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Its Saturday Morning, early and Dr Rob takes a stroll
Dr. Rob tiptoes through the house, it’s early. Peter lies, still in a crumpled heap. The 666 smeared across his feverish forehead. This had been augmented during the night with black panda eyes, a red nose and a Judy Garland on drugs slash of a red mouth.
Other grunts, snores and farts emanate from the bedroom, a fetid odour hangs like the sulphurous mist of Hades. Dr. Rob, gagging slightly, surveys the detritus of the living room after a Friday night in the House. The room is adorned with about 74 thongs of various hues and condition, interspersed with the lacy and satiny collection are what can only be described as Jonnyb’s Y fronts. Dr. Rob averts his eyes.
On the floor lies the tangled mess of what once was the Twister board, it is smeared with what looks like Jam, French Mustard, and something he had once seen in a jar, on the banks of the Zambezi in Botswana. He tiptoed around it, trying not to get any of the putrid matter slop onto his fluffy bunny slippers.
Across the room Dr. Rob can see what can only be described as a naked arse. It is huge and spotty and amazingly as Dr. Rob moves around the room, the single ‘eye’ seems to follow him around, like those pictures people have on their walls - spooky , perhaps by some freak of science Gordon has had a camera inserted so that he can become ‘Arse cam’. Gordon lies comatose over a poffee, his nose in a pot of guacamole, his arse high in the air. I dread to think what might have befallen him after the innocent game of twister turned nasty at around 9:30.
The kitchen area is a disaster. Fried egg sandwiches at midnight was the start of things to come. As the night got more raucous and more, wine, paraffin, brasso and white spirits were imbibed (Mike had found the cleaning cupboard) there became the ever more desperate attempts to replicate the chicken jalfrezi from the local take away using nothing more than some chicken nuggets smuggled in by Girl, three daffodil bulbs found in the garden, the red dust found in the bottom of a very classy handbag, some of Mike’s ridiculously expensive face cream and a tube of Deep Heat that Vicus was very reluctant to let go of. I was told by a very drunken woman coverd in charcoal that it was, and I quote ‘fucking delish!’
Nevertheless, Dr. Rob girded his loins and opened the fridge door. The light went on. This reminded him of one of the great philosophical questions he had been working on in his spare time. Once the first question, ‘Does the light go off in the fridge when you close the door’ had been solved in a most fantastic way. You must hear this, it was quite quite insane. A colleague, Dr. Marten, had been pondering this puzzler for years, then one day he got into conversation which this chap in a pub. Dr. Martin casually mentioned what he was working on and this guy knew the answer! Would you believe it, turned out he was a ‘refrigeration’ engineer, what ever one of those is, knew that the light went off when you close the door – remarkable!.
Anyway, once this first question had been solved it allowed scientists to solve all sorts of things, like ‘do bears shit in the woods’? Turns out they do, a Mr Attenborough answered that one. The question Dr Rob was pondering was a bit more taxing, its this, pay attention, ‘when a tree falls in a forest does it make a noise’, Tough eh?
Dr Rob paws through the fridge, rummaging through the empty cheese wrappers, yogurty milk, what looks like a urine sample, but in a Coke bottle, three guacamole smeared Doritos, an interuterine device of some sort and a speculum.
No breakfast then.
Dr. Rob shrugs, sniffs the air, shudders and makes his way back to the bedroom his stomach gurgling in a most alarming way, it must have been that kebab they made last night out of his wallet, some privet leaves from the hedge and a filling that he didn’t really want to know about if the little leg bones he found in it was any indication of the size of the creature.
Two minutes later his snores and farts mingle gently with the others in a comradely sort of fashion…..
Other grunts, snores and farts emanate from the bedroom, a fetid odour hangs like the sulphurous mist of Hades. Dr. Rob, gagging slightly, surveys the detritus of the living room after a Friday night in the House. The room is adorned with about 74 thongs of various hues and condition, interspersed with the lacy and satiny collection are what can only be described as Jonnyb’s Y fronts. Dr. Rob averts his eyes.
On the floor lies the tangled mess of what once was the Twister board, it is smeared with what looks like Jam, French Mustard, and something he had once seen in a jar, on the banks of the Zambezi in Botswana. He tiptoed around it, trying not to get any of the putrid matter slop onto his fluffy bunny slippers.
Across the room Dr. Rob can see what can only be described as a naked arse. It is huge and spotty and amazingly as Dr. Rob moves around the room, the single ‘eye’ seems to follow him around, like those pictures people have on their walls - spooky , perhaps by some freak of science Gordon has had a camera inserted so that he can become ‘Arse cam’. Gordon lies comatose over a poffee, his nose in a pot of guacamole, his arse high in the air. I dread to think what might have befallen him after the innocent game of twister turned nasty at around 9:30.
The kitchen area is a disaster. Fried egg sandwiches at midnight was the start of things to come. As the night got more raucous and more, wine, paraffin, brasso and white spirits were imbibed (Mike had found the cleaning cupboard) there became the ever more desperate attempts to replicate the chicken jalfrezi from the local take away using nothing more than some chicken nuggets smuggled in by Girl, three daffodil bulbs found in the garden, the red dust found in the bottom of a very classy handbag, some of Mike’s ridiculously expensive face cream and a tube of Deep Heat that Vicus was very reluctant to let go of. I was told by a very drunken woman coverd in charcoal that it was, and I quote ‘fucking delish!’
Nevertheless, Dr. Rob girded his loins and opened the fridge door. The light went on. This reminded him of one of the great philosophical questions he had been working on in his spare time. Once the first question, ‘Does the light go off in the fridge when you close the door’ had been solved in a most fantastic way. You must hear this, it was quite quite insane. A colleague, Dr. Marten, had been pondering this puzzler for years, then one day he got into conversation which this chap in a pub. Dr. Martin casually mentioned what he was working on and this guy knew the answer! Would you believe it, turned out he was a ‘refrigeration’ engineer, what ever one of those is, knew that the light went off when you close the door – remarkable!.
Anyway, once this first question had been solved it allowed scientists to solve all sorts of things, like ‘do bears shit in the woods’? Turns out they do, a Mr Attenborough answered that one. The question Dr Rob was pondering was a bit more taxing, its this, pay attention, ‘when a tree falls in a forest does it make a noise’, Tough eh?
Dr Rob paws through the fridge, rummaging through the empty cheese wrappers, yogurty milk, what looks like a urine sample, but in a Coke bottle, three guacamole smeared Doritos, an interuterine device of some sort and a speculum.
No breakfast then.
Dr. Rob shrugs, sniffs the air, shudders and makes his way back to the bedroom his stomach gurgling in a most alarming way, it must have been that kebab they made last night out of his wallet, some privet leaves from the hedge and a filling that he didn’t really want to know about if the little leg bones he found in it was any indication of the size of the creature.
Two minutes later his snores and farts mingle gently with the others in a comradely sort of fashion…..
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