The rain was lashing down as Pansy stumbled along Chigwells main drag.His clothes were soaked through and the early morning cold was clawing at his cold, wet skin. He fumbled around in the pockets of his duffel coat - in a hopeless search for a reasonably dry cigarette and something to light it with. Once again- no joy. He shrugged his shoulders, bowed his head against the driving rain and plodded onwards.
"Toot-Toot! Toot-Toot!" It was the pathetic honking of some form of motor transport.
From out of the early morning mist, rain and wind, there appeared a small and very dented vehicle. It rattled noisly along the deserted street, one solitary headlight guiding the way. Milk bottles chinked and tinkled as the vehicle bumped down the road, steadfastly refusing to avoid the hundreds of potholes that Chigwell Council could not be arsed to repair. Pints of full fat, semi-skimmed and skimmed milk leapt out of their crates and smashed to smithereens on the wet tarmac as Pansy Potters next-door-neighbour, only mate, and local franchised milkman trundled onwards - still completely pissed from the session the night before in *The Gaping Vulva*....a local pub, renamed by its Landlord in honour of his wife, and what he was left looking at in Chigwell Maternity Hospital after she had given birth to quads three years ago.
"Toot-Toot! Toot-Toot!", repeated the battered-to-fu**ing-bits milk float. Pansy slowed down a tad, so that the milk float could catch up with him. Bottles, eggs, loaves of bread and crates of lemonade continued jumping off the back of the milk float as the driver aimed the vehicle for every pot-hole he could see....the larger - the better. Not your every-day common-or-garden milkman. The driver of this erratically navigated thing was called Dougal MacFlurry....and Dougal MacFlurry was a milkman with a unique set of problems. Nobody knew who Dougals parents were, because he was found abandoned, wrapped in serviettes, in a mop bucket in the ladies toilets of the local Macdonalds. Also in the bucket was a kids Happy Meal (complete with ice-cream) and the *toy of the week* which just happened to be a character from "The Magic Roundabout", so when the local orphanage took him in, they called him........well - Dougal MacFlurry. Did I mention Dougals unique set of problems? Well - apart from being born a bastard, he grew up to be a three-foot four inch, stuttering, autistic, deaf, gay, hunchback dwarf with tourettes syndrome. They hoofed him out of the orphanage when he was 15 because he scared the shit out of the other parentless flotsam and jetsam, so he ended up living in a tree on the local council crazy golf course. He eventually got a job as a lookout for the Chigwell Dogging Society, because they discovered that they could hide him in a litter bin at the crazy golf course entrance. The Doggers taught him how to make noises similar to that of two stray cats shagging so he could give the **** drenched ladies of the Womens Institute and the members of the Chigwell Subaru Owners Club enough time to do a runner, should the local plod turn up. After many years Dougal eventually saved up enough money for a small shed, in the back garden of the house next-door to where Pansy and his mum and dad lived - and he had enough left over to buy a milk round franchise. Nothing ever got delivered though....the locals felt sorry for the peculiar little oddity. They paid him for goods not delivered (but smashed all over the f***ing street)...and bought their milk in the shops instead.
Dougal screeched to a halt by the kerbside. More bottles, eggs and assorted foodstuffs fell about the place.
"P-P-P-P-P-P-P-P-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-Pansy... M-m-m-m-m-m-m-me... old m-m-m-m-m-m-m-m-ate!!", stuttered Dougal. "Your mum chews Eskimos bell-ends!!.....ARSE!", he added tourettishly.
Pansys head throbbed incessantly, and thoughts of Diesel Electric submarines, and the Royal Navy bounced around the more sober neurons of his Jack Daniels soaked brain.
â€œWhy the f***ing Navy eh? â€“ bleedinâ€™ submarines? â€“ Iâ€™m having a f***ing NIGHTMARE!, he thought.
MacFlurry was getting more than a little pissed off at being ignored by the soggy hungover toe-rag, shambling along the pavement.
â€œF***ING P-P-P-P-P-P-P-ANSY!!! NOB! NOB! NOB! SH*T FOR BRAINS!!â€, he screamed.
Pansy was still trying to assemble (and decode) all the random Naval thoughts and images that were zotting round inside his head, when a 2 litre carton of Greek Yoghurt smacked into the side his face. The waxed cardboard container blew apart like an overfilled condom and a couple of litres of yoghurt erupted skywards. The creamy liquid mixed with the rain and dribbled down Pansys (now throbbing) face. Wet, cold, hungover, skint, and now dripping with Greek Yoghurt, Pansy looked like something that should only be seen on an Eastern European Porn website. He yodelled in pain and wiped yoghurt from his eye sockets.
Dougal leaned on the steering wheel of his milk float and giggled at his mates discomfort.
â€œN-n-n-n-ow that I-I-I-I-I- have y-y-y-y-our f***ing ATTENTIONâ€¦..cheese dick!....you want a lift h-h-h-ome â€“ or what??!â€
Dougal also had some major snags with regards to anger management and general mental wellbeing.
Pansy lumbered towards the rear of the vehicle and hauled his bulk on to it, sitting amidst the shambolic array of broken and smashed stuff.
Dougal shoved the gear lever into first and zoomed away from the kerb. Pansy hung on for dear life.
â€œF-f-f-f-f-f-fu**ing good piss up l-l-l-ast n-n-n-n-ight Pansy!â€, said Dougal, as he slowed down outside number 13 Munters Close â€“ the home of an elderly lady who smelled of wee and mothballs. She was at her front door, letting her one hundred and ninety cats in, just as Dougals milk float came to rest be the kerbside.
â€œWoke up in a f***ing skip behind *The Golden Showers* this morningâ€¦what the f**k happened then?â€, groaned Pansy.
Dougal didnâ€™t reply. He had picked up a couple of un-smashed milk bottles from his last remaining crate and was twirling his stumpy little arms like a demented windmill.
â€œF***ing INCOMING!!!â€, howled Dougal, and he hurled two pint bottles of gold top in the old ladys direction. She only just managed to duck inside and slam her front door shut as the bottles of milk crashed into the woodwork. The remaining cats scattered to all four points of the compass.
â€œBASTARD!...F-f-f-f-f-f-u**ing MISSED THE OLD FARTâ€¦â€¦AGAIN!!â€, said Dougal, as the milk delivery system took off down the road again.
Pansy Potter bounced around the rear of the vehicle, as Dougal Macflurry repeated the practice of chucking full milk bottles at his customers front doors. He had said that â€œIf it was good enough for the Americans â€“ it was good enough for himâ€.
Pansy had attempted on more than one occasion to explain that the Americans only did it with f***ing newspapers, but Dougal had locked the idea into his noggin, and bugger all was about to change it. They were fast approaching Pansys house, when Dougal went into autistic mode, and started to recite all the major European makers of fridges, freezers and dishwashers, which was a bit of an improvement on one of his other â€œmental momentsâ€ when the crazed dwarf wanted to see how many pickled eggs he could get under his foreskin. This was actually one of Dougals â€œparty piecesâ€ â€“ but not really suitable to have a go at before youâ€™ve actually paid for them, and youâ€™re still in the queue at Aldiâ€™s.
â€œBeko, Hotpoint, Zanussi, Smegâ€¦â€¦â€, muttered Dougal. The milk truck trundled passed Pansys house, and he leapt off, leaving his stumpy pal to carry on, in a world of his own.
The house lookedâ€¦..different.
A weird eerie green glow emanated from within. The strange light flooded from all the front windows, and what looked like green mist flowed in undulating waves from the letterbox. The roof was covered in hordes of black cats, but strangest of all was the two bicyclesâ€¦.red bicycles, (with no gears) that were hovering motionless at least eight feet above the ground in the front garden. Pansys mum and dad appeared at the door.
â€œI think you had better come in sonâ€, his dad said.
â€œThereâ€™s someone here wants a wordâ€¦.â€ he added.
His parents vanished into the misty green smog.
Pansy pottered up the garden path, utterly fascinated by the two unmanned hovering red bicycles. He disappeared through the front door and into the green fog.
As he entered the front room, Pansy screamed in terror, farted, followed through and spewed his ring up all in one smooth movement.
The front door slammed shut all on its own.
Chapter Three - â€œSecrets and Liesâ€
The living room was plunged into darkness. Pansy continued to scream his head off. Tiny squeaky farts of fear forced their way out of his virtually watertight pucker muscle. The strange green fog was fast disappearing back up the living room chimney and all the cats perched on the roof of the house simultaneously burst into a cacophony of screeching and wailing. The noise from the roof - and all those cats, was overwhelming.
A voice boomed from out of the black nothingnessâ€¦..
The wailing noise on the roof ceased immediately. One black cat, sitting in the gutter on the edge of the roof suddenly began to inflate at an alarming rate. When the unfortunate creature had attained the dimensions of a weather balloon - it blew apart in a shower of fur and soggy bits of cat. All the other cats suffered a similar fate as one after the other, they inflated, exploded, and what was left of them - cascaded down on to the garden below. All became silent.
From within the darkness of the living room, Pansy heard the mistakeable sound of a Zippo Lighter lid being flipped open. The flame from the lighter was touched to the end of a Royal Navy *Blue Liner* cigarette, which itself protruded out of a huge black beard on the face of someone who was sitting in the middle of the settee. The Zippo lid slammed shut and all Pansy could see, was the red glow from the end of the freshly lit cigarette. The invisible stranger took a long, deep drag of his fag.
A deep voice boomed out of the darkness once again.
â€œI fu**ing HATE catsâ€¦â€¦â€¦always shitting in my f***ing gardenâ€¦â€¦..I mean - why DO people keep f***ing bastard cats as f***ing pets eh??.......they just hoof the twatting things out at nightâ€¦and they just mooch round everywhere doing f**k all but shag and shit and scream all the f***ing timeâ€¦.get right on my f***ing tits they doâ€¦â€¦â€.
It was apparent that the stranger had an aversion to cats, which explained why the Potters front garden was now littered with warm, soggy moist chunks of feline, and some bits had become adhered to the front room windows, leaving sticky trails of goo as they slid downwards and stuck themselves to the window sills.
The glowing end of the cigarette moved as the stranger in the darkness stood upright.
â€œNEGATUS BLACK LIGHTING!!â€, he yelled - and the room was lit up in dazzling whiteness. Pansy squinted his eyes against the glare, barely able to make out the enormous shape that had just loomed up in front of him. The shape muttered again,
â€œDown a bit - down a bit pleaseâ€¦.â€. The pure brilliant whiteness dimmed down to a more acceptable level and Pansy could finally focus on who (or what) was in the room.
Standing on the living room rug, was a very large bloke, puffing away at the remnants of a filter tipped Blue Liner. He looked to be about six feet six inches in height, and was dressed in a Royal Navy Chief Petty Officers uniform. His massive black beard dangled down to the bottom of his jacket and Pansy noted that there appeared to be quite a fair amount of wildlife creeping around in it.
Bits of his flesh were hanging off, and one eye dangled out of its socket on to his face, which was the colour of rancid custard. The stranger pushed the meandering eyeball back into the empty eye socket and wiped the eye juice from his fingers with a bit of oily rag. The huge fellow inhaled a last gasp from his smoke, and looked around for an ashtray. Neither one of of Pansy Potters parents smoked, and Pansy usually flicked his fag butts out of his bedroom window - so there was nothing resembling an ashtray to hand. The stranger turned around, and stubbed his fag out on the bald head of Pansy Potters dad, who was sitting trance-like on the end of the sofa. Mister Potter didnâ€™t move a muscle as the dog end was ground out on the top of his head and apart from a couple of whisps of smoke and a smell not unlike burning bacon, Mister Potter showed no outward signs that he had just been used as an ashtray. Pansy saw that his mum was also seated at the other end of the sofa - and she was in the same trance-like state as that of her husband, both absolutely motionless - both with nothing more than a thousand-yard stare in their vacant eyes, and an unsightly trickle of saliva, dribbling from the corners of their open mouths.
â€œSorry about them twoâ€¦â€, said the visitor, nodding his head in the ddirection of Pansys catatonic mum and dad.
â€œHad to lobotomise â€˜em for a bit - canâ€™t have â€˜em gobbing off about all thisâ€¦.yâ€™knowâ€¦.loose lips and all that bollocksâ€.
Pansy was completely clueless as to what the bloke was on about. The
stranger pointed towards Pansy. In his hand, he was holding a gleaming chrome- plated wheel spanner. (*Pansy would discover this later - I pass this information on early, because I hope you already know what a wheelspanner actually is. Ed*)
Tiny glowing specks of Fairy Dust, Wizard Crumbs, Magic Powder (call it what you will), dripped from the end of the wheel spanner like sparkly talcum powder.
â€œYOU POTTER??!!â€, he thundered.
Pansy flinched and another, slightly longer nervous rasp tunnelled its way outwards from in between his tightly clenched buttocks.
â€œARE YOU F***ING CALLED F***ING ERNEST EGBERT POTTER
FOR F**KS SAKE MAN!!?â€, he commanded.
Pansy shuffled his soggy feet and adopted his favourite â€œrabbit in car headlightsâ€ look.
â€œYesâ€, he replied meekly.
The big guy stroked his bushy beard, and several many-legged creatures tumbled out of it and scuttled away towards the living room skirting boards.
â€œWell f**k my starboard steaming boot!â€¦â€¦at last weâ€™re getting somewhereâ€, he chirped in a more jovial tone. He then introduced himself.
â€œIâ€™m Chief Petty Officer (Wizard)(SM) Spike Marlin - Coxswain of HMS Warthog, and Iâ€™ve been sent here to get you because one of the crew has gone sick, and apparentlyâ€¦.youâ€™re the last untrained wizard on this f***ing planet!â€.
Once again Pansy Potter had clue zero as to what this geezer was talking about.
More Wizard dust, trickled from the end of Coxswain Marlins Chrome wheel spanner.
It formed a multi-coloured trail in the air, gathered speed, and then it all shot up the starboard nostril of Pansys still-catatonic father.
"SPINNUSS DITTUSS!", uttered Coxswain Marlin.
Pansy caught sight of the Royal Navy CPO's teeth as he grinned malevolently.
They were every colour - except white...they were black, green, purple, yellow, and the blokes breath was something akin to the aroma that might emanate from a thousand camels corpses left in a giant greenhouse for a month in the middle of the Kalahari Desert during the hottest months of the year.
"Sit down Potter........because your Mummy and Daddy....", said the Coxswain, "Have a bit of a f***ing confession to make son.......", he added
"ONE ALL ROUND!", he continued, and as if by magic, a lit *Blue Liner* appeared between Pansy Potters lips.
"Try it son", said the Coxswain
Pansy took a long satisfying drag and the smoke calmed him down no end.
"F**K ME.....I love this magic wizardy stuff!", said the Coxswain.
"RIGHT! - now that we seem to have our collective shit all in one sock....well - I'll let your old man spin you a dit!". Coxswain Spike Marlin sat down again, waved his Chrome wheel spanner and whispered something very quietly to himself. A large bottle of Woods Rum appeared on the coffee table in a cloud of Wizard Dust, followed by a heavy crystal glass tumbler. The coxswain poured himself a large measure of alcohol - took a sip, sat back and took a puff on the cigarette that had appeared at the same time as the bottle of spirits.
"That spell, is my own f***ing spell......and its NOT for Part Three f***ing drongos like you!....when you've f***ing been in as long as I have....THEN perhaps I'll tell you how it's done.......meanwhile, sit down - face your front, and listen to what your daddy has to tell you Potter!"
Pansy Potters dad's head did a three hundred and sixty degree all round look of the front room, as it swivelled completely round on his thin, boney shoulders.
Mister Potters staring eyes burned in Pansys own. He spoke in a hypnotic sort of dalek-like monotone "Son.........We are NOT your real parents. You are adopted...well actually, your mum was pissed one evening when she was coming back from Bingo, and she thought it would be nice for us to have a pet, seeing as we couldn't have kids".
Mister Potter paused for a moment.
"Anyway - being rat-arsed, she missed the pet shop and fell into the Chigwell branch of Doctor Barnados - *Little-Bastards'R'Us*, and came home with you and two large Doner Kebabs. We've loved you like you were our own son since that day...but you should know the truth about your parents.......your real parents that is.........".
The Coxswain waved his chrome wheel spanner and Mister Potter lapsed into silence.
Coxswain Marlin took up the story.
"Your r-e-a-l mum and dad went over to the Dark Side Potter!"
Pansy looked up into the Cosxwains face.
"Eh...what d'you mean by that?? What's going on here then?"
The Coxswain waved a hand in the direction of Mister Potter.
"Many f***ing moons ago...", said the Coxswain,
"Your real dad was upstairs in the master bedroom of his house, trying to put together a three-door wardrobe that his wife had made him purchase from f***ing IKEA".
"Anyhow - after two days of trying to sort out the f***ing gibberish instructions, and after a f***ing lot of sweating, cursing, ranting and raving, dis-assembly and re-assembly of this piece of self-assembly f***ing crap, and with no sleep for 48 hours he'd almost got the f***ing thing put together, when his good lady wife came upstairs and said she didn't like it anymore and it was the wrong colour and would't fit in
with the bedroom colour scheme....yak-yak-yak-yak.......THIS pushed your real father over the edge, and he bludgeoned his wife to death with *IKEA triple-door-wardrobe Part (B)340-a(1/b)-2.* Your dad then went on a five year serial killing rampage. He became known as *The Flat-Pack Killer*, always murdering his victims with some bit of shelving or stuff from self assembly furniture. He eventually handed himself in to the police when MFI went bust, and while he was on remand awaiting trial - he topped himself by eating six dozen of those little bags of glue you get
with flat pack stuff....y'know......that crap that's supposed to hold the f***ing drawers together and never does because it's f***ing absolute SHITE!"
The Coxswain paused, and refilled his empty glass.
"So - that left you...all on your f***ing own....BUT.........even though your dad was a f***ing Grade-A, Mark 1 f***ing nutcase - he was also a lapsed Wizard, which gave you his powers...only you didn't have a f***ing CLUE, and your old man went banzai before he could pass on his secrets, and him twatting your mum to death with Part (B)340-a(1/b)-2 didn't help much either."
Coxswain Marlin downed his double Woods in one. He pointed at Pansys mum.
"THEN.......that pissed-up old bat bimbled into your life, just as we had sorted out your whereabouts...that is The Wizards, Warlocks and Witches Association, she f***ing took you home with a couple of F***ing Kebabs and you sort of disappeared off the radar...."
Pansy looked over to where his dribbling foster-parents were sitting.
The Coxswain continued.
"Well Happy F***ing Birthday Pansy Potter!....Now it's time for you to join the Wizard Navy (Submarine Service) and see the world!. So if you'd care to follow me outside - I've got a couple of bicycles hangin' about to take you and me back to base.....because you've got some learning to do.......AND FAST!"
Pansys jaw dropped open. All this was just too much information.
"What about me mum and dad then?", uttered Pansy
"I mean - they've been good to me all these years......."
The Coxswain turned to where Mr and Mrs Potter sat, staring vacantly into space.
"Biggus Dickuss.......Shaggram Baggoff!", he muttered whilst waggling the shiny spanner.
The Coxswain smiled, "I've just given your dad a twelve inch cock and turned you mum into a rampant, permanently on heat sex bitch.......they should have fun from here on in, and they'll have no recollection of your existence whatsoever.......now come on, double away and get on your f***ing bike!"
Coxswain Spike Marlin hauled himself off the couch. The bottle of Woods vanished with an audible *pop*....and yet more creepy crawlies jumped from within his beard, scuttling here, there and everywhere.
"Don't get too concerned about me and the way I look sonny.....", said Coxswain Marlin.
"Not only am I the ONLY wizard 'swain in the fleet......I'm also the only f***ing ZOMBIE wizard Coxswain still serving.....on my 99th year of 2OE now.....f***ing pension is goin' to be f***ing megga!!"
"And if you think I look f***ing rough.....", the grocer continued,
"You should see my f***ing wife....she's an ex-zombie wren stores accountant...going on a hundred and fify-five now........her fanny's fell off a few times, amongst other things - but thank f**k I'm a wizard with the old magic wheel spanner eh?...She looks like a gypsies caravan site - but I love her dearly....."
Pansy Potter and the Zombie wizard Coxswain stood outside in the garden, that was now littered with steaming portions of pussy cats. The two Pussers *Red Devils* hung motionless - six feet in the air.
CPO(Coxswain)(Wizard)(SM) Spike Marlin pointed his glowing chrome wheel spanner at the two hovering basic no-geared solid seat bicycles. Streams of multi-coloured Fairy dust burst from its tip and surrounded
the bikes in a rainbow-like explosion of pretty colours.
"On your bike Potter", he said - adding,
"You're going to f***ing love this!"