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Listen/purchase: False Gods. by Jock Kardashian.

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A history of Scotland.

Scotland was invented quite a while ago (I'll check later, I've got a calendar through in my kitchen which tells you the date it happened but I can't be arsed getting up at the moment. I'm pretty sure it was a Wednesday though) when mildly cretinous inventor Billy Agesago wanted somewhere to store the wee bit hill n' glen that his granny had given him for Christmas (he wanted a bike from the poor old pensioner; the greedy cunt). After cleverly pasting it together from a couple of spare parts taken from old Airfix models and bits and pieces from an old Meccanno set, he  decided to staple it onto the top of England, for a laugh. For centuries after it sat there doing nowt, but eventually some folk moved in, after getting kicked out of their old country for farting in church. Soon these early primitive people began to spread all over the place (they even went to Glasgow!), and even began to form their own rudimentary language. Just like that scene in Planet of the Apes it was a massive moment when, upon being offered another Tunnock's teacake by Jessie McTroglodyte, Hamish McAlpine first uttered a word: "aye". This was a massive step in the evolution of these early settlers, and soon they had formed enough language to be able to ask the driver of the Stagecoach bus for a ticket to Scara Brae to build some holiday villas. 

Over time tribes began to form, or clans, such as the MacLeans (motto: Whit the fuck you lookin' at? family tartan: like a granny's picnic tablecloth), the Camerons (family motto: Square go cunt! family tartan: doesn't go with the curtains), the Dunbars (family motto: Hope yir next shite's a hedgehog, family tartan: looks garish in wedding photos), the MacDonalds  (family motto: C'mon 'en! family tartan: Even Jonathon Ross widna be seen deid wearin' it), The Campbells (motto: Wid ye like some soup? Tartan: Migraine-inducing), the MacDonalds (motto: Tak a lang, hard, lick o’ ma shite; tartan: so last season), the Gordons (motto: Aye it’s perfectly legal, just touch it; tartan: tartany) and the Chans (motto: I told you we should have turned LEFT at the border; tartan: silky). These clans often fought with each other, usually over the remote, and when they weren’t fighting they were playing games together (the confusing twats), which over time became known as the Highland games. Events in the Highland games included tossing the caber (caber is an old Scots word for headmaster, and this controversial event was finally outlawed in 1901; leading to an 87% drop in applications for headmaster jobs in Scotland, and a coincidental rise of 87% in applications to the priesthood), hammer-throwing, shot-putting, Scrabble, Kerplunk, speed Heelan’-coo shaving, embroidery, anvil-headbutting, angry-facing, Call of Duty, ferret-bothering, and Celebrity cross-fit. When not fighting with each other they enjoyed fighting with their neighbours down south in England, mainly because each country thought that the other one “talked funny”. A bloke called Mel Gibson had a scrap with Englishman Stirling Moss and his pals after they took the piss out of his mullet on a night out, and he gave them a right kicking. They got their own back eventually though, when they got local heavy Eddie Longshanks and his crew to kill poor Mel by hanging, drawing, and quartering him. The Jewish bastards. 

Over time though the Scots got a bit bored with fighting and playing games, so they decided to invent some stuff. Famous Scots inventions and discoveries include pizza; Belgium; the burp; flip-flops; the name Hamish; African-Americans; haggis; the decimal point; the number 17; this face I’m pulling just now; the Krankies; Oor Wullie; slap-bass; the KKK; Kim Yong Un; the Beatles; ironic moustaches; sombreros, and many, many more.  With the royalties from these inventions they invested in something called the Darius scheme, in which they used up all the money sending the singer Darius to the X Factor and promoting him. Despite initial success Darius soon faded from the public eye, leaving Scotland heavily in debt, and they had no choice but to form a partnership with their neighbours down south. Ever since this union they two have gotten on famously, meeting up most weekends for a pint and to discuss Corrie, and in fact it went so swimmingly that they decided to go into business together, and called this new venture: The British Empire. 

 The British Empire (not to be confused with the Brittas Empire) came into being when the main men looked around at the world and realised that those silly foreigners were making a right arse of running their countries, and that the British could help them sort everything out; for a small fee. Soon we were sending ships out all over the world to educate and civilise, and Scots were right at the heart of this new venture, with exports of Krankies DVDs and shortbread to places such as India keeping the money flowing into the vaults. Soon they were squandering this new found wealth, and Edinburgh at the time became famously known as "Okapi-toon", due to the fashion for wealthy people to import okapis and walk the streets with them on leads. To own an okapi became a status of wealth, and many poorer people took to crudely painting pigs and trying to pass them off as okapis to pull the chicks. Over time sanitary conditions began to become a real problem due to all the okapi shit on the streets, and a virulent new disease caused by this exotic new ungulate faeces being everywhere took hold: "the hairy-hell". People who contracted the hairy-hell would at first show little symptoms apart from a sudden interest in acid-jazz and a fondness for corduroy slacks, but over time other, nastier symptoms would begin to manifest. After about week three the left nipple would begin to resemble a mildly irate Frenchman, and it was rumoured that in some particularly severe cases some family members even heard muttered Gallic threats coming from the nipple during the night. Around week five the unfortunate victim's hair would become matted and greasy, and profuse sweating became the norm. At week six hormonal changes kicked in, causing the victim to emit a powerful musk that was sexually alluring to moths, dogs, and people named Kevin. Many killed themselves in despair at the constant leg-humping from dogs and Kevins, and the annoying buzzing of moths flying around their heads carrying tiny bottles of wine. Week eight a leg would fall off, and around week ten was usually when the hairy hell itself kicked in: hair would begin sprouting all over the body, growing at a rate that no decent hairdresser could possibly keep up with, despite their best efforts. A victim could be Matt Lucas in the morning, Chewbacca in the afternoon, and look like the edges of Susan Boyle's underpants by the evening. The hairy freaks would eventually either kill themselves in despair, or boil to death in their beds due to the insulation the hair provided. Eventually the people of Edinburgh had enough of Okapi shit everywhere and boiling to death, so sold all the okapi to a passing Flemish butcher. Meanwhile, with their profits, the people of Glasgow bought a nice hat. 

Eventually Britain got bored with the Empire and handed all the vastly-improved countries back to the natives, because we're nice like that. This left Scotland at a bit of a loose end, and after a couple of unsuccessful years spent trying to export alcoholics to disinterested countries for money, Wee Dodie Johnston hit upon the idea of selling all that oil we had lying around doing fuck all on the sea bed, and so he sold his old Ford Escort and built a couple of oil rigs with the profits ( minus the £47 he owed Archie the Hump for "services rendered" the previous Saturday).

[sid71blog]

Upcoming TV shows for the Autumn:

One man and his Bog.

 A different celebrity each week reads an excerpt from their favourite book, whilst having a dump. Guests slated to appear include Johnny Vegas, Charles Dance, Katy Perry, Christopher Biggins, Kirsty Gallagher, and Nick Cave.

 Skyorven.

 This Scandi-noir thriller stars Bjerg Haaksoydenn as a dour detective who has turned to alcohol after the death of David Gest. When a spate of tourist murders begin to affect the economy of the town, he is paired with sexy female detective Jahansen Swednssbjorg, who is sexy. They are contractually obliged to work the night shift, so that every episode can be nice n' dark n' moody, and the music is by Sigur Ros and Black Lace. 

 Whose back fat is it Anyway?

 This quiz show is hosted by Cameron Stout and Fearne Cotton, and involves two teams of families who have to guess the celebrity by various means in each round, such as by viewing photos of various body parts. To make things harder in some rounds (such as round three: Big toe or bellend?)  the photos are deliberately blurred, though this is also due to the fact that some of the celebrities are ugly fuckers with gross bodies. With other rounds including Sift through the Stool, The great big celebrity laundry Sniff, Criminal records, and Ugliest Relative, this tea-time replacement for The Chase should provide fun for all the family to play along with.

 Temptation Road.    

 A new soap set in the fictitious town of Brantington-on-Twee, centred around the call centre and dole office on the high street. Samantha Heston (Bradley Walsh in a wig and stilettos) is the town bike a confident woman who knows what she wants, and has a hectic love-life. She is married to the manager of the call centre, but she is secretly seeing one of the young workers; plus the postie and a local electrician. Oh, and her brother-in-law; and the occasional visiting rugby team. Her husband (the bloke who played Curly Watts in Coronation Street) meanwhile is besotted with young Susan Gershwin (Michelle Keegan) and is constantly trying to woo her, despite the minor handicap of her being young and tidy and him looking like an ageing Curly Watts. In the dole office meanwhile, lovable layabout Bob Thwackston (some bloke who was in Brookside years ago and has been going all method, by spending every week since at the dole office) amuses (i.e. pisses off) the staff when he wanders in drunk every day looking for work, despite the chances of anyone hiring a sixty-two year old man-thing that reeks of cheap whisky and BO, and looks like he sleeps in a skip that got a poor rating on well-known website Homeless-trip-advisor.com being lower than the chances of Stephen Hawking winning rear of the year. He occasionally pumps Samantha when she's got a spare window in her schedule.

 A year to get Fat. 

 In this reality show eight contestants compete to see who can get the fattest by the end of the year for a £25000 prize, and our amusement. The winner will be forklifted out of the house for a grand finale at the end of the year, and also for heart surgery.

 Adam.

 This  eight-part biopic of legendary actor Adam Rickitt stars Kevin Spacey as the titular character, and shows his evolution from bit parts in school plays to what appears to be some kind of a pot plant with hair in the background of Gail's house on Corrie. The all-star cast includes Jennifer Lawrence as Gail, Ryan Reynolds as our Ashley, and Ice Cube whitening-up to play Fred the butcher. I say Fred the butcher.  

[sid71blog]

Some upcoming films:

Apples are not the only fruit. I think that tomatoes are too, but I'm not sure; I'll look it up.

  Swirly Fortescue (Bobby Ball) is an ageing gay fella living in San Francisco with his younger lover Busty Hamilton (Dean Gaffney). The local government has decided to bulldoze the entire area that these two live in so that a lucrative bingo and whist drive hall can be built, and, due to Swirly having bet all their savings on Sunderland staying in the Premier League, they are totally skint, and have no choice but to move in with Busty’s homophobic, beer-swilling older brother Bruck (John Goodman). What follows is a moving look at the breaking down of barriers and prejudices, as Bruck slowly begins to appreciate musicals, John Barrowman, washing his pits and genitals EVERY day, and arty black and white posters of blokes with their big cocks out dotted all over the walls of his home, whilst simultaneously teaching them about indoor plumbing (not a euphemism), the correct belt fitting on your jeans so that just the right amount of bum-cleavage shows on the building site when you bend over, and farting into your mate’s pint in the pub when he goes for a shit.

  No-one came back alive; not even me.

  Drudge Hanktankerson (Clint Eastwood), is an old-timey sort living in a retirement home in California. Over time this cantankerous old codger befriends the young nurse L’il Sue Sugarstick (you won’t know her; crackin’ tits though), and eventually he begins to regale her with the harrowing tales of his time during World War Two. You will cry with her as he tells of his eighteen year old friend Brank Guthammmer dying screaming alone in a shell-hole, after a Stuka blows both his earlobes off; you will laugh as Drudge regales her with lighter battlefield moments, such as the time the lads painted a hand-grenade to look like a tin of Skol, and gave it to “Simple Dave” to pull the ring-pull; you will cry again as the lads bury Simple Dave ten minutes later; and you will have uncomfortable feelings, and mutter “this bit’s shit” to your girlfriend, during the bit where the young soldiers skinny dip in a French river.  

  Cropper.

  In this long-overdue Hollywood blockbuster based on the Coronation Street character, Channing Tatum is Roy Cropper, a man slightly flustered one reasonably busy Tuesday afternoon, when a minibus full of pensioners stops by and cleans him out of baps. In a performance already creating a strong Oscar buzz, Channing displays the full gamut of Roy’s emotional range, as we watch him ring Rita (Meryl Streep) to see if she has any baps in stock, and ask Gemma (Elizabeth Hurley) to mind the shop for a bit while he nips to the Cash and Carry. 

  Deaded to Death.

   Steven Segal (no way!) is Bronson Masticator, a retired UFC bigbone-weight world champion, down on his luck after gambling and drinking away all of his fortune. He now ekes out a living as a human panda in a shit zoo in the rough part of a rough town in a rough, intentionally vague South American country. He also bounces for a share of the tips and all the Fray Bentos pies he can eat at a local titty bar, run by the shady gangster Fuego “the castrator” Del Monte. One night Bronson witnesses a couple of Fuego’s heavies manhandling Paula Shane, the massively-popular drag tribute to Hi-de-Hi actor Paul Shane, currently on a massive stadium tour of South America, into the back of the club. Upon waking up the next morning in his rusty old caravan, he turns on his cracked old black and white television to see that the news is devoted to a $50 million ransom demanded for the return of Paula, and he must decide whether to do the right thing and take on his boss and assorted henchmen and free Paula, or keep his mouth shut and keep the Fray Bentos flowing.

  Paedon't you want Me?

   Gareth Possibly is a shy, thirty-four year old hamster-herder from Wolverhampton, who forms an attachment to Samantha Alannsuger, who moves in next door with her mother. A sweet bond unfolds between the pair of them over one long, hot summer, with Gareth slowly emerging from his brittle shell in the company of this talkative giggler, but complications inevitably set in as feelings go unreciprocated, and the nursery threaten to call the authorities if he doesn’t back off.

  Blood of the Chaffinch.

   Even eighteen year olds are advised to watch this accompanied by an older adult, so frightening is it rumoured to be. In Argentina forty two women fainted just upon seeing a badly-bootlegged t-shirt bearing the lead chaffinch hanging on a washing line, and at the premiere in Los Angeles one woman went into labour in the cinema, despite not being pregnant when the film started. The baby came out covered in BLOOD. Due to these haunting stories, the film has gained notoriety even before its world-wide release, and many reckon that it will do for chaffinches what Jaws did for Great Whites.   

  Cold cold Heart.  

   This Inuit romance wowed the critics at the inaugural Macduff film festival, causing many of the film critics to pretend to shed a manly tear, in the hope of a sympathy tug in the bogs afterwards.  Wee Beely Johnson is a lonely Inuit igloo salesman, doomed to a solitary life spent ploughing the snowwoman he has built most nights, or trying to convince himself that the three month old seal carcass in his front room is a comely mermaid. One night he finds a woman trapped by her leg in a bear trap he has set, and as she slowly recuperates in his igloo conservatory, feelings grow. It takes him four hours to feel his way through all the layers of fur, but eventually the relationship is consummated, and they live happily ever after. Well, until she starts to rot, being a fucking bear corpse that the mad old cunt has been shagging in the delusion that it’s a tidy bint.   

  The wrong Trousers.

   Hollywood live-action remake of Wallace and Gromit, starring Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson as Wallace, and Andy Serkis as a motion-capture CGI Gromit. In this slightly-tweaked story Wallace is a grizzled cop who doesn’t play by the rules, and Gromit is his loyal German Shepherd police dog. When investigating a drug deal the pair come to the attentions of the powerful drug lord “El Capitano”, who kills all of Gromit’s closest relatives, and blows up Wallace’s opulent beach-front property; that he can somehow afford on his policeman’s salary. The pair must hunt down El Capitano and put him out of business before he does the same to them, something not helped by Wallace’s alcohol problem. Also starring Charize Theron as the love interest. For Wallace, you sick bastard. 

  "Sorry Dad, you're breaking up, I'm just heading into a fudge tunnel". 

   This hilarious comedy stars Zac Efron as Billy Fronc, an eighteen year old who lives for partying with his friends. Mark Wahlberg is his seventeen year old buddy, “Stoner” Crud Mazzwick, and Adam Sandler is twenty year old layabout Freez Dirklange. After losing a bet with Crud’s older brothers Broxton and Steele, the three must spend a Saturday night at the city’s notorious gay club Oooooo, Get You! Initially reluctant to mingle in case they catch gay, after a few rounds of confidence-boosting and trouser-slackening tequila they are soon dancing up a storm on the dancefloor with their new friends.  Well, apart from Wahlberg’s character of course; he had it written into the script that he won’t let any “bummer” near his meat and two meat (no girly veg for Mark), and in fact his character gets into a fight with three burly homosexual men after one of them gives a lascivious look in the vague direction of Mark’s ashtray.

Mark wins.

Obviously.

   No room at the inn for Jar Jar.

   This sombre, black and white documentary follows what happens to Jar Jar Binks, after his unpopular starring role in some shit prequel or other. A sobering look at the American dream gone wrong, we follow a desolate Jar Jar as he repeatedly auditions for further acting roles, only to be turned away time and time again. We watch his slow descent into alcoholism, every drink punctuated by his sobbed mutterings of “Meesa fuckwit”, as he tortures himself watching a worn-out DVD of his only major role over and over again.

  No tulips in December.

   Sally Algernon (Dot Cotton) has been living in the old people’s home of her quiet part of Boston for seven years now. Her husband long dead and her children busy washing their hair, besides exchanging pleasantries with the nurses she has little to fill her days, apart from an ongoing feud with Gertrude Begonia (Honor Blackman) over who gets to sit in the best chair in the TV room. All this changes when a new gardener, Bowl Funterton (Russ Abbott), begins tending the gardens of the home (again, not a euphemism). Seeing his shirtless exertions, with his darts-honed physique and rippling liver spots, awakens feelings in Sally that she had thought long dormant. Soon she is flirting suggestively over a plate of Hobnobs, and being “accidently” caught walking cardigan-less in front of her window, with its deliberately open curtains. Unfortunately, there is a spanner in the works in her attempts to attract his attentions: she is surrounded by young, attractive NURSES, so she could ride a unicorn whilst juggling the Arsenal youth team and farting the theme tune to EastEnders perfectly, and she still wouldn’t be able to drag Bowl’s eyes away from young Samantha’s shapely arse.  

  A banjo for Billy.

   Cuthbert Faintlyaromatic and his wife Cynthia are dealt a crushing blow when, after seven years of trying, they finally have a child, only for young Billy to be born with the rare disease Kenny Loggins’ contraption. With knees for eyes, hairy teeth, a hunch-back AND a hunch-bum, continuous flatulence, an ingrown penis (on his tongue), and an allergy to his own nostrils, there is as yet no known cure for this horrible affliction, and those first few months tested their partnership to its limits. Just when things seemed totally desolate, a kindly doctor rescues them from despair, when he hands over an old banjo of his Grandads in exchange for Billy, as he needs something to lay on the floor in front of his living room door, to keep the draught out. Oh, did you think that maybe Billy would grow up and find meaning in his existence with the discovery of a musical gift or summat? Sorry. 

[sid71blog]

The Avengers: Square go, ye big green fud.

Some teenage aliens have stolen one of their Dad's spaceships and decided to invade Earth for a laugh, but, never having used the Sat-nav before, they were unable to locate any of the large, famous, cinematically and commercially viable American cities, and so ended up somehow landing in the North-East of Scotland, trying to pick a fight with a small village. Luckily one of the old-timers there still had his old Bat-signal from the war to signal for help, but Batman was binging on a box-set of old Eastenders episodes and couldn’t be arsed helping out (Heather Trott was a bit of a guilty wank for the fella), but he did agree that he would send the Avengers a text the next time he went for a piss break, or during a boring bit involving Ian Beale and some carrots. 

Iron Man: “Excuse me simple peasant, we are the Avengers; could you tell us where the invading aliens are please?”

Wee Tom: “Maist o’ them are doon in London ah hink; ma brither-in-law wiz doon there n’ wiz sayin’ ye canna unnerstan a word maist o’ the foreign buggers are sayin’ ti ye! Naebidy speaks English any mair! Enoch wiz right!”

Black Widow: “Um, what?”

Wee Tom: “Fuckin’ hell, you’re a tidy bint eh? Nice erse on this hoor, eh lads? Ah bet you’ve had a sly wank ower her a few times eh, ye big green cunt!”

Hulk: “HULK CONFUSED!”

Iron Man: “Thanks for your time, we’ll see if we can find someone a bit more um…understandable.”

Wee Tom: “Nae bother Metal Mickey, A’m needin’ awa hame fir a shite onyway.”

Thor: “Let’s ask this couple of old ladies over there, hopefully they don’t speak Klingon like he did.”

Hawkeye: “Hello ladies, can you help us? We were wondering where to find the aliens.”

Aul’ Jessie: “Aye aye ma loon, fit like the day?”

Hawkeye: “Sorry?”

Aul’ Jessie: “A’m asking hoo yir deein?”

Hawkeye: “Sorry?”

Iron Man: “I think the aliens have already taken over the bodies of the locals.”

Meg: “Oh, you’re a cheeky wee hoor eh? Are ye nae sweating yir ba’s off in that hing min?”

Iron Man: “Am I sweating?”

Meg: “Aye, ye canna be comfy clankin’ aboot in that big lump o’ shite, ye’d be better in a t-shirt n’ shorts on a fine day like this.”

Iron Man: “No offence ladies, but we’re in a bit of a hurry to find the aliens and kick their asses.”

Meg: “Are you lot nae a bit aul’ to be ga’in aroon’ looking fir fights? Whit yis shid dae is tak ‘em fir a pint instead; there’s nothin’ thit canna be solved ower a pint or twelve.”

Hulk: “HULK NONPLUSSED!”

Iron Man: “It’s okay big fella, I know it’s hard to decipher, but I think I’m tuning into their quaint gibberish; they seem to think that we should go for a drink with the alien invaders instead of battling them, which is, frankly, laughably naïve.”

Aul’ Jessie: “Nivver min, drinkin’ solves a’thin! Look at Skittery Jock thone time he fell oot wi’ Dangleberry Johnston ower fa’s turn it wis tae de-grease Fat Alec; the pair o’ them were a’ set tae kick each ither’s cunts in, but Fishy Elsa managed tae convince them baith tae go tae the pub instead, n’ noo they’re the best o’ pals again. They even solved their dilemma by ganging up on young Bob Thompson and forcin’ him tae get up tae his elbas in Alec-gunk instead.”

Black Widow: “We really don’t have time for this guys, we need to find the aliens quick.”

Meg: “Calm doon quine, we cain far they are, we’re jist keepin’ yiz here fir as lang as possible so we c’n eye up this big lump o’ muscle; ye widna kick him oot o’ bed fir daein’ a watery fart on yir thigh when he wiz sleepin’, wid ye Jess?”

Aul’ Jessie: “Oooh no, efter forty years o’ burnin’ ma nostrils on the rancid guff that pumps loudly oot o’ Albert’s flabby cheeks every night, I’d happily spend a week campin’ oot in Shane MacGowan’s y-fronts jist fir five minutes wi’ this big sexy brute. Fit aboot it stud-muffin, div ye fancy makin’ an aul’ wifie’s night?”

Thor: “Are you asking me to sleep with you? No thanks, I’m…um…taken.”

Aul’ Jessie: “Ah come on, git yir big powerful hands on these pair o’ beauties!”

She undid her cardigan and jiggled her funbags from side to side, causing Hawkeye to cry out like a big GIRL when he was hit on the knee by her left one.

Hulk: “HULK NEVER GETTING AN ERECTION EVER AGAIN!”

Hawkeye: “You and me both big guy.”

Thor: “Look wenches, we are here on a very important mission, here to maybe save the lives of you and your families, so could you please just tell us where the baddies are?”

Meg: “He might be a hunka hunka burnin’ love Jessie, but he’s a stroppy shite eh? Fine, they’re probably hingin’ aboot ootside the chipper, there’s fuck all else tae dee aroon’ here.”

Iron Man: “What is a chipper, and where is it?”

Meg: “Ye dinna ken fit a chipper is? Ye hear that Jessie, Meccano-man disna ken fit a chipper is! Tae fuck wi’ goin’ tae America if they dinna even hae chip suppers! Gie me Banff ower New York any day of the week if that’s the case.”

Iron Man: “WHERE’S THE FUCKING CHIPPER!”

Aul’ Jessie: “Oooooh, SOMEONE’S getting ratty eh? Whit’s wrang, are ye coming down with a bad case o’ rusty knob? Fine then ye impatient hoor, ye go doon tae the end o’ this street, turn left at the pishy tramp, and cerry on up the brae n’ ye canna miss it on the left.”

Iron Man: “Thanks. Come on crew.”

The Avengers began to walk quickly down to the end of the street, Hawkeye limping slightly and Thor struggling to remove the chasing Meg’s hand from the front of his trousers. They came across an alcoholic lying prone in the middle of the road, and turned left. 

 They approached the chip shop at the top of the street, where they were eyed suspiciously by a group of youth hanging around outside.

  Black Widow: “Hi guys, can you tell us where the aliens are?”

  Wee shite1: “We will if ye get yir tits oot tidy!”

  Black Widow: “How about I break your face if you don’t?”

  Wee shite1: “Ye could sit on it instead, then A’ll tell ye!”

  Thor: “Look lads, we’re in a hurry here, people may be dying and desperate for our assistance, please, tell us where they are.”

  Wee shite2: “Buy us some booze fae the shop ower there then.”

  Black Widow: “What are you, twelve? I don’t think we’ll be buying you any alcohol little man.”

  Wee shite3: “Fine then, good luck findin’ the aliens withoot oor expertise then, ye gormless tourist cunts.”

  Hawkeye: “Do you want your whole village to die?”

  Wee shite4: “Couldna really gie a shite min, wi’d get off school.”

  Iron Man: “I don’t think that you’re realising the severity of the situation lads, just tell us where they are so we can save the lives of your friends and families.”

 Wee shite2: “Maist o’ them are fuds enywiy, couldna gie a shite.”

  Wee shite1: “Booze, or no deal.”    

Black Widow: “Look, I think we’re gonna have to do it or we’ll never find the aliens at this rate.”

Iron Man: “Fine then, let’s go to the shop.”

Hulk: “HULK WANT PICKLED ONION MONSTER MUNCH!”

Iron Man: “Okay big guy, we’ll get you some when we’re there.”

They walked into the local shop.

Iron Man: “Hello my good man, I don’t suppose you know where the aliens are do you?”

Shopkeeper: “Ye mean those new fowk ower at the camp sight? The hikin’ fuds?”

Iron Man: “No, we mean the aliens, y’know, from outer space.”

Shopkeeper: “Nah, nae idea min. Ye should go n’ ask Bob at 22, he cains a’hin!”

Iron Man: “Forget it, we’ll have a couple of bottles of your cheapest vodka then please.”

Shopkeeper: “Is it fir the wee shites ower there yiz wiz talkin’ tae?”

Hulk: “HULK WANT MONSTER MUNCH!”

Iron Man: “In a minute Hulk. No, it’s for our own personal use.”

Shopkeeper: “I jist wondered. It’s nae right, jist hingin’ aboot ootside nae drinkin’ at their age, they should be puking on folk’s doorsteps n’ missin’ school wi’ a hangover; it’s nae right.” 

  Black Widow: “Can you just sell us the vodka please?”

  Shopkeeper: “A’right quine, calm doon. Here, this is the cheapest pish A’ve got.”

  Iron Man: “Do you take cards?”

  Shopkeeper: “Nah, A’ dinna bother wi’ that, it’s cash only in here.”

  Iron Man: “Well the problem is that we haven’t exactly had time to get our money exchanged, we were too busy concentrating on getting over here and saving your hides from an alien invasion. How about an autograph as payment instead?”

  Shopkeeper: “Who the fuck are ye like, X Factor winners or some shite?”

 Hawkeye: “We’re the Avengers!”

  Hulk: “HULK COULD EAT A SCABBY HORSE!”

  Iron Man: “Throw a couple of packets of pickled onion Monster Munch in with the booze please. Look, I’m LOADED, and if you give us the booze n’ snacks just now, when this is all over I’ll come back and give you enough money to buy this entire village if you want.” 

  Shopkeeper: “You’ll give me eleven pounds and fourteen pence? Look, Ah ken fa’ ye are, A’m jist windin’ yiz up. Tak the booze n’ settle up efter a’hin’ is deen.”

 Iron Man: “Thank you my man, we’ll come back and settle up, I promise.”

  Hulk: “HULK HUUUUUUNNNNNGGGGRRRRRYYYYYY!”

  Iron Man: “Okay big fella, there you go. Right come on, let’s bribe those little shits.”

  They walked back to the little shits, and handed over the booze. 

  Wee shite4: “Cheers Pound Shop transformer, noo Jamesie here will tak ye tae the aliens.”

  Jamesie: “How me? C’n I nae bide n’ get pissed wi’ youse?”

  Wee shite4: “Nah, yir too young; yir Mam wid lynch me if Ah gave ye booze before ye were twelve. Noo hurry up and take them tae the aliens, n’ if yir back in good time A’ll get ye a sweetie!”

  Jamesie: “Fuck off.”

  He trudged away sulkily, with the Avengers following behind.

  Black Widow: “Eat with your mouth shut please Hulk.”

  Hawkeye: “So have you seen the aliens Jamesie?”

  Jamesie: “Aye, we were a’ hingin’ aboot doon the park playin’ fitba when they landed. They came oot n’ started comin’ the cunt, so Big Dode asked thim fir a square go n’ they shit themselves! Ah dinna ken far they’re fae but thone weapons they have are shite! They attacked the boys n’ Big Dode managed to tak them a’ on himsel, n’ they ended up hingin’ fae the goalposts by thone things that were danglin’ fae their crotches.”

  Black Widow: “What happened then?”

  Jamesie: “We a’ started takin’ the piss oot o’ thim, n’ takin’ turns tae try n’ hit thim in thir faces wi’ the ba’. Johnny got ane o’ thim a beauty right in the coupon!”       

Iron Man: “I’m starting to wonder if our services were needed here.”

Hulk: “HULK FEELS A DUMP BREWING!”

Iron Man: “You’ll just have to wait Hulk, we’re almost at the park I think.”

Jamesie: “Aye look, there they are.”

The Avengers looked over the green grass of the football pitch and saw four purple aliens hanging uncomfortably from the goalposts by stretched and bruised looking appendages. Some youths were standing around them, throwing chips at them.

Hawkeye: “Hey! Leave them be!”

Youth1: “Fuck off, we were here first!”

Iron Man: “We’re the Avengers, and we say back off.”

Youth1: “Aye Ah ken who ye are, Ah jist dinna gie a shite!”

Youth2: “Dinna suppose thone Guardians o’ The Galaxy are wi’ yiz are they? Thone Gamora wid get it!”

Youth1: “Nah, Nebula’s tidier!”

Youth2: “Thone slapheid? Fuck aff!”

Thor: “While you debate the merits of which ones would get the pleasure of your attentions the most, we need to talk to these visitors and ascertain what they want on Earth, so please, step aside. Anyway, Black Widow is here!”

Youth3: “Ach nae offence quine, but yir nae really ma type.” 

  Youth1: “Nae yir type? You shagged Jackie the Tooth, so Ah think ye’d shag the big green cunt given half a bottle o’ vodka.”

 Youth2: “N’ she is tidy.”

 Black Widow: “Thanks, your approval means so much to me.”

  Hulk: “HULK TOUCHING CLOTH!”

Iron Man: “Not now Hulky. Now please lads, step aside.”

Youth3: “Is it only you four that are comin’ like? Far’s the rest?”

Hawkeye: “It’s trade’s fortnight back home so most of our comrades have pissed off to Magaluf for a break, but we agreed to come over and help you out, for double time and days in lieu.”

  Youth2: “Aww, I like thone wee cunt, Ant-man.”

Youth3: “Spiderman’s aboot oor age, we could hiv asked him whit the flange is like in American schools.”

  Youth1: “Di ye think Big Dode could tak him?”

Youth4: “Aye, nae bother, the cunt wid be wedgied afore the introductions wir done!”

Black Widow, pushing them out of the way roughly: “Okay, I’m bored of this, out of our way!” 

Youth2: “Wisen up min! Fuckin’ hoor, Ah definitely winna be shaggin’ ye noo then!”

Black Widow: “I’ll live.”

Hulk: “HULK GOING BEHIND TREE!”

Iron Man: “Okay aliens, do you understand me?”

Alien1: “We understand YOU; these smaller humans are speaking a language that blew up Gnarfenwaaaargglefnnnpprr’’s universal translator.”

 Gnarfenwaaaargglefnnnpprr: “It was a present from my Granny too.”

Iron Man: “Don’t worry about that, it’s primitive gibberish. Now, what do you want on our planet?”

Alien2: “Well, not to spend all our time hanging in great pain from our genitals would be a start.”

Thor: “If we take you down, do we have your word that you won’t start anything?”

Youth4: “ha ha! I widna worry aboot these pathetic shites!  Efter whit A’ve seen wee Jamesie could rule their planet armed wi’ a comb and a three-day old kipper. Thir pussies min!”

Alien1: “We weren’t ready! You sucker-punched us! Let us down and we’ll show you how tough we are!”

Youth3: “Oh aye, act hard noo in front o’ the tidy bint! You were the anes that started it, comin’ oot o’ yir machine and barkin’ orders aboot like yir fuckin’ Emperor Ming.”

Youth1: “Mair like Emperor mingin’ the wiy he shit himsel’ when Dode started poundin’ intae ‘im!”

Alien2: “Could you PLEASE let us down, I wouldn’t mind being able to have children at some point in my life, and if I hang like this any longer there’s not much chance of that happening.”

 Iron Man: “Okay, get them down.”

 Thor: “Who died and made you boss?”

 Youth1: “Aye, you tell ‘im Thor; efter a’ you are an actual GOD, so you should be runnin’ hings, he’s jist some cunt wi’ loads o’ points on his Halfords loyalty card.”

 Iron Man: “Okay, let’s ALL get them down then.”

 The Avengers (minus a shitting Hulk) helped the groaning aliens down from the goalposts, and laid them down on the grass.

 Gnarfenwaaaargglefnnnpprr: “Thank you so much.”

 Iron Man: “No problem Gna…pal.”

 Youth3: “Aw, see, he musta got a hert fae the Wizard o’ Oz efter a’.”

 Black Widow: “So why are you here?”

 Gnarfenwaaaargglefnnnpprr: “Summat to do; our home planet is incredibly boring for us young ones. We are such a highly-evolved race that most of the adults just sit around pontificating on matters intellectual and denigrating the more primitive planets like Earth all day.”  

Alien 4: “We don’t though, we’re always sticking up for Earth and telling everyone how cool you are, aren’t we lads?”

 Gnarfenwaaaargglefnnnpprr: “Oh yes, we’re always bigging you up! We’re always trying to show them how great Earth is, and the fantastic contributions you could make to the universe if we opened up to you, but those old squares won’t listen.”

  Alien 4: “Remember that time we tried to show them the majesty of Steven Segal? Nothing.”

  Youth1: “They’re jist speakin’ shit tae try n’ butter yiz up! Dinna listen ti thir shite!”

Alien 1: “No it’s true! Why do you think we came here? Bkkkkkkkkkkkkkfortesqueummmmbafoato managed to get tickets on the internet for Shania Twain’s concert tonight, but we got a bit lost trying to find the venue. We love your culture.”

Black Widow: “They like Shania Twain? Maybe we should string them back up.”

 Bkkkkkkkkkkkkkfortesqueummmmbafoato: “No way! Shania rocks!”

A reasonably-sized stone whacked Bkkkkkkkkkkkkkfortesqueummmmbafoato straight between his large, saucer eyes.

Bkkkkkkkkkkkkkfortesqueummmmbafoato: “OWWWW!”

Black Widow: “Thanks little shit.”

Youth 2: “No problems bint.”

Thor: “So you’re saying that you’re no threat to our planet then?”

Youth 3: “Well maybe if they take over our radio stations they might be.” 

Gnarfenwaaaargglefnnnpprr: “We are no threat whatsoever, we’re just youngsters doing what youngsters do: pissing about.”

Thor: “So if we let you go you will go back into your spaceship and be on your merry way?”

Alien 4: “Definitely, we’ve had enough of this place…”

Alien 1, muttering under his breath: “This place is getting a really shitty review on Trip-advisor once I get home.”

Youth 2: “Ah heard that, ye prick!”

Youth 1: “Maybe we dinna WANT tae let yiz go hame, maybe we’re gonna keep ye here fir the crack.”

Iron Man: “Now now guys, we don’t want to start an intergalactic incident; if these youngsters go missing then their parents and their armies might come looking for them.”

Youth 3: “Fuck ‘em, we’ve got Big Dode.”

Hulk, from somewhere in the distance: “HAS ANYONE GOT A PAPER?”

Iron Man, ignoring him: “We really don’t want to piss off another planet guys, we’ve enough on our plates at the moment.”  

Youth 3: “Ah come on, we could dee wi’ some excitement ‘roon’ here. Let them come n’ we c’n hae a square go wi’ the pricks.”

Black Widow: “That’s not going to be happening children.”

Iron Man: “Okay, you’re free to go, sorry for any unpleasantness you experienced on our planet; not everyone here is like these reprobates.”

Youth2: “Fuck off fud.”

The aliens get up from the ground and walk to their spaceship, clicking on the immobiliser as they do so.

Black Widow: “Don’t be strangers! Come back any ti…what’s that smell? Holy shit! It’s a trap! They must have released a powerful gas when they pressed their immobiliser!”

Thor, falling to the floor, retching: “Shit…I can feel…myself…passing out…”

Iron Man, down on his hands and knees: “Hawkeye…talk to me…Hawkeye…he’s out for the…count…my eyes…are…burning…lungs…on…fire…can’t…take…much…more…”

Gnarfenwaaaargglefnnnpprr, shouting from the spaceship window: “Nowt to do with us, look towards the epicentre of all that dead grass. See ya.”

The Avengers, with great effort, dragged themselves around and saw that the ground all around them was all of a sudden barren and scorched, the charred remains of dead birds and insects scattered all over. Out of the glowing distance walked a large, green monster of a man, zipping up his flies.

Hulk: “I’D GIVE IT FIVE MINUTES IF I WAS YOU!”        

[sid71blog]

A day in the life of Steven Segal.

6:15am: The alarm goes off for Steven’s two hours of Aikido training, Tai chi, and meditation.

 11:34am: This is when fatboy actually gets up, for a shit and a sausage sandwich.

 13:03pm: Steven finishes the last of his pudding (sausages, with vanilla ice cream), meaning that breakfast is now complete.

 13:04pm: Lunch begins.

 15:25pm: With lunch devoured, now it is time for a sweating Steven to film today’s segment of his latest masterpiece: Kill With Extreme Prejudice 3. In today’s scene, Steven (as Colonel Hogan “Clusterfuck” Maelstrom), has been captured by terrorists from some beardy Arab place or other, and has been strapped naked face down and arse up onto the back of a female hippo. An excited male hippo is chained to a pole nearby, with a couple of the beardy twats showing him pictures of sexy female hippos, tits out n’ that, to whip him up into a sexual frenzy.

Scene:

Terrorist 1: “So, Mr. Clusterfuck, now you will realise the error of picking a fight with me, Mohammed Abdul Mohammedabdulson, the greatest freedom fighter the world has ever seen. You Americans will have to learn that picking a fight with The Arabic League Of Terrorists And Associated Blowy-uppers Ltd. Is not a wise move.  We get stronger every day, and with this nuclear warhead, things are going to get very interesting indeed for your decadent country”.

Hogan: “Do you expect me to talk, Mr. Mohammedabdulson?”

Mohammed: “No Meester Maelstrom, I expect you to get pumped hard by Barry the hippo here, until your ringpiece gapes open like the mouth of Dean Gaffney doing a physics exam. We are going to film this, and hack into your news networks so that everyone in the USA sees your humiliation”.

Hogan: “You people cannot win, you know that right? The USA will kick your goddamn asses from here to somewhere a bit further away. In fact, I’M gonna kick your ass right now; these chains can’t hold me!”

Mohammed: “Well they seem to have been able to hold you fine for the last eleven hours since we captured you. They held you fine when Achmed was rubbing his smeggy helmet all over your face, when Omar was stuffing camel shit up your nostrils, and when big Jock pissed on your chips and force-fed them to you. Without too much of a struggle, I hasten to add. Of course, I’m sure that you were just biding your time…”

Hogan: “I went through worse back in ‘Nam; you people are amateurs. Once you’ve seen your best friend die after being forced to inhale his own pancreas, you can withstand anything. What you didn’t know is that when Achmed stuck his finger up my dunghole and then smeared it all over my lips, he inadvertently triggered an alarm that I’d cleverly hidden up my anus just in case of such an event; an alarm which means that any minute now, one hundred Navy Seals will be dropping in on you with vengeance, and murder in their hearts”.

Mohammed: “Ha ha ha, do you really expect me to believe that? You would have to be some kind of fat loser, the sort of bellend who would slap Kelly Le Brock around rather than appreciate how much he was punching above his considerable weight, to come up with a hair-brained scheme like that. Face it Mr. Clusterfuck, you are going to die, and let’s just say tha…what’s that noise?”

Sounds of helicopters approaching.

  Hogan: “Now we’re going to see some Seal clubbing.”

  Aaaaand, cut.

  With the scene successfully in the can, and all the catering gobbled up, cast and crew head home. All except for Steven, who every night, heads into the heart of this dangerous city to dole out some street justice to the scum who haunt the back alleys every evening. What many people don’t realise is that every single Segal film is based on actual events from his life: he really IS one of the toughest, smartest, best-trained, highly-decorated, and sexiest vigilantes on the planet. Tonight he is on the trail of Hernando “Smelly” Rodriguez, the man currently responsible for flooding the local streets with a potent new strain of meth known colloquially locally as Sheila Handcock’s Hand Shandy. It is so powerful that over four addicts have simply dissolved into their sofas after taking it, and Steven has taken it upon himself to take out the trash.

  20:17pm: Patrolling the mean streets, he watches. His hawk-eyes scanning the pimps, the whores, the drug-dealers, coldly. With laser-like intensity his gaze searches for his prey, until he sees him: Smelly, standing sharing some chips with his number four whore, Anal Susan. Steven parks over on the other side of the road, quietly exiting the car. Unfortunately, Steven’s version of “quietly” is somewhat different to others, and the crowd turns to hear where the loud wheezing and grunting is coming from. Spotting the red glow of Steven’s face as he pulls himself slowly out of the car seat, Smelly breaks into a sprint (leaving Anal Susan with the chips, the lucky cow! Well, as lucky as someone can be, who in five minutes time while be wanking off a pensioner behind some bins) forcing Steven to waddle after him. Luckily for our Steven, Smelly trips over a prostate alcoholic lying down licking up some spilt beer, and Steven pounces on him like a Walrus with lumbago.  His big meaty fists pound into poor Smelly in a staccato rhythm, akin to the thump of an aged Blue Whale’s heartbeat, until Smelly’s face resembles Caitlyn Jenner’s genitals half an hour after the operation. “THIS, is what the future holds for any drug dealers who don’t leave the city tonight” Big Steve informs the frightened, ashen-faced crowd. They timidly part as he strides purposely through, the men cowering in the presence of this true alpha male, the women soaking their gussets with desire, as they ogle the damp patch of sweat darkening the back of his jeans at the crack.

 10:14pm: Celebratory McDonalds drive-thru.

 11:46pm: Burger King nightcap.

 00:36am: Quick wank to the Erika- Elaniak- bursting- out- of- the- cake scene from Under Siege.

Again.

 00: 41am: Sleepy sleeps time.

 00:42-11:51am: Profuse night-sweats and prodigious farting.

[sid71blog]

The Expendables IV, chapter twenty.

Being an ultra-trained bunch of professionals, the lads had managed to remove all traces of there having been any kind of a battle by the time the police came, and they had managed to convince them that the loud shooting and explosions that the neighbours had heard, had been simply deaf old Fred watching his beloved John Wayne films too loudly on his telly.

Nurse Anne:  "Do you think all the neighbours will notice that their recycling bins are a lot heavier than usual when they go to put them out on Wednesday?"

Torquewrench:  "Nah, we cut up all the corpses into pretty small chunks, and we were careful to spread them around all over the street, so I don't think anyone will notice. What are you going to tell the insurance about all the bullet holes dotted around the home?"

Anne:  "Oh, we'll just say Albert got angry and dug out his old service revolver when Brokeback Mountain was shown on the TV."

Dirk:  "So will you be heading home now Jessica?"

Jessica:  "I'm not sure, I think I might hang around London for a while yet; I'm getting quite fond of the place, and some of the people who live here."

She stole a look at Chuck, who gave her a cheeky wink, and flexed his pecs.

Anne:  "What about you gentlemen, what are you going to do now?" 

Brad:  "A shady looking foreigner wearing sunglasses, with a thick 'tache, and a comedy evil accent of no fixed South American abode, has offered us a large sum of cash to dispose of some political enemies of his, so we'll probably take him up on the offer. Firstly though, we're gonna go out and PAAAAAARRRTTTYYYY!"

Chuck:  "Not me, I'm going to take a certain little lady out for a lovely meal, while you boys are all out drinking and brawling." 

Torquewrench:  "Pussy."

Jessica:  "Well everything seemed to wrap up nicely, and with some careful editing it should fill a decent hour and fifty minutes or so, so all that's left is to...what's that?"

They turned around the approaching noise, to see a fire engine coming speeding around the corner, sirens and lights flashing and blaring. Dancing on the roof were the female cast of Geordie Shore dressed in bikinis, as Love Shack by the B-52s blared out at full blast. A zebra was sticking its head out of the open passenger window, and Cuckoo was sitting in the driving seat, naked except for a bowler hat and bow tie. On his lap sat the newsreader Moira Stuart, dressed as Wonder Woman, and he was leaning out of the window as he drove, playing a bugle loudly in time with Love Shack.

Dwight:  "Ha ha Cuckoo, you crazy bastard."

[sid71blog]

Limericks.

There was a young man in Calcutta, Who was a complete and utter nutter, He’d stab you for the crack, Stick a knife in your back, And rub your face with his knob smeared in butter.

There was a young man from Leeds, With some specific sexual needs, They involved Anton De Beke, A life-size model of Shrek, A hoover, some fish-heads and jump leads.

There was a young fella from Dundee, Who looked a little like me, He was banned from the High Street, In fact anywhere people meet, Even THERE he’s considered too ugly.

There was a young man from France, Who liked gardening clothed just in his pants, He tripped trimming the hedge, Trimmed his meat and two veg, And now answers to the name of Constance.

There was a young lady from Surrey, Whose backside was ever so furry, Combed it into a tail, Sharpened her teeth and her nails, Now the postman departs in a hurry.

There was an old man from Moscow, Whose balls they hung so very low, That they caught in a drain, Caused him masses of pain, But gave him a great new career as a soprano.

There was a young boy from Aberdeen, Whose parents were ever so mean, Charged backdated rent for the womb, Gave him a drawer for a room, And for Christmas, he got one baked bean.

There was a young woman from LA, For a new face she was willing to pay, She saved up her cash, But the surgeon was slapdash, Now she looks like a fat Andy Murray.

There was an old lady from Peru, Who was having problems going to the loo, Something was blocking the flow, She just could not go, When the doctor looked up, he found Benjamin Netanyahu.

[sid71blog]

The Expendables IV, chapter 19.

Chuck:  “Holy shit, are we glad to see you lot!”

Dirk:  “We were in the area when we heard the gunshots; we had to help extricate Cuckoo’s glider from the front door of the post office, where he’d crashed it showing some Hollyoaks strumpet his loop-de-loop.”

Cuckoo:  “It didn’t take a genius to realise that if there’s gunfire in the area it may involve our old pals, so we came along to see if you need some help." 

Dwight:  "That would be greatly appreciated, we have some Asians after us for some reason, intent on killing us; Chuck in particular.”

Brad:  “What have you been up to Chuck?”

Chuck:  “I honestly have no idea; I must have pissed one of them off at some point over my long, illustrious, shooty career.”

Gunther:  “IT’S A GOOD JOB FOR YOU WE HAD TAKEN SOME WEAPONRY ALONG WITH US ON THE OFF-CHANCE THAT MRS. PERKINS FROM THE POST OFFICE MIGHT GET A BIT TETCHY WITH US.”

Jessica:  “I see movement.”

They turned towards the home, to see various bodies creeping out of various exits, weapon pointing.

Gunther:  “THIS WILL BE LIKE SHOOTING FISH IN A BARREL.”

All enemy eyes darted around to where our heroes stood in the trees upon hearing Gunther’s voice, and suddenly melted into the background like Ninjas, being Asian and that.

Brad:  “This could be harder than you thought Gunther.”

Dirk:  “Spread out.”

Gunning:  “………….”

Quickly(ish) our ageing heroes spread out through the thin tree cover. Chuck pulled Jessica with him by the hand, as he crept down behind Nurse Agnew’s old Ford Focus.

Chuck:  “Stay near me.”

Jessica was glad to; although she’d now fired the gun a few times, and had even possibly killed one of the attackers (she would deal with the mental consequences later, she had decided), she was out of her element here, and the reality of what these old-timers actually did for a living had crashed home with a literal bang.

Chuck:  “I saw a couple of them go down behind the shed over there, wait here ‘til I come back.”

Jessica:  “Don’t leave me Chuck.”

Chuck:  “You’ll be fine, just stay down behind the car, and if anyone approaches who you couldn't picture arguing with Brian Dennehy in a police station back in the eighties, shoot him.”

He crept silently away, and Jessica cowered down as low as she possibly could, looking under the car frantically for approaching footsteps. Her heart was racing like Dwight’s after a visit to an all-you-can-eat buffet, and everywhere she looked seemed like a potential hiding hole for an attacker intent on killing her, or worse. She wished that Chuck had never left her; she felt protected when he was around, and she realised with a hint of embarrassment that she was turned on. Seeing that powerful old Alpha male in action had awoken a strong stirring within her, and she pondered whether to risk having a quick fiddle while she waited. Probably best save that for later, she decided.

Chuck:  “Two down.”

She jumped a little:  “I didn’t see you return.”

Chuck: "It’s a good job I wasn’t one of our attackers then eh? Don’t worry about it, I AM fantastic at my job.“  

They heard gunfire from somewhere over at the far end of the garden, followed by screaming. Chuck motioned to her to follow him, and they crept over to where he’d just disappeared in pursuit of his two victims a moment ago. They crouched down behind the wall at the North side of the home, and Jessica tried her best to ignore the two bodies lying nearby.

Chuck, whispering:  "I figure they won’t expect us to come to them, so we can hopefully sneak up on them from behind while they concentrate on the rest of the lads.”

Jessica:  “We don’t even know how many of them there are.”

Chuck:  “Judging by the amount of gunfire and the brief glimpses I’ve had, I reckon there are probably around six, maybe seven of them, plus maybe another eight or nine easily disposable extras, and we’ve got enough ammo for those numbers.”

More gunfire cracked through the late morning air, as the pair of them sidled carefully around the building. Chuck pointed over to a shed, where two Asian men were shooting at a small clump of trees.

Chuck:  “We can take these without using the guns if we’re careful, so we don’t alert any others to our presence. Here, take this.”

He handed her a knife, and unsheathed his own, rather large one (fnaar fnaar).

Jessica:  “What am I supposed to do with this?”

Chuck:  “Make me a sandwich. Nah, just grab one of them behind like this, and do this with the knife.”

He worked her through the best way to kill someone with a knife a few times until he was confident she knew what she was doing, and began stealthily walking towards the two men. Jessica was incredibly nervous, and felt that her heart was beating so loudly that it would give their position away when the two men heard it. Closer and closer they got, until they were standing right behind the two of them. Chuck looked at her and nodded, then they both struck. The knife cut through her victim with great ease, to Jessica’s revulsion, and she felt the man twitch and struggle for a moment, before he fell in a heap beside his equally dead friend.

Chuck:  “Another two down; at this rate we’ll be finished in plenty of time for Countdown."  

"I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

They spin around to see three men pointing guns at them, and Jessica blushed a little, as an involuntary fart squeaked out with fear.

Bruce:  “So, Mr. Barnstormrr, we meet again.”

Chuck:  “Do we? I can’t recall ever meeting you.”

Bruce:  “I imagine you didn’t even see me standing in the background, as you shot my lovely sister dead all those years ago in Tokyo.”

Chuck:  “Aaaaaah, I see, so that’s what this is all about. Look, I’m sorry I curtailed a major supply of Christmas and birthday presents for you all those years ago, but you must understand that we were at war, and it was me or her.”

Bruce:  “We WEREN’T at war, you thick, steroidal wombat-scrotum! She was in Tokyo, and you were at war with VIETNAM! What is it, you think all Asians look the same and got confused?”

Chuck:  “Okay look, people keep going on about this so much that I’ll hold my hands up and admit that there may be the remote possibility that I made a mistake and went to the wrong country, but I was a silly young boy then, and who doesn’t make mistakes in their youth? Are you really going to hold my youthful folly against me after all this time?" 

Bruce:  "Over here, you were looking at the wrong person as you spoke; it was me you were talking with before, not Bob. And I’m sorry, but I can’t sweep my beloved sister’s death under the carpet as youthful folly; retribution and family honour must be satisfied.”

Chuck:  “So, what? Are you just going to shoot me?”

Bruce:  “No, that would be too easy, we’re going to have a one-to-one knife fight, stripped to the waist for extra homoerotic appeal.”

Chuck:  “So be it.”

He threw off his stonewashed denim cut-off, ripped off his yellow vest, pulled a red bandanna out if his pocket, and tied it round his head with a steely look in his eyes. Jessica did another little fear-fart as she watched his foe carefully remove his black shirt to reveal a lithe, rippling, Bruce (yes, that one) Lee-type physique. One of his companions handed him a large knife, and he turned to face Chuck.

Bruce:  “Let’s begin." 

The pair of them circled each other warily, sizing each other up. Jessica was worried: Chuck was the bulkier, stronger looking man, but his opponent was faster looking, and significantly younger too. Chuck sent out a couple of exploratory thrusts which Bruce avoided with ease, giving Chuck a condescending little smile. Bruce flicked out a quick slash to Chuck’s face, opening up a small gash in his left cheek.  Chuck stepped back, and a momentary look of surprise flickered across his face, as though his opponent’s speed had surprised him. Jessica felt a horrible feeling in the pit of her stomach as she watched the obvious disparity in speed and fitness between the two, though this time thankfully, there was no fart. Bruce sent out another rapid flick of his knife, though thankfully Chuck managed to parry it away. For the next few minutes they continued in this manner, with Bruce on the offensive and Chuck on the defensive, with Bruce clearly getting the upper hand.

Bob:  "You’ve clearly backed the loser here little lady, once he’s been killed you’re welcome to join our merry little band; you could sleep in my room if you like.”

Jessica:  “I don’t like, thank you very much; I wouldn’t touch you with someone else’s bargepole. Anyway, my man is going to win, I have every faith in him.”

Bob:  “I can see why.”

Jessica turned to see that Bruce had now managed to disarm Chuck completely, and was in the process of giving him an industrial-strength wedgie. He threw Chuck down on the ground and stuck two fingers up his nostrils, pulling his head back so that Chuck looked like a pig. A pig with its underwear currently touching its own colon. Bruce was now chuckling, and looked over at his friends.

Bob:  “Give him a Chinese burn boss! Or would it technically be a Japanese burn? I’m getting confused now as to what it is that we’re supposed to be.”

Hung Lo:  “Nipple cripple boss!”

Bruce:  “Help me tie him to that tree!”

The three of them struggled with the writhing Chuck until they managed to handcuff him to a tree. All the while Jessica pondered whether to do something, but truth be told she was frozen with fear; she was just a journalist (and a GIRL!), and not used to heavy situations like this. Gunfire still crackled in the air, and she wondered whether to make her escape and try and find the others, but she couldn’t leave Chuck, no matter what. They had him facing the tree trunk with his hands cuffed to overhead branches, and were in the process of removing his trousers. Jessica slowly moved around a bit in the hope that she’d get a little peak at his meat and two veg, but she couldn’t quite see.

Hung Lo:  “What are you gonna do with him boss?”

Bruce:  “We’re going to have a little fun with him before I kill him, slowly. I want to utterly humiliate him, make his last moments on the planet as miserable and uncomfortable as possible.”

Bob:  “It’s a shame Gui Ling isn’t here with his potent arse pumps, Hell would seem like a welcome haven after a few minutes breathing those in.”

Bruce:  “Hold his legs apart.”

Bob and Hung Lo did as requested, Chuck struggling with all his might to no avail. Bruce rammed two fingers up Chuck's shite-pipe, and then smeared them all over Chuck’s upper lip.

Bruce:  “How do you like that Chuck? Isn’t it a lovely aroma? Before you die you are going to be having a really good taste of your own old man’s stale, sweaty arse reek. I think a drop on your tongue would do the trick next.”

He rammed his two fingers up the musty cavity once more with a grin to his friends, a grin which rapidly became a grimace of pain, as Chuck clenched his muscular buttocks with all his might. Bruce tried to wrench his fingers back out but it was no use, and he let out a little yelp of pain like a girl, as he felt the fingers break.

Chuck:  “You made a classic rookie mistake there fella, my buttocks became famous throughout the US army back in the eighties as the strongest ones in all the armed forces, and I once split open a Russian prisoner’s skull with one small clench.”

A shocked Bob was just in the process of raising his gun when, with one masterful twerk, Chuck threw Bruce straight at him using only the power of his sinewy arse-cheeks. Bruce smashed into Bob with such force that both men slammed into a nearby tree and were momentarily stunned. Jessica snapped out of her trance, and fired three or four panicked bullets at Hung Lo, catching him straight in the forehead with one, dropping him instantly.

Chuck:  “Quickly, free me.”

She rushed over to him and freed him, handing him back his gun. He walked over to Bob and Bruce, and pointed his gun.

Chuck, taking aim:  “Say hello to your sister." 

Bob:  "I’m Bob, it’s Bruce there that had the sister.”

Chuck:  “Oh, sorry.”

 He despatched Bob quickly, and turned to Bruce.

Bruce:  “I’ll see you in Hell.”

Chuck shot him twice in the face, holding his gun sideways like a gangsta, to try and look cool in front of Jessica. He didn’t quite succeed, mainly due to the fact that it’s quite hard to look cool when your trousers are still around your ankles, your cock is swaying in the cold breeze, and you have a small line of shit smeared all over your top lip.

Torquewrench:  “Put that thing away son, the hedgehogs are laughing at its size.”

Chuck and Jessica turned to see the whole crew standing behind them, Dwight setting up the barbeque, and Cuckoo dressed as a conquistador.

Gunther:  “WE KILLED THE REST, BUT POOR GUNNING IS DEAD.”

Chuck :  “Did he get to do his ggggnffh?”

Torquewrench:  “Yeah, it was a masterful death grunt; any faceless nobody dying in the background of a major battle scene would have been proud of it.”

Jessica, looking around at the carnage:  “This is going to to take Eddie the handyman quite a while to clear up, and we’d better go and let everyone down in the basement out.”

Dwight:  “Priorities my dear, priorities, first things first: who’s for a burger?"  

[sid71blog]

The Expendables IV, chapter eighteen.

It was Aggie's birthday, and everyone at the home was pretending to give a shit. Jessica had been invited, and was sitting with Chuck and Dwight in the main room, cutting up Dwight's large slice of birthday cake for him. 

Chuck:  "I like the way you handle that knife girl, you should go into the mercenary business."

Jessica:  "Nah, from what I've seen my fellow workers would be total arseholes."

Chuck:  "It's a lot more exciting than journalism."

Jessica:  "Nonsense, I got to visit Barcelona only last month to do a story on an unusually large mango, and whilst I was viewing the Trevi fountain I didn't have to worry about someone shoving a hand grenade in my purse."

Dwight:  "Is purse a euphemism?" 

Jessica:  "No."

Chuck:  "Admit it, hearing all of our old war stories has been turning you on." 

Jessica:  "Well it was hardly going to be helping you to rub in your ointment that was going to do it, was it?"

Chuck:  "I saw you marvelling at my meaty biceps, no matter what you say" 

Jessica:  "Whatever helps you sleep at night Chuck."

Nurse Thomson:  "Okay people, let's wish Aggie a happy birthday, while I help Dwight loosen his collar; his face is going that odd purple colour again."

Everyone joins in with the most feeble, half-hearted version of happy birthday ever, as aggie sat there, constantly repeating "I'm 101 you know" to anyone within earshot. Suddenly Chuck grips Jessica's arm, tight.

Jessica  "Ow Chuck! careful. What's wrong?"

Chuck:  "I sense danger."

Jessica:  "Don't worry Chuck, I've made sure that Dwight has enough cake, we'll be okay."  

Chuck:  "No, it's not that, there's something else in the air. Go through to my room and get my weapons."

Jessica:  "Oh don't be silly, we're at a birthday celebration of an old woman in a retirement home, why on earth would you need your weapons?"

Chuck:  "DO IT!"

He gripped her arm so tight, and stared into her eyes so forcefully, that something in that look convinced her something was amiss, so she hurried through to his room. Frantically searching amongst the piles of old Armed Nuttaz magazines, discarded protein shake cartons, sleeveless denims, and bandannas, she eventually found the key to the large chest that sat at the foot of his bed, and opened it. Inside was a variety of scary looking hardware, and she wondered how she was ever expected to be able to carry it all through. It took her five trips of panting, sweaty exertion to get it all through to the main room, all to the accompaniment of bewildered stares from the elderly residents (nothing new there, to be fair).

Nurse Elsie:  "What the hell is all that for?" 

Chuck:  "Get everyone into the basement, quickly." 

Elsie:  "Don't be silly Chuck, I'm not taking everyone down there. Now put those toys away and let's get on with the game of charades."

Chuck:  "If you don't do it, then everyone will die here today."

Dwight:  "As opposed to tomorrow, eh Betty?"

Betty:  "What's that?"

Elsie:  "Ignore him Betty, you have a long and prosperous life ahead of you yet, and that sombre man in the black suit who came in and measured you yesterday while asking you if you preferred oak or mahogany was just a furniture maker, ready to build you a lovely new bed for your room."

Suddenly a loud explosion came from the front of the building, followed by gunfire.

Chuck:  "Get everyone to the basement, now!"

A shocked Elsie quickly gathered the other nurses and they began to shepherd the old people as quickly as possible downstairs.

Jessica:  "What's going on Chuck?"

Chuck:  "I've no idea, but I don't intend to put the question to whoever comes our way; anyone comes through here is getting blasted into next week. Dwight, get your war-face on!"

Dwight grabbed a large gun and concentrated his face as seriously as he could, until he resembled Buddha in the middle of a particularly stiff shite. As quickly and as quietly as they could, he and Chuck upended some furniture and crouched down behind it.

Chuck:  "You'd better go downstairs too little lady."

Jessica:  "Fuck that, there's going to be at least one female hero in this thing. Give me a gun." 

Dwight:  "Here, that one should do you."

Jessica:  "Awww, I wanted a pink one."

Chuck:  "Look out!"

Two foreign types came bursting through the doorway, bullets spraying from the guns held to their hips. Dwight threw two knives expertly straight into their hearts, felling them instantly; (don't worry, they were nobodies; it wasn't Grasshoppah, or Bob, or anyone you know).

Chuck:  "Nice one Dwight! Hey, whoever's out there! I don't know who you are, or what you want, but if you walk away now you'll live, stay and you will all die!"

The gunfire stopped for a moment, and then a grenade rolled into the room.

Chuck:  "SHIT!"

Jessica turned round at the sound of loud gunfire, but realised that it was actually the loud cracking of Chuck's joints as he dove towards the grenade, deftly kicking it back from whence it came. Seconds later a loud explosion rocked the room, followed by screaming. Dwight fired a few rounds into the doorway to let their opponents know that they were facing armed men, and silence fell again over the home.

An Asian voice (Bruce) broke the temporary calm:  "You are heavily outnumbered, and it is only a matter of time before we overpower you. We don't hold any grudges towards you Dwight, so if you lay down your weapon we will let you live and walk out of here, it's Chuck we want."

Dwight:  "I don't walk away from my brother-in-arms in his time of need; I'll die by his side, if need be."

Chuck nodded over to his friend in admiration and respect, and Dwight returned the nod coolly, then finished his sandwich.

Bruce:  "So be it Dwight, it's your funeral."

A burst of gunfire raked the room, paintings falling off walls, light bulbs smashing, and the dull thud of bullets hitting the walls and furniture, causing Jessica to cower down behind the sofa, hands over her ears. She was frightened, scared in a way that she hadn't been since she'd interviewed a leader of one of the notorious mango gangs of Haiti back in 2007.

Chuck:  "Is that all you've got?"

Two grenades came flying into the room, along with another heavy blast of gunfire.

Jessica:  "Shut the fuck up Chuck, you twat."

She over-rode her fear and ran towards the grenades, throwing them very quickly back through the door and diving back behind the upturned table. An even bigger blast than before followed, along with more screaming.

Bruce, faintly:  "Right lads, no more fuckin' grenades, they're hurting us more than them! Get the big guns out!"

A relative, ominous silence followed, broken only by the sound of hurried footsteps shuffling around. Suddenly a cacophony of gunfire erupted, even louder than before, and plaster and glass began falling all around Jessica and her two accomplices.

Chuck:  "Holy fuck! there's some SERIOUS firepower out there, I don't know if the three of us are going to be able to hold them off!"

Dwight:  "Well, we're gonna have to try."

He sent a blast of return fire through the doorway, but was suddenly hit in the leg by a couple of bullets.

Jessica:  "They're at the window!"

She turned and began firing indiscriminately at a couple of figures shooting through the broken window, and Chuck immediately did the same, forcing the two gunmen to duck down. He crawled over to his friend.

Chuck:  "You okay bud?"

Dwight:  "I'll live, just took me by surprise, that's all."

Chuck, still sending short bursts towards the window:  "We're really pinned down here pal, there are too many of them."

Dwight:  "I'm not going down without a fight."

He half-stood with a wince, and downed an opponent who had just appeared in the doorway. Another took his place and began strafing the room, forcing Dwight back down behind the table. 

Jessica:  "We're too vulnerable here, we need to get out of this room!"

Chuck:  "We can't go down into the basement, they'll follow us and put the others in jeopardy!"

Dwight:  "We could get out into the back garden through that small window in the utility room, we'd have more chance out there!"

Jessica:  "Do you think you'd manage to get through that small window Dwight?"

Dwight:  "What do you mean?"

Chuck:  "Fuck it, we don't have much choice; let's go!"  

The room was disintegrating around them, and the noise was deafening. The three of them sent repeated blasts towards the window and door as they inched their way backwards out of the room, stuffing some ammo into the holdall as they did so. As they exited the room, Chuck set up a quick, rudimentary booby trap in the doorway.

Chuck:  "It's nothing fancy, but it might buy as a little time."

They turned and ran towards the small window, Jessica grabbing a half-eaten breakfast dish from an open bedroom door as they passed. Chuck opened the small window as far as it would go, and grabbed Jessica.

Chuck:  "Go, you first."

Jessica:  "No, wait."

She grabbed the couple of untouched slices of toast off the plate, and began rubbing the congealed butter all over Dwight's sides.

Dwight:  "Hey!"

Jessica:  "Shut up, this might save your life! Now Chuck, help me push him through."

They both grabbed onto the sweaty butterball and began heaving him towards the window, grunting with the exertion.

Chuck:  "Dwight, come on man, at least help us a little by trying to pull yourself up; put down the fuckin' bacon roll!"

Dwight threw down the bacon roll with disgust, gave his fingers a good licking, and began to pull himself up through the window. Jessica pushed his side fat inwards with all her might as Chuck heaved up from below, until with one almighty crack of the window frame he was through, and fell onto the garden beneath.

Chuck:  "Okay Jessica, you next!"

Jessica quickly and lithely pulled herself up through, the camera lingering on her tight buns. As Chuck grabbed onto the sides of the window a large explosion rumbled from along the corridor.

Jessica:  "That must be the booby trap, hurry Chuck!"

He thrust himself through and landed in a heap, as Jessica and Dwight stuck their guns through the window and sent a burst of gunfire back inside.

Chuck:  "Come on, over to the trees!"         

The three of the ran over to the shelter of the wooded section of the garden, and watched. A couple of heads appeared at the window and Jessica shot towards them, feeling a little elated despite herself, when she saw one of them fall down suddenly.

Chuck:  "They'll probably come back out the front door once they've realised what we've done; we need to get round there and hem them in."

Jessica:  "We can't cover all the exits Chuck, there are too many windows and doors in this place, and only the three of us." 

Gunther:  "SEEMS LIKE SOMEONE COULD DO WITH A LITTLE HELP FROM SOME FRIENDS!" 

[sid71blog]

The Expendables IV, chapter seventeen.

This was it: the day of reckoning. Bruce (not that one) had been up for two hours already, so pumped up with the knowledge that today was the day where he'd finally avenge his sister. As he sat in quiet contemplation in the early morning, the eerie silence only broken by the faint sounds of Gui Ling farting in a far off room, he felt an odd mixture of fear, exhilaration, melancholy, and anger flow though him. His whole life had been devoted to today, and he wondered what life would be like afterwards, once his whole raison d'etre had been extinguished.

"Penny for your thoughts boss?"

Bruce:  "Oh, morning Hung, I didn't see you there. Sleep well?"

Hung Lo:  "Not bad, though I was woken up by Hi Ho at one point, muttering in his sleep about what he was apparently doing to Rita from Corrie with a cucumber in his dream. You sleep okay?"

Bruce:  "Not really, the adrenalin is flowing too much at the moment. It's weird that the day is finally here to be honest, the day when I finally avenge my sister."

Hung Lo:  "I understand, your emotions must be all over the shop. It's a bit like when I ordered my Aquaman costume for Halloween last year; the strange mixture of feelings as I waited for Alfie the postie to come up the drive with the parcel: excitement, glee, but also fear that it might be a bit too tight around the gonads, or baggy in the arse."

Bruce:  "It's not the same at all."

Hung Lo:  "It is, a bit."

Bruce:  "No."

Hung Lo:  "A little bit?"

Bruce:  "No."

Hung Lo:  "Suit yourself. Coco pops for breakfast do you?"

Bruce:  "Yeah, whatever."

Hung Lo:  "I'll go and get the rest of the lads out of their pits."

He left the room, and Bruce stood in deep contemplation, staring out of the window at a couple of hedgehogs quietly going about their business in the garden. He envied those simple creatures at that moment: they weren't eaten up by concepts such as revenge, or envy, or redemption, all their lives revolved around were the simple pleasures of eating, drinking and sex. Plus trying not to get eaten/dying-by-massive-lorry-tyre-related-injures. They would also never know the misery of travelling for hours in a cramped campervan with Gui Ling's constantly-expelling ringpiece.

He heard movement behind him, and turned to see the lads all wearily trudging through in their pants and PJs, yawning, scratching, and farting. Yup, he thought to himself, Chuck would shit himself seeing these warriors coming towards him right enough.

Hi Ho:  "Morning boss, today's the big day eh?"

Bruce:  "Yes, this is it: the day of reckoning. After you've all had your Coco pops I want you in the front room for a final briefing."

Bob:  "I'm having Weetabix today boss."

Bruce:  "Fascinating."

He left and went out into the garden for some fresh air to waken up his still groggy body. He was under no illusions that things could go wrong today and that this may be his last day on the planet (he was after all an Asian man fighting a white Westerner, and he'd seen enough Hollywood films to know how that generally turned out), and he wanted to take in the beauty around him at that moment. This was spoiled a little by the sounds of one of his men having what sounded to be a particularly stiff shite coming from the open window of the shitter a few feet away, so he thought fuck it; Coco pops time, and went back inside. The lads were all lined up in the front room, Gui Ling over by the open window.

Bruce:  "Okay lads, today is the day that all this has been leading up to, the day that you've all been following me through thick and thin for; mostly thick in your case Grasshoppah. Now there's a chance that not all of you may come back from this alive; they may be old men, but they're still legends in the mercenary business, or Chuck is at least. I just wanted to take this opportunity to thank you all for fighting with me today, and to wish you all good luck."

Bob:  "If someone, say for the sake of argument that bloke sitting at the back who we've never bothered learning the name of, is to die, how do we divide out his stuff?"  

Bruce:  "We'll decide that on a person by person basis, plus of course some of you have family, a few even have family who still want to keep in touch with you."

Bloke at the back who's name we never learned:  "I don't really have much stuff with me anyway, as soon as I noticed that you never bothered to ask me my name I knew that I was fucked, so didn't bring much with me."

Bruce:  "Good idea, and we will miss you."

Grasshoppah:  "I never even noticed he was here all this time."

Hung Lo:  "so what's the plan boss?"

Bruce:  "We walk up to the home, walk through the front door, and start blasting everything in sight. It's an old folk's home full of unarmed people not expecting us, it doesn't really need much in the way of tactics to overpower it."

Hung Lo:  "Fair enough."

Bob:  "Are you really expecting us to shoot the old people boss?"

Bruce:  "No, when I said blasting everything in sight I meant shoot up the windows etc. to strike fear and cause confusion, the old folks aren't part of this fight, so leave them out of it; apart from a certain pair of course."

Hi Ho:  "If I have Chuck in my sights, do I kill him, or do you want him left for you to deal with boss?"

Bruce:  "We'll play it by ear, obviously I'd like to personally kill him, but in the heat of battle who knows what might happen? If possible though, I want him taken prisoner, so I can take him back and subject him to torture." 

Bob:  "Perhaps you could lock him in a small room with Gui Ling after he's eaten some of his Bovril sandwiches."

Bruce:  "I'm sure we'll think of something. Now I want you to do some light training for the rest of the morning, and make sure that your weapons are all cleaned and prepared."

Gui Ling:  "Can we watch This Morning first boss?  Rylan's doing his showbiz report, and Holly might have her jubblies out again like she did yesterday."

Bob:  "Did you see them? man, I wish that TV had been 3D, Philip didn't know where to look."

Grasshoppah:  "I knew exactly where to look."

Bruce:  NO! There's no time for bouncy boobage today! Now get to work!"

[sid71blog]

The expendables IV, chapter 16.

Jessica sat on the top deck of the bus, watching the hustle and bustle of the horse fair in the field opposite. She was on her way to the home, to show Chuck and Dwight the draft of the finished article that she hoped was good enough to perhaps give her that first cover story she craved. She wanted to get their opinions, and to check that they were happy with what she’d written about them. She was a bit apprehensive about seeing Chuck after their date; it had gone well, but he had wanted more than a Twix sundae at the end of the evening, and she hadn’t wanted to rush things. Even if they did eventually sleep together she would still have to be careful not to rush things, in case his plastic hip gave him gyp during the vinegar strokes.

After ten minutes she had reached her destination, and she got off the bus and walked the last part of the journey. The nurse let her into the home, and she went through to the TV room where Chuck and Dwight were sitting arguing over the relative merits of Rachel versus Carol on Countdown.

Dwight:  “I don’t care what you say, Carol having the fatter arse is a GOOD thing, it means that when I get out my tennis racquet and pogo stick she can bend over an…HEY! hello Jessica! how’s it hanging bro?”

Jessica:  “Um, dangling down to the left, like all proper ladies, thanks Dwight. Hi Chuck.”

Chuck:  “Hey, it’s the prick-tease! naw, only joking, how you doin’ girl?”

Jessica:  “I’m fine thanks Chuck, and thanks for a lovely evening, hopefully we can do it again before I leave.“  

Chuck:  "Oh I don’t know about that, I’ve had many other offers, from women who aren’t so blind to seeing what a great thing is in front of them, so you’re going to have to work to get a second date.”

Jessica:  “Okay then, fine by me, go for it with these other women. Is it Bella or is it Aggie?”

Chuck:  “Maybe it’s one of the sexy young nurses who work here…”

Jessica:  “Yes, I’d imagine that after helping to rub cream into your piles and your gout ulcer, they’re all over you like a rash.”

Chuck:  “Hey, I don’t have gout.”

Dwight:  “Is that the article?”

Jessica:  “Yes, I thought you might like a look at it before I send it in for hopeful publication, check that you’re happy with it.”

Dwight:  “I trust you, but I still wouldn’t mind a look.”

Jessica handed him the article, and sat down next to Chuck.

Chuck:  “I’ve told you before, don’t speak the words out loud when you read Dwight." 

Dwight:  "Sorry.”

Jessica:  “So I’ll be leaving at the end of the week Chuck, will you miss me?”

Chuck:  “Sure, though of course I still hold out hope that you’ll fall in love with me like a normal woman should, and decide to live here full time.”

Jessica:  “Well you’re going to have to pull out all the stops then, do something to convince me.”

Chuck:  “I can do four no-handed press-ups now, is that enough?”

Jessica:  “How can you do press-ups with no hands?”

Dwight, looking up from the article:  “Hey! so that’s where all my Viagra has been disappearing to!”

Chuck:  “You only need it when you’re watching Countdown anyway Dwight, there’s no sign of a woman on the horizon for you." 

Jessica:  "Unlike yourself of course…”

Chuck:  “It’s only a matter of time…”

Dwight:  “This article is really good Jessica, it really captures us well. Maybe once it’s printed the groupies will come a-knockin’, and you can upgrade from Jessica Chuck. No offence Jessica.”

Jessica:  “None taken.”

Chuck:  “Hey! Jessica is a catch Dwight! okay, so she’s a little flabby around the centre, but any man would be proud to have her on his arm; after she’s had a few sessions in the gym." 

Dwight:  "Oh, she’s a fine woman, I didn’t mean any disrespect Jessica. I just meant that we could get some real pneumatic blonde strumpets with a bit of fame, hopefully with some massive fake tits. Yours are okay Jessica, but they’re a bit small. I’m presuming that they’re real?”

Jessica:  “Yes, they are. Is that stomach real, or is that just a massive ball of silicone in there?”

Dwight:  “What stomach?”

Jessica:  “The one you struggle to hold in whenever young nurse Thomson comes in, the one that when you do makes your head look like a blue whale’s bellend, so big, round, and purple it is.”

Dwight:  “I don’t hold my six pack in, that’s ridiculous!”

Jessica:  “Whatever, Moby Dickhead.”

Chuck:  “Never mind that, what happens next with the article?”

Jessica:  “It depends on what my boss says. He may reject it completely, or he may want me to stay here for a while to tweak it a little, maybe do some more research.”

Chuck:  “Any excuse to spend more tine in my company eh…”

Jessica:  “Yes, I’m a sucker for Sanatogen and  Werthers.”

Nurse Thomson, entering the room:  “Sorry to interrupt, but I have to clean between Dwight’s folds and oil Chuck’s hip, so I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave Jessica.”

Jessica:  “No problem, I was just leaving anyway.”

Nurse Thomson, looking at a rapidly-colouring Dwight:  “Never mind dealing with your folds Dwight, I really wish we could get to the bottom of your weird facial colourisation, with that big balloon head of yours you like like Prince after he’d been in the coffin for a few days.”

[sid71blog]

The expendables IV, chapter 15.

Those inscrutable baddies have returned from a long day out seeing the sights, and Bruce has gathered them together in a nearby park.

Bruce:  "Okay lads, we had a great day tod...we had an okay day t...we had a shit day today, but the fun part is over now; it's time to focus on our mission. Now I have the co-ordinates of the home our adversaries are holed up in, and I was thinking of hitting it on Friday, that gives us three days to get our strategy straight: train, acclimatise etc."

Gui Ling:  "Plus it will give us a chance to shake off the jet lag."

Bob:  "We travelled down from Hull in campervans you twat; there's not much chance of jet lag in that situation."

Gui Ling:  "Well it's funny how I'm feeling tired and a bit ropey then."

Bob:  "Yes, a man who has spent all day trying jellied eels, pie and mash, jellied pie and mash, candy floss, Werthers originals, and demanded that we go to that park so he could play on the swings for half an hour straight after three pints of Boddingtons and a fish supper, who knows why he feels dodgy? It MUST be jet lag."

Gui Ling:  "I'm a tourist, you HAVE to try the local delicacies; when in Rome and all that."

Bob:  "Candy floss?"

Gui Ling:  "I never saw any in Hull."

Bruce:  "If you lot weren't so handy with a gun and a blade I'd happily sell you to the local dog food factory for a new Chine...Japanese flavoured range. Now shut up and let's get cracking on our fitness."

Grasshoppah:  "Do you have to wear your new shorts Hi Ho? they're a bit...revealing."

Hi Ho:  "Chicks dig them."

Grasshoppah:  "I don't know if you've noticed, but there's a distinct lack of females in this merry band of trained assassins, and your comrades aren't really interested in seeing that thing bouncing around as you do your star jumps."

Hung Lo:  "There's a distinct lack of females in this whole film."

Bruce:  "There were a few in that brothel we were just in. Now come on, feel the burn bitches!"

Hung Lo pumps up his "The Best Of A1" album, and the lads get down to their well-worn exercise routine, learned by rote  from endless hours watching Beverley Callard's Real Results exercise DVD. Soon they've worked up areal sweat, and a heady aroma begins to emanate from Hi Ho's gusset.

Bob:  "Take a break boss? We've been at it a while now, plus every time Gui Ling bends he pumps out another rancid arse-pump."

Bruce:  "Okay then, ten minute break and then straight back into it."

Gui Ling:  "There's an ice cream van over there boss! can we get one?"

Bruce:  "Fuck sake lads, this is a hard-core training session, it defeats the purpose if you fill your faces with sugary treats halfway through."

Hung Lo:  "Ah go on boss, I could murder a 99."

Grasshoppah:  "I want a 7 UP."

Lowly extra:  "Please Dad!"

Bruce:  "For the last time, stop calling me Dad! Okay, there's twenty quid Hung, go and get everyone a 99. No 7 UP for Grasshoppah though, you'll only pee the bed if you have a drinkie this late at night."

Grasshoppah:  "Awww, s'no fair."

The lads all race each other over to the van, pushing each other and giggling as they run. All except for Grasshoppah, who remains sulking on the grass.

Bruce:  "Sorry Grasshoppah, but sometimes I have to do what's best for you, even if you don't like it; that's the responsibility that comes with being in charge."

Grasshoppah:  "S'okay boss...I s'pose."

Bruce:  "Look, tell you what, when we get back I'll let you have an extra twenty minutes playing on your X Box before beddie time, okay?"

Grasshoppah, lightening up:  "Thanks boss!" 

The rest of the lads return, licking eagerly at their ice creams.

Bob:  "Hung got strawberry sauce on his boss!"

Bruce:  "That's nice Hung, now don't eat too quickly lads, I don't want any of you getting an ice cream headache and being grouchy on the way home. Now you've got five minutes left to eat them, because it will be sparring next."

Hi Ho, grumbling under his breath:  "I hate sparring."

Bruce:  "I know you hate sparring Hi Ho, but it has to be done, I want a troop of lethal killing machines around me when we attack Chuck and Dwight, these are not amateurs we're dealing with here."

Bob:  "No, but they are old bastards boss, wouldn't we be just as well to wait until winter comes and hope for a flu bug to do our job for us?"

Bruce:  "And how would that avenge my sister? I need Chuck to see that it is me standing in front of him delivering the killer blow, let him know WHY he's dying."

Hi Ho:  "To be fair boss, he probably won't have a clue who you are; you'll probably have to explain to him before you kill him. Even if he did happen to spot you standing at the airport that day, you were just some random little Asian boy in the background; he probably wondered why the guy who said "da plane da plane" from Fantasy Island was watching him."

Bruce:  "Oh don't worry, I'll be letting him know EXACTLY who I am before I kill him, don't you worry about that. Now, I picked up a good book in that second hand book shop we were in earlier, so pair up lads, and let's see how good this Alan Carr's guide to Krav Maga is."  

[sid71blog]

The expendables IV, chapter 14.

Gunther, Torquewrench and the rest are on their way to rescue Cuckoo, who has been taken prisoner after getting into a fight with some Mafia types at Lidl. Thankfully, a resourceful Cuckoo had managed to grasp a passing pigeon before he was bundled into a car boot, and in the journey to the Mafia hideout had managed to tame it, train it, write a message to his friends on an old receipt he found in his pocket, whisper the co-ordinates of his friends location to the pigeon, and squeeze it out through a rusty hole in the boot (good luck with your MOT this year lads, he thought with a wry chuckle).

Dirk:  "That crazy bastard Cuckoo is going to be the death of me one of these days Gunther..."

Gunther:  "I KNOW, HE'S A GREAT GUY AND AN AWESOME WARRIOR, BUT LIFE CAN BE PRETTY EXHAUSTING WITH HIM AROUND."

Dirk:  "Fun too though, I suppose."

Brad:  "Remember that time he time he blacked up under his robes and snuck into a KKK meeting, then undressed onstage in front of 2000 of them for a laugh? man, I wish I'd been there."

Dirk:  "Ha ha, then there was the time he rode an elephant through Times Square to get a MacDonalds Drive-thru; they really weren't keen on serving him were they?"

Gunther:  "HE WAS RIGHT THOUGH, THERE'S NOTHING THAT SPECIFICALLY SAYS THAT THEY WON'T SERVE YOU IF YOU'RE ON THE BACK OF AN ELEPHANT."

Gunning:  "........"

Torquewrench:  "I WAS hoping that we could keep a low profile while we're in London this time though..."

Dirk:  "Ha, good luck keeping a low profile when you're with Cuckoo."

Guther:  "OKAY LADS, WE'RE ALMOST THERE; LOCK AND LOAD PEOPLE, LOCK AND LOAD!"   

Taxi driver:  "Okay pilchards, that'll be forty seven paaaahnds exactly treacle; up the 'Ammers, knees up Muvver Braaaahn etc."

Brad:  "HOW MUCH! jeez...okay lads, tenner each."

Much grumbling ensues as they hand over the money, before exiting the vehicle.

Gunther:  "WE'LL NEED YOU TO GET THE HOWITZER OUT OF THE BACK DRIVER."

Driver:  "No probs me old Hun, the door's open."

Gunther:  "OKAY, THANKS MR. TURPIN; YOU CAN BE OFF NOW."

Driver:  "See ya later, sweet as, cor blimey and so forth."

The lads make their way stealthily to the large countryside house that they'd somehow managed to find, despite Cuckoo not being able to tell them where he was going at that point.

Brad:  "Quite a pad huh?"

Torquewrench:  "Yup, organised crime sure does pay."

Dirk:  "Better than the mercenary business that's for sure, I was looking forward to getting a mint Magnum and a nice bag of marshmallows to enjoy when I'm watching Hollyoaks later, but after that taxi ride I can't afford it."

Gunther:  "NOW REMEMBER LADS, STEALTH IS OF THE UTMOST IMPORTANCE! WE MUST BE VEEEERRRYYY QUIET APPROACHING AS WE HAVEN'T HAD TIME TO SCOPE OUT THE PLACE, SO WE DON'T KNOW THEIR CAPABILITIES, SURVEILLANCE ETC."

Torquewrench:  "Okay lads, let's roll."

Slowly, carefully, expertly, they make their way until they are at the door of the house. Electronics expert Brad successfully shuts down the surveillance and alarms, somehow, in a five minute scene that looks very complicated and clever, and relies on the viewer knowing fuck all about the subject and just going with it.

Brad, whispering:  "Okay, I've got the door open, now, carefully does it."

He opens the door carefully, and enters, gun primed. The rest follow him in and scan the dark hallway.

Gunther:  "NICE ONE BRAD, YOU'RE A FUCKIN' GENIUS!"  

Voice from upstairs:  "What the fuck was that?"

Other voice:  "Not sure, but it sounded like a loud fuckin' German, let's go investigate with our guns."

Gunther:  "SORRY LADS!"

Footsteps come rumbling down the stairs, and Gunning opens up with a hail of gunfire, downing two generic shaven-headed lumps.

Torquewrench:  "Great shooting Gunning!"

Gunning:  "......"

Dirk:  "Spread out quick, there's more on the way by the sounds of things!"   

More footsteps from above are followed by gunfire down the stairs, and a gun-fight between both sides ensues.

Torquewrench:  "We need to get up there somehow, we're pinned down here."

Gunther:  "I CAN GO BACK OUT AND CLIMB UP THE SIDE OF THE BUILDING, SNEAK IN ONE OF THE WINDOWS, AND ATTACK THEM FROM BEHIND!"

Voice from upstairs:  "One of them is going to climb up the side of the house and try and get in the window and attack us from behind, watch the windows!"

Gunther:  "SORRY LADS!"

Brad:  "Fuck this, I didn't bring this howitzer because it compliments my shoes, time to put it into use."

He sets up the howitzer, fires, and takes out half the upper floor, burying half his comrades in the process.

Brad:  "Everyone okay?"

Torquewrench, coughing up dust:  "Sure, not sure about those upstairs though."

They carefully make their way up what's left of the stairs, to find various body parts scattered all over the upper floor. One goon is still breathing over in the doorway of a bedroom, and Torquewrench approached him, gun aimed at his head:  "I think you've got something of ours that we'd like back, or more accurately, someone. Where can we find him?"

Goon:  "Piss on my balls, you son of a Vegan."

Torquewrench:  "WE can do this the easy way, or the hard way. My friend here is an expert at interrogation, and you really don't want to experience what he can do with a pair of pliers, Marmite, a bicycle pump, a hammer, nails, and a beige cardigan, size XXL. Your choice amigo."

Goon:  "Your grandmother was a dildo tester in a crummy part of Birmingham, and your grandfather liked to dress as Russ Abbott's Cooperman for sexual kicks, you crusty skidmark on the underpants of a sweaty builder."

Torquewrench:  "Okay, have it your way; do your thing Gunning."

Gunning does his thing to a soundtrack of screaming, heavily-accented insults about various family members, until after a while the screaming dies down, and he walks over to Torquewrench, wiping blood off his bicycle pump.

Brad:  "Cuckoo is tied up in a large safe outside, in the garage."

Torquwrench:  "Good work Brad, come on lads."

They make their way out to the garage, where Brad  enters the code he'd prised out of the goon into the combination on the door, and they entered to see Cuckoo, naked, in the middle of a threesome with two nubile young blondes, while Calvin Harris DJ's in the background.

Cuckoo:  "Hey guys, what kept you?"

Dirk:  "Ha ha, you crazy bastard Cuckoo."  

[sid71blog]

The expendables IV, chapter 13.

Those inscrutable baddies have finally reached their destination, and they quickly spilled out onto the street for some much needed fresh air, particularly those in Gui Ling's campervan.

Grasshoppah:  "Let's go see the queen!"

Hi Ho:  "Let's go see the London Eye!"

Hung Lo:  "Let's go get some whores!"

Bruce:  "Lads, calm down! remember, we're here on a mission."

Bob:  "Aw come on boss, we know that, but none of us have ever been to London before; let us have a little taste of it before we get down to business."

Bruce:  "It's just...the budget..."

Insignificant nobody, always hangs around at the back in scenes, probably due to be the first one shot once battle commences:  "But remember boss, Bob won a grand on that scratchcard last night, we're loaded!"

Bob:  "Hey! what's with the "we"? I'M loaded! I won that money, not you lot, I'm planning using it to make a pilgrimage; I'm going to visit the grave of Russell Brand."

Hi Ho:  "But Russell Brand isn't dead Bob."

Bob:  "Visiting his grave was going to be part B of the visit."

Hung Lo:  "Come on Bob, you know the deal: we're a team, everything gets shared."

Bob:  "Yeah, I noticed you were really keen on sharing last night when you were surreptitiously sneaking those Maltesers into your gob when you thought that we were all sleeping." 

Bruce:  "Okay lads, stop squabbling. We'll use Bob's money for a bit of fun today, and then it will be serious faces on tomorrow, okay?"

Gui Ling:  "Fine by me."

Grasshoppah:  "Sounds like a plan boss."

Bob:  "Cunts."

Hi Ho:  "Where first Boss?"

Bruce:  "Let's go to the London Eye, I've always fancied going here. Maybe Chuck and I could have our big fight finale on top of it, like the ending of some shit Channel Five action film on a Thursday night."

Hi Ho:  "Actually, for some reason, I picture you fighting Dwight in this film ending scenario; dunno why."

Bruce:  "Right, taxi, Bob's paying."

The lads arrive at the Eye a while after and take their place in the queue.

Hung Lo:  "I'm going to spit out of the window onto people down below."

Bruce:  "No spitting, we don't want to attract any unwanted attention."

Hi Ho:  "I'm not sure there are windows anyway Hung."

Grasshoppah:  "There'd better be if Gui Ling's arse doesn't stop turning the air brown."

Gui Ling:  "Piss off, my mum says that when your farts smell like a Delhi drain it means that your digestive system is very healthy, and your body is working at prime optimal level."  

Grasshoppah:  "Well your digestive system might be fine, but now all our respiratory systems are fucked after inhaling that."

Bob:  "After his arse has been in it, they'll call it the Brown Eye."

Background twat:  "I'm going to pretend I'm a sniper when I'm up there!"

Hung Lo:  "I'm going to pretend I'm Tom Cruise in Mission Impossible!"

Bruce:  "I'm going to pretend I'm not surrounded by utter fuckmonkeys."

Grasshoppah:  "Right lads, we're on." 

They enter a couple of pods, and begin the ascent to the top.

Hung Lo:  "When we're up at the top, do you think we'll be able to see Dean Gaffney's house from there boss?"

Bruce:  "No idea, we might be able to see Phil Mitchell's beetroot face glowing in the distance though."

Grasshoppah:  "I can see down that woman's top."

Bruce:  "Yes, who cares about the rest of the sights you could be marvelling at eh?"

Grasshoppah:  "But they're REALLY big tits boss."

Hung Lo:  "They're getting smaller as we rise though Grasshoppah, it's getting a bit scary up here."

Lowly extra:  "Pussy."

Hung Lo:  "I'm just a bit scared of heights, that's all. Everyone's scared of something; Gui Ling is scared of spiders, Bob is scared of John Craven, you're scared of getting killed in the next scene, and Hi Ho is scared of Wednesdays. C'mon, I bet that there's something even the boss is frightened of, eh boss?"

Bruce:  "This contraption malfunctioning and being trapped in here for the rest of the day having to listen to your lot's crap maybe, but other than that no, I can't think of anything I'm scared of; I'm rock me."

Lowly extra:  "Admit it boss, there must be SOMETHING that frightens even a warrior like you."

Bruce:  "Nope, nothing. Over time I have stripped myself of all emotion to become the ultimate remorseless killing machine: no love, no fear, no anger, no pity, nothing."

Grasshoppah:  "I dunno boss, that look on your face last night when Hi Ho ate the last custard cream looked an awful lot like anger to me."   

Bruce:  "That wasn't anger, merely Zen concentration."

Grasshoppah:  "You were doing a lot of Zen concentration last week when my five year old nephew accidently head-butted you in the bollocks too."

Bruce:  "May I suggest that my esteemed colleague kindly fuck off?"

Lowly extra:  "Look at Hung's face! it's going green!"

Hung Lo:  "Can we go back down boss? I feel sicker than the contents of a seventies DJ's hard drive."

Bruce:  "It doesn't really work like that I'm afraid old friend, you're just going to have to grin and bear it until we're back down."

Bob:  "You'd better not be sick, these are new trainers!"

Bruce:  "Don't worry Bob, Hung's a warrior, he'll master his fear until we're back down on the ground, won't you Hung?" 

Hung Lo:  "BLEEUAAAAAAARRGGGGHHH! sorry, lads, couldn't hold it in any longer."

Insignificant nobody:  "Aw that stinks! it's oozing towards me too!"

Bruce:  "Calm down lads, we're on the descent now."

Bob:  "My fuckin' trainers! you're paying to get these clean Hung!"

Hung Lo:  "Sorry BoHUUUUEEEEERRRGGGGHHH! Um, sorry; again."

Bruce:  "Well it looks like our next stop isn't the Palace or Big Ben, but a dry cleaners." 

[sid71blog]

The expendables IV, chapter twelve.

It was Saturday night, and Jessica was nervous. She had finally relented to Chuck's persistent (bordering on the sex-pesty) attempts to get a date, and now she was having second thoughts. They were going out for a meal, and as she tried on various outfits doubts were filling her head. She did kind of fancy him, even in his advanced years, but was the age difference too much? He was probably of an age where he could remember when colour was invented and we moved from black and white, a time when people posted letters! This new world of mobile phones, TVs, space flight, Dale Winton, and cereal cafes was probably a scary and confusing place for the old timer, and she didn't know if she wanted to spend her time feeling as much as a carer as a lover to someone. She had hopes and dreams, plans to see the world, but his idea of excitement nowadays was probably trying the dark chocolate Tunnocks teacake instead of the milk chocolate one. 

Eventually she decided on something to wear from the small range of clothing she'd brought with her (she hadn't really packed for romance), and went to the restaurant. With his old-school ways and machismo Chuck had insisted on paying for the meal, but being a pensioner who had blown most of his past earnings on protein shakes, sleeveless denim jackets, gym memberships and ammunition, his choice of eating establishment wasn't going to have Michelin running over to award it any stars any time soon; as she exited the taxi she saw two rats coming out of the front door, shaking their heads and wiping their feet. Chuck was already waiting outside for her with a big grin, and a semi he was having trouble trying to hide.

Chuck:  "Hey beautiful, you don't scrub up too bad."

Jessica:  "Hi Chuck, thanks, it was the best that I could do with the clothing I took over with me. You look great too; very classy."

This was bollocks; he was wearing yet another pair of those ridiculous baggy pyjama trousers that many bodybuilders wear (these ones bright red), and one of his many t-shirts bought from the small ads at the back of Armed Nuttaz, this one with the slogan "You don't have to be a psychopath who enjoys ripping open brown people with a machete to work here, but it helps!" written across the front.

Chuck:  "Shall we enter?"

He took her arm, and they walked through the door. Looking around, she was unsure if she would be able to eat anything in there; she wasn't even keen on breathing the air. Most of the clientele looked like the resultant offspring of a one night stand between gonorrhoea and a bag of rotting fish heads, the kind of people who's mother shit herself during the birth, and it took the doctors four hours to work out which was baby and which was faeces. They sat down at a table by the window, pleasingly supplied with two dead flies by the ketchup bottle (the ketchup bottle alone was a sign it wasn't perhaps the classiest place, even without the added insect corpses).

Chuck:  "Would Madam like some wine?"

Jessica:  "Ummm...yes...I guess."

Chuck motioned to a passing waiter  "A bottle of your finest, my good man."

Waiter:  "Finest what?"  

Chuck:  "Wine please, a lovely red."

Waiter:  "Well we've got some red, whether it's lovely is another matter; I'll go and get it."

Chuck:  "We may as well peruse the menu while we wait; I'm so hungry I could eat a meal Dwight would refuse."

Jessica, muttering:  "That might be a good thing in here then."

Chuck:  "What's that?"

Jessica:  "Nothing, just trying to decide what to have as a starter, fish fingers or crispy pancakes."

Chuck:  "I think I'll go for the pickled onion Monster Munch on toast option; I'm on a cheat day, so it's okay."

Jessica:  "Fish fingers it is."

The waiter returned with a bottle of red and two chipped mugs, pouring each a healthy measure.

Jessica, taking a sip with a grimace:  "I've no idea why this has just popped into my head, but when you were out fighting in deserts and the like, did you ever have to resort to drinking your own piss?" 

Chuck:  "Occasionally, needs must and all that."

Jessica:  I envy those moments, at times like this." 

Chuck:  "You're not a fan of the wine then?"

Jessica:  "I'm just presuming that there's a large, hairy old Alsatian sitting downstairs, who drinks only rancid vinegar, and who's piss bowl keeps this place regularly supplied with this cheeky little number."

Chuck:  "Well, I'm getting used to it...kinda. Maybe the food will be better."

Jessica:  "Maybe, though by the look on some of the other diners as they tuck in, I'm not so sure; I haven't seen someone pull a face like that woman over there since Jack at college ate that thing we found encrusted onto a sleeping Billy the Blob's face for a bet one drunken evening."

The waiter returned with their starters, and Jessica approached with trepidation.

Chuck:  "So, how is it?"

Jessica:  "Well I suppose it's edible, but then it's pretty hard to mess up a plate of fish fingers. How's yours?"

Chuck:  "The Monster Munch is a little soft, the toast is burnt, and they've forgotten to put any spread on the toast, but it's okay, I guess. I'm sorry, next time I'll cook you something back at the home."

Jessica:  "Can you cook? I have a little trouble imagining you slaving over a hot stove for some reason." 

Chuck:  "Sure, though I'm having to re-learn how to cook actual, proper meals. I was used to cooking meals out in the field using whatever we could scavenge as we crawled through enemy ground, and while I can still get road-kill over here it tends to be badger, squirrel, and the like; Dwight really misses my Gook-burgers."

Jessica:  "They sound lovely...Anyway, who says that there will be a next time? Getting a date with me is a considerable honour, and it takes a REALLY special man to get a second one, so you're going to have to pull out all the stops to impress me."

Chuck springs down onto the floor, pounding out ten one-armed press-ups.

Chuck:  "Is this impressing you baby?"

Jessica:  "Um, quite impressive, yes, but can you get up please Chuck? people are looking and sniggering, especially as your trousers are slipping so much that there's been a sudden rush of orders for toad in the hole."

Chuck, re-seated and puffing slightly:  "Sorry babe, though I reckon some of the women in here are looking at you now with a little envy; maybe it's you that's gonna have to work for a second date."

Jessica:  "We'll see Chuck, we'll see, now eat your Monster Munch like a good little boy."

Chuck:  "So once you fall head over heels in love with this Greek God, will you move over here permanently?"

Jessica:  "Oh of course, getting to see Dwight injecting Bovril into his veins every day, non-stop grey weather, Louis Spence, who wouldn't want to live here for the rest of their lives? and then there's this lovely British cuisine..."

Chuck:  "Hey, it ain't so bad once you get used to it. Mind you, this place may not exactly be the best example, though I hold out hope that my main course of liver, pot noodle, mint Polos and half a Frey Bentos pie in Caramac sauce is worth the wait."

Jessica:  "I'm beginning to regret ordering the cauliflower, Dairylea, tripe, and Butterscotch Angel Delight soufflé now, but to be honest it looked like the least bad thing on the menu. I'm not sure if I'll bother with dessert."

Chuck:  "I might be able to squeeze in one of their famous Twix Sundaes, I'll see how I feel after my main course."

Jessica:  "Hmmn...maybe it might take the taste of the rest of the meal away; what's in it?"

Chuck:  "It's a Twix rammed into a bowl of Tesco own-brand vanilla ice-cream."

Jessica:  "I can see why it would be famous."

Chuck:  "More wine m'lady?"

Jessica:  "Ooo, how can I resist? what woman DOESN'T want her breath to smell like the latrine at a four day music festival where the audience consists entirely of hippos, dysentery sufferers, elephants with a laxative addiction problem, and Shane MacGowan? Go on then, fill her up."

Chuck:  "I find if you hold your nose as you drink it, it goes down easier."

Jessica:  "They could use that line in their advertisements." 

Chuck:  "So, how much d'ya bench?"

Jessica:  "Um, I don't really do weights. I exercise, but tend to stay away from them."

Chuck:  "Well when we get together properly, that will change, I'll devise a regime for ya. No offence, but I think you need a bit of firming up here and there, cute as you are." 

Jessica:  "None taken, and no offence meant to you either, but IF we ever get together, I'll be devising a skin-care regime for that prune-that-a-particularly-unartistic-child-has-drawn-a-crude-cartoon-face-onto thing that sits on top of your neck. Also, I'll be sorting out your wardrobe for you, you look like a homeless person who has just been raking in Oxfam's rejects bin after a donation from an eighties German heavy metal band." 

Chuck:  "Hey, the folks back at the home love my look!"

Jessica:  "These are people who love Daniel O'Donnell and brown cardigans Chuck."    

Chuck:  "Pah, you're just jealous because I'm cooler and more with it fashion-wise than a young whippersnapper like you."

Jessica:  "Yes, nothing says cool and hip man o the moment than him saying "with it" and calling someone a whippersnapper. Now finish your liver, and if you're really good, I'll give you some of my Dairylea-covered tripe."