Written by armfeetandtoe
Rating:

Share/Bookmark
Print this

Saturday, 1 October 2011

image for Agatha Christofou's Perrot Perrot, in agony after burning his bum

Perrot entered Lord and Lady Toffs lounge. He moved to the fireplace and stood staring at the people sitting before him. "Ello everybodis peeps I em Hurcules Perrot feemos detect init".

There was a hushed silence and a smell of burning. Lord Toff began to speak but was interrupted by the raised hand of Perrot.

"Ples I am speek an I es not finish wot I say," continued Perrot. "Some of one is you here is murder the but of Lord an a Lady Toff des no good". Perrot could feel a strange sensation creeping up the back of his legs. As the flame reached his bum he knew he was in trouble.

With panic in his voice Perrot asked an important question.

"Is it thet you has the water in jug for flowers"?

Lady Toff motioned toward a vase on the dining table.

Perrot with the speed and agility of an eagle grabbed the vase removed the flowers and poured the water down the back of his blackened cotton trousers.

Dilema.

Perrot's bum was hanging out of his trousers and he needed to cross the room to take up his position in front of the fireplace. Turning slightly he put his heels together and shuffled side ways to his appointed place.

"I was told about his strange walk" Whispered Lady Toff.

Perrot spoke. "Lidy Toff where is it you are wen you But Granger is murd an lef in kitchen?"

Lady Toff shifted uneasy in her chair the hemorrhoids were playing up again. "I was in the garden with Lord Toff and our house guest Auntie disestablishmentarianism we were playing crochet on the long lawn near the south wing". Answered Lady Toff.

"An wot is you are do Mrs Beaton wen the but is murd?" Asked Perrot as he began to heat up again.

Mrs Beaton, the cook, removed her hand from the chicken's bum and wiped it on Seaman, the elderly gardener who dozed beside her on the chaise longue.

"Oy wos in the parntry pretending to look fur ingredients cos the series director he sed oy was not needed in the scene," replied the rotund bit part actress.

"Is me is think," started Perrot, "Seaman is murd but an pretended him slep in he shed den go he was to Mrs beat and tell he wot done an she is with him put bod of but in kitch fridge till is discov by Morgan ooh is driver".

Lord Toff leapt from his seat. "How many times have I told you about those fukin knitting needles you daft old bastard?!"

Removing the dart from his arse Lord Toff began to pace up and down the lounge. He stopped short of Perrot and spoke. "I don't know about the others Perrot but I did not understand a fukin word you said are you mental? the script says Perrot is Belgian where the fuck are you from?"

The Toffs Labrabor Hemoglobin lay on the hearth rug in front of the warm conflagration. From his rear end a silent but deadly stream of Methane made its way up Perrots nose. In fear of his life Perrot shuffled over to the window and sucked in the clean fresh air.

"I demand an answer!" Shouted Lord Toff.

Perrot turned to face Lord Toff. "Listen mate I never wrote the fukin script! Dont get lemon wiv me! They told me to effect a foriegn accent an thats wot I done if you dont like it tell the fuckin Director".

Lady Toff stood and rounded on Lord Toff. "Leave him alone darling he's only trying to do his job he is the worlds greatest detective and should be respected".

Lord Toff pushed Lady Toff into her seat. "Sit down you fukin midget old bag! I'm the guvnor in this house! Your only on his side cos you been havin it off wiv him in the dressing room!"

Mrs Beaton lept to her feet and slapped Lord Toff around the face. "Dont fukin talk to my daughter like that! I knew you was a wrongun the day she married you!"

Hemoglobin wakened by the noise spoke. "He's a fukin bubble an squeek yu know Greek!"

"Well" Said Lord Toff. "That explains it what a fukin prat everyone knows you should have a french accent".

Perrot removed his tunic and shuffled over to Lord Toff.

"I'm gonna swing for you! Who the el are you to give direction you've only got half a fukin page!"

The two men squared up to each other. The lights went out.

A voice in the dark cried "CUT!"

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

If you fancy trying your hand at comedy spoof news writing, click here to join!
Print this

Share/Bookmark

Go to top