The Amazing Adventures of Freddie Frobisher
Our story begins at MI6 headquarters in London, home to counter intelligence. The hierarchy have the unbelievable task of finding a new recruit for a very important mission, and that mission is to send an agent to RAF Felmersham in Lincolnshire, thereby to escort a rocket to the breakers yard for decommissioning. After hours of sifting through a mountain of CV’s, the top brass were still undecided on whom to pick until they came to the bottom of the pile.
“I say, Alex old boy, what about this chap.”
“Mmm, I don’t know, if you ask me he looks a bit on the peculiar side. Personally, I think we need someone of top quality, someone brave, commanding; someone not afraid to show his metal!”
“But Alex, we’ve tried every possible agent in the book!”
“Well,” Charles sighed, “we have just one more candidate to look at.”
“What’s his name old boy?
“He’s called Special Agent Freddie Stanley Frobisher.”
“That’s our man.” Charles points.
(Alex looks horrified)
“You want that idiot. For God’s sake man, he looks daft as a brush. To say he looks mad is an understatement? Furthermore, the man’s obviously round the bend”
“But Alex, look how fearless he looks. You’ve got to realise old sport that good agents are hard to come by! Don’t be fooled by his appearance, for behind his genial mask lies a ruthless mean operator.”
(Frobisher’s pride and reputation was at stake here. However, a spy of some standing was one thing, being a complete twerp was another)
“Are you stark raving bonkers Charles? This chap according to his CV hasn’t worked for the last two years! Apparently, he had to give up work because he was hooked on giant gob-stoppers. In fact it says here - after graduating from Oxford (municipal bus company) he turned his attention to the more serious matter of Winkle Picking in the Thames Estuary.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake Alex, don’t be such a spoilsport; let’s give the man a break. Listen! I’ve never been so sure in all my life. I bet if we throw in a few grate-crunching gob-stoppers, he’ll be raring to go.”
After further consultation Alex and Charles agree to bring in special agent Frobisher in for an interview. The following week Freddie is summoned before MI6 headquarters in London. There standing before the top brass was a man looking totally bemused with himself. Like a true MI6 agent, Freddie throws his bowler hat at the coat stand, misses, and almost knocks out one of his superior officers, along with miss-spend-a-penny. In charge of the operation is a man called The Commander. All eyes were focused on the Commander. The Commander’s chair swivelled round and round, thereafter, to reveal a man of his later years and bizarrely dressed in an old boiler suit, as though he’d been working on an old jalopy.
“Ah, Frobisher, you’ve arrived at last. Do come in my dear boy. I’m so sorry to have disturbed your afternoon nap.” the Commander blasted. “Right! Let’s get the preliminaries out of the way. I order there be marching music of the most military kind,” the Commander insisted. His orders were duly carried out, together with a true taste of British eccentricity, the top brass stand to attention; click the heel of their boots together, accompanied by deafening regimental marching music.
“Atten-shon! Everyone face south with fingers in ears and salute our beloved leader - The Commander.”
(At the end of the bazaar ritual Freddie’s attention begins to wander and starts scratching himself)
“Now look here Frobisher, pay attention! I’ve got an important assignment for you. Get yourself up to RAF Felmesham in Lincolnshire. There you’ll find the mighty Thunderbolt Rocket. Your job is to escort the rocket to the breakers yard for decommissioning. “Is that clear,” the Commander shouts loudly. The Commander then points to a picture of a rocket. On seeing the sight of a dirty great rocket, Freddie prefers to hide in the closet, and there to indulge in a jar of gob-stoppers.
“Come come Frobisher, don’t be frightened! What are you; a man or a mouse?”
(Freddie gives a confused look and checks down his trousers to make sure he is definitely a man)
“You’re secret agent Freddie Frobisher;” The Commander insists, and don’t you forget it! By gad, Frobisher, they tell you’ve laid everything from here to Timbuktu. Is that true?
(From his briefcase Freddie pulls out a brickies trowel)
“Put it this way Gov, I’ve done so much, la-la-laying, me poor old trowels worn out!”
“What! What the hell are you mumbling about Frobisher? Look, all I want to know is whether you can do the job?”
(In desperation Freddie is compelled to throw a raspberry followed by a thunderous great fart)
“Ah, you can’t beat the oldies,” The Commander smiles.
(Freddie cocks his right leg up, shakes it violently, and then let’s rip another barnstorming fart)
“Let me guess now Frobisher, you’re trying to recreate that old time musical hit, entitled, “Rip Van Norton.”
(Grinning like Cheshire cat, Freddie bows his head in glee. The Commander then beholds a set of keys, which he annoyingly jangles in the air)
“Here Frobisher, you’ll need some transport to get you there, and, as a special treat, you can take the Ardly Canardly.”
“The Ardly Canardly, chief.”
“Yes, that’s right; she can get down hills, but can ardly get up em.”
(Parked outside is Freddie’s transport)
But dirty dealings are afoot - for you see, quite oblivious to MI6, lying in wait in a small office block across the road were the evil pair Moriarty and Jockstrap, whose sole intention was to kill special agent Frobisher in the most gruesome way possible. By way of binoculars and a concealed microphone, the evil pair was busily casting their beady eyes towards MI6’s office.
“Look Jockstrap, I can see him; that bumbling fool, Frobisher!”
“Yes, yes, I can hear him Moriarty, there’re coming through loud and clear.”
“What are they talking about? Well, apparently the Commander is giving Frobisher an important assignment. They’re sending him to RAF Felmersham in Lincolnshire to decommission a rocket would you believe.”
“Where is he? Let me see him! I’m going shoot him now! Quick, let’s get it over with!”
“For heaven’s sake Jockstrap, don’t do it like that. It’s too good for that half-witted fool! I want to make him suffer. I want to gouge his eyes out one by one and slap him round the face with a wet fish. I want to see him fry in a tub of boiling hot fat. Then I want to cut him into tiny little pieces and serve him up for my cats at dinner time!”
“I can see the baboon. Let me kill him now Moriarty!”
(Jockstrap and Moriarty begin fighting over the gun)
Don’t be a fool Moriarty, give me the gun!”
“No, you can’t have it!”
“Give me the bloody thing before it goes off.”
In the scuffle that follows the gun accidentally goes off with an almighty bang which causes the bullet to ricochet off of MI6’s window, thereby hitting a nearby power cable that plunges the city in total darkness.
(Jockstrap and Moriarty look horrified)
“I told you so Jockstrap; every time we try and kill that bumbling idiot Frobisher, it always ends up in disaster. We need to finish him off once and for all!”
Failing to kill their deadly archenemy the evil pair decide to pack up and head for RAF Felmersham. But before Freddie left the offices of MI6 he was being issued with the latest gadgetry to make his mission go off with a bang, and that it certainly does.
So it came to pass, for an hour and more, the dustcart sped happily through the open countryside by a series of tight hairpin bends, and for long periods it encountered a combination of huge pot-holes which finally brought the dustcart to the local sewage works, thereafter the Ardly Canardly wallowed in a great sea of great splendour, amid the sight and stench of raw sewage, which left an awful lot to be desired? Pressing on regardless Freddie reached the outskirts of RAF Felmesham. Then the inevitable happened; a dirty great big hole appeared in the middle of the road. This caused the dust-cart to buck wildly like a horse, giving out with a - “neigh-noddy-neigh-noddy-neigh.” Yet more drama was to come from the Ardly Canardy. Dramatically, and without any warning there was a boom- boom-boom sound, coming from the rear of the thing, followed by frantic activity. Just at that precise moment a huge deluge of dust and smoke appeared. Not knowing what to do Freddie pulled a lever on the control panel. Yet more dust, but in greater volumes. Freddie pressed another lever, and then, hey presto, the Ardly Canardly was on its way, bombing down the road, flat out and doing a top speed of 25mph. Two policemen, who were standing by the roadside with note-books at the ready, watched with great interest as the Ardly Canardly went speeding by.
“Ello ello ello, who’s this idiot!”
“Bloody hoodies I bet.”
“He’s driving like a maniac!”
“Hey wait a minute, I recognise that face. It’s that half-witted agent who works for MI6, called Freddie Frobisher.”
“Yes, I’ve heard all about him. The man’s a sex maniac!”
“He’s probably on his way to bonk some woman.”
“I’m going to make an arrest!”
“No, you better not do that otherwise you’ll have MI6 on our case. Best let him carry on.”
But as luck would have it the dustcart suddenly breaks down just as Freddie is beginning to enjoy himself. By a stroke of luck a flashy sports car pulls up and reveals a beautiful young lady.
“Is something wrong,” the girl asks?
“My ca-ca-cart’s baabroken down.” (The girl looks confused.)
“Your what! What did you say?”
“My ca-ca-cart’s broken!” Freddie pleads. (She looks sad and sympathetic.)
“Oh, your heart’s broken?”
“No, me ruuddy ca-cart’s broken! Ca-can’t you ruddy undersstand English?”
“Oh, you don’t understand English, Herr Fonggruggler?” she jokes.
(Freddie begins sucking a giant gobstopper.)
“No, I don’t understand English!” Slurp, slurp.
“Do you need a lift?”
Oh, yes please, I’ve got to get to RAF Felmersham in a hurry!” Freddie pleads.
“That shouldn’t be a problem. You seem like a nice man. What’s your name?”
“My name’s fa-fa-Freeddie.”
“Oh Teddy; I like that name!”
“No, no, it’s fa-fa-fa-fa-Freddie, not Teddy?”
“What was that you said? You’re ready?”
“No, I’m, fa-fa-Freddie.”
“Oh never mind that now! My name’s Sally G!”
“Cor, Sally G! Is it short for anything?”
“It’s short for Sally G. String, but you can call me Sal.”
The door of the car is pushed open, enabling the haphazard agent to jump in. Once inside Sally smartly pulls up her skimpy min-skirt, there to reveal a gorgeous pair of thundering great thighs. Hot and flustered by the sight of this, Freddie tugs at her mini-skirt in his desperation to wipe his nose on it. The mini-skirt went higher and higher to her midrib area, and thus portraying the minutest of throngs. Sally talks seductively. “You realise I’m going to take you all the way honey.”
Overcome by emotion, Freddie wipes his forehead in nervous anticipation and as a chat-up line, Freddie boasts. “Ere, I tell you what darling, I don’t like to brag, but I ain’t half got a biggen,” Freddie chuckled. Sally licks her lips at the very thought. But the only thing on Freddie’s mind at this moment in time was to do some laying with his faithful old trowel. Sally looks on in frustration, as Freddie prefers to suck a giant gobstopper. “Slurrrrp, slurrrrp.”
A little way due west of Lincolnshire’s fenland lies RAF Felmesham, reputedly home to the largest selection of whoofters, alcoholics and work-shy lay-abouts. Following the Commanders directions to a tee, Sally’s car finally draws up to the entrance of a military establishment. Waiting outside to greet them were three government officials, eccentrically attired in black evening dress, bowler hated and top-tailed. Their job was to make Freddie’s mission go off with a bang and by gad, that it certainly does.
Reggie: a very grumpy the man from the ministry
As the couple step out from the car, a pair of ladies briefs hangs precariously from Freddie’s trouser pocket. To make matters worse his flies were undone. Totally encapsulated by all the excitement Freddie wipes his forehead with the briefs, thinking them to be a handkerchief, but soon realises what they were. And, to add to insult, a bra falls precariously from his briefcase. Without any further ado, Freddie is introduced to his new colleagues, who strangely, all go under the name of Reggie.
“Good grief, that must be that bumbling idiot Frobisher, and by George, the lucky bounders got a beautiful girl with him,” one of the officials points with envy.
“Oh, hello!” Freddie smiles, as he mumbles something to himself. “That’s the last ba-ba-bloody time I do a service on her!” as he held a pair of ladies briefs in his hand.
“Ah, you must be the famous Freddie Frobisher; the one they claim is the one short of a full pack of dolly mixtures. Please, allow me to introduce myself; I’m Reggie, and this is my two other colleagues called, Reggie and Reggie.”
(Freddie goes to shake Reggie’s hand, but he soon realises there is still a pair of ladies briefs sticking out of his pocket)
“I don’t know how they got there.”
(There is more confusion, as the three officials stare intensely towards Freddie’s flies)
“Flies!” Reggie1 points.
“Flies!” Reggie 2 shouts loudly.
“Your flies!” Reggie 3 persists.
“There aren’t any flies round here,” Freddie smiled.
“Your flies!” Repeats Reggie 2.
(Again the officials’ point in the direction of Freddie’s flies, and yet again Freddie tries to work out what they are saying)
“Do your flies up Freddie!”
(Sally comes to his rescue in the nick of time, as agent Freddie suddenly realises his flies are undone)
“I knew the man’s a bloody pervert!” Reggie 1 informs his buddies.
“Now where was I before I was so ruddy interrupted? Ah yes, I would like to introduce to you my two other colleagues. This is fellow agent Reggie. Reggie-Freddie-Freddie-Reggie-Reggie Freddie.”
In total confusion, Freddie shakes the hand of all three Reggie’s.
“Reggie-Freddie-Freddie-Reggie-Freddie-Reggie.”
“On, and don’t forget me, my names Sally.”
“Sally-Reggie-Reggie-Sally-Reggie-Sally-Reggie.”
Finally, Sally shakes the hand of all three agents.
“Reggie-Sally-Sally-Reggie-Sally-Reggie-Reggie-Sally.”
Giving a farewell kiss and a big hug, Sally zooms off in her car, leaving Freddie get on with his work.
“Right, let’s get down to business, the rockets this way,” Reggie points.
(But dirty dealings are afoot. Hidden from view was the evil pair Moriarty and Jockstrap waiting to pounce. The scene is a rocket on its launch pad)
(Reggie points the way) “Here we are Frobisher, do please step inside the rocket and make yourself comfortable. I’ll start by showing you the display sequence.”
“Cor, it’s nice and comfy in here! What are all these instruments for?” Freddie smiled.
“Never you mind what they’re for. All you have to do is stay with the rocket while it’s being transported to the breakers yard. Now whatever you do, don’t touch the red knob or you’ll end up pushing daisies!”
“Da-da-da-don’t wo-worry governor, I wo-wo-won’t touch it.”
“What did he say?” Reggie 3 frowns.
“I don’t know what he said?” said Reggie 2.
“I can’t understand a word the man says!” Reggie 1 moans.
Having been totally confused by the rockets instrumentation panel Freddie accidentally knocks the red button with his elbow. This unfortunate act of madness ignited the Thunderbolts firing mechanism, which causes the rocket to spring into action. The Thunderbolt gave a triumphant hoot of its horn, accompanied by a combination thick black smoke, together with a mighty roar of its engines. The rocket was now fully operational which sent the beast haring down the launch pad. Under the force of an inconceivable acceleration it pushed the rocket nearer and nearer towards a black abyss. Freddie meanwhile was busily amusing himself with the different switches and buttons of the rocket. Thereafter, the bubbling agent found himself on a mission to Mars as he is blasted into space.
Suddenly the world was put on high alert as governments around the globe were forced to go on red alert, fearing an international incident is only seconds away from disaster, whereby a rocket was crazily out of control, packed with TNT and being driven by a mad-man high as a kite on rocket fuel. In the aftermath of this amazing feat, the Thunderbolt had managed to reach the magical height of 60,000ft. That was when Freddie noticed a formation of aircraft to his port and starboard side. It was apparent that a squadron of American and Russian planes was hot on his heels. If he didn’t watch out Freddie would be on the receiving end of a damn good tonking. But before they could get a fix on the rockets position the Thunderbolt had managed to leave the earth’s atmosphere and therefore entered into a state of weightlessness. Having failed to destroy the out of control rocket the aircraft returned to their respective bases.
Back at RAF Felmesham the tanoy system was blasting out a message. Scramble! Scramble! Scramble! Meanwhile the remaining men from the ministry were somewhat mystified by the complete disappearance of their prized possession which had mysteriously disappeared into thin air. From a safe distance Moriarty and Jockstrap look on in awe as their archenemy had managed to escape, yet again.
“I don’t believe it Jockstrap! He’s managed to launch the rocket!”
“That bumbling idiot has done it again! He’s a menace to society!”
“Come Jockstrap; we will follow him in our own rocket and go after him”
“Are you crazy, we haven’t got a rocket?”
“Want to bet; look over there, there’s another rocket ready and waiting to go, sitting on the launch pad.”
“I’m gonna kill that scum bag Freddie Frobisher! I’m gonna kill him!”
“No I’m gonna kill him”
“No I’m gonna kill him Jockstrap!”
(The pair begin fighting on whose going to fly the rocket as they try in desperation to ring each other’s neck s, when finally they come back to their senses)
“Don’t kill me you fool. It’s Frobisher we want to kill!”
“I’ve hated him ever since we were in science class together.”
“Ah, yes, I remember the incident quite vividly. It was when he mixed up all the wrong chemicals in his test tube. To put it in a nutshell there was a terrible reaction, which resulted in a massive explosion. In fact didn’t it blow your vitals off old boy?”
“Yes, it’s quite true Jockstrap. As I remember the doctor told you that you’d be impotent for the rest of my life.”
“Don’t rub it in Moriarty. I hate Freddy Frobisher. I’m wanted to kill him! If it wasn’t for Frobisher I could have been a success. I could have been a somebody; a guardian of the peace; a figure of renown; a leader of men! In other words, a man’s man!
“If I recall Moriarty, weren’t in line for Chief Constable’s job at Met, when Frobisher drastically took that away from you. (Moriarty starts to cry) Not only that didn’t he let a gorilla escape from your police van, and if I remember, it took several hundred police and an army of detectives to find the damn thing. When they did eventually the gorilla it held you hostage for well over a week, and all you got to eat was a paltry ration of bananas - where you ended up with constipation I believe. After the incident the lads on the beat nicknamed you Banana Man, thereafter they gave you the sack, and all because of Frobisher.”
(Moriarty begins to cry again and wipes away the tears.)
While travelling through space at an unrelenting speed the second stage of the rockets breaks away from the main fuselage, leaving the Thunderbolt to carry on with its mission. (Destination Mars) Meanwhile back on earth, the Commander’s feelings were running high. Furthermore, he was feeling increasingly frustrated by his inability to contact his bungling agent, and was plainly in the mood to cut off Frobisher’s head and feed it to his cats. Meanwhile to his gratification Freddie receives a communiqué from MI6, back at headquarters, which brought bad news.
Freddie gets the Full Treatment
“Frobisher! We’ve just picked up a signal on our satellite equipment and apparently you’ve got a vacuum cleaner on your tail, in hot pursuit.
“I’ve got what on my tail?” Freddie inquisitively asked.
“That’s right, a vacuum cleaner. We firmly believe it’s the Electrolux upright model, the one with the bag at the side. You know, the one that beats as it sweeps as it cleans.”
“Ere, leave it out governor, you’re having on.”
(Freddie receives another message from the Commander.)
“After further investigation we’ve managed to identify the mystery object. We’re not so sure if it’s a vacuum cleaner after all but we’ve come to the conclusion it’s definitely a UFO. So for God’s sake man, get the hell out of there before it’s too late.”
Tension mounts as the two probes are dangerously out of control and are heading straight for each another, teetering on the edge of disaster. In an attempt to avoid a collision with the weird-like vehicle, Freddie tries to manoeuvre the rocket away from the oncoming probe. However, peering out from the mysterious vacuum cleaner were eerie, grey-like creatures, busily studying their monitor screens and watching the rockets every move. But little did Freddie know the alien powerhouse had the capability of penetrating deep inside the main hub the rockets interior, enabling their sensors to pick-up any life-forms.
While the Thunderbolt maintained a constant orbit around the Moon it was being carefully being monitored by a dedicated team of top scientists back on earth. On the bridge of the strange shaped UFO (vacuum cleaner) was their leader along with the rest of the alien crew, whereby the Captain of the vessel was busily conferring with his crew.
“We seem to be on collision course with a runaway rocket. Are there any signs of intelligent life on board?”
“None Captain! There doesn’t seem to be any detectable life forms or energy source.
(The scanners continue to pump out vital information about the Thunderbolts support system, and according to their monitoring equipment it revealed the presence of a strange mumbling sound)
“Hey, wait a minute,” an alien announces, “there’s a minuet blimp coming up from the sensors. There appears to be a humanoid, but without a brain.”
(The aliens look at each other in astonishment and were somewhat bewildered by the unusual statement, which was fast developing into something of a mystery)
“No brain! Why that’s incredible! His technology must be far superior to than ours. Send the following communiqué.”
(Didip-didip-didip-didip - came the signal from the vacuum cleaner to the rocket)
Within seconds the Thunderbolt was pouring out a stream of unintelligible messages. (dong-dong-dong-bong-bong-bong) There was a moment of deadly silence before the sound of a rip-roaring fart was heard. Aghast by what they heard, a groan of terror then ran through the alien probe.
“Did you hear that crew? The brainless one has spoken but in a strange sort of secret code which is totally unrecognisable to us. We have received you message oh great superior being! Bring the intrusive humanoid up on the screen and let’s see what he looks like,” the Captain hastily ordered.
(The real surprise came is when Freddie appears on the aliens monitoring screen, and believing what they were seeing was an android, looking totally bemused with himself)
“Great Scott, what a hideous sight!” The Captain shrieks.
(With some amusement Freddie slides the window back from his cramped cockpit)
“Oh hello, I wonder if I ca-ca-can use your toilet.”
“What was that he said,” one of the aliens asks?
“I’m not sure,” the second in command replies, “The brainless one seems to mumble something.”
(Danger mounts as the two craft come dangerously close to impact)
“We’ve collided!” The Captain yells, as he is thrown from his seat.
Here’s where things get really exciting. In the mayhem of the collision several bits of apparatus breaks away from the main instrumentation panel and lands on Freddie’s head, which amazingly resembles a regal crown. Stunned by what they see, the aliens are transfixed to their monitor screens - whereby the apparition of a man could be seen wearing a royal crown on his head, embedded with bright glowing lights.
“Holy Magnesium! I don’t believe it,” the Captain looks on in euphoria, “it’s the King of ruddy Jupiter!”
“Oh surely not, oh masterful leader.”
“Just our luck to meet another bloody royal.”
The Captain orders the intrusive humanoid to be brought before him for interrogation. Moments later, Freddie emerges from the teletransportation room whereby his human remains have been demolecularized and reassembled at the flick of a switch, having gone through a procedure of being totally regenerated to a mortal human being once again. Waiting eagerly to greet him was the Captain of the vessel along with the rest of the alien crew. But what happened next was beyond comprehension. Once safely installed on the UFO the Captain immediately points a giant tapestry that depicts aliens bowing down at the feet of a godlike image, and whose features are identical to that of Freddie’s. Ironically, the God is called Zonk the Plonk and written beneath the tapestry are the words: Love thy Plonker. By an incredible twist of fate (and seeing the likes of Freddie) the aliens believe that their beloved God has returned.
“Rejoice and behold oh fellow aliens for our great God, Zonk the Plonk has returned.”
“Did you hear that everyone, Zonk the Plonk has returned?”
There was an immediate reaction from within the vacuum cleaner which quickly turned to sheer elation as the crew danced in jubilation at the news, whereby; a red carpet was prepared in gratitude for their beloved God who had returned back to the fold. And for the rest of the aliens they knelt in honour of their returning saviour. The jubilation continued as the delirious keyed up aliens bopped to the sounds of 50’s rock and roll hits, while chanting: Plonker--Plonker--Plonker. Hence the Great Plonker was given a standing ovation.
(It is impossible to overstate at this point the influence Freddie Frobisher will have on the crew of the vacuum cleaner)
“Forgive me oh Great Plonker!” The Captain bows in honour. “We greet you most humbly. We have waited many millennia for your return, where have you been all this time oh brainless one?”
(Freddie is clutching his privates in desperate need of the toilet. However, through his remarkable psychic powers of communication, Freddie immediately strikes up an instant rapport with the aliens.)
“Well, if you really ma-ma-must know fellow aliens, I was on my way to Pluto for a le-leak. You see, I was in ur-urgent need of the toilet. In fact, I was nigh-on close to wetting my pa-pa-pants. There wa-wasn’t even a ba-ba-bog on board. In fact you kind gentlemen came just along in the na-na-nick of time, I might add.”
“What did he say?” the Captain askes, looking totally bemused.
“I’m not sure Captain. He seemed to mutter something?”
“I think he said he wants to be placed on the colon board?”
“Well come along then; quickly! Do what our beloved Plonk says and give the man a full colon, at once!”
“Oh goody goody! I do love doing a full colon. One gets so much pleasure out of shoving a large instrument up a nice round bum.”
In super speed the aliens quickly change into their operating gowns in readiness to perform the delicate operation. On the front of their operating gowns was an insignia of a God-like creature, and written beneath was the words: Love thy Plonker. Suddenly the room was filled with an eerie dense vapour. The alien’s minds stared intensely inside Freddie’s head. For it was not a pretty sight. They see images of naked earthlings being subjected to seductive goings on, downing pints of cheap booze, while men and women indulging in sexual acts of pleasure.
“These androids are a queer old lot,” the Captain bemoaned. “There only function in life, it would seem, is to reproduce, consume vast amounts of food, and drink themselves stupid by indulging in intoxicating liquor! They’re nothing more than a race of brain-dead, boring morons. In fact we have here fellow aliens a classic example of dirty old androids at their evil and most wicked ways. Continue with the full colon!” The Captain insists. “We need more bowel movement, I urge you to give the Plonker more bowel movement!”
A silvery blanket is placed over Freddie’s body where prolonged farting noises could be heard. Both Greys stick their heads under the covers to see what was going on.
(Meanwhile, back at MI6 headquarters in London, the Commander was beginning to show signs of strain, still desperately trying contact his man-on-the-job, Freddie Frobisher)
“Where the hell are you agent Frobisher? Please come in, and for God’s sake, give us back our rocket back, I beseech you!”
(Fed-up with the bundling agent’s incompetence the hierarchy begin fighting amongst themselves on who is going to kill him)
“Will you please stop fighting?” The Commander bellowed. “I’m going kill Frobisher and that’s final!” Again, the commander tries to contact Freddie. “Come in Agent Frobisher! Have you regained entry yet? I repeat; have you regained entry?”
(It was by now firmly established that Frobisher’s popularity ratings had soared to the sensational heights of zero. Meanwhile Freddie was still receiving his full colon)
“How’s the patient doing?” The Captain gingerly asked.
“He seems to be in full remission oh masterful leader. Sedimentation is normal. Electrocardiogram is within borderline limits; although I must point out a possible hardening of the Mitre Valve is highly likely. But more surprisingly Captain, there is definitely no joint movement.”
“No joint movement. Why that’s incredible.”
“And not only is that Captain, his brain is on par to a Brazilian dormouse.”
“What a truly Great Plonker we have here!” The Captain rubs his hands with glee.
“However Captain, there is a slight complication regarding his mental state of health. My diagnostic assessment is that he is suffering from a combination of a psychological disturbing phenomenon which is brought on by an acute state of Hyperventilation. Furthermore, the driving force behind his condition was a deep rooted fear of female cats that results in sweaty palpitations and hot flushes.”
“My God the poor creature is in a bad way.”
“In conclusion Captain his case illustrates many of the features found in “Mad Cow Disorder.”
“Are you trying to tell me that me that our beloved Plonker is suffering from a condition known as “Hereford Bull Syndrome”.
“Yes, I’m afraid so Captain.”
The Captain was now faced with an almost insuperable situation. Should he continue with the experiment or cut his losses, therefore nip it in the bud before it’s too late. He obviously had some serious decisions to make.
“Enie Minnie minney mow - shall we let the Plonker go?”
(Sod it the Captain thought rubbing his hands in glee lets have another experiment)
Now strapped down, his jerking, twitching body was undergoing some serious treatment. A bolt of high velocity energy then went surging through the Plonkers brain. Then an electrode was carefully placed on the Plonker’s genitals, whereby his private parts had been miraculously transformed to the biggest pair of ghoulies that had ever been seen. The surgeons then promptly delivered a series of extremely powerful laser beams to his bottom. The pain was absolutely excruciating but of magnificent proportions.
“Have you managed to extract the deadly gas from his rear end?”
“Fear not Captain, for the K-Y jelly we picked up at “Boots the Chemist” back on earth, really works wonders on these vile bums,” a fellow alien sniggered. “In fact Captain we are on our way inside and have entered an area of no return!”
“Good work fellow aliens, but I really must insist we open up his bowels, come on let’s see what the Plonker’s made of?”
(An almighty cheer came from the alien crew as they managed with some difficulty to extract a horrible smelly substance called “Poo-Pong-Poo”.
(A big cheer arose from the crew as their appearance changed from a grey colour to a chocolate colour)
(Freddie mutters something to himself.)
“Oh I am enjoying myself; it’s not often one gets the chance to have a full colon!”
Never in his wildest dreams did the Plonker think that one day he would be sitting on the throne, basking himself in glory, for his timing couldn’t have been better. Furthermore, Freddie soon realised that his life would be take on a whole new meaning. It’s very important to remember at this point in time that Freddie was in complete control of his facilities - well just about. Apart from a sore rectum it is well worth remembering that the Plonker’s bravery throughout the ceremony was one of suburb dignity. Grim-faced and now powerless, he awaited the full fury of the surgeons probe with words to the effect: “Infamy, Infamy, the buggers have got it in for me!”
Later, in the recovery room, Freddie awakened from his terrifying ordeal to the sound of sweet violin music - now, a truly invigorated and restored man. He thereby remained cool calm and self-composed but managed to a furious snarl. “OI!, “where’s me ruddy trousers?”
(Just then the Commander comes through on the phone)
“For God’s sake cut the crap out Frobisher and get your backside down here, you’re in big trouble!”
(Just then another unidentified probe appears on the aliens monitor screen that is coming in at a tremendous speed)
“Captain! The sensors have picked up another probe at our rear.”
“Who would dare to invade our rear space? Bring it up and let me see.”
(Sure enough an image materialises on the aliens monitor)
“Is there anyone on board the craft?” The Captain asks.
The Greys focus in on Moriarty and Jockstrap’s rocket, for there is hectic activity going on inside. A man’s head can be seen bobbling about in an uncompromising position. It appears that Jockstrap is giving Moriarty head.
“Oh that’s great Jockstrap! Just what was needed after a hard day in the saddle! A little bit more is needed Jockstrap. Oh no! Not too much or it’ll fall off! For heaven’s sake Jockstrap take your teeth our first, I’ll have stretch marks round me vitals.”
(In the distance Moriarty and Jockstrap’s rocket was now fully focused)
“These two give me the willies!”
“Looks like it’s not just our rear end they’re probing!”
“Who are they?”
“I’m not sure Captain.”
“They’re a horrible looking couple.”
(This unfortunately act was taken out of context by the aliens who completely misinterpret what the evil pair was up too)
“It’s disgusting! The Captain cried. “A chill runs down my spine just watching their debauchery! I think I’m going be sick!”
(We cut back to Moriarty and Jockstrap)
“Oh - ah, that’s much better Jockstrap. My rear end was starting to go numb!”
“We should be fully operational now Moriarty!”
(Back inside the UFO)
“Enough,!” The Captain yells, “beam that disgusting pair on board our ship at once!”
“Yes Captain!”
(Alien one works the transporter and within seconds Moriarty and Jockstrap are beamed on board the UFO)
“Where are we Jockstrap?”
“Cricky! We’ve been abducted Moriarty. Look aliens!”
“We saw you on our monitor screens you despicable pair of humanoids!” the Captain angrily declared.
“What do you mean?” Jockstrap groaned.
“What were you doing in our rear space?” the Captain asked.
“We weren’t doing anything, were we Moriarty?”
“That’s right. We were looking for an evil looking man called Frobisher, that’s all!”
“Oh you were looking for a man, were you? I’ve heard that one before. Take them away! The Plonker shall decide what to do with them!”
(Moriarty and Jockstrap are taken before the Plonker, and there he sat in the seat of stately honour like a bishop, about to address his congregation that was scattered haphazardly about the sparkly populated pews. However, the sound of footsteps and human voices leads to the Plonker to making his first official proclamation)
“I don’t believe it; Moriarty, it’s that bumbling fool Freddie Frobisher!”
“Yes, you’re right Jockstrap! But what in hell is he doing here, and why is he wearing those ridiculous clothes?”
“Yes, why are you wearing those ridiculous clothes!”
(Moriarty and Jockstrap are understandably surprised by what they see)
“Oh great leader;” (the Captain bows in honour) “We found this despicable pair of humanoids invading our rear space. What shall we do with them?
(This is obviously a decision for the Plonker)
“Oh those two twits? They give me nothing but trouble wherever I go. Fa fa, all I care you can send them to Uranus.”
“What did the Plonker say?”
“I’m not sure Captain?”
“I didn’t catch a word of it?”
“His language is obviously too superior for our delicate ears. Please repeat yourself oh Great Plonker!”
(The aliens kneel down at Freddie’s feet, waiting on his every word)
“I sa-sa-said, for all I care you can send the bu-bu-bu buggers to Uranus!”
“I think he said the buggers are from Uranus, Captain.”
“Well, let’s send them back there! We don’t want this disgraceful pair on board our ship! Put them in the dromonitor and transport them to Uranus at once!”
(Moriarty and Jockstrap look horrified.)
“But we don’t want to go to Uranus! I’m gonna kill you for this Frobisher!”
“No I’m gonna kill him!”
(Jockstrap and Moriarty begin ringing each other’s necks, arguing whose going to kill Freddie)
“They’re a pair of maniacs. Take them away!” The Captain forcefully orders.
Moriarty and Jockstrap are eventually taken away, kicking and screaming, before finally being placed in the dromonitor. Meanwhile back on his throne Freddie is busily tucking into a true alien lunch and, like all good heads of state he reached under his cloak and pulls out a hard-boiled egg, taps it on the side and begins peeling off the shell. (But there’s something missing?) He reaches inside his cloak and pulls out a salt sprinkler, carefully giving his egg the full treatment. Rounding off a splendid lunch with tea and toast, he reaches inside his gown and produced a book called “The Thing from Outer Space”. With our new sung hero safely installed on his throne, Freddie is now feeling like a true born leader.
(When all was done the aliens finally reveal their plan to Freddie)
“Oh Great Plonker! Now that you have arrived our purpose for existence is almost complete. Soon we shall have enslaved all the peoples of the entire universe to our superior technology and science. No one shall block our passage. We shall enforce colonic irrigation upon all who stand in our path.”
“Cor, that’s a bit of a tall order, gov!” Freddie smiles
“You must now go and inform the earthlings of their forthcoming fate!”
The aliens bring up photos of world leaders on their screen, whom they think would make ideal candidates for Freddie to contact upon reaching earth. They stop however, when they see a picture of a well-known Politian called John Thomas, whereby the entire alien crew burst out laughing.
“My God I don’t believe it,” one of the alien’s points,” its Wee Willy Winkle!”
“He he he!” They all laugh loudly.
“Wee Willy Winkle; who’s he?”
Ah, well, he’s the one our earthlings call... (Two shags, two jags, and a quick knee trembler)” Freddie explains.
“In fact, talking of willies oh masterful leader, (a fellow grey informs his Captain) Did you know that down on earth, members of the legal profession refer to John Thomas a two-timing android? Furthermore, his fellow MP’s claim he has the tiniest of tiniest of manhood’s.”
“Never!”
“It’s true!”
“No wonder he’s called Wee Willy Winkle.”
The aliens bring up more photos of world leaders. But upon reaching a picture of a huge woman in the Loony Left Party there is a sudden shriek from the crew.
“Holy Martian rocks he’s far too scary for likes of me. We need a bigger man than him!” This is a job for the almighty Plonker to sort out.”
Finally, when all was done and dusted the aliens make the necessary preparations for Freddie’s hasty return to earth.
“We are now ready to send you to earth oh Great Plonker. You shall meet with the Queen of England and tell her we invading at once! But first you are to receive the official inauguration ceremony where you will be given the highest award bestowed upon you by the alien community.”
“Ere, does that mean I’ll be in the grand final of the tiddlywinks contest?” Freddie joked.
“Transfer the Plonker to the mother ship. He shall go to earth in style in one of our top-notch, central heated, gas turbine, five-star ships.”
Freddie Stanley Frobisher was on the brink of discovering his true vocation which seemed a far cry from his days at MI6, and seldom had a man earned his corn and who had showed such remarkable determination to the cause, as that of good old Freddie. So, when all was done the Great Plonker was finally on his way back to earth along with the rest of his aliens cronies, fully rigged out in his royal regalia.
The story unfolds: an unidentified flying object has suddenly descended from the skies and landed in the vicinity of London, whereupon people have been gathering all morning to witness this strange event. Meanwhile, euphoria has erupted at a television studio where breaking news has just come in.
(Newscaster) “We’ve just received a report that an unidentified flying object has landed in the grounds of St Paul’s Cathedral in London. Crowds have been gathering all morning and we’ve just heard in the last few minutes that a door from the craft has opened. We go live to St Paul’s where our man on the spot, Mark Austin Ruby, hopes to obtain an interview the occupants of the strange craft.
The Plonker on a sight-seeing visit to St Paul’s
(Newcaster) “What’s happening now Mark?”
“Well John, here I am by the spacecraft. As you can imagine people have been flocking here all morning to witness this incredible sight. I would describe the object as about fifty meters in diameter and is made of a metallic like substance. It rotates like a spinning top and there is a strange humming sound. But just a moment, do my eyes deceive me for I can see a number of grey-like creatures peering through circular portholes. Good heavens a door has opened up and something grotesque is wriggling its way towards us. It’s some sort of hideous creature, dressed silver-gowned and oddly enough wearing a pair of thick rimmed spectacles.
(Newscaster) “You say the creature is wearing spectacles, Mark.”
(Mark) “Yes, that’s right John but I’m not entirely sure how it came about them.”
(Newscaster) “Bye the way what does the creature looks like?”
“Physically, it resembles something out of a science fiction horror movie. Appearance wise it has mad saucer shaped eyes that stare behind thick rimmed spectacles. One eye hangs precariously from its socket and the other one faces north with a twist of madness about it. It eyes light up as though fuelled by liquid oxygen and any movement is painfully slow. Crickey, the creature is on the move. No, no, it’s stopped. Heavens above, the creature is undoing its tunic and pulling out something. Ere, I don’t like the look of this. Good grief, I don’t believe it, the creature has produced a copy of the “Gardner’s Weekly” magazine.
(Newscaster) “Oh come off it Mark, how on earth would the creature get a copy of the “Gardner’s Weekly” on the likes of say Pluto.”
“I don’t know but get this: the creature is flicking and pointing to the page on how to cultivate exotic gardens using high-powered rotivators.”
(Newscaster) “Do you except me to believe that the creature has the means of cultivating Martian type landscapes?”
“Something else and quite amazing has happened. The creature has now produced a copy of the Lancet, the medical journal, and has opened it up to the page on face-lifts, where the prominent figure of a doctor Nasher, better known in the trade as Nasher the Slasher, whose giving his views on plastic surgery.”
(Newscaster) “Do you think the creature has come to earth pacifically for a nose job?”
“Without question John. Good grief the creature is going bersek, the thing is pointing to the Lancet again and yelling - nip-tuc-nip-tuc-nip-tuc.
Dear of dear of dear, the creature has now unzipped his flies and pulled out something which resembles a bottle of bleach. But get this, the creature has now the audacity to tell us that his bowels are fully operational and used on a regular basis. It further claims that in order to keep them in tip-top condition it uses a cheap lavatory cleaner, which by alien standards gives it more Ooomp!!”
(Creature begins drinking bottle of lavatory cleaner)
(Newscaster) “Did I hear you right; you say the creature uses a cheap lavatory cleaner? Good grief has it no shame. Listen here; it’s imperative that we keep all channels of communication open with the creature.”
“You can’t be serious old boy, let’s face it, it’s about to wipe us off the face of the earth.”
(Newscaster) “Well, for heaven’s sake man don’t just stand there or you’ll be a dead duck. What’s happening now Mark?”
“Hold on, there seems to be some sort of movement is building up. Yes, I do believe there’s something in the air.”
(The creature cocks his leg up and let rips a blockbuster fart)
“Ah, at last the creature has spoken. It looks like he is about to speak with us. Yikes, the thing is on the move again and making its way towards the press box, revealing to us a document, and what seems like a long prepared speech. Yes, yes, he’s about to address the nation, John.”
(There is mass panic as the creature unpredictably unzips his flies. In desperation the police try to hold back the crowd, fearing a stampede)
(Policeman) “Ello ello ello, what’s he up too, I definitely don’t like of him.”
Come on everybody back, looks like we’ve got another bloody perv on our hands.”
“Don’t worry everyone, we’re dealing with it!” Another policeman pleads.
(A group of armed officers rush forward to try and capture the creature, better still, blow his brains out. One of the many reporters begins asking the creature to identify himself)
“Mark Austin Ruby of London News.”
“Do you have anything to say?”
“Why are you here?”
“Which planet do you represent?”
“Do you have a message for us?”
“Who are you?”
“What are you?”
“Are you an alien minister without a portfolio?”
(There is a moment’s pause as silence engulfs the waiting crowd. Freddie removes his robe and the crowd wait in awe for something to happen. The silence is unbearable as the creature begins scratching himself, fiddling with his flies)
“I’m a ma-ma-man!”
(The media people by this time were going berserk trying to get some answers)
“What did he say?”
“Repeat yourself creature, we can’t understand a thing?”
“What language do you speak?”
“Are you from another world?”
“Are you an alien?”
(We go back to the Correspondent on the job)
“Well, the creature has at last spoken, but I’m not sure if anyone can understand a word he’s saying. I think he may be speaking in strange alien dialogue. I can just about make out a few words. Heavens above! I’ve managed to pick something up. The creature has in fact made the most outrageous statement. He vehemently insists that he’s from East Dulwich area of London.
“What!
“That’s right.”
(Newscaster) “Oh come off it Mark, I’ve heard that one before. Listen! He’s from Pluto along with the rest of his alien cronies, I’m totally convinced of that. Not only that, I do believe the creatures has brought a deadly bug with him from outer space.”
(Newscaster) “How do you make that out Mark?
“Well, put it this way, every time the thing breaks wind it releases a hideous gas called - poo-pong-poo.”
(Newscaster) “Are you sure it’s not a gas leak or maybe rotten eggs?”
“Of course not, I tell you he’s dropped something that resembles a cross between a sewage plant and dodgy cesspit.”
(We cut back to the crowd who inch their way forward, in hope of getting a glimpse of the thing from beyond, whereby a man in the crowd states)
“I do believe we’ve got some sort of prehistoric man on our hands here, maybe of the Neolithic age.”
“You’ve all got it wrong,” a heckler shouts. “He’s neither prehistoric nor Neolithic, but a man, I tell you!”
(In frustration the crowd chant)
“He’s not a man.”
“Oh yes he is, he’s a man.”
“My God! The creature intends to prove it. He’s damn well undoing his flies.”
“Of course I’m a ba-ba-bloody man!” Freddie angrily fumes.
(A sense of urgency ran through the waiting crowd as they begin to chant)
“Prove it then!”
(Just at that precise moment Sally G-string turns up in her sports car and quickly goes to the aid of our beleaguered hero)
“He’s a man and I can prove it!” (Sally walks up to Freddie).
“Oh Freddie, what have you up to now!”
“Well Sally, you’re not going believe this, but I’ve been well and truly colonised. Not only that, I’ve had me ba-ba-brain removed, me bu-bum interfered with, along with me ba-ball-joints knocked out of place.”
“You’ve had what? Oh never mind, there’s no time for that! Now tell everyone that you’re a man! Do you think you can do that for me Freddie?
“Oh, not half Sal!”
(Sally kisses Freddie passionately on the lips, which of course gets Freddie all hot and flustered. Sally then carefully unzips Freddie’s flies, and there hung proud, half a pound of the finest Lincolnshire sausages. Several policemen immediately respond to the incident)
“Ere, I don’t like the look of them sausages! Bit on the limpish side if you ask me.”
“You see, I told you I was a man,” Freddie smiles.
(The crowd cheer with delight.)
“I’m a ma- ma-ma, man!”
“Now Freddie, what on earth were you doing on board a UFO?” Sally asks.
“Well, you see it’s like this Sally. I was on my way to Pluto when these ka-ka-kind gentlemen took me in,” pointing towards the aliens.
“What on earth is he talking about?” a reporter responded.
“I can’t understand what he’s saying?”
“I think he’s got a speech impediment.”
“I’ve got something very important to say! So stand back and give me plenty of room!” Freddie clears his throat whereby he takes hold of a microphone and begins to read a long prepared speech.
“Dear e-e-earthlings, I a-a-address you on behalf of an e-e-exterritorial sp-species, ca-ca-called (microphone breaks up-crackle sound) from a fa-fa-from the ga-galaxies of (feedback-sound) w-who have tra-travelled a-across the u-universe to-to make you aware of your fa-fa-forthcoming fa-fate. The p-people of (crackle sound) ar-are going to (crackle sound) if you da-da-don’t (feedback sound) wa-what they sa-say (crackle) the e-entire p-planet waaaa (crackle-crackle) fa-fa-frizzel”
Having convinced the media that he’s got his message across Freddie cocks his left leg up and lets rip one of his blockbuster farts. So great is the noise that it is picked up by the numerous microphones which have been placed nearby, erupting across the square like a bolt of lightning?
“Ere, I reckon that dirty sod’s dropped his guts!” A reporter moans.
“Phew what a stink! I think the dirty bugger’s dropped one.”
Through his vast superior technology, Freddie has unknowingly released a highly sensitive gas from his rear end. Thereafter, special agent Freddie Frobisher has taken upon himself to eliminate the entire human population with a blend of highly intoxicating gases that contain a copious amount of rejuvenating fluid, found only in residential homes and old fogey institutions. Once these chemicals had been unleashed, it had the desired effect of transforming the earthlings into brain-starved zombies. Spurred on by this exciting prospect, Freddie drops another one of his blockbuster farts. The crowd by this time were worn out physically, as well as mentally, overcome by fear with this brutal monster that has suddenly appeared from nowhere - and who had managed to drop his guts with some vigour. Fearing for their lives the crowd moved back in panic, sensing that the creature was capable of producing more deadly gases. In the frenzied activity, Freddie had unknowingly mislaid his speech, thereby; a gentleman from the crowd picks it up which he begins to read. The document was in fact an indication to the alien’s intention, whereby, they were about to invade the earth and perform Colonlonic Irrigation on the entire human race. Just then a hatch opens up from the UFO. One by one the aliens come out in their droves moving slowly forward like lost zombies. In their hands they behold funnels, tubes and surgical equipment, and looking more like Cowboy Builders from a “Dyno-Rod” commercial.
“You shall be our slave’s, earthlings!” The Captain said forcefully.”
(People begin panicking at the very thought of being subjected to Colonlonic Irrigation. While all this is going on Freddie senses a sneeze coming on)
“Atishu, atishu, atishu.” The mucus from his nostrils forms a deadly spray, commonly known as the common cold. Unfortunately, the virus proves too much for the aliens and many of who start dropping like flies. In fear of becoming another statistic in the Guinness book of Records, the rest of the aliens run for the safety of the mother ship. With the crew now safely on board the UFO, the Captain was giving his final orders. In his final summing up of their trip the Captain addresses his crew. “We have completed our work oh fellow aliens. Rejoice, for the Great Plonker has delivered our message to the earthlings! I fear there is nothing left for us to do. We shall return to our planet and leave the humanoids to their miserable fate. The mighty Plonker has fulfilled his mission. Close the doors and fire up the retros.”
Suddenly, there was a soft humming sound as UFO lifted gently out of sight, leaving the earth behind them, and as it did so one of the alien’s commented: “I told you that Plonker would wipe out the human race and drop something obnoxious.”
Rebuffed in his efforts to warn the earthlings of their doom, and based on this assumption, there was no questioning the creature’s uncanny implications which was to devour the whole human race, thus allowing the aliens to continue with their total annihilation of the earth. A groan of mass hysteria rumbled through the uneasy crowd of onlookers who were petrified by fear, sensing the aliens will return and carry out their plan of total destruction of the world. Faced with this prospect, the creature (Freddie) is pursued by a howling mob of hysterical people, screaming for the creature to be destroyed. In his desperate attempt to get away, Freddie raced through the London traffic, relinquishing all traces of alien attire with exception of his royal crown. He then vanished into the obscurity of the London night.
But who should turn up in stately splendor, leading a procession of executive cars? Low and behold it was her Majesty the Queen of England. Inside the leading vehicle the Queen was busily working on her maiden speech for a new ship that was being launched the next day. Accompanying the Queen was Prince Charles and Prince Philip. In one hand the Queen holds her speech. In the other is a bottle of the finest Chardonnay wine. But there is more drama to come. The royal party were somewhat bemused by what they see, for a man (lunatic) was running alongside their car with his face flat up against the window, and madly banging on the window with his fist. It’s our Freddie would you believe.
“I say Charles whose that idiot,” the Queen fumes.
(Freddie brings the entourage to an abrupt halt)
“Any chaance of a lift maalady,” Freddie asks. “I’ve got to get across London in a hurry.”
“I say mumsie old girl he looks a bit on the peculiar side. His clothes are odd, and by George his wearing a stately crown on his head.” (Charles looks on in disbelief)
“Good gord, he must be one of ours,” the Queen smiles.
“Come off it me old thunder-horse of a wife, he’s one of those Loony Left lot, I shouldn’t wonder.” Prince Phillip scowls.
(After further deliberation between the royal party the Queen kindly offers Freddie a lift. While driving though London the Queen practices her speech)
“How does this sound Charles and Philip? It gives me great pleasure to name this ship, The Black Hole of Calcutta. May all who sail in her have their intestines fouled up to a rapturous concoction of the bends, dodgy food, and unscrupulous chefs who pick their noses and fling bits of bogeys and snot into the cooking utensils?” The Queen then turns to Prince Charles and cracks a bottle of Chardonnay over his head, as though it were a ship.
“I say, steady on mumsie old girl. Bit strong on the Chardonnay, aren’t we?”
The Queen cracks another bottle over Charles’ head, and as a result knocks Charles unconscious, while bird noises were busily buzzing through Charles’s head and so begins mumbling to himself, while merrily singing to a chorus of........
“One talks to the Trees.”
(Charles regains consciousness)
“Now look here mater,” Prince Charles began, holding his head in pain. “I’ve got a bit of a confession to make, old girl. I desperately want to go out and get a job just like the middle classes do.”
“A job!” the Queen looks on in aghast. “Are you mad Charles? Only the lowest of the low get jobs.”
“But mummy, I’ve got my heart set on becoming a coalman.”
“Look here Charles; you know that coal is bad for the environment! Anyway we’re royalty. For God’s sake man we all the money we want!
“But mumsie, all I’ve ever wanted to do in life is get myself blackened up and hump some coal around!”
“Haven’t you done enough humping in your life Charles? And getting blackened up indeed! Before you know it you’ll end up looking like that newscaster chappy - Trevor McDonnut. What would Camilla think of you, talking like this?”
“Will you please leave Camilla out of this, mummy!”
“Humping indeed! What you need my lad is a good douse of liver salts: gets the old bowels opened up,” The Duke snarls.
(Just then Freddie’s mobile phone rings. It’s the Commander.)
“Frobisher! I’ve got fresh orders for you. Get yourself across to Battersea Park in London and there make your way to the Beijing State Circus. You are to contact one of our agents called Jeffrey. But I warn you, he’ll be in cognito, heavily disguised as a gorilla. The last we heard of him he was in cage number six, eating his daily quota of bananas. The gorilla will give you precise instructions in secret code. Have you got that Frobisher! And for heaven’s sake don’t mess this one up or it’ll be curtains!” The commander cursed disapprovingly with words to the effect: Damn incompetent twit. I’ll have his guts for garters if he messes this one up.”
(Freddie bows his head in answer and bears a toothless grin)
“Don’t worry Gov, by the time I’ve finished with him he’ll be eating out of my hand.”
Mad Max from Mongolia
The scene is Battersea Park in London, home to the Beijing State Circus. One by one Freddie inspects each of the cages that house huge hairy gorillas. Upon reaching cage six, Freddie comes face to face with undercover agent Jeffrey. Or so he thinks. For quite unknown to Freddie, Jeffrey was in cage number four. The gorillas had been switched in the middle of the night due to a mix-up over banana rations.
(With nerves of steel Freddie’s draws near to the metal bars of the cage)
“Pssst, pssst. Oi, it’s me, Freddie Frobisher. What are my orders?”
Sitting quietly in his cage was the frightening figure of “Mad Max from Mongolia.” An undesirable character, whose only purpose in life is to unzip bananas, grunt, and crap on the floor in the most undignified manner.
“Ugggh, ugggh,” Mad Max cried, banging his enormous fists on his chest. In his desperation for further orders, Freddie quickly takes out his note-pad and hastily writes down Max’s every word.
“Ugggh, ugggh, ugggh,” the gorilla bellowed in a savage rage.
“Yes, yes, I’ve got that. My orders are to go immediately to the centre ring of the circus, and there I am to take to the high-wire. My objective at this point is to meet double agent Ivanish Romanoff who is part of the act. Once I have made contact I am to go directly to the trapeze act, where I will meet the flying Boretto Brothers, whose main objective is to drop me from a great height. Furthermore, I am to participate in a series of spectacular daredevil maneuvers that incorporate the loop-de-loop, triple somersault, and if I am still alive, ending with the double shasham. “Ere, the buggers are trying to kill me.”
In no time at all Freddie changed into the appropriate attire, consisting of skimpy leotards, jock strap, and thick wooly gaiters. It wasn’t long before Freddie found himself hurtling through the air, some hundred feet up, looking down towards the audience. The band struck up and the crowd was on tenterhooks.
“He flies through the air with the greatest of ease, the daring old twat on the flying trapeze, his movements and actions so graceful above, his equipment bent, and so disgracefully dislodged.”
Whilst doing a series of death defying moves, Freddie comes face to face with double agent Romanoff, who issued precise instructions for a rendezvous meeting for his next contact, thereby, Freddie is duly ordered to go to a place of capital punishment, thereafter, he is to be placed in a dirty great cannon and there blasted to smithereens.
“Ere just a minute that sounds a bit dodgy.” Freddie thinks.
After his terrifying ordeal our hapless hero finally reaches ground level again, where a rapturous applause awaited him. The ringmaster took hold of the microphone and announced. “And finally ladies and gentlemen we come to the finale of the show. You are about to witness the most daring act of all time. A man is to be placed inside our faithful old cannon called Big Bertha. The subject will hence will be dressed in full military attire, thereafter, he will be blasted into to darkness of the London night sky - and with precise and meticulous aiming, he should by all accounts, land up somewhere in the vicinity of the Balls Pond Road area.”
As the minutes ticked by audience wait in eager anticipation as the cannon is loaded up. The moment came when the cannon erupted with vengeance and then let out a blast that ripped through the circus like a bolt of lightning. Then in one flash of a second Freddie is blasted into the London night sky.
To put things in more perspective: picture for a moment a man dressed in full military uniform. Thereafter place a sign on his back to indicate he is completely mad. Shove him in a cannon. Light the blue touch paper. Prepare for detonation, then blast the bugger to kingdom come.
If that’s not enough, let him franticly wander about, screaming and yelling, asking people, where the hell am I? To give you the full picture, after being shot out of the cannon our beleaguered hero finds himself outside the main BBC Television Centre in Sheppard’s Bush, London. Waiting by the main gate were two uniformed commissionaires who were somewhat mystified as to the sudden appearance of a man zooming in from outer space.
“Hey George, get a load of this weirdo.”
“Regular Army, I fancy.”
“Never, he’s Royal Fusiliers - Queen’s own, if I’m not mistaken.”
“Hey wait a minute George, he must be one of them contestants from the Broadmore Institution, you know, them lot on the Universal Challenge show.”
“Do’ no what, I think you’re right George, of course, I didn’t realise, there all bloody nutters from there. We better get him up to the theater before the show starts.”
(Eager to turn out another gritty performance, Freddie is ushered into studio 202, where the grand final of the Universal Challenge is about to start)
(Voiceover) “Please welcome ladies and gentleman to another popular edition of Universal Challenge. In the chair for tonight’s show is our quiz master Dimbo Gasgroin, better known for his thesis on the methodology of grouse shooting late at night.”
Dimbo begins. “Tonight’s academic institutionalized teams are made up from the Headbangers, who for many years have been long standing inmates at the permanent halls of residents at Parkhurst Prison. And I welcome with great affection to our other team who are commonly known as the Nutters, who themselves are long standing residents at the sectioned unit.... of the Broadmoor Institution.
(Dimbo kicks off the show)
“Right teams, here are the rules. You get ten points if for three correct questions right in a row. You can confer on questions. I’ll give you ten bonus points if you get the first one right. Hands on buzzers please. Here is your started for ten points.”
“Who was the Scottish man who claimed to have eyes of liquid gold, ruby red lips, soft speaking voice, took a size twelve dress, and regularly went under the knife?”
(Buzzer goes)
“Yes Broadmore.” Was it John Thomas?”
“Wrong! It was Phil McCavity, the transvestite dentist from Dundee. Here’s your starter for ten points. Which Irishman won the Nobel Prize posthumously for his heroic measures in reducing cement mixers into high-powered sports cars?
(Buzzer goes)
Dimbo glanced round the crowed television studio, noting with some displeasure that the contestants were engaged in various activities of unsavory behavior.
“Oh do stop picking your noses Broadmore. And for God’s sake Nutters stop scathing your bums.”
“Your starter for ten points. In the 1955 movie - (The Creature from Outer Space) what was the stick-like insect that later turned to human form.
Both teams dither.
“Oh do come on teams, hurry up, I’ve got a bus to catch.”
(Buzzer goes to Headbangers)
“Was it Vincent Price?”
“Don’t be daft Headbangers,” Dimbo laughs. “It was in fact a man from Bognor Regis”
“Five bonus points if you get this one right. What revolutionary scientific discovery theory did Count Frankenstein put forward when he induced an immense beam of high velocity electrodes through a stiffs body.
(Nutters) “He used the concept to wake up a man without the use of an alarm clock”
“Wrong.”
“Here’s an interesting one - which tool of theology do Anthropologists use in their universal quest for the repatriation of Nigerian dentists?”
“Yes Broadmoor!”
“Was it a man called Fillet McCavity?”
“Oh come off Headbangers.”
“Your starter for ten points. Which leading politician played the hunchback of Notre Dame in the TV presentation of Short and Curlies?”
(Buzzer goes)
“Was it Phillip Major,” the Nutters cry.
“Don’t be pathetic. It was of course John Nutcracker”.
Here’s an easy one” Dimbo smiled. “What did Henry VIII give Jane Seymour on their wedding night?”
(Buzzers go mad and jam)
“Yes Headbangers.”
“The answer is a good seeing too.”
“Naughty, naughty Headbangers, but near enough. It was in fact Hampton Court.”
“At this point in the show, you have two points each, teams. Here’s an easy one teams. Name me the Pakistan businessman whose sales of non-flush lavatories, sold throughout the Indian subcontinent, and who later became known as the “Crapper from Clapham.”
(Buzzer goes to Headbangers)
“We know that one. The gentleman in question was called the Shyster from Shitoo.”
“Oh yes, well done Headbangers. In police termology what did Chief Inspector Phillip Condom refer to when he said: I’ve got a lovely bunch of coconuts?”
(Buzzer goes)
“Yes Broadmoor.
“Bollocks!”
“Oh, yes, well remembered Broadmoor.”
“Next question. In what year was the Geneva Convention first ratified?”
(Both teams dither)
“Oh for God’s sake you must know this one. What a bunch of loonies I’ve got on my hands. Here’s an easy one. Who in Greek mythology was depicted on nude paintings as a fine young athlete, and known to the local gentry as Gorgeous George?”
(Buzzer goes to the Nutters)
“We believe it was Napoleon.”
“Don’t be silly Nutters. Napoleon was a famous composer. Your starter for ten. Name me the Irish long distance runner who broke the world record by jumping every fence in the Grand National, blindfolded, and without the use of a horse?”
(Buzzer goes to the Headbangers)
“Paddy Macginnty!”
“I’m afraid you’re wrong yet again. It was Shamus O’ Malloy, the foolhardy alcoholic from County Tyrone.”
“Which eccentric poet wrote this rhythm whilst in prison? There was a young man from East Cheam, who invented an odd machine. On the nineteenth stroke, the bloody broke, and whipped his walnuts to cream.”
“Don’t know.”
“Name me the famous political who said: I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
(Buzzer goes to Nutters)
“Harold Wilson.”
“Wrong! It was in fact an MP addressing the House of Commons in a debate over the Conservative Party manifesto policy.”
“Here’s a toughie teams. Which prominent figure of the clergy was defrocked three times for irregularities concerning choir boys, whilst playing the organ, and who later confessed to the judge that he wanted ten more charges to be taken into consideration?”
(Buzzer goes to Headbangers)
“We believe it was the Bent Bishop from Billingsgate.”
“How the hell did you remember that one? Well done, you get ten points.”
“In the TV adaptation “Ship Ahoy” which member of the crew peeled barnacles off the captain’s rump.”
(Buzzer goes)
“Was it was Gorgeous George, up to his old tricks again.”
“Yippee! Right”
“Which “sectioned” Irish novelist, believed he had the divine gift of talking to traumatized horses, which had themselves been sectioned?”
“We believe he was one of us - a bloody Nutter!”
“Name me the man who drunk himself death while driving a number 19 bus on his way to a real-ale brewery.”
“We believe the man in question was apparently a forty- six white male, aptly named two-pint-Harry. His remains however were found in a gigantic barrel of authentic German larger.”
“Oh, yes, well done Nutters.”
(The gong goes for the end of the show)
“Right teams, you have managed to accumulate a total of twelve points each, making it a draw. So with that it’s goodnight from me and goodnight teams.”
(Just then the phone rings)
“Good evening Mr Dumbo or is it Dimbo?”
“Please call me Dimbo!”
“Did you say Dumbo?”
Dimbo-Dumbo, who the hell cares? Look, it’s the Commander of MI6, here. I do believe you’ve got one of our agents on your show, masquerading as a contestant.
“Ah, yes, you must mean Frobisher, the man with a brain of a Brazilian dormouse.”
(Dimbo passes the phone over to Freddie)
“Hello governor, its Freddie here.”
“Listen very carefully Frobisher, I’ve got a very important assignment for you, which is right up your street. Her Majesty the Queen was so impressed with you while on your journey through London, she has pacifically requested that you are to look after her pet parrot called General Gordon while she is away on tour of Australia. Muck this one up Frobisher and I’ll have you hung drawn and quartered. You’re to start first thing in the morning, at eight sharp. Is that clear!”
“Cor, thanks a lot governor, it’s just what the doctor ordered. In gratitude, Freddie bears his customary toothless grin and nods his head in approval.
The Scene is Windsor Castle
There is no more magnificent sight in England than the mighty structure of Windsor Castle. It’s hard to believe that this awesome building was built over 800 years ago. Windsor Castle covers a huge area and it is much larger than people imagine. So big in fact that it cover more than twelve acre’s, taking in a good half a day to walk round it. The main attractions are the State Apartments and St George’s Chapel. Historically, Windsor Castle is believed to be the oldest inhabited castle in the world and dates back to 1070 and is thought to have been built by William the Conqueror. Earliest references to the castle are entered in the Doomsday Survey in 1086. However, it was Edward III who was the main man responsible for the present day layout of the castle. Later, King Henry VIII completed the final touches to the place. As one proceeds through the endless wards and terraces, one can see the breathtaking views of the Round Tower with its various fortifications, and of course the beautiful countryside which includes Eton and the River Thames. But for today our attentions turn to our bumbling hero Freddie Frobisher. On a bright sunny morning Freddie duly arrives at Windsor Castle where he is greeted by a member of the royal household. The Queen in all her wisdom had drawn up a list of duties which were to be carried out in the strictest fashion. But first he is to be given a grand tour of the place. The tour kicks off with a leisurely walk into the magnificent and beautiful St George’s chapel. Apparently, the chapel was started in 1475 by Edward IV and later completed some fifty years later by Henry VIII. The chapel is ranked one of the finest examples of late medieval architecture in England. “Believe it or not” the guide smiled. “Ten monarchs are buried beneath your feet. Even the famous Henry VIII and his wife Jane Seymour are just a few feet from where you are standing. Since 1348” the guide continued. “There have been almost 1,000 Knights of the Garter who came to rest here. Each Knight has his own resting place beneath the marbled floor. And to celebrate their fine achievements hang the crests, helm, mantling, swords and banners of the famous knights. Freddie’s definition of this mind blowing news was that (once a night was enough) Shaken by the news that a party of stiffs was right under his feet he quickly moved on to the State Apartments which were flanked by fine works of art and blessed with glittering suits of amour, wore I believe by a few dubious ancestors. Wide open corridors led to a lavish banqueting hall, sparkling with elegance. Freddie was finally led into the state room, and there sitting cheekily on the Queens throne was General Gordon. The welcoming sound of a foul mouthed parrot awaited our bundling agent as he got nearer and nearer to the feathered bird.
Once the pleasantries had been sorted out Freddie found himself in urgent need of the toilet, as ever. Dashing from the banqueting hall Freddie entrusted General Gordon with his royal crown, scepter, and gown, and by Jove he looked like true royalty.
Meanwhile, a trillion light years away, the aliens were returning back to their planet, recovering from The Plonker’s reign of terror. Tucked up in bed fast asleep was the Captain who was annoyingly was woken up from a deep sleep, covered in a cold sweat and moreover recovering from a series deeply disturbing nightmares brought on by visions of a man wearing a royal crown on his head, dressed silver-gowned and spectacled.
“My God! It’s the ruddy Plonker,” the Captain suddenly realised. “I wonder where the bugger is at this precise moment,” he thought? “In fact this would be the ideal moment to make contact with our beloved leader.”
(The entire crew gathered round a giant monitor screen as they homed in on the Plonkers whereabouts. Their sensors zoomed in at the famous Winsor Castle. There perched on the throne was a parrot, magnificently turned out in a royal outfit)
General Gordon
(Captain) “Holy Jupiter rocks,” the Captain screamed in horror. “Behold fellow aliens for our beloved leader had turned into a stick like creature (on seeing the likes of General Gordon) the aliens hearts melt as they get their first glimpse of a rather strange looking object.
(The Captain begins to communicate with the parrot) “Oh great Plonker are you able to speak with us. Do you have the means to communicate?”
(I must point out at this moment in time that General Gordon is one hell of a remarkable bird, for you see, quite unknown to the aliens the parrot had managed to accumulate a vast amount of dialogue over the years - so much so in fact that the General could hold out long drawn conversations and he could even impersonate people. He could reel off nursery rhymes. Tell dirty jokes. Swear like a trooper. He could even hold talks on intellectual matters. Read poetry, and so on. So you see General Gordon is no ordinary parrot)
(Captain) “I don’t believe it fellow aliens the Plonker is talking in a strange dialect and it’s blatantly obvious our beloved Plonker is communicating in a brogue only known to creatures living on the planet Neptune”.
(The real surprise however is when General Gordon breaks out in speech whereby he begins to impersonate the famous American president, Ronald Regan. The parrot’s inspiration came when he did his famous inauguration speech when the president first took office)
The parrot screeched, ruffled his feathers, picked up the microphone and began to break out in the finest American brogue. “Fellow Americans,” General Gordon began. “Have I got one humdinger of a speech for you guys out there. Let me see now, how does it go. Ah yes - a-rummadedum-e-dum- a rummadedoo-e-do. No, no I think it went more like -a-diddle-e-diddle-dum-a-diddly-diddly-doo.”
(It began to dawn on the aliens that the Great Plonker (stick like creature cum parrot) must immediately be brought on board their craft and taken back to Neptune where it rightfully belongs)
(More drama unfolds) Having arrived back from her tour of Australia the Queen immediately makes her way to the throne room to see her beloved parrot, General Gordon, only to find the cage empty. Freddie tries in desperation to explain the circumstances behind the mysterious disappearance of the parrot. His explanation was this. General Gordon, while munching his way through a pile of out-of-date- millet, sees another parrot fly by the window. To the General’s amazement it was his old friend called Percy, the African Grey. In his desperation to see his old friend again General Gordon thereby took flight and hence disappeared through an open window.
(The Queen was not amused by his feeble excuse and sheer incompetence of man. In fact the Queens exact words were: “a likely story - off with the bugger’s edd.” In addition, she therefore requests that the bungling agent stands trial for treason at the Old Bailey)
(Meanwhile Colonel Gordon was taken on board the UFO and on her way to Neptune with the rest of the aliens)
Back on earth it was the day of Freddie’s trial at the Old Bailey. In his final summing up for the crown- the judge, a certain Lord Chief Justice Chaffney Brown, read out a list of charges. “Freddie Stanley Frobisher I hereby indite you with a list of charges which has been brought before me by her Majesty the Queen. Frobisher! You are menace to society, and therefore you shall be taken hence to a place of tranquillity, namely to the nearest mental institution, and there you will indulge in state of the art décor, excellent wine, good food, accompanied by satellite television and lots of dirty magazines. Furthermore, I therefore sentence you to serve a term of no less than ten years at the Broadmore institution. Sectioned of course”.
“Cor, thanks a lot guv,” Freddie smiled.
The climax of our story ends on a rather happy note. General Gordon has taken up full residence on the planet Neptune where he is in complete control of an alien species known as the Greys: in fact he has the audacity to masquerading himself as the Great Plonker. The General however was particularly valued for his contribution in scoffing an endless supply of bird seed and millet. Meanwhile the real Plonker, otherwise known as special agent Freddie Frobisher was regrettable banged up at her majesties pleasure. But there was one remaining question that still puzzles MI6. What the bloody hell was their rocket?