21 Words: The Verbwhore Halloween Story 2010

[Cerys]

a giant puppy over his naked, quivering buttocks.  He had once confided in me that he fantasisted about such things.  Naturally

[Cerys]

I gave him a damn good thrashing for his impertinence.  Ever since that fateful night, he has taken to prowling the

[Jemble Fred]

ramparts of my bungalow, breaking my precious sleep with harrowing cries of "AVE A NUT!" and the like. Still, he's cheap.

[Cerys]

Unlike Lavinia, whose formaldehyde addiction is still threatening to bankrupt me.  And Forschaft DeWinter, my erstwhile psychiatrist, whose fees are even

[Jemble Fred]

tually going to bankrupt me.

It was then that Fatterson thrust a telegram at me. With trembling fingers I opened it

[Cerys]

- my steady fingers were still at the dry-cleaners, where they were undergoing an experimental procedure involving crystal meth and a sponge.

The telegram was painfully terse: PROFESSOR STOP COME QUICKLY STOP EMERGENCY STOP PARALLEL PARKING EXCLAMATION LOVE HERBERT ... I frowned, collecting my

[Jemble Fred]

longjohns up over my leathery thighs and whistling for a dishy cab. It was time to go to the theatre.

"Drury

[Ginyard]

Lane Hot Pussy Club, please" I bellowed at the driver.

"Planning on going south of the river, eh squire?" the chirpy

[Cerys]

little pederast enquired.  I thrashed him for his impertinence and allowed myself the luxury of spending in his hat.  He gave

[Jemble Fred]

a look of intense satisfaction, and whipped up the nags into a speeding froth. Within miliseconds I was standing outside the

[Cerys]

Gates of Hell, which came as something of a surprise to me.  From inside I heard the desolate cries of souls

doomed to eternal anguish, pain and bad karaoke.  My driver grinned wetly.  'Best club in the 'ole city, guv,' he opined,

[Jemble Fred]

and there, above the door, I beheld the legend, in nine-foot-high gilt lettering: "ALAN NAGSWORTH'S PALACE OF VARIETOUS DISTRACTIONS AND ODDNESSES."

[Jemble Fred]

Checking in my check hat at the check hat desk check-in, I sauntered mysteriously up the crimson stairs and prepared myself

_{THIS YEAR'S SUMMER STORY PREMIERS ON CAB RADIO IN TEN MINUTES! sorry}

[biniput]

For whatever depravitous, monumental, depressive and oddly satisfying shit storm of entertainments Nagsworth had laid on for his regulars etc.

[biniput]

The banquet "fit for a simpleton" was common knowledge and the suppository roller disco had long since entered into myth/ledgend however-

[Jemble Fred]

the particular pleasure which had me jangling the farthings in my hip pocket with glee was of a more exclusive nature

[Cerys]

; so exclusive, in fact, that only person besides myself who was offered the chance to indulge in its secret ecstasy was

[Jemble Fred]

Prince Bertie himself, that fat, flatulent, beardy poltroon. Indeed, the heir to the throne was already seated in his box, farting

[Cerys]

Handel as though it were going out of fashion.  I nodded to him, and closed the lid.  It did little to

[Jemble Fred]

minimise the positively life-changingly evil nature of the royal stench that hung about the establishment like a shitty raven.

Nagsworth himself

[Cerys]

observed all from his vantage point, which floated just below the ceiling like an ectoplasmic liver, dripping scorn on anyone who

[Ginyard]

dared to raise their eyes to him. Sometimes he dismissed the unworthy by pouring soup on them. A bile portcullis. Then

[Jemble Fred]

in the darkest periods of the witching hours he would play terrifying ditties on the wurlitzer, and cackle like a mad

[Cerys]

whore with a chainsaw - which was quite apt, since he was, in all truth, a mad whore with a chainsaw.  His

[biniput]

Gaze finally settled on myself and thought not startled he seemed to need a bit of composure before starting off on

[Jemble Fred]

one of his celebrated recitals – something to do with gypsies and genitals, his two favourite subjects. Gilbert and Sullivan themselves couldn't

[the midnight watch baboon]

appear from beyond the graves as planned, instead sending a bouquet of lilies and water-cress to a "delighted!" Nagsworth, who begunst reciting:

[Ginyard]

Rosy hair, Travellers balls
Oh yeah, Potterman do
Born in a field with a rottweiler
Oh yeah, Potterman do
AAAAAAGGHHHHHHH!!!!, Potterman do

[Cerys]

do do - come on and do the conga
Do do do the train across the -

'Nooooooooooooo!' I screamed, beating at my

[Ginyard]

wig with my feathered hat till blood burst from my temple and spat at Montgomery Knivesfielder, the poet who sat