Mental Health Stories #6

“Hello Bill. You’re looking fatter than ever. How’s the vile wife?”
“Oh, even worse than the kids, Alf. But not as bad as that two-faced shrew you’re chained to.”
“Aye. Well I though I’d come out for a bit of informal therapy and you looked as though you were in the market. Shall we get on with it?”
“Go on then. You start.”
“Nice weather we’re having, Bill?”
“Yes, not bad for the time of year. The gardens are looking grand.”
“You’ve got a nice new car I see.”
“Well, we needed more space now the children are bigger. How’s work?”
“Oh, fair to middling.”
“Right Alf, I think that’s enough until tomorrow. I feel like a fine, friendly fellow now, reaffirmed by my close friends and neighbours.”
“Me too, you performing oaf who I privately despise for both your achievements and your weaknesses.”

“Hello you two!” shrieked Mrs. Farmer, struggling to be heard above a cacophony of barks and growls.”
“Now then, Mrs. Farmer. You’re a prematurely aged ugly bugger if ever there was one. Those dogs’ bottoms look quite appealing in comparison.”
“Yes, well I gave up on sex two hundred years ago Bill, so why bother?”
“Oh, I’ve just noticed. You’ve got a new dog to add to the seven pointless slavering beasts you already had. It’s a strange looking, overweight, anaemic critter with a monk’s head.”
“That’s my husband actually. You probably didn’t recognise him with his clothes off and a leather collar on (although I always wondered about you two in that garden shed). I love him so much he’s almost one of the family, you know.”
“So, he comes out for walkies too?”
“But of course, he needs to do his business somewhere.”
“He appears to be shagging Mrs.Grimshaw-Smythe the twice married slag bag with a posh sounding name at the moment.”
“Oh! Down darling Bruto, down!”
“Good heavens. He’s a boisterous little fellow isn’t he?” panted Mrs. Grimshaw-Smythe, wiping the semen from her fur coat.
“Nice to see you love” said Bill, positioning a sharp pocket knife next to his windpipe.
“And you too, Captain Thick Bastard. Now, how’s your wife getting on after such a terrible ordeal giving birth to another ‘Jeremy Kyle Show’ cretin?”
“Oh, thanks for your heart-felt concern and perceptive comments. She’s fine apart from the psychiatry.”
“Has her pubic hair grown back yet”
“I’m not sure pet, there’s a barbed wire fence around the marital bed.”
“Could you possibly remember what sexual position you adopted at conception? I like to keep a complete record of these things.”
“It was the advanced wheelbarrow I believe.”
“But of course! I saw you cruising around the garden at 2300 hours on May 3rd last year. The bag of compost on her back was a brilliant variation.”
“Well, if you can get two jobs done at the same time, why not?”
“Well, that’s about it for today. I’ll have to write up the daily report after tea. Unfortunately one or two of the residents haven’t returned my questionnaire on penis lengths and anal sex proclivity, but I’ll soon get to the bottom of it, don’t you worry. ‘Bye now.”
“Just a minute. There’s a package that the postman left with us yesterday when you were out with your fancy man. Looks like it might be a vibrator. Not that I would dream of peeking.”
“Ah! The new warp drive, bendy bus. It’s arrived at last!”

“Good afternoon everyone.” interrupted Alick from number 34 “ I’m in competition and justification mode if you don’t mind.”
“Go ahead then.”
“I’ve just purchased a five year old Ford which is the best thing on the market. My children are all doing brilliantly at school. My wife has now received her promotion to deputy assistant public waste officer grade IV and my garden has been expensively converted into perfect concrete geometric shapes. Alfred, on the other hand, doesn’t know how ostentatious he looks in that flashy Jaguar. Bill may have a scintillating social life but it will give him a beer gut and raise the risk of stroke, heart attack and STD’s. Mrs. Farmer lives in five-bedroomed house which is far too large for her and Dr. Leighton up the street has a Ph.D. which is completely worthless in the modern world (and in any case all my children will soon have one too). My grandchildren are likely to be cabinet ministers or X-Factor winners. So there!”

“Look out! Look out!”screamed Alf, as two cars came hurtling up the street with locked wings and crimson-faced drivers.
“There’s no need for alarm” observed Bill, as the cars divided around the crowd, bounced over two rock gardens and shuddered to a halt in their own driveway.
“They always take the same route. Middle of the road is the safest place.”
“You obnoxious, grotesque man. You spineless excuse for a monkey. You pathetic, hopeless creature, You……..” wailed one of the crimson faces, now emerging from her parked car.
“Leave this bloody house you bloody foul gorgon. I’m going to ring your bloody….” roared the other.
“Love takes many forms” commented Mrs. Farmer.
“Oh God. They’ve woken up everybody else in the street now.”

The garden at number 21 began to move as three zombies disinterred themselves from the flower beds, their pale wrinkled faces pitted with soil, their wispy grey hair hanging in tatters.
“Hate….hate…..hate…” they moaned.
“Haven’t seen the Brown family for weeks” said Bill.
“They never did walk further than the car.”
At number 25, the garage door was hurled open and a little chimpanzee flew out, shinning up the nearest drain pipe before beating his breast on the dormer roof.
“Mine,,,,mine….all mine” he yelled.
“Ah, Mr. Simian. The poor bloke has a phobia about entering his own house.”
“Yes, indeed. He lives in the garage and feeds off the garden. Mrs. Simian no longer knows who he is.”

“Crash! Bang! Wallop!”
“The Joneses are out! Mind your backs!”
A mini JCB digger emerged from a cloud of dust and started moving mountains of bricks and timber about. Behind the digger, a woman followed with a broom.
“Hello there! I’ve decided that the three extensions, two conservatories, five new bathrooms, seven kitchen refurbishments and ten window replacements haven’t quite been up to scratch. New foundations are the thing now. Must get on with it. Enjoy the rest of this peaceful summer day won’t you? Come on Mavis.”
“Yes dear.”
“He’s a retired builder, you know.”

“There’s Brigadier Smith.”
An ancient, skeletal man stopped his lawnmower and searched in his capacious khaki shorts for a micrometer. Folding down from the waist like a contortionist he carefully measured the grass.
“Two centimetres….. just right.” he murmured, before keeling over in a heap.
“Oh my God! He’s seen that dandelion in the corner.” said Alf.
They crossed themselves and dispersed.
“I’m very busy. I should log in before tea” said Alf.
“I could do with a shit too.” said Bill.

From the sky a chuckle was heard, white cloud was zipped back and out came a huge hand with a clockwork key.
“I really like zis automaton, Genghis, but the spring is weak.”
“Just another wind up then Adolf.”


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