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The names Bonx, Mr Bonx…..006.
Licensed to get pissed and tell crude jokes. He had been urgently summoned to M's office in central London, and as he walked in the door Miss Grabeverypenny had her face glued to a mobile phone whilst shopping on e-bay for shoes and those horrendous trouser/skirt looking garments
'Hard at it I see' said 006 cheerfully. 'Get lost you vile sexist pig' she screeched. 'Oh…… well I was going to say you look lovely this morning' 'Go screw yourself you dirty old man' Oh…errm, and that your hair looks nice' 'Bog off, you twisted pervert' Their once jovial and witty banter had descended into a strange and feminist hate campaign against men. And he remembered that the 'modern' women of today didn't understand complements, they would rather just have your wallet. And ever since Miss G had started to hang out with several butch and sweaty looking girls from the accounts office. They had boyfriends, sort of.  The usual type…. Rich, macho, bad boys and potential wife beaters and 006 couldn't help wondering why so many women fall for that type of complete and utter arsehole: maybe a blackened eye and a fat lip counted as fashion these days?'You seem to enjoy being treated like toilet paper then' he said. ‘What?' 'Well, you do spend most of your weekends in the close proximity of arseholes.' 'What?' She was too engrossed in the grubby pages of Heat magazine. 'What a Shame' he thought, 'Probably a Lezzy anyway'.
‘M' was looking rather distressed and flustered, and thrust a secret document into 006's hand. ‘We've seen off most of the worlds shitheads, but I've never encountered someone as evil and deranged as this one'. On the first page was a screaming headline…. ‘All males of the species, blokes, geezers and lads will be evaporated on 7.7.07. Except shirt lifters, who will be farmed and milked once a week for sperm and procreation…Then women will rule the world' Underneath it was signed in fresh menstrual blood… Milly-Tant…….
‘Christ, she sounds like a right nutter, what's her game then? ‘It seems for thousands of years men have treated women like shit, but since A.D 1960 things have changed, and now women are treating men like total shit, and it seems male emancipation is immanent.'
‘And she plans to remake all your old movies, with 006 portrayed as Emo- Man, who cries all the time, has no spine and gets frightened because guns are just soo loud'. 006 read the document. The man with the golden ringpeice. Thunderbollocks. Dr Maybe, if it's politically correct. Emopussy. Cry another day. From Russia with tears. The living Gaylights. Diamonds are for Bimbos…. The list went on. ‘Your booked on a plane to the Greek island of Lesbos, in 1 hour, don't let us down 006… the world is depending on you'.
As the very phallus shaped plane touched down several of the mincing trolley queens that try to pass as blokes squealed like 3 year olds and 006 was glad he had a seat at the back of the plane, nearest the wall. ‘You got to be careful these days' he thought as he clenched his buttocks together and thought lustfully of spanking Miss Grabeverypenny's smooth round arse, with a hairbrush!
As the British Government had become obsessed with Political Correctness all macho and flash cars have been taken out of commission, and 006 climbed into a pink Vauxhall Nova with a fluffy steering wheel, furry dice and hundreds of cute frilly teddy bears with ‘love me' all over them stuffed in the back window, he also noticed the seats reeked of stale piss and chewing gum.
It wasn't long before 006 was speeding along the long winding roads with some tosser in hot pursuit… and it was ‘Emo-man' who suddenly put on large muffs to protect his ears and started firing a sub-machine gun, only not for too long because the rough metal might damage his hands. It took out 2 of 006's tyres and the poxy pink wagon crashed into a tree. When 006 came to he was tied to a desk, and a laser was moving slowly towards his gonads. ‘Do you expect me to talk' he said as Millie slithered and wobbled down the stairs, big Mac and large fries stains covering her cloths, hands and chins: all 12 of them. ‘No Mr Bonx, I expect you to cry'
‘But your plan won't work, 005 and 008 are already on their way' ‘Haa' Millie laughed ‘they were dealt with swiftly last week, I had the two of them locked in a cell with……. Vicky Pollard and six of her mates.'
‘They were nagged to death, slowly and painfully, until their heads exploded, ha ha' she laughed again as several bits of her body had only just stopped wobbling from the last outburst. 006's mind raced frantically, his only chance was Emo-man. ‘Mate, do you remember going down the pub Friday nights, sinking a few pints and chatting up the pretty girls? An' playing footie Saturdays or going to the match? ‘Or getting pissed up on cheap lager, smoking spliffs and watching porn for hours? Or playing rugby, breaking your thumb, nose and kneecap, whilst getting covered in mud? Riding ya mountain bike through a river? Bloke things….do you remember?
Emo-man looked confused; he had really enjoyed doing bloke things. But now spent his days as Millie's evil sidekick: listening to Coldplay, weeping lots and auditioning for sad reality TV shows, losing and weeping some more, gently ironing his collection of pink shirts, then listening to Coldplay and weeping again.
But then, with a surge of ‘bloke pride' he smashed the control panel with a hammer, and the laser stopped 2cms from 006's knackers. A faint smell of burning pubes filled the air. Millie started ranting and wobbling. ‘Stop, stop ‘she shrieked ‘Women must stand strong, fight the male oppression, were victims of male domination' etc etc etc. ‘Oh shut the fuck up' said Emo-man, suddenly scared by his own masculinity. If your rich Daddy hadn't paid for all this luxury, we would be working at Mc Donald's for the rest of our lives'. He started firing the machine gun at the huge tanks of lard, peanut butter and liquid chocolate that kept Millie alive. As they ruptured all of Millie's Hench-women ran frantically and wallowed in the feast, their eyes bulging as they glutinously stuffed their faces until they exploded.
006 jumped up, still smelling of burnt pubic hair and ran towards an escape hatch on the roof. Emo-man was having so much fun blasting the whole place with the gun and watching large fat women split and burst, until he slipped on some lard and plunged head first into a vat of dough-nut mix and was sliced to bits by the blades.
006 took one last look back as Millie was flailing in chocolate sauce, gasping for breath, turning blue and then eventually exploding herself with a loud pop. There was nothing left but a huge pair of rather nasty knickers, filled with more skid marks than the hard shoulder of the M25, and he thought of saving them for his mate Hugh Grant: who as well as grotty prostitutes, had a 'thing' about such garments.
As usual in 006's stories he was looking forward, as the credits rolled to shagging the arse off some Horney bird in a space craft filled with satin sheets and chilled champagne. But due to the fact most of the birds in this story basically resemble monsters in knickers he had a quick one off the wrist instead: thinking about Miss G, was she wearing tights, or stockings? And downed 4 cans of Stella.
She was also in possession of a rather nasty fat lip, and a blackened eye. ‘Good weekend was it' he said She weakly smiled. And then blurted out. ‘But I still love Darren, coz he's got a fast car and loads of money, And…and…' ‘Yeah yeah, and the rest'…. ‘Will they ever learn' 006 thought and entered M's office to begin another new adventure. |
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• Home Return back to the homepage • Ghost Story Mr Bonx, Author, previews his chilling story - The Dorset Arms • Music Reviews/Links Read some of Mr Bonx's insights into music and culture • Pix Set of photos about the life and times of Mr Bonx • Contact Get in touch and leave me a message. • About Mr Bonx Find out about Mr Bonx. Rants Archive December 2005 |
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