Fiction by Paul Kavanagh
  Music by Brian Hutzell

Now No Substitute You Bag of Lies!


Now no substitute you bag of lies!
What that you say?
I’ll have no pantomime, no abnegation.
Yapping above me head you are.
Removing soiled shoes Mr. Charles Fellows reveals a crisp note. With lace Lucy Baker has been deceived, but with acumen remains silent. The penurious have little of worth to emit. Cholorotic Lucy Baker eyed the eldricth Mr. Charles Fellows and obsequiously pocketed the crisp note without a mot or fart between her bulbous paps.
You’re so naughty! bellowed Lucy Baker.
I am I am, reiterated Mr. Charles Fellows.
You’ve been a naughty boy and now must be chastised, proclaimed Lucy Baker.
I do I do, emitted Mr. Charles Fellows.
You must scream! bellowed Lucy Baker.
Lucy dear Lucy! cried Mr. Charles Fellows
Lucy dear Lucy with whip of leather in hand stood behind the leaning Mr. Charles Fellows casting a cathedral of a shadow. To abnegate the whip was not for Lucy dear Lucy. Dressed head to toe toe to head in black coruscating leather, though fake leather, Lucy dear Lucy oscillated her appendage which was much bigger than the other appendage that swayed with her movements and eyed the royal rubicund rump of Mr. Charles Fellows. Not a dimple, not a pockmark, not a boil or sign of boil, a right royal rump, not even a clump of incongruous hair, was manifested upon that derriere. Lucy dear Lucy had seen nothing like it before. Though she above the chubby flesh saw there was to be discerned one indenture but Lucy dear Lucy was cognizant that the blemish was the ramification of her rather sharp highheel. With much vim Lucy dear Lucy rotated the leather strip through the dense clammy air; the corollary of Mr. Charles Fellows’ heavy breathing and perspiring frame. In the air was that acescent taste, when one opened one’s mouth, to inhale, to exhale, to emit, to articulate, to enumerate, one inevitably swallowed the mephitic vaporous that swirled around in the enclosed circumambience, one’s mouth was left with a oily film. Though neither Lucy dear Lucy nor naughty naughty Charley were in much of a pother about the air that they consumed, for both in equal measure and uncircumspectly, inhaled superfluous amounts.
Now what should you say? asked Lucy Motherly Lucy.
Please may I have one please, asked schoolboy Charley.
With feet touching, arse jutting, lips squeezing spit, orbs glassy schoolboy Charley anticipates the whack. The sound first of the strip cutting through the thick air, the surprise, though not really a surprise, the fulguration, the epiphany, the undulation of pain rippling along the rill of the body; the smarting of the line of red of dapple. Not desiring to impede the agog Lucy dear Lucy with peccant designs lightly brushed the leather against the chubby integument. This iniquitous perpetration caused Charles to experience an ictus. With rictus mouth Charles pearly white Charles let it be known his hyperborean yearnings.
Whack me arse with all your might you thick doxy! proclaimed Mr. Charles Fellows.
I’ll do whats I like, stated Lucy Baker. Now shut your bleeding gob and keeps it down.
Keep what down? impugns Mr. Charles Fellows.
You’re fat arse you bugger! cried Lucy Baker, flexing her praxitelean shoulders and biceps.
The monody of the leather-filled Char cheeky Char with burning euphoria. Into a dank pit he dropped, into a vorago it was, an hooroosh carried him it did. Through a tenebrous labyrinth he sojourned. Char cheeky Char never saw the Minotaur but he felt the bugger’s teeth biting deep into his fleshy arse.
B’jesus, he ejaculated.
No blaspheming here!
And again the teeth sunk deep.
B’janus you got me good there a second time.
Lachrymose Char cheeky redarsed Char endeavored to swab his prow but he was unable, his hands being connected with cheap though not paltry lace to the bedstead. Thus his hands were in desuetude. It would be otiose to describe the knots, for we are not sailors, but they were bloody tight and firm. And so the sweat rolled down his countenance and stung his eyes. This symbiotic smarting was the catalyst of much folie, much raffia of giggles, much emitting of inchoate exhalation. For an ephemeral moment there was that aspiration for deracination swirling around the cranium of Char doldrums Char. And if not manumitted then at least to be accumbent, because the legs that held him aloft was precariously effete.
What do you say, coquettishly impugned Lucy hardnails Lucy
Please may I have another, whimpered Charley begging for a penny Charley.
Now who’s been a naughty bleeder.
I have!
What have you got to say for yourself.
I’m sorry.
Say it again.
I’m sorry.
Through the drollery, for it was drollery, Mr. Charles Fellows when confessed, he would proclaim it was all drollery and Lucy Baker would rather have a cigarette than go through the same confab but the stage demands dialogue. One must be supercilious and to disparage and there must be pusillanimity and whine in a jejune manner.
With tip tracing the stria Lucy coquettish Lucy whispers something that is inaudible. Perplexed, though knowing that he is on the peripheral of something, Char dimwitted Char cerebrally searches the lacunas for that arcane something to elucidate that something. It could not be approbation, it could not be an encomium, it most definitely could not be words of love plucked from the garden of armida, nor would she extol, flatter with sycophant words. His desires tumescent, his visions corpulent, the breathing behind him cantabile, Char crazed Car is lost in throes of disequilibrium.
Abruptly Char girlish lovesick Char was covered head to toe toe to head in blackness. He could not see nor could he move. A blanket was placed over him, a blanket that possessed the hole of Daedalus. An unconjecturable pain suddenly enveloped Char screaming Char, a pain so intense that he felt as though he had been eviscerated. The Minotaur was not sinking its teeth into his arse this time but he felt the bull’s horn.
What the ingress?
That’s what you get for the hoodwink you.