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For Your Pies Only - 5


"Popeye"

By Dr. B
May 26 2006

We join the action with our heroic septet gathered in the Fat Cave ready to begin their dangerous mission to bring the Pussycat Empire to its knees. Mankey had been working overtime on Tino to add sidecars, a pillion seat for 0007 and a large walk-in wardrobe to accommodate the vast amount of clothing that Alison planned to take for Micky. LouchTine (to be abbreviated to Louchy) was sat happily in one of the sidecars, beaming at all and sundry whilst being glowered at by Hergan who evidently viewed Louchy with some degree of distrust.

Alison was still engaged in trying to get Micky to wear a Falcons’ thong under his offensively-hued training shorts to “see how it would fit the larger of the cheerleaders” but Micky was having none of it.

“Ye’re havin’ a jerk if ye think ah’m putting that anal dental floss anywhere near mar goolies like!” spluttered Micky, viewing the miniscule piece of underwear as an affront to his Geordie masculinity.

Giving up on the thong idea, Alison threw the article of ‘clothing’ into one of the sidecars and vowed to ensure someone tried it out before the Fellowship reached Welford Road. This act woke up Skywalker Gross who, in best feline style, had curled up in the footwell of one of the sidecars for a short nap. The sight of Gross’ head peering above the wing of the sidecar draped in a very scanty piece of logo-emblazoned underwear screamed “PHOTO OPPORTUNITY” to Louchy who immediately leaped to his feet, snapping furiously with his camera in an attempt to catch a Falcons lock with female panties on his head.

“Aaaaaarrrrrgggghhhh!” screamed Gross, staggering to his impressive full height of thirteen feet six inches, promptly tripping over the wing of the sidecar and smashing his head with savage force into the metallic grid of the cavern floor.

“Get up like, you big gurl’s blooz man!” exhorted Ward happily. “That’s nothing but a scratch ……”
There was no response from the unconscious leviathan slumped on the floor, claret leaking from his head in a worrying stream.

“Come on man! Ah’ve had worrs than that when Walts hits us with sledgehammers, you git big baby …..”

Nothing seemed to work. The hour of departure for Fortress Welford Road was imminent and one of the key members of the team, the tall lookout to see over obstructions and moderate-sized buildings, was laid unfeeling on the floor.

“You’re going to have to pick a replacement 0007,” began W quietly before he was rudely interrupted by Mankey:

“I know the very man for the job! He’s tall, nearly as ugly as Skywalker and will break up the tension between Hergan and Louchy … how about Andy ‘Popeye’ Perry?”

This outburst brought an immediate cessation to Louchy’s camera capering.

“Perry?” Louchy questioned curiously.

Mankey was adamant. “Yes, Perry. Who better to act as tall person and hired muscle than an ex-Marine?”

“Indeed,” muttered Louchy darkly into his camera case.

Perry summoned, the Fellowship gathered together at the secret back door of the Fat Cave (just over the training pitches at Bullocksteads, behind some trees).

“Seven companions,” announced Walts in a rather more dramatic voice than was necessary, “Seven companions indeed. You shall be known as the Fellowship of the Pi Eta. Good luck to you all. Come back safe and don’t forget to bring me Oz Tin’s wig back as a memento!”

With that, Tino stuttered into life; Mankey behind the wheel, 0007 riding pillion, Louchy and Perry occupying one sidecar and sharing an intimate silence whilst Alison and Mick took the left flank in a sidecar already emblazoned with corporate logos, sketches for new, truly hideous merchandise and its own private number plate “CA5H”.

Mankey had managed to ‘borrow’ a rather fetching flying helmet, complete with leather-framed goggles and a wired aviator scarf from James Grindal’s car boot. There was a whole load of other exciting possibilities in that bag marked “FUN STUFF”, including a gimp suit and a French Maid’s outfit, but Mankey had evidently gone for the more covert route.

“Which way to Gloucester?” yelled Mankey over the roar of Tino’s throaty five microwatt motor, which was already struggling under the weight of the Fellowship.

“We’re gannin’ tae Lesster!” screamed Ward into Mankey’s ear, “and I divvent mind which way ye gan as lang as wor stoppin’ at the Maccie D’s near Kath’s hoose. Ah’m storvin’!”

With that, Mankey put the pedal to the plastic and the Fellowship crawled onto Brunton Road and began the Journey South (having borrowed some CDs from Mankey’s friend ShucknJive who apparently had decent taste in music). We take leave of the Fellowship for the time being, with the image of a slavering 0007 hanging over one side of Tino, drooling into Alison’s lap and repeating the “I’m luvvin’ it” mantra of his second favourite fast food outlet.


TO BE CONTINUED ..........

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