Dear Diary,
Holy crap ‘n’ fuck the canary, it’s been all go today and there’s no doubt about it if’n I had to run to keep up my feet would’a fell off by now.
So, eeny meeny miney mo, where should I begin? Why don’t we start with who is the head honcho foreign sick officer and why did he come here if’n he weren’t a real bona fide foreign sick officer like wot he was supposed to be? Well, to tell you the truth, at least part of him don’t rightly know for sure, and as for the rest of him, I almost wish I’d never investigated and found out. But I suppose I’m jumping ahead about three days, so let’s go back so’s you don’t get lost by getting to the end without first leaving home and going through customs.
As you might remember, I stuck this here head honcho foreign sick officer up on top of my roof to get him outta the way after he’d shot me in the rear tyre. And then, funnily enough, the minute I got him settled in and tied down, I noticed that the other two wot was strapped in up there, namely Misther Patchouli Da Fanny and Floozie Da Smelley, started in trying to run away. And they would’ve too if’n they hadn’t been locked up tight with one them big old iron cartoon padlocks wot I found down on the seafloor a’keepin’ a big ol’ cartoon pirates’ chest from opening up and spilling all its treasure all over the place. Anyway, I had to ask myself, “what the fuck’s going on and why the shit is Misther Patchouli Da Fanny and Floozie Da Smelley wanting to get away from this head honcho foreign sick officer, who it seems to me they wouldn’t know from a hole in the their patty cake?” ‘Course, they could’a just been having a bad reaction to his uniform, on account of they has plenty to feel guilty about and in a pinch, any old uniform will do in the Feeling Guilty Department.
After I watched all this going on and thought to myself, “Uh-huh uh-huh,” on account of there’s no end to the amount of suspicious behaviour on the part of Misther Patchouli Da Fanny and Floozie Da Smelley, and everywhere they goes they gives off a whiff of the sewer wot brings down the property values and fixes it so nobody wot sells houses on the TV’ll go anywhere near the neighbourhood. And then I thought about it some more and put two and two together, and then I cogitated some more about why Misther Patchouli Da Fanny and Floozie Da Smelley was lookin’ even more guilty than usual when they clock’ed that there head honcho foreign sick officer. And after ten minutes of this I decided I might as well check out the bona fides of the head honcho foreign sick officer just to make sure he weren’t an undercover narc or a special agent from a country wot we doesn’t like or perhaps it were the tax inspector wot were after adulterating Misther Patchouli Da Fanny and Floozie Da Smelley’s cookery books. And guess what? It turns out not only was he a bona fide law enforcement officer like he said he was, but he was two more as well. You better believe as soon as I heard this, I said to myself, I said, “fuck a duck and whack my goolies with a spoon,” on account of he were only a young fella and it takes most folks years and years to qualify for one head honcho officer job, let alone three. ‘Course I was initially as impressed as toast, if only because around these here parts it’s not every day you meets a smart person in the flesh, much less a three-in-one package, and it’s even rarer when you gets to hide them all up on your roof after they shoots you in the tyre.
So wot happened next was I done wot I said I was gonna do yesterday, and I ringed up the identical number to the one wot Miss Cabbage’d ringed after she thought Ms. Drain was finally dead and got rid of. ‘Course, and this here’s either wot they calls a miraculous coincidence or it’s a part of a dastardly plot on the part of a person or persons unknown, cuz Miss Cabbage didn’t get around to ringing that number ‘til later. And this particular later came after she’d drank about a gallon of them special pink and gold cocktails wot Your Host Misther Bubba Lee Billy Bob Huckleberry Hackensack serves up to them tourons at the Miss Elly May Suzy Honey Wagon Commemorative Bar and Grill around the back of The All You Can Eat Floating Island Bar-BQ Picnic Paradise and Las Vegas Spectacular Showroom and Wedding Chapel. Unfortunately for Miss Cabbage, who otherwise has a constitution of a ox and can drink a dozen stevedores under the table, this here cocktail don’t do no favours for biddies wot drinks ‘em. In fact, it makes ‘em convinced they’s infernal pilgrims to the Great Gazondar, who as you know in real life ain’t nothing but a tailor’s dummy but when he appears in the Genuine Spectacular Las Vegas Revue he makes a convincing all-seeing and all-knowing Burning Bush. Anyways, after Ol’ Miss Cabbage’d drinked all them lethal cocktails, she was gonna telephone the foreign sick folks right away, but only after celebrating Mrs. Drain’s fatal demise by singing the old nineteen twenties’ dancing tune, “Pass the hooch ‘n’ sup from my furry furnace.” It were only after she’d sung all two hundert verses and the choruses wot goes with ‘em, that she finally got around to asking to use the biffy and after that the telephone. And it was then she dialled the number wot was not the number she thought she was dialling.
And here we comes to the bit where I called the same number. It rang twenty times, on account of it always rings a shitload of times in the movies, unlike in real life where the computer answers it for you after one ring if’n it lets it ring at all. But then finally, just about the time I was gonna give up on the whole thing as being somewhere up the wrong garden path, someone picked up the receiver and spoke into the end wot you speaks into. And wot do you know, but the voice I heard coming from the other end was the last voice in the whole world I thought I’d ever hear. The voice said “Misther Doctor Bernie Da Gnu’s ‘Wash ‘n’ Wake Funeral Parlour for a Beautiful Goodbye’ and Third World Country, Missus Milly Da Fardle, Empress-For-Life. Miss Drain speaking.”
Well, right then and there you could’a knocked me over with a cucumber if’n I hadn’t already fainted dead away. And when I come to, the Ol’ Bitch’d hung up the phone on me without even asking me what I wanted. And yes I called her a Ol’ Bitch, on account of I’d thought she was dead on account of her goodness and all the time she was nothing more’n a henchman for Missus Milly Da Fardle. Fuckin’ A is wot I say.
Anyways, I’m real upset as you can imagine and I’m gonna put away my pencil and go and feel betrayed and like I was fucked over by one of the only human beings wot was ever nice to me and didn’t never pee on my upholstery or kick my tyres. And don’t you go bothering me, Dear Diary, until I’s good and ready to come back. So don’t even try and talk to me before I says so endeth my time plotting my revenge against all them treacherous biddies, and I’m gonna take ‘em on single-handed or die trying.
Holy crap ‘n’ fuck the canary, it’s been all go today and there’s no doubt about it if’n I had to run to keep up my feet would’a fell off by now.
So, eeny meeny miney mo, where should I begin? Why don’t we start with who is the head honcho foreign sick officer and why did he come here if’n he weren’t a real bona fide foreign sick officer like wot he was supposed to be? Well, to tell you the truth, at least part of him don’t rightly know for sure, and as for the rest of him, I almost wish I’d never investigated and found out. But I suppose I’m jumping ahead about three days, so let’s go back so’s you don’t get lost by getting to the end without first leaving home and going through customs.
As you might remember, I stuck this here head honcho foreign sick officer up on top of my roof to get him outta the way after he’d shot me in the rear tyre. And then, funnily enough, the minute I got him settled in and tied down, I noticed that the other two wot was strapped in up there, namely Misther Patchouli Da Fanny and Floozie Da Smelley, started in trying to run away. And they would’ve too if’n they hadn’t been locked up tight with one them big old iron cartoon padlocks wot I found down on the seafloor a’keepin’ a big ol’ cartoon pirates’ chest from opening up and spilling all its treasure all over the place. Anyway, I had to ask myself, “what the fuck’s going on and why the shit is Misther Patchouli Da Fanny and Floozie Da Smelley wanting to get away from this head honcho foreign sick officer, who it seems to me they wouldn’t know from a hole in the their patty cake?” ‘Course, they could’a just been having a bad reaction to his uniform, on account of they has plenty to feel guilty about and in a pinch, any old uniform will do in the Feeling Guilty Department.
After I watched all this going on and thought to myself, “Uh-huh uh-huh,” on account of there’s no end to the amount of suspicious behaviour on the part of Misther Patchouli Da Fanny and Floozie Da Smelley, and everywhere they goes they gives off a whiff of the sewer wot brings down the property values and fixes it so nobody wot sells houses on the TV’ll go anywhere near the neighbourhood. And then I thought about it some more and put two and two together, and then I cogitated some more about why Misther Patchouli Da Fanny and Floozie Da Smelley was lookin’ even more guilty than usual when they clock’ed that there head honcho foreign sick officer. And after ten minutes of this I decided I might as well check out the bona fides of the head honcho foreign sick officer just to make sure he weren’t an undercover narc or a special agent from a country wot we doesn’t like or perhaps it were the tax inspector wot were after adulterating Misther Patchouli Da Fanny and Floozie Da Smelley’s cookery books. And guess what? It turns out not only was he a bona fide law enforcement officer like he said he was, but he was two more as well. You better believe as soon as I heard this, I said to myself, I said, “fuck a duck and whack my goolies with a spoon,” on account of he were only a young fella and it takes most folks years and years to qualify for one head honcho officer job, let alone three. ‘Course I was initially as impressed as toast, if only because around these here parts it’s not every day you meets a smart person in the flesh, much less a three-in-one package, and it’s even rarer when you gets to hide them all up on your roof after they shoots you in the tyre.
So wot happened next was I done wot I said I was gonna do yesterday, and I ringed up the identical number to the one wot Miss Cabbage’d ringed after she thought Ms. Drain was finally dead and got rid of. ‘Course, and this here’s either wot they calls a miraculous coincidence or it’s a part of a dastardly plot on the part of a person or persons unknown, cuz Miss Cabbage didn’t get around to ringing that number ‘til later. And this particular later came after she’d drank about a gallon of them special pink and gold cocktails wot Your Host Misther Bubba Lee Billy Bob Huckleberry Hackensack serves up to them tourons at the Miss Elly May Suzy Honey Wagon Commemorative Bar and Grill around the back of The All You Can Eat Floating Island Bar-BQ Picnic Paradise and Las Vegas Spectacular Showroom and Wedding Chapel. Unfortunately for Miss Cabbage, who otherwise has a constitution of a ox and can drink a dozen stevedores under the table, this here cocktail don’t do no favours for biddies wot drinks ‘em. In fact, it makes ‘em convinced they’s infernal pilgrims to the Great Gazondar, who as you know in real life ain’t nothing but a tailor’s dummy but when he appears in the Genuine Spectacular Las Vegas Revue he makes a convincing all-seeing and all-knowing Burning Bush. Anyways, after Ol’ Miss Cabbage’d drinked all them lethal cocktails, she was gonna telephone the foreign sick folks right away, but only after celebrating Mrs. Drain’s fatal demise by singing the old nineteen twenties’ dancing tune, “Pass the hooch ‘n’ sup from my furry furnace.” It were only after she’d sung all two hundert verses and the choruses wot goes with ‘em, that she finally got around to asking to use the biffy and after that the telephone. And it was then she dialled the number wot was not the number she thought she was dialling.
And here we comes to the bit where I called the same number. It rang twenty times, on account of it always rings a shitload of times in the movies, unlike in real life where the computer answers it for you after one ring if’n it lets it ring at all. But then finally, just about the time I was gonna give up on the whole thing as being somewhere up the wrong garden path, someone picked up the receiver and spoke into the end wot you speaks into. And wot do you know, but the voice I heard coming from the other end was the last voice in the whole world I thought I’d ever hear. The voice said “Misther Doctor Bernie Da Gnu’s ‘Wash ‘n’ Wake Funeral Parlour for a Beautiful Goodbye’ and Third World Country, Missus Milly Da Fardle, Empress-For-Life. Miss Drain speaking.”
Well, right then and there you could’a knocked me over with a cucumber if’n I hadn’t already fainted dead away. And when I come to, the Ol’ Bitch’d hung up the phone on me without even asking me what I wanted. And yes I called her a Ol’ Bitch, on account of I’d thought she was dead on account of her goodness and all the time she was nothing more’n a henchman for Missus Milly Da Fardle. Fuckin’ A is wot I say.
Anyways, I’m real upset as you can imagine and I’m gonna put away my pencil and go and feel betrayed and like I was fucked over by one of the only human beings wot was ever nice to me and didn’t never pee on my upholstery or kick my tyres. And don’t you go bothering me, Dear Diary, until I’s good and ready to come back. So don’t even try and talk to me before I says so endeth my time plotting my revenge against all them treacherous biddies, and I’m gonna take ‘em on single-handed or die trying.
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