*Isn't it a rule that, once the pantomime cow shows up, someone has to compile a cast of characters? Not me.*
The Newsbiscuit online novel.
(270 posts) (30 voices)
Right! This has taken me bloody hours so you had better appreciate it!
Cast: In order of appearance (So far) Introduced by:
Nancy McAllister (A soon to be late heroine) Dick Everyman
Sven (a blond dwarf) Godly1966
Alice (Like methadone, a heroine replacement) Bonjonelson
Jannekin (a Bonsai gardener) Dick Everyman
(The late) Gertrude Jeykll Dick Everyman
(The late) great great uncle Rosanold McAllister Waylandsmithy
Daisy (a cow and the first Sven killer) Dick Everyman
Adolf Hitler (A Nazi) Bonjonelson
Anti-Sven (A brief bit of quantum physics) Bonjonelson
Enrico Fermi (Theoretical and experimental physicist) Bonjonelson
Alex Salmond (Scotish politician) Dustybinladen
Erin, Muamba & Aliona (Strictly come dancers) Oxbridge
Cheryl Cole (Once almost a national treasure) Sigmund
Alex the Salmon (A fish) Dick Everyman
Kevin McThingummy (A grand designer) The all new Jeni B
A troll (er..a troll) Otto Jesperson
Jock McTavish (Private pilot & professional stereotype) Beau-Jolly
DCI Mordor (A proper copper) Beau-Jolly
Frodo and Sam (Hobbits) Sigmund
Dale and Irene Schwarzwal (American tourists) Sigmund
Jim White of the Echo (Reporter) Beau-Jolly
Cameron and Clegg (Part-time politicians) Lesse Bigg
Donald (A duck) Beau-Jolly
An unsuspecting prostitute (Self explanatory) FlashArry
(The late but reanimated) Douglas Adams The all new Jeni B
Ethel (Owner: Cross street Café Islington) Quaz
Ann Widdecombe's Norfolk cousin (One-liner) Not Amuzed
Karl Thud (Continuity error) Bonjoneslon
Lieutenant McAllister (Of the US Navy) Dick Everyman
Little Sisters of the Sainted Semtex (Various nuns) FlashArry
The Chief Artillerist (The Chief Artillerist) FlashArry
Rebecca (3 mile away slut) Sigmund
Corporal Punishment (Artilerist) Quaz
Private Parts (Cheap but amusing joke) FlashArry
Albert Hedgeworst (Man nailed to the floor) Beau-Jolly
Dr. Bastard (A bastard and a doctor) FlashArry
Bonjo the Dwarf (Continuity error) Dick Everyman
Nurse Timidmouse (Bearded giant) Beau-Jolly
Dougal ( Another Duck – Donald’s evil twin) Beau-Jolly
Zebedee (A misunderstanding) Dick Everyman
Earnest Youngman (An earnest young man) Beau-Jolly
Jesus (Son of God in a clown suit) Beau-Jolly
Miss Prissy (A multiple personality) Lindy Moone
Mrs Weatherby (A wiffy Miss Prissy) Lindy Moone
Chante Oubliette (A delicious French tarte) Lindy Moone
John the Baptist (Guest appearance) Dick Everyman
Gwendoline (A large lady in a cow suit) Beau- Jolly
Windowlene (Window Cleaner) Reckitt Benckiser
A coachman (Soon to be cockroach) FlashArry (Lindy Moone)
Ted Danson and Kirstie Allie (Off of Cheers) Iron Duke
Mrs Slocombesque (A cat) Beau-Jolly (named by NewBiscuit)
aka Longpaws (The same cat) Bonjonelson
Mr. Winston Churchill (A Prime Minister) Bonjonelson
At least one full Roman legion (Oh FFS!) Bonjonelson
A choir of heavenly angels (Make it stop!) Bonjonelson
A vanguard of Roman Centurions (Equity rates?) Bonjonelson
Three witches (This is getting silly now!) Lindy Moone
Marcus Flavius Aquila (Commander of the Garrison) Bonjonelson
Twenty-four fastest riders (What it says) Lindy Moone
Stone of Scone and the rock cakes (A beat combo) NewBiscuit
Trevor 'snake-hips' O'Toole (Lead guitarist) Dick Everyman
Shirley (Ex Slutty Sister of Satan's Slatterns) Flash Arry
62 girl guides from East Kilbride (Wot she said) Thisisall1word
Aka Paganini (An opera composer)
(The pantomime cow turned up on page 7 by the way)
Ruddy hell beau - I'm well impressed however the pantomime cow has yet to be named. I'll leave that to Lindy. Plus did you realise that with all the miles we've trodden there's now a cat but still no sign of Dick? On no there isn't...
It was Gwendoline the large lady in an unconvincing cow disguise on page seven.
ha ha, I really was gonna do it! But I love you. You truly are "beau."
Meanwhile, in North Korea, soccer-mad but ruthless and ambitious General Bang Wun In had his hand hovering over the large red button…
“this will teach them to make a play for Rooney,” he said.
“Who’s Looney?” asked Sven.
"I think you'll find my accent is pretty spot on" the General chided Sven, "I choose to ignore the chance you are mocking my speech impediment - WHICH IS SLIGHT - and will answer your inquiry as written, sorry spoken".
The General jumped down from the shoulders of his his trusted, retarded, kind-hearted, but dangerous, assistant Igor Mortis - from where he had been perched to reach the red button which had 'press me' scrawled in the sort of font suited to wedding invitations - and kicked Sven in the shin.
"You ask who is Looney? Perhaps it is you, perhaps it is me, perhaps it is young Igor here" he winked, patting Igor firmly upon his stone firm behind. "Actually it is not Igor, he has the mind of a child, but it would be unfair to call him a loon, would it not?" Igor clapped after hearing his name and then proceeded to start the routine from Steps 1998 version of Tragedy before becoming confused and simply staring at his shoes.
"Actually it is I who am loony. It is quite true you know, I am officially stark raving mad" continued the General after Igor routine had ground to a halt. "Maybe you don't believe me, yah?" A small slip into a Germanic accent which Sven (wrongly) placed as Prussian.
Climbing the large frame of Igor, who's trousers and argyle sweater had been fitted with a series of small steps to help the task, Bang Wun In tottered again over the red button, his finger waggling for unnecessary dramatic effect before...
... the door flew open and in thundered The Glorious Leader Kim Jongle, mounted on the monstrous oaf Karl Thud.
"Hands off !" he dementedly screamed "Nobody presses the red button but me, peasant!"
Igor, startled by the frenzied shouting, broke into the dance routine from Talking Heads' seminal 1981 video for "Once In a Lifetime", causing the general to be bucked off like some washed-up rodeo star. Flying straight and true, Bang Wun In collided with the unprotected gentlemen's area of the lumbering Thud, although it is debatable how effective a condom would have been in lessening the impact of a diminutive, much be-medalled general in the groinals.
Sven smirked as the second maddest man In North Korea drunkenly slumped off the blubbering Karl's shoulders and slid slowly into a vat of fermenting kimchi that had previously been overlooked.
Despite numerous attempts to kill him off, cast him adrift in the cataracts of time or consign him to the howling darkness beyond the known universe, he had yet again clawed his way back into the narrative - "That's staying power, baby" he chuckled to himself.
In olde London town the coach and four eventually pulled up on an olde cobbled side street. Sensing the lack of motion, Longpaws yawned and stretched. His waking ritual was interupted though by the unmistakable sound of a young-woman-pretending-to-be-a-young-man's tight clad thigh being slapped in a jocular manner.
"Cock!" thought the cat.
For that was exactly what 'Dick' Whittington was lacking. It was one of those ironic nicknames that was once amusing to someone, but whom, and why, has long been forgotten.
What Dick did have was a pair of riding breeches, a large black overcoat, and a long pole slung over her shoulder, and a knotted hanky tied up in a bundle at one end containing her most precious (and only - other that the aforementioned) possession :
The Shah Akbar diamond. (see P7) Dick had traced it to North Korea and having stolen it back she was buggered (figuratively) if she was going to let it fall back into Kim's hands again, even if he did have the androgenous name she craved. She neaded to find somewhere to hide the massive, sharp edged, freshly cut 71.7carat gem. Somewhere like the inside of a cat who had fairly recently coughed up a fur ball.(see p8)
"Double cock!" thought Longpaws. The bloody coachman had not turned around.
The street hubbub was briefly pierced by the unmistakeable sounds of a large gemstone being firmly and efficiently inserted into an uncooperative feline. As the coach stopped rocking, a surprisingly intact Dick stepped out onto the cobbles.
Although the streets of London may not be paved with gold, a highly informative half hour in the company of 'Aunty' Shirley had left Dick with a number of ideas that would stand her in good stead.
Pausing only to swipe an overly-familiar urchin around the shins with her pole, Dick tucked the feebly protesting Longpaws under one arm, and stalked off into the night. Whitechapel didn't stand a chance.
There is of course a well-documented history of what happens to young girls out alone after dark on the streets of Whitechapel. Especially those in possession of expensive jewellery. That's why she carried the stick. So Dick wasn't entirely surprised when from the shadows emerged four diminutive Koreans in tall hats.
Kim Jongle, Bang Wun In, Kim Jong Un and Kim Jong Deux stepped forwards, had a brief but heated argument about who got to stand where, and then arranged themselves so that they blocked her path, and they looked up at her.
It was not the Korea move she had wanted.
The slash of Longpaws claws was so fast no-one realised what had happened.
"orgle orgle orgel" said Kim Jongle
"Wot wong wiv you?" asked Bang Wun In in a racistly stereotipical way "Cat got you tongue?"
"orgle orgle orgel" nodded Kim Jongle, a look of dawning horror in his eyes.
Taking advantage of the ensuing chaos Dick slipped into a
Keeping a firm grip on
her pussythe cat, she edged further into the gloom.
A voice came from the darkness. It seemed to be saying "I believe in a thing called love"
With a start she realised she was not alone. "Alright darlin'?" smiled Sven.
"Yes", she replied.
“Who you calling ‘Darling?’” said Bang Wun In. “My eyebrows match my hair - if they didn’t, I’d have then shot.”
"Right" said Sven cheerily, "It's Bovril time, and I've got some fresh toenail-clippings." He offers her a steaming mug.
"My new Korean friends aren't big fans of the Bovril. They prefer something with less cow and more ..." he checks himself - he is still all there - and then continues in a more measured tone :
"But I forget myself. Now, you are going to tell us about the diamond ... where is it hidden, hmm?"
"It's in the duck!" screamed Longpaws
The Koreans ran off after the duck leaving Sven to turn his attention back to the lad in stockings.
"But where are my manners" beamed Sven extending a hand to Dick, "I'm Sven and I can see from your heaving chesticles that you are probably not called Dick"
"Yes I am!" Cried Dick slapping her thigh. "I'm a rumbustious rough and tumble sort of fellow me lad I am and make no mistake"!
Sven looked at her long and hard.
"And you can stop looking at my long and hard too" Said Dick noticing that it had slipped down her tights and was less than convincing.
"Oh, OK., My name is really McAllister, Nancy McAllister. Lord knows how I got mixed up in this. I have no idea where I am or even what year it is. All I long for is to be back in Melrose (in the Lowlands) in 1933."
Sven smiled, he could see a way out. "Well now, for some reason, it is 1986. And there is only one way you would be able to get back to Melrose in 1933. You have to write to Jim'll Fix It."
Nancy settled herself at the nearset available leather-topped writing desk, whipped out the Basildon Bond and set about her missive.
"Dear Jim," she began.
Sven and Longpaws waited patiently as she carefully wrote out her wish.
"Please could you fix it for me..."
At this point four exhausted Koreans returned, still arguing over who should carry the now captured and trussed duck.
"..to return to my beloved lowlands home of Melrose in 1933."
While she wrote purple prose about her hometown, DCI Mordor appeared (having a good nose for a significant event). A little later Cameron, Clegg, Hitler, Churchill and Alex Salmond emerged from the pub over the road and (after a whispered exchange while they established what was going on), they lined up and joined in patiently waiting for Nancy to finish her letter.
Rebecca (who had been only 3 miles away) was next to join. Then a pantomine cow turned up in a coach driven by a cockroach, and separated to reveal Jesus and John the Baptist (Jesus was the front legs).
Stone of Scone & the Rock Cakes started to set up their equipment and tune up. They lauched into their only hit, accompanied by a choir of heavenly angels, and Cheryl Cole.
Erin, Aliona and Muamba made some space and started practicing their new dance routine to the music, and then Mrs Weatherby and Chante Oubliette joined in, as did Nurse Timidmouse, carrying Bonjo (dwarf) and Frodo & Sam (hobbits).
Nancy continued to write, undistracted and now warming to her theme.
The twenty four horsemen precede the Roman centurions who lead the Roman legion, who file in nicely at the back. Jim White of the Echo (somewhat slower at sniffing out significant events than DCI Mordor, which is why he's still 'of the Echo') starts taking a few pictures and muttering into a voice recorder. He tries to interview Ethel the cafe owner, who has just turned up and doesn't know what's going on, then Enrico Fermi without realising who he is, before finally meeting Ted Danson and Kirsty Allie and becoming completely starstruck and forgetting to press 'record'.
Despite the large gathering there is an expectant hush as Nancy completes writing her marathon request, tucks the many pages into a large envelope, and affixes a stamp.
The hush continues as she purposefully rises from her chair and strides to a conveniently nearby red pillar-box. She pushes the bulging envelope into the pillar-box and as it drops...
...they all do the Chicken Dance.
Facing the front, the assembled ensemble simultaneously bows. From stage left and submerged by an enormous bouquet strides none other than...
The ghost of Nancy McAllister launching into the room on the back of Sven the Dwarf and exclaiming, "Where the f*ck have I been for the past few months?"
But the temporal anomaly was still holding the universe in its grip. Their months-long absence had seemed to Nancy and Sven barely long enough for the jam tarts to cool down enough to be eaten. As if further evidence were required, Robopop posted a contribution from one year into the future.
Sven looked at his watch. It was a quarter past one hundred and thirtynine, and he was feeling giddy.
The shrivelled testicles of Dale Wanton-Wenton-Winton-Wonton-Wunton on a lavishly decorated, 3-wheeled, remote controlled paper plate. Fresh from their recent divorce from the body of the orange presenter and glowing a purple shade of leather ( thanks to a 6 week stint at Tonio's tanning salon ) the raisined scrotum, now known collectively as Derek, dances majestically atop the disposable platter before calling for a hush from the crowd.
But before the disparate throng could gather themselves to a halt and Derek could mutter another word…………
DCI Mordor jumped up and exclaimed!
"I've solved it! I've finally solved it!"
He was, of course, referring to Nik Kershaw's Riddle.
"Near a tree by a river there's a hole in the ground, where an old man of Arran goes around and around! And we all know who that is, don't we!"
Smiley stood quietly in the doorway, unobserved, his face a mask.
With increasing certainty he realised that he was in the wrong story.
Silently, and still unnoticed, he left.
As bereft of marbles as the Parthenon, Mordor tottered and stuttered through the carnaged cottage. The aftermath of Nancy's monumental letter-party, her subsequent return to Melrose and the rigours of the last page-worth of narrative had rendered the place almost derelict. There had also been aspersions cast about the Legionaries' lax latrine regime, now manifesting itself as a festering stagnant pool into which the kitchen had started to slump.
Unbeknownst to Mordor, his erratic progress was being observed by a second shadowy figure. Sensing his moment was at hand, the spectre moved out of the enveloping gloom and unsteadily bore down on the hapless ex-copper. Slightly impeded by the glutinous grip the carpet had on his boots, he cut a curious dash : the lurid red spandex onesie sported by the diminutive figure accentuated the bandy, barley-twist legs, pot belly and pigeon chest. Overall, it gave him the appearance of a badly stuffed chorizo.
Mordor gasped - "It's m'deadly nemesis, the Crimson Oik!" He crossed himself frantically, and clasped his lucky talisman - a half eaten pack of 1970's vintage Wotsits - to his chest. "No cheesy snacks for you, you bounder"
"It's Auk - Crimson Auk, you old fool" The figure irritably replied. Being a costumed arch-villain was difficult enough at the best of times, what with the chafing and wotnots, but you would at least expect your mortal enemy to get your name right.
The Crimson Auk sighed and deflated, his resolve pin-pricked. For this he had given up a promising career in Quantity Surveying ?
To keep his hand in he cooly surveyed the quantity of Wotsits clutched to Mordor's heaving chest.
In a crisp voice he snapped, "You know what I want don't you Mordor?"
"No, What is it?" Quavered the cheesy cop
"What is what?"
There was an Aukward silence <see what I did there?>
An oddly familiar and not altogether unpleasant odour wafted up the Arch vilian's one remaining nostril. Finally the Crimson Auk spoke. "Those snacks you have there Mordor; They are not, by any chance, flavoured with....Bovril?"
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