Friday, June 29, 2007

The Branston Rabids Files x5 - file

A Fistful of Dogbra's

Previously at the Rabids …our lowland hero was left naked and dazed on a Mediterranean beach. Hercules “Eckle” Profiterole, the Belgian centre-half and private eye, was struggling to remember how he’d got there.

Just as Eckle was also starting to wonder how he was going to make it back to Strappon Alley, home of the Rabids, a helicopter appeared on the sand in front of him.

"Come on Eckle," beamed Sir Derek Tannic-Stanza leaning out of the door: "No hard feelings, boys will be boys, 1066 and all that. Bit of a misunderstanding don’t you know?"

"Oh, ok," said Eckle breezily and cheerily took his chairman’s hand up in to the waiting chopper.
Sir Derek plonked Eckle in the Fetid Borg rehabilitation centre and went back to his stainless steel office. After an hour of fingering his executive toy he sighed.

"Oh for a hostile takeover by an American porn star or a Russian milk magnate. Why does my door never knock-knock?"

Knock knock, there’s a knocking at his door.

"Er, yes come in," he looks up.

"Ah, harroo…?"

It was the snake-eyed exiled ex-president of Cimabui.

"Oh, Dr Toxic I was just thinking about you," said the chairman. "Come in, come in, Werthers?"

"So," said the wily business shark: "how much?"

Sir Derek sat down, cradled his fingers and started purring softly. The telephone rang.

"Stanza," he drawled: "Really? Well nice to hear from you … er… Titus, how can I help?"

"How much?" the Rabids chairman blurted: "Gosh, well I’m here with Doc Tox who may have something to say about that offer, he he," he was almost beside himself with glee, bidding war?

Just at that moment his latest long-legged incarnation of a secretary, Ms Fairy Alka-Selza, walked in with bosoms and a telegram from the Mexican bone giant Slam Haggle.

It said: "Will buy Rabids stop fistful of dogbras stop meet me at Guadalameandjulio in the desert at noon on the stop ninth stop make happy bastard stop Slam."

Tannic-Stanza had to sit down before his greedy knees gave way.

"Ah Dr Toxic perhaps you’d like to join us for a meeting on the ninth …"

Haggle had chosen the location carefully to welcome his guests to Mexico. The abandoned and crumbling lonely village of Guadelameandjulio had actually never seen better days. It had been lost somewhere in the Pinacate Desert with the tumbleweeds and the dust and no-one, before Senor Haggle, had ever gone looking for it.

Sir Derek brushed the sand off his ex-black Armani jacket for the hundredth time and mopped his growing forehead. Unfortunately the only way to get there was by pack mule, or so they had told him.

As his donkey carried him lolling into town, he noticed a movement in the bullet-ridden clock tower. He could just make out the shoulder and arm of someone there squinting back at him.

They pulled up at the broken taverna and in the shadows of an upstairs window Sir Derek thought he caught a glimpse of Doc Tox, but it was too quick to be sure. He ran a finger round his sweating neck and went into the freely ventilated bar.

He saw his host, in identical Armani black, sat waiting on the one good chair.

"Ah, Meester Stoner I’m soo pleased to meet you at last!" effused Haggle; "Welcome, welcome to the very first ICE HOTEL MEXICO! What do you think?"

"It’s very nice," said the Branston chairman not even looking around: "Did you bring the money?"

The frozen smile melted slowly from the bone merchant’s face and he gave an almost indistinguishable nod. The bell rang out in the dead desert air and Doc Tox manifested himself out of thin air right in Sir Derek’s face.

"Think of the future of the Asian market…" he smiled like a small carnivorous skunk in an oversize black Armani suit.

Then they heard the sound of angels … moaning. He turned around to see Titus Groans, the evangelist adult movie star who’d been ‘Porn Again’, naked but for a shiny rhinestone willy warmer.

"Fun for all the Branstone Families…" he nodded grinning.

"I’ll give you Diddyman Dogbra," said Slam.

The room seem to spin in front of the greedy chairman, in a heat haze he saw the bidders flashing past his eyes in a kaleidoscopic whirl that seemed to outline their various bids.

"Branston lottery…" said Doc Tox.

"Spiritual growth…" from Titus.

"Multi-storey car park…" from the Mexican.

"Pension funds …"

"Karma soccer…"


Just as Sir Derek was starting to teeter, as his eyes were beginning to roll, a chair was found for him. It only had 3 legs but was ok if he pressed a bit with his right foot and leaned back.

"Well, that’s all very good I’m sure…" he panted: "but how much?"

There was a shuffling of billionaires. Doc Tox gave a dry cackle.

"Not so fast Englander, where’s Dude Diligence?"

"I called him an hour ago," said Slam: "He was in a rush and he caught the wrong donkey."
There was a rolling in the hills and the ground shook to very heavy footsteps coming from far away.

"Ah, the Egg-man cometh," said Senor Haggle and Sir Derek curled a lip.

As Slam was offering Diddyman Dogbra as a sweetener, the Gorky Blu Meanies would have to have a representative present. Dogbra had been spotted playing for the Knotty Ash snuff quarry works team by a Meanies scout and he’d taken the Divisionship by storm in his first season.

The thunderous echoing in the valleys was none other than the simply enormous GBM chief executive Kiefer "The Egg-man" Banyan.

"SLAAAM!" boomed the Egg-man: "How the devil are you? Good. Howdy Des, would you like a toffee?" and he ruffled Sir Derek Tannic-Stanza’s hair playfully. The knight’s skin crawled.

Then they all loafed around listlessly for a few hours more in the heat, flies buzzing around their eyes, profits on their mind, still waiting for Dude Diligence …

When a stranger rode into town…

Well, two actually and they weren’t exactly strangers either.

Eckle wore a crushed raspberry suede Stetson with matching jacket and pants, set off by cascading diamante tassels and violent pink boots; it was a very Belgian expression of Mexican cowboy style.

Warsaw was wearing an old Brazil shirt and a huge sombrero lagging just behind on a buckled donkey.

"Wot the f’ack are you doing here?" snarled Sir Derek.

Eckle took a piece of damp paper from his inside pocket and, in a flat monotone, reminded the chairman of a clause in the ownership of Branston Rabids. The clubs founder Fagan Tannic had given the right of veto to a supporter’s representative in the event of any sale as he feared: "Some scaly arsed liming salacious fop of a Tannic wannabe future ancestor," would one day try to offload the club.

"And, prey tell," growled the albatross encumbered chairman whose big day was rapidly going down hill: "Why you felt the need to come here and tell us this?"

"Bob Tressell couldn’t make it guv’, so he sent me and Warsaw’d never seen Mexico…"

Sir Derek looked to the heavens; Eckle sat down on the one good chair and rolled up his crinoline sleeves.

They looked at the man in raspberry, he looked at them.

"Soo, who wants it then?"

"Oi!" said Sir Derek: "You can only veto a deal that I," jabbing his own chest furiously with a bony finger: "Put together!"

He looks around and realizes they are alone already; black beetley shapes are scuttling over the hills and far away, were they ever really there?

Eckle is humming softly, playing with his tassels.

Sir Derek opens his mouth with obvious violent intent, and closes it again and opens it…"Argh!" he said finally with venom as he remembered he has no cover for central defence and that it’s really Tressell he should be disemboweling.

He picked up his copy of "Gay Gas and Warfare" and stormed out to find his ass.

Warsaw, meanwhile, has been practicing his whistle; the lonely cry of The Man with No Name. It’s getting better, dogs start howling.

"Come on Warsaw, our work is done here. Let’s get back to Branston."

Warsaw doesn’t hear him, the howling’s getting louder and nearer.

"WARSAW?" shouted Eckle: "WARSAW STOP!"

But it’s too late really, there are at least thirty straining Mexican street dogs now at the windows and doors of the broken bar, they see Eckle’s sparkling tassels and, almost playfully, they charge.

"Bloody hell!" screamed Eckle: "It’s like deja Mourir all over again!"

From nowhere, it seems, there is an ear-splitting CRACK, WHiiiSHHH, CRACK, YELP. Warsaw has found a thick and vicious bull whip and the strapping black Russian looks somehow comfortable and happy lashing the beasts.

They make it outside and untie the horse and donkey but Warsaw whips too near their flanks and the panicking beasts bolt for it.

Quick as a flash Warsaw grabs a saddle and bounces one side and then the other and on to the saddle, legs akimbo holding on and heading into the sunset screaming with a gaining pack of angry dogs on his trail.

Eckle, half way up a stage post with a nasty piebald brute ragging his tassels, tries to sing the dog to sleep: "Abide with me, fast falls the eventide…"


Cast said...

Hercules ‘Eckle’ Profiterole
- Gerard Depardieu

Sir Derek Tannic-Stanza
- Simon Cowell

Dr. Toxic
- Peter Lorre

Slam Haggle
- Dan Severn

Titus Groans
- Shane Warne

Dude Diligence
- Owen Wilson

Kiefer ‘the Egg-man’ Banyan
- Stay Puft Marshmallow Man

- Michael Clarke Duncan

The Man with No Name
- Himself

Piebald brute
- John Prestcott

Soundtrack by
- Diego Rivera

Directed by
- Alan Smithee

Dolly Grip
- Offside


Branston Evening Echo Echo said...

Film review: Fistful of Dogbra’s

Mozzarella Mona Arno:

Well I have to say that after seeing Eckle’s gratuitous bottom in the opening seen I was instantly as sick as a parrot. It was clearly a bulging orb of two halves and I where I would have expected a bit of athletic muscle there was just handbags!As for the bit where he turns to face the camera and runs for the chopper well, I'll have to wait till I watch the replays, couldn't really see it .. mumble .. referee's report..

guitougoal said...

a copious banquet where all wines flow i can't handle
you're on your own.

offside said...


look what you've done now, even Guitou's comments don't make sense any more.

guitougoal said...

did i ever make sense? disruptive thinking caused by beingoutcasted once more....Dr Toxic should be my part why did he give to Peter Lorre , he is dead now.....

offside said...

Ah, don't mind me, I'm just jealous that File only gave me a second-rate job as Dolly grip when he knows perfectly well that I've always wanted to be called Dude Diligence.

Who did the casting anyway?

guitougoal said...

dolly grip , you got the best part doing a striptease
scene that caused the shooting between the man with no name and dude dilligence.
Dr. Toxic was fall down drunk apparently wearing peter lorry clothes and died of causes that are unclear.

file said...

I don't know if she's in the states or France but the first one to bring Isabelle Adjani on a bed of lettuce gets the Casting Directors personal number...I'm waiting

guitougoal said...

If only I could find some lettuce!

BlueinBetis said...

File, Offside, Guitou.

I don't know, the football season ends, and you lot just go a bit loopy, don't you?

No "best boy";

always wondered what he did, and what the age limit for that job would be.

The Mexican dogs could be played by the WAGS. Sure Frank Lampard's Wife can teach them enough Spanish to pull it off.

Zeph said...

binb - bizarrely, some best boys are in their 40s or 50s.

File, you are completely barking and the end of this episode proves it. But I love 'Guadalameanjulio' and I think I might buy a house there.

mimi said...

it's late - you're all lovely, but no-ones given me back the velvetteen rabbit. I thought I'd find him here. He was called Rupert.
Night night farewell. Mimi goes to sleep.

Zeph said...

I'm a bit worried by the way Mimi keeps referring to herself in the third person....must be the influence of Michael Vaughan...

file said...

mm file's worried about that too, perhaps it's just the narrator..

mimi said...

michael vaughan is hearing Bob Dylan in his ears.

DoctorShoot said...

is the spot for the man with no name (obviously wrapped in bandages head to foot for identification) still open for casting? - he was found dead in Catch22 and still working... always identified with that part...

love the mardis gras feel of:
"He picked up his copy of "Gay Gas and Warfare" and stormed out to find his ass."

guitougoal said...

I am still looking for lettuce.

file said...

G, look, don't worry about the lettuce right, if you've got Zaza we can make a deal ok? Has she got a passport? And have they given you yours back yet?

DS, see above for conditions on contacting the casting director, but as pseuds' surely we are already all men with no names, except the women of course who all have names

I was most taken with the revelations that the US had funded research into a gas that turned the enemy soldiers rampantly homosexual and loved up on the battlefield, but I didn't know how to work it in to the story!

what a world it is that we live in

guitougoal said...

zaza = archeologic experience.
I suggest annie the old bakery lady.
Aged annie like Isabelle.

high plains drifter said...

Jo Monco's the name...

can I smoke in one of them... gsa masks?

high plains drifter said...


goddam sufferin awful


chews another cheeroot... lights it in the wind...


squints... uses one hand only...


marcela said...

i simply love this soap!

although, if they all relocate to venezuela they WILL do better business.

honestly, everybody's who is anybody is over there right now. cash in suitcases; buying, selling, loaning, borrowing...

dr tox would merge nicely into any hotel lobby and by all accounts top dollar is being discussed by the poolsides.

lovely erotic opportunities for our cast to skinny dip with their cocktails when they think no-one's watching...

as a footnote: what's wrong with archaelogical ladies, guy? zaza rocks. surely.

file said...

hpd, thanks for stopping by, if Ms. Travers don't get u the charoots will eh?

marcela, doh! why didn't I think of that! could've had E and W coming into Caracas like Butch and Sunny in Bolivia

g, Isa's Camille Claudel can sculpt my form anytime! tho the bakery lady might be useful too, how's her brioche?

guitougoal said...

like Isabelle ,aged annie brioche c'est du beurre-
she brings you croissants in the morning-

hpd:"get lost you, egg-sucking, chicken stealing gutter trash" -bishop.

mma: archeologic because over 100 years old-

file said...

mmm, croissants in the morning but it's roasted java I'll be needing (madame le boulangierre aussie je compte)
anything's better than another lettuce sandwich

guitougoal said...

file, aged annie on lettuce sanwich as soon as i find the lettuce.
let us be optimist!

file said...


file said...

would Juliette Binoche on couscous be easier, I'm not too fussy really as long as there are no mushrooms

offsideintahiti said...

Dear File, Guitou,

this quick note just to inform you that there is an excellent article by Marcela up on GU, complete with thought provoking thread.

When you're finished discussing the respective merits of choucroute and lettuce sandwiches and binoche au chocolat, of course. No rush.

Having said that, I now have to go out on an assignment, and compare the respective merits of the mojito and the caïpirinha.


guitougoal said...

be noche one day singing dark is light? Isa tres belle
would be tres jealous.

guitougoal said...

oh oh , offside just got promoted, surfing toward a thought provoking thread, adios nouvelle cousine.

file said...

adios nouvelle cuisine mais bonjorno les nana anciennes

on y va, rechercher les colossussal Patagonie

file said...


thanks for the tipoff, she writes like an angelito non? and not a pastel de angel either

binoche au chocolat, now you're cooking, I'll get you cast as Dude Diligence or even Sir Derek himself if you can deliver on your promises

have you seen those chocolate waterfalls they have now that keep the chocolate at just the right temperature to flow like Mr.Wonka's stream with Juliette floating along...aah


you've been outmaneuvered mon capitane

guitougoal said...

file , offsidealacreme,
outmanoeuvered, yes, I choke...ola!
out for packing, tomorow to Nice, and then mojitos for me if any left....

guitougoal said...

the political farechild was too incorrect to be the diplomat representing pseuds on marcela's thread-
But I like his thinking, as much as file's spicy cooking,
both requires dr toxic assistance.

file said...

no, not very diplomatic on GU last night, it only takes a spark in that place...

feel a bit bad tho this morning that it all fell out on Marcela's blog, a fine article as always, forgot where I was

but honestly Mr.Gaye did say that Punk was Tony Parsons lovechild, conceived at some bash in Manchestoh, I ask you

and miro has an ego the size (and shape) of a Durian and just as smelly sometimes

I think I've apologized to everyone already, that feralchild can be a little unruly;

("Tell me about your childhood?" "snarl, hiss")

brother Guitou,
(he alone stood by my side on the battlefields of GUSB last night, we don't forget G, nuff reespec homey)

Bon voyage and I hope you find the technically illegal one well, I understand he's taken his loincloth off now so he should be easy to spot, proud as always!

send the cocktail bill to Doc Tox ok?

Marshal Jim Duncan said...

look you lot
settle down or I'll paint the whole damn thing red...


mimi said...

I just saw Tony Parson's name here. No, no, we'll have no talk of Parsons here. Ssh, don't mention evil on this blog.
Still lots of Juliette, and I'd have her play me in the movie of the Pseuds.

file said...

well that's fine mims, but we're having a bit of a problem with your entrence; no lettuce

up to you really; choucroute or warm, flowing chocolate?

Tweet it, digg it