Day 167

Dear Diary,

I know one of the last things I said to you yesterday was I was gonna spend the night watchin’ ‘n’ waitin’ ‘n’ preparin’ to pounce on them two eldest Howiepupples, Claude ‘n’ Claude Minus One, the minute they startin’ in doin’ sometin’ nefarious ‘n’ put a stop to it. Fortunately, at least for the time bein’, all their billion minus two brothers ‘n’ sisters is fast asleep ‘n’ snorin’ as only babies can snore. Unfortunately, I think they’d camed down with colds in the head, ‘n’ so the inside of the bus (bein’ me) is a’glop with snot ‘n’ slime. But hell, if there’s one thing I’ve learned from workin’ as a community bus for more years’n Methuselah’s had hot dinners, it’s that snot ‘n’ buggers ‘n’ slime washes off ‘n’ don’t hardly leave a stain.

Anyways, in spite o’the kids comin’ down with colds at an inopportune moment when I was occupied with other matters, such as puttin’ a stop to possibly illegal ‘n’ maybe even sinful activities on the part of their two eldest brothers, it was more’n I could’a axed for that they was sleepin’ ‘n’ out of my hair. In fact, I’d call it a major blessing, ‘n’ I’m so thankful to them that when all this is over I’m gonna take ‘em somewhere nice ‘n’ fun as a special treat. That is, if’n I ever gets me some fuel in my tank. Which I will, by hook or by crook.

Back to Claude ‘n’ Claude Minus One. When I started in a’watchin’ them they was disguised as parcel post delivery men and was printin’ out address labels. These they affixed to the four pink gift boxes containing the four dead body rubber pleasurin’ dolly suits wot used to be occupied by Miss Cabbage ‘n’ Miss Luella Da Bunkle ‘n’ The Reverend Doctor Paisley Pisser ‘n’ Beryl The Beauty Parlour hair-frizzer. And after they’d completed this task they shoved the addressed gift boxes into their delivery pouches – two in Claude’s ‘n’ two in Claude Minus One’s – and proceeded to march on over to the door. Unfortunately – ‘n’ this made me laugh so hard I actually snorted – neither Claude or his brother was tall enough to reach the door handle, on account of the door handle is about a metre or so off’n the floor ‘n’ neither of them’s more’n a coupl’a millimetres from start to finish.

Well, my laughter, which was more like the hysterics wot attacks you when someone’s suddenly runned over by a car that real laughter, completely overwhelmed me. ‘Course, I know it’s more a case of shock than anything else, and most of us feel really guilty ‘n’ bad about our behaviour afterwards. And even this time, when nobody’d been squished or put outta action ‘n’ it were merely the case of two future ASBO recipients not bein’ tall enough to reach the door handle, I felt ashamed of myself. I guess in spite of my bad language from time to time ‘n’ my tendency to blaspheme when I’m pissed off, I’ve still got a conscience (albeit not a very big one) ‘n’ I doesn’t like to hurt anyone. But in this case, I needn’t’ve worried on account of I don’t think neither Claude nor Claude Minus One even noticed my bad manners. In fact, when I finally settled down ‘n’ wiped the tears from my eyes (or my headlamps if’n you wants me to be accurate), I saw that the two was ignorin’ me as completely as if I’d never been born. Ol’ Claude was busy constructing a stairway outta his little sleepin’ brothers ‘n’ sisters (somethin’ I would’a thought of as baby abuse only it didn’t even seem to wake ‘em up), ‘n’ Claude Minus One was busy sniffin’ his butthole. After the stairways was completed ‘n’ Claude’d runned all the necessary health ‘n’ safety checks, the two of’ em – luggin’ their delivery pouches – climbed their way up to the top.

‘Course, as I could’a told ‘em if’n they’d axed, they still wasn’t tall enough to reach the door handle. As you’d expect, this pissed off Ol’ Claude, ‘n’ to vent his ire he kicked Claude Minus One off’n the stairway. In fact, he kicked him so hard (right in the nose too, on account of that was the part nearest him) he flew across the bus (bein’ me) ‘n’ out through the space where my windscreen used to be before it were blasted out. Claude Minus One sailed about another hundert yards ‘n’ landed with a splat, but being that the ground is soft due to the tonnes o’baby Howiepupple poop coatin’ it from here to eternity, he didn’t seem to be injured in the slightest. In fact, he got right up ‘n’ brushed hisself off ‘n’ stuck out his tongue ‘n’ said “Nya Nya,” and marched away towards the shack which’d been his birthplace ‘n’ home.

As you can imagine, this pissed off Claude even more, ‘n’ he turned bright red ‘n’ stared at me, ‘n’ I swear from the look he gived me if I’d been able to run away you wouldn’t’a seen my dust. “You lookin’ at me?” he axed, ‘n’ unfortunately I had to nod my head on account of that’s the way my headlamps was pointed. And because wot he’d said to me was out of a movie, I automatically returned the favour, ‘n’ outta my mouth popped, “I’d love to kiss you but I’ve just washed my hair.”

Fortunately, that broke the ice ‘n’ both of us traded old movie quotes for a coupl’a hours. He then looked at his watch ‘n’ his hair stood on end ‘n’ he shrieked, “I’m late, I’m late, for a very important date...” And because we’d been havin’ so much fun I continued in the spirit of the occasion ‘n’ finished his sentence, “… no time to say hello goodbye I’m late I’m late I’m late.”

Well, to say Ol’ Claude froze in his tracks would be a understatement. He then shook his head ‘n’ swore under his breath, “dumbfuck shithead no-account do-nothin’ brainless piece pile o’shit bus, can’t you see I needs your help?”

Well, this sort’a caught me by surprise, but for once instead of pullin’ at my forelock ‘n’ sayin’ “Yes Sir, No Sir, three bags full Sir, kick me in the balls, Sir,” I remembered we was all in this mess called life together ‘n’ I was sick ‘n’ tired of everyone’s shenanigans. And so I stood tall ‘n’ looked at Ol’ Claude straight in the eye ‘n’ said, “And why exactly should I be helpin’ you, young man?”

Straight away I could see I’d said the right thing, on account of he looked down at his feet ‘n’ sighed ‘n’ then he sat down. A tear trickled outta his left eye ‘n’ he looked at me again. Only this time he were pleadin’ ‘n’ I could see he was in trouble ‘n’ in over his head ‘n’ runnin’ scared.

“Why don’t you tell me all about it,” I said, “sometimes two heads’re better than one.”

Ol’ Claude thought for a minute ‘n’ sighed again. “Okay,” he said, “Only please put your pencil ‘n’ Dear Diary away. Wot I’ve gotta tell you is for your ears only.”

So you see, Dear Diary, that’s how things stand at the moment. He wants to talk to me confidential-like, ‘n’ since I gotta get down to the bottom of all the strange shit wot’s been happenin’ since the flood, I’m gonna hafta go along. However, seein’ as how he can’t rightly see wot I’m doin, on account of I’m so big ‘n’ he’s so small, I’ll leave your pages open so you can listen in. That way if somethin’ bad happens, you can bear witness later. I’m more’n a little uneasy, Dear Diary, and in case this is the end, I’m kissin’ you on your cover for old time’s sake, ‘n’ I’ll say so endeth whatever’s endethin’ ‘n’ I’m proud to be your friend.