Thursdays With Uncle Boom #81

Stibble, where the bloody hell is all the Whiskey!?

I yelled at my assistant.

I was in my parliamentary office in Westminster, it was almost lunchtime and I had run out of Brandy. Horrifyingly, it seemed I was out of Whiskey too.

Stibble came trotting in from outside the office.

Sir, terribly sorry, sir. You drank it all.

I looked up at him from the floor.

I bloody what? When?

Stibble looked apologetic like a gerbil being sick.

Yes sir, remember yesterday? You were shouting about the French again and how they would never get a hold of your whiskey. Or something like that.

I pulled myself to my feet, and swayed slightly before him, my face creasing up like a prolapsed vaginery thing.

Was he being funny? Of course I didn't remember yesterday. It was a Wednesday, nobody remembers Wednesdays. They are shit.

I reached for my cane.

A look of terror splashed over Stibble's face like a sailor's jizzums.

I stepped in close to him, faster than he could blink.

Well if there is no whiskey then perhaps I had best get some. Maybe some lunch whilst I am at it. Would you like something?

Stibble had turned quite pale, like an albino's foreskin.

Um, lunch... Erm, yes, that would be nice?

He said. Uncertainty in his voice as if his Grandmother had come to stay and declared that her salted honey ring was itchy.

Splendid. I shall return imminently!

I grabbed my hat and headed out of the office into the outside world.

There was a fine Whiskey shop nearby and I loaded up with a couple of bottles before heading out in search of somewhere to get lunch.

I passed a newish looking establishment. A small sign hung in the window above a pump looking, sleeping cat.

I ventured in.

Hello!

I beckoned to a Japanese looking fellow behind the counter.

Hello, what can I get for you!

He beamed back.

What kind of food do you do, I am looking to get some lunch?

I asked, stifling a Brandy burp.

Katsu.

He grinned, waving at menu behind him which had all manner of strange spidery scrawls on it.

Cat soup, eh?

I cast a glance at the cat in the window. I hoped it wasn't that one.

Well, fuck it, why not? I will have two please!

I smiled hungrily at the man.

Beef or chicken?

Smiled back the man.

My own smile faded.

Beef or chicken? Are you taking the piss? You said cat, I will have cat. Cat soup please, two of them, make it quick.

The man's smile also faded.

Cat soup!? Are you a barbarian? I said KATSU!?

I furrowed my brow. Was this peon getting angry? With me?

I heard what you said and I said I will take two. Two of your finest cat soups, please.

The man slapped his hand down on the countertop, hard.

Beef or chicken?

He growled.

Oh fuck this.

My cane lashed out twice in quick succession smashing the man to the ground. I leapt over the countertop and proceeded to deliver a good thrashing till he stopped moving.

As I mopped some bloody splashback from my face with a fine lace handkerchief, I noticed a woman staring at me from the entrance to the kitchen. Her mouth was O-shaped in petrified horror.

I grinned bloodily at her.

Two cat soups. NOW.

I returned to the office and handed Stibble his lunch. He was awfully grateful.

He tucked in immediately. After a mouthful he looked up.

Mmm, it's quite gamey, isn't it?

He smacked his lips and had another mouthful.

What did you say was in it?

I laughed, a cold bitter laugh.

Oh Stibble, you should know...