Day 41

Dear Diary,

I’m dying to tell you why Finian Da Fabricator isn’t hear soothing me with his lovely hands, Dear Diary, but unless I finish up about Missus Milly Da Fardle and her doings I’ll lose track of ‘em myself, and then you’ll never know for yourself. I’d hate to think you’d have to rely on gossip when I know the truth of what’s what. The nicest thing about being a community bus is everybody tells you everything nobody else is supposed to know.

‘Course, I hinted around about how Missus Milly Da Fardle was blackmailing Misther Doctor Bernie Da Gnu and Misther Patchouli Da Fanny over selling all the deceased corpses that comes into Misther Doctor Bernie Da Gnu’s ‘Wash ‘n’ Wake Funeral Parlour for a Beautiful Goodbye’ to The Gnu Fanny Perpetual Eternity Luxury Delicious Cat Food Company. It had occurred to Misther Patchouli Da Fanny that perhaps they should get rid of Missus Milly Da Fardle by stuffing her into one of their shiny black plastic body bags and have her mashed into a coupl’a tins of ‘Parsnip and Dainty Dead Sparrow-flavoured with Slugs and Walnuts’ Premium Kitten Pâté, but Mister Doctor Bernie Da Gnu, who’s got more’n half a brain, told him if they did that Ol’ Missus Milly Da Fardle’d come back from her grave (or, in this case, from her tin of cat food) and haunt ‘em into next year. ‘Course Misther Patchouli Da Fanny, whose destiny is cooking up failed schemes to attract tourons to his pink falling down flatpack building, said in that case couldn’t they just build a genuine ancient traditional haunted touron site and dim the lights and put up a lot of loudspeakers blaring out horrible haunty wailing away noises? They could advertise it over the internet as The Sweet Haunted Heart of Sweet Mary Molly Malloy of Da Sunshine-Shamrock wot got put through a duck press by her stepfather, The Baron Devilt-Egge, on account of she was as sweet as sweet sweet potatos cooked in the sweetest sugar and she was driving him crazy with her ‘Lovely Sugary Tone Pomes to her Dearest, Sweetest Daddypoo’. According to what Misther Patchouli Da Fanny said, The Baron Devilt-Egge finally snapped like wot sugar brittle does when it’d dropped off of a cliff, and kilt Ol’ Sweet Mary Molly Molloy of Da Sunshine-Shamrock so’s his head wouldn’a explode like a haggis wot’s been boiled for two hours. Misther Doctor Bernie Da Gnu went an raised his hand to object and he called Misther Patchouli Da Fanny an idiot enclyclofant, as well as a very bad storyteller to boot, when Misther Patchouli Da Fanny reminded him that tourons believe everything they read on the internet, on account of their schools using Wiklepodium instead of textbooks. Mister Doctor Bernie Da Gnu, who went to an actual school where they learned stuff wot had footnotes wot could be checked, said he’d lived on the island his entire his life from beginning to now, and had never once heard of Sweet Mary Molly Malloy of Da Sunshine-Shamrocks or, for that matter, of The Baron Devilt-Egge. Naturally, the two of ‘em got into a terrible row and went back and forth and back and forth, and that was when Missus Milly Da Fardle made up her mind they was both stupider’n a dry rock wall, and any businesses run by them would be better off if’n she did the ordering about. She told the two men right then and there in the secret stainless steel body-stuffing laboratory of Misther Doctor Bernie Da Gnu’s ‘Wash ‘n’ Wake Funeral Parlour for a Beautiful Goodbye’ that she was putting herself in charge and they was to do everything she said. And because she had such an obnoxious voice and a look wot could frighten a barnacle off a boat, they bowed down to her (which wasn’t easy, on account of her being shorter’n a toad and both of them having rheumatics in their corpuscles). That was when they agreed to give her a cut of all cat food sales and all the leftover fake money wot Misther Patchouli Da Fanny makes in his pink falling down flatpack building. Also, on account of Missus Milly Da Fardle knowing that Mister Doctor Bernie Da Gnu secretly owns the bingo parlour - even though it was advertised as a community service for old ladies wot chain smoke and need to be got out of the house occasionally so’s their children can have sex with anybody they can find – she told ‘em right then and there she wanted one hundred fifty percent off all the winnings.

That was why she was on the way to The Bank of Old Wanger Nose to put some of her leftover money in the secret vault they’d built for her under the executive toilet. It goes without saying she didn’t trust Old Wanger Nose further’n she could spit into the wind, but after there wasn’t more room for any more ugly conservatories to be built round her concrete bunker bungalow and she’d filled up all her mattresses, she had to do something with it. Of course, she could’a followed Howard Donald Da Fardle’s suggestion and given some of it to him, on account of all his hair’d blowed off from racing back and forth in the pretend sports car (wots actually a white van he cut the top off of), and he wanted to get a new transplant. At least that’s wot he said, but I heard otherwise from Ms. Doctor Belinda Mary Da Gnu-Factory, who’s Mister Doctor Bernie Da Gnu’s sister and the only qualified medical surgeon on the island wot’s actually got a genuine mail-order degree wot she downloaded off the internet and printed out on antiqued, recycled plastic parchment and stuck in a frame on her wall. I know she was only talking to herself when she confided in me, on account of I’m only a bus wot isn’t supposed to have ears, but she said wot Howard Donald Da Fardle really wanted was a new jumbo sized penis wot was originally growed on an elephant. At least that wot she said. However, I will swear up and down and blind if he already had the operation, then it must’a fell off, cuz he’s got even less down there than he had before. I peeked once (even though it was impolite and a sin and I’ll probably go to Hell for it, occurring to Ol’ Fungus Da Filcher’s aunt, Sister Mary Flatulina of The Weeping Madonna of Naples, who knows all there is to know about such things) and I can swear up and down Ms. Doctor Belinda Mary Da Gnu-Factory must’a thought he said ‘mouse’ and not ‘elephant’. ‘Course, Howard Donald Da Fardle never did have luck when it comes to getting wot he ordered.

I got so carried away writing about everything wots came into my head that I’ve run outta time. Misther Patchouli Da Fanny’s hired a new version of Finian Da Fabricator, someone called Widow Fartie Da Whistle to take care of me and The Pink American Convertible, and she wants to take me out and wash me, even though we’ve never met. I’m gonna hide my pencil good, unless she sees it and wants it for herself. I’ll let you know what happens, Dear Diary. That is, supposing I survive. So, until next time, so endeth whatever it was I was talking about.