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Friday, 27 January 2012

image for A tale of two lovers Morton is shocked by the language of a Nun

Morton Bendlebag, finished combing his hair, put the toupe on his shinning bald head, and made for the front door.

It was the only way out of his semi detached in Penge, some bastard had super glued the back door lock. At the bus stop, Morton waited patiently for the number 55 bus, that would transport him to the Benghazi Community centre, Eagle terrace, Harlesden.

Emmarold Partinfok, slipped into the nylon dress she had laid out on her camp bed. The divan had caught fire the night before, her cheese fondue tipped over and burned the mattress to a sinder. She was still getting over the shock, of having five burly firemen standing in her bedroom, hiding thier sniggers, at her semi naked body. She had forgotten the nightie was see through.

Starting the clapped out Ford Fiesta, Emmarold made her way onto the North circular road, that would take her to Harlesden, and the; "Fetting Bungle Dance Troupe".

Danfoss Rindle, placed the cd in the player, and pressed play, after a second, a loud Brazilian Rumba, began to echo through the hall. On the dance floor, several couples, of varying sizes, weights and age, began to dance.

"Remember to let the men lead dear's" Shouted Danfoss, above the throbbing beat; "Marcy! hold normins hip dear, you look like a dustman holding a bin!" The orders came thick and fast, as the dancers made thier way around the polished lino floor.

Morton, alighted from the bus, his outsize patent black shoes, had caused a bit of a stir, during the journey, he had tripped a Nigerian gentleman carrying a coffee machine, sending him flying to the back of the bus, into the lap of a fat Nun. Morton heard the words, "You cunt", He did not realise Nuns used that sort of language.

Emmarold could not understand why the car behind her was flashing it's lights and tooting its horn. She was not breaking the speed limit, or driving like a boy racer.
The lights got brighter and the horn became louder, Emmarold put her jam jar bottom glasses on, and eyed the rear view mirror, It was a police car, blues flashing, sirens wailing, she pulled over. Emmarold was a little shocked by the police officer in the passenger seat sticking two fingers up and mouthing; "ARSEHOLE!" As it sped past, she parked the car, and decided to walk.

"Armould! your par de dar is shocking! Left foot, right foot, turn and step!" Shouted Danfoss in utter dismay.
Elbot Ming, sat on the edge of the dance floor, waiting for his dance partner, it was late, as usual, and had been very distant of late. He had phoned several times, and on answering the phone, it had been out of breath, panting, he could feel the persperation running down the huge forehead, was there a new partner? A new beau?

Morton covered his ears, as the screaming police car roared by, "Why would a policeman stick his fingers up at me and mouth arsehole?" Morton asked himself.

As he made to cross the road, a Ford Fiesta reversed into the kurb, and missed him by an inch, without hesitation, Morton ran across the road and walked down Eagle Terrace toward his destination; "Am I doing the right thing?" Questioned Morton, "Who Dares Wins" He whispered, and carried on, toward the community centre, and the unknown.

Emmarold placed both feet on the brake, "Thank god I'm wearing my glasses, I could have killed that poor man"; Thought the now trembling Emmarold. Leaving her car, she stood on the sidewalk and adjusted her dress.

"He was a fukin lunatic, what sort of cunt wears shoes like that on a bus, you should have fukin chinned him"

Falling back against her car, Emmarold could not believe, that the Nun, carrying a coffee machine, escorted by a huge black man, was cursing in such a profound way.
As they passed, she ran across the road, and began the walk toward the centre, and the showdown with Elbot.

Danfoss turned the music off, spun on his heels, and addressed the dancers. "Love's, if we are to stand a chance of winning the finals, you have got to up your game, Lampit, arms are flapping dear, barrit, hands are limp love, helenis, bum is sagging on the pass, lets do it again, this time! With a bit of west end!" With that, Danfoss flicked the switch, that filled the hall with the hip grinding sound of the Salsa.

Morton reached the front door of the Benghazi Community Centre, it was now or never. He opened the door, and entered, making his way to the vibration of the main hall.

Emmarold caught the closing door, that the man with the big shoes had let swing, "Was that him? The man that I have been dancing with over the internet, I have only ever seen his feet, but what feet! A Gene Kelly riencarnated". Smiled Emmaroled.

Elbot was bored with Danfoss and his poofy rantings, he had come here for one reason; To find out if he still had a partner, if not, he would pack it in and take up rabbit funting on thursdays down the Pig and Pen.

Morton walked into the hall, he stood watching the dancers, and realised he had made a terrible mistake; "These people are amateures, I have been duped" He sighed.

Emmarold, saw the huge, black patented shoes, and knew it was him. "What do I do? What do I say?" She asked herself.
"Shall I tell him it is me? Shall I tell him that those feet he saw dancing belonged to Ginger Rogers? No, for I am in love, and that love will overcome all".

Elbot got to his feet, straightened his dress, and ran toward the figure in the shadows, "Morton! I thought you would never come! I have been so distressed!"

Morton clasped his arms around Elbot, despite the argument about Elbots dress, he had to concede, he looked the perfect dancing queen, and knew, right there, that they would always be in love.

Danfoss, saw her enter the hall, he knew straight away, that she was the one. The green dress, jam jar glasses, and the bowed legs. "Finally, a woman that can play a Goucho"; said Danfoss to himself.

"Places darlings!" Shouted Danfoss; "My future wife has just arrived!"................................

The "Fetting Bungle Dance Troupe" Will be performing on the 14th of Febuary. Table with cruet and chicken basket £4.99

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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