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I find it recornered in my nosebook that it was a dokey and
winnie dave towart the end of Marge in the ear of our Loaf
1892 in Much Bladder, a city off the North Wold. Shamrock
Womlbs had receeded a telephart whilst we sat at our lunch
eating. He made no remark but the matter ran down his head,
for he stud in front of the fire with a thoughtfowl face, smirk-
ing his pile, and casting an occasional gland at the massage.
Quite sydney without warping he turd upod me with a mis-
carriage twinkle in his isle.
'Ellifitzgerrald my dear Whopper,' he grimmond then sharply
'Guess whom has broken out of jail Whopper?' My mind imme-
diately recoughed all the caramels that had recently escaped or
escaped from Wormy Scabs.
'Eric Morley?' I ventured. He shook his bed. 'Oxo Whitney?'
I queered, he knotted in the infirmary. 'Rygo Hargraves?' I
winston agreably.
'No, my dear Whopper, it's OXO WHITNEY' he bellowed
as if I was in another room, and I wasn't.
'How d'you know Womlbs? ' I whispered excretely.
'Harrybellafonte, my dear Whopper.' At that precise mor-
man a tall rather angularce tall thin man knocked on the door.
'By all accounts that must be he, Whopper.' I marvelled at his
acute osbert lancaster.
'How on urge do you know Womlbs' f asped, revealing my
bad armchair.
'Eliphantitus my deaf Whopper' he baggage knocking out his
pip on his large leather leg. In warped the favourite Oxo Whit-
ney none the worse for worms.
'I'm an escaped primrose Mr Womlbs' he grate darting frane-
tically about the room.
'Calm down Mr Whitney! ' I interpolled 'or you'll have a
nervous breadvan.'
'You must be Doctored Whopper' he pharted. My friend was
starving at Whitney with a strange hook on his eager face, that
tightening of the lips, that quiver of the nostriches and consta-
pation of the heavy tufted brows which I knew so well.
'Gorra ciggie Oxo' said Womlbs quickly. I looked at my
colledge, hoping for some clue as to the reason for this sodden
outboard, he gave me no sign except a slight movement of his
good leg as he kicked Oxo Whitney to the floor. 'Gorra ciggie
Oxo' he reapeted almouth hysterically.
'What on urn are you doing my dear Womlbs' I imply; 'nay
I besiege you, stop lest you do this poor wretch an injury! '
'Shut yer face yer blubbering owld get' screamed Womlbs
like a man fermented, and laid into Mr Whitney something
powerful wat. This wasn't not the Shamrock Womlbs I used to
nose, I thought puzzled and hearn at this suddy change in my
old friend.
Mary Atkins pruned herselves in the mirage, running her
hand wantanly through her large blond hair. Her tight dress was
cut low revealingly three or four blackheads, carefully scrubbed
on her chess. She addled the final touches to her makeup and
fixed her teeth firmly in her head. 'He's going to want me to-
night' she thought and pictured his hamsome black curly face
and jaundice. She looked at her clocks impatiently and went to
the window, then leapt into her favorite armchurch, picking
up the paper she glassed at the headlines. 'MORE NEGOES
IN THE CONGO' it read, and there was, but it was the Stop
Press which corked her eye. 'JACK THE NIPPLE STRIKE
AGAIN.' She went cold all over, it was Sydnees and he'd left
the door open.
'Hello lover' he said slapping her on the butter.
'Oh you did give me a start Sydnees' she shrieked laughing
arf arfily.
'I always do my love' he replied jumping on all fours. She
joined him and they galloffed quickly downstairs into a harrased
cab. 'Follow that calf' yelped Sydnees pointing a rude fingure.
'White hole mate! ' said the scabbie.
'Why are we bellowing that card Sydnees? ' inquired Mary
'He might know where the party' explained Sydnees.
'Oh I see' said Mary looking up at him as if to say.
The journey parssed pleasantly enough with Sydnees and
Mary pointing out places of interest to the scab driver; such as
Buckinghell Parcel, the Horses of Parliamint, the Chasing of the
Guards. One place of particularge interest was the Statue of
Eric in Picanniny Surplass.
'They say that if you stand there long enough you'll meet a
friend' said Sydnees knowingly, 'that's if your not run over.'
'God Save the Queens' shouted the scabbie as they passed the
Parcel for maybe the fourth time.
'Jack the Nipple' said Womlbs puffing deeply on his wife, 'is
not only a vicious murderer but a sex meany of the lowest
orgy.' Then my steamed collic relit his pig and walkered to the
windy of his famous flat in Bugger St in London where it all hap-
pened. I pondled on his statemouth for a mormon then turding
sharply I said. 'But how do you know Womlbs? '
'Alibabba my dead Whopper, I have seen the film' I knew
him toby right for I had only read the comic.
That evenig we had an unexpeckled visitor, Inspectre Basil,
I knew him by his tell-tale unicorn.
'Ah Inspectre Basil mon cher amie' said Womlbs spotting
him at once. 'What brings you to our humble rich establish-
'I come on behave of thousands' the Inspectre said sitting
quietly on his operation.
'I feel l know why you are here Basil' said Womlbs eyeing he
leg. 'It's about Jock the Cripple is it not?' The Jnspectre smiled
'How did you guess? ' I inquired all puzzle.
'Alecguiness my deep Whopper, the mud on the Inspectre's
left, and also the buttock on his waistbox is misting.'
The Inspectre looked astoundagast and fidgeted nervously
from one fat to the other. 'You neville sieze to amass me Mr
'A drink genitalmen' I ventured, 'before we get down to the
businose in hand in hand?' They both knotted in egremont and
I went to the cocky cabinet. 'What would you prepare Basil,
Bordom '83 or? '
'I'd rather have rather have rather' said the Inspectre who
was a gourmless. After a drink and a few sam leeches Womlbs
got up and paced the floor up and down up and down pacing.
'Why are you pacing the floor up and down up and down
pacing dear Womlbs' I inquiet.
'I'm thinking alowed my deaf Whopper.' I looked over at the
Inspectre and knew that he couldn't hear him either.
'Guess who's out of jail Mr Womlbs' the Inspectre said sub-
benly. Womlbs looked at me knowingly.
'Eric Morley?' I asked, they shook their heaths. 'Oxo Whit-
ney?' I quart, again they shoot their heaps. 'Rygo Hargraves?' I
'No my dear Whopper, OXO WHITNEY!' shouted Womlbs
leaping to his foot. I loked at him admiring this great man all
the morphia.
Meanwire in a ghasly lit street in Chelthea, a darkly clocked
man with a fearful weapon, creeped about serging for revenge
on the women of the streets for giving him the dreadfoot V.D.
(Valentine Dyall). 'I'll kill them all womb by womb' he
muffled between scenes. He was like a black shadow or negro on
that dumb foggy night as he furtively looked for his neck vic-
tim. His minds wandered back to his childhook, remembering
a vague thing or two like his mother and farmer and how they
had beaten him for eating his sister. 'I'm demented' he said
checking his dictionary, 'I should bean at home on a knife like
these.' He turned into a dim darky and spotted a light.
Mary Atkins pruned herselves in the mirrage running her
hand wantanly through her large blond hair. Her tight dress
was cut low revealingly three or four more blackheads carefully
scrubbed on her chess. Business had been bad lately and what
with the cost of limping. She hurriedly tucked in her goose-
berries and opened the door. 'No wonder business is bad' she
remarked as she caught size of her hump in the hall mirror. 'My
warts are showing.' With a carefree yodel she slept into the
street and caught a cab to her happy humping grounds. 'That
Sydnees's nothing but a pimple living on me thus' she thought
'lazing about day in day off, and here's me plowing my train up
and down like Soft Arthur and you know how soft Arthur.'
She got off as uterus at Nats Cafe and took up her position.
'They'll never even see me in this fog' she muttered switching
on her lamps. Just then a blasted Policemat walked by. 'Blasted
Policemat' she shouted, but luckily he was deaf. 'Blasted
deaf Policemat' she shouted. 'Why don't yer gerra job!'
Little did she gnome that the infamous Jack the Nipple was
only a few streets away. 'I hope that blasted Jack the Nipple
isn't only a few streets away,' she said, 'he's not right in the
'How much lady' a voice shocked her from the doorways of
Nats. Lucky for him there was a sale on so. they soon retched
an agreament. A very high class genderman she thought as they
walked quickly together down the now famous Carringto
'I tell yer she whore a good woman Mr Womlbs sir' said
Sydnees Aspinall.
'I quite believe you Mr Asterpoll, after all you knew her
better than me and dear old buddy friend Whopper, but we
are not here to discuss her merits good or otherwives, we are
here, Mr Asronaute, to discover as much information as we can
about the unfortunate and untidy death of Mary Atkins.'
Womlbs looked the man in the face effortlessly.
'The name's Aspinall guvnor' said the wretched man.
'I'm deleware of your name Mr Astracan.' Womlbs said look-
ing as if he was going to smash him.
'Well as long as you know,' said Aspinall wishing he'd gone
to Safely Safely Sunday Trip. Womlbs took down the entrails
from Aspinall as quickly as he could, I could see that they
weren't on the same waveleg.
'The thing that puddles me Womlbs,' I said when we were
alone, 'is what happened to Oxo Whitney? ' Womlbs looged at
me intently, I could see that great mind was thinking as his
tufted eyepencil knit toboggen, his strong jew jutted out, his
nosepack flared, and the limes on his furheads wrinkled.
'That's a question Whopper.' he said and I marveled at his
grammer. Next day Womlbs was up at the crack of dorchester,
he didn't evening look at the moaning papers. As yewtree I
fixed his breakfat of bogard, a gottle of geer, a slice of jewish
bread, three eggs with little liars on, two rashes of bacon, a
bowel of Rice Krustchovs, a fresh grapeful, mushrudes, some
freed tomorrows, a basket of fruits, and a cup of teens.
'Breakfeet are ready' I showbody 'It's on the table.' But to my
supplies he'd already gone. 'Blast the wicker basket yer grannie
sleeps in.' I thought 'Only kidding Shamrock' I said remember-
ing his habit of hiding in the cupboard.
That day was an anxious one for me as I waited for news of
my dear friend, I became fretful and couldn't finish my Kenno-
meat, it wasn't like Shamrock to leave me here all by my own,
lonely; without him I was at large. I rang up a few close itamate
friends but they didn't know either, even Inspectre Basil didn't
know, and if anybody should know, Inspectre Basil should
'cause he's a Police. I was a week lately when I saw him again
and I was shocked by his apeerless, he was a dishovelled rock.
'My God Womlbs' I cried 'My God, what on earth have you
'All in good time Whopper' he trousered. 'Wait till I get my
breast back.'
I poked the fire and warmed his kippers, when he had mini-
coopered he told me a story which to this day I can't remember.

Date: 2015-02-28; view: 711

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