Episode Thirteen – “The Dennis and the Crown”
Tim Flimsy hadn’t noticed that twenty percent of the
pageant had just dissolved into nasal mucus before the audience’s eyes. He
had a job of hosting to do and hosting was what he had been born for.
“And the winner of the fifth annual Miss Firkinside Beauty Pageant is…”
Drum roll.
“Miss….”
Drawing in of breath.
“…Bendaton herself – Glenda Fisting.”
The crowd erupted into joy. It was the biggest thing to happen to Bendaton
since the Civil War. Tim Flimsy took my hand and led me to centre stage.
“Congratulations Glenda – how does it feel?”
“I… I… I…”
“Just enjoy the moment” said Tim, squeezing my hand and smiling for the
hundreds of flashing cameras. A little sensible research would reveal that
Miss Firkinside is won every year by the village hosting it but none of us
knew that at the time. A lot of painful grooming could’ve been avoided
(not to mention the loss of my moustache) if this fact had been discovered
earlier. If you want a job doing properly, don’t involve Wicks.
“You smegma on the drinking glass of civilisation” boomed Tom Baker from
the back of the hall. “You toxic flatulence in the space suit of
humanity.”
“What is going on?” said Tim Flimsy, panicking as he lost control of the
evening.
“You nocturnal emission on the sheet of life.”
He was heading towards me.
“You erection at the funeral of hope.”
He was definitely coming for me.
“You semen spot on the trousers of mankind.”
It wasn’t looking promising for yours truly.
“You discharge on the face of the planet.”
“Don’t do anything you’ll regret” I warned, beckoning for Wicks, Grantham
and Ian Devine to back me up. Once more my posse let me down. I made a
mental note to hold auditions for replacement members of my crack fighting
unit. If only I had a crack fighting UNIT <g>
“Can we be of…”
“…any assistance?” asked Pip and Jane Baker.
“I’ve got a baseball bat and I’m going to break his head into little
pieces” bellowed Tom Baker.
“We’d really rather you…”
“…didn’t take so messy a course of action” warned Pip and Jane Baker. They
adopted a martial arts stance and, when Tom Baker attacked, they deflected
his blows but hit with numerous shots of their own. He was quickly
disarmed and tied up in knots, his own limbs forming the ropes.
“How utterly…”
“…evil” exclaimed Pip and Jane Baker.
“My heroes” I said, forgetting for a moment that I wasn’t the damsel in
distress that my outfit suggested.
Pip and Jane Baker brushed themselves down after the brief fight and let
me know that they were both black belts in kung fu.
“We thought it was a very good…”
“…way to practice our mental disciplines which…”
“…have aided our successful writing career no…”
“…end” they explained. I was grateful to them for saving my (Dennis
Brent’s) life and let them know it.
But there was to be a sting in the tail (literally). As fast as lightning,
the Cheshire Tom sprang at Pip Baker’s head and embedded his claws in his
flesh.
“Oh my goodness – there’s a…”
“…cat attacking Pip, we should…”
“…do something to get it off me before…”
“…it does any real damage.”
Jane Baker was able to disable it with a quick blow of her fist but the
damage was already done. The Cheshire Tom melted away into nasal fluid and
Pip and Jane Baker nursed their wounds.
“I think it’s only a superficial…”
“…cut but we really ought to get this…”
“…man some medical attention.”
“We could go to my house” I said, “I live close by.”
“What a good suggestion, Miss…”
“…Fisting – we’d be only too delighted.”
So I got to ride in Pip and Jane Baker’s car and talk to Pip and Jane
Baker about their writing career. I asked them about their favourite Pip
and Jane Baker script, the particular methods of writing employed by Pip
and Jane Baker and where Pip and Jane Baker get the inspiration which
separates a script from a Pip and Jane Baker script. Pip Baker may have
been bleeding but once we got on to the subject of Pip and Jane Baker, Pip
and Jane Baker kept on talking. I gave them supplies from my medical kit
and Jane Baker attended to Pip Baker’s wounds while all the time giving me
fascinating insights into the life and career of Pip and Jane Baker. I
plied them with tea and biscuits and drew every last drop of information
from their brains. The article that resulted was the best in the history
of Mucky Devastation magazine. I received no fewer than nine letters about
it and four of those contained praise. I remembered all nine hundred and
four questions that I meant to ask and they gave full and complete answers
to them all. Then they asked if they could use the lavatory. I said by all
means and showed them the way into the cubicle. The door slammed shut and
I activated the mechanism. My cryogenic unit may not be as advanced as my
friend Ian Devine’s but it can still freeze a living human being in under
ten seconds. One day I would go in an organise my collection – it’s rather
inefficient having them just standing around – but for now I can sit back
and know that I have not only the most detailed interview with Pip and
Jane Baker but conclusively the last interview with Pip and Jane Baker
(power cuts excepted).
And I think you’ll agree that made all of the above worth while.
The End.
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