Please read Chapter 7 here.
Chapter 8
Dearest one,
Your moist tidings from the past have reached me, finally, and my heart swells with an earthy pride. Alas, my missive is also written in the past. I have had this letter sealed within my old war chest for 4 long years in anticipation of your recent message. Ah, how well I know thee, my love.
Forgive my tardiness in replying to you. You may, or may not, be aware that I have been disappeared, both mentally and physically, for some months, and it is now that I come to tell you of that fateful disturbance. The fiend, Lord Dennis, had hounded me, sometimes literally with hounds, for many a year. Yes, the man is a confounded nincompoop, but he is proper important, like. Why? I hear you ask. Why did he molest a gent so big and strong and sexy and stuff, you are asking (these are your words not mine). Well, my sugar plum, the answer is shockingly simple. Dennis doth nothing less than desire a piece of your most fragrant panty. Oh, how it angers me.
I left, that fateful morning, after eating three shredded wheat cakes for sustenance, to challenge his Lordship to a duel. My honour had been wounded and I insisted on satisfaction in the only manner fitting such a crime – hungry, hungry hippos – to the death. My faithful steed, Spunky, galloped as if he knew my very intent, indeed, I almost conceived that he did whinny: ‘Do him, do him proper, the smarmy cunt.’ Alas, it was just a fantasy of my fevered brow.
My journey was long, but thankfully uneventful – who knows how long this letter could have been should I have experienced some exciting adventures whilst en route. But, fear not, my little fit-bit, there is adventure aplenty – and then some. For, as I approached the Lord Dennis’ estate, I saw nothing less than a mysterious silvery disc floating ominously overhead. One could almost describe it as a ‘flying saucer’, but that would be silly as there was no giant cup sat on its brow. Alas, I digress. Spunky, overwrought with the arduous journey, became quite disturbed at the sight of the floating disc and began to do, what I can only describe as, a ‘moon-walk’. How can I describe this curious spectacle to a flower as delicate as yourself? Well, it appeared as though my trusty mount were performing a curious dance. A dance in which he were simultaneously walking forwards AND backwards! Oh, how I fervently hope that I have not frightened you, my horny hamster, for it was quite an unearthly sight. I immediately bellowed: ‘What manner of wizardry is this?!’ My answer was soon forthcoming.
I warn you, my doggy-loving damsel, the next portion of my story will frighten you – it will frighten you almost to death. I beg you to read on though, for it may well change your life, and you must know the reasons why it appeared that I abandoned you at such a time of crisis. I hesitantly continue…
After I screamed my protest at this unholy vision, something strange happened. It was almost as though the floating disc were looking at me. I must admit, although to you and you alone, that I shit myself. I’m afraid to say it was both figurative and literal. I attempted to flee but it were as if I were glued to the spot by some kind of … glue. To my horror, the disc began to move before me, and it was only then that I could gauge its enormous size. You will think me quite mad, my sexy-assed siren, when I tell you that it was no smaller than fourteen enormous turnips. I must stress that each of the turnips would be at least the size of a house. It was probably a bit misleading for me to have used turnips as an example.
Once the disc was directly overhead, I felt myself bathed in a curious orange light. And yet, surely it was more than just a lamp, as its rays were able to penetrate my very being. It gave me the most curious sensation in my belly, somewhat reminiscent of when your John Thomas goes all funny and your wee comes out a different colour whence you touch it. Oh how I hope you understand me, madam, for I barely understand myself. The next part of my sorry tale is even more fantastical. It seemed that one moment I was bathed in this mystical lamp-light and the next, following a fairly routine blink, I was in quite another place entirely! Had I not already evacuated my trembling bowels then I would surely have done so now.
I appeared to be in a huge silvery chamber, that was almost completely smooth, almost as smooth as your delicious lady zone, my love. There appeared to be no wood in sight, indeed many of the instruments in the room appeared to be made of a strange plasticky substance, but what it was I could not guess. Many of the walls of the room were illuminated and yet there seemed to be no flames nor chimney. It was freaky. As I gradually regained my wits, I surmised that I had somehow been magically transported within the floating disc.
I must stop now and check that you are not laughing at me. Are you? Are you laughing at me? Good. I was just checking. Oh, my pert pumpernickel, how I know how insane my story must seem to one so fragile and delicate as yourself. It is only the truest love between us that enables me to share this with you. Only you would know that I had not lost my senses or were spinning a tale. Or pissed. I thank you, humbly, for being so wonderful.
Yet, my account of my hellish experiences is not yet done. As I surveyed my surroundings, I became aware of two ‘men’ approaching me. Oh, they appeared to be human, but they were squat and bald and grunted like beasts. They were also not dressed as a gentleman might dress and were clad in strange overalls and jackets made of leather. Then, one of them spoke a kind of distorted version of the King’s English. He introduced himself as ‘Fil Mitt Shell’ and said that his companion was his sibling, ‘Gran Mitt Shell’. I had no inkling of what these strange names could mean, but I must admit that I was too stunned to speak. Fil Mitt Shell said that he had a message for me, and I committed it to my memory banks. It went a little something like this:
“Clarence, do not fear us. We know that we appear strange to you, but me and my bruvva come in peace. You must believe us when we tell you that we come from the future. We come from an England several centuries ahead of you and we have come specifically to speak to you. You are a man of great destiny, my friend, but your destiny is on a knife edge. We have come to tell you that you must protect the good Lady Growbag. You are destined to be together and to lead the world to peace. Trust your instincts, Clarence, trust your instincts…’
Then, with a blinding flash of light, I found myself on the outskirts of Little Buttcheek, a village that is a full 15 miles from Lord Dennis’ estate. I could not account for this incredible distance, but more shocks were to follow. As I entered the village, I spied a young boy who oft frequents my shoppe. On turning to see me, he turned as white as a ghost – indeed he was ghostly white. I shook him vigourously and demanded to know what had given him such a fright. He told me that I had been missing for over 3 months and many believed me to be murdered by Lord Dennis himself! Had I not just endured the most bizarre experience of my life, I would have beaten the child for his impertinence. As it was, I gave him a shiny sixpence and made my way home.
I will not regale you with the story of my homecoming, as it was only your letter that captured my attention. How I missed you, my naked ape, and how I needed to read your words. Could it be that you needed my assitance? Indeed it could.
When I read your words that you loved me, I literally jumped up and clicked my heels together, like a cockney fellow. But then I read that you had only known me for four and twenty hours – which, by my reckoning, amounts to only one day. My love, we have know each other for much longer than that – even accounting for my three months on the silver dish. Who has addled your precious mind in this way?
I read on, my tears smudging your eloquent prose. Then I saw the words that will haunt me forever – Lady Spinderella. That woman is no good – chop her up for firewood! You must avoid her at all costs, my sweet. She is a witch of the highest order. The man she spoke of, Sir P of Diddington, was once a good friend of mine. Alas he was seduced and bewitched by the evil Spinderella. He was one of the noblest men in the land, but she made him renounce his name, Sir P of Daddy, and bequeath all his wealth to her. I know not what manner of spell she did use, but it was most certainly evil.
I fear now for you well-being and the words of Fil Mitt Shell are ringing in my ears. I suspect that you are going to enter a hot body show in order to prove your love to me. How little you realise what a hot body show is!!
I am on my way to save you, my love. I only hope that I am not too late.
Yours in perpetuity,
Clarence Crapper
Sole Proprietor of Barrell O’ Parsnips
Fruit & Veg Emporuim – “Let us root you!”
[...] Hazard of Parsnips Chapter 8 by Sherby 57 7 12 2009 http://sherby57.co.uk/2009/12/07/a-hazard-of-parsnips-chapters-7-8/ [...]
I cannot tear myself away. I am riveted. I am. someone’s bore ridges all the way down me. I best don my writing bucket and affix my ceremonial owl to my snakeskin chaps and verrily get writing.
Is that a good or a bad thing?
It’s freaking lethal. It’s like when you mix titanium corrosinium and ‘just 17′ magazine. Frightening.
Don’t say that sort of thing out loud. We don’t want to give ideas to terrorists.
I read this, and it reminded me of the time I got my head trapped in the vortex between Robin Hood and his Merry Men and Crossroads. That’s ‘Robin Hood’ and his ‘Merry Men’ and ‘Crossroads’. That’s quite a vortex. But it’s worth it because it’s a vortex rather than a matrix of alluvium. You lot up north don’t half talk funny, by the way.
Will the evil lord dennis get the encumberance he surely deserves ?.
Did spunky come to a sticky end ?.
Will sir p of diddington realise he is the daddy , undo the trollop spinderella`s spell and thrash her with egg noodles `n gravy to within an inch of her grocery bill ?.
Can clarence crapper reunite with lady growbag and give peace to the world or will he just give her a piece of gigantic turnip from the 21st century ?.
Will the brovs realise that they have changed history and will end up on a soap opera called westoakenders in which they could be trapped for all eternity
For the answers to these questions and more…
Tune in to “my toothbrush as gone a funny colour” next week…..
wow, HoP has certainly captured the attention of the ‘nation’. Stay tuned for my next chapter when all will be revealed.
That scamp Spinderella, eh?
Spinderella is scampi?
The world hurtles through space, inexorably scoring its elliptical goal. Wait. Can you hear it? The sound of Parsnips coming over the horizon.
scamp!, indeed. the trollop sorceress should be de-bagged, defrocked or defoliated. she should be made to walk the town reciting bad poetry whilst being showered with golden deluges of lost affectations.
though she is a friend of long legs, this behaviour cannot be allowed to tarnish the tea caddy of decency and short bread of rightousness.
i shall call upon clarence crapper to lead the proceedings, and shall offer myself as witness (and refreshment) for the parsnip of persecution.
i await your reply.
yours major-general (w.i) henrietta havingsome-gladly
dear sherbert , is the parsnip in question , the parsnip of st. green of the gross, in the parachute of lettuce and cucumber. or is he the right rev. iknow of whereuliv, in the parchment of good hosiery.
yours
the bistort of minesalager
west butchester
Yes, you’re quite right.
[...] too long since the previous chapters of this epic story were published (read the previous entries, here). This delay has nothing to do with laziness. You may notice that this is a new version of [...]