handsobe bird, I though primrose princess was beautiful! Dat bird takes de biscuit and do bistake!”

Yolanda: “fuck..” she slurs, “I don’t know, lets take a look at yours tooly, and I mean the canary!”

Bikle: “Right though I don’t do dat I can do a lot against Clancy’s entry!” The cage is unveiled to reveal what appears to be a miniature version of Bikle himself, complete with cloak. There is a tiny bucket in the bottom of the cage into which the figurine has been relieving himself whilst a plate of tiny French bread pizzas serves as food and an upside down attached to the cage bottle of cocoa cola for hydration. “Pribrose pridcess! Isn’t she a dreab! Still a rud for you boney Cladcey!”

Before Yolanda can say anything, Clancy gushes  in surprise.

Clancy: “Blblbllblbp, take it all back, trophy is yours, pribrose pridcess , blbllblp most beautiful bird possible!”

Yolanda is confused, she looks down at the tiny fucked off looking figure, who in turn stares back stonily before squeaking “let be out of here!”

Yolanda: “Ohmygod what the fuck is going on? I bet it’s that bastard wizard!”

Clancy: “Bllblblblbp don’t know what you mean, two fine canary’s, blblblbp, Bikle’s better though, bblblblbp, best man won blblblblp!”

Bikle: “Oh doh Cladce, dat cadary of yours is by far de best and do bistake, you take de trophy!”

Yolanda: “You’re both fucking mental, I’m the fucking royalty and they both look shit to me! Leaving me no alternative but to award the prize to plenipotentiary Johnson’s entry purely because it actually resemble a canary…”

The two look on apoplectically at her in outrage at the decision…

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Published in: on July 26, 2016 at 1:12 pm  Leave a Comment  

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