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Hanging Pedos from a lamp post by their bollocks pt 4
It's about (De) Bollocking Pedos basically, If you don't like the F word don't F'ing read it.
Any similarity to persons living or dead is unintentional but with such lifelike characters you probably know someone just like them.
Part 4.
"I’m not sick, I don’t go groping kiddies or blokes," I insisted after Miss Hastings’ outburst, I just want to get me rocks off with a bird no strings like,” I explained.
The doctor nodded "Will you show Mr Allthwaite the plans and the prototype anal hook before he goes please Miss Hastings?" he asked.
She scowled at me but she went to his desk and fetched a folder of plans and a crude mock up of an ass hook, a modified black dildo with spikes laid flat along the sides from the tip and when she pushed the end they sort of sprang out.
Well it wasn't going to fall out easily! "Push in, and then pull back and the six little hooks spring out," she explained.
"How do you get it out?" I asked.
"Why would you want to?" she asked, well she had a point.
"Wants a hook on t'other end," I said.
"Why?" she asked.
"Hang the pedos handbag on why else?" I explained, then when she never realised I was joking, I added, "To hang then from a Lamp post by."
"Why yes!" she said, "Of course."
"I'll go halves," I said, "On profits, I reckon Herr Blick in Dusseldorf could get a few thousand made up quick smart."
I looked at drawing, "I reckon it needs a streamlined end, rather than cock shaped, make it easier to shove up their ass."
“Yes, that makes sense," she agreed.
“If we an outer shell and a inner it could pump out grease as it were pushed in," I suggested.
“Or aftershave, or disinfectant," she agreed, “Poison perhaps?"
“No axle grease, that sort what EU banned on account of Dermot-itis," I corrected and we worked on the drawings fora couple of hours, even the Doctor cleared off home before we was finished.
“I was hoping for a one third share of the profits myself, Mr Allthwaite," Miss Hastings said shyly as we finally finished the drawings.
“Right,” I agreed, “Bit short of the readies are you, well there’s a sure fire way a looker like you can earn a few quid.”
“Are you suggesting I am a hooker?” she said angrily.
“You got the looks,” I agreed, “Tell you what, sort me out, just straight with a rubber a few times and we’ll shake on three ways.”
“Don’t be so crude!” she snapped.
“Ok the find me a tart and I’ll agree to a third,” I suggested.
“Oh very well,” Miss Hastings agreed, and she started looking on line for “Escorts.”
It was a waste of time so I got Miss Hastings to drop me down town while I went looking.
I found this bint, her name was Lola and she advertised in a phone box and worked in a little flat overlooking the station, she was from Bradford and had to pretend to be Lithuanian to get a job, she was so excited to find I was famous that she offered to do it for free but it wouldn't have been fair so I paid same as anyone, mind you I used two rubbers just in case so it was as much fun as fucking a knot hole in next doors shed, not that I ever done that you see.
It was only three months later I found she was a Wetherfield WPC undercover and not really a prossie at all, mind you she banged like a prossie so maybe she was doing a few johns on the side like.
When I got home on Thursday morning mum told me the leaders assistant rang so I rang her back "Allthwaite you're fucking dead!" she screamed, "They want you on Question Time!" she ranted, "You instead of party leader, what you playing at wanker?"
"Look, keep your knickers on," I said reasonably, "For a start your visa expired last year, so don't push it, and second I don't want to be on question time anyway."
It was pretty hopeless, Sandra nearly wet herself when she heard I was going to be on Question Time and she threatened to tell the News of the World I had been screwing her since she was six, which would have been hard since they lived in Whitby until she was eleven, but hey what do those guys care about the truth.
So Sandra came down to London with her Mum and Aunty Joan and we went round to the Television centre and before I knew it I was on stage behind a desk and I was all wired up with these politicians I knew vaguely from the TV.
They all ignored me, suited me fine, then the piss taking started, that smarmy git was in chair, the usual one was off sick, "Before we get onto your specialised subject of Pedophiles, Mr Allthwaite, have you any thoughts on Libya."
"Fucking cheap holiday deals there," I said, "And plenty of action."
"I meant the war," he said.
"That's why the holidays are fucking cheap, wanker." I told him, he never liked that, so they prattled on for a bit, this Admiral wanker was on about the Ark Royal and why they shouldn't have scrapped it so they asked me.
"Why not use a container ship like they did with Atlantic Conveyor in Falklands," I suggested, "Just hire it from the Greeks for a month or so and fly Harriers from that," that made them sit up and take notice.
"Mr Chandler from Princetown has a question about suicides among young people in custody." the prat announces .
"What does the panel think about suicides among young people in custody." he said.
"Sad," I says, "When it's pedos they ought to have a suicide watch, and a hook screwed in the ceiling of the cell and some rope left for them."
"Suicide watch Mr Allthwaite?" the prat asks.
"Fucking watch while they do it," I said, the smarmy git sort of went a green colour and without asking anyone else he continued.
"And we have a question from Mr Exe, a recovering Pedophile." he announced, "Mr Exe?"
"What does Mr Allthwaite propose to do to recompense those whose loved ones have been traumatised by his campaign to maim and murder Pedophiles." he asked.
"Fuck all they're scum." I said.
"Exactly," said the Conservative bloke.
"I think we should consider each case on it's merits," said the Labour bloke, "But we can hardly justify using public money to support those who support Pedophiles."
"I believe in a measured proportionate approach and I believe all relatives and friends of Pedophiles should be offered counselling." said the Lib Dem, "It can be very traumatic to see pictures of ones loved one hanging from a Lamp post by an anal hook splashed across the press."
"Oh!" said the presenter,as a commotion broke out in the audience, this bloke with tatttoos, about twenty five stone of him had the questioner by the bollocks and was head butting him.
"Fucking pedo!" he ranted.
"I thought he was nineteen!" the Pedo protested, and suddenly it was like England vs Wales at Millennium stadium, like a scrum kicking off as all these people went for him.
"Very emotive subject," I said, "Fucking Pedos," and that was it, someone knocked over a camera and the lights went out.
I legged it, things always kick off when the lights go out, so I unhooked the microphone and headed for where Sandra was sitting, this bloke was groping her tits in the gloom, at least I thought it was a bloke but there was this rotten branch snapping sound when I whacked him and the only person with a busted jaw when the lights came back up was a spiky haired lesbian.
Of course we got the blame, News at Ten "Bong" BNP wrecks TV debate, and they caught Sonia and me as we left the building for an interview.
"What do you say to the relatives of Mr Exe who is receiving emergency surgery for his injuries as we speak." this woman reported asked and shoved a microphone in me face.
"Bollocks, I thought he died," I said, "Now if you will excuse me I got some shagging planned.
"Are you sure she's eighteen?" the stupid cow asked.
"Eighteen, more like thirty eight double D," I quipped.
"Oh John!" she quipped, "Isn't he funny."
“Laugh! I thought I'd never start!" I agreed.
“Johnno, where are you taking me?" Sandra asked.
“Nowhere," I said, “I reckon there’s a posh bint or two hereabouts could use a portion."
“Bravo Mr Allthwaite," a familiar voice exclaimed, “Your girlfriend?”
“Ex,” I agreed, “Sandra meet Miss Hastings.”
“So you’re the posh bint Johnno chucked me for!” Sandra snapped.
“You dumped me remember,” I reminded her.
It was all done and dusted, and all fucking forgotten by next morning, just because some Swedish wanker lets fly with a Kalashnikov and wipes out a communist summer camp 89 dead and a bunch more wounded and we was history, no one wanted Pedos hung, no it was all about right wing terrorists and bleeding Muslims.
Even Sonia dumped me like last night's chip paper when the News of the World cancelled their exclusive interview.
I made me way home feeling all deflated.
"We recorded you on the Telly," me Mum said when I got in, "All those people," she said like some kind of imbecile, "Sergeant Fforbes wanted a word when you get in," she added.
"What's his number?" I asked.
"Nine Nine Nine," Dad suggested in his idea of a joke.
I found the number and rang him up, "You wanted a word Sergeant?" I asked.
"The Pedophile squad is being put on checking out right wing extremists," he said, "You're top of the list."
"Right," I agreed.
"So it's down to you, I'll get their details sent round." he says.
"What do you mean down to me?" I asks.
"Clearing the streets of Pedos," he says.
"It ain't my job!" I says.
"Ah well," he says, "Not a job but there's a bloke offering ten thousand a throw for every Pedo bollocked." he says, "Of course there's commission, ten per cent each for Tony and me but it's a nice little earner."
"Christ," I says.
"Your mate Al's up for it," he says, "You better watch out or he'll have your job!"
"Christ," I said, "Yeah, just as long as they are pedos."
"Oh yes, no worries," he agreed, so we went back to pedo hunting.
To be continued.
PC Tony Mulholland and Sgt Fforbes
Mr Boyce
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