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"YOU SHOULD SEE WHAT HE'S GETTING UP TO NOW!"
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So we joined the great MR. Death at his table, there were others already seated, but they all arose as one, when he sat down - "Come on people, let's enjoy ourselves - more drinks please Rabbi!" He waved over the 'Rabid Rabbi' who was carrying a tray, loaded down with booze and the odd flick-knife and cosh.
The emcee, the 'BIG L' had taken the stage and started his performance, whilst Maude and I looked about the nervous group sitting at MR. Death’s table. To a dead person, they all looked like they had tossed a coin for their lives, lost, then found that it was a two Headed fucker, and they had unanimously called: "Tails."
I recognised the person sitting opposite me – It was George Washington!
Well, I think it was, he was dressed in full black leather with his nipple studs showing and a large gold bar stuck through his nose. He pulled his testicles out, banging them on the table, to show everyone his new large scrotum piercing which was shaped like a writhing snake. “Now I have two pet anacondas!” he yelled, staggered, and sat back down with a crash. “F******g shit!” he added.
Ah! It was him – he’s now telling that boring story about the cherry tree, using his testicles to illustrate certain parts of the narrative.
Next to Maude was Mother Teresa, complete with her Arab dummy who was amusing the other guests by singing ‘The good ship Venus’ – the uncensored version – she was clearly well pissed and was sniffing something up her nose from a large plastic bag marked ‘Genuine Indian Curry Powder – Vindaloo Strength’ – she had really hit rock bottom and was now a ‘Nan-Head’ as we call them in the afterlife – you could see these poor addicted buggers hanging around Indian Shops and Restaurants trying anything for a fix.
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| "GUESS WHICH ONE HAD THE LAST OF THE VINDALOO POWDER?" |
There are some really hard curry addicts who inject the paste, it's called: 'chasing the Farmer-Giles'. They heat it up on a spoon, and then shove it up their backside – there are no needles in the afterlife's...
“WARNING: Don’t try this at home –
unless you’re already dead!”
The Ghost Writer.
Max was dragged over by Laurel & Hardy, who were giggling loudly, and dumped in a chair next to me. He was clearly still suffering from his beating, "Mummy, where's my goldfish Tibbles? I love her." He grinned - smiled at everyone and fainted - head on the table with a bang.
"Far too much drink for a young man." Stanley patted the unconscious Max and everybody in the group nervously laughed. Maude was gripping my arm under the table, to the point where I think the blood flow had ceased - then I realized I didn't have blood flow anyway. She whispered in my ear "Don't you leave me alone with that nutter, not for a second!" She had a fixed smile on her face - which looked like it was set by rigamortis, paying a return visit.
MR. Death gave a knowing look at me and smiled - I felt the shiver run up my spine, through my hair and across the room, not stopping until it had climbed out an open window, and was running over open fields shouting "Feck that for a game of darts!"
I really wished I could have joined it.
"Now Tom, let's get to the point of my invitation." He clasped his hands together and those dark blue eyes fixed me like a rabbit between headlamps.
"You're the kind of fellow I like to have working for me, you see, I run a little organization which needs people like you, whilst the Arch-Angel Arthur runs the 'Collectors' for Big G, I help people who they tend to overlook, get them to their choice of destination - heaven or hell!" he laughed out loud, as did Laurel & Hardy, and the Rabid Rabbi joined in until Ollie showed him a metal studded cosh - he stopped laughing, gulped hard and slipped away quietly to fetch more booze.
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| "ARCH-ANGEL ARTHUR!" |
Then I realized that MR. Death was a 'trafficker of lost souls', he had somehow found a way to bypass the 'Collector's' organization and build himself a crime empire of epic proportions - I wondered if Big G knew of this and how the dastardly scheme worked.
Maude's fingers were gripping so tight that my arm fell off a couple of times, good job I had my whisky in the other hand – and it’s a good job that the dead don’t need to pee……..
MR. Death grinned "Yes, that's right Tom, you think on it for a while, maybe after your little adventure finding the Angel In Charge, you'll want a steady, well paid job with excellent prospects and the real chance of advancement and plenty of gratuitous violence."
I knew then he was a total nutter - strangely enough, I didn't mention that fact.
Then he explained, how his duties regarding collecting the dead souls, had changed over the Millennia, now that task was carried out by the Collectors, who worked for the Arch-Angel Arthur and not himself - he had become a mere figure head and that was not acceptable.
So he created and controlled a vast empire of 'Soul trafficking’ skeletons (hence, The Naughty Boy's Biker Gang!) who smuggled the unwanted into Heaven or Hell - Yes, apparently lots of people wanted to go to Hell and were prepared to pay for the privilege!
"A most popular destination for my clients," He mused, adding "Since Satan's son, Kevin, took over the family business, it's the number one place to go - It has everything you could possibly want, good weather and fine company - for eternity.”
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| "UNDER NEW MANAGEMENT!" |
"Well, the shit really has hit the Vomitorium wall!" Said Max, and for once - he was right.
Well, I had already made one important decision, "Let's get the feck outa here!" summed up my plan, and we headed for the doors, that's when Maude saw what Larde had got himself involved in - a stand up fight with the most feared creatures in the afterlife - the Naughty Boy's Biker Gang!
“Oh bogging hell!” Maude said, and rolled up her sleeves.
No.6 OF A 'SKELETON'S LIFESERIES:
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| "DO YOU COME HERE OFTEN?" |
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| FORWARD TO EPISODE 7. "BONES." |
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| RETURN TO EPISODE 5. "DEATH INVITES YOU TO A PARTY!" |
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| "THE GHOST WRITER!" |