Written by Earl Grey

Sunday, 24 January 2010


The story you are trying to access may cause offense, may be in poor taste, or may contain subject matter of a graphic nature. This story was written as a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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image for Murder On The Nevky Express
"All Aboard!"

Inspector "Cap' Morse sighed. Here he was sitting in his luxurious compartment on the Nevsky Express. It was the maiden journey of the new top of the range train. Morse was not excited, however, as he was more of a naval man and he longed for Portsmouth dock and the girl he left behind. Normally a little Belgian chap took the train jobs but the agency had insisted that Morse should make this journey.

The Nevsky Express dripped decadence from every angle. Gold and diamond fixtures and fittings. Elegant compartments and spacious bathrooms, it had it all. Morse,though,knew that if he was there then a murder was bound to happen. It was always the way. Look at Oxford, the murder capital of the world, just because he was sent there by the agency.

The agency. A mysterious organisation who only ever contacted Morse by carrier parrott. And not a very nice parrott either. "Bollocks" was all it ever said and he had a hell of a job trying to read the messages which were hidden up the parrott's arse.

Morse left his compartment and headed to the bar. "I need a drink and then some dinner" he said to himself. He strolled to the buffet car. At the bar sat Bargis. This guy was an American businessman. He was big in prophylactics and wanted to cover the Russian market. Morse nodded to the stool next to Bargis "Anybody sat here?" he asked. "Help yourself. Do you want to buy a packet of three?" replied Bargis. Morse did not. He would stay loyal to the girl he left behind at Portsmouth dicks. Her name was Skoob and she was a big girl. She was big because of a fungal infection on her chest, but Morse loved her anyway.

"When does the train leave Moscow?" asked Bargis. "Not for another twenty minutes" replied Morse. Just then Father Fergus entered the buffet car seeking his daily glass of stout. The Irish priest was on his way to see the Patriach with an important message from Rome. Everybody knew this because Father Fergus had overindulged in the communion wine and talked far too much. "God bless all and down the hatch!" And down the hatch it went!

Morse sighed again. It was going to be a long trip to St Petersburg!

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

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