The SNOGGO Saga

PART ONE: "SNOGGO's Space Journey" In which we first meet SNOGGO and we join him in a futuristic trip into the depths of outer space.1

Cruising through space, looking out of the space porthole, seeing the planets passing by, jesus fucking christ we were so excited, all those fucking planets, what a fucking staggering sight. Sharon, our Captain (at three foot six and twenty-one and a half stone [300 lb] an imposing looking woman, though slightly stout), bellowed out her order: 'Prepare to descend, you mothers!'2

So most of us stopped shagging and we started preparations for the descent onto the surface of the treacherous unknown planet Bollox (aka Big Bollox on account of there having been a mix up in naming newly discovered planets and so the universe had ended up with three planets all called Bollox) - as I was saying, the planet Bollox on which no fucking human ever, ever, ever trod on before. Wow, this was fucking exciting.3

The zonometer showed we were only 3,000 feet above the surface of the unknown planet....2,900, 2,800, 2,700, 2,600, 2,500, 2,400...... You got the fucking picture? BLAM!! We landed. The fucking zonometer was inaccurate, but that's what happens when you buy cheap Asian imports at a fucking discount.4

Captain Sharon went through the full three-hour post-landing, pre-disembarkation procedure whilst I was shitting. I did an enormous one, very smelly and utterly horrible. She was waiting at the door when I finished and she was clearly very constipated. She rushed into the shithouse.5

Now it was time to disembark onto the unknown surface of the unknown planet Bollox. The stratodoor opened and we were overwhelmed by the stench which hit our fucking nostrils toute de suite: purest shit. What kind of people were the Bolloxonians who couldn't even organise a decent sewage system?6

I was chosen (on account of my club foot and my famous luminous purple cock ring) to be among the first to descend onto Bollox's surface. It was cool and I limped heroically onto the planet's surface. We explored a bit, being careful not to step on the huge piles of used condoms everywhere. The terrain was hideous and eldritch, a bit like my Aunt Edna's bedroom after she's been entertaining the local retards for a gangbang shag-in.7

We saw this thing. My mind could not immediately recognise it for its utter, brain-blowing horror. I cannot tell you what it was, the words fail me, my intellect goes into shut-down mode. O holy fuck it was ghastly. All right, I'll tell you what it was. It was a THREE HUNDRED FOOT TURD, all covered in oozing pus and vibrating worms.8

The crew of the our spaceship were enraptured and I was nearly killed in the scrum to get stuck in to this mighty beauty. We had travelled three light years, crossed fifty galaxies, battled twelve-inch penised space midgets for the right to feast on this great turd.9

What can I say? How can I describe the mighty cry that rose up from the assembled crew as they started to gobble the giant space poo lump....? 'YUM! YUM! YUM! YUM! YUM! YUM!' they shrieked orgasmically, pissing themselves in well-earned contentment. I think we must agree that it was delicious and well worth the journey. 10

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PART TWO: “SNOGGO Meets The Slavering Beast” In which we learn more of SNOGGO’s bravery in the face of terror and we also hear of his good taste in clothes.12

Midnight. A country road. Silence. Except for the wind sighing in the trees. A sickle moon peeped out from behind a slow moving cloud. I glanced around nervously as I walked along. Why should I be nervous? What was there to be nervous about? Why should I, a six foot four inches, beautifully proportioned specimen of manhood, muscular, brave and incredibly handsome be nervous? Phooey! It was not as though there had been many murders on this stretch of lonely desolate country road which I just happened to be walking along. I shrugged off my childish fears. With a shrug. Well, all right, there had been a few killings last week, including the multiple one where three fit adults, armed to the teeth and wearing armour-plated vests, had had their fucking throats ripped out. But last week had been a particularly bad week round this district. The week before had been better I seemed to recall. Or had it? Memory played tricks when you were sweating with slight nervousness. 13

I walked on moderately fearlessly, casting an eye over my shoulder just in case the person they called the Slavering Beast just happened to be there. But he wasn't, so I kept on walking (just like Felix in the song). The moon shone as I walked slowly down the road, my sandals occasionally squelching in a horse turd and then the moon slipped behind a dark cloud. It was as dark as night. Well, it was night, so that's not so surprising. 14

Then out of nowhere it came. With a dreadful suddenness I was seized from behind; I smelled the hideous stench of the creature's breath: stale garlic, mixed with rampant tooth decay. I felt his teeth on the back of my neck, ripping and gouging, biting viciously into my shoulder and seriously damaging my cashmere pullover. It was time for some goddam no holds barred action! Quick as a flash I swung round, smashed him one in the face with the mighty club I was carrying (did I mention the club before?) and I beheld him: the so-called Slavering Beast stood before me, slavering and looking fucking surprised in the moonlight, the lunar rays glinting on his dog collar (did I mention the moon had come out again?). And I rained down blow after blow on the Slavering Beast until he lay still on the lonely country road, as dead as a doornail. "Take that!" I shrieked, giving him a damned good kick in the ear as he lay there. 15

And that is the ghastly tale of how SNOGGO the great and fearless hero killed the not-so-bloody-clever-after-all Slavering Beast.16

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PART THREE: "SNOGGO Meets A Terrifying Monster And Conquers It Without Too Much Trouble" In which we discover SNOGGO has a political agenda as well as a sense of humour.18

That fucking dangerous horrific and scary beast would not terrify me. Who was I? Some little stupid fucking weedy spastic? No, I was the great fearless SNOGGO! Yes! Yes! Yes! I was the magnificent SNOGGO who had faced (without flinching much) so many humunguously terrifying events! So I picked up the mighty hammer and struck out fearlessly: 'Wham! Thump! Crash! Boom!' I gave the beast a fucking great bashing.19

I was enraged yet not terrified more than was absolutely necessary. Did you erroneously imagine I was just some little weedy wimp afraid of attacking a terrible adversary without a platoon of Hummers (whatever they may fucking be) full of mercenaries recruited from the slum trailer parks of Hades? 'Take that you stupid evil cunty ideologue!' I yelled, 'Take that! And that! Fucking take that!'20

My God, I bashed that vile and 100% hideous creature fucking senseless. I was so fucking brave, just as brave as the worthless shits who will soon be called heroic veterans killing innocent Iraqis in Falluja, God bugger them. I was incandescent. I was SUPER-FUCKING SNOGGO! I would triumph over adversity in the name of fucking freedom's fucking bell! Ding-dong!21

As so it came to pass that, finally after a tremendous struggle in which I nearly lost a fingernail, the immature pink dwarf hamster lay lifeless before me, squashed into a puddle reminiscent of a flattened dead hairy ripe tomato. 'Bring it on, you goddam pansy,' I bravely thought as I sucked my comrade's flaccid cock eagerly as we cowered bravely in a burnt-out mosque. He trembled marvellously in his short black skirt.22

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PART FOUR: "SNOGGO in Transylvania" In which SNOGGO goes back in time in search of the darkest of dark secrets and we find out about his rampant heterosexuality.23

The noise of the coach wheels changed as the cobblestones began. I looked out of the window: we seemed to be entering a small country village. The map hadn't shown any settlements before we reached Karstadt so I was somewhat surprised. The village appeared a poor one, dilapidated cottages mostly with their windows shuttered against the coming cold winter's night. Occasionally, a broken shutter allowed a dim gleam from an oil lamp to show. I saw no one in the streets, although it was still no more than five o'clock.24

The coach drew up in front of the door of an inn just as the sun dipped below the roofs of the village houses in the square. I leaned out of the window to ask the coachman why we had stopped. 'Most esteemed Sir, we cannot go any further tonight,' answered the coachman, 'It is too dark. It will not be safe. The horses may stumble.' I remonstrated and explained I must be in Karstadt for the morning: I had an important appointment with a Jewish condom wholesaler who would be very bloody annoyed if I were late and who would be less likely to offer a good deal. But it was useless; the stupid peasant pig was adamant. Even a generous bribe would not move him. The horses neighed, the stupid bloody brutes; they seemed nervous. It was not a good omen.25

The coachman descended from his pillion, opened the door for me and motioned for me to get out. "Get out, cunt," he said. I looked at the inn in resignation; it seemed respectable enough and, to tell the truth, I was tired and hungry. Herr Isaak von Krappenschwanzchen, Preservatif-Spezialist Extraordinaire in Karstadt would have to forgive me for my lateness in the morning. I indicated to the driver which cases I required and he preceded me into the inn, whose name I could just make out on the creaking sign: "Am Hof der Fledermaus".26

As I entered the inn my nostrils were immediately assailed by an overpowering stench of stale bodies, stale beer, stale food, stale farts and, above all, stale garlic. What a fucking pong! The parlour was empty apart from two hideous old peasants who looked up from their steins of beer to nod in greeting. Severely downmarket, but beggars couldn't be choosers. Christ alone knew what the latrines would be like. I could feel my bowels quivering with trepidation.27

The landlord showed us up to our rooms, mine the best he could offer, a large and clean chamber facing the village square, the coachman's fuck knows where, I did not care a twopenny toss. He could sleep in the pigsty for all I cared.28

After a truly disgusting supper of what the landlord claimed was roast deer, but which tasted more like overcooked doormat smothered in some vile stomach-churning shitty sauce, accompanied by several buckets of what he laughingly thought was wine, I retired, belching repellently and farting like a constipated negro slave. I fully expected a night broken by retching and diarrhoea thanks to the efforts of the worst cook in Transylvania, damn his eternal soul.29

Once in my chamber, I glanced out of the window; a full moon was casting its baleful light over the empty square and a dog howled plaintively. Or was it a wolf in the mountains? Or even a werewolf, after all this was fucking Transylvania. I burped loudly and the noise echoed round the village square. Bugger me, that felt better.30

I drew the heavy curtains but they did not meet fully (probably bought mail order) and the moon shone into my room. I prepared myself for bed in my normal fastidious way: my bladder was full from dinner and I evacuated it noisily but pleasurably into a cracked chamber pot. I have often noted that a good piss is one of life's simplest but most sublime joys. I decided against a dump, preferring to kip on a full colon. I climbed into the old damp bed, anticipating a long wait before sleep came but, exhausted, I soon dozed off, farting stentoriously and biliously.31

I know not for how long I slept, nor what wakened me. But I do know that when I woke from my boozy slumbers, I immediately realised I was not alone. Someone else was in the chamber. I opened my eyes cautiously and beheld a wondrous sight: standing by the doorway was the landlord's daughter, the lovely Magda, a sweet and docile buxom beauty, whose cute plump arse I had fondled absentmindedly during supper. She was stark bollock naked and my eyes took in her pendulous breasts and her voluptuously plump thighs with a combination of surprise, relish and unbridled lust.32

'Would the master care to fuck me?' she enquired demurely, to which I could only reply, 'Do bears shit in the woods, baby?'. And so she closed the door and climbed into the bed with me. But I felt something was amiss and, as I leaned to kiss her parted ruby lips, the moonlight glinted on her burning red eyes and elongated canines. Fuck me, Magda was only a vampire, come to drain my life's blood!33

Quick as a flash I challenged her: 'You dirty bat! The garlic! How could a creature such as you survive the garlic? The whole inn reeks of garlic and, after your father's obscene meal, my breath is putrid with it!'34

'Fairy tales,' Magda laughed evilly, 'I'm immune to that garlic shit!' But she was not immune to the wooden stake I had carefully hidden under my pillow and which I now drove deep into her evil vampiric heart with a single mighty blow from the hammer which I always keep in my nightgown pocket specifically for such emergencies.35

'Take that, you satanic fucker!' I declaimed in sardonic triumph. Then, before my very eyes, the voluptuous Magda shrivelled up into a wizened old crone, an old slag you wouldn't want to poke if she were the last female on the earth. Wow, what a fucking transformation! It fair took my breath away. And that is the true tale of how the legend of SNOGGO the valiant, indeed fearless, vampire slayer was born. 36

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PART FIVE: "SNOGGO's Terrible Revenge On His Brother Egbert The Adulterer"In which we hear of SNOGGO’s matrimonial problems and his solution to the cause of those sad tribulations.38

It was midnight. I came out of the restaurant where I had just enjoyed a delicious, but lonely, meal. Since the death of my dear wife of 38 years, MRS SNOGGO, two weeks earlier, I had eaten out most nights as (in her absence) the washing-up had piled up a bit. I glanced round the deserted streets, deserted except for the piles of refuse waiting collection and the odd scavenging rat. 39

It was a cool night and I shivered slightly; only from the cold, not from fear or nervousness, I hasten to add. Few things frighten me, for I am the fearless SNOGGO, hero of many an exciting adventure. Over the past twenty-four hours I had come to a most important resolution: I would kill the most hated person in my universe. I refer to my brother, Egbert. Egbert is two years older than I and he is a hunchback, but that is not why I hate him, although it is a bonus. I have always envied him his wealth and I have also resented the fact that he had been screwing my dear wife (the late Mrs SNOGGO) for the past 37 years. But, now that she is no longer around to be upset by his death, his time had come.40

So I walked slowly and determinedly up the main street and turned off into the road where Egbert the wealthy, adulterous hunchback lived. The moon was hidden behind clouds and there was near silence apart from the burping of a cat with indigestion after a rushed meal of careless mouse. I crept into Egbert's garden and opened the back door carefully. I wasn't particularly worried about noise once I was in Egbert's house, as the bastard was totally deaf, blind, and dumb. 41

Then suddenly I remembered I had forgotten my murder weapon. Never mind! I would find something in the kitchen. As I entered that sanctum of filth and degradation, I coughed loudly a few times to ensure the various rodents and roaches would disperse before my entry; I waited for the scuttling to subside and in I went. And sure enough, a dirty plate lay on the draining board: and on it lay a partially-eaten king-size hamburger, together with Egbert's preferred eating implement, a specially adapted staple remover with spatula attachment (watching Egbert grab lumps of food with this before shoving them into his capacious, odourous gob, was a genuinely repellent spectacle). I picked up the plate with its contents in one hand and grabbed the pickaxe he had thoughtfully left leaning against the cooker in my other hand and headed upstairs.42

Once in Egbert's bedroom I caught my breath as the stench of his unwashed body was ghastly. His snoring was stentorian but that would not be for much longer. I went over to the bed, raised the mighty axe above my bonce and brought it down with all my immense strength. CLUMP! SPLAT! Hot damn! Would you believe it? The head of the axe had come off, missed Egbert by a good two feet and buried itself in the wall. Now brother Egbert may have been deaf, dumb and blind, but he was sensitive to vibrations and the thump of the axehead going into the wall woke the ugly sod. His snores stopped and he uttered a loathsome grunt. I knew this was the precursor to some hideous and pitiful yowling so, quick as a flash, I jammed the half-eaten hamburger into his mouth and fisted it roughly down his throat.43

'Grmmmmmp,' gurgled Egbert through six ounces of stale fatty beef, 'Mmmmrrrrppp, Schwlllmmppp.'44

I rained blows from the axe handle on him as he tried to fight me off with all the strength that only a deaf, blind and dumb hunchback, faced with an angry and frequently cuckolded brother in the middle of the night, can summon up. Then a stroke of genius struck me: BOING! I clipped the sturdy staple remover onto his bulbous nose, thus cutting off his air supply (the observant reader will recall I had already blocked his windpipe with stale hamburger). After a few minutes' good-to-watch writhing, it was all over and Egbert lay there, hunched in death as he had been hunched in life.45

Then I reached over for the conveniently situated five-gallon drum of whisky which I knew he always kept next to his bed and tipped it over his corpse. I lit a match and skipped joyously downstairs as the flames took hold. SNOGGO had struck again!46

Within ten minutes I was safely back in my own home. No one had seen me. I had been like a graceful black cat returning home after a good night's mayhem. I lay in bed, listening happily to the wailing of the fire engines' sirens as they futilely sped to the scene in an attempt to prevent Edgar's house from burning to the ground. I was confident they would not be unsuccessful (I had booby-trapped the front door - I think I omitted to mention that) thus all the evidence would be destroyed. 47

I gently dozed off, my heart full of joy. Not only had I destroyed my hated enemy, the dreadful Egbert, but tomorrow was the day when my new seventeen year old mail order Thai bride (virginity both ends guaranteed or full refund) would be delivered. Things were looking up for the fearless and indomitable SNOGGO. I unpacked a brand new pack of pink plastic handcuffs in order to be sure to have a warm welcome for the filthy little slut.48

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PART SIX: "SNOGGO And The Giant Sea Beast" In which we discover what sort of motor vehicle SNOGGO drives and we also find out more about his sex drive.50

The shore lay peaceful in the warmth of the sun, a seemingly idyllic picture. The beach was completely empty even though it was high summer. The whole town was void of visitors: usually at this time of the year it was crawling with tourists: fat white slobs ready to absorb maximum sunshine and sunburn before going back to the city with their ugly kids, back to their humdrum and drab lives of sedentary drudge. But not today, today they were nowhere to be fucking seen.51

Glum shopkeepers stared glumly out at the glum, empty streets, knowing they faced ruin unless the terror which had engulfed their town and which would bring calamity to their traditional summer occupation of fleecing the tourists could be sorted out. And only I, the wonderfully brave and intrepid SNOGGO, could save the town. They knew it and I knew it. It was an established fact. Q.E.D.52

As I drove my specially designed truck down the main street to the seafront, people cheered, calling out 'God bless you, dearest, gallant SNOGGO' as I went by. I cautiously inched onto the sands as people watched from behind their curtains, hoping against hope that I would be able to save them from looming disaster. I motored down to the water's edge and carefully turned the vehicle round so that its rear pointed out to sea. The tarpaulin on the back of the specially constructed SNOGGOMOBILE flapped in the wind. What was under the tarpaulin?53

I dragged a steamer trunk from under the tarpaulin, opened it and hauled out the stinking carcase of Geoffrey, my neighbour's Rottweiler who had inexplicably gone missing last week. Or it may have been Gerald, Geoffrey's twin brother. Next I hauled Gerald's corpse out of the trunk (or it may have been Geoffrey's, the two mutts were identical and repellent in death, just as they had been identical and repellent in life). The pong was something awful. Nearly gagging with the rancid and stomach-churning stench, I dragged the two dead dogs down to the shoreline and, grabbing each by its hind legs, hurled them out to sea as far as my mighty strength would permit. About five yards, as it happened.54

I returned to the SNOGGOMOBILE and drew back the tarpaulin to reveal what lay underneath; my secret weapon, whose secret only I knew. I made my preparations carefully but rapidly; I knew I had no more than five or six minutes’ leeway. And sure enough, after precisely five and a half minutes, I heard the sound I was expecting and I saw the sight I was expecting.55

The mighty fin of the dreadful fish cut through the water with a dreadful whoosh. And Geoffrey disappeared beneath the waves (or it might have been Gerald, who cares). The other dog would be next: such a mighty shark as the one enjoying dog tartare in the bay would not be sated by a single Rotweiler.56

I climbed onto the back of the SNOGGOMOBILE, and leaped gracefully into the seat behind my secret weapon. I aimed quickly at the focal point of the blood-stained thrashing waters, pressed the red button (marked "Fire" for ease of reference) and WHAM!, what a Hell of a big bang, and off went my thermo-nuclear torpedo, whizzing down the beach and SPLASH! into the water, then WALLOP! as it hit the shark amidships and BOOM! as it went off, blowing the shark into fucking smithereens. Myriad bits of shark (mixed with bits of Geoffrey and Gerald) rained down on the beach; how fortunate that I had thought to put up my extra-size golf-umbrella (complete with colourful SNOGGO logo) to deal with this eventuality and no lumps hit me.57

The enormous shark (wittily nicknamed “that fucking great bastard shark” by the locals) which had terrorised the entire coast for some time, gobbling up swimming kiddies whole, chewing off the limbs of dozens of swimmers, and generally being a major pain the arse, was no more. It was mincemeat. The whole promenade was alive with cheering townsfolk, as I smiled in happiness and pride at my wonderful achievement. They started singing my favourite song: “We love SNOGGO, SNOGGO the brave” which brought fucking tears to my eyes.58

Now SNOGGO's reward beckoned: ten thousand lovely wallet-warmers (plus expenses) plus a night of unbridled lust with the mayor's buxom wife Shirley and his sister Deidre too, as previously arranged (I had heard Deidre had a very tasty box). Yes, SNOGGO the famous shark killer (and threesome fan) had killed yet another predator of the deep stone fucking dead.59

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PART SEVEN: "SNOGGO The Great Stutterer" In which we discover more about SNOGGO’s competitive nature and we learn of his love of poetry and drama, albeit at considerable length. Shortened in order to stop readers from falling asleep.61

The audience held its breath as the last contender stepped onto the platform: it was none other than the legendary SNOGGO. But he would truly have to be on top form today to see off the challenge posed by the Polish contestant, Andrej Stammerslotski, whose rendition of the 23rd Psalm in Lithuanian, timed to the second, had taken a numbing twelve hours precisely, and which had scored a record breaking 5.993 from the twelve judges drawn from all the greatest speech defect academies worldwide.62

'Ladies and gentlemen,' came the announcement, 'the final contestant in the 2005 World Stuttering Championships is the great SNOGGO who will render Hamlet's soliloquy.' The audience gasped. 259 words to be got through! Including two words beginning with a "Q" and no less than 21 "the's"! 63

SNOGGO stepped up to the front of the stage, dressed dramatically for the occasion in pink patent leather doublet and lilac hose; he struck an heroic pose and commenced.64

"To be or not to be, that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune......65

The audience were puzzled. What was wrong with SNOGGO? His enunciation was perfect, each word flowed smoothly from his nimble tongue, each immortal phrase perfectly formed. And, would you believe it, he had skipped that first "Q"!66

"Or to take arms against a sea of troubles," continued SNOGGO, not a word out of place. "And by......" Silence. SNOGGO uttered a strangled gasp as he struggled to force out the next word: "Op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op...."67

Applause broke out spontaneously. What a masterstroke! SNOGGO had left it until line 4 before going in for an implosive P! The audience settled back for what they knew might be something rather special; people in the front rows put their waterproof hats on for protection.68

"Op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op--op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op...." SNOGGO gulped and thrust his hands up in the air as if begging God for mercy. 69

"Op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op-op....." he continued poetically.70

The audience rose to its feet, cheering wildly and clapping in time to SNOGGO. The minutes passed and still SNOGGO went on, never breaking his rhythm. What a performance! Finally after a neatly timed ten minutes, SNOGGO finally got the word out and went on with his recitation.71

"....And by opposing end them? To die, to sleep
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heartache, and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd." spouted SNOGGO.72

He had reverted to his carefully modulated upper class accent, his stentorian voice booming out over the amazed judges and audience. What would he do next?73

"To d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d...." spluttered SNOGGO. He was off again, doing a "D", one of the hardest, most tiring and most potentially boring stutters in the business. 74

"D-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d," [gulp] 75

"D-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d--d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d...." continued SNOGGO not so very smoothly as the applause started again. 76

But would he risk monotony setting in? The repetitive consonants streamed out of his mouth for endless minutes, broken only by occasional frenzied gulps. And then, in a virtuoso demonstration of his impeccable technique, he broke the rhythm and went into waltz time:
"Di-di-dah, di-di-dah, di-di-dah, di-di-dah, di-di-dah, di-di-dah, di-di-dah, di-di-dah, di-di-dah, di-di-dah, di-di-dah, di-di-dah, di-di-dah, di-di-dah, di-di-dah, di-di-dah, di-di-dah, di-di-dah, di-di-dah, di-di-dah, di-di-dah, di-di-dah, di-di-dah, di-di-dah, di-di-dah, di-di-dah, di-di-dah...." he trilled, a look of rapt concentration on his face as the judges nodded in appreciation of the performance.77

Johannes Bumsenfinger, retired Austrian stuttering champion 1966-88 and former world record holder for a single sustained Zzzzzzzzzzz, frowned. What was SNOGGO up to? What pattern was there to his stuttering? He looked carefully at the text of the soliloquy for a few minutes as SNOGGO continued his triplet di-di-dahs, pausing poetically for effect every 50th "dah". Suddenly Bumsenfinger realised with a jolt of terror what SNOGGO was doing. Hamlet's soliloquy contains 259 words and 259 can only be arrived at by multiplying two prime numbers: 7 and 37! SNOGGO was going to stutter only seven times throughout the entire recitation but he would choose every 37th word to stumble on! Utterly fucking brilliant! But would the judges recognise the stratagem? Surely they would; Bumsenfinger knew that André de la Merde, the Belgian judge, was a part-time nuclear scientist, so he at least would understand. Johannes glanced over at the obese, chocolate-bloated Belgian who was staring at SNOGGO with a look of rapture. Yes, old de la Merde was on the case! Even so, Bumsenfinger wasn't 100% certain he had cracked SNOGGO's plan and carefully counted up to see where the 111th word would fall: it was a "that". Bumsenfinger knew SNOGGO would relish a "th".78

The minutes ticked by and SNOGGO kept up his melodious di-di-dahs, then suddenly broke off and, without so much as a pause for breath, continued with the immortal Bard's immortal words. The electronic timer at the back of the stage flashed up the staggering news that SNOGGO had been on that D for 28 glorious minutes and 32 shimmering seconds!79

“.............To die, to sleep,” intoned SNOGGO,
“To sleep! Perchance to dream, ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause; there's the respect...."80

Johannes Bumsenfinger held his breath: if he was right in his analysis, this would be it! And yes! SNOGGO suddenly seized up as though his airflow had been cut off. His upper lip was drawn back in a contorted snarl and his tongue thrashed about between his perfect teeth as he struggled to get the "th" out. No sound came from him apart from a sound like air escaping from a punctured tyre.81

"Thhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh..." hissed SNOGGO dementedly, gasping for breath like a fish out of water. 82

"Thhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.....". SNOGGO was unstoppable!83

How the audience loved it! They stamped, cheered and roared their approval. Would SNOGGO go for the world record for a stifled "th"? The aficionados consulted their much-thumbed copies of the Guinness Book of Stutters: 68 minutes and 34 seconds to beat for a "th", the record had been established 12 years ago by the Canadian Inuit midget, Little Fat Cripplemouth. What a fucking challenge!84

After just over hour of seemingly life-threatening struggles, the audience began to get restless: SNOGGO was definitely going for the record! SNOGGO was totally up for it!85

"Thhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh..... frothed SNOGGO, his arms thrashing wildly in feigned frustration, 86

"Tthhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh....."87

69 sublime huffing and puffing minutes passed to rapturous applause and jubilation, and then, seemingly oblivious to the mounting tension, SNOGGO started hissing and panting, trying in vain to get that “that” on the wing. A slow handclap started after 75 minutes: the crowd were bored, they wanted something new. SNOGGO sensed he was losing people's sympathy and suddenly spat it out:88

"That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office, and......" and then he paused.89

Oh no! The judges and the audience reeled in terror. They knew what the next word was! Another "th" was coming up! But SNOGGO knew better than to repeat himself and he went into an offbeat staccato mode, with accompanying foot stamping to try and force the reluctant sound from his trembling lips:90

”The-the-the-the-the-the-the-the-the-the-the-the," [gasp] "the-the-the-the-the-the-the-the-the-the-the-the-the-the-the-the," [gurgle] "the-the-the-the-the-the-the-the-the-the-the-the-the-the-the-the-the-the-the-the..." spluttered the great and gloriously transcendental SNOGGO in an ever higher and higher tone of voice.91

By now Stammerslotski, the Polish hopeful, who had been so confident his 5.993 would be enough to wrest the gold cup away from SNOGGO, was openly weeping and his supporters were trying to comfort him in vain. But still SNOGGO frothed on, sputum coming out his mouth like seaspray on a windy winter night.92

"The-thuh-the-thuh, the-thuh-the-thuh, the-thuh-the-thuh, the-thuh-the-thuh, the-thuh-the-thuh, the-thuh-the-thuh, the-thuh-the-thuh........" After only ten minutes, SNOGGO had changed into two-four time to much laughter and acclaim! Then, in a dramatic turn of events, SNOGGO clutched his heart and collapsed on the stage. He rolled about screaming! "Thurrrgggh! Thurrrggh! Thurrrgggh! Thurrrggh! Thurrrgggh! Thurrrggh! Thurrrgggh! Thurrrggh!"93

Had he had a heart attack? A stroke? Or was it just another part of the performance of the decade? One final twitch and SNOGGO lay still on the deck. The audience fell silent in anxiety. They all knew that the rules of the World Stuttering Federation only allowed ten seconds' silence before disqualification! The referee began the countdown and on the count of nine, the great SNOGGO, still lying prostrate on the stage, continued as if nothing had happened:94

“.......the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of….sssssssss, of ssssssssssss” spouted SNOGGO. 95

“Sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss," hissed the wondrous SNOGGO as the crowd went wild with delirium and poor Andrej Stammerslotski sobbed uncontrollably.96

An ecstatic two hours passed by, SNOGGO's staggering stream of stupendous sibilance interrupted only occasionally for a quick gulp of gin and tonic (with ice and lemon) to keep him going. The audience knew that he must be targeting the World Professional Hissing Record and, when he finally made it into the stammering history books (four hours and twelve minutes), pandemonium broke loose in the Hall. Then, without any fucking warning what-so-fucking-ever, SNOGGO suddenly snapped out of that sublime stutter with a final “sssssss”…97

"Ssssssssssssssssss-suh-suh-suh something after death,
The undiscover'd country, from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will,
And makes us bear those ills we have
Than fly to others we know not of?" trilled SNOGGO.98

The crowd hung on to SNOGGO's every word. They all knew the pattern by now and they waited eagerly to see what SNOGGO would do with the next word in line for the treatment: “Us”; would SNOGGO go for the "U" or would he do a repeat hiss?99

"Thus conscience does make cowards of uh-uh-UH, uh-uh-UH, uh-uh-UH, uh-uh-UH, uh-uh-UH, uh-uh-UH, uh-uh-UH, uh-uh-UH....". Yea, verily, SNOGGO was in cha-cha-cha rhythm now and he began dancing excitedly around the stage, his superb body keeping time to that infectious Latin beat, so popular with us all, his fingers snapping like Carmen Miranda on cocaine.100

Understandably SNOGGO was tiring now; he had been in action for well over six and a half hours and he knew he had to gird his lips and loins for the finale, so after a tantalising fifteen minutes of uh-uh-UHs, he went into the magnificent closing section of Hamlet’s famed soliloquy:101

"of uh-uh-UH, of uh-uh-UH us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought;
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard, their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of ah, of ah, of ah, of ah…”102

He was off again! “Aaaaaaaaaaah, Aaaaaaaaah, AaaaaaaaaH, Aaaaaaaaaah, Aaaaaaaaaaah, Aaaaaaaaaah, Aaaaaaaah, Aaaaaaaaah, Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh....." SNOGGO screamed semi-orgasmically to considerable acclaim, his mouth wide open and eyes tight shut in concentration.103

”Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh........." he bellowed. 104

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” he wailed.105

All twelve judges were dumbfounded. They had never seen anything like this. SNOGGO appeared to be demented, racing around the stage, yelling his head off. He threw a cartwheel, never ceasing the terrifying "Aaaaaaaaahs” for a single second. Then, after a mind-blowing, maxi-decibel crescendo which rocked the Great Stuttering Hall to its very foundations, SNOGGO brought his glorious show to an end.106

"And lose the name of action!" declaimed the wonderful SNOGGO, dropping to one knee and ending in a traditional paso doble pose, left hand to his buttocks and right hand raised in the air in triumph.107

Well, as you may imagine, the whole Hall, judges, audience, even the other stunned contestants, all leapt to their feet to give SNOGGO the greatest standing ovation in the whole history of stuttering. The final score was a foregone conclusion: every single judge (including the notoriously critically vicious four foot high Chinaman, Yi-Yi-Yi-Yi), accorded SNOGGO the supreme accolade, 6.0. Thus SNOGGO's score of 6.000 was fucking staggering, enough to make you defecate with joy.108

SNOGGO's performance on that day will go down as the most remarkable ever seen; and its bravura nature was underlined by the artistic and poetic overall timing: a precisely planned and perfectly performed seven hours, seven minutes and seven seconds. Competitive stuttering would never be the same! And thus it came to pass that SNOGGO was hailed as the greatest stutterer the world has ever known or is ever likely to know! W-w-w-w-w-w-w-well done SNOGGO!109

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++110

PART EIGHT: “The Miracle of SNOGGO – A Slightly Vulgar Tale” In which we meet SNOGGO’s mail order bride for the first time and we also meet his life long rival Jumbo, a totally new and despicable character.111

'You can't have "Jew",' I said.
'Why not? It's a perfectly good word. Are you anti-semitic or something?'
'Jew has a capital J,' I said.
'Not necessarily. I've used it before.'
'Not with me you haven't. There's the dictionary. Look it up.'112

Jumbo grudgingly picked up the Shorter Oxford and looked up "Jew". He sniffed loudly, slammed the dictionary shut and removed the tiles from the board. His replacement word was a sodding disaster.113

'That's twenty-four points you've cost me with your nit-picking, you motherfucker,' he said through gritted yellow teeth, his flabby body shaking with rage. 'The J was on a triple letter score.'114

I sneered derisively and laughed long and loud, making Jumbo froth at his ugly fat nostrils with anger.115

'Watch this and weep, Jumbo,' I said, playing out all seven of my tiles onto the board to create a stunning word: UNZIPPED. 'The Z's on a double letter score and it's all on a triple word score, so that's 90, plus 50 for playing all my tiles, 140 in total and the end of the game,' I declared in triumph. Jumbo was caught with 14 in his hand (remember: he still had the J) and thus I, the great SNOGGO, became Greenwich Scrabble Champion for the 25th year running. Not only that: but 25 consecutive defeats in the final for Jumbo.116

Jumbo roared in frustration as he saw his hopes of taking the coveted 24ct gold "Queen Anne" cup away from me, SNOGGO, dashed to the ground yet again. And, by centuries old tradition, 25 consecutive victories meant the priceless cup was now mine to keep for ever. Jumbo's scream of uncontrollable, incandescent rage could have been heard as far away as the Vanbrugh Hill Municipal Waste Disposal Centre.117

'God damn you for all fucking eternity,' he bellowed unsportingly as he waddled out of the cheering hall. In so doing he flouted the gentlemen's convention of always staying to take part in the closing ceremony. He missed seeing me, the great SNOGGO, receive the shining gold cup from the gnarled hands of the Lady Mayoress, the Hon. Mrs Snotte-Wragge, who whispered in my ear 'Fancy a quick shag later, back at the mayoral parlour, SNOGGO dear?' For the fifth year in a row I told her to go and get stuffed as I didn't go for ugly old bats with arses on them like a double-decker bus.118

Later that evening, as I sat in the splendid Georgian surroundings of Snoggo Manor, cradling the gold cup and admiring the row of 25 Championship certificates on the walls of my elegant dining room, finishing off my second bottle of Bollinger Grand Cru '89 and stuffing my 18th oyster down my happy throat, I heard a knock on the door. Who could that possibly be at nearly midnight?119

It was Jumbo, my fat defeated foe. He looked downcast. 'SNOGGO,' he said, 'I've come to offer my apologies for my inappropriate behaviour earlier. You deserved to win, you are the finest scrabbler in all of Greenwich. I have come to offer you the hand of friendship and to invite you to my humble home for a midnight snack to celebrate your stirring victory.'120

'Jumbo,' I replied, 'that's uncommon civil of you, old man. And your timing is excellent, as I've just finished my apéritif and was on the verge of kicking Mrs SNOGGO, my new 17-year old Thai mail order wife, out of her hammock to make my supper. So what's on the menu, squire?'121

'Well,' said Jumbo, 'I was thinking of pâte de foie gras - naturally made by Mrs Jumbo using our own force-fed geese, with a bottle of Château d'Yquem '78 to start with. Then perhaps a kilo of blood-red filet mignon avec pommes frites, washed down with a rather good magnum of Brouilly '99. Then there's Mrs Jumbo's famed cheeseboard with a tumbler full of vintage port, followed by a dozen crêpes suzettes, a few petits cafés, a monster Armagnac and a giant Havana each.'122

I considered the proposed menu carefully before replying. 'Sounds quite good to me, Jumbo,' I declared, glancing over his shoulder at the Bentley waiting outside. I could just see the peaked chauffeur's cap of the diminutive Mrs Jumbo peering myopically over the leather-covered steering wheel.123

And so, having told Mrs Snoggo to tidy up a bit whilst I was out, I went off to dinner with Jumbo. In all our 25 years of Scrabble rivalry I had never once set foot into his house, so I was eager to check out what sort of lifestyle he enjoyed. Once inside Jumbo Villa, I cast my eyes over the luxurious furnishings with an expert eye, evaluating their immense worth and rarity with incredible perspicacity and knowledge.124

'Not a bad pad you've got here, Jumbo,' I conceded. 'Not in the same class as Snoggo Manor, of course, but still damned impressive.' He was visibly flattered by my compliment.125

'A glass of sherry while we wait for Mrs Jumbo to serve us?' queried Jumbo jovially. I sniffed at the huge portion of delicious amber nectar appreciatively. 'Lustau Amoroso Bodega Marquès de Mierda '42?' I guessed instinctively. Jumbo nodded. 'Fucking spot on, SNOGGO,' he admitted in stunned amazement.126

I took an enormous gulp and felt the alcohol hit me like a slam in the abdomen from Cassius Clay's butcher and more vicious brother. The room spun and I closed my eyes in resigned delight.127

When I came to I found myself hanging unclothed in chains on the wall of a dank cellar. My head was pounding and I felt distinctly below par. I looked over my shoulder and beheld Jumbo standing there with a sjambok in his hand. He was stark fucking naked, naked as the day he was born, and I have never seen anything so repulsive in all my life (with the sole exception of that incredible day when, as a child, I caught my paternal grandparents bonking on the Persian rug in the Great Hall at Snoggo Manor on Christmas Eve). Jumbo’s huge pendulous breasts sagged over his bloated fat belly, which itself hung so low his genitals were mercifully hidden from my view. He was a fucking monstrosity.128

The tiny Mrs Jumbo stood to the rear of the cellar, also naked, pallid and with her public hair died a shocking pink. She was a skinny freak, a vision of sex Hell. I noticed the tattoo on her belly. It showed a depiction of the crucifixion which I felt was in dubious taste, especially with Jesus sporting an enormous erection.129

What I, the wonderful SNOGGO, suffered in the next few hours was truly indescribable, so I will only summarise it. After a seemingly endless whipping from Jumbo (assisted by Mrs Jumbo, but her puny lash strokes were almost pleasurable), accompanied by their combined frenzied cries of demented hatred and loathing, I was forced to suffer the supreme humiliation. Jumbo mounted a set of fine Regency library steps, positioned his Hellish lumpen body behind me and unceremoniously inserted his tiny penis into my outraged anus. Oh the shame! Oh the shame!130

‘O Jesus Christ help me!’ I yelled in not-very-nice pain. And suddenly a voice spoke unto me. 'O great SNOGGO,' it intoned, 'thou needst not suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune so needlessly. Only have faith in me, the great loving Jesus, and I shall give thee strength to deal with thy fucking awful tribulations.'131

It was a miracle! SNOGGO could and would be saved! Quickly I mumbled a couple of Ave Marias remembered from my youth as a leading mutual masturbator in the chapel choir, and I silently promised a quick twenty thousand quid to the local faggotty priest paedophile fund, and my chains fell to the floor with a blast of heavenly thunder. Halle-fucking-luliah!132

'Right, Jumbo you fat cunt,' I snapped, 'you have fucking had it.'133

And with one mighty blow of my right arm I smashed him against the wall. His huge hideous body crumpled as he slid to the floor, blood oozing from his fat gob. I gave him a bloody good kicking in the face and in the heart region and shortly he went to meet his maker, with a sickening grunt and expulsion of vomit.134

Then I turned to the horrified naked ugly skinny tattooed Mrs Jumbo and said: 'OK, cuntface, where's my fucking supper?'135

She shrugged and headed upstairs to prepare the meal I had been promised by Jumbo earlier, as I was seriously hungry by this stage. Little did she know I would be obliged to put her out of her misery later. Or if she were lucky, I might offer her a position as unpaid toilet cleanser chez moi. After all, a woman is only a woman is only a woman and if she doesn’t like it she could go die in the streets.136

Yes, it was yet another stunning victory for the fabulous SNOGGO, thanks to timely divine intervention for which I am very much obliged. 137

And don't forget my luscious 17-year old Thai mail bride would be waiting to give me a really good blowjob once I got back to Snoggo Manor. Either that or I would give her a good belting and send her back to her grotty poverty-stricken village with a demand for a full refund.138

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++139

PART NINE: “SNOGGO And The Werewolves From Hell” In which we meet Inspector R Sole and we also learn what a lovely house SNOGGO lives in and we find out what a dirty little bag his mail order wife really is and we meet some werewolves too.140

The doorbell rang. My beautiful seventeen-year old Thai mail-order bride went to answer it at my command. I was not a little irritated as she was two-thirds way though one of her better blowjobs at the time.141

I heard low voices and footsteps in the hallway, so I reluctantly zipped my large but perfectly proportioned willy back into my elegantly cut linen trousers. The door to my magnificent living room opened and revealed the marginally imposing figure of Detective Chief Superintendent Robert Sole (universally known as R. Sole of The Yard).142

'Robert!', I said cordially, 'I am so very glad to see you, my dear. What in the name of holy fucking cocksucking Jesus Christ brings you to my humble abode, the magnificent Snoggo Manor?'143

I motioned him to a seat and poured him a glass of Bollinger Special Reserve '74, without bothering to question whether he would wish one. A senior detective would never say 'no' to a top class glass of bubbly. Sole took a hefty slurp and farted importantly.144

'Well, SNOGGO,' he said, 'what I'm going to tell you is completely confidential. It's fucking top secret. You must tell no one, not even your closest, your nearest and dearest, not even the delicious Mrs SNOGGO, your newly acquired seventeen-year old mail order bride, the one with the really cute arse.'145

I nodded in acquiescence as I understood the seriousness of the situation: it could easily be a couple of hours or more before my beloved Asiatic hornbag bride would be able to complete her interrupted blowjob. I called out to her to stop listening at the door and get going with a couple of dozen oysters to keep me good and horny for her later.146

'Over the past six months or so, there's been a mysterious series of ghastly killings. We've been finding bodies ripped apart, their guts chewed up, their throats slit, their limbs nibbled into mulch, their remains seriously mashed into shit, their corpses mangled into fucking garbage, as though a mad pack of dogs had torn them into fucking smithereens,' Sole explained.147

'The killings start and then continue for a few nights, then they stop, then we have a few weeks' respite, then they start again, blood and guts and devastation for a few more nights, then nothing again. So far, there's been sixty-eight deaths. We've managed to keep it out of the press and off TV, but the bribery fund is running a bit low now.'148

He paused as Mrs SNOGGO (my exquisite seventeen-year old Thai slut) brought in the oysters. 'I'll be delayed at least an hour,' I said to her. 'Go and practise your tongue work on a banana, a big one to be realistic.'149

'What sort of people are the victims? Any links between them? Any geographical pattern? How about racial or age links? Come on, you silly old cunt...' I questioned urgently.150

'Well, O great SNOGGO, all the victims so far have been male. And all the killings have taken place between 12 midnight and five in the morning, and they've all been outside, in parks, commons, heaths, open spaces. No racial preferences: whites, blacks, brownies, chinkies, even jewboys. All age groups: the youngest was only sixteen and we've got the leftovers of a repellent corpse of some nasty old fart of at least ninety. There's been twelve on Hampstead Heath, eight on Clapham Common, four on Putney Towpath, seven on Tooting Bec and no less than thirty-seven on Wimbledon Common.'151

My eyes narrowed as I realised the significance of D.C.S. Sole's information. Was he a total fucking Mongol not to have seen the link? Or did he never read the papers?152

'Exactly when was the first killing? Were the victims' throats torn out? Were their hearts ripped out too? Were there any signs of hideous bestiality? Were their anuses abused?'153

Detective Chief Superintendent R. Sole of the Yard checked in his notebook for the exact dates. 'March 12th was the first killing, that's just over five months ago. Bugger me, SNOGGO, how did you know about the throats and hearts, and the anal abuse too? You are so fucking clever! Jesus wept, I grovel at the shrine of your fucking staggering intellect.'154

'Elementary my dear R. Sole,' I declared. 'If you remember, the Cirque de Transylvanie made its long-awaited debut here in London approximately six months ago and departed after a most unsavoury scandal involving the alleged cruelty by the circus-owner to his pack of performing Romanian wolves. The date of the circus's departure was, if I recall offhand, the 10th of March, just two days before your first murder!'155

Robert Sole farted in horror.156

'All the locations you have mentioned are notorious homosexual cruising grounds. The victims are all males. Gay males. Bum boys. Pillow-biters. The solution is obvious,' I shrieked to the utterly dim detective. 'We are facing the marauding of some mad gay murderous werewolves! From my own study of these vile lupine faggots, I know they always hunt in pairs and the evil motherfuckers usually have bestial sex after each killing.'157

Detective Chief Superintendent Robert Sole ("R. Sole of the Yard") gawped. A problem he and his senior colleagues had faced for so many months had been solved in a fucking moment by the immense reasoning power and searing logic of the great SNOGGO's staggering intellect.158

Suddenly, SNOGGO had another brainwave! I rushed (slightly drunkenly, having guzzled down five bottles of champagne in the past two hours) to my Queen Anne desk and checked in my leather-bound diary: yes, tonight was a full moon! Yes, sunset was ten minutes ago! Yes, the moon would rise in another ten minutes! Yes, I could do with a good shit! 159

'Werewolves are notoriously telepathic,' I told R. Sole of the Yard, 'they may well have realised you would wish to consult me, the great and wonderful SNOGGO, the world's greatest expert on virtually everything and especially gay Transylvanian homo-werewolves. It is more than likely you have been followed by that Hellish pair of brutes.'160

Robert Sole gawped again, only now realising what a thick piece of hog shit he really was. Oh fucking Christ, how dull he was in comparison with the wonderful fucking SNOGGO.161

We peered anxiously out of the elegant bay windows of Snoggo Manor at the dark depths of Greenwich Park outside. Even as we stared out, a fearsome roar rent the air.162

'Werewolf,' I cried. 'Look!' And we saw a glint of fierce yellow eyes in the moonlight, yellow eyes staring malevolently. And we could see both of the hideous beasts were wearing lipstick and full make-up. And the less butch of the two had a pink vicuna muffler on to keep himself warm.163

'Only a silver bullet can kill a werewolf, even a lupine pillow-biting one,' I cried knowledgeably, crossing over to my William IV dresser where I kept my solid silver revolver and my regular supply of silver bullets, maintained for just such an emergency as this.164

Armed against the ghastly problem facing me, and with D.C.S. Sole trembling manfully at my side, I rushed up to the top floor of Snoggo Manor to gain access to the balcony of my fabulous residence with its wonderful vista over the park.165

After a few moments' vigilance, I fired two rapid shots with incredible sharpshooting accuracy. Two unearthly but quite camp shrieks rent our ears as the evil werewolvish creatures from Hell went back to their ghastly dark void of anal-probing death. `I don’t care who you are but FUCK off,’ I cried out butchly.166

'I think you'll find that will have solved your problem, Detective Chief Superintendent,' I said in my best friendly fashion. 'And now, I should much appreciate it if you would fuck off, as you interrupted the blowjob my lady wife, the lovely slit-eyed Mrs SNOGGO, was giving me.'167

It took less than two extra minutes to agree a just recompense for my advice and assistance in this daunting case, which had challenged the entire criminal investigation department of the mighty metropolis: £50,000 cash tax-free PLUS unlimited shagging of all female parking meter attendants for a month, with or without their agreement or foreknowledge.168

And my ever-loving seventeen-year old mail order bride was licking her lips in anticipation of finishing the tragically suspended gobbling. God bless her brown little ass.169

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++170

PART TEN: “SNOGGO at Edna’s Party” In which Edna is happy that her guest of honour turns up and SNOGGO’s bride tells a lovely joke. And also in which we find out about Inspector R. Sole’s premature ejaculatory problems.171

It was party time at Sweetlove Manor, that fabulously luxurious stately home. But to Edna’s horror, she realised there was someone missing. Her guest of honour! The great SNOGGO! Surely be would not let her down? She had received his hand-written acceptance only a few days ago. He had sworn on his newly dug mother's grave that he would come to her party, he had promised he would fit it in between a couple of his wondrous adventures. But where fucking was he? 172

But Edna need not have feared. A blast of trumpets from outside the door of Sweetlove Manor announced the arrival of her dearest friend, the overweeningly proud SNOGGO. And the whole assembled jingbang were impressed with the cheering from the street. 'SNOGGO! SNOGGO! SNOGGO! SNOGGO! SNOGGO!' chanted the crowd, perhaps a little bit unoriginally. 173

'The great SNOGGO!' screeched Adolf the major-domo ecstatically, his fat thighs a-quiver, 'accompanied by his seventeen-year old Thai mail-order bride, the gorgeous and long-tongued Mrs SNOGGO the 2nd!' And the whole room erupted into applause as SNOGGO entered, clad in a fetching greengage coloured military style uniform complete with three rows of medals. Edna noticed admiringly that the delicious Mrs SNOGGO was totally naked under her transparent Baby Doll dress and the merest suggestion of rouge on her nipples. She was clean-shaven below the waist which Edna considered to be a tasteful touch and she felt the stirrings of several enormous erections in her vicinity. 174

SNOGGO greeted Edna affectionately, shoving his manly tongue down her welcoming gullet in a saucily proprietorial fashion. 'Not in front of your gorgeous seventeen year old mail order bride,' she cautioned him. 'Fuck her, if she doesn't like it, she can bugger off back to the whorehouses of Chiang Mai,' he replied confidentially, but within her hearing. Mrs SNOGGO grinned happily at the jest. 175

'Hey, my first name Sukhalot and I got real good joke for you,' commented Mrs SNOGGO, in her charming but well-nigh incomprehensible Thai accent, `What blink like maniac but fuck like crazy tiger?' 176

'I give up, dear Sukhalot. I don't know. Tell me, what blinks like a maniac but fucks like a crazy tiger?' Edna replied wearily. Whereupon Mrs SNOGGO started blinking maniacally, her left hand straying to Edna’s damp groin. 177

’Aha!' Edna thought, 'I think I know the answer to that one.'178

The guests sat down to dinner; the seating plan was imperfect: placing Vladimir the Gay Pervert in between Professor Buttock and Little Miss Promiscuous was possibly an error of judgement, as was having placed Victor the Voyeur next to Mrs SNOGGO - but how was anyone to know she would be naked? Oh fuck it, you can only do your best, and even Edna is not infallible. 179

'Ladies and gents,' brayed Adolf, Edna’s ostentatious pink leather clad major-domo, 'I present Ephraim, Madame Edna's mentally defective adopted nephew!' And in came the stupid little thick wreck, drooling at the corner of his ugly mouth, late as usual. Bugger him. It was only Edna’s strong sense of familial love which had allowed him out of his cage for the evening anyway. He was shown to his place at the very far end of the table, behind a screen so as to avoid offending others with his horrid eating habits and constant dribbling, burping and farting. 180

As the memorable meal came its memorable close, Edna Sweetlove rose to her feet and the guests fell respectfully silent. 'Friends, poets and whatever, lend me your lugholes,' she declaimed. 'A warm welcome to you all, and an even warmer welcome to my honoured guest, the great and wonderful SNOGGO.' SNOGGO stood up and acknowledged the wild cheers with an arrogant wave of his manly hand and Edna continued with her speech. (Note: SNOGGO’s flies were undone and Sukalot, his lovely Thai wife, was licking her palm clean gratefully.) 181

’Before we adjourn to the ballroom of Sweetlove Manor, where the Vienna Sextet will discard their charmingly archaic musical instruments and whip up a funky storm of hip-hop, cool garage sounds and genuine Jamaican rap, I am happy to announce an amusing little game whilst we relish the enormous goblets of the exquisite 100-year old cognac which my servants are doling out.' Edna gestured graciously to Adolf, resplendent in cerise, to continue, and sat down graciously to enormous acclaim. 182

'Ladies and gentlemen, Edna Sweetlove presents for your delectation Don Diego and his Dirty Dwarfs!' And in swaggered the majestic six foot nine inch tall Don Diego, clad in a toreador's uniform, his skin-tight pants displaying an enormous luncheon bulge and wearing the cutest little hat you ever saw. He was seriously gorgeous and Edna relished the fact that he would be servicing her later as part of the terms of his contract. Don Diego was followed by a few dozen dwarfs of assorted sexes, all naked as they day they had been born, tumbling over each other in the space between the two arms of the U-shaped banqueting table. 183

'Wow!' commented Mr Horny. 'They look like a bundle of fun.'
'Oh they are, they are,' agreed Little Miss Promiscuous excitedly. 'I've seen them perform before at one of SNOGGO's musical soirées. They're nothing but a sex-crazed pack of repellently rabid erotic runts. My friend, Miss Peeping Tomasina, really likes them.' 184

Mr Horny squeezed Little Miss Promiscuous' upper thigh in a perhaps over-friendly fashion in anticipation of what was to come. Unfortunately, Deidre, his intended, noticed this spontaneous expression of friendship and slugged Mr Horny quite hard around his kisser with her handbag. 'Watch it, Horny,' she admonished. 'Remember I'm your fiancée and I've got a flourishing five-month old bun in my oven to prove it.' 185

'Edna, SNOGGO, ladies and gentlemen, and repulsive little Ephraim,' boomed Adolf the major-domo, thumping the floor with his bright purple leather staff of office. 'The dwarfs will now crawl under the banqueting table and you will all be pleasured orally by their well-trained tongues. Don Diego requests that your hands remain above the table as the dwarfs are not fond of being caressed by strangers without additional payment in advance. Our hostess, Madame Edna, has arranged a wonderful prize for the first guest to reach a climax. And there will be a forfeit to be paid by the tardiest. Lady guests are respectfully requested not to even think of faking an orgasm; the dwarfs will KNOW and will certainly spill the beans. Let the revels commence!' And Adolf sat down to thunderous applause. 'Dear God, let me get a boy one!' screamed Vladimir the Gay Cottage Queen faggily. 186

The little creatures got to work with their ardent under-table gobbling and we had a winner in less than a minute: Chief Detective Superintendent R. Sole of the Yard gasped ostentatiously and cried out, 'Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes!' His lady wife commented loudly and caustically, 'What a fucking surprise that is.' And she lay back in her chair, wide-legged, to let her dwarf get on with his or her hideous task under the table. 187

And who do you think came last? Long after everyone else had been finished off, dried up and zipped away, Victor the Voyeur gave a little grunt and shut his eyes in joy. 'Sorry for the delay,' he explained apologetically. 'I'm more used to doing it myself. And the dwarf had sharp teeth.' 188

And now it was prize and forfeit time. Don Diego produced with a flourish the wonderful gift which was to go to R. Sole of the Yard: a gold-plated butt plug (medium size). The great detective rose to collect his well-deserved prize, and as Don Diego handed the gift over to R. Sole, he gave the little knob on the end a twist and immediately a charmingly tinkly version of that lovely Welsh folk song "The Ash Grove" was heard. And when it came to the chorus, everyone joined in: 189

"The Mayor of Bayswater
He had a lovely daughter
And the hairs on her dicky-di-doe
Hung down to her knee;
One pink one, one white one,
And one with a bit of shite on,
Oh the hairs on her dicky-di-doe
Hung down to her knee." 190

Next: the forfeit prize, which is what everyone was REALLY waiting for. Don Diego produced a second, identical gold-plated butt plug (extra wide, this time) and motioned to Victor to come and receive it; the one-legged voyeur rose to his foot and limped over to the dwarf-master. He was apprehensive. Advisedly. 191

'Edna,' remarked SNOGGO, 'I don't see it's very fair that the prize-winner and the loser should get the same prize!' But Edna only laughed. SNOGGO was not as perceptive as usual. 192

'The difference, O great SNOGGO, is that R. Sole gets to use his butt plug in the privacy of his own home; Victor will have his inserted now, avec una poca forza.' 193

Then, without further ado, four of Don Diego's Dirty Dwarfs seized poor Victor, pulled down his trousers and slightly soiled underpants, exposing his pitiful stump and aluminium prosthesis, and wrestled him to the ground. Don Diego unceremoniously slathered some lube on the celebrated unipod voyeur’s nether parts and then rammed the butt plug up him with consummate skill. Victor yelped a bit as he received his prize. 194

'I'm not entirely certain that's lawful,' observed Chief Detective Superintendent R. Sole of New Scotland Yard as Don Diego twisted the protruding knob on the golden butt plug to give us a second chorus of "The Ash Grove" which everyone joined in (with the exceptions of Victor who was weeping too much, of Professor Janos Bumsenfinger who didn’t know the words, and of Nephew Ephraim who was too busy picking his nose mindlessly). 195

"You'd need a coal miner
To find her vagina
'Cos the hairs on her dicky-di-doe
Hung down to her knee;
One pink one, one white one,
And one with a bit of shite on,
Oh the hairs on her dicky-di-doe
Hung down to her knee." 196

After Victor had been helped off the ground and had adjusted his dress with as much dignity as he could muster, he returned to his place, his limp slightly exaggerated by the giant butt plug. He was naturally pelted with bread roll leftovers, whilst his progress was accompanied by a round of good-natured jeers and roars of caring mockery. 197

The major-domo struck the enormous ceremonial Burmese gong with his beautiful stick of office. 'Ladies and gentlemen, please join Edna in the ceremonial conga into the ballroom!' And off the crowd danced, with poor little Ephraim bringing up the rear, burping and farting as he went. But SNOGGO was bored: his life was more than just parties and sex and drink. He had a mission. And so he dragged Sukhalot, his lovely nympho wife, off some unknown guest with a big willy and he went home.198

`It is indeed a hard life being a super-hero,’ he thought as he thumped her senseless in the back of the Rolls-Royce. He wasn’t sure, of course, but he didn’t think her neck was supposed to look quite like that.199

THE END.200