The Panties Thief Of Foddleburg

Chapter 1: Wash my knickers or kill me

General Bert Hyphen Arz

Sunday morning on the banks of the Parramatta River in Sydney Harbour, the Opera House stands majestic and glowing in the warm early morning summer sun.

A millionaire’s yacht slowly glides past the historic building, and a father points out the finer points, educating his children on the beauty and history of this historic landmark. It is another beautiful day. Waltzing Mathilde can be heard from a radio on the banks of the river.

Suddenly little Frankie points to the water and screams.”Godstruth, dad, I just saw fuckin’ Nemo; let’s fry the little bastard…”Everyone on the boat falls around laughing,

it was then I opened my eyes, and I thought. What the fuck was that all about?….it has bugger all to do with this story.

So try to get that image out of your head.

Who am I? My name is Dick…… Private eye Wien R. Dick, what does the R stand for. I have no idea, my parents sold me to some gipsies for some magic beans, and I never found out what it meant.

My parents, however, did go into the gold business, hmmmmmm!!! Food for thought….I am a narrator for detective stories, but one with a difference, I only narrate the cases everyone else rejects.

This is my story, I tell it so as I saw it, and yeah!, some of the facts might not be 100% accurate, but they are nearly true and wel Goddam it, that is good enough for me. I will narrate to you through this story as it unfolds, let’s get started…….

I jumped into my sports car and headed up the coast to my next case in Adelaide, I was….

Stop stop stop, fucking stop this shit, daydreaming again.

We are transported like a fart in the ‘Mistral’ winds of Southern France, to a cold, rainy, wet and damp imaginary land.

For there on the shores of the Polluted river. In front of the Scary Jaggy mountain range, lies the not-so-sleepy town Foddleburg.

It is where our story begins, at the neighbour’s house of the not so famous Opera singer Sidney House……

“Stop, stop in the name of my late husband’s dead pet squirrel, Arthur,” screamed Ethel von Buggerlugs hyphen Arz in the general direction of Luvalot Crackopen the 3rd. Her adopted pet sister and utensil thing.”I can’t believe it, you washed my silk knickers with your woollies, you utter utter utter fanny,” She screamed further less than amused with the help.

Ethel was a woman of great stature, in figure and attitude. She was a 60-year-old widow of 10 years, but still carried her husband’s name, General Bert Hyphen Arz, and his ashes about in her purse.

This was disturbing to others, as she has to rake about in the ash when looking for change, but as she said. “It makes me feel close to him…”

It was suggested she might put it in an urn, but she just dismissed it as ludicrous.

Dancing blindly, like a mole on acid, Luvalot just danced out of the room, totally ignoring the words of Ethel. She was of Polish descent, her real name was Romin Indegloamin, but has nothing to do with this case, maybe another….but who knows except me, and I am a selfish bastard and am keeping it to myself….

Anyway, she emigrated to Foddleburg in the great flood of ’84 and has lived with Ethel since the old bag fished her out of the Pollute, the river that runs straight through Foddleburg and directly past Ethel’s house.

Ethel had on more than one occasion, 6,482 times to be exact, tried to pon Luvalot to anyone who would have her, sailors, bakers, even the candlestick makers of Earwax Alley, but to no avail.

Yes, they would all try her out for a night, but they always brought her back the next day.

Ethel always wondered while she counted the money, why this was, but it may be the fact she never washed her hairy under regions and there were always flies around or the fact she farted at a steady pace of 2 farts a minute.

Strange things were happening in Fodlleburg, strange things indeed. Apart from the usual mass murder, embezzlement and rape cases, you know, the everyday things in a busy town, there was something extraordinary on the go.

As Luvalot danced past the window and saw a strange, small, fat shadow lurking amongst the bushes at the bottom of the garden near the compost heap.

“AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHSKI!!!!!” She screamed in a very high Polish girlie voice

“Stone the crows and the pigeons as well…you utter gobshite,” Ethel roared, “I could have peed my pants……” She paused for a large drink of brandy before continuing, “If I had been wearing any. Quick Luv fetch me my I-Luv pee panties “

But Luvalot’s face went from happy to shocked within a millisecond.”No chanski, stoneski the fucky fucky crowski “ Bo peeped’

“WHAT!!!!” bellowed Ethel, “Lookski”

Bo was crying by now,

“lookski, the washski line, goneski, panties goneski, nickedski”

Both women froze for a second, then darted for the window

But when they appeared at the window, this little fat shadow disappeared into the night. Which was actually a bizarre thing within itself, because it was two in the afternoon, and it was a beautiful sunny spring afternoon.

I told you, didn’t I, strange things were happening in Foddleburg, but would you listen…oh no, you just ignored me, now I am in the huff and don’t want to continue…..

“Oh, for fuck sake, get on with it, I shaved my pubes and legs for this, you big nobhead. “ Ethel screamed at me.

Being the wimp that I am, I will obey and continue, now read on…..

We shoot across to the Police headquarters.

“You cunt…” Ethel screamed at me, “You promised us a more significant part in this book…”

But when I try to answer, Luvalot sticks her boobs into the conversation.

“Yeahski fuckov” she screamed in perfect broken English

I tried to explain, I had given them the honour of opening the book, but still, the abuse was hurled in my general direction like a monkey throwing its faeces at people at the zoo.

Quickly, I closed the door to this section, even I could hear their angry rantings and swearing, I felt safe. I might bring them back into the story at a later date, but who knows what is going on in that head of mine…well, definitely not me

Intermission

“Mince” cried Inspector Poopoo….”, I’ll have anything but mince, last time I had that, I had the shits for about a fortnight.”

They were ordering food from the local Indian for the afternoon shift at Foddleburg Police station.

“…and I don’t want the rat,” he continued, “Rat is worse than mince…I dared not sleep, with that bloody cat in the room, after I had eaten a bloody rat. Bloody cat nearly nibbled my bloody ear off.”

“I’ll just get chips for you then.” P.C. Bumwillie said

“Aye lad, nowt wrong with chips,” the Inspector replied.

All of a sudden, like a scene from a very early Batman show, the red alarm phone rang.

Drrrrrrrrrrrrrfuckingrrrrrrrrrring.

This was the angry phone.

“Foddleburg Police Station, how can we bloody ignore you?” Sargent Squinty remarked.

Mumbling could be heard coming from the other end of the line.

“Hold on a bloody moment, sir,” the sarge said, “….Oh, I mean ma’am. Let me get someone who bloody understands bloody mumble.

“P.C. Bumwillie, bloody front desk, bloody immediately.”

The running sound of big tackety boots running could be heard through the hallway.

“And for Christ's sake, Bumwillie, tell bloody old man Billy Goat, to stop bloody running in the bloody hall or at least put on bloody running shoes….bloody pest.”

It will not be a surprise to hear that the sergeant’s nickname is Bloody Squinty

“Here,” the sarge grunted, “find out what the old bag bloody wants.”

Handing the phone to the P.C.

“Morning, P.C. Bumwillie, how can I help you?” he said

“Mumble mmuuhhhaa mummble mmmuuuubbbaaaahhhh.” was heard.

“Aha! I see, and the reason is?” the P.C. enquired

“Mummmbble mum ble mmmmmmuuuhhaaa mumbel.” Again was heard.

“Okay, I’ll see what I can do, but ma’am, may I suggest putting your teeth in before calling next time. Good morning,” the P.C. hung up.

“Well?” the Sargent asked the young policeman.

“Well,” he said, “ she started with Mumble mmuuhhhaa mummble mmmuuuubbbaaaahhhh and then continued with, Mummmbble mum ble mmmmmmuuuhhaaa mumble, very strange indeed,” the P.C. remarked.

“In the name of Juniper’s underpants, what the hell does it mean, you idiot?” the sergeant screamed.

“Oh!” giggled Bumwillie before continuing, “There has been a murder at the Von Buggerlugs estate.”

A silent pause fell upon the surroundings before the P.C. and the Sargent realised what he had said, and then they both jumped up and screamed.

‘THERE HAS BEEN A MURDER AT THE VON BUGGERLUGS ESTATE FOR OLD PERSONS AND NUTJOBS.”

(Pause for terrifying music, a cup of tea and a choccy biscuit)