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David and his atypical day in Bretagne
Written by Jon   

- Another day in a leviathan bureaucracy for a normal guy.

*** I ***

David awoke and as he worked out up the cover the cold slapped him in the face. Who'd ever come up against such weather to get out of bed, if not compelled by the need, to do another day of surviving in Bretagne. Europe's most diverse of political provinces. David lamented. Working man's got no chance.

David didn't believe in all that conspiracy theorist commie-liberal crap. To him, the government was shite but it did it's best, and this current arraignment in England's affairs were for the better. Things were better off stable as they were. Who needed a nation anyway?

Such political thoughts weren't long on his mind when fumbling movement expelled him from the covers and into the kitchen. The Cold Bit. The EuroBread sat on the counter large, brown and menacing in it's chewy rye mix like constitution. Tea was the current focus of David's action though... and HM tea had escaped the socialisation of the food supply.

After all - the unworking classes could drink water and think themselves lucky. Those with jobs could afford the tea, that like the tidal wave of alcohol before, had replaced the intoxicating liquor with caffination of all social functions. No one drank anymore, it was completely understood to be simply counterproductive to one's general existence to drink. Of course the winos under the bridge still hung around sipping on chemical slush, but they were often persecuted, burned alive by their own supply. They became the last bastion of the enjoyment of intoxication under that bridge - the normal folk - they had celebrity and aspirations - just like David did.

David aspired to know every joke in the world, as a plumber, he blarney was wide ranging, wholesome to filthy and generally honest. the jokes however were banal. You didn't want to offend anyone nowadays. Why make enemies when they come so naturally after all? David thought.

After taking a shower he rushed out to write down his morning joke. he always though of one most mornings to make up for an otherwise moribund and sexless existence on prescribed medicine. Just like 90% of other people in Bretagne. David typed into his portable computer. Paper having been reserved to only the most important of functions, and quickly becoming illegal under the watch of the Environmental forces of the EU state. David typed, fast and quick, into his personal repository of thousands upon thousands of borderline inoffensive jokes.

A pirate walked into a bar and the bartender said, "Hey, I haven't seen you in a while. What happened? You look terrible." - "What do you mean?" said the pirate, "I feel fine." - "What about the wooden leg? You didn't have that before." - "Well, we were in a battle and I got hit with a cannon ball, but I'm fine now." - "Well, ok, but what about that hook? "What happened to your hand?" - "We were in another battle. I boarded a ship and got into a sword fight. My hand was cut off. I got fitted with a hook. I'm fine, really." - "What about that eye patch?" - "Oh, one day we were at sea and a flock of birds flew over. I looked up and one of them shit in my eye." - "You're kidding," said the bartender, "you couldn't lose an eye just from some bird shit." - "It was my first day with the hook." finished the Pirate.

David smiled, then again when he saw another week and he'd have a round 15,000 jokes in his personal catalogue. Quite an achievement. The consistency of it pleased him. The time on the digital display aloof the television worried him on recognition. There was jobs to be doing. David took the last of the tea and grabbed his tools and heading out the door to his Personal Vehicle.

His proud ownership of a Satar MiniPV was well known by his close friends and family. David loved to talk on the efficiency and style of the MiniPV and virtually eulogised upon it when inquired about it's unusual newness by the customers of his plumbing service. David loved the cache of driving amid the buses, secure in the vehicle belonging from him, but not to him, since all non-essential private car ownership had widely been destroyed by the socialisation of Bretagne over the last eventful decade.

The decade England, Britain and the United Kingdom had all become dirty, subversive and ridiculous concepts to be conveyed into the dustbin of history. Concept only now still raging as a mental disese within the politically recalcitrant and independent criminal terrorist networks of which abject fear, was the national sport, and solidifying agent.

David sat in the MiniPV. Despite all the customisations of the committees of transportation and all the notifications sent from central government on it's flashing ticker, David felt it was his own. Of course they could take it at any time for any reason, and of course, it was more a liability of taxation and tracing than anything else: but fundamentally - David had wanted it, David had worked for it, and by his efforts it had come into his companies possession.

To David it represented the last bit of freedom that mattered to him. If he wanted he could move within a three hundred mile radius with ease and comfort before being questioned as to his business. He could have his dinner on the East coast or the South coast and he never lacked the choice of food or fuel... like what the ordinary lazy welfare millions had to choose between. Sometimes David regretted never truly thanking his long deceased father directly for the education in plumbing he had received, against the wishes of the school and college he attended where he was dissuaded from the secure and practical concerns of his future into wastefulness, endless questioning and delinquency by the education system.

For him, his father, had broken rules, laws and conventions to ensure David knew everything about the creaking pipework of basic, middle class and even the eccentricities of upper class home plumbing systems. His father smiled often in the afterlife at the sheer love and finesse David put into his every piece of work, despite the fact that most of his guild would never do good work on the initial visit, thus assuring themselves a bigger fee. Not David. He sought perfection and respect through his efficiency of work. Very quickly he had come to serve better clients and as many as his day could hold, his business was turning into on of the more successful sole traderships on the local financial administrators records.

David, in truth, had been monitored unaware for quite a long time. Very closely.

It was time to drive and end the quiet reflection in the padded, warm comfort of the MiniPV. David blew long and hard into the breathalyser tube in the dashboard. A voice rang out: "Test Negative - Subject identified - Vehicle mobilised and now standing by". David flicked the switch into manual and began to move. It was like torture upon anyone's ears. Every ten or so yards, standardized warnings and cautions from central transport command would rasp through the MiniPV in the voice of a bored middle class female.

Every movement of the vehicle was graded and rated by computer for the potential of danger. Micro-points automatically totalled and accrued based on David's driving, second by second, attaching themselves to the digital record of his license and exhausting his hope of driving forever without a serious and sizable donation to the central party office. David enjoyed all this like a huge game where every other participant was plainly inferior to him. He'd seldom come across drivers with better records than his own... and he took great care and precision to remain in that status.

As his Personal Vehicle approached the inner city and the traffic increased, the MiniPV rose into the air, incrementally and automatically stacking the vehicles upon the road, allowing quicker passage to those travelling the further distances. David looked aside some seven cars up staring straight into an office of computers mainly operated by women, desk after desk spreading into the distance of the building. David looked too long at the women working and a voice stood out amongst the others from central command: "Due care and attention not being shown at all times - license micropoints increased by one hundred and eighty-five - current total five thousand four hundred and eighty-five".

David gritted his teeth and got back to staring ahead into the slow moving stacked traffic. Hounslow from central London in 15 minutes. The overcongestion of people and the streamlinging of transport by stacking had coalesced into a nightmare scenario of gridlock, all whils the computers figured out exactly what was going on. Was this 2020 or was London stuck again in the dark ages? Hurry the fuck up.

WANKERS!

David thought as the traffic was slower than surgery and thrice as painful. He didn't agree with the automatic driving method of most of his associates ont he road and as such resorted to some colourful language. The dashboard did not agree with David's assessment of the facts,

"Invective detected - dispatching patrol" spake the ever present middle class female's voice.

CUNTS! David responded. Oblivious to the additional offence caused.

An officer taped on the window. David pushed the button.

"Do you know you're driving erratically and swearing, Sir? Problems? The officer shouted from his aerobike

"No problem, just late, I'm sorry." David shouted back. The officer hovered closer.

"You drive like a joker, do you like jokes, joker?" The officer prodded through the window.

"Erm, I like jokes" David said.

"Question: What's the hardest part of being a pedophile Joker? I'll tell you. It's tough fitting in!" The officer smiled.

"Heh" David didn't laugh.

"Do you know why all the are niggers moving up North, Joker? They heard there are no jobs!"

David stayed staid and straightfaced.

"Hey, Joker, What's the difference between a sandwich and a baby? You don't fuck your sandwich before you eat it."

David blurted: "No, I'd never do that, officer."

"I'm messing with you, Joker, Here - How long does it take for a nigger bitch to take a shit? Usually about nine months. Stinks something awful" the officer shouted in the window

"Oh - What's the best part of fuck twenty six year olds? There are twenty of them, Joker!" The officer cracked up.

"Anyway guess what the vampire say to his girlfriend? He Said: 'See you next month!!!'" David smiled at that one...

"Joker... just tell me this .... how does a black woman know when she's pregnant?" The constable asked.

"i don't know - the usual way" David said cautiously.

"No, Joker, It's when she takes her tampon out, all the cotton's been picked off it man!" The officer roared.

"What's the matter, Joker? You like jokes don't you? I've seen your file." David nodded.

"Can't you speak Joker?" The officer asked.

"I don't like those kind of jokes." David said.

"Why not" asked the officer.

"Because they're nasty to a group of people not imaginary - and you'd have to be nasty to laugh" David said staring straight ahead.

"Good Joker. Good. So you know, the jokes lately have been too harsh - you're turning scatological Joker." The officer leaned back into upward position on his aerobike.

"Don't push your luck Joker. Start with scat, and you're a short skip from utter racist, inhuman filth. Watch yourself. You know everyones famous nowadays. Always being watched. You be a good little Joker." The officer swiftly departed.

David gritted his teeth as the girl in the dashboard told him about his 200 point fine for the Officers time. He closed the window and drove ten feet then up and away after clicking into manual mode. It was looking like a bad day.

When he arrived at his first port of call, the plumbing supply warehouse, David went inside and picked up a couple of items quickly and walked to the checkout register. There was no-one there. He scanned his items and fed his credit card into the registry machine. It illuminated: "Card Not Valid" upon the screen.

"Having problems there?" a guy with bottle bottom glasses asked David.

"It's not taking my card!" David said.

"O.K. let's try it manual style" the four eyed guy replied.

He dialled in the numbers, waited a minute, and gave it back to David.

"Not valid Dude." glasses guy said.

"For Phillips Sake!" David spat.

He said "Thanks!" and walked out without his parts.

In the van he keyed in his numbers to the dashboard. The voice connected, mechanical, computerised:

"HELLO MR PETERSON HOW CAN I HELP YOU TODAY?" the voice asked.

"Why is my card not valid for purchasing?" David spoke up into the roof of the vehicle.

"YOUR BALANCE IS BELOW TWO HUNDRED EUROS CARD AUTO DISABLED" the computer rejoined.

"List recent transactions" David commanded

" DEBIT SIX THOUSAND TWO HUNDRED AND THIRTY EUROS - BRETAGNEFINANCIALREQUISITIONS GROUP - FRIDAY 6TH NOVEMBER '58. DEBIT TWO HUNDRED AND EIGHTY TWO EUROS - PLUM PLUMBING SUPPLIES LTD - FRIDAY 6TH NOVEMBER '58..."

"Fraud referral - Who authorised first transaction please?" David asked.

"EU STATE ENTITIES DO NOT REQUIRE AUTHORISATION SIR" the dashboard seemed to giggle. It was a conspiracy.

"Can I talk to a supervisor there please?" David asked pleafully again.

"ALL SUPERVISORS ENGAGED CALL BACK EXPECTED IN TWO HOURS THIRTY SEVEN MINUTES" the line was cut by the computer. A disconnection tone hung in the air.

*** II ***

Glynneys GlenGarry wasn't a fat woman. She just ate noting but the finest food all day long whilst watching holographic television.  Her propensity to fart at inopportune moments wasn't the end of her vulgarities, but her husband was something in the department of Commerce so together they enjoyed their West London home with it's quaint coffee mornings and cakes with the inter-faith Vicar.

"MNMNMN Wherebot FETCH that CAKE" Glynneys gobbled. The little Wherebot under the table sped towards the kitchen in search of cakey goodness like it's very existence depended upon it. Which it, in fact, did.

"Fuck no the plumber, the bastard is coming, got...to....get....up" She wobbled on the settee.

At that moment as she rolled slightly off the sofa, the Wherebot came speeding back into the room holding a VERY LARGE slice of chocolate mint chip cheesecake and smashed than pushed every last crumby cheesy bit of it's goodness it could into Glynneys' face. It was in fact a quite new Wherebot, and obviously, ea
- Another day in a leviathan bureaucracy for a normal guy.

*** I ***

David awoke and as he worked out up the cover the cold slapped him in the face. Who'd ever come up against such weather to get out of bed, if not compelled by the need, to do another day of surviving in Bretagne. Europe's most diverse of political provinces. David lamented. Working man's got no chance.

David didn't believe in all that conspiracy theorist commie-liberal crap. To him, the government was shite but it did it's best, and this current arraignment in England's affairs were for the better. Things were better off stable as they were. Who needed a nation anyway?

Such political thoughts weren't long on his mind when fumbling movement expelled him from the covers and into the kitchen. The Cold Bit. The EuroBread sat on the counter large, brown and menacing in it's chewy rye mix like constitution. Tea was the current focus of David's action though... and HM tea had escaped the socialisation of the food supply.

After all - the unworking classes could drink water and think themselves lucky. Those with jobs could afford the tea, that like the tidal wave of alcohol before, had replaced the intoxicating liquor with caffination of all social functions. No one drank anymore, it was completely understood to be simply counterproductive to one's general existence to drink. Of course the winos under the bridge still hung around sipping on chemical slush, but they were often persecuted, burned alive by their own supply. They became the last bastion of the enjoyment of intoxication under that bridge - the normal folk - they had celebrity and aspirations - just like David did.

David aspired to know every joke in the world, as a plumber, he blarney was wide ranging, wholesome to filthy and generally honest. the jokes however were banal. You didn't want to offend anyone nowadays. Why make enemies when they come so naturally after all? David thought.

After taking a shower he rushed out to write down his morning joke. he always though of one most mornings to make up for an otherwise moribund and sexless existence on prescribed medicine. Just like 90% of other people in Bretagne. David typed into his portable computer. Paper having been reserved to only the most important of functions, and quickly becoming illegal under the watch of the Environmental forces of the EU state. David typed, fast and quick, into his personal repository of thousands upon thousands of borderline inoffensive jokes.

A pirate walked into a bar and the bartender said, "Hey, I haven't seen you in a while. What happened? You look terrible." - "What do you mean?" said the pirate, "I feel fine." - "What about the wooden leg? You didn't have that before." - "Well, we were in a battle and I got hit with a cannon ball, but I'm fine now." - "Well, ok, but what about that hook? "What happened to your hand?" - "We were in another battle. I boarded a ship and got into a sword fight. My hand was cut off. I got fitted with a hook. I'm fine, really." - "What about that eye patch?" - "Oh, one day we were at sea and a flock of birds flew over. I looked up and one of them shit in my eye." - "You're kidding," said the bartender, "you couldn't lose an eye just from some bird shit." - "It was my first day with the hook." finished the Pirate.

David smiled, then again when he saw another week and he'd have a round 15,000 jokes in his personal catalogue. Quite an achievement. The consistency of it pleased him. The time on the digital display aloof the television worried him on recognition. There was jobs to be doing. David took the last of the tea and grabbed his tools and heading out the door to his Personal Vehicle.

His proud ownership of a Satar MiniPV was well known by his close friends and family. David loved to talk on the efficiency and style of the MiniPV and virtually eulogised upon it when inquired about it's unusual newness by the customers of his plumbing service. David loved the cache of driving amid the buses, secure in the vehicle belonging from him, but not to him, since all non-essential private car ownership had widely been destroyed by the socialisation of Bretagne over the last eventful decade.

The decade England, Britain and the United Kingdom had all become dirty, subversive and ridiculous concepts to be conveyed into the dustbin of history. Concept only now still raging as a mental disese within the politically recalcitrant and independent criminal terrorist networks of which abject fear, was the national sport, and solidifying agent.

David sat in the MiniPV. Despite all the customisations of the committees of transportation and all the notifications sent from central government on it's flashing ticker, David felt it was his own. Of course they could take it at any time for any reason, and of course, it was more a liability of taxation and tracing than anything else: but fundamentally - David had wanted it, David had worked for it, and by his efforts it had come into his companies possession.

To David it represented the last bit of freedom that mattered to him. If he wanted he could move within a three hundred mile radius with ease and comfort before being questioned as to his business. He could have his dinner on the East coast or the South coast and he never lacked the choice of food or fuel... like what the ordinary lazy welfare millions had to choose between. Sometimes David regretted never truly thanking his long deceased father directly for the education in plumbing he had received, against the wishes of the school and college he attended where he was dissuaded from the secure and practical concerns of his future into wastefulness, endless questioning and delinquency by the education system.

For him, his father, had broken rules, laws and conventions to ensure David knew everything about the creaking pipework of basic, middle class and even the eccentricities of upper class home plumbing systems. His father smiled often in the afterlife at the sheer love and finesse David put into his every piece of work, despite the fact that most of his guild would never do good work on the initial visit, thus assuring themselves a bigger fee. Not David. He sought perfection and respect through his efficiency of work. Very quickly he had come to serve better clients and as many as his day could hold, his business was turning into on of the more successful sole traderships on the local financial administrators records.

David, in truth, had been monitored unaware for quite a long time. Very closely.

It was time to drive and end the quiet reflection in the padded, warm comfort of the MiniPV. David blew long and hard into the breathalyser tube in the dashboard. A voice rang out: "Test Negative - Subject identified - Vehicle mobilised and now standing by". David flicked the switch into manual and began to move. It was like torture upon anyone's ears. Every ten or so yards, standardized warnings and cautions from central transport command would rasp through the MiniPV in the voice of a bored middle class female.

Every movement of the vehicle was graded and rated by computer for the potential of danger. Micro-points automatically totalled and accrued based on David's driving, second by second, attaching themselves to the digital record of his license and exhausting his hope of driving forever without a serious and sizable donation to the central party office. David enjoyed all this like a huge game where every other participant was plainly inferior to him. He'd seldom come across drivers with better records than his own... and he took great care and precision to remain in that status.

As his Personal Vehicle approached the inner city and the traffic increased, the MiniPV rose into the air, incrementally and automatically stacking the vehicles upon the road, allowing quicker passage to those travelling the further distances. David looked aside some seven cars up staring straight into an office of computers mainly operated by women, desk after desk spreading into the distance of the building. David looked too long at the women working and a voice stood out amongst the others from central command: "Due care and attention not being shown at all times - license micropoints increased by one hundred and eighty-five - current total five thousand four hundred and eighty-five".

David gritted his teeth and got back to staring ahead into the slow moving stacked traffic. Hounslow from central London in 15 minutes. The overcongestion of people and the streamlinging of transport by stacking had coalesced into a nightmare scenario of gridlock, all whils the computers figured out exactly what was going on. Was this 2020 or was London stuck again in the dark ages? Hurry the fuck up.

WANKERS!

David thought as the traffic was slower than surgery and thrice as painful. He didn't agree with the automatic driving method of most of his associates ont he road and as such resorted to some colourful language. The dashboard did not agree with David's assessment of the facts,

"Invective detected - dispatching patrol" spake the ever present middle class female's voice.

CUNTS! David responded. Oblivious to the additional offence caused.

An officer taped on the window. David pushed the button.

"Do you know you're driving erratically and swearing, Sir? Problems? The officer shouted from his aerobike

"No problem, just late, I'm sorry." David shouted back. The officer hovered closer.

"You drive like a joker, do you like jokes, joker?" The officer prodded through the window.

"Erm, I like jokes" David said.

"Question: What's the hardest part of being a pedophile Joker? I'll tell you. It's tough fitting in!" The officer smiled.

"Heh" David didn't laugh.

"Do you know why all the are niggers moving up North, Joker? They heard there are no jobs!"

David stayed staid and straightfaced.

"Hey, Joker, What's the difference between a sandwich and a baby? You don't fuck your sandwich before you eat it."

David blurted: "No, I'd never do that, officer."

"I'm messing with you, Joker, Here - How long does it take for a nigger bitch to take a shit? Usually about nine months. Stinks something awful" the officer shouted in the window

"Oh - What's the best part of fuck twenty six year olds? There are twenty of them, Joker!" The officer cracked up.

"Anyway guess what the vampire say to his girlfriend? He Said: 'See you next month!!!'" David smiled at that one...

"Joker... just tell me this .... how does a black woman know when she's pregnant?" The constable asked.

"i don't know - the usual way" David said cautiously.

"No, Joker, It's when she takes her tampon out, all the cotton's been picked off it man!" The officer roared.

"What's the matter, Joker? You like jokes don't you? I've seen your file." David nodded.

"Can't you speak Joker?" The officer asked.

"I don't like those kind of jokes." David said.

"Why not" asked the officer.

"Because they're nasty to a group of people not imaginary - and you'd have to be nasty to laugh" David said staring straight ahead.

"Good Joker. Good. So you know, the jokes lately have been too harsh - you're turning scatological Joker." The officer leaned back into upward position on his aerobike.

"Don't push your luck Joker. Start with scat, and you're a short skip from utter racist, inhuman filth. Watch yourself. You know everyones famous nowadays. Always being watched. You be a good little Joker." The officer swiftly departed.

David gritted his teeth as the girl in the dashboard told him about his 200 point fine for the Officers time. He closed the window and drove ten feet then up and away after clicking into manual mode. It was looking like a bad day.

When he arrived at his first port of call, the plumbing supply warehouse, David went inside and picked up a couple of items quickly and walked to the checkout register. There was no-one there. He scanned his items and fed his credit card into the registry machine. It illuminated: "Card Not Valid" upon the screen.

"Having problems there?" a guy with bottle bottom glasses asked David.

"It's not taking my card!" David said.

"O.K. let's try it manual style" the four eyed guy replied.

He dialled in the numbers, waited a minute, and gave it back to David.

"Not valid Dude." glasses guy said.

"For Phillips Sake!" David spat.

He said "Thanks!" and walked out without his parts.

In the van he keyed in his numbers to the dashboard. The voice connected, mechanical, computerised:

"HELLO MR PETERSON HOW CAN I HELP YOU TODAY?" the voice asked.

"Why is my card not valid for purchasing?" David spoke up into the roof of the vehicle.

"YOUR BALANCE IS BELOW TWO HUNDRED EUROS CARD AUTO DISABLED" the computer rejoined.

"List recent transactions" David commanded

" DEBIT SIX THOUSAND TWO HUNDRED AND THIRTY EUROS - BRETAGNEFINANCIALREQUISITIONS GROUP - FRIDAY 6TH NOVEMBER '58. DEBIT TWO HUNDRED AND EIGHTY TWO EUROS - PLUM PLUMBING SUPPLIES LTD - FRIDAY 6TH NOVEMBER '58..."

"Fraud referral - Who authorised first transaction please?" David asked.

"EU STATE ENTITIES DO NOT REQUIRE AUTHORISATION SIR" the dashboard seemed to giggle. It was a conspiracy.

"Can I talk to a supervisor there please?" David asked pleafully again.

"ALL SUPERVISORS ENGAGED CALL BACK EXPECTED IN TWO HOURS THIRTY SEVEN MINUTES" the line was cut by the computer. A disconnection tone hung in the air.

*** II ***

Glynneys GlenGarry wasn't a fat woman. She just ate noting but the finest food all day long whilst watching holographic television.  Her propensity to fart at inopportune moments wasn't the end of her vulgarities, but her husband was something in the department of Commerce so together they enjoyed their West London home with it's quaint coffee mornings and cakes with the inter-faith Vicar.

"MNMNMN Wherebot FETCH that CAKE" Glynneys gobbled. The little Wherebot under the table sped towards the kitchen in search of cakey goodness like it's very existence depended upon it. Which it, in fact, did.

"Fuck no the plumber, the bastard is coming, got...to....get....up" She wobbled on the settee.

At that moment as she rolled slightly off the sofa, the Wherebot came speeding back into the room holding a VERY LARGE slice of chocolate mint chip cheesecake and pushed every crumby cheesy bit of it's goodness into her face. It was a new Wherebot and eager to please.

Glynneys Glengarry did what all good women have to do from time to time and swallowed. She liked it, but, she didn't show it on her face, raging like a UN stormtrooper, kicking the Wherebot, she waddled, out of the room.

"CLIVE?" Glynneys barked up the stairs. "What?" Clive replied. "Get down the town hall and look like your doing something Clive" She ordered.

"Your impotence is stinking up the house" She muttered under her breath and returned to the sitting room.

*** III ***

David arrived at the door of 192 Maplethorpe Grove, Hampsted and knocked, respectfully. The door had hanging baskets either side, and a window to which came a face and a slinty pair of eyes through tempered glass.

The Door erupted. Which was unusual for a door. In it's place stood the full woman that was Glynneys Glengarry. Like Raquel Welch, only the 2020 version, not the 1970's version.

David tried not to look at the fine delta of lines on her cleavage as he said:

"DSmart plumbing, got a quote on your new system, just have to double check the regulations on the old one, then I'll swop it in a couple of hours when my bank sorts something out..."

"Well, hello, come right inside..." Glynneys chewed erotically. David placed his eyes to the floor and entered 192  Maplethorpe Grove. There was a distinct smell of doom in the air. David felt like he could hear baroque organ music rippling through the walls.

David entered the living room to see Glynneys swish off her long bathrobe. Something like  snake of revulsion wriggled up his trachea and sickness surrounded his head tingling with distaste.

Her folds were like paleolithic fertility dolls folds make real, soft, and sweaty. David suddenly dropped to the floor and started gibbering like a small child terrified and confused to hell and back, without, the slightest idea what was going on.

Glynneys raised an eyebrow and shut her display of flesh up for a while.

Tying her cord around her, she consoled the distraught David with a hand on the back and soft words, uttered caringly:

"David, did I shock you, my darling?" She asked.

"Mmmm Mmmmm Mmmmm Wahhhhhhhhhhhh unfh unfh unfh unfh" David hyperventilated.

"It's alrights, seriously David don't be scared, I don't want to hurt you baby" Slowly she curled his hair aroud her fingers.

"I never seen.... such.....fucking huge..... booooo" David began.

"Shsssssh, honey, don't worry" Glynneys concluded. Than she kissed into his frightened face.

David felt some portion of bowel control leave his person and a small trickle of shit ran down his leg. Glynneys was sucking his lips and he felt himself being properlled towards the sofa's edge.

"Ahem, Glynneys, I'm going out now..." Clive put his head round the door.

"FUCK OFF CLIVE" Glynneys growled at him like a savage dog on PCP. Clive departed.

"mmm'kay - let's see about this Virgin plumber" Glynneys rasped unseductively.

"I'm not a virgin, I's just keep meself, to meself - what's- " David cut short again.

Glynneys, let go of his face for a second and looked at him simply in the eye. She said:

"You'll enjoy this more if you shut the fuck up and pretend to like it plumber boy"

*** IV ***

The fat controller sat at his desk, in the middle, of about a hundred million others. He was bored.

"Boss - Clive Glengarry just left and his wife is with the plumber, Sir." a lackey awoke him from daydreams.

"The Jokey Plumber?" The Fat controller asked.

"Yes, Sir! The comedian - Sir" the lackey licked.

"The poor, poor, poor, wanker. Let's hope he survives the attentions of Glynneys." Fattie said.

"Isn't he a subversive Boss?" the lackey misspoke.

"Don't be a Fanny Hopkins, a granny knitting too much purple wool is subversive in some states, total information - perfect information, my retarded collegue associate - That - is - what we do." Fatte turned away.

"Understood Sir" the bumlicker departed.

"Hopkins?" Fattie recalled out.

"Yes Sir?" the lacked attended.

"Give that poor plumbing pranny a break and reinstate his banking privileges. Man's suffered enough today."

"Consider it done Boss!" the lackey bumlover vanished.

"Right, what's, next?" the Fat controller wondered to himself.

*** V ***

David exited the House of Glynneys Glengarry. He went home. He had a bottle of wine. He went to bed swiftly. Most of all David had went off jokes after his atypical day in Bretagne.