When Groinkians Attack Chapter 2
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When Groinkians Attack!Chapter 4 free porn video
"I do, do you do, too?"
TEN COPS showed up for the Sniffer-Prissyfoot wedding. Twelve if you count Chief Melrose and Sniffer.
Wives and girlfriends were also in attendance. It was held at the charming chapel behind Our Lady of Perpetual Dreams church. Father Olympus Farquar Kaminski performed the ceremony.
The only problem to occur, if one thinks it's a problem, was when Father Kaminski asked, "And do you, Pissy Pootyfoot take.,, " Sniffer himself interrupted and corrected the good man. Just in case a slip like that made the marriage somehow null and void. Why take the chance, eh?
Pooty looked absolutely lovely. She'd made her own wedding dress. From a pattern she got by mail order from one of those women's magazines. It was a dead-ringer for the wedding dress worn by Elizabeth Taylor at her sixth, or was it seventh? betrothal. To... what's his face?
The dress was a pastel lilac, and it looked absolutely light and delicate on dear, sweet Pooty as she stood next to the Cloud Nine she was soon going to wed. And only Pooty saw Magic perform the ceremony. Everyone else saw dull-as-dish-water Kaminski.
Prior to the nuptials, Chief Melrose gave an order to the entire stationhouse personnel. He had caught the entire gang of cops going over a flyer from a local store that had many items on sale, including toasters. Knowing his cops as well as he did, he could see it coming. The Sniffers would be the recipients of eleven fucking toasters.
"Listen you bozos," he barked at them, "these two have all the appliances they need right now. So here's a chance to use your collective imaginations and show some creativity... give 'em cash." He scowled at them. "You hearing me?" They heard.
The Sniffers honeymooned at a small, charming place in the mountains. Pooty picked the place out, possibly because of its name: Sal & Sally's Love in the Clouds Bed, Breakfast, and Beyond. The Beyond was a late night snack of milk and cookies. Which Sniffer loved, especially as he could also watch his Pooty in her warm flannel pyjamas.
By the time they returned, Mr. Rinsdale had three eff all painted and cleaned up for them. He loved the idea of having a cop living on the premises so much he gave them a thirty percent discount on their rent. Turned out the maintenance engineer not only ran the building, he owned it, too.
And the Sniffers needed a bigger place. Not just for convenience of extra space, but for the proverbial bun that Pooty had in the proverbial oven. They peeked. It would be a boy. A love child boy made on a bed of clouds.
They plan to call him Richard after Pooty's great-grandfather, Dewey Richard Renfrew Prissyfoot. The child would be Richard Sniffer. Or Dick Sniffer. Or Dickie Sniffer. Oh, yes, we can hear it now. "Hey, wanna give my dickie a sniffy, Dickie Sniffer?" Poor kid. Will parents ever learn? Or never learn?
It reminds me of the inimitable real-life Hogg sisters, Ima and Ura. They'd get a kick out of meeting new people. Ima would say, "Ima Hogg and Ura Hogg." She'd then point to her sister. Great fun, what? And, of course, there's Jack Frost. And the real-life dentist, I. Pullem. Not to mention Lana Evoli, whose name means nothing much unless it's read backwards. Then it's a hoot.
The Three Stooges had fun with names, too. Such as their law firm: Dewey, Cheatham, & Howe. I love that one.
But, yes, it was the same Dewey Prissyfoot who founded Prissyfoot's Haven for Wayward Girls. And yes, there was that scandal. Where ninety six girls said he had threatened to throw them out on the street, in the middle of winter, if they didn't, as he called it, "Ride my little pink pony to Heaven." All ninety six had taken the pony to Heaven numerous times, to hear them tell it.
He'd gotten away with it for over ten years, and probably would have gone on for who knows how long if one of the girls didn't up and get jealous because he spent more time with what's her name than with her. She turned him in. And there was a trial. But all the girls, including the whistle blower, recanted their statements at the last minute. Just funning, they said. Dewey Prissyfoot was forthwith released and all charges were summarily dismissed.
The townsfolk saw it differently, however. As one local yokel put it, "I guess old Dewey's little pink pony really did take them to Heaven, dontcha know."
All the girls, including the whistle blower, wanted to go back to Dewey's haven, for more riding lessons it was presumed, but the town council took his license away, just to be on the safe side it was rumored. So Prissyfoot was forced to close up shop. But he outfoxed them in the end. He turned the haven into a party dress manufacturing plant. And hired all the girls! Whether they could sew or not. As long as they could ride.
He could often be seen riding around in his horse and carriage with one or more of the girls accompanying him. With heavenly smiles on their young faces, you betcha.
But that was then and this is now...
"All's well that ends OK!"
BALLIWICK was at London's Heathrow airport, but anyone who knew him before would never pick him out now.
He looked fantastic. Bookem had Karl take him for a hair styling and a manicure. And a new suit, shirt, and tie. With new shoes to boot. And, believe it, a new watch, too.
So here he was, looking squeaky clean. In a pearl gray suit with a pale yellow shirt and a dark blue tie with tiny yellow dots sprinkled thoughout. With styled hair and shiny nails. He looked like a fashion plate. A far cry from the Balliwick of old.
His plane was due to take off in twenty minutes. Bookem had said he'd meet him and present him with his check. Balliwick checked his watch. Where's Bookem, he thought. Oh, well, he's probably conned me and there'll be no check. But at least I'm still...
Balliwick looked through the window out at the tarmac. A Rolls-Royce limousine had pulled up. It had a British flag flapping in the wind on each front fender. On the driver's side door was a crest of some kind. Bookem stepped out. He saw Balliwick through the glass and waved to him. Balliwick smiled and waved back.
A moment later they were face to face. "Sorry," Bookem said. "We hit some traffic. But I'm here now. How are you, Bert?" Balliwick smiled and said he was OK. Which he sure was now. Bookem said, "Karl did all right by you, Bert, didn't he now?" Balliwick nodded.
Without further ado, Bookem handed Balliwick the cashier's check as promised. Balliwick thanked him profusely and pocketed the check real quick like. Before Bookem could change his mind.
Then Bookem reached into his inside coat pocket and brought forth a small, purple velvet box. He opened it to reveal a medal sitting on an interior of gold lining.
Balliwick leaned forward slightly and peered into the box. He saw a cross, enamelled white and edged in gold. It hung from a one and one-eighth inch wide red ribbon edged in blue, with gold bars, top and bottom, ornamented with laurel. In the centre of the cross, within a wreath of green enamelled laurel, sat the Imperial Crown, in gold upon a red enamelled background. Balliwick gasped.
Bookem said, "Mr. Bertram Balliwick. On behalf of Great Britain, I take immense pleasure in awarding to you the Distinguished Service Order. This is awarded in recognition of special services you have performed for Her Majesty's government." As he offered the box to Balliwick he added, "You have Great Britain's undying thanks and everlasting gratitude."
Balliwick hesitated. He looked as if he was either in shock or afraid of the box. "I... I... don't know what to say, Mr. Bookem. It's... it's beautiful!" Bookem said, "Here, take it Bert, you've earned it. It's yours now." Bookem smiled.
Balliwick took it and his hands shook. Bookem saluted him. He saluted back. Both ended their salutes with snappy hand-aways. Bookem offered his hand to shake. They shook. Bookem said, "Congratulations Mr. Bertram Burlappe Balliwick." Balliwick said, "Thank you, Sir."
He then told Balliwick that when he got to where he was going and was settled in, he was to call a certain phone number. He handed him a card which merely read, on two lines: Major M. Wolfert 703-555-1236.
He told him Major Wolfert was a de-briefing officer who would help him adjust to civilian life. Balliwick told him he didn't think he needed that kind of stuff, but Bookem told him, "Whether you need it or not, Bert, it's the law." Balliwick stuffed the card into his new suit's inside pocket. No point in ruining his squeaky clean police record now, was there? He promised Bookem he'd call immediately upon settling down somewhere.
"Now, Bert," Bookem said. "When you get to your destination airport a chauffered car will be there to meet you. The chauffer's name is Vincent. I think you'll like him." He also told him that he had the use of Vincent and the limo for one full month. A gift of the UK and MI-5.
Balliwick's flight was uneventful except for his pestering of all the flight attendants with stories of how he saved the world from aliens. And had the medal to prove it. As he wasn't drunk, boisterous, or acting crazy, they politely listened to his story once or twice. One attendant heard it four times. By the end of the flight she had a dizzy look on her face and mumbled her goodbye to each passenger.
And Bookem was right. Balliwick liked Vincent immediately. He kept calling Balliwick sir. "May I make you something to drink, Sir? It's a good thirty miles to Magnolia Lane, Sir. A nice martini, perhaps, Sir?" That hit the right note with the new and improved Balliwick.
"Yes, Vincent, a martini will do rather nicely." The he switched to his best Sean Connery: "Please see that it's shaken, not stirred!" Vincent laughed and said, "Yes, Sir! Comin' right up, Sir!" Balliwick enjoyed this immensely.
When he got to 1411 Magnolia Lane he could see that Henrietta's house was dark. Well, he thought, it is after nine o'clock and she's probably asleep, but she did tell me to come 'round no matter what time it was. Vincent told him he'd wait, just in case.
Just as Balliwick neared the front door and was about to press the bell, the door opened. A middle-aged man stepped out. He looked at Balliwick and said, "May I help you?" Balliwick thought Henrietta had probably hired a butler.
"Yes, my good man," said Balliwick, "tell Ms. Higga... uh... Henrietta that Mr. Bertram Balliwick has arrived. She's expectin' me. So could ya tell her I'm here, please?" Balliwick smiled. He liked living up to his new look.
"Ah," the man said. "I'm Mr. Griner, Henrietta's lawyer." He offered his hand to shake. Balliwick shook it. Then Griner said, "And you're just the man I've been looking for. Come in, Mr. Balliwick, please." He stepped aside to allow Balliwick to enter.
He asked Balliwick to make himself comfortable in the living room while he opened his attache case and took out some papers. He spread them out on the desk and came right to the point.
"Mr. Balliwick, I have the sad duty to inform you that Ms. Higgambotham-Smythington has passed away. Two days ago. In her sleep." Balliwick gasped. He looked sick.
"Now, now, Mr. Balliwick, she was, as you know, very sick for the last few years. It was to be expected."
"I... I didn't... I knew... " Griner cut in. "But I guess even if you know it's coming, it's still a shock." Balliwick was in shock all right. Real shock. But more shock was to come.
Griner said, "Henrietta's will has already been read, Mr. Balliwick, but as you were not there I can fill you in on the basic details now. Henrietta has left all her money, save what she has bequeathed to you, to The Chalmer's Association for the Rapid Neutering of All Felines, or CARNAL, as they're better well known. To you, Mr. Balliwick she has left the sum of $500,000 and this very house." He swept a hand around.
"Mr. Griner," Balliwick said. " I had no idea she had that kind of money. She didn't seem to... you know... "
"I know, Mr. Balliwick, she didn't live as if she had money. Rather frugal woman, to be sure. But, nonetheless, she had it. Left to her by her husband Wellington who was quite adept with real estate and the stock market." Griner looked toward the hall closet.
"Oh, yes," he said, "I almost forgot. She left you something else." He went to the closet, opened it, and brought out four shoe boxes tied together with heavy green gardener's twine.
"Balliwick asked, "What is that, Mr. Griner?"
"I don't know. She never told me. Only that I was to give them to you for your own use. Rather mysterious, eh?" Then he added, "She said she hoped it brought you as much happiness as it had her." Griner looked at his watch.
"Well, Mr. Balliwick, I have to run. Now, you won't get the money until the will is probated. Should take nine to twelve months. But in the meantime, you'll find the name of a bank president and a letter of introduction in this." He brought forth a long, white envelope from his case. "All you have to do is contact him and he can arrange a loan, if you need it. Just tell him to call me if he gives you any problems."
Griner then wrapped it up. He had Balliwick sign some papers. Then he gave him the keys to the house and wished him luck. He said goodnight, handed Balliwick his business card, and took his leave.
Balliwick just stood there. In his living room. He felt very, very weird. And very funny inside.
He said out loud to the room, "Henny, why'd you go and do this? We hardly knew each other. And just being here without you makes me feel funny. I feel like a thief who's broken in and has the place all to himself. Why couldn't you have some living relatives, for crissakes?" Then he noticed an envelope on the desk Griner had used. It was addressed to him. He went to the desk and opened the envelope. He took out a letter. His hands trembled as he opened it. It began:
My dearest Bertie,
If you're reading this it's because I've gone to grow prize-winning flowers for the Angels. I know you didn't know, but I've been ill for quite some time now. And the way this old body of mine is feeling lately I think my time is getting nearer. In spite of what that old coot doctor of mine says.
We haven't known each other very well, but you gave me the greatest night of my life. Whew! The greatest! For a whole week afterwards I didn't notice my pains at all! Not at all. You've got some wonderful medicine there, Bertie. You should bottle it! You'd make a fortune, I can tell you. And if you need a testimonial--well--what can I say?
You're still young, my sweet Bertie, with a whole life ahead of you. So you go and give your "medicine" to some nice sweet girl who will appreciate it. What girl wouldn't? Ha ha.
The money I've left you should make your future easier. And this house, too. Please, Bertie, live in it and make it your own. Nothing would please me more. It's a friendly house, Bertie, and it takes to people real quick like. In no time you'll feel right at home. You just wait and see. Promise me, Bertie. promise me right now! You hearing me?
Balliwick stopped reading and said out loud, "I hear you Henny, real loud. OK. I'll do as you say and live here if that's what you want. I promise. You hearing me, woman? He looked up at the ceiling and he was sure she did. He read the last paragraph.
And Bertie? Don't open the shoeboxes until my birthday on December 6th.
Promise me!
Love, your Henny.
Who now loves the taste of salty onions!
Balliwick looked up at the ceiling again. "I promise you Henny. December 6th. Not one day sooner... "
"Heeeeeeeeeere's... !"
THE SUPREME COMMANDER was due to make another speech. In a few minutes from now.
He looked into the mirror in his dressing room. He liked what he saw. The Devil had shown him a clip from an Earth transmission that featured punk rockers. Knowing how adored they were on Earth, the Supreme Commander went ahead and had his Glixizza dyed a bright orange. The star points he had dyed blood red. His face was made up to look like a cadaver, overall white with black sunken eyes and black lips. He thought he looked magnificent. Especially with the purple star on his left cheek.
He couldn't wait to make his speech. The Devil's plan was right on schedule. They had suffered a massive defeat, as the Devil had arranged, at the hands of the Earthlings. Now, he would predict a fantastic turn-around victory. All with Satan's help. How delicious it was going to be. He would go down in Groinkian history, for sure.
And his pi éce de r ésistance was to be his keynote speaker, Satan himself! Could it get any better than this? Satan said he would outline his plan for defeating the unbeatable and undefeated Earthlings. A sure-fire plan. Led by the Supreme Commander himself.
A slave gossix came in and told him it was time. He gave the mirror a final glimpse and proceeded to the door. Showtime, he thought. Oh happy days. His glixizza swished noisily as he walked.
And there he was. Satan. Just as he said he'd be. Standing in the wings alongside some of the most famous Groinkians imaginable. And Satan looked unbelievably magnificent. He wore a black hooded robe covered with yellow quarter moons. He reminded the Supreme Commander of the wizard he had seen in one of the first Earth transmissions. Floating over the Devil's head was a halo of fire with the flames going round and around. His blood red hands sported white nails at least six inches long.
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