I passed by Al’s house as soon as I got back, like an appointment at a doctor, “Hey, I had this idea.” I said.
“That’s all we need,” said Al, “Sandra thinks she needs an Iveco because she can’t lift the duff.”
“You don’t mean IVF?” I asked.
“Yes please.” he agreed: – You saw the television.
– I did not say.
“You’d better come in then,” he says, “I got it on video.”
I walked in, and Sandra was kind of upside down against a wall resting on her shoulders, “She thinks she’ll help me soak,” he says, “Dopy the cow.”
“Do you want to go Johnno?” Sandra asked everyone sweetly.
“No, you’re fine,” I replied.
“Here, look, when you were in smoke.”
The clip started, with that newsreader starts, “Bong, outrage among pedophiles,” he said, “Let the government investigate!” and there were these two middle-aged perverts hanging from lampposts with their pants off and meat hooks up their bottoms, screaming their heads off, yelling “Put me down!”.
“Damn it!” I said.
“Mr. Oliver Moody, the senior engineer at Weatherfield District Council, is concerned about health and safety,” said the newsreader.
“Yes, one of these perverts could fall and injure an innocent bystander,” he said, “We could of course buy reinforced lamp posts, but there are budgetary considerations.” he added.
“Meanwhile on British Rail,” the newsreader continued, “There are reports of perverts being beaten on the 11.26 Manchester to Brighton service,” and it shows these types of perverts queuing to board a train , the picture has changed in some. a crazy old man in an old black uniform who might have been Waffen SS but was probably Bitish Rail.
“Mr Hargreaves, what has the railway company done to mitigate the vicious attacks on this service,” asked the reporter.
“Put a forty-year-old Class 25 diesel with a set of fifty-year-old Mark One coaches instead of a tourer and get the hell out of the seats so you don’t get blood on them,” he explained, “If perverts want to sit down. I can get a broom from Tesco and stick it up my ass.”
“Thank you Mr Hargreaves,” said the newsreader, “We tried to speak to a representative from Tesco stores but they refused to comment,” he explained.
“And we’re giving free tickets to BNP members so they can check that only Pedos are being beaten, not decent people.” Hargreaves intervened.
“Damn Al, that’s big!” I exclaimed.
“I started something mate,” he said, “I got pre-orders for a thousand meat hooks on ebay when you were fuming,” he added, “The guys at the prison workshop knock them out as fast, but just as well. part is a slow old job.”
– How much will you earn? I asked.
“Hell lose more than when the goddamn Pay Pal got cut off.” he said: “The bastards at Tesco have agreed to find me cardboard boxes to send and Sandra wants to pay to put them in the box.”
“Hell, he should have left the business side to me,” I insisted.
“Johnno, I need a fuck,” Sandra begged, I almost gave in, but the thought of Al being there half an hour ago set me off.
“No, you’re fine Sand,” I said, “I got a girlfriend.”
“The sly bastard!” she said, “Bollocks!” who was a bit rich since he left me.
“You okay for the Council tomorrow,” Al asked.
“I know from afar,” I agreed, “Why?”
“They’re out to get you,” he said, “This Pedo thing, looks like the Homos are getting nervous, I think they’re next.”
“Who the hell told them?” I asked.
“They think you’re homophobic,” he said.
“I’m a goddamn homophobe, I’m not a goddamn homophobe, I’m not afraid of a bunch of bastards,” I said, “What’re they gonna do?
“Just take care of yourself, okay?” he said.
Sgt Fforbes came in on Friday morning, “Well, according to our records, there aren’t any Pedos left in Whetherfield.” he said, “None.”
“How do you know?” I asked.
“Social Networks!” said Fforbes, it turns out he had some kind of online troll who was on these pedopvertic forums,
“Okay,” I said, “damn my idea for a cure.”
“More about the south,” Forbes said meaningfully.
“Right, I agreed.”
“City play Brighton and Hove Albion away on Saturday, they’re running a special train or two, you should get a couple of guys down there, sort that out.”
“Okay,” I agreed and promptly forgot.
Sgt Fforbes came on Sunday, waited until after dinner, knew all about my mother’s cooking.
“Then who was a naughty boy?” he asked.
“What the?” I said, “I’m not quite done.”
“You want to read the paper,” he said and pushed a copy of the Sunday paper across the table.
“Outrage!” The caption of a photo of three Pedos hanging from three lampposts on Brighton’s West Pier, “Council workers refuse to remove dead Pedos without first having Pedophillia shots”.
“Let the damn seagulls eat them,” says potential Brighton BNP candidate “Nutter” Henderson added as a side story.
“Damn it!” I said.
“Right,” he agreed.
“You should try that Pedocure you were bragging about.” he said “don’t forget my cut oh and here’s the name of a guy who can do your liquidation thing for a good price”
As soon as she left, I went to see Sandra.
“Ooooh Johnno!” she cooed, when I told her what Forbes had said: ‘That’s great, are you going to be on the Telly again? Are we moving in together?”
“You’ve got Al’s goddamn baby!” I explained.
“Can I escape if you want?” she said, “Please, Johnno, you know I’ve always loved you the most.”
“Sandra, you’re the kind of manipulative tart that gives tarts a bad name,” I said as I felt her belly swell, “But under the circumstances, if you say yes, I’ll have a free fuck.”
“Half price?” she offered.
“Free until the baby comes?” I suggested.
“You’ve always been a well-spoken bastard,” she said, leaving her panties there and then.
— Sandra! protested her mother.
“Just until the baby comes!” she insisted.
“No, you bastard, you can’t screw with customers while I’m watching Oprah on TV.” she snapped.
“You can wait until the countdown starts, she always falls asleep halfway through.” Sandra suggested.
I did it in the kitchen instead in the end but it wasn’t the same, Hayley was much better at milking cock and I realized I couldn’t get her off my mind.
I watched the Telly after ‘Nutter’ Henderson was being interviewed, “What do you say to those who say you are responsible for all those Pedos who have moved out of Brighton?” he was asked.
“Well I’ve helped them and I think most of them have gone to France,” he said, “We’re coming to St Tropez on the Eurostar on Friday, sort them out a bit.”
“What are your policies, Johnno?” Sandra’s mother asked, “Now all the Pedos are emigrating,” she said, and I didn’t have it.
“I never thought about getting rid of Pedos,” I admitted, “I just wanted nine grand a year because I was screwing them all up.”
“You want to try for the European Parliament,” said Sandra’s mother, “it’s more like ninety thousand pounds because you screw everything up.”
“Ooohhh Johnno!” Sandra rolled, “We could rent an apartment!”
“Look you have a kid with Als,” I reminded her, “Not mine.”
– Fuck! she said and saw that it mattered to me, “Perhaps the next one could be yours?”
Tony Mulholland came to see me the next day. “Sgt Fforbes wants you in the psych clinic at the Duchess of Cornwall Infirmary,” he said referring to the brand new hospital next to the footy field, “They’ve got a couple or Pedos.”
“Right, I agreed, when.”
“Now?” he said so we went there, “Nice engine” I said when I saw he had a police Subaru Imprezza WRC outside.
“Man’s car,” he said, “One fifty at half throttle,” he said as we turned up Wordsworth Avenue, “See?” he says and hits the throttle, “Look at this, already says ton as he reached for the siren and the blue light switch.
“That’s a damn twenty-zone girlfriend, look at that,” I said, catching my breath.
It slowed down a bit and finally after half an hour, including some donuts smoking tires and spins in the parking lot of the private clinic, we arrived.
“Mr. Allthwaite!” an elderly guy in a white coat greeted me: “Nice to meet you, my colleague Dr Blick told me how impressed he was with your ideas and suggested we meet.”
“Okay, what, doing the damn thing for nine thousand pounds a year,” I asked.
“No amount of spam can trump your simple and elegant proposal for a remedy.” he beamed., “But come through.
He studied his chart, “This is Mr. Scheist,” he said as he introduced me to a guy who looked like a master scout, “I always call my patients Mr. Scheist, German for shit, you know,” he added, “Serial offender,” he added, “Volunteered to try your cure.”
“Are you sure he’s a paedo?” I asked.
“Oh yeah, show him a picture of an under-13 football team and he’s stoned in seconds.” added, “Ah Miss Hastings,” he said and this blonde bombshell appeared, must have been a wise DD, you know 44/24/34, wow, “Do you have the tube?” he asked: “And the photograph?”
“Yes!” she agreed, “Here,” and showed me a brass tube.
The visit at the doctor
“Leave your pants Scheist,” the doctor ordered, he did as he was told, and even when Miss Hastings took his balls his tool still stopped curled up, “Show him the picture, it’s the under 13 teams of at Manchester United,” he added. It was the whole team in their home colors, just a regular photo from the local paper, nothing remotely perverse.
The boys instrument puffed up like a popping balloon, “You sure see a Pedo, wanna do the honors Miss Hastings?” he added.
I watched as she put the thin tube into the eye of his cock, his eyes watered, but then she showed him the picture again and he managed to squeeze through the narrow tube, even I was impressed, he must have shot about eight feet. , (2.4 meters)
“Comfortable?” asked the doctor.
“Not!” says Scheist.”
“Okay says the doctor and he pulls out a huge spam like I described with a penis sized hole in the end. Miss Hastings quickly slipped over his cock and started twisting, she screamed, very cute like the guy who sings in Insurance Commercials.
“Nice and tight!” added the doctor, and Pedo passed out.
He looked so funny with his cock inflated, “Will it be okay?” I asked.
“Depends if the brass tube is bent, we’ll see when he tries to urinate.” he explained, he must have looked blank, “I’m trying to take a pee.” he added.
“Right!” I agreed, “With you.”
“Ten pints of John Smith, please Miss Hastings,” ordered the doctor.
– Hang on my friend! I said.
“For the Pedos Piss Test,” he added.
“Right!” I agreed, “Damn waste of good beer.”
“No, it’s been over a month now,” he assured me, “But come see our other patients,” he said, and I got out and he showed me, “She’s Evadne, she’s waiting for the final surgery. ” he explained.
The woman looked a little strange, with silicon breasts, obviously, but somehow wrong: “Coming up with castration, a full penectomy,” the doctor said.
“Hey, we could do that to Pedos.” I suggested.
– Castrate them surgically? asked the doctor.
“Don’t cut a slot and stick fake breasts in your chest.” I suggested, “So he looks like this bastard.”
“It would improve the survival rate,” he agreed.
“Bugger, just cut the slit then.” I suggested, “See with fake breasts and no penis it would stick out like a sore thumb.”
“Doctor,” said the woman, “I’ve changed my mind.”
“What the?” protested the doctor: “You can’t have it, you’ve been living as a woman for two years!”.
– No, they’ll think I’m a pedophile! he protests, “Maybe I could try being straight again?”
“Yeah, take off the fake breasts, you look crazy,” I suggested, “Your hands are too big and you’re too ugly for a woman, you look like a freak!” I said kindly. Damn she knows why she started crying.
“Mr. Allthwaite!” the doctor said as he ushered me out of the room, “That poor guy has been struggling with his sexuality since he was fourteen.”
– Did you get her ass kicked by a Pedo? I asked.
“Actually, yes, actually,” admitted the doctor.
“That’s the problem,” I said, “she needs a few pints and a season ticket to Trafford Park, not the bloody psychiatry, I’ll send Sandra when she’s ready for the screw, if you like.”
“Mr. Allthwaite, you don’t understand!” he said, but I got it right, he was the problem.
“What is the problem?” I asked him, “He paid in advance, you don’t lose, and you can charge extra for the removal of the leg implants.”
“Oh, well, if you look at it in purely commercial terms,” he said as if there was another way to deal with perverts, “You have a reason!”
He took me to another room, there was a lesbian sitting on the bed, “She’s Freda, now she has a sex change from female to male.”
“Don’t blame yourself love,” I said, “Christ, you’re bloody ugly.”
“Shut up you idiot!” she replied with a deep husky growl.
“Yeah, I see what you mean,” I agreed.
“So you approve of Mr. Allthwaite?” asked the doctor.
“Oh yeah sure” I agreed so he showed me the place, the pool was fantastic, the whole length of the basement almost, “Gosh it’s a bit over the top!” I suggested.
– But I like to swim! he laughed, “Take care of number one, Mr. Allthwaite, that’s my motto.”
“And mine, I agreed.”
“Then you will support my treatments?” he asked.
“Depends on whether the poor sod can take a piss.” I pointed out.
“So let’s have a coffee, there are great views of the Station from the staff room,” suggested the doctor.
He was right, it was a damn good view of the station and we watched the trains and drank some coffee until the doctor’s phone rang. “Looks like the brass tube got bent.” he said.
The pedo screamed, he was naked from the waist down, his belly bulging with stale John Smiths as he tried to straighten his cock so he could take a leak, but every time he tried he couldn’t resist the pain and scream.
“Ahhhggghhh!” he complained.
“Ah, now be still Mr. Scheist,” said the doctor softly, “I’ll ease the pain, madam nurse!” he called “Miss Hastings, operating room please.”
She helped Pedo through the door into the next room, I was wondering about washing, but the doctor said it didn’t matter for Pedos, and Miss Hastings let Scheist get to a sort of birthing chair for women.
Scheist sat down and Miss Hastings strapped him in: “Right!” the doctor said as he yanked the pedo’s legs off and clicked a lever to raise the ratchet, “A small incision” he said taking a stanley knife that was lying on a bench and cutting the guy’s ball sack, the blood and other things flowed out. and then he cut sumat and squirted a trickle of piss.
“It’s better this way.” the doctor exclaimed, “Isn’t it?” but the paedo had passed out. It didn’t seem to take a minute for the doctor to drag the end of the pedo’s pee tube through a hole in the back of the ball sack.
“Might as well cut his bolts at the same time,” I suggested.
“Indeed, Miss Hastings,” the doctor called as he cut off the pedo’s hammers and dumped them into a plate, “Finish, please?” and he put down the knife and said, “You have seen enough Mr. Allthwaite, can you recommend us?”
“Oh yeah, especially the last treatment, shut them up and roll the cock around until it rots, ideal.” I agreed.
“How about breast implants?” asked Miss Hastings.
“Okay, yeah why not.” I added, “And make sure you give them a separate pee hole so they can sit down.”
“Exactly,” he said, “What I have in mind is that locking as you call it and breast implants be considered a suitable punishment for pedophiles, an alternative to prison.”
“Cheaper,” I agreed, “But how about the reinforced lamppost deal?”
“But they can still be hooked on an anus hook.” He must have looked hollow because he added, “Asshole, they could still swing from a hook in their asshole.”
“Right!” I agreed, “And they wear striped pajamas like in the concentration camps.”
“Maybe I’m a doctor, not a politician.” he said.
“I’ll get on fatso right now,” I said, and when he looked confused, I said, “Our leader, the fat bastard.”
“Oh yeah,” he beamed.
– When I got into a fight. I added.
“Indeed,” he agreed “First things first.”
“Is your secretary ready?” I asked.
“No, but I do have a few contacts,” he admitted, “Have you tried Lola?”
“That’s my bird!” I insisted but there was another bitch when I called and she was only around the corner anyway so that was fine I don’t think I was at it for more than ten minutes so she only charged me twenty quid while I signed her guest book.
I hadn’t been home more than a few hours when the phone rang: “Is that Allthwaite?” ask this posh git.
“Councillor John Althwaite and Pedo Slayer at your squire,” I say, “What can I make you for?”
“Touches this Allthwaite awkwardly, strictest confidence, see?” he says.
“So who are you?” I ask.
“Ah, I must know old man, the strictest trust, you don’t know.” he says, “The thing is the cost.” he says, “It shouldn’t be a problem, you see, but it costs an absolute fortune.”
“What is he doing?” I ask
“Why jail pedophiles of course,” he said, “We jailed seven last week.”
“Right Bunglas,” I say.
“What the?” he says.
“Deshies,” I add.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says.
“Uh-huh,” I say, “Bungler Dessies and Afgans.”
“Okay,” he says, “Yes, I see, you do,” he said, “We can’t afford it, Mr. Althwaite.”
“Not,” said I, “when a twenty-pound hook does its job once and for all.”
“Exact!” he says
“May I leave it in your capable hands?” he said.
“Well, I need some expenses,” I said, “And an alibi?”
“No need to worry Allthwaite, amendment to criminal justice bill coming Thursday”.
“Okay,” I say, “I’ll wait until Thursday.”
“No, look ideally we’d like you to sit at Central Lancashire Criminal Court and identify the perpetrators,” he says as if he thought I’d do what he said, “When they’re inexplicably found ” Innocent”. you will know who they are and indeed their home addresses.
We toured the courts the next morning, Al came along because he wanted to help us, and we sat in the public gallery with some of Pedo’s family.
“He’s good men,” this bint with what looked like a garbage can on his head with a grill in it said, “He keeps all his wives well.”
“So why does he go pedoing?” I asked.
She shrugged hopelessly. “You have hot eyes,” I told her, “I bet you blow like a good freak!”
“He’s my sister!” she said slightly misunderstanding.
“What do you think,” I say trying to be friendly, “How many pints, curry back at yours?”
“But you are Allthwaite, the famous racist!” she protested.
“I’m not stupid enough to let that stop me from stepping over a leg!” I insist.
“Ok, but we’re getting a hotel room,” she tried to bluff me.
“You’re on, how about dinner time?” I asked.
“No, I have prayers,” she said.
“Does the dog do it while you pray?” I suggested.
“You’re a dirty pervert!” she exclaimed, “I’ve never tried that before!”
“Is that a no?” I ask.
“No,” she says and whispers, “It’s a yes!”
“See you later!” I say and sneaked to the other side of the yard.
Al was standing there looking angry, “There, Johnno,” he says, “I don’t like this butt hook.”
“Well, I don’t expect you to take him home.” I said
“No, but, you know,” he says, “To hurt the pedo with a vibrator in the ass, it’s not right.”
“Isn’t that worse than leaving his penis?” I said.
– Do not like. he says, but by then Bunglas was on his way, what a bunch of morons, smarmy gits one and all, it looked like the butter wouldn’t melt.
I handed over my phone and recorded as the bouncer read their names and addresses and took pictures as well, then listened as the prosecution described the case, except when I had to leave because I was sorry, I wanted to get a device. weapon and cut down many of them.
I was listening to them about cocking when it hit me, if an expanding cock could drive spikes up their ass, why wouldn’t it beat them?
“Hey Al,” I say, “How about shoving the butt spike down his throat instead?”
He turns to me, smiles and starts a high five, “He’s got to be bigger, he might give them a headache.”
“Damn bonus!” I said, “Change the body and leave the skull hanging from the pole.”
“You’d better change the order quick,” says Al, “I think you’ve got it!”
