Thursdays With Uncle Boom #60

in life •  18 days ago

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I was having an early breakfast with my good friend Rory Spufnal a delightful fellow despite having a face like a Himalayan vagina cake. He was telling me about a dinner he had attended with the MP for Rotherham. Apparently, he had put on quite a spread.

Rory was in the midst of regaling me with the tales of excess and rambunctiousness from the night when he mentioned something that made my ears twitch like a Budgerigar's penis smelling a whelk.

And above the table hung the most extraordinary portrait, old chap, Most extraordinary!

I slopped some more rum in our glasses.

Extraordinary you say, how so?

Well, you know that painting of Wellington at Waterloo, smiting the peons around him with his sword?

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I nodded whilst lighting my pipe.

He had gone and gotten some artist chap to recreate the scene only with himself in the saddle cutting the peons down like chaff. It's quite bloody marvellous if I do say so myself.

I leaned back in my chair and took a great big draw of my pipe as if I were a peasant being given free air.

Hmm, that does indeed sound quite the thing. I don't suppose you would happen to know the name of this 'Artist?'

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I strode into the Artist's parlour swishing my cane back and forth like a wet pair of trousers. Behind me trailed a grubby vagabond I had lured in from the street with the promise of free pies. He stood nervously behind me wringing his cloth cap.

The Artist was standing at a canvas, holding his brush up to the light and peering at it closely.

You, Soapy-Tit-Wank. Are you the Artist that knocked up the portrait of the MP for Rotherham?

The young gib lowered his brush, looking at me incredulously as if I were an empty toilet roll holder.

The right honourable gentleman did commission me to do a piece, yes. May I ask, are you seeking to commision something similar?

I made a snumphing sound.

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Yes, yes I am. I need something for my office. Something grand. How long does it take?

The Artist sniffed disdainfully.

One cannot hurry art milord. That particular piece you refer to took several weeks.

Pishflaps. I will give you three hours.

The Artist gasped as if his goose was being gandered.

Milord, that is just not possible. Why at the very minimum I would require several sessions of two to three hours over a number of days. What you ask, I simply cannot give!

The grubby vagabond behind me cleared his throat.

Milord, you did say there would be free pies?

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Oh for fuck sake. You...

I stabbed a finger out at the Artist.

Find this beggar a fucking pie would you? And hurry back, you have a painting to be getting on with.

I... I don't have pies?

I took a step toward the Artist, my cane lowered menacingly at him.

You don't have any pies? What kind of Artist are you?

The Artist puffed up his chest in indignation like a Guinea pig denied lettuce.

I sir, am an Artist. I am not a purveyor of pies!

But milord, you said he 'ad pies.

Whined the grubby vagabond.

Oh for fuck sake.

I sighed.

I turned on the vagabond and proceeded to give him a sound thrashing with my cane till he slumped into a defensive, quivering heap on the floor. I kneeled down over him and sent him shuffling off to his maker with a quick stab of my little knife Mathilda to his neck.

I gave a self-satisfied chuckle as the blood pooled out around his head into quite the artful puddle.

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I whipped around and pointed Mathilda at the Artist whose hands were clasped over his open mouth which was issuing odd squeaking noises.

Right, are you ready?

He gulped and nodded quickly.

Hang on then. I have a certain something in mind.

I pulled my pipe out. I had a new baccy I was keen to try, Springheeled Black. It was very dark and pungent. I loaded my pipe, lit it and took a puff.

Ah, perfect. Now, how about this?

I placed a foot on the chest of the vagabond, blood still burbling merrily from his neck. I leaned on my cane with one hand. The other holding my pipe imperiously before me.

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The Artist shook violently, his eyes glued to the ever-spreading puddle of blood around me. Then as he raised his head to catch my eye, he flinched and started scratching at the canvas before him with his brush.

Some hours later he put his brush down.

It is finished, milord... I hope you... like it?

I stepped off the dead wretch on the floor and approached the Artist. My little knife Mathilda gleamed in my hand.

I hope for your sake that I do young pompatom. If I don't you might find yourself joining your pie-munching friend on the floor.

What little colour in the Artist's face drained away and he swayed like a baby goat in a storm.

I approached the canvas. It was a rough work to be sure but I was pleased, it was very... red. I raised Mathilda up and gently scraped her down my own cheek.

Hmm...

I uttered softly.

You like it, Milord?

The Artist's voice was a hoarse pleading whisper.

I smiled wide and took a step closer to him.

Like it? Why, I couldn't possibly say...

I placed my free hand on his shoulder and pulled him in against me. He made a muffled mmmf noise.

After all...

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It just occurred to me that Uncle Boom kills way more people than Dexter.

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He does his best!

This is really gruesome...still can't stop myself from laughing though

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My aim is to gruesomely please!

What in the actual hell is even a Himalayan you know what never mind O_O lol

Uncle Boom has no idea how long art takes? Thought he was a gentleman XD

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A gentleman wants everything now and can't be doing with the waiting!!

I think if he had dedicated himself to drawing the tramp's blood as it spread on the floor would have been a better work than I was thinking of performing

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That would have made a fine piece!

Me thinks UncleBoom may run of peons to dispatch...A red, red, red, portrait I should say.

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The thing about peons is that there is always so many more of them!

You have to take the painting anyway as it will show the murder scene. Remind me to never ask for a fucking pie.

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If you stay away from pies everything will be alright!!

I say, you should have a gentleman artist do this portrait, one with Boomy's tendencies- he specializes in red and he would never tell as he has noname ;)

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Haha, the ones with noname do tend to specialise in red. Would do a wonderful job!!

You leave me quite speechless, although I enjoy your writing. Speechless, I say!

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Speechless is good! I'll take it ;0)

After saving the very fabric of history, the only thing one could do next is to cement one's self in its very annals! What better way than a painting?

A sculpture, milord?

Shut up, Jenkins!!

Just like what they did to the ones who built the pyramids, the Taj Mahal and anything of note, hands that have created a masterpiece of that caliber should never be allowed to match the feat. You have a good head on your shoulders, ol' chap!

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A sculpture! Now wouldn't that be perfect!!

If yes, perhaps that will be next!! Lol

Ah, the pies. It's always the pies that get 'em.

And yes, I do believe that red does the trick quite nicely.

Are you sure that you're not his alt account?

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Haha, I still think you are ;0)

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And yet... what if I'm yours?

Or perhaps I'm just his

I think I'm leaving too many hyperlinks

No, I don't know what that one's for either.

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I saw his, I thought, now who can that be, the clever fellow!

I have entertained the dangerous bottom of course that you are me.

But then I think you are most definitely you :0)

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When push comes to shove I think we can agree that we're all just Bob. Or rather, figments of his imagination.

I'd link to that conversation but I feel like I'm referencing too many of our old conversations, so I'll justify it by not linking.

Not really sure how that works, but I do what I can. Obviously.

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I am not sure how it works but that it works when it does.

Oh yes. And then it works!

I quite like these Thursdays with the uncle 😂😂

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The uncle is the daddy! Lol

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Typical Scotland ! 😀😀

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Two murders, nice. hahaha. So does blood ever "merrily" leave someone's body? LOL I guess it is in the eye of the beholder. hahaha

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The eye of the beholder it is!!! Hehe!

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hahahaha :)

Woooo!!! Two people killed this tragic story. One a pie-munching maniac and an artist. I think the artist was feeling traumatic drawing meesterboom and a dead person lying on the floor. Little did he know that he will be killed afterward. Upvoted!

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He certainly hoped he wouldn't be but alas!

@meesterboomIntimidante Uncle Boom, I really like how he knows the times of proscesses of things. As the insolent artist took several hours a day several days. At least I am satisfied with his work.
Thank you very much for another excellent episode
I wish you a beautiful evening dear friend

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Cheers @jlufer! He is a chap that knows what he wants for sure!!

ha! sir meesterboom! Uncle Boom is such a savage monster so I can't figure out why he's so hilarious. I mean the guy is a ruthless killer. lol. I don't suppose you know anyone like him?

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No-one! Thankfully!! That would be frightening indeed!!

I love this!
The Artist puffed up his chest in indignation like a Guinea pig denied lettuce.
Soo funny!!
Love your writing style
Great job!
Joy

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Why thank you! I try my best to be descriptive!

Ah missed the ol' chap! He will never stop.
But congats on the 60th edition, this is quite an achievement, man!

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It is, I was going to stop at 50!! I have now decided to stop at 100!!

Steemit needs more penis jokes. You are doing the Lord's work, m'boy.

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Haha!! Yes, gotta spread them about! :0D

So that is how you make an artist work faster.

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It's the only way!!

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Maybe I should try it on @katharsisdrill.

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He would probably be grateful for the innovative approach!

Upvoted.

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Thank you!

Seeing Uncle Boom is worse than seeing the Grim Reaper!

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Ha yeah. He is probably not the best to associate with!

Lol so after killing the artist, who's gonna make him more potraits now?

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I dare say there are more artists where that one came from!!

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