THE CLASH OF THE FLAMETHROWING MOOSES

Jodphurs K. Bingo whistled merrily to himself, as he opened the throttle on his rebuilt twin-speed donkey and its afterburners howled behind him, like a menaced ladybird with a megaphone. "I'm off to see the Great Monk", he sang happily to the midnight air of post-holocaust deserted Basildon, "and learn all his secrets, including his recipe for worldwide destruction."

"Why do you want his fabled recipe for worldwide destruction, you great fairy?" Asked the midnight air of Basildon, metaphorically.

"Because my mother never loved me and I have a head shaped like a goat", replied the goat-headed Jodphurs, "and don't question my sexuality either, bastard." With this, he raised his right leg from the running board and kicked the midnight air in the groin, heftily.

"Ouch", the air retorted, in a voice like air which had been kicked in the groin.

The donkey made a sound like cheese as it swooped down from the heavens; skidding to a halt next to a small shed that had been erected in the forecourt of an old Esso garage. 'Great Monk', read the sign outside, '42p a litre'. Climbing off his donkey, Jodphurs stalked over to the shed and knocked on its door with his bearded chin.

"Come in", said the Great Monk, "and wipe your hooves."

Jodphurs cantered into the shed, and was surprised about how warm and bright it was inside.

"It's very warm and bright in here", remarked the surprised visitor, "I'm surprised."

"You're just padding it out", said the Great Monk, padding it out; "get on with the story."

Jodphurs strolled around the shed, which was also surprisingly big inside- though he didn't want to mention it in case I had already. The Great Monk was sitting at the head of a sixty-foot dining table, and he called out:

"Why don't you describe me? The narrative's gone all to pot, we'd better wing it from here."

"Great Monk", said Jodphurs, striding up the table and scratching the polish, "you are small and shrivelled, like a man I once knew called Frank, who fell into a fruit bowl. He stayed there for weeks, as everyone preferred the satsumas. Your head is very big, however, and covered in treacle."

"That'll do", said the Great Monk, gurgling slightly through the treacle, "Now, why have you come to me; and who are you anyway, you goat-head you?"

"I am a humble man, Great Monk", replied Jodphurs, hopping slightly, "and my name is Jodphurs K. Bingo."

"What does the K stand for?" Jodphurs ambled uneasily, and looked at the floor, which was blue.

"I'd rather not say, your greatness." The Monk stared long and hard at Jodphurs, who was galloping nervously around the table like a sea-lion who could gallop. "Anyway," continued Jodphurs, "I've come here today because I would like to learn your secrets, oh Great Monk-a-doodle-doo."

"You're running out of names for me, aren't you?" asked the treacle guy, "Never mind. Look at this, young Jodphurs."

The Great Monk passed his hand through an invisible beam of light and, with a gurning and an iguana-like thud, two dark heavy doors at the end of the shed drew apart. Suddenly Jodphurs was dazzled by an incredible sight as colours, lights, voices and amazing objects appeared to fly around him. He was surrounded by a cacophony of magical images, and felt himself being drawn into a new dimension.

"What is this thing you have shown me, oh Great One", he cried out in wonderment, "is this the source of your powers?"

"Yes", replied the happy treacled one. "It's my new widescreen TV", he continued proudly, turning over to Brookside.

Jodphurs stumbled, and fell to the ceiling.

***

Of all the people that Jodphurs had known in his life, the only person he really felt close to was the man named Reggie Perspex. He looked up to Reggie, and felt that he could trust him. It was he who had saved him from his mother, after the lawnmower broke down and she tied him to a stake in the middle of the garden, with instructions to start chewing. Whilst other friends and contemporaries had constantly abused him, only Reggie had allowed Jodphurs to address him by first name. Sometimes he would even talk back to Jodphurs, and only on a Wednesday would he beat him to a quivering pulp. Jodphurs hadn't seen Reggie for months, however- not since the Hamster incident- as he was undergoing major hormonal treatment at an exclusive clinic. Imagine Jodphurs' surprise then, when- during Ron Dixon's heart attack- Reggie entered the Great Monk's shed carrying a bazooka.

"YOU- TREACLE BOY- GET UNDER THE TABLE!" Reggie was screaming in capital letters, and it didn't take the Great Monk long to drop under the impressive dining suite, clutching to his remote. "BINGO- GET OVER HERE AND FEEL THIS FABRIC."

Jodphurs was frightened, and began to wail like a Yamaha 350 with a fractured tailpipe. He could see that the green satin cocktail sarong was entirely the wrong colour for Reggie's subtle skin tones- and it clashed violently with the neon pink handbag clutched in his left hand (although it was nicely co-ordinated with the combat green of the heavy armament). How could he tell Reggie this without embarrassing him, and thereby forcing Reggie's hand vis-a-vis the bazooka?

"Reggie", wailed Jodphurs, as he dropped from the ceiling and sauntered over to his be-frocked friend, "I'm so glad to see you. I was just saying to the Great Monk how you've always looked good in military colours..."

"SHUT UP", pouted Reggie, "THE NAME'S ANTHEA NOW."

"Why not Regina?", the monk queried from under the table. The adverts had started, and Ron was pulling through.

"IT SOUNDS TOO MUCH LIKE A RUDE WORD", blushed Anthea loudly, "PEOPLE HAVE DIRTY MINDS- BEHIND MY BACK THEY'LL CALL ME 'SEA-LINER'."

Jodphurs was taking advantage of this distraction, and was outside and about to kickstart his donkey, when Anthea pressed a button hidden discreetly at the top of his stockings. With a sound like phlegm, the donkey's legs fell off; shortly followed by the wings. Jodphurs swiftly reviewed all of the This Morning makeovers he had seen, scouring his much loved memories of Richard and Judy for tips.

"Anthea", Jodphurs called back to the shed, "That green sarong really brings out the beauty of your mature figure."

"YOU REALLY THINK SO?"

"Oh yes. And you've accesorised wonderfully- combining the versatility of a good handbag with the everyday neccesity of a devastating weapon." Jodphurs felt he was on a roll.

"I THREW THIS TOGETHER IN A FEW MINUTES. IT'S C&A YOU KNOW."

"I never would have guessed- budget conscious, but with a designer feel. Let's see the before picture." Anthea held out a snapshot for the camera, which then panned over to the monk.

"Amazing", said the monk, impressed; "and now, lets take a look at the weather."

Back in the shed, Anthea, Jodphurs, and the Great Monk sat at the dining table watching re-runs of the Clothes Show. Anthea seemed to be relaxed by the sight of Selina Scott wearing eighties fashion, and was talking in small letters- although he did underline his more important sentences. Jodphurs and the Great Monk, meanwhile, had picked up on their previous conversation.

"So, you want to know my secrets eh?", whispered the Monk, "I suppose you're after my recipe for world destruction?"

"Rather", replied Jodphurs, his attention caught.

"I can't sell you my recipe for steam puddings?"

"Does it entail the annihilation of every pig-dog on earth?"

"No, just some stewing beef. By the way, have you noticed we're not getting credited for each line anymore?"

"Yes, oh Great One- it could get confusing if our names aren't given."

"Yes, you're right, you're monkness."

"No, you're the monk."

"I am? I thought I was Anthea."

"No, Anthea's not in this conversation."

"So who are you?"

"Let's start this again. Go to a new paragraph."

"Okay, Anthea. Which of you is the Monk? Your telly's on the blink, you know."

"Sod this for a game of soldiers. Cue a descriptive bit."

***

High above the empty streets of Basildon, dangling unreasonably in the midnight air (which was still groaning to itself and clutching its crotch), were two large spacecraft.

One was wedge-shaped, and the other was closer in form to a hedgehog that had decided to try handgliding. Inside the wedge, reclining in a luxurious chair covered with the skins of a million satsumas, a slightly overweight Moose summoned his second in command:

"Clitus, I'm bored. What plaything can you offer me today?"

"A obscure shed in the Esso garage, your Majesty. The inhabitants refer to it as the Planet Earth."

"They named this shed the Planet Earth?"

"Um.. no your Majesty. I was just trying to hold together the covert reference to Flash Gordon. That was why you called me Clitus, wasn't it?"

"No. I called you Clitus because you look like a clitoris, but that's far too rude. You've been listening to your Queen collection again, haven't you?"

"I'd rather drop the whole subject, if it's all the same to you, your Majesty."

"Very well. Have you jammed their television?"

"Yes, Maj. The Great Monk is trying to call Radio Rentals, but we've jammed the 'phone as well."

"Clitus...", the Moose was beginning to drift; "do you ever wonder why we roam around the universe, transversing the dimensions, just to scare the pants off unknown life forms and kill them indiscriminately?"

"I'm sorry, Kingsy?"

"I mean, Clitus, what's it all about? Why are we going to nuke this shed and bring devastation to this unsullied planet?"

"I think it's something to do with your innate, deep-seated hatred of society. Ever since we stopped off in that hypermarket in the 9th dimension, and you decided to get some semi-skimmed from the chill cabinet..."

"But Clitus, is it really fair to blame these people for that? Did they invent strawberry moose? I'm not sure that I can carry on blaming all of society for that one monster, the one cruel heartless beast who created that abomination. Surely, only one depraved mind could have concieved of the act of blending and flavouring moose." "Yes, your majesty- but what of all the others? The advertisers, the consumers, the people that make those obscene little plastic pots- the whoremongering creators of 'The Munch Bunch'. What of them?"

"Fuckit, you're right. I'd forgotten 'The Munch Bunch'. Let's fry the sick little bastards."

In the next spacecraft along (the one that looked like a hedgehog attempting a dangerous sport), another Moose was watching the video display of the wedge in front of him. Events in this craft moved a lot faster.

"Clitoris?"

"Yes sir?"

"He's definitely aboard? The dyslexic?"

"It's his ship alright- and it looks like he's preparing to take more innocent lives in his brutally obsessive, but tragically misguided quest for justice."

"That's very well put, number two. Put that in my log, will you? Under my name, naturally. Canons ready? Fire at will."

High above the empty streets of Basildon, a Moose throws a terrifing bolt of flame downwards- only for it to clash, conveniently, with the bolt of flame thrown by another Moose, which moves upwards and vapourises a wedge-shaped spacecraft. A lone hedgehog swoops off, by handglider, and dissapears.

***

"She's back!' It's Selina!'" Anthea relaxed again, releasing his grip on Jodphurs' neck and turning towards the screen. Jodphurs gasped for breath, and reached over to pull the Great Monk out of the flowerpot to his left.

"Great Monk- tell me. What is your recipe for world destruction?" Jodphurs was pleading- he'd had enough of all this excitement.

"Jodphurs", the Monk answered, staring him straight in the eye; "do you really want to know? Haven't you learnt anything, from the events of this night? Haven't you learned to live with your fellow man, and find courage through the heroic deeds of others? That killing innocent people, to satisfy your own bitter needs, is wrong?"

Mr J.K. Bingo sat and thought for a while, watching Anthea adjust his bra strap.

"After all", continued the Monk, "It's not everyone's fault that you look like a goat, you great fairy."

Jodphurs leapt onto the Monk, and was immediately trapped by the treacle. "Tell me the recipe, you sod!'", he screamed into his ear, like a sociopath trapped by treacle. The Great Monk shrugged, and whispered something.

"Come on, you two, break it up", said Anthea, pulling up the sleeves of the little lycra number he had found in the Monk's wardrobe, and disengaging Jodphurs from his treacle encoated fate. Jodphurs got up, and stared the Monk squarely in the eye.

"That's it?", he asked the Monk, who was still stuck to the floor.

"That's all there is to it", the monk replied. Jodphurs K. Bingo sat down, and thought hard for a bit.

"But where am I going to find a Moose to blend and flavour, at this time of night? In Basildon?"