Written by Steddyeddy

Thursday, 12 June 2008

image for Campbell the Hedghog
Bernard the bull on a working, well terminal holiday in Pamplona

Campbell the Hedghog arrived home tyred (sic) and flat. Well he had, after all, been run over by a car.

He'd been to see Sam Snail the solicitor, who was lucky in as much as he had his own self-contained office. On his back. Being as he was somewhat myopic, Campbell simply followed the trail to Sam's office.

He'd been summoned to attend the last will and testicle of his friend, Bernard Bull. Bernard had passed away on holiday in Pamplona. A friend of Bernard's, a Chinese cockle-picking gang master, had suggested a cheap holiday at the Matador Hotel, where he could pay his way by undergoing some scientific blood tests.

However, Bernard smelt a rat when the blood tests involved a chap called José Bullmurderer, who chased him with a red tablecloth and stabbed him with what he thought was a pair of quite large pickle prongs. And he couldn't get on with the constant "Olé" that Jose kept shouting.

The last will was a simple affair, mainly because neither Bernard nor Sam could write. It was typed on two sheets of paper, held together by a gold-coloured paperclip.

"Sit down Campbell, and thank you for coming" said Sam.

He continued.

"You are the sole beneficiary of Bernard Bull's will. He's left you one tonne of hay, a garden shed and twenty eight metres of fencing. There are a few codicils that have been added on the hoof. Well, at least, I assume they are Bernard's hoof prints.

"He wants you to explain the unfortunate circumstances of his passing to his good friend, and his mate on a regular basis, Daisy Cow.

"He is also leaving his entire business to you, although I consider that you may have extreme difficulty in procreating with the entire Friesian herd down on Ambleview Farm during the season. And your spines may cause a problem.

"Anyway, do go home and consider your options."

With that, Campbell made his way home.

As he reached the end of his street, he was flagged down by a panicking woman. Campbell wondered where this damsel in distress obtained the large ceremonial flag she was waving.

"Oh! You kind, kind……….er……. hedgehog. Many thanks for stopping. I can't get my car started. I think the battery might be flat. Could you please give me a push."
"Certainly" he replied.

Picking herself off the ground she exclaimed "No not me you idiot, er, hedgehog.. The car!"

As he was pushing the car, the damsel put it in the wrong gear, and reversed over Campbell.

"I'm sorry counsellor, your client cannot claim that the victim was a hedgehog and that as he made his escape from what he didn't realise was an empty Northern Rock bank, he accidentally ran over him.

"The sentence is six years."

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

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