Bodopoly pt 4

 

With much trepidation and trying to ignore the sound of the clamouring mob Clancy throws the dice. They roll and clatter across the board and land as a clearly marked double six, this auspicious number would see Clancy land on Go. “Bllblbp lucky me, extra go and £400!” “Ho h’I think you’ll find that that h’double rule h’is h’apocryphal h’sir!” “Blblblblp, certainly not always played it! Hand over cash!” “Nein Herr Turkey es ist nicht wahr, du kannst nur die £200 haben!” “Blblblp, nicht fair! What mother taught me!” “Mwaaerk!” says Johnson indicating Clancy should quit carping. “Bllblbp really, terrible game, rules not understood!” “Ho quit ‘whinig Clance and h’move your cat!” “Bllblblbp some mistake, not cat counter, was boat!” But now clear as anything the board now features a small pewter cat. With visible cold sweats Clancy moves the feline figure the spaces and takes the £200. “Und now my turn, ach 7, und I moof ein, zwei, drei…” Ziggy lands square onto Johnson’s hotel in Mayfair “Mwaaaerk!” says Johnson “But Ich habe nur die water works und £128!” “Ho then h’appear to be h’out sir, off to the h’corner with you!” and Sigmund shuffles out of the play area over to the corner with the other muttering contingent. Time has passed though now and frankly all this paper money is getting a bit much for Simon. He tries to say as convincingly as he can that he needs the toilet. Clancy eyes him suspiciously “BLblblp at least take turn first, then me and Johnson can carry on!” “H’very well sir!” and he throws the dice “5 h’o do! Cobbudity chest agaid!” Hand trembling he reaches for the card and reads in a curious flat tone “The aetheric form of the angry mob will be waiting for you in bathroom should you carry on with these unclean desires, indeed the feeble solidity you perceive around you is entirely under my command I suggest you finish the game.” “H’o I don’t know what it could h’mean!” he tries to bluster “But h’strangely h’I don’t feel the need for the toilet any h’more” he swallows hard, your go Johnson. Another expert throw from Johnson sees one of the last pieces of property purchased, Leicester square to be precise, this completes his control of that set and renders over 90% of the board hostile to the other players. Clancy and Simon exchange glances of futility. “Blblblblbp pointless game! You win! Didn’t play by proper rules though, so will claim moral victory!” “Ho dere’s do point’ playig h’any longer, it’s true, you wid h’Johnsod!” At this point of victory suddenly Buckle wakes up “Ho what happed? I had a dreab about a pogo stick Bickle and dere was Johnsod and a ghost and den de bagic poo cabe flyig through de air and scooped us up ad we…?” he looks around “Who are all dese people Bickle, why are dey id de flat? Are you goig to bake dat phode call dow, we’re playing bodopoly later rebember!” Bickle gets up out of the corner “Ho god dot likely, de bodopoly gabe fidished, it’s derely tibe for bed, I’ve had edough of today!” The various characters begin to mill out of the flat, except for Simon who shuffles around uneasily “Cobe od Sibod tibe to go!” “Ho well h’I would but de h’angry mob h’is still out dere and dey h’might h’lynch me over dat receipt h’misdemeanour. Cad I stay here?” “Ho of course!” pipes up Buckle “Hady thig for a chub, you cad have Bickle’s bed!” “H’what! Do he can’t!” but too later and Simon has already mysteriously managed to get into Bickles room and shut the door. “What de fuck is goig od!?” shouts Bickle “Ho what do you bead? Cobe od Bickle, leds play bodopoly! Look de board is all set up! I’ve still got by hat and astro Bikle cad play too can’t you astro-Bikle!” and he mouths to animate the nearby astro-Bikle figure “Yes I’b de best at bodopoly, I’ll blast you wid by zapper!” “ho look here’s Bikle probably he’ll play too!” Now emerging from the room comes what was a moment ago ‘Simon’ but now that he’s wrapped a black cloak around himself it seems this enough to confuse Buckle. “Ho barvellous Bikle, we’re playing bodopoly, do you want to be de toad bad!” “Ho dat sound’s h’nice Buckle, cobe od Bickle pull up a pew, your broder’s beed lookig forward to dis gabe and wid dat bob out dere I’b dot goig h’adywhere.” “Dat’s what you think!” says Bickle and makes a dive for the broom. But Simon-Bikle has a quick thought “Buckle, oh doh de evil witch is tryig to get de bagic broob stop hib!” and in a flash Buckle has leaped onto Bickle and entangled him in a gangle of cloaks and limbs. “Fr’I’ll be havig h’dat!” says Simon-B picking up the broom. “Dow Buckle, he’s de h’baddy so we’ve got to h’tie hib up!” “Ho barvellous!” says the enthused Buckle “Get dis dibwit off be!” shouts Bickle, but to short avail as Simon-B brings a saucepan down on his head rendering him unconscious. “Help be put hib id de h’computer chair!” and so the two conspirators prop unconscious Bickle up in a cheap office chair before binding him to said chair with an old sheet. “Whed are we playig de bodopoly Bikle?” “Ho, h’in a bobent Buckle, keep your hair on, we’ve got this h’baddy to deal with h’rebember!” “Ho by god your right Bikle, it’s dat witch dat was trying to steal de bagic broob, what shall we do with her?” “Ho that was no witch Buckle, it was in fact Johnson!” and somehow now Simon-B has added an elastic band to the back of the toadmans hat and made it into a kind of beak, this he then straps to the front of the unconscious Bickle’s head. “Ho by god Bikle! It is Johnsod, will he play too?” “What’s dat h’johdsod you want to play h’bodopoly?” animating the floppy headed character he speaks the word “H’mwaaerk!” “Ho h’look Buckle, he wants to play, so with h’astro-Bikle too we’ve heasily got enough for another h’game!” “Barvellous, you’ll help be wid bodey won’t you Bikle?!” “Ho yes Buckle, h’adythig for a chub!”  

Morris peers interestedly at the crystal ball. The mystical effect is somewhat spoiled by the surround sound speakers which serve to relay every nuance of conversation in the squalid flat. “Hmmm, this is interesting Johnson. Seems old Shit Boy has more to him than we gave him credit for. Also, however he is more of an idiot than I imagined, so in cosmic terms, it all balances out, and once again my judgement is entirely vindicated, as I am sure you will agree, well you do agree don’t you Nodding Vehemently In Agreement Whilst Wearing An Eminently Flammable Jumpsuit Johnson? Marvellous. This wholly unsolicited testimonial to my unearthly sagacity is much appreciated, here please accept this voucher for a pampering day at an agreeable country house spa and conference centre.” He settles himself comfortably in his armchair, “But before you go, fetch me another four pack of Hofmeister and some chicken springrolls. Hearken unto my words winged servitor, and do not forget the sweet chilli dipping sauce or it will be all the worse for you. Now let’s see what Shitty, Dopey, and Unconscious are getting up to.” Back in the flat, S/B is pondering his next move. “Hbbb, dow what is by dext bove?” “Ho, we have’dt started playig yet Biggle.” “Do do, dot dat kide of bove you ditwit, I bead by dext bove I’d frescapig frob de burderous bob.” Buckle looks frightened. “Burderous Bob? Is dat de witch’s dabe? Is he goig to murder us ad ded eat us up like Cousid Lauredce? I wish dat Bikle was here to save be!” S/B pats him on the shoulder. “Here I ab brother, dow let’s get rid of er, Burderous Bob de bodster, ad ded we cad have sobe dice beads ad get to bed.” “Ho Bikle! An I glad to see you! I was so scared of de bodster. I thigk it ate Sibod, cause ode bidute he was here ded he disappeared! I thigk he got gobbled up by datlarge banticore!” “Er, yeeees, dat’s right Buckle, I foud de poor devil’s shoes id de bedroob. Burderous Bob here bust have bunched hib up boxes ad all. Very sad bobedt.” Buckle pulls a sad face. But Bikle, why are you wearig Sibod’s shoes?” “Be? Oh, er, as a tribute to his bebory, yes, a bovig hobage to a dearly missed chub. Dow enuff of dat dodsedse, help be get dese dice pixie boots off de bodster.” Buckle joins in tugging at Bickle’s boots, “But why are we takig de bodster’s boots Bikle?” “Oh for heaveds sake, I forgotted how addoyig dis is, still better dis dan beig bassacred by a belligeredt bob of brutal, bloodthirsty burghers. De boots? Oh because dey are bagic boots Buckle, will dat do?” Buckle looks impressed. “Bagic boots! How frexcitig! Cad I have a go wid deb?” “Certaidly dot! Dey’re bide dow! Dere, dat’s got deb off! Hag od a bidute, by dose itches, I’ll just scratch it a bobedt, bohhh!  What’s dat frappallig aroba? It sbells like shit!” “It’s de bagic Bikle! De bagic poo frob de bagic boots! Just like by dreab! Ad it’s all over your face ad hads! You lucky thig!” “H’what? Oh for fuck’s sake. Dever bide, do tibe to worry about dat dow, I ab reclaibig by destidy! Ad dis tibe I’b dot goig to bake de sabe bistakes! I’b goig to bake a real go of it, goig to be a big shot! Look out world! Bikle’s back!” Buckle has taken a handful of extra sticky toffee and stuffed it into his mouth. “Oh hello Biggle! You’re bag are you? Gid you hag a dice tige? Hag you bet Gousid Lauregce? He’s a bogster you dow.” “Christ. First thig de dew Bikle is goig to do is have you put I’d a bedtal hobe, but first I deed your help to get dis monster dowd de stairs.” “Hang on a minute Shitlord, haven’t you overlooked something?” Bickle’s mouth moves in sync with the words, but the voice, whilst familiar, is clearly not his. Bikle doesn’t seem to be paying attention though, as he rifles through Bickle’s pockets. “What do you bead Buckle, ad dod’t call be dat.” “The hair Jizzmop, the hair. He’s got the long badly dyed do, and you are as bald as a rhino’s ballsack, capeesh?” “Ho dat’s right! Good thigkig Buckle! Baybe you’ll avoid de bedtal ward yet! Where are by scissors ad de glue frob your judior craft set? Ah dere we go, give be a bidute, barvellous! Dow dobody will be able to guess dat I’b dot be! De fidal touch to by basterplad!” So saying he places his shoes onto Bickle’s unconscious feet, and stands up, brushing back strands of haphazardly glued on hair from his faecal matter smeared visage. “I’b a gedius! Cobe od Buckle, help me get dis bodster to de stairs!” Between them, the spindly duo manage to trundle the chair and it’s recumbent occupant to the dimly lit landing. The motion and noise involved in this operation wakes Bickle from his stupor. “Bohhh. Where ab I? What’s happedig?” “Ho, dothig to worry about Bickle, or should I say, Sibod?” Bikle chortles spitefully, “Dat’s right! I’b takig back by life! Ad you cad have by old life!” He pauses, trying to work something out. “I bead dot by old old life, dat’s de ode dat I ab takig back, I bead by dew old life, de ode dat was actually Sibod’s. Real Sibod I bead. Dot fake Sibod. By which I bead be, dot you, because you are fake Sibod dow. Or fake fake Sibod perhaps. Adyway, adylast words before I propel you precipitously pell bell dowd de stairs into de hads of de vedgeful vigiladtes?” Bickle shakes his head. “By God do you bead it? You’d actually steal back your previous existedce? The flat, Buckle, everything?” Bikle sneers triumphantly. “Ho you bet dat I will! You just watch be!” To his surprise, and rather to his disappointment, as he was enjoying playing the role of villain for once, Bickle convulses in spasms of hopeless laughter. Eventually, after several minutes, the giggles and guffaws gradually stop, and pinioned as he is, he tries to wipe the tears from his eyes. “Ho  ho, sorry, ho dear. You poor poor sad bastard Bikle. Dat’s de sidgle bost tragic thig dat I have ever heard. Oh by gooddess, you sad old bad. Ibadgide dat. Ho it’s too fuddy for words. But also so fuckig pathetic dat it almost bakes be wadt to cry.” He giggles again. “I’d fact I would cry if I wasd’tlaughing so buch.” Bikle bridles, his moment of triumph crumbling around him. He attempts to rally. “Ho is dat so? Well at least I’b dot goig to by lydched by a furious crowd who think dat I ab a sex offender!” Bickle smiles serenely. “Ho let be assure you, dat holds do horrors for be. A violedt ad shabeful death is still idfiditely better dan codtiduig od livig your life. I stole a trade sized box of de extra strog dog worbig bedicide frob de back of de vet’s car de other day, I was pladdig od dowdig de lot todight ad endig it adyway, so you are savig be de bother you poor sad bastard.” Bikle doesn’t quite know what to say to this. Bickle’s sincerity is so obvious, and his just the prospect of release so unmistakable, that he struggles to come up with a rejoinder. Bickle smiles at him. “Go on Shit Bikle, give us a push eh? There’s a good boy.” Reluctantly, Bikle does so and Bickle disappears down thestairs with a tremendous clattering and trundling which almost drown out his happy cry of “Wheeeee!” Bikle hears him smash through the front door and a roar go up from the crowd. Thoroughly deflated, he glumly returns to his flat and slumps down against a wall. He looks around him, taking stock of his kingdom. Cooker, fridge, both encrusted with filth, floor ditto. Few bean cans, broken TV, pile of random and soiled household items that look as though they have been scavenged from a dustbin, old computer and monitor. Not much really. And everything beige or grey or shit brown. The crowd are still roaring and cheering outside, and he brightens momentarily, they must be really going to town on poor “Simon”… He hears a brass band strike up “For he’s a jolly good fellow” and the crowd enthusiastically join in. “Dat’s dot very appropriate music to accompady a savage act of collective frobicide!” Curious, heis about to venture across to the window and risk a peep, when a noise from the front door makes him jump nervously. “Ho Bikle, de dewspaper is here!” “Hi dod’t care, H’ive had edough of dewspapers to last be a lifetibe! Hi dod’t wadt to set eyes of adother soddig h’dewspaper, I bead dewspaper, ever agaid!” “Ho you should look at dis ode Bikle, it’s got a picture of you od it!” Heart sinking, Bikle grabs the newspaper from his brother’s hand. Sure enough, there on the front is a huge photograph of himself, clearly taken moments before, in this very room. “Ho by God, wake up, I bust be dreabig!” For there in bold headlines are the words “REAL PARK PERVERT found.” Followed by “Local Police have released this photo of the notorious Park Pervert, also known as the Arboretum Onanist. Identified by local sources as “Bummer Hensman” this twisted individual became internationally notorious last year following therelease of a sick internet video…” His insides twisted into a knot, he reads the rest of the story, which brutally lays bate pretty much every awful thing he has ever done or has had done to him, all in breathless, sensational journalese. He reads of his “sickening romp in a bath of custard with Chonsoix de Bonne Onsoir,” his disastrous appearance on “Ready Steady Mwaeerk!” and a whole litany of failures and indignities, all given the worst possible interpretation. Reeling, his eye wanders to the story below. There, to his horror, is a picture of Bickle / Simon being carried aloft by a cheering crowd of locals, beneath a headline reading: “Innocent Newsagent becomes local hero” the story goes on to say that after being wrongfully accused Simon has been totally vindicated after the real Park Pervert was identified, he has been ceremonially stricken from the Sex Offenders Register, given the FreedomOf The City, and that a Just Giving page to replace his burned out newsagency has already reached £250,000. Bikle curses long and loud. Naive idiot that he is, by now even he can recognise the signs of one of Bikle’s regular massive humiliations. “Does dis bead dat we have to stay idside wid de curtaids closed ad watch you play if de computer agaid Bikle?” Before Bikle can reply, the front door opens and Morris saunters in carrying a hockey stick. “Evenin’ Shitlord. Here you are Dopey, have some toffee, glad you mentioned the computer, slipped my mind innit? Thought I’d take care of this one meself, personal touch see? Can’t abide loose ends.” So saying he sets about the aged Amiga with the hockey stick, reducing it to sparking wreckage, which he then throws through the remaining window pane. Sticking his head out, he yells “He’s in here boys!” Turns nods amiably to Buckle, pats him on the head, takes apool ball from his pocket, throws it accurately and painfully at Bikle’s head and walks off whistling cheerfully.

 

 

 

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Published in: on July 7, 2017 at 3:37 pm  Leave a Comment  

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