Gertrude Henkel
03-24-2013, 04:17 PM
A Fistful Of Soup..
Jimmy the bipolar whale, dragged himself off the sofa and went to answer the door. The doorbell had been ringing for some considerable amount of time and whomever it was on the other side of it had begun to bang impatiently on the glass. Jimmy thought they would give up after a while, most people would give up soon enough if their actions seemed useless or futile or just a waste of oxygen. Jimmy was a tremendous waste of oxygen; and he knew it.
The incessant ringing, banging, shouting and general chaos would soon stop he told himself. Eventually, whomever it was would get tired or bored or both and just **** it all off, go to the pub and maybe try again some other day. Jimmy hoped they wouldn't try again another day. Someone had been banging and shouting and ringing the doorbell most of yesterday afternoon as well, and the day before that. It had woken him up first thing in the afternoon nearly every day this week and Jimmy had decided he had had enough. Jimmy would give whomever it was a damn good piece of his mind, probably. Well, maybe. Hopefully.
Failing that he could give them that piece of cheese that had been lying around in the back of the fridge for the past couple of years. That'd see them off, the smell of it alone would clear a crowded shopping centre faster than an Arab with a backpack. In fact, Jimmy was quite sure it had tried to speak to him on one occasion, but it may have just been the fumes from that faulty gas fire he had found in the skip round the back of Morrisons which was still waiting to get fixed.
Presently, Jimmy found himself nearing his rather rude and obnoxious front door. It kept the world out to an extent, and if the curtains were drawn tightly shut all day the house had a kind of claustrophobic, in-a-box type isolation feel to it, which Jimmy quite liked and was happy about. This front door, however, would let in the sounds of anything outside of it, sounds that Jimmy didn't like. Birds singing. Children laughing. Bailiffs screaming threats through the letterbox, that sort of thing.
Jimmy opened the door, just a crack and peered out. Bleary-eyed and blinking in the dazzling sunlight.
“Mr. Whale?” inquired the little man, who stood in the doorway. “May I come in?”
Natural light streamed in through the open door and burned the back of Jimmy's eyes. He squinted.
“No, sorry you must have the wrong house.” Said Jimmy.
“Isn't that your van parked in the driveway, with your name and address written on it?” asked the little man, as he twirled at a rather impressive moustache.
“No, someone must have left it here by mistake.” Jimmy replied.
“I see, so you aren't Jimmy Whale, Children's Entertainer Extraordinaire?” The little man asked.
“No, you clearly have the wrong house,” Jimmy said. “Good day.”
He tried to shut the front door, only to find the little man's superbly polished shoe preventing him from doing so. He caught a glimpse of his own bloodshot eyes and general scruffiness in the mirror-like shine. His stomach turned.
“Mr Whale,” continued the little man. “Your picture is on the side of the van. Granted, you look a little different in your soiled underclothes, but it is clearly you. May I come in, please.”
“What is this about?” asked Jimmy.
“The matter I am here to discuss with you, Mr Whale, is of a very delicate nature.” Said the little man, ”Perhaps you and I could converse with one another over a cup of tea in your sitting room and not here on the doorstep.”
“You're not selling anything are you?” Jimmy asked, “I have enough crap.”
“I am not a salesman, Mr Whale. I am here on tremendously important business, you should a least listen to what I have to say.” said the little man somewhat gruffly.
“I suppose you'd better come in then.” resigned Jimmy, as he let the little man into the dirty little crapfest he called his home.
Jimmy showed the little man into the sitting room and sloped off to the kitchen to make a pot of tea.
The little man stood in the dingy, squalid room and looked around. Jimmy obviously hadn't been looking after himself very well for a long time. Empty food wrappers and takeaway cartons lay strewn across the floor amid the many pairs of stained underwear. A stack of dirty plates stood precariously in a corner near an old, battered armchair, which seemed to be soaked in bodily fluids and God knows what else. Jimmy had quite obviously run out of clean dishes to eat out of and had resorted to using coffee mugs and teacups. The little man investigated the contents of a dusty beaker and rather wished he hadn't.
Jimmy entered with the tea.
“I'm afraid the milk's gone a bit lumpy, but I've picked out the fluffy bits, it should be fine.”
He set the tea tray down upon a teetering stack of Entertainment Weekly magazines, which had several strange varieties of mushroom growing upon them.
“It's quite alright,” said the little man, “I shall take mine without.”
Jimmy flopped down into the armchair with a squelch and gestured towards a stool.
“If I'd have been expecting visitors, I would've cleared that up. There's a chair over in the corner if you'd like to sit down.”
“Thank you” said the little man, moving a dirty sock which he found to be stuck to a half eaten box of sugar puffs, which in turn, was stuck to what appeared to be the desiccated remains of a badger. Feeling slightly sick, he threw these to one side and sat down.
Jimmy noticed the man's attire, his suit had been cut from the most exquisite cloth and obviously by a very fine tailor, his shirt, crisply starched with the most dazzling diamond cuff links. His hair was neatly trimmed and styled and his posture and general demeanour suggested an upbringing of noble origins and lessons in elocution and etiquette. Everything about this man screamed class and sophistication and Jimmy was quite unnerved by the fact that a man of such obvious eloquence wouldn't have thought to introduce himself sooner. Jimmy had already let the man into his house and offered him tea, he was just about to question this when the little man cleared his throat and spoke.
“Mr Whale,” the little man began “I have yet to introduce myself.”
He stopped and smiled and sat silent for a full minute and a half. Jimmy was again just about to speak when the little man continued.
“I am Clarence Poncewombleby-Smythe, It's pronounced 'pumice', but if you saw it written down you'd probably read it completely differently. I only mention this so that if you do happen to see it written down and wonder how it might be pronounced, you will know.” He paused for breath. “I work for a party that wishes to remain anonymous.”
“I don't do parties anymore.” Interrupted Jimmy. “Mentally ill clowns aren't very popular, except in Belgium for some reason.”
“No, you misunderstand.” said Clarence. “My employers seek not your services as a children's entertainer, but wish to employ you for your unique talents.”
“And what would they be?” inquired Jimmy popping a handful of Xanax into his mouth and washing them down with a gulp of lumpy tea.
“You're a sea mammal. My employer has great need of your services.”
“If they're the kind of 'services' I think you mean, you can **** right off.”
“My employer's requests are not of a sexual nature, Mr Whale. Of that, I can assure you.”
Suddenly a huge explosion rocked the house. The windows were blown out by the force of the blast and Jimmy and Clarence were knocked clean out of their chairs and into the scum that covered the carpet. The pair lay in the filth, slipping in and out of consciousness, whilst fire took hold of the building.
Fin..
Jimmy the bipolar whale, dragged himself off the sofa and went to answer the door. The doorbell had been ringing for some considerable amount of time and whomever it was on the other side of it had begun to bang impatiently on the glass. Jimmy thought they would give up after a while, most people would give up soon enough if their actions seemed useless or futile or just a waste of oxygen. Jimmy was a tremendous waste of oxygen; and he knew it.
The incessant ringing, banging, shouting and general chaos would soon stop he told himself. Eventually, whomever it was would get tired or bored or both and just **** it all off, go to the pub and maybe try again some other day. Jimmy hoped they wouldn't try again another day. Someone had been banging and shouting and ringing the doorbell most of yesterday afternoon as well, and the day before that. It had woken him up first thing in the afternoon nearly every day this week and Jimmy had decided he had had enough. Jimmy would give whomever it was a damn good piece of his mind, probably. Well, maybe. Hopefully.
Failing that he could give them that piece of cheese that had been lying around in the back of the fridge for the past couple of years. That'd see them off, the smell of it alone would clear a crowded shopping centre faster than an Arab with a backpack. In fact, Jimmy was quite sure it had tried to speak to him on one occasion, but it may have just been the fumes from that faulty gas fire he had found in the skip round the back of Morrisons which was still waiting to get fixed.
Presently, Jimmy found himself nearing his rather rude and obnoxious front door. It kept the world out to an extent, and if the curtains were drawn tightly shut all day the house had a kind of claustrophobic, in-a-box type isolation feel to it, which Jimmy quite liked and was happy about. This front door, however, would let in the sounds of anything outside of it, sounds that Jimmy didn't like. Birds singing. Children laughing. Bailiffs screaming threats through the letterbox, that sort of thing.
Jimmy opened the door, just a crack and peered out. Bleary-eyed and blinking in the dazzling sunlight.
“Mr. Whale?” inquired the little man, who stood in the doorway. “May I come in?”
Natural light streamed in through the open door and burned the back of Jimmy's eyes. He squinted.
“No, sorry you must have the wrong house.” Said Jimmy.
“Isn't that your van parked in the driveway, with your name and address written on it?” asked the little man, as he twirled at a rather impressive moustache.
“No, someone must have left it here by mistake.” Jimmy replied.
“I see, so you aren't Jimmy Whale, Children's Entertainer Extraordinaire?” The little man asked.
“No, you clearly have the wrong house,” Jimmy said. “Good day.”
He tried to shut the front door, only to find the little man's superbly polished shoe preventing him from doing so. He caught a glimpse of his own bloodshot eyes and general scruffiness in the mirror-like shine. His stomach turned.
“Mr Whale,” continued the little man. “Your picture is on the side of the van. Granted, you look a little different in your soiled underclothes, but it is clearly you. May I come in, please.”
“What is this about?” asked Jimmy.
“The matter I am here to discuss with you, Mr Whale, is of a very delicate nature.” Said the little man, ”Perhaps you and I could converse with one another over a cup of tea in your sitting room and not here on the doorstep.”
“You're not selling anything are you?” Jimmy asked, “I have enough crap.”
“I am not a salesman, Mr Whale. I am here on tremendously important business, you should a least listen to what I have to say.” said the little man somewhat gruffly.
“I suppose you'd better come in then.” resigned Jimmy, as he let the little man into the dirty little crapfest he called his home.
Jimmy showed the little man into the sitting room and sloped off to the kitchen to make a pot of tea.
The little man stood in the dingy, squalid room and looked around. Jimmy obviously hadn't been looking after himself very well for a long time. Empty food wrappers and takeaway cartons lay strewn across the floor amid the many pairs of stained underwear. A stack of dirty plates stood precariously in a corner near an old, battered armchair, which seemed to be soaked in bodily fluids and God knows what else. Jimmy had quite obviously run out of clean dishes to eat out of and had resorted to using coffee mugs and teacups. The little man investigated the contents of a dusty beaker and rather wished he hadn't.
Jimmy entered with the tea.
“I'm afraid the milk's gone a bit lumpy, but I've picked out the fluffy bits, it should be fine.”
He set the tea tray down upon a teetering stack of Entertainment Weekly magazines, which had several strange varieties of mushroom growing upon them.
“It's quite alright,” said the little man, “I shall take mine without.”
Jimmy flopped down into the armchair with a squelch and gestured towards a stool.
“If I'd have been expecting visitors, I would've cleared that up. There's a chair over in the corner if you'd like to sit down.”
“Thank you” said the little man, moving a dirty sock which he found to be stuck to a half eaten box of sugar puffs, which in turn, was stuck to what appeared to be the desiccated remains of a badger. Feeling slightly sick, he threw these to one side and sat down.
Jimmy noticed the man's attire, his suit had been cut from the most exquisite cloth and obviously by a very fine tailor, his shirt, crisply starched with the most dazzling diamond cuff links. His hair was neatly trimmed and styled and his posture and general demeanour suggested an upbringing of noble origins and lessons in elocution and etiquette. Everything about this man screamed class and sophistication and Jimmy was quite unnerved by the fact that a man of such obvious eloquence wouldn't have thought to introduce himself sooner. Jimmy had already let the man into his house and offered him tea, he was just about to question this when the little man cleared his throat and spoke.
“Mr Whale,” the little man began “I have yet to introduce myself.”
He stopped and smiled and sat silent for a full minute and a half. Jimmy was again just about to speak when the little man continued.
“I am Clarence Poncewombleby-Smythe, It's pronounced 'pumice', but if you saw it written down you'd probably read it completely differently. I only mention this so that if you do happen to see it written down and wonder how it might be pronounced, you will know.” He paused for breath. “I work for a party that wishes to remain anonymous.”
“I don't do parties anymore.” Interrupted Jimmy. “Mentally ill clowns aren't very popular, except in Belgium for some reason.”
“No, you misunderstand.” said Clarence. “My employers seek not your services as a children's entertainer, but wish to employ you for your unique talents.”
“And what would they be?” inquired Jimmy popping a handful of Xanax into his mouth and washing them down with a gulp of lumpy tea.
“You're a sea mammal. My employer has great need of your services.”
“If they're the kind of 'services' I think you mean, you can **** right off.”
“My employer's requests are not of a sexual nature, Mr Whale. Of that, I can assure you.”
Suddenly a huge explosion rocked the house. The windows were blown out by the force of the blast and Jimmy and Clarence were knocked clean out of their chairs and into the scum that covered the carpet. The pair lay in the filth, slipping in and out of consciousness, whilst fire took hold of the building.
Fin..