24 April 2007
Having calmed myself down after having been utterly consumed with rage upon seeing that awful ‘Wanted’ poster, my mind began to race ahead of me, plotting out the course of action for when Botter and I arrived at the Russian embassy.
I was strolling along, deep in rumination, when Botter suddenly alerted me to the presence of something affixed to a nearby street-light.
It was yet another ‘Wanted’ poster. Behold:
“Do you mind if I evacuate the area before you go ballistic, sir?” inquired Botter, nervously stepping away from me.
I did not reply, instead I simply stared straight ahead at the poster.
“Sir? Should I run for the hills? It’s just that I’d rather not be on the end on one of your wild, frenzied cane attacks, if it is all the same to you, milord.”
“Botter!” I said, springing into life. “Why on Earth should I do such a thing?”
“Do I need to draw your attention to the poster where some vandal has scribbled a penis coming out of your forehead, again sir?”
“Tish, fipsy, pashaw and bollocks,” I snorted. “This does not bother me half as much as the original monstrosity. No, Botter, this is perfectly acceptable. In fact, I am rather impressed that some hoodlum chose to stay out in the cold, probably at night so as to avoid detection by the police, just to deface me. That sort of commitment is only to be applauded, Botter.”
“Are…are you sure you are alright, sir? You aren’t having one of your turns, are you?”
“Indeed not, Botter! Why, just consider the creativity on display here. The two cocks on my head are ingeniously placed, the fabulously diverse selection of swear-words deployed is astounding, there is an astonishing level of accuracy in both the grammar and the spelling, and well, I truly cannot argue with the statement that I, and I quote, ‘love cock.’ I do love cock, Botter, as you know all too well. No, it is near faultless in its ingenuity and bravado. The one issue I would take umbrage with is as to why the artist has felt the need to scrawl a moustache upon my face, when I already have one. Apart from that, superlative! If only the police were as equally creative.”
Botter stared at me, a quizzical look etched across his disgusting face.
“Come on, Botter!” I chirped, as I continued my preambulation. “We cannot afford to dilly-dally!”
Botter shrugged his shoulders, then followed after me.
- Lord Likely