Percy was befunddled. How, he wondered, could his pet pooch Vermin, arrive at such brillig confucions. There he was, with his tiny brain spewting forth occasional sparks of whizdumb – like ‘if you can’t bite them to a pulp, join the enema – buy them up’. Percy knew deep down in his bullocks that Vermin had been on a spree of sorts ever since Gretchen the parrot had keeled over in her cage and the tele boys and girls had pummellized him for his brazen buttheadedness. Bite marks on some of the victims matched Vermin’s dental asymmetry and Percy’s bullocks told him from deep down under that Vermin may just be heading for the deep edge. But nonethemore, his idealogical about controlling the North East West South by in-filtering the enema did make sensibilities fall into place in Percy’s befundled right cerebral hemispheric. But how, he wondered, could he manipulate the infiltering?

Percy’s mummy had, in the meantime, got themselves another Polly to replace their lately departured Gretchen. They called it Ferdinando Polly and all it did since it was put in its cage was squawk repetitiously the only phrase it learned from Vermin – fuck me before I fuck you. Over and over again it squawked until, in a fit of exasperaalia, Percy’s mum whacked it with her crucifix and fed it a wafer to keep it silent for a bitsy. She just knew that Percy would teach Ferdinando a trick or two and soon he would be extolificating the frabjousness of Percy to all and sundrous, instead of the inane squawks it learned from Vermin.

And speaking of Vermin – he kept out of sight of Percy’s mum for the mostest, as he was tired of getting his bumptious booted each time he did somethingie she didn’t approviate of. But he kept close to Percy, who loved him dearishly, knowing all the time that he could bite the hand that fed him – and what’s moresley, Vermin knew that Percy knew it toodles.

And so they planned to whack the enema on two frontals. Percy would pull out his puppet setup that he had got a few Christmases ago and start pulling their strings, whilst Vermin would set about the enema when they least expected it. He had already got a few of them that he identifixtured from the photos that Percy’s mum had taken when he was being set upon, but he had more to do. He’ll show them who was what – just like Percy had told him to.

The first motion that Percy made when he filgurized that infiltering was the name of the game was to was check out his playthingies – his toy airline, which had seen better days and was now in pretty squaldish shape, his toy soldiers, with their tanks and weaponry, his puppets of course, and his toy bank with all its play-money. He would use them all to be king of the hill and then none of the other kids on the block would be able to spreadeagle fictricktious and nastiferous lies about him and his faithful Vermin. He, Percy, would show them a thingie or three about how to maintain his power over the other kiddies, who he felt sure were plotting to do him dirty. And when it came to ‘dirty’ he knew he could count on Vermin.

And so he set about it – playing the games he was so smashing and dashing at – pulling the stringlets to get the puppets moving, extractificating the toy money to buy the puppets’ way into infiltering the enema who spread the news around the Nation through the air and on on the ground on a daily basis. And Vermin handled the cheeky buggers who dared to even think about pummellifying him. Together they would share the spoils, he told Vermin. Percy’s mummy, however, knew her Percy well – there would be no sharing – even if Vermin was still around.

And his new pet, Ferdinando Polly, was also shaping well according to mummy, and Percy could hear him practicing his new lines: ‘long live the king’, he squawked from his cage in the next room.

And the sound of that made Percy verrra pleased, indeedie do it did.

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