Fizzy Pop Fuck Up

Author: Its Panto Season

They watched the flotilla go by with its centrepiece jar and well-groomed officers mourning a fallen hero. It was a nice enough send-off. Then getting up they filed out the back as the next lot meandered in from the front. One large group of properly dressed replaced by a smallish rabble. It was a busy day at the styxxis barge. A long boat that had been spliced into two to make a v-shaped bridge over the canal.

What came along the river after the lavish affair just gone was a couple of crusty vessels carrying a crate and some withered wreaths. Not even the name was displayed. The Potts were not amused, they had filled the pockets of the directors over the years. They had given some very big bashes for the fallen and then when down on funds they are presented with a bargain bucket insult. “This won’t do”, said Frank as he stared at his boots wanting to get up and go but knowing it would best not do to storm out just yet.

“Director, I think it was a mistake to go cheap even if they did not pay” said the usher.

The director was having none of it. They wanted a freebie and they got the bare minimum. “Fuck ’em” he replied.

“They are a long-standing customer of over many years and we have made good by them. Yep, they ain’t got the money today but they did us well. The Potts may not be big anymore but their influence is still there.” came back the usher.

“Fuck ’em” the director repeated.

The usher thought the plush police ceremony beforehand did not help, but even still what they had provided was terrible. It would not end well.

He was right. Within two weeks the styxxis barge was just embers floating away. The main parlour no longer had windows on two floors. By the third week it was gutted of anything valuable. The hole in the wall that housed the safe was now just a hole in the wall. The two security guards gone, disappeared without trace. Where the business had bank accounts they now had money locked down and their lawyers turned up on a Monday to find all that was left was bedding for hamsters. Within the month the business was ruined and although the director and his ushers remained untouched they no longer had jobs or funds to feed themselves.

On the other hand the Potts were flush for the first time in years and as per normal they were generous within the community. They understood loyalty and they made sure it was rewarded as and when they could. The Police kept out of it. They had seen what was floated down after their gathering and knew it would be best to allow the natural betrayal to be sorted out quickly. For good reason. Once the month was over everything settled back to normal minus the parlour and its director. As for the two guards, they were much more likely to be sunning themselves elsewhere than feeding the worms.

There was however one last problem of a rather sticky, stinky, slightly jellied corpse that had been part of an investigation on fratricide gone wrong. The younger brother mistakenly thought he could dissolve his sibling in coca-cola but soon found out all it did was attract every flying insect and every creepy-crawly from miles away to come feast whilst increasing the putrid smell. Once they had lifted the corpse out of the bath into a body bag it just slunk like an enormous man-pudding. It had been kept on ice during the trial but now all was needed was a dignified disposal but with the local parlour gone and none of the other further afield wanting or needing to take it on plod was in a pickle of what to do.

That and the fallout from the attack of the crippleoid who had since gone but had taken its toll. No one expected a monster to crawl like a retarded crayfish on the ground and then snatch and murder anyone who came close. He, or was it an it, looked human but was so broken up that it dragged itself around. The officer who had had such a lavish funeral thought if he could spike the creature it would just wither but as soon as the spike was close enough it grabbed at it, pulled the officer in close with alarming speed and then twisted the officer’s neck snapping it all in one very strong but agile move. Others at the scene stood back, pointed weapons and urged the creature slowly along to the sea edge and ushered it to dive in. Had it gone? No one was sure but it was not causing alarm and that was all that mattered at the moment.

The inspector was glad that it would soon be the festive season. People would forget for a while all their petty troubles and just indulge in the pseudo end-of-year events. What was left to do was prepare for the Christmas do by those loony geneticists. They put on what was called a barmy dance. It involved many a bit-part player on stage for entertainment, some very strong booze and a lot of jiving. Even the po-po partyvan division would be there.

The po-po had enjoyed a good year after painting an old van white with a black face and then using various magnetic signs to lure the less than clever criminals into the back for a quick arrest and a long stay away from the public. From what the inspector tried to work out they were going to perform a mime routine in masks and kilts. Along with that would be the soldiers mincing on stage in frocks and singing ‘harry won’t touch me now, but he will later!!’ this being followed by two dullards and their pythonesque skit. This year about a man walking into a police station wanting to be arrested for verbicide and requesting to be shot. All of which was just a ruse and what he really wanted was some jazz-mags.

The inspector had been given a full rundown of all the entertainment just so he could prepare for any trouble that might be lurking. He had already arranged for an ambulance to be on standbt for the act ‘We are .armless cuz we are legless’ a travelling troup of quadriplegic acrobats who would be shot from cannons onto a stage of trampolines and bounce about in coordinated mayhem. It was a fantastic display as long as everything was in position. When it wasn’t then it became a blood-soaked display of chaos. In reality the audience found both types of performance entertaining. He ticked off the more sedate acts and smiled that the finale would be the same with Glenda and her gargantuan breasts that might cause the odd heart to flutter but no one has died because of them yet.

This year would be an especially good party because the Potts being generous to venue and the bar would mean everyone could drink themselves silly on the super-scrumpy. A mixture of apples with some extra spices meant a few glasses of it and you were off with the fairies all night.

A few days later the festivities were in full swing, people had been suitably sloshed by the time of the python vignette and the bouncing torsos had landed perfectly so all that was left was Glenda. The front few rows became old codgers only, the lights dimmed, a slight hush, then dum-di-dum went the snare and bass drum and Charlie blasted at his trumpet. Glenda strolled from the left to stage centre back and then sauntered to the front unleashing her plentiful bosom to the wanton views of the audience. Large mounds of firm flesh, untouched by scalpel, but pert and buoyant as if she had just turned 18. A shimmy to the right and then to the left and coming ever further forward the old men bopped their balloons onto her bountiful beauty and each with a glint in his eye and a belly full of scrumpy slumped back into his chair, eyes to the sky and minds elsewhere.

Whilst this was going on the crippleoid had been chowing down on jellified remains and moving ever closer to the festivities. He was thinking of something fresher to add to his mealtime. The doors to the hall swung open and he slithered through with a crowd of people dispersing into the corners. The inspector reaching for a weapon he did not have, the po-po too trollied to comprehend and the Potts enlarged family already behind the bar readying with broken bottles. As such the crippleoid moved towards the stage and Glenda launching herself high in the air landed tits akimbo on its face. The creature both surprised and aroused and forgetting to grasp at air was smothered instantaneously, oxygen depleting within seconds and yet its tiny member still managed to weep with satisfaction. It was alive no more.

Glenda rose up and the inspector dragged the now dead monster out into the car park and into the partyvan. When he returned the festivities were in full swing again and so he downed another psychoactive cider and joined in.

…..

Too long and incoherant: Synopsis by Spike

Right! There they were, sitting by the canal watching the flotilla of dead heroes go by, when suddenly the Potts got proper riled because their cheapskate funeral was served up on a pair of old dustbin lids by a director who said “Fuck ’em!” twice for luck—so somebody burnt his barge to a cinder, stole his hamsters, and ran off with the safe! Meanwhile, a jellied corpse in a bath of Coca-Cola was melting like a big man-pudding, and a terrible broken-up crayfish-monster came crawling out of the sea, snapped a policeman’s neck like a celery stick, and slithered straight into the Christmas Barmy Dance just as the quadriplegic acrobats were being fired out of cannons! But before it could eat the inspector, up stepped big Glenda, who unleashed two enormous, untamed, un-scalpeled bazookas of death, jumped off the stage, and suffocated the wretched beast right on the spot—leaving its tiny little creature-member weeping with satisfaction while everybody drank ten pints of mind-bending scrumpy and fell over backwards! Hooray!