Written by matwil

Sunday, 29 November 2009

image for 'The Case of the Funny American Writer' 'Humour and satire will one day evolve in America. Til then, we're stuck with 'Friends' and endless articles about organs'

'I say, Holmes', Dr. Watson said, as he finished his 73rd boiled egg at the breakfast table in 233d Baker Street whilst reading The Times, 'deuced disturbing news!' 'What is it, Watson?', the famous sleuth rejoindered, as he attacked his fourteenth poached egg of the morning.

'Scotland Yard say that an American writer has been caught being humourous! Surely it can't be true!' 'Watson', Holmes, said, 'we must investigate this at once, just as soon as we have finished this 8-course breakfast. More kippers, Mrs. Doyle-Carte!'

A few hours later, after they had slept off their breakfast, Holmes and Watson arrived at the American Embassy in Eaton Square, and knocked on the door there. 'Knock, knock', said Dr. Watson, and 'Who's there?' came the reply from behind the door. 'A funny American writer.' 'Oh sure, wise guy, more limey jokers, you'd better come in, sirs.'

'Now', the US Marine said to them, 'you are now under the protection, in this building, of the mightiest country in the world, the defender of freedom and democracy, the United States of -' 'Less of it, please', Sherlock Holmes said, 'unlike Americans we British are too busy running the world to waffle on about it.'

'Now, it has come to my attention that an American author has scandalously dared to be amusing, to be satirical, and to be witty.' 'OK.' 'And has stopped taking himself or being American too seriously.' 'What! Let me just tell you, sir, that our fine country has -' Rapping the soldier on his head with his walking stick to shut him up, Holmes continued.

'Of course you Americans have made the world laugh for decades now, with your cartoon Presidents and being used as target practice by amateur bandits across the planet, and you're all still stuck in the 1700s, believing you're important. But that does not allow a citizen of the New World to be witty, and certainly doesn't allow him to laugh about America. That's our job. Come, Watson, the Ambassador will see us now', and soon the pair were in the Ambassador's office.

'Ferrero Rocher chocolate?', he asked them, 'no? OK, now, you'd better have a pretty good darned reason for storming into my study just as I'm trying to learn to spell English properly. Been tryin' to do that for 233 years now, still can't get the hang of it.' 'We've come here to ask you about the alleged funny American writer that The Times mentioned this morning', Dr. Watson said to him, 'and no, we don't mean Gary Trudeau.'

'No, this American managed to find humour -' 'Humor?' 'HumoUr. Humour out of a nation of colonials who after hundreds of years still speak a colonial language badly, have never invented anything, keep losing wars for other people, and worship a dreadful-looking flag, but believe they're somehow the most important nation in the world! Hahahaha!'

'I find nothing humorous in your statement, sir.' 'Well, you wouldn't, would you?', Holmes pointed out. 'This is tedious, Watson, I fear the culprit is not in this building. The one funny American must be further afield, let us go to Bristol', and soon they were in that city that once was the centre of the world's slave trade.

'Let us ask the natives here if they have met a funny American writer', Holmes said. 'Excuse me', he said to a passing yokel, 'we are looking for an American that is humourous.' 'Oi not be knowin' what ye be taalkin' aboit, sir, perhaps you oughter be readin' a noospaper.' 'You fool!', Holmes shouted at the yokel, 'we read the papers this morning! Now begone, you scurrilous son of the soil!', and tugging his forelock the yokel was begone eftsoons.

'Dashed difficult case this, Holmes', Watson said, 'wouldn't it be easier if we took a boat from here to America? There may be more chance of finding the funny American there.' 'Pointless, Watson, there are no funny Americans in America. No, we must now go to Tewksbury-under-the-Table to seek further clues.' 'Is that near Chipping Bramblingbury?' 'No, it's close to Upper Lymeswick-cum-Hortlehamptonfield-super-Marketry. Taxi!', and soon they were in ye olde quainte town of Tewksbury-under-the-Table.

'But why are we here, Holmes?', the doctor asked that sleuth, 'why oh why oh why oh why oh why?' 'You can stop sounding like a letter in The Daily Mail, Watson, all shall be revealed', and their cab pulled up at The Gnarled Mistlethrush pub in the town's High Street.

Entering the lounge bar Holmes quickly ordered eight pints of Ferret's Socks light ale, and a glass of ginger beer for Dr. Watson, and soon the detective was singing 'Roll Out The Barrel!' and drunkenly fell off his chair a few times. 'Ish not fair', he slurred, 'forgot to bring my co - my co - my thingy. Need more drink for my brainshells to ...', and fell into a deep sleep on the bar floor.

'It is now up to me to solve the case', the doctor muttered to himself, 'Holmes said the clue to finding the humourous American was here in Tewksbury-under-the-Table. But where?', and he bought a pickled hamster to help him think more clearly.

'That'll be thruppence ha'penny, please', the wenchling behind the bar said to him. 'What! But pickled hamsters are usually a penny each!' 'I know, sirr, but it be the off season for them furry creatures. If you prefers it we 'ave toasted nail clippings or whatever the cat brought in this morning.' 'No, a hamster will do nicely, thank you, miss. I don't suppose a funny American has been in here today?'

'Funny you should say that, there was one such man 'ere earlier on. He were makin' jokes about something called the twin towers and a place that be called vietnam or such. And about some people called Bush and Palin, dunno what he were meaning, but some of the regulars thought it were funny.' 'Aha!' 'Aha?' 'Oho, then, if you wish.' Oh.' 'No, oho.' 'Oh.' 'No! Oho!' 'I know, I were just saying 'Oh' to your 'Oho''. 'Oh, OK then. Will this American be back, do you think?'

'That's for me to know and you to find out', the barmaid said, winking at him, and Watson knew that he might be sidetracked by this attractive girl with a 34D chest in a tight silk blouse, that just fitted her perfectly to show the right amount of her cleavage that - 'Anything else I can do for you, sir?'

'Ahem, er, no thank you, I shall wait for the American to appear', and he returned to his seat beside Sherlock Holmes, who was now snoring and twitching like a sleeping dog. 'It's Moriarty!', he suddenly mumbled, 'my nemesis, my, my my Delilah! Tum tum tumty tumty tumty tum!', then burped and began snoring again.

As the hours passed by Dr. Watson also began drinking tankards of ale to fill in the time, and soon he was also drunk. 'Let me jusht tell you', he said to the barmaid, 'tell you thish. Your chesht is like the Mancheshter United team!' 'Is it?' 'Yesh. It's strong at the back, full in the middle, and has a nice pointed attack!' 'Hahahaha, sir! Another point?' 'Two points is enough for any girl, hahahaha!' 'Point of ale', the bar girl tittered, but pointed to the notice behind the bar that read 'No Double-Entendres If You Please, Loik'.

After another seven pints of Old Throgglehurst's Compost Heaples best bitter, Dr. Watson decided to switch to whisky. 'Give me a large Glen Dajackson malt, mish, if you would be so - be so, well, you know.' 'Comin' right up.'

'And let me just say another thing here. We set out to find the one funny American on thish planet, and we will find that man or my name ishn't Shlartibartfasht O'Tenneshee de la Mishishippippi of Longshtockingham!' 'Very good, sir.' 'You may think I have drunk enough, well I haven't! By the Great Prophet of South Peckham, I -' and promptly collapsed unconscious on the carpet.

'Shame that', thought the young barmaid, 'if they'd just asked me what the only funny American writer's name was I would have told them it was Mark Twain, but now the pair of then are paralytically bevvied he'll be long gone back to America by the time they wake up.'

'So this tale is just fizzling out in an anti-climactic sort of way, I suppose ...'. And so it did ...

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

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