Well, everything was simply going to pot.
The money was gone and Lady Marzipan would surely become even more cross if she should fail to apprehend the two rotund clerics. Scaramanga and the boy pirate, Stuart, had disappeared at the head of pajama’d legion to locate a confederate in the Kowloon Walled City – a Hung Ya Kim Song Bong something or another. (At least some were carrying bill hooks, an excellent weapon even though it reduces ones initiative due to its relative unwieldiness.) Further feeding a growing sense of panic in Woodpecker-Smythe, neither the Brigadier nor Commodore Thornton Pickle were anywhere to be seen. All of this paled, however, to the thought of Lady Lyme Weoghe who would be in no mood to hear about powdered sugar got all over his finest purple waistcoat (a Boxing Day gift). Woodpecker-Smythe shivered.
This was a stickey wicket. Stuck in time, by himself with only 6 pounds 50.
Yes, Woodpecker-Smythe was utterly alone, save the remaining 850 patrons at the Casino Lisboa, many of which included some very attractive Oriental ladies serving bottomless gin and tonics.
Where was an old crone with good advice when you needed one?
As he launched into yet another disgraceful round of self-pitying conversation with the cocktail hostess, a barely perceptible vertical crack appeared in the middle of the lovely Wudan Mountain mural behind the bar at the Casino.
It did not remain barely perceptible for long as a plaster, velvet, jade and red tassels exploded as a police type call box blew through the wall barely missing the enormous ornamental fish tank.
Amid the settling dust and loosed white doves, the police box opened and out strode Johnny Sixguns, his gila monster boots crunching plaster with each step.
He leveled his pistol at Woodpecker-Smythe.
“Listen up, yer comin’ with me – little issue of two dead bishops in the Kowloon Walled City” he noted calmly.
“Of course, of course” stammered Woodpecker-Smythe.
Sixguns surveyed the chaos and added, “Shut up Smythe, we gotta pick up Lady Marzipan; seems she had straighten out some accounting issues and things got a little messy.”
“Is it ok if I take this last unbroken bottle of Sapphire Gin and Tonic along? You know, for laters?” Woodpecker-Smythe asked hopefully.
“No” Sixguns replied as he blew the last bottle to smithereens, “I hate gin.”
Woody,
ReplyDeleteHow the Devil are you!
How was your time on the golden coastline of Michigan in 2008? I understand that the royal family of Monaco will be moving to Traverse City as soon as they liquidate their assets.
I've been waiting for your missives to put the blog on life support.
W-S,
ReplyDeleteStay clear of that Johnny Six Guns fellow. I think he is unstable.
I just learned an interesting tidbit concerning gin. If a man were to drink 6 gin and tonics made from Bombay Saphire Gin, he would only have a relatively minor hangover the next day.
The only side effect is that there is a coincidental reduction in your wallet size for each gin consumed. I believe it is a causality loop in space-time that is making this happen.
BG Rossaroni