Bodopoly pt 5


Reeling from the blow, Bikle is still petrified that the mob have been let in “Ho god Buckle, de bob are cobig! Shut de door quickly!” “De bob Biggle? Is dat lige burderous bob?” “Yes yes dat’s de ode, close de fuckig door!” “I’b too scared Bikle!” says Buckle looking genuinely petrified at the thought of murderous bob’s return. “Fuck’s sake!”  shouts our protagonist and launches himself towards the door, slamming it shut just before a banging crash of bodies thumps into it. Murderous bob can now clearly be heard, hammering at the door. “Ho god we’re doobed!” cries Bikle, he begins to wonder if he could pass Buckle off as himself. He quickly tears the badly glued on hair off his head for a start, takes cloak off. “Berr Buckle, put dis bagic cloak od quickly, it will help protect you frob burderous Bob!” brightening up suddenly Buckle takes the black cloak with glee. “Ho a bagig cloag! Barvellous! Dow  burderous Bob can’t touch be and I’b like Bikle!” he flaps and capers around the flap oblivious to the awful noise cobig from the door. Bikle thinks this is going well “Dat’s right, you’re Bikle, I like it whed you play dat gabe, baybe you could bix it wid de pervert gabe frob earlier!” “Ho barvellous fridea Biggle, loog at be I’b a disgustig perverg called Bikle!” he gets socks on his ears and his hands and flaps around the room in the strangest manner “Perverg! Perverg! I’b Bikle de perverg!” There is suddenly an awful splintering sound from the door and Bikle is gripped by and sickening fear. He looks at the cloak flapping, sock covered idiot and finds it hard to believe they will actually be fooled, if that’s supposed to be Bikle, then who is he? Buckle? Simon? Or maybe just hide. Hiding seems the best plan, as the door splinters again. “Hide and seek tibe Buckle! You’re de perverd ad I’b de hider! Count as high as you cad!” and with that Bikle launches himself behind the sofa and pulls a fortuitously left dirty towel over himself in the hope he looks like a pile of dirty laundry. In the room Buckle can be heard “Ode, two, three, four, Bikle! Bikle! Whad cobes after four?!” Bikle studiously ignores the request as the sound of the door crashing open fills him with an awful dread. “Ho who are all dese people?! Are dey here to play hide ad seek too Bikle! Booohhh!” the clamouring awful noise that is anger on mass fills the room and Buckle’s voice disappears after that last utterance. Cold sweating with terror Bikle scrunches himself up tight as the crashes and bangs reverberate around the small flat, it can be only moments now. The icey fear of a brutal lynching, beating or whatever is so great that our the poor character hidden behind the sofa urinates all over himself and starts crying. “Don’t hurd be! Don’t hurd!” he whimpers as the sofa is pulled away by brutal arms. “don’t hurd be! don’t hurd be!” he continues from his foetal position. This plaintive cry continues for several more seconds before his frozen terrified mind realises that no angry arms have grabbed him, no punches have been landed. “Please don’t hurd be.” He says again with a slightly less pathetic intonation, before opening half an eye. The sofa has been pulled aside so he now can see the contents of the room. This viewing reveals, Buckle sat in Bikle’s chair in his cloak, eating a bag of candy floss. Johnson, and Morris (smoking a roll-up), who are both  laughing “Ho ho there you are shit bean, ho that was marvellous, I see you’ve soiled yourself ‘again’. Getting to be a habit that isn’t it. Have you met does-a-fantastic-impression-of-an-angry-mob-Johnson!” “Mwaaerk!” laughs Johnson loudly and they both point and jeer. “H’what! You bastard Borris!” “Can it bean boy, you’ve got what you wanted haven’t you? Dopey, the flat, the soiled trousers…” he pauses to continue the list “That’s about it mind, but can’t have everything can you now, except I could if I wanted to, though I don’t owing to certain logical contradictions that are entailed by the notion of having everything and the definition of everything, axioms must be set up before such an eventuality can occur, to wit are we  to define a thing purely by its extensional qualities or do more abstract notions also count and if the former am I not also a thing or should I not be reduced to my physicality?” Bikle looks confused “Berr dat’s all very well Borris, but dow I’ve god literally dothig but several bags of sticky toffee and one small cad of beads, cad I borrow a fiver til giro day baybe?” “Borrow a fiver? You hear that Johnson, he wants to borrow money off us.” “Very well shit can, and may I ask why once again you have shit all over you? Violent extortionate loan shark Johnson will lend you a fiver, well he has lent you a fiver, indeed in the excitement of seeing money on offer you have borrowed £500 from him, I would fill in all the ensuing awful consequences of this action but somehow I feel that will not be necessary and time will disclose the correct unfolding.” Sure enough, a sharp dressed, mean looking Johnson is now holding a signed contract, Bikle is holding a similar document and has £500 of notes in his hands. “Oh by god Buckle! Look at dis, we’ve got bodey! Led’s go ad ged sobe dew thigs!” Morris and the Johnsons vanish leaving Bikle and Buckle clutching the foolishly gotten gains. “£500 sbacker, Buckle cobe ode, lets buy you sobe cheese!” “Ho barvellous! I thought dere’d be cheese, did I bendtiod dat biggle! Id fact whilst we were playing de bodopoly I thoughd dat dere would be a cheese counder like de hat.” Buckle continues to ramble on, Bikle cannot be arsed or is not even listening enough to point out that Buckle didn’t even play any of the game. “Cobe od get your togs od Buckle, we’re goig!” “Ho where are we going!” “To de dewsagent frof course!” So the gangly misfits march down the stairs of from their squalid abode and out into the evening air. Walking down the road to where the newsagent should be they can see that there is not just one newsagent but in fact two. “Dis is bost freculiar Buckle, just yesterday dere was by old dewsagent and dow dere’s adother ode, let’s take a closer look!” “A closer loog at what Bikle?” “De dewsagent you dibwit!” “But dere’s two dewsagets Bikle which ode do you bead?” “De ode dat’s dot our old dewsagent, de ode with de other Bickle id it!” “Other Bickle?” Buckle looks profoundly confused “De ode with burderous bob id it ded!” “Ho I don’t want to go id dat ode, we’ll be eated up like cousid lawredce!” “Dat’s what I’b sayig broder bide, lets check de oder ode out!” and so they enter the other newsagent, which as they go through the door chimes a ‘ding’ in a peculiarly irritating manner. This noise is quickly followed up by the sound of a familiar voice “Ho hello h’there h’sir, h’what can I do for you, a dewspaper perhaps!” “Sibod!” Bikle shouts in genuine surprise “What the fuck are you doig alive?” “Ho h’I don’t h’know what you h’talking h’about, though I do have a h‘question for you.” “Ho god what is it?” “Ho well, I was just h’wondering, and I thought h’maybe that tall man h’might know, so I thought I’d h’ask seeing as you’re here…” “ho get to de point will you” “H’I was just wondering why it is that tools fall in love! Frole!” A chill of some awful déjà vu runs through Bikle and he freezes momentarily in his tracks.

“Dis is just, well just stradge. I thought you had beed eated by a tiger?” Simon shakes his head, “H’oh don’t be h’ridiculous Bikle, I was merely, merely…” he stoops behind the counter and picks up a piece of card. Putting on a pair of glasses, he peers at it before continuing, “I was beaten by a Tigra.” Both he and Bikle look at each other confusedly. A second, larger piece of card seems to fall from the ceiling, picking it up Simon goes on. “A Vauxhall Tigra. In a road race. On the way to the zoo. It’s a type of car you pair of cocklords.” There is a pause. Simon smiles vacantly. Bikle shrugs, “Ho, a road race you say? In cars? Od de way to de zoo? Well dat explaids everythig den. Dow what was it we cabe id here for agaid?” Buckle is jumping up and down. “Ho, ho ho, Bikle! I dow what it was! I dow!” “Ho god, frof course. Very well den, Sibod, bay we please have sobe cheese please?” Simon looksnonplussed. “H’cheese h’sir? I’m afraid that this is a h’newsagents, there’s no cheese for sale here. I’m awfully sorry.” “De sigd says Dewsagent ad Codvediedce Store. Dewspapers, bagazides, sweets, cold drigks, tobacco ad groceries. Dat’s id de window. Cheese is a grocery iteb is it dot? Derefore, brig be a large piece of your dicest ad bost frexpedsive cheese ibbediately.” “Ho dat’s h’flawed h’logic Bikle, I mean, to say, h’larks tongues in h’aspic are h’technichally a h’grocery h’item, but you don’t surely h’expect a small convenience store to sell those, heeeey?” “Baybe dot, but whed said Codvediedce Store has a sigd dext to de coudter readig “H’say h’cheese! Dow stockig ad excitig range of dobestic ad idterdatiodal cheeses, check out our dedicated cheese chiller id de cheese aisle, for all your cheese deeds”, ded I thigk dat I ab well widid by rights id requestig sobe bloody cheese. Dow edough ofyou dodsedse ad brig be by cheese!” “Ho, and what cheese would dat be? I dod’t see h’any h’cheese h’sir.” “Do do do do ad do! I’b dot havig dis. I cad see ad extedsive array of cheese just over dere, id de dab cheese aisle, which is de largest, O,O,O,O, frexcuse be, de largest aisle id de whole shop, it’s sibply bribbig wid cheese, a bad cad barely bove id here for cheese for god’s sake, it’s piled high! You are wearig a probotiodal t shirt ebblazoded wid a picture of sobe Swiss cheese od it ad de slogan “Cheeses H Christ! Dat’s sobe quality cheese dey sell dowd at Sibod’s!” ad as if dat wasd’t eduff you have, perched od your head at a jaudty adgle, a dovelty hat id de shape of a wedge of cheese, sportig de phrase “I’b crackers about cheese!” Dot to bedtiod your badge which reads “Here to help, ask be about our cheese festival!” Dow cobe across wid de cheese prodto, ad do bore bessig about!” Simon Sentsmiles sweetly. “Ho, I see Bikle, you are having a joke. Very h’amusing I’m h’sure. Now what can I h’get you h’today?” Bikle knows all to well what is happening, but can’t help himself, “Cheese! Cheese! Ad a third tibe, cheese you blitherig buffood  of a babblig bastard! Give be sobe bloody cheese! De whole place is swibbig id it! It’s lyig idpiles ad heaps ad accubulatiods, de shelves groad beneath de weight of it, de windows are crabbed to bursting wid de stuff! It is festooned about de very walls of de shop, I’ve dever seed so buch cheese id ode place id all by life! Dere’s soddig cheese as far as de eye cad see you fuckig git! Hand it over, just a sliver, ad idfiditisbal fraction of dis bental aboudt of cheese, just a bit dab you, I dod’t wadt a whole edab, or a wheel of cheddar or a bastard truckle of wedsleydale, just a borsel of cheese for de love of God bad, ad dod’t give be dat “Ho you bustbead de h’allegeged h’cheese dodsedse, just dod’t, I couldn’t stand it, I used to do dis to people you dow, whed I was you, I dow how it works, it holds do bysteries for be, dow Sibod, give be de botherfuckig cheese you git.” Simon shrugs regretfully. “Ho I ha’m h’sorry h’sir, but I am unable to meet your requirements for said h’dairy h’produce, we simply don’t have a crumb of it in the shop. There’s no demand for it round here. Dow if you’ll h’excuse me a moment, I’ll just serve these other gentlemen…” “Ho do you dod’t! Dis is where all de rest of de gits cobe id ad are like, ‘uh huh huh cad we have sobe cheese please Sibod, wid our tools, ad you are all ho yes h’sir, here is de cheese, adythig for a chub’, well I’b dot havig it you hear be! Give be de bloody cheese or by gub, I’ll cripple you, you see if I dod’t!” Sure enough, a queue has formed, there is, as Bikle predicted, Pete and Paul, clutching shopping baskets full of cheese, an old, scruffy man with brown trousers and a t shirt with the logo “Cheese Please Louise!” across the front, Fond Of The Old Fromage Johnson, “Red” Lester, the ginger haired man from the corner sandwich shop, the Duc d’Camembert, Old Cheddar George,  and so on. “Bi was here first, ad I’b dot leavig udtil I get sobe cheese!” “Ho is dat so h’sir?” “Dab right it is sudshide! I’b dot puttig up wid dis so called cobedy frubiliatiod ady bore! Where’s by bloody cheese? I have bodey, I deband dat you give be cheese!” Simon shakes his head resignedly, “Ho very h’well h’sir, I’ll h’attempt to h’locate some of the h’commodity that you have h’requested. Perhaps there is some wrapped up here, in TOMORROW’S NEWSPAPER!” With a flourish he whips out the dreaded journal, “Ho, h’what this h’sir? “Park Pervert Arrested After Fracas In Newsagency? Suspect Badly Injured By Mob After CheeseRow?” Now what was it you h’wanted h’again h’sir?” Bikle pales, “Berrr, dothig, dothig, best be od by way, cad see dat you are busy, dice to have you back dere, adother tibe perhaps, bust be goig, cheerio ad all dat, Cobe od Buckle!” So saying, he bustles his brother out of the shop and away down the street.   As he does so, he hears with painful clarity, “Uh huh huh huh, and some larks tongues in aspic to go with our cheese please, with our tools.” And the inevitable answering cry, “H’certainly h’sir! H’anything for a chum!” Cursing under his breath he hurries Buckle along, catching sight of Bockle/Simon chatting to a couple of attractive housewives over the counter of his shop, and for a moment wonders how people will react to there suddenly being two newsagents called Simon where earlier there was only one, but then realises that as far as they are concerned, there will always have been two newsagents called Simon on the street, “Oh you know, turn off just before the Baker’s Arms and go straight down that road, you know the one, the one with the two newsagents called Simon…” they would say, and the other would nod, “Oh yes, the two newsagents called Simon, everyone knows where that is…” He was roused from this train of thought, by Buckle muttering to himself. “Dow what is it Buckle?” Buckle looks glum, “Ho, you dow Bikle, it’s just dat earlier today, well It’s just dat you see, I thought dat dere would be cheese.” White hot rage floods him for a moment, and he feels a dreadful urge to strangle his idiot sibling and silence his yammering once and for all, but the feeling subsides and is replaced by resignation. “Yes yes Buckle, be too, dever bind, I’b sure we’ll find sobe cheese at sobe poidt during de day. Dow he’s a few shop, I wonder what dey sell id dere? Shall we go id ad have a look?” myThey open the door to the shop, which is badly lit and gloomy. Racks and racks and shelf upon shelf disappear into the murky interior, the shop is clearly much bigger on the inside than it appeared from the street. Off in one corner Bikle can just make out a counter, complete with an old fashioned cash register. He pushes the door open a bit wider, causing a bell to clang mournfully, and the two walk in. The shelves are stocked with brown paper packages differentiated only by size and by a number printed in red ink. Bikle wanders around a bit and picks up a parcel at random and shakes it. This dislodges a small cloud of dust which makes him sneeze. He goes to blow his nose on his cloak, but remembers that Buckle is wearing it, so he has to sniff loudly. Still there is no sign of any member of staff or shopkeeper to be seen. By the till is a small and very dusty bell with an adjacent sign reading “please

ring for service.” Accordingly Bikle gives the bell a sharp tap, in response to which it emits a dull clack. “Ooh ee, like ringing bells you do don’t you sonny?” Comes a voice from behind him, “That’s two now, and you can’t of been here more than thirty seconds, man in a hurry are we? Places to go, people to repel? What brings you here then? And I don’t mean some kind of specially adapted minibus, we’ll take that as a given shall we? No I mean why are you here? Early closing at the Hopeless Loser Café

Is it? Anyway, what’s it to be, business or pleasure? Although it’s apparent to the most uninterested observer, in which class I unashamedly place myself, that the pair of you are singularly Ill fitted for either pursuit, still what can we do for you? Out of magic poo are we? Say no more, Jackson! Do us a favour, nip round the back and fill this bowl will you?” “Do, do do! Do bagic poo today Bister Cutler.” “Oh is that so? Fair enough, fair enough,  in fact, upon closer inspection it appears that you are still sporting a not insignificant amount of faecal matter on your old dial there, an inferior brand by the look of it, you can tell by the uneven formation of the crusting. Cheap shit is as cheap shit does mind you, but if you’re happy with dung smeared all over your physog, then we’ll it’s be churlish of me to cavil about it, as it is I don’t suppose you have much to be happy about, so far be it from meto snatch these small joys from you, now if it’s not a poop top up that you’re after, what’s it to be? How about a nice disguise for you and your retard? We’ve had some jolly times kitting you out with disguised in the past haven’t we? Got a pantomime horse costume here, factory second, slight defect in that its got no head, but two arse ends, perfect for you and your brother, no need to labour the symbolism Dennis, sure the gentleman is fully cognisant of the fact that you consider him and that collection of failed cells he hangs around with to be a couple of pointless arseholes who don’t know whether they’re coming or going, but then again, can’t hurt to mention it eeh? There’s no secrets between man an merchant, as my sainted Uncle Izzy used to say before the cough finished him. No? What about this then? We’ll kit you out as the gent as everybody’s talking about, what you reckon to this then?” Cutlerholds up a pair of black jeans, pair of pixie boots, frilly shirt and cloak. “But dey’re by clothes! Again!” “I should coco bug eyes, sourced from a reputable supplier these, got a standing order for items like these, scouring the landfill night and day is old Frosty, searching for just such gems as these, came up lucky today, whole bin full he came back with, he’ll eat well tonight, well I say well, more something, anyway, what you reckon? All the rage these, flying off the shelves, “fancy dress party? At a loss as to what to wear? Why not go as the region’s most hated sexual offender?” That’s what I says to them, well I say them, of course I mean you. So then you massive freak, is it a deal? Give me twenty quid and I won’t call the rozzers. Well I’ll give you time to get away at least, not enough time of course, but time enough to hand over the money and get out of my shop so as not to sullythe Cutler name by associating it in the public mind with a degenerate like you. Tell you what, make it thirty and I won’t hit you with this chair leg.” *THWACK* “Youch! By shoulder!” “Again. I meant I wouldn’t hit you again. Unless I really feel like it.” *THWACK* “Which I do. Call it forty for cash. Plus a tenner for my time.” *THWACK* “Sixty altogether, and I’ll throw in some toffee for the gibbon.”  “Frouch! Stop it Bister Cutler, Stop it! I deed a few cobputer ad a telly! I’ve got £500 of real boney!” “Ooh eeh? Well now that does make a difference doesn’t it?” *THWACK* “Not that much of a difference mind, but still. Now a computer and a telly you say?”



Published in: on July 7, 2017 at 3:39 pm  Leave a Comment  

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