Percy woke up in the same bod every spangled morning, even though he went to sleep in a nether one in the ether room. His mummy could never understand it. One day she tied a string to his big toe and knotted the other end to his parrot’s cage – just to see what would happen. But there was no discerni-diff. He woke up in that other bod, leaving his toe behind – no blood or anything either. The parrot, however, was never the same, being found on its back at the bottom of the cage – dead as a Dodo – but with a smile on its facetious. The string trailed out of its beak, but there was no sign of the toe. The parrot’s name was Gretchen and Percy’s mum went off to the hardware store down the street to see if she could get her name inscribed on a mini-gravestone, so that Gretchen could have an avispesh send-off. Percy’s pet dog Vermin wanted to sink his teeth into the rigormortified bird, but, as fate determined, Percy’s mum caught him in time and aimed a swift kick in his direction, catching Vermin square on his bumptious, sending him yelping for Percy.

Now Vermin was in a grumptiously whingey mood, his bloodshot eyes adding to the verisimilitude – although Percy knew deep down in his booties that Vermin’s looks were deceptious. So Percy cuffed Vermin on the left ear – the right one being in baddish shape after being smacked by the fat broad at the studio week before last – and threatened to extract his molars if he didn’t up his rate of success. Vermin gave him that pathetic doggie look and wondered how he would crush bones if his molars were extractified. But Percy, being serious – quite unlike the bloogies or panelites at the literal festivities – went over to the closet and got out his toy pliers. He gave Vermin that special look as he twirled the pliers like Wyatt Earp at OK Corral. Vermin, not being completely obtutious, snuck his tail in and under to cover his rectal aperture and slunk off to pander on other matters.

When Percy got to Gretchen’s cage to arrange the little coffin, he found Gretchen covered with a mass of throbbling flies. There she lay bristling – covered with a blanket of shiny throbbing glittering bluebottles humming the funeral march. He tried shootling them off, but they buzzled in unison – it was only later his mum realized that the glue she spreadeagled on Gretchen to preserve her little bod was the culprit. So, together with the kitchen knife, they pried Gretchen off the table and into the coffin – the bluebottles broke into harmony which rose to a crescendo as the lid of the coffin made it all dark for them when it closed.

Vermin, in the meantime, nursing a sore rear end, was plotting how to inveigle his way back into the good books of Percy and mum. He little brain was sorely taxonomic as he hit upon an idealogical – he would launch an assault at the undertaker and bite off his right pedicular digit so that his Percy could get a toe stitched back on his footsie. Tired from this extreme mental exertion, he took up his position and waited.

The funeral was a grandiferous affaire. Percy’s mum had made milk-rice for the wake, even though the price of rice had zoomed skyward and powdered milk was in shortish supply. Then, just as the undertaker was servituding himself, Vermin made his move. He bounded up to the undertaker and grabbed his foot, aiming for that special digital. He didn’t realize however, that the undertaker had crossed his legs in an attempt to inhibit the flatulence that was building up within his innards, and got the wrong foot. He had a problem getting past the shoe, so he went for the ankle. Unfortunately for Vermin – and fortuitously for the undertaker, who was so drunkelled he didn’t feel a thingy – Percy’s mum was right there, and with a practiced swing of her left leg, got Vermin right between the anus and his ball-bearings, sending him hurtling through the crowd and out of the door.

The undertaker finished serving himself the milk-rice and searched for the sambol whilst Percy rushed out to pacify Vermin who was nursing his rapidly swelling bumptious. Not liking what he saw, Percy arranged for Vermin to be admitted to the vet-unitary until his mummy cooled off.

The funeral finished, the crowd dispersified and Percy and mummy had dinner together before he went to beddy. He would feel lonesomely tonight without Gretchen, and Vermin – and without his toe, of course.

Advertisements