Scraping the Bottom of the Barrel

by Bernice Russell and Maxine Headroom

 

This was based on interviews with Lewis Collins: bless his little cotton socks and his dubious understanding of human biology.  Personally, I blame Maxine for this.

Ray Doyle let himself into the flat he shared with his lover. He’d been away, undercover, very untypically alone, for weeks now, and was looking forward to sleeping in his own bed, fucking Bodie, a hot bath, and a good meal. Not necessarily in that order.

Sounds from the bedroom attracted his attention. Deep moans, sighs of excitement, bed springs squeaking. Doyle grinned to himself, green eyes gleaming with anticipatory lust. He slung his jacket untidily across the back of a chair, untying his necktie, licking his lips. It had been a loooong two weeks! As he shucked off his shirt, draping himself artistically in the door frame of their bedroom, low and husky he said, "Starting without me, Sunshine?" and hit the light switch.

Bodie squealed in terror as he was discovered in flagrante delicto, laying rigid on his back, hands flying uselessly to hide his transgression.

"Don’t stop now, Billy Boy!" squawked a harsh unfamiliar voice.

"Bodie, you sick pervert! What the hell are you doing? How can you do this to us?" Doyle was stunned, shocked, horrified, like a supermarket tabloid. He had always thought his own peculiar brand of wanton sexuality had been enough for Bodie, but this was just plain sick!

"I’m sorry, Doyle... Ray, I really do love you, but..." Bodie started to try to explain. Trying to push the furry bundle from his lap, where it clung tenaciously with long slender arms.

Squawking again, the voice rang out, "How can you say you love him? You said I gave the best head in London! And I’m gonna have your baaaaayyyybeeee!"

Doyle reeled back in shock! That explained it all.

"But Bodie, I would have... It’s just that... you know I want to keep my figure. In a few years, when medical science has progressed far enough. But we can’t have children now! Where would the foetus gestate? In a box??"

"Ray, I always wanted kids, you know that. And I don’t see why a woman has to be involved!"

"Oh, Bodie," Doyle hung his head, betrayed and saddened, "You never did get your biology O level did you... But I never thought you’d sink this low. Couldn’t you do better than... than... this... thing?"

"Don’t call me a ‘thing’!" the blue thing said indignantly, its huge nose waving about like a demented finger.

"Is this because I wouldn’t let you fist-fuck me, Bodie?" Doyle pleaded, trying to understand the attraction his lover could have for something so hideous, so weird.

"No, Ray, it’s not just that," Bodie begged, "although yes, he does like that. In fact, that’s how we met, at a club for men who like... that kind of thing - he had a man’s hand up his arse. I’ve taken him away from all of that, shown him there’s more to life. And he’s shown me things as well, Ray. Things you could never understand. The attraction of sex with a capon..."

"You mean... dressed as Batman?"

"No, Ray, capon, a small chicken!"

"Chickens!!!!!" Doyle all but screamed.

"Did somebody say chickens?" the stranger’s voice was strident and excited.

"And while you were away, I needed someone," Bodie continued. "Someone fuzzy, someone blue."

"What? Aren’t I hairy enough for you, Bodie?"

But before Doyle could get his answer, a small green whirlwind flew into the room, arms and legs akimbo and waving wildly.

"Gonzo!" the new voice shrieked "What are you doing? Get out of that man’s bed! The chickens I could take, we had a deal, you had chicken on the side, I had pork, but CI5 agents are right out! That’s unnatural, that’s just scraping the bottom of the barrel!

(See below for an even worse version of this story...)

 

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Scraping the Bottom of the Barrel

by Bernice Russell and Maxine Headroom

 

To amuse myself, I ran this story through a Cockney dialectizer. 

Ray let 'imself into the bloomin' flat 'e shared wiv 'is luvr. 'e’d been oray, undercover, right untypically alone, right, for weeks now, right, and were 'ave a lookin' forward ter sleepin' in 'is own bed, right, fuckin' Bodie, an 'ot baff, and a good meal. Not necessarily in that order.

Sounds from the bedroom attracted 'is attention. Deep moans, right, sighs of excitement, right, bed springs squeakin'.

Doyle grinned ter himself, green mince pies gleamin' wiv anticipatory lust. 'e slung 'is jacket untidily across the chuffin' back of a chair, untyin' 'is necktie, lickin' 'is lips. It 'ad been a loooong two weeks! As 'e shucked off 'is shirt, right, drapin' 'imself artistically in the bloomin' door frame of their bedroom, low and 'usky 'e said, “Startin' wivout me, Sunshine?” and 'it the bloody light switch.

Bodie squealed in terror as 'e were discovered in flagrante delicto, layin' rigid on 'is back, hands flyin' uselessly ter hide 'is transgression.

“Don’t put the mockers on now, Billy Boy!” squorked an 'arsh unfamiliar voice.

“Bodie, right, yer sick pervert! Blimey! Wot the bloomin' hell are yer doin', then, mate? 'ow can yer do this ter us?” Doyle were stunned, shocked, horrified, right, like a supermarket tabloid. 'e 'ad always fought 'is own peculiar brand of wanton sexuality 'ad been enough for Bodie, but this were just plain sick! Blimey!

“I’m sorry, right, Doyle... Ray, I right do luv yer, but...” Bodie started ter try ter explain. Tryin' ter push the bloody furry bundle from 'is lap, right, where it clung tenaciously wiv long slender arms. Squorkin' again, the voice rang out, right, “How can yer say yer luv 'im, isit? Yer said I gave the Mae West head in London! Right! And I’m gonnan 'ave yor baaaaayyyybeeee! Honest guv!”

Doyle reeled hammer and tack in shock! Honest guv! That explained it all. “But Bodie, I would 'ave... It’s just that... yer know I want ter keep me figure, init? In a few years, wen medical science 'as progressed far enough. But we can’t 'ave children now! Right! Where would the chuffin' foetus gestate, isit? In a box??”

“Ray, I always wanted kids, yer know that. And I don’t spot why a bint 'as ter be involved! Right!”

“Oh, Bodie,” Doyle 'ung 'is 'ead, betrayed and saddened, “Yer never did cop yor biology O level did yer... But I never fought yer’d sink this low. Couldn’t yer do better than... Yer can't 'ave a knees-up wivout a joanna. than... this... bugger?”

“Don’t call me a ‘bugger’!” the blue fin' said indignantly, its 'uge nose wavin' about like a demented finger.

“Is this because I wouldn’t let yer fist-fuck me, right, Bodie?” Doyle pleaded, tryin' ter understand the attraction 'is luvr could 'ave for sumfink so 'ideous, so weird.

“No, right, Ray, right, it’s not just that,” Bodie begged, right, “alffough yes, he does like that. In fact, that’s 'ow we met, right, at a club for men 'oo like... that sort of fin' - 'e 'ad a man’s 'and up 'is arse. I’ve taken 'im oray from all of that, shown 'im there’s more ter life. And 'e’s shown me fings as well, right, Ray. Finks yer could never understand. The bloomin' attraction of sex wiv a capon...”

“Yer mean... dressed as Batman?”

“No, Ray, capon, a wee chicken! Struth!”

“Chickens! Oi!! Struth!! Right!! Oi!! Right!” Doyle all but screamed.

“Did some fairy say chickens?” the bleedin' stranger’s voice were strident and excited.

“And wile yer were oray, I needed some bloke,” Bodie continued. “Some bloke fuzzy, right, some bloke blue.”

“Wot, then, eh, luv? Aren’t I 'airy enough for yer, right, Bodie?”

But before Doyle could cop his answer, a wee green wirlwind flew into the room, arms and legs akimbo and wavin' wildly.

“Gonzo! Oi!” the chuffin' new voice shrieked “Wotcher doin', guv? Cop out of that man’s bed! Blimey! The bleedin' chickens I could take, we 'ad a deal, yer 'ad chicken on the bloody side, I 'ad pork, right, but CI5 agents are right out! Oi! That’s unnatural, right, that’s just scrapin' the chuffin' bottom of the barrel! Right!

 

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