Day 89

Dear Diary,

OK, just in case you’ve forgot wot we was talking about and think you’re going outta your mind with confusion, let me get you straightened out, and pronto. The last thing I want on my plate is a bill from your therapist or for your funeral expenses after’n you’ve ended it all outta desperation and anguish!

At least I’m hoping you’ve remembered how Missus Milly Da Fardle and Miss Cabbage and even the hopeless Mrs. Emily Da Onion was about to save all of us from drowning and getting ate up by the fishies. ‘Course, if you don’t I might be at least partly to blame, on account of I had to take a detour in our story and digress over to wot I calls an explanation as to the treachery of Miss Parsley Da Onker and Missus Malla Oda Odipossipous (of blessed memory), whose bloaty carcasses had agreed to keep the bus (being me) and all my passengers (being the biddies and The Widow Fartie Da Whistle, our driver) afloat and happily paddling over the deep blue sea and to a new home on an island wot’s not been sunk under the great floods wot overtook us a week or so ago. Is that clear? Did you remember to take a breath while reading it out loud with your lips moving? Well then, so far so good.

Where my telling probably got too complicated for you was where I got all upset and in a tizzy over how Miss Parsley Da Onker and Missus Malla Oda Odipossipous (of blessed memory) suddenly deflated themselves so’s they was about as unbuoyant as you could get without being an iron bowling ball. And seeing as how I was more agitated than a fish wot’s got a hook stuck into his cheek when he thought he was nibbling on a baby mosquito, I sorta got wot they calls incoherent. It goes without saying I’m now getting down on my knees (or being a bus, on my springs) and apologising profusely and begging your pardon for not always being a smooth operator like I usually am. I swear on my new paint job I won’t do it again. Anyway, now I’ve got that outta the way, let’s get on with wot I was telling you. Please try to keep up, and if’n you hafta go to the toilet, please raise your hand before you leave the room so’s I can wait until you return before going on with wot I’m saying.

The treachery of Miss Parsley Da Onker and Missus Malla Oda Odipossipous (of blessed memory) was, of course, completely and totally deliberate on their part and very much an act of attempted murder, for which I hope they’ll be charged and convicted and hung up on a bridge somewhere so’s everyone can see ‘em for wot they is. I mean, it’s not exactly the happiest thing in the world to discover you was nothing more’n collateral and was gonna be murdered just because you happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. And by that, I mean I was gonna be rubbed out on account of I had Ol’ Missus Milly Da Fardle and Miss Cabbage and Mrs. Emily Da Onion strapped into three of my back seats, and those three was wot was the real victims of Miss Parsley Da Onker and Missus Malla Oda Odipossipous (of blessed memory)’s fiendish and devilish plot.

But before I goes any further and causes you to get even more confused than you already is, I gotta regress back to something wot I wrote yesterday, and that was that the two bloaty dead ladies carried in their handbags actual laminated official licences to kill, just the same as Mr. Bond James Bond does, at least when he’s wearing clothes and not schtuping Miss Tunnela Love. So whatever you think of them, it turns out that Miss Parsley Da Onker and Missus Malla Oda Odipossipous (of blessed memory) was in actual fact none other than Secret Agents and Official Assassins working for a Secret Government Undercover Police Assassination Hit Squad wot was targeting wot they calls the most dastardly and greedy criminal cabals in the universe. And of all the most dastardly and greedy and bloodsucking criminal cabals from here to Venus, there was none worser’n the one headed up by none other than Missus Milly Da Fardle and Miss Cabbage and Mrs. Emily Da Onion. And no, their cabal had nothing to do with them selling dead bodies from Misther Doctor Bernie Da Gnu’s ‘Wash ‘n’ Wake Funeral Parlour for a Beautiful Goodbye’ to The Gnu-Fanny Deluxe Luxury Premium Prime-Cut Cat Food Company for their Special Roasted Biddy-Flavoured Brand. And it also had nothing much to do with all them other get-rich-quick schemes and extortion loan companies wot Missus Milly Da Fardle owns along with Doctor Mister Bernie Da Gnu and her secret lover, Old Wanger Nose of The Bank of Old Wanger Nose, and which’ve made her richer’n Croessus only not so well-dressed. Wot it did have something to do with was with the filching of little old biddies’ pensions through their Seniors’ Entertainment Network, a subsidiary of the despicable and deplorable Da Fardle ‘n’ Gnu Phoney Bingo Gaming Company LLC. It were estimated that over a period of forty or so years, or ever since they’d invented bingo for the purpose of stealing all of the old biddies’ money every night of the week when they wasn’t at home watching the soaps, they’d stole more money than’d ever been printed up since the beginning of time. And not only that, but they’d recently diversitated into online and television bingo as well. I won’t tell you how they done it, on account of Da Fardle ‘n’ Gnu Phoney Bingo Gaming Company LLC has officially been given the status of ‘International Terrorist Organisation’, which is even better’n diplomatic immunity when it comes to not being investigated. And this means if’n I tell you how the bingo games was rigged, I could be arrested for being a terrorist co-conspirator and sent to live in one o’them secret nonexistent interrogation camps until even my rust spots rusts off. Mind you, I probably wouldn’t object to that, at least not if the nonexistent interrogation camp was located in a warm climate and I could find me a nice interrogator with nice hands wot likes to do nice things to my undercarriage.

I just realised you might be thinking I got off-track again and led you the wrong direction up the garden path, but that ain’t so. It’s all about laying the groundwork, so’s when I get to the bit about how Missus Milly Da Fardle and Miss Cabbage and Mrs. Emily Da Onion, wot was supposed to be the enemies of mankind, end up rescuing us from drowning, you’ll be slapping your thighs and saying “well slap me where it smells and cook me in a stew” over wot a clever little bus I am in my story-telling abilities.

I’m gonna go now and spend some time working on my spiritual development. The Widow Fartie Da Whistle, who’s still lying on top of me and broasting in the sun, is doing things to me with her left hand that don’t bear scrutiny in the light of day. Consequently, I’m gonna turn out the lights for a bit and leave you in the dark. When the two’ve us finished up with wot we’re gonna do, I’ll say I’ve endethed practising up on my bodily delights so listen up to wot I’m gonna say next.