The Luton Tigress

For most of mankind's history, the wolf, the tiger the whippet sloth and other natural predators have been the subject of humanity's fear and fascination alike. With modern high-powered weaponry such as the musket and pistol we have shifted the balance in our favour, banishing these beasts from our nightmares and driving many of them to the brink of extinction and beyond. However some beasts are still quite capable of instilling terror in the human heart as is the case in the following tale. The legend of the Luton Tigress is arguably one of the most notorious accounts of 19th century animal attacks on man. The Luton Tigress legend dates back to 19th century England in this period of colonial grace and Victorian splendour the tiger went on the worst killing spree ever recorded, attacking and killing hundreds of people in and around the picturesque English market town of Luton. The satanic beast started its reign of terror when a certain Lord Johannesburg Cherrybuster returned home from India with a tiger cub, having grown bored of the animals insolent destruction of antique furniture and his collection of silk bean bags Cherrybuster began tormenting the animal for fun and the amusement of his fellows, which in turn made the cat aggressive, one night the thoughtless Lord decided to set the animal loose. The beast, even in its infancy managed to kill 204 of Cherrybuster's servants after he accidentally released it into their sleeping quarters rather than into the gardens. After it was driven out of his mansion by a regiment of red coat commando's, it settled in Luton where she began the second half of her reign of terror killing scores of people, man woman and child, no quarter was given, no mercy to little was spared. The beast seemed to operate with the intelligence of a man coupled with the brute strength and agility of a hunting cat. She was eventually killed by the infamous game hunter ‘David Spearmint the second earl of Kensington' in a campaign that brought Luton to the brink of destruction. Examination of the tigress once dead showed that she had extensive damage to her teeth, which Spearmint speculated would have prevented her from hunting her natural prey of albatrosses and golden retrievers, thus explaining the animals devastating appetite for man, This is the story of the Luton Tigress

19th century Luton

Lord cherrybuster sighed a sigh of deep regret at his view of the entirety of Luton-upon-brown. His hilltop mansion overlooking the town provided sights that truly put into perspective the turn of the centuries industrial impact on British towns and cities.
multi- barrelled chimney stacks reaching high into the ammonia bleached sky, and gentlemen courting young ladies, showcasing their proficiency with the newly developed and popular steam powered pneumatic leg mech's. he watched on solemnly as smoke filled the sky and posh bastards with engine legs wrecked up multiple establishments in the pursuit of love.
why was this man so morose?, when surely a lord watching unto his developing utopia would be enthralled, what with all the mad bastard inventions and the impact his wealth has had on their development. The answer came when his butler came bursting through his bedroom door.
'butler Parkinson!! what is the cause for such a bold intrusion on my quarters?!?!" the butler strained to catch breath, desperately holding back his sick out of fear of the consequences laid upon him and his family if he dared lay a street pizza in his masters room. 'im sorry master Cherrybuster, but I just got today's paper, and believe the front pages subject concerns you greatly'. lord Cherrybuster stabbed his butler coldly in the bowels with a semi-blunt letter opener, and took the paper from him. 'you may leave....and clean yourself up...you stink of sewer pipes and black pudding', 'yes sir, of course sir, very good sir...' the butler agonizingly closed the door behind him to allow Cherrybuster to take in what the ‘ ****** slam' all the hassle was about. 'oooohhh that ******* cat!!!' he exclaimed aloud in exasperation. staring back at him from the paper was an artist rendition of a typical Bengal tiger in her prime flinging and devouring men without place of residence around like wog dolls. The headline reading: ' 3 dead!, Luton tigress swoops again!!'. Cherrybuster read on frowning, bracing himself for the scapegoating that was due to him. his eyes resting on a quote from the mayor. 'this is lord Cherrybusters fault, we all know it, and in accordance to the act of his belligerent quasi-tiger releasing, he shall be summoned to the town hall in precisely three days from now, and sentenced to be hung by men dressed as tigers should he not be able to find a direct, effective, solution to this ‘ ***** balding' problem' Cherrybuster lowered the paper away from his anger enraptured face. 'this is bad.....spine cancer bad'.

The latest fatalities had brought the number of dead to near 700 buskers tramps and drunks, Although this didn't in anyway shape or form bother Cherrybuster he didn't want to hang before the townsfolk who would, given half a chance sod the old Lord to death in a fit of mass-hysteria. "no no no that wont do at all" Cherrybuster walked over to his old telegram address wardrobe, his gammon like hands rifling through the address tapestries hung up in said wardrobe, "Here we go" Laid out before him on his decanter filled bureau was the Telegram number for the revered 2^nd Earl of Kensington, Cherrybusters Nephew, a cunning bastard so shity that even his own mother had tried to assassinate him on his fifth birthday in a failed suicide bombing. Spearmint a heinous womaniser who reputedly has more bastards in orphanages up and down the country than Jack the ‘G-spot ripper' Rapist himself. Oh yes this was indeed the legend that was Spearmint Dave. Asides from being what most people would describe as an utter Bastard, Spearmint was an expert big game hunter, the word game is to be used as loosely as possible as it is widely known that whilst in the colonies Spearmint enjoyed nothing more than to ride bareback on his jungle equipped shire-horse, hunting down bewildered natives with his custom built semi automatic blunderbuss and a pack of bear hunting dogs. As ruthless and calculating as he was pleasing to the eye Spearmint was the natural choice for an urban tiger hunt. Cherrybuster fired up the wire tap telegraph and punched in Spearmints number through the machines dialling spindles. Meanwhile In a quite street in the heart of Kensington a dashing fellow was humouring himself by chasing his Scottish servants around his palatial London abode. Spearmint would regularly hire desperately poor people from Wales Ireland or Scotland depending on what mood he was in at the time. He would attend job fairs and pose as a kind gentile master whom offered generous pay and lavish accommodation to boot in return for the upkeep of his Kensington palace. However once the unfortunate hopefuls arrived for work Spearmint would reveal his true intentions that he had in store for them. Two teenage Scottish chamber boys hid under Spearmints one acre bed shaking in pure fear, they could her the hoofs of his Shetland pony climbing the oak stairs along with the patter of paws from his hunting beagles. "You see the problem with Scots is that the hunt starts well enough but you loose your nerve after the first day and hide, its no fun, no fun at all, what am I to do, come out!!! At least the welsh keep running, makes for dammed good sport, non of this ‘flushing niggers out of woodpiles' business your lot go for" The two chamber boys looked at one and other tears rolling down their faces, they had been promised a new life in London, an escape from the slums of Glasgow but now they were moments away from being torn apart and trampled by Spearmints indoor hunting brigade. Then a strange ringing noise could be heard coming from the Earls Kitchen "What the German" Spearmint hoped of his miniature hunting steed and bolted down the stairs the dogs following him as he went, the two unfortunate Chamber boys crawled out from under the bed and attempted to force the bedroom window, Spearmints ground keeper was filling in a mass grave when he caught glimpse of two ginger haired lads scurrying down the palaces drain pipes, Grasping his elephant rifle and taking aim he shot the first escapee dead the second lad attempted to climb back up the drain pipe only to be set upon by Spearmints garden Spaniel Mastiffs the ensuing savaging was an untold horror. Meanwhile Spearmint Dave answered the Telegramatron

"Speak!"

"Is the Earl of Kensington in residence"

"yes and who the ‘Hungarian armada' are you, am in the middle of a hunt you ****, speak your business now or ill kill your ******* daddy"

"Hahhahaah Huzarr Huzaar Spearmint you never liked getting interrupted during a hunt, its Cherrybuster"

"I don't recall the name old chap, the only thing that's going to get busted is your face if you don't tell me what the Hammersmith and geldings is going on here"

"Spearmint you gorgeous tosser its your Uncle Cherrybuster"

"Oh........."

"I need you to come across to Luton, there's a top Class Bengal ***** **** of a tiger that needs gunning down, and you're the man for the job the dammed thing has downed over 700 chart topping tramps and my balls are well and truly up for auction if this tiger mauling business doesn't stop here and now"

The line went dead..................... Spearmint with no time to loose began preparing his best hunting equipment for the Luton job, the first item in his itinerary was a can of 'Marble Archers' peasant repellent this was Luton after all.

Spearmint strolled audaciously out of his veritable mansion with a swagger that nature usually reserves for un-neutered tigers, fitting isn't it?, that this very man was gifted with the task of 'nailing' a ***** tiger so to speak.
He sprayed ye olde big issue deployer repellent on his pricelessly garmented self, making good effort not to get any on his face and crotch. After all repelling Luton's host of prostitutes was the last thing he wanted. Spearmint was the first and last man to pioneer the mode of transport off a penny farthing being pulled by a dozen huskies, not only for the fact its severely dangerous to do so down 19th century country roads but also few men exist with that of Spearmints sharpness and guile to pull off such a haphazard use of hound and bike apparatus.
With a crack of his Wellington boot whip the hounds yelped and screamed into a comfortable 18 mph dash, Spearmint at the helm of his military spec penny farthing made haste to Luton.
Meanwhile Cherrybuster had brought himself down from his home ,and the surrounding hills, into the gutter heart of Luton still wearing his crocodile skin dressing gown and chinchilla fur Reeboks. He found himself on the main stage in front of a myriad of angry and scared locals, ranging everywhere from menopausal miners to the amassing group of outraged tramp widows. Boo's and beaver hisses resounding in the hall, every single one (apart from that of an actual lost and scared wayward beaver's) was directed at Cherrybuster. 'CALM YOURSELVES!! CALM YOURSELVES!!', the rabid crowd hushing down begrudgingly to let the posh arse speak. 'I'll have you know mayor...and people of Luton-upon-brown...that I have done what was required of me, just like that of what you asked...I have come up with a solution for this feral Judas and ex pet of mine....I have called upon the aid of that of......Spearmint Dave 2nd earl of Kensington!!!' amidst the cheers that rose from the people desperate for a solution could also be heard the screams of woe from women in the crowd, no doubt the victims of a sexual trail of fire Spearmint had left in Luton on a previous occasion.
The mayor rose to his feet to give his judgement on Cherrybusters solution, he cleared his throat and began to speak, 'ahem...lord Cherrybuster, myself and Luton council wish to give our appro....JESUS HASTINGS CHRIST!!! ARRRRRGGHH'. in what to many was nothing more than a blur, was actually the Luton tigress herself cutting short the mayors rant by cat bailing through a stained-glass door grabbing him by the face and running out with him. People screamed and shat at the sight of their mayor being tiger knapped in a brutal instant, chaos had reigned once more in Luton. That chaos was brought to calm once again by an act just as nonsensical and thuggish. As Spearmint dropkicked down the town halls main doors, he stood proud before the distressed townsfolk holding what appeared to be a bloody pelvis with one bony leg and a shoe high above his head. 'huzaar!! Is somebody missing a ******* mayor?!?!' Spearmint had arrived.

The deputy mayor clambered onto the stage and addressed Spearmint 'What of the tiger what of that foul beast did you apprehend it' Spearmint threw the butchered pelvis into the crowed, to his surprise the locals clamoured for the wrecked mayor guts as would a pack of ravenous sex starved bridesmaids at the throwing of a bouquet of flowers. Spearmint glanced up at the inquisitive deputy 'Is sir addressing me? Or is he feasting upon a house brick? Because either way sir loses his ******* teeth', the meek chap climbed down from the stage to the sound of riotous laughter from the town-folk, Spearmint was an instant success. 'Now if you think it is possible to bring down a 965 pound tiger in one night your the type of scum to think it feasible to be able to Knock out the Elephant Man with one well aimed punch to the throat, believe me, only one of these glorious acts is possible' The crowed whispered amongst itself as Spearmint Gallagher swaggered towards the stage with the kind of arrogance a hybrid French house cat might display if it had just found itself in the possession of all the cream in Uganda. Cherrybuster sat with legs akimbo on a nearby bar stool with an immense grin upon his rum tanned face. Spearmint climbed the stage and fired his musket pistol into the ceiling to silence the crowed who weren't actually making much noise "I need five volunteers to cart my equipment around and to perform squire and bait duties, Slaves, Gypsies, and woman with child are the preference however as you can tell am an open minded chap so all may apply" The crowed remained motionless and silent, Spearmint paced up and down the stage, after three minutes and still no volunteers Spearmint stepped up the game and shot an elderly Down syndrome woman in the face that had been lovingly smiling at him since the moment he had crashed through the town hall doors, "That's the shape of things around here, am not ******* forming parliament you know, now if I don't get five volunteers in the next ten seconds am packing up and leaving this town, oh and I have planted a tiger pheromone bomb in the local school so as to make it unusable for the next thirty years" the first volunteer arose "name and social status" Barked Spearmint, "Simon Jarrod, knee polisher and male renter" Spearmint stopped in his tracks and looked down at the horrid specimen that had just offered it services to him "you vile mandrake fag-whistle of a man what is it that makes you think you can keep up with the best game hunter this side of sunny Russia, your probably riddled with the pock or something" "Hammer and Tongs me lord am the best wiseacre in Luton upon Brown I know all that there is to know about this old place including were the beast lives!" The crowed gasped and began muttering amongst itself, Spearmint gestured to the man to join him on stage, Simon wearing only a brown woollen waist coat, chimney sweeping boots and a skinned ferret pelt to cover his dignity was in stark contrast to the finely suited Earl Of Kensington "Right I need four more sluts"

Spearmint fondled his handcrafted marble chin in brief thought, 'hang on...make that three people I have already provided the bait!!' he swaggered over to unfortunate downs old lady he had just freshly executed and bunged it into a spare empty potato sack, 'come in handy that. okay who's next?' post haste, a grubby faced miner stepped forward, he went by the name of Gaylord Smithe, he briefly explained he would attend to Spearmints weaponry maintenance duties/tiger bait job slot, mainly due to the fact he had contracted an as of yet, unnamed mortally fatal sexually transmitted disease from a brief erotic encounter with a fellow male workmate, 'salacious aids'. He sought to dedicate the rest of his short time on earth to a just cause. Another volunteer stepped forward, a rotund young lady with a greasy neck and blonde hair. 'me names Shareece Kent, I lost my baby the other day, I have nothing to live for...' the crowd gasped in horror at such a misfortunate giving up her life so coldly, for a cause that would indefinitely result in her intestines being aborted out of her body by a tiger. 'I held her for 9 months...my beautiful baby girl...when the special day came the only thing I passed was 9 months worth of buttery impacted faeces. Imagine my pain. I too have nothing to live for'. By this point Spearmint was growing increasingly bored and horny, 'yes yes your all hired, even more so for making me physically ill'. He jumped atop a chair and swiftly booted the sobbing Kent in the tits, too which everyone made the wrong assumption that the brief assault was indeed his form of 'inauguration' into the group. Not wanting to waste more time Spearmint grabbed what he thought was a frail chimney sweep child, but he was mistaken as when he tried to rub off the soot on the boy with his brillo hammer none of the grubbiness would shift. He would continue to refer to the boy as chimney boy, blindly ignoring the fact he was just a 10 year old coloured boy from the Ivory Coast. 'What ho...I do say Cherrybuster!! We are staying at your gaffington, yes?!!?' with crack of his trusty cat-o-nine-dynamites, Spearmint ordered his huskies to take his newly accumulated crew within their rabid fangs like some form of cub. He climbed atop his penny farthing and the crowd watched on as Spearmint raced off into the distance shouting his parting message to the locals, 'fear not folk of Luton!!!, not long before your are rid of your bear problem!!!'. The remaining town officials looked at one another, deep concern wrought all over their scurvy ****** faces.

However Simon Jarrod had stooped of into the night leaving his new master, who being preoccupied with the revel of the crowed had not noticed his exit, Simon and his brown waistcoat disappeared into the gloom of a nearby ally way.

Spearmint was stuffing his pipe full of snuff sitting comfortably in his huge wingback that was crudely attached to the penny farthings frame whilst Cherrybuster was awkwardly sitting side saddle on the cross bar, "So Cherrybuster still pretending to worship that god of yours what's his name Allah" , "you know me Spears anything to get into that vicars knickers" Huzarrr old chap hufuckingzar!!!" replied Spearmint, it was a well known fact that Cherrybuster was not just a buster of female cherries. It was common knowledge amongst the upper echelons of Luton high society that the promiscuous gammon faced sherry hound that was Johannesburg Cherrybuster was actively trying to groom the youngest vicar in the country who had recently moved into the area, the young vicar only the other week had married the deviant Cherrybuster to his 19 year old Prussian wife ‘Amalgamator Wagner' Spearmint turned to face his new servants who were crowded into the rear shopping basket which was the size of a small Edwardian skip "Me and Joberg are to take brandy and dinner meanwhile I want you people to attend to the Huskies and repair any damage to my stupidly capable penny farthing, after that you may retire to the servants quarter for sleep or what ever it is you people do at night" the unfortunate 'volunteers' looked at one and other, it was a well told story what had happened in that ill fated quarters, that dreadful night when Cherrybuster had accidentally released the Luton Tigress in there, they say that night was the moment the foul beast had gained its taste for man flesh, but anyone who knew how the beast was treated would tell thee a different story, a story of cruel and unusual torture pitted against the poor animal, the tigress was the butt off all Cherrybusters practical jokes which included buckets of custard precariously balanced upon cage doors, water bowls full of salted water and perhaps the worst prank often played out was to starve the unfortunate beast for days on end then realise her fully muzzled and with claw nullifying boxing gloves about her deadly paws into a piggery. Witnesses to such events would tell you that this and this alone caused the tiger to turn savage. Once at the mansion Spearmint and Cherrybuster waltzed inside and headed towards the decanter room. 'I Say dear uncle all skivey's were not accounted for, were was that Jarrod fellow, you know the one who sported that dreadful brown waistcoat' Cherrybuster quickly changed the subject to that of woman, Spearmint being easily distracted took the bait "So Johannesburg my dear uncle talking of the fouler sex, show me this wench that has tied you down so" Cherrybuster sighed and rang a small bell he had pulled from his pocket, within minutes a beautiful young lady emerged at the top the stairs, her flowing brown hair and dark eyes enraptured Spearmints soul, no woman in the history of man had warranted such a warming of his ice cold heart, he had put both lass and boy to death many a time during ‘special game' hunts, but she was the most captivating creature he had ever seen, he could never hunt and kill such a rare beauty, short of getting his dirt snake wet Spearmint never had time for what they called the fairer sex, "This is Amalgamator Wagner" announced Cherrybuster in a disappointed voice, "Now shall we take brandy or what old boy am as thirsty as Arab.. Oh and Herger or what ever your name is could you attend to my mothers guide panther its managed to slip its yellow vest somehow, and my old dear mother wasn't allowed into Mr Asda's today as they only allow seeing eye animals into that **** old shop and not pets which is precisely what the horrid thing looks like without its dammed vest on" with that the two lords of leisure retired to the decanter wing to talk tactics and sexy old filth.

The sherry swilling duo muttered and bragged about illegal and arousing sexual encounters they had undertaken during their time in charge of the slave plantations they own under the warm glow from the fire place. The refined liquor sampling past time soon enough shed its class and dignity when Cherrybuster and Spearmint drunkenly descended into a full on ye olde white lightning cider binge. The nights recreation went from laid back upper class sexual rants to the two gentleman competitively arm wrestling Cherrybusters janitor spider monkey. after realising the error of their ways by leg wrestling the chimp after it had lost the use of its arms and challenging one another to French kiss the fireplace, the two mused it was almost certainly time to retire for the night, the two staggered like a futuristic George best to their sleeping quarters and attempted to rest.
laying in his bed, it was just before Spearmint managed to pull one off to the image of Cherrybusters wife, that an ear shattering bassy scream from a fat woman tore through the house 'pickle my ****!! That came from the blessed servant quarters!!' both he and Cherrybuster met on the landing as they made a rush to the other side of the house to the servant quarters. Having no time to tie up their dressing gowns the two sprinted side by side, codgers flapping in the wind just like nature intended.
The female voice booms could be heard more clearly now Spearmint and Cherrybuster had reached the door, Spearmint grabbed a 1/8 scale musket from behind his ear and shot the handle off the door to open it, despite the fact Cherrybuster keeps none of his houses doors locked.
Bailing through, a sight met them that both chilled them to the bone and made them briefly question the orientation of their sexuality. The Luton tigress was savagely shaking the sack containing the downy corpse while, Gaylord, Kent and the chimney sweep boy lay petrified behind a bed which they had barricaded themselves behind.
'What the hell should we do man? There's no time to find weapons!! Cherrybuster spinelessly wailed.
Before Spearmint went to take pot shots at the beast with his 1/8 size musket, a jet black shadow leapt over his head and began tussling with the tigress with tooth and claw. 'My god it's my mothers guide panther!!' all involved watched on as the screaming and clawing cats flew like a ball of hate through a window and took their fight outside. The two men turned round. 'I heard there was trouble so I brought mothers guide panther' Wagner spoke meekly as if the entire thing was her fault. 'Yes I should think so. Although a couple of blunderbusses would have been more preferable' Spearmint watched Wagner's face drop in response to Cherrybusters cold remark. The affections growing in Spearmints heart for this lady were growing clearer in his chest and harder in his jock-strap.
A few minutes passed and all fell silent, Spearmint cautiously climbed through the busted window in the servants quarter, outside he found the mortally wounded panther with no sign of the tigress, 'Dam nation Spearmint is it dead' cried Cherrybuster from the window, 'Yes old boy....well nearly' Wagner burst into tears 'Oh do be quite you troublesome wench, what ever will mother do now, ill be dammed and shagged by king George himself before I take her shopping' Cherrybuster was about to back hand his wife when the steel grip of Spearmints hand grabbed his wrist, 'not so fast cunter' Spearmints boozy breath reached Cherrybusters nose seconds before a supersonic head butt felled the old git. 'Looks like we have our new bait no?'.
Cherry Buster awoke, his hands were bound behind his Soddy old back and he seemed to be in a sack along with someone else, he awkwardly twisted around to see whom he was rubbing up against 'fuck!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!' Cherrybuster had been crammed into the same sack along with the now mauled to sausages down syndrome tiger bait, 'Spearmint ! .......... David !' The bag had been thrown onto the front lawn of Cherrybusters mansion, meanwhile Spearmint and his motley tiger hunting crew were in the kitchen helping themselves to Johannesburg's finest wines and ales, when they heard the unmistakeable shaking and tearing off a Hessian sack, 'Quick to the garden bastards' Spearmint bolted outside to see a score of barn owl's clawing at the sack that imprisoned Cherrybuster, the sack was thrashing about like a ‘ship off the line' in a sea storm as Cherrybuster screamed like an old hag. 'David it's the tigress argghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh'! with one shot of his 1/8 scale musket, Spearmint dispersed the ravage owls into the night, untying the sack to release the traumatised lord Spearmint gloated 'Cherrybuster you old fool if what was the tigress you would be so badly savaged by now I wouldn't know were to stick my cock' the two men shook hands and laughter bellowed into the night, after half an hour the laughter died down and a serious tone took to Cherrybusters voice "Spearmint old chap, Wagner is my wife and I don't want you chucking your jack Russell down her badger set got that" Spearmint looked up from re-loading his musket "old boy am the most loyal friend a man could hope for"

The tension seemed to be at a low ebb for the time being and before you could perform epilepsy, daybreak was upon Cherrybuster, Spearmint and the crew. nigh on 7 o' clock Spearmint awoke to see Cherrybuster attempting to communicate with him through a privacy wrecking hole made inches away from his weary head. 'Spearmint are you awake?! after the graven atmosphere concerning my wife, and myself being attacked by a horde of shed owls last night, what say you, we forget this beast hunting malarkey for just one day and catch a footy match??, its Sunday after all! '. Cherrybuster alternating with putting his mouth to the tiny hole to speak, and putting his eye there to listen proved fairly unnerving for even the peak district warfare experienced Spearmint. 'yes...yes okay then old chap ill see you outside in 30 minutes'.

After taking a cold shower and busting out 50,000 press-ups in just 10 minutes, Spearmint walked chirpily through the corridor up to the front door, his eye's not missing a brief connection with Amalgamator Wagner's while in a distant room, her gaze softer than that of previous encounters. Fitting Cherrybuster in his penny farthings attachable side-car they were enjoying the local football match within minutes.
It was an important match. Luton howler monkeys vs Birmingham typhoid. The score was one-all and merely minutes to go. There was only 4 on each team left, seeming as in those days double footed tackles aimed at the waist or higher were not only legal but mandatory. With seconds to go Luton's main striker Larry Swanhips had beat the keeper and needed only to tap the ball in.....but it was not to be. Out from the commentary booth spilled out the Luton tigress, within second's Swanhips chances of securing a win were dashed, along with pints of his guts on the field. The sight of this filled the stadium with commoner screams and the smell of roughly 4000 fear induced regurgitated pies. 'My god!! It's the tiger demoness!!' Cherrybuster screamed in unison with a hundred other baffled fans. Spearmint however kept his calm, and with a blow from his dog whistle came Gaylord Smithe his weapons specialist, bounding over the necks and faces of man and child alike to the location of the two men. Within seconds Gaylord had carried over a contraption of curious shape, and wrapped it around Spearmints battle ready body. 'What the butchers daughter is that?!' exclaimed Cherrybuster. 'Its my favourite mining appliance...I prepared it last night'. Declared Gaylord.
Spearmint stood proud with a weapon grafted onto him that would have made nelson agoraphobic.
A harness with 7, 19th century small cannons welded into it. 2 over Spearmints shoulder, 2 under his arms and another 2 on his thighs and of course 1 facing out from the mid-groin.
'Time to put this cat into relegation' muttered Spearmint.

Spearmint rallied the panicking crowed and formed them into a traditional 'category B' English hate mob, within seconds hundreds of peasants with pie-sick stained cloth jackets and neck hankie's were advancing on the commentators booth were the tiger had taken Larry Swanhips, Spearmint led the charge on the door, once inside the mob found the mauled remains of the Andy Gray the 1^st and Derrick Lyman, in the corner was what remained of Swanhips, jealously guarded by the Luton Tigress. The Beast was completely surrounded, "Stay back you idiots, never corner a tiger on a Sundays" cautioned Spearmint, the crowed eased off, the tiger was stooped close to the ground still with Swanhips grasped firmly in its giant maw of a mouth, its tail sprung in the air wildly swirling around like a sexually harassed cobra, the noise the great cat was making sounded like seven hundred steam powered angle grinders making contact with a marble cheese grater, the beasts saucer wide eyes met with Spearmints, he was now face to face with the Luton Tigress "This was easier than I thought" bellowed Spearmint, aiming his upper torso downwards towards the tigress's defensive stooped posture, Spearmint was about to pull all six of the interlocked brass triggers to set the broadside jacket off when the cat shot up and bailed through the frail roof carrying the remains of the best striker in Luton's history along with it, the beast was now above them, it leapt wildly from the booth into the mob using the density of the crowed bellow it to aid its escape the tiger bailed across the hapless heads and shoulders of nearly 1000 'Luton Howler Monkeys' supporters inflicting hideous laceration injuries and destroying 700 hundred flat caps and one straw balaclava as it went. However it still took time out from its get away to knock a hot cup of Bovril into a pram with its foul tail, luckily though the pram was empty moments before the child inside was abducted by Milton Keynes slave traders so the child never sustained any broth burns. Spearmint fired his jacket of into the crowed to clear a path, the force of all six of the cannons knocked him to the ground along with Smithe who was braced up against the earl to counter act the force of the cannons back blast. Spearmint ditched the chest cannons and meandered through the horde of screaming gun shot wound victim's after the beast, The tiger was making its way across the pitch at a hellish pace, never on any hunt in Siberia or Bangladesh had Spearmint seen such a large specimen move so fast especially whilst carrying prey. The demonic tigress pounced over the turn styles and out of the stadium, it stopped out side of a hot dog stall were it made eye contact with the stall owner, the owner slowly raised his hands, feeling for the shutter blind lever, the tigress violently shook the debased remains of Larry Swanhips from side to side then released her grip, the flying offal launched into the small opening were the vendor usually passes hot dogs through to awaiting customers only this time 45kg of mauled centre forward shot through the wrong way, breaking the unfortunate peddler of cheap meats neck in one blast, the tiger didn't seem content with that, it then leapt through into the stall, once inside she began biting through the gas pipes that fed the sausage stoves. Taking a few savage bites out of Swanhips meaty legs the tigress then bailed out, Spearmint and Gaylord Smithe jumped the turnstiles to see the tiger boosting away from the hot dog stall, seconds later it exploded in a fifty foot fire ball knocking Spearmint and Smithe to the ground, "Dam nation its escaped" screamed Cherrybuster who was lagging behind trying to awkwardly jump the stiles himself without success.

The category B mob had descended into a category D riot after seeing Spearmint fail to prevent the accursed big cat from escaping. Cherrybuster screaming like a pleb with his legs tangled up in the turnstiles wasn't contributing to their popularity either. After the authorities arrived on the scene to disperse the heartbroken hooligans on the backs of riot ostriches, Spearmint and Smithe grabbed Cherrybuster and slunked off into the background as the chaos continued without them. 'I haven't had a hunting heart failure that bad since I pursued the Delhi land octopus back when I was green, that was a *******, disgrace'. Spearmint sat down on a riverside bench to reflect on the situation for a moment. 'In all honesty sir....you were caught unaware, nobody could have predicted she would turn up then and there!!' Smithe's reasoning was met with a swift clip on his kneecaps from Spearmint with his rubber hammer. 'Maybe so Smithe...but I certainly will have to up my game, this isn't a simple panda punch-up mission after all.'

Back at Cherrybusters aristocratic gaff, both he and Spearmint were going about their business dealing with the days trials and tribulations in their own way, Spearmint was in an asbestos work shed overlooking plans for a harness that could fire 4 consecutive Japanese whale hunting harpoons, while Cherrybuster sat in his 'angry' lounge. Letting his thoughts and worries of what the locals would do to him if the tiger wasn't captured stew over a goblet of brandy. As Spearmint was cursing in every language under the sun at the baffling blueprints before, him he felt a soft hand on his back, and a warm frothy ale appear before his face.' I heard what happened at the game today, you must be exhausted...you should rest sir', in an instant Wagners warm complexion and soothing voice clamed his bear frenzied soul and he replied calmly 'fair madam you need not call me sir, it is I that is humbled in your presence....please call me Dave'. She smiled reassuringly. 'Oh...my word your are harmed!!' Spearmint failed to notice the explosion had sent some bone shrapnel flying from the hotdog vendor which had lodged into his forehead. In an act of instinct and natural kindness Wagner worriedly placed her hand atop the wound. Usually a woman would frustrate Spearmint to the point of belting her with his size 10 trench boots, but Wagner was different, she made his heart feel like a cat inside a tumble dryer.

At most unfortunate timing Cherrybuster had entered the work shed catching sight of his wife with her hand on Spearmints face and the two gazing upon one another, Cherrybuster spared no hesitation. 'oh no!!!...not under my **** smeared roof!, I thought I told you Spearmint to not try and excavate my wife's fossil pit!!!??. 'Calm down Cherrybuster she was merely..' before Spearmint could finish his sentence Cherrybuster was well away with slapping his face with his duelling bird of prey handling glove. 'I want to see you in my gymnasium, right now!' shouted Cherrybuster. Spearmint not one to turn down a challenge, followed behind the departed Cherrybuster, leaving Wagner lying on the floor in a heap crying excessively dramatically. once Spearmint got inside the gymnasium stood Cherrybuster before him, in a full blown boxing ring, shorts on and two pheasants for boxing gloves, (such was the norm in the 1800's), and he was ready to fight. 'I told you not to cavort with my unwanted crumpet Spearmint! its time we settled the hash like true men should!'

Cherrybuster was shadow boxing frantically whilst Spearmint was choosing betwixt the pigeon speed welter weight gloves or the 'Badger skull 16 pounder's'. "not in a history of bastards and sluts have I known such disloyalty to be levelled on me, from my own nephew to ad insult to this arse busting injury" Spearmint was in no mood for Cherrybusters ranting, pointing to the Badger Skull gloves the ring master placed Spearmints chosen battle mitts upon his hands. The Earl of Kensington climbed into the ring.
Cherrybuster in his heavy wove 100% elephant skin knee length shorts was a sight to behold, however his heyday in the ring was twenty yeas prior to this day, a substantial brandy gut now stood in place of his once famed 17 pack powered stomach, gin lumps and scurvy now infested the soft tissues around his red rumen face and his belly was a barrel of rummy lard. Spearmint removed his ‘Cambridge and Slough' silk blouse, the two combatants punched the air as to calibrate their fists, 'What say we employ Crimean light cavalry rules' remarked Cherrybuster, Spearmint nodded in agreement. Knees, elbows and chin assaults were permitted within the loose parameters of these so called 'rules', the fighting preference of bandits and desperado's alike, this style of dispute resolution was not normally undertaken by gentleman of reputation and station. Cherrybuster in his younger wonder years had beaten 'Dutch Sam' to near death in the famed 'rumble in the wash' bare knuckle boxing match held in Kings Lynn 1882, and then in 1893 Buster Mc Floid as he was known back then took on Tom Cribb, again steaming to victory. Spearmint knew he was up against it; this sexy old slag had a few tricks up his Edinburgh woollen sleeve yet

An eyewitness's account best describes the next 8 hours, as recalled by Gay Lord Smithe: 'Time after time I saw the gorgeous Spearmint with his eyes closed and his mouth open, hmmmmmmmmmmm, his head leaning helplessly against Cherrybusters shoulder ..... Jesus Christ...... I was sickened to the point of ejaculation as I watched the fight. I was nauseated by the bruised, battered, swollen, and bleeding sex kitten face of Spearmint which came popping up time after time from his corner.'
The fight lasted for eight hours two minutes and seventeen arse wheezing seconds, however Spearmint eventually took to defeating Cherrybuster as the old man tired with each consecutive round and so thus entered the brown stained tampon catacombs of sporting history as the only man to beat and plunder Buster Mc Floid.

After breaking some Guinness world sex records of his own during the fight, Gaylord recovered from his ejaculate exhaustion, and tended to the fallen men that lay depleted on the completely crimsoned ring mat. After suffering from bowel complications from the shockwaves sent by the two toff goliath's landed punches, chimney sweep boy and Kent rushed to the scene to see what the sod flaps was all about. A team effort saw to that Cherrybuster and Spearmint got cleaned up and put to recovery in the medical foyer of Cherrybusters mansion. Both the knuckle ****** men saw to that they got the best treatment money could buy, and as a result received a (at the time) revolutionary treatment that involved tubes feeding turpentine and petrol into their face wounds, and six choir boys hung from ropes above their beds, singing hymns non-stop without food or water for 3 weeks. 5 years after this incident it was recognised that this treatment was both doubling the healing time of patients and proving financially crippling for the monarchy. And as such was taken off the NHS. After both gents recovered, they met in Cherrybusters garden beneath a willow tree near the conger eel lake, a reconciliation between men took place of sorts. Cherrybuster was watching the eels calmly slaughter his priceless geese enjoying an opium cigar, when Spearmint appeared at his side, and took a seat on the bench.
' no man....likes to be called a brown rodded bloke sodder Spearmint..., when your elephant murdering fists uppercutted my unprotected neck and eye sockets...I got to serious thinking,.....that I actually just married Wagner out of contempt for the locals accusations that I was a homosexual', 'accusations your are.....but why?' said Spearmint alarmed.
Cherrybuster let out a long sigh and turned to make eye contact with Spearmint. Even though his eyes were still red, closed and puffed out like a chameleons. 'ah..people started asking questions. that on every Saturday I'd have a bus full of young male slaves sent to my house...and that reports heard of folk rave music and teenage screaming could be heard well into the night, I guess the fact only a third of the buggers that came in leaving alive probably drew unwanted attention to myself.' Cherrybuster breathed in deep. ‘That fight removed 7 shades of **** from me, but it also made me realise...I can no longer live a lie....I am what the popular people of Cardiff call...a gay'.

a silence ensued, but it was not of awkwardness, it was as if the tension was finally lifted. Spearmint let out a hearty, punctured lung laugh and slapped Cherrybuster on the swollen spine.
'hahaha of course your a nonce my man, your are my 'uncle' after all!!'
'hehe..hahahaha yes..yes I suppose your right...hahaha'. Replied Cherrybuster. The two laughed heavily in unison savouring their rekindled bond. The sun setting on the day like a page in time being closed. All was well here again.

Whereas meanwhile........

In one off Luton's fashionable heavy bagpipe night clubs, youngsters were wiling away the early hours in the age old of ritual of spending swan loads of cash in aid off pursuing the vainest slimmest chance that the opposite sex may relieve them of their sexual burden. The thick haze of tobacco smoke and ale gasses gave the venue a ‘fog on the moor' like appearance, shadowy figures danced in the haze silhouetted by flickering candle light and the occasional gunpowder strobe light flash, the foul bagpipes that animated those within this dance hall of the woeful and desperate were ear piercingly loud. It was as if the very air that passed through the screeching contraptions was that of Satan's own gut gale after a heavy kebab session in Newcastle upon twat. Gary Boozewagon was manning the door that night, eyeing up vulnerable females and condemning the men to rigour and taunts as is the way of the glorious and often revered English doorman. However one customer didn't take to having her ass slapped on the way in this night. "nice nice, oh lads ID or **** off" barked Gary, "But me girlfriends in the club sir, I am above the age required to enter this establishment as per my Dockers licence see" Gary took the Dockers licence, placing it on the ground, a zip opening and the emergence of his sex snake did little to reassure the nervous lads awaiting entrance into the nightclub, after taking a massive piss on the lads work id he place both of his hands upon the pleading youths shoulders, staring him directly in the eye, "How can I put this to you... well..... I cant" with that the 34kg cubic head of Gary the butcher Boozewagon recoiled back so far as to allow him to see behind his back and give a sexy little wink to the disinterested coat clerk standing behind him, then his jack Russell sized head took on forward perpetual motion eventually crashing into the Ming vase face off the unfortunate soul that had dared apply logic to Gary's unjust doorman policies. "Clean up on deck" Bellowed Gary as he swiped away the offal that encrusted his forehead. The night seemed to be going as per, several beatings a minor sexual assault on a comatose lass and few opium deals, when after a few boosts on his favourite heroin harmonica Gary began to relax a little, seeing the world in a different light, so far that night his minds eye had led him to believe he let in five Russian tawny owls an underage badger and off all things a ******* huge Bengal Tiger, "Hahahahha ******* cracking **** this" Boozewagon signalled to the assistant doorman a certain Acid Lungs Toby to take the reigns whilst he hit the back room to take another blast on his 18inch skag flute.

Stumbling and staving back the vomit brought forth from smelling his own crack pipe singed mutton sideburns, Gary made his way to the back room to get off his jonty mcface. The journey there meant that he had to pass the mountain fog-like dance floor, but as he did he suffered a condition that modern science has dubbed 'Bram stokers incontinence'. Partial evacuation of the intestines through the anus from witnessing something particularly mentally disturbing. The dance floor was a sight that was well at home in Lucifer's porn collection. And something Gary wasn't experienced in battle enough to handle.
The rugby team of bagpipers were going nuts playing at three times the speed and volume that is legal in a clubbing establishment, too intoxicated to notice that the punters were getting their face flesh minced by the Luton tigress that had got its legs tangled in the discoball/chandolier on the ceiling and was swinging madly at the wounded, dead or dancing.
The bloodied partygoers, screaming Bengal tigress and the obscenely fast bagpipe cover of the 'four seasons by vivaldi froze Boozewagon to the depths of his dungaree wearing soul.
Somehow he shook off his fear and searing arse pain to haul himself atop the premises rooftop and let off a tigress flair that Spearmint and the local council had made mandatory for every household to have. Cruelly Boozewagon wasn't prepared for the fact Spearmint had designed them to do maximum damage to children and buildings around them and suffered degree's of burns to the chest and penis that hadn't been invented yet.

Meanwhile Cherrybuster was enjoying a rent boy gifted to him from Spearmint as a 'coming out of the closet' present. When his attention briefly left the sexual ecstasy he was experiencing as he noticed the aforementioned flare blazing in the distance through his room's window. Throwing the lifeless rent boy aside, cherybuster grabbed gown and pistol and sought for Spearmint. Cherrybuster ran to the mansion entrance were Spearmint was already well underway; he gave a nod to Cherrybuster, 'I'll handle it this time Cherrybugger'. 'I told you not to call me that.....' Cherrybusters scowl turned into an appreciative grin but before he could wish him good luck, Smithe boosted round the side of the house riding a peculiar vehicle.
'what the Frampton **** is that Smithe?!?!' yelled Spearmint as the thundering creature/vehicle stopped in front of him.
"I found the only thing that had the variable differential weight balance for the four japanese whale harpoons I made was Kenty, so I grafted them and a saddle onto the pvc gimp suit you now see her wearing before you" Spearmint wiped a tear from his face. 'Smithe you sexually diseased prince, you've outdone yourself'.
Spearmint mounted the on all-fours gimped up battle kent, and with a kick to her spleen she bounded off into the town.

The smoothness of ride compared to Spearmints usual mode of transport the 'penny farthing', was sublime. Kent's 26inch diameter pig limbs offered the required stability and manoeuvring your average bastard might call acceptable, Smithe knew Kent would have to negate the mean uncooked cobbled roads of 19th century Luton so additional cow bells were master crafted to her rib cage to see off buskers and tramps alike. Smithe was indeed an engineering genius for he had correctly calculated with his steam powered abacus, that Kents 479kg frame would not only be able to hold four heavy Japanese whaling harpoons with steady ease but also hold them as still as a Jewish conscript under fire whilst the fearsome whale wrecking weapons were let off, bearing in mind if each and every harpoon canister was to be fired at once the resulting 1000lbs of gunpowder charge would release enough kinetic energy to push a 5000 tonne oak decked whaler off course for three months, this in mind Smithe had engineered this gorgeous all terrain submissive sexpert for maximum accuracy and thus Spearmints only limitation was that only one harpoon could be fired at any one time, no matter what.

Meandering through the streets of old town Luton Spearmint took time to ponder his relationship with Wagner, Now Cherrybuster was as open as an assaulted kebab Spearmint was clear to pursue Wagner like a rabid fox weasel, but like most big game hunters the thrill was in the chase and not the capture of ones prey, now the excitement of dashing grave yard charades was well and truly flash banged, the red blooded Spearmint was beginning to focus on the task in hand, there on after any relationship would consist of his old boorish ways which would stipulate a peck on the cheek a pint of gin and a sly push down some stairs to avoid any nasty nine monthers.

Deep in thought the dashing David Spearmint failed to realise the awesome kenty was tits deep in bouncer guts, leather jackets and pony-tails 'Deeping Market on fire were here' Spearmint hoped of his saddle, slapping kenty on her disgustingly sexed up ass as he landed 'Make clear girl.. make clear!' Kent 'rover waltzed' into a near by alleyway, Flamboyant bagpipes could still be heard coming from the trendy night club. Spearmint took hold of his dual Watford and Carrot duelling pistols, his long hair and velvet hunting gown blowing rapidly behind him as the stale ale gas air flowed out of the entrance of the 'steamy gut stick' nightclub carrying with it the distinctive smell of tiger attacks and toilet sex.

The combined smell of tiger swipe victims and below par ale consumers, made Spearmint accidentally swallow his kilogram of chewing tobacco. Which modern research shows was probably responsible for his stomach cancer related death 70 years on. He hugged his back to the walls holding his dual flint and gunpowder pistols up against his chest. Keeping his kestrel eyes and elephant seal acute ears as alert as possible, he surveyed the crippled free house for any movement or bassy purring.
Unlucky for Percy Buttercrotch the rape seed oil merchant of Luton, he missed the massacre while emptying his neck and colon of all undesirable fluids, and as he burst through the toilet doors at an ear deafening volume. He gained first hand experience of Spearmints ability to reload and fire a flint pistol 3 times in a second. With two guns and Spearmint not noticing the man was harmless for over 40 seconds....well, you can imagine how peppered that poor old sod was.
Spearmint couldn't help but thinking how formidable this big cat really is, all the years he issued the use of bagpipes in the African plains to scare and disable large feline game in the wild, and this brazen beast just waltz's into a Scottish themed rave like its nothing turning all within to guts and dust.
Spearmint also caught sight of what appeared to be a cataclysmic struggle near the disco chandelier, pieces of fur and massive cat **** littered around the dishevelled groove-floor. He surveyed thoroughly the entire ground floor and even the first and second floor. And still no surprise Bengal screams or attacks took place.
'Someone's taking me for a ******* Irish potato famine sufferer!!'. Spearmint lowered his pistols and ran to the roof to get a wider view of the city to see if the misplaced Indian man-eater was still nearby.
As he climbed onto the roof a shape barely resembling or smelling like a man poured himself desperately onto Spearmint. 'Oh **** off you queer shitheap!!'. Spearmint adjusted his battle hungry eyes to see it wasn't a flamboyant male party chancer trying to sexily jive his way into Spearmints pants, but it was in fact the premises badly tripping and wounded bouncer, 'Gary Boozewagon'.
'its a traaaaaaap...its a traaaaaaaaap' Boozewagons vowels were laced with rasps and bubbles from his punctured lungs and burnt face.
'make sense man this is no time to be confusing me with your local slang!!!' and hitherto Spearmint double shot off one of Gary Boozewagons feet as a warning not to test his patience further.
'ARARAAARAAAaargh!!!...oh no...oh my word....Spearmint, I implore....look upon Cherrybusters rural gaff.....its a trap!'.
Spearmint looked out into the distance to see another flare being let off, but this time it was at Cherrybusters mansion. 'PISS OF THE ANGELS, THAT NAFARIOUS TIGER STITCHED ME LIKE A *****!!'. It became clear to Spearmint that this 'hunt' was no longer a battle of beasts; it had become a battle of the hunting masterminds. Spearmint just prayed to Allahtron that his underestimation of the tiger's battle tactics wasn't met with paying in kind.
As Spearmint went to turn tail, and return from whence he came. The now floored from heavy spleen loss Boozewagon grabbed at his ankle.
'Spearmint...am going to die.....tell my wife and kids I love..'KER-FUCKING BANG!!' in an instant Spearmint ended Boozewagons existence by exploding his head with another double pistol shot.
'I had to take pity on the poor soul...he was suffering after all'.

"Kenty you sluternuaght come to me!" A coarse digital howl emanated from a nearby ally way, a few seconds later Spearmint remembered why he had chosen to hunt proud beasts, when the magniloquent Kenty steam-tiptoed out of the darkness, Spearmint adjusted his cravat, dusted of booze wagons skull fragments from his Winchester hunting all velvet jacket and made 'hot and cold' for the pouting Kentatron. If 80's music would have been around in the 19^th century the next few minutes would have spun the on lookers of Luton around like a record baby right round round. Until that is a 19^th century equivalent of a petroleum bomb exploded in front of the Kenter, Glass and whale oil flew up at the rearing Kenty, Melting further the leather gimp suit to her already badly burnt body, "Arggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh" "Easy Tart easy" Reasoned Spearmint reassuring her, Kenty turned her head as to look at her master, "Jesus did die of aids" Bellowed Spearmint, the extent of his steeds facial burns were horrific by any mans standard, the next thing to embitter Spearmints senses was a familiar voice coming from the roof tops " ****** serves yez rite dun it, animal murdering bastard, get em ladz" "Wilhelm Twat" Shouted Spearmint, "I thought I left you for deads and bishops in that motherfucking Mumbai Mangrove swamp" Spearmint realising he had no time to deal with 19^th century ALF, Quickly devised a plan so cunning that all foxes would retreat to there respective warrens with immediate effect and likewise weasels to nests, Four black clad socialists landed in front of the harvester of game that was Spearmint, Allowing himself to be completely surrounded Spearmint raised his hands as to gesture surrender, knowing that the veterinary ninjas would prefer to capture alive for trophies sakes the greatest slaughterer of endangered beasts alive, Wilhelm Twat joined his four generic protesters as they advanced on the seemingly hapless earl of Kensington, just as the fingerless glove of Wilhelm grabbed his arm, Spearmint wind milled out of his jacket at the same time dislodging the pins from 17 gunpowder grenades sewn into the seems of his seemingly harmless brandy guzzling blazer, jumping onto Kenty faster than a tiger shark to a albinos foot, he was leaving the five bewildered hardliners staring at a jacket they could only dream of affording, Wilhelm looked down at all the pins lying on the ground "Fu!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Spearmint guiding Kenty via reigns running through her melted nostrils, he looked back to see the five unfortunate do-gooders erupt into a cloud of fiery gunpowder smoke. Completely blind and finding it difficult to bereave through melted cheese like air holes were once had been her mouth Kenty trudged on towards cherry busters criminally insane mansion.

Kent's Belgium ***** spec in built stiletto's drearily clip-clopped up into Cherrybusters horse and carriage driveway. Spearmint dismounted and walked over to her overcooked waffle of a head and stroked her false gimp hair mane, horse whispering sweet nothings in her collapsed ears, praising her on a job well done. He gave her a cocaine chaser up the nostril to keep her alert and wet at the groin. Spearmint walked up to the grand Cherrybuster abode. 'It's unnervingly quiet, usually big cat attacks could be heard the width of the English Channel away'.
Spearmint opting to choose the art of stealth decided to throw himself through one of the living rooms windows instead of using the front door he wrapped himself up in a polar bear pelt rug he landed on, and belly writhed with military intent through the house. His wise choice of disguise enabling him to blend in effortlessly with the other priceless antiquarian house accessories.
Finally he came to the houses largest room; Cherrybusters steam powered indoor golf course and absinthe bar.

The instant Spearmint bailed around the corner of the door, dual flint pistols blazing from out of the rug polar bears mouth, his pre-emptive strike was met with the familiar impact of a mortar shell. The detonation separated bear rug from Spearmints body, and thus sent him flying into Cherrybuster's da vinci absinthe bottle cabinet, smashing it to balsa wood bastards. Spearmint quickly picked himself up from behind the bar and back flipped elegantly over it, guns blazing defiantly once more.... but in mid air he realised something was off. Tigers didn't fire mortar rounds. well except from that rare incident with the snow mountain tiger in 1892 that terrorized Buddhist monasteries in Tibet after swallowing a mortar and a cabinet full of rounds. Before being killed by Spearmint, it belched bombs at the Dalai Lama and his home for 6 weeks straight.

Spearmint landed gracefully onto soft shinbones. 'graaaaagggghh'. Spearmint gazed down on what he had boot planted on. There lay Smithe guts strewn around him like a father lost in Christmas decorations and a mortar hugged close to his sides. Evidence of heavy burns from where he failed to aim the device away from his face when defending himself from what must have been a formidable onslaught. The golf room was tigered to ****.
From behind Smithes battle minced body crawled Wagner whom he must have been defending. 'Smithe what the vulture **** has happened here?'...Smithe gasped to find words. 'The tiger she came when you were gone. I protected Wagner the best I could....'
Spearmint was deeply saddened at the disarray his already terminally ill technician was in. 'what of Cherrybustings? Where is he?'
Wagner spoke for the struggling Smithe.
'He wasn't able to help defend...as he left to release his horde of guard stoats, to fight against the tiger...they disobeyed sir Cherrybuster, and he is no doubt still dispersing them with the heel of his shoes as we speak'.
Spearmint sighed 'and what of chimney boy. And dare I say the actual ******* Freddie starring tiger??' Wagner walked closer to Spearmint 'that's where it gets complicated.....' she softly spoke....

'The beast seemed to have a keeper David' 'A keeper!' bellowed Spearmint, 'yes a hooded man not standing but a few yards from our entrenched position, were our dear mad bastard Smithe so gallantly defined the word defence, he wore only a cloak to conceal his face, chimney sweeping boots of poor quality, oh yes and a horrid brown woollen waistcoat with numerous sexually orientated stains upon its facade, it was quite disturbing, However Smithe managed to hold our position time and time again, numerous charges from the Tiger were met with smoke and shot, scaring the beast away, however the animals keeper had upon him a Claxton witch seemed to have an unnatural hold over the beast compelling it to do things I am sure no normal tiger of the wild world would dream of' Spearmint looked at Smith and grabbed his frail pale face, 'Brown Waist coat, sexually intriguing Chimney boots, concealed face, Simon Jarrod! by Jupiter and the greatest bastard of them all Simon Jarrod!' the gale force rant was enough to finish of the fragile Smithe, Wagner with a saddened face looked up at Spearmint, Chimney boy was last seen running from Cherrybusters quarters tears streaming down his blackened face, the servants say he ran into the gardens, on were the game keeper found his badly mauled body only minutes later' 'Dam Cherrybusting, Dam it cant he keep his hands to himself' 'No no David you must understand Cherrybuster was only showing him his collection of embalmed foetuses and kittens, the small boy was scared and fled the house, I can assure you your uncle is indeed a steaming great sex case but he is not one for the colours. or those under a certain age albeit uncomfortably close to illegal publications have been found around the place, however in this instance he has done nothing wrong' Spearmint turned to Smithe, who was lying motionless on the floor 'Sweet sweet Smithe' endeared Spearmint holding the expired madcap inventor in his arms, from Gaylord's blooded hand rolled a key wrapped in a paper towel for all off a few seconds Spearmint went through his old friends pockets checking for loose change and valuables, swiping at the paper towel like a greedy child Spearmint undid the twine that sealed the this poopers scroll.

Meanwhile on the other side of Luton-upon-brown, on chest-cavity drive. there stood an old dilapidated house which used to be a youth hostel, the place was an exploded Pakistani jeep of a state, and thus was closed down many a year ago. But within its cellar remained one resident who couldn't let go of the past. Simon Jarrod made home from within a wooden shed inside a damp and Bovril syringe littered cellar.
The woollen waist coated wet weekend for a man was busily rehearsing homo-erotic dance routines till his feet blistered and bled. as his feet exploded from over zealous old school-new romantic dancing he lay on the floor wailing...the wailing soon turned to manic laughter, this clearly was a man who's unstable condition stemmed from a homosexual type of scarring that had manifested into a grotesquely exaggerated cliché camp ness. Still.... what was this man's purpose?
'rooooooaaraaaaggghhooww'. A huge digital cat scream hissed from within a cage with a cloth around thrown over it. 'OH SHUT UP YOU NAUGHTY CAT!!!' Jarrod picked up his oak platform booted self and minced heavily over to the cage. He whisked off the cover and there was the Luton tigress circling aggravated and wild, flashing its tail and dry retching occasionally from the effect of whatever strange device of control had been placed on its neck.
'Oh sweet cat...you and me are so alike...not only are we they epitome of damn sleekness and sexiness...but...we both hate Cherrybuster for what he did to us don't we?'. The cat made strange sound in response, much alike to that of a dying whale and an exploding F.M. radio.

Back at the mansion, Spearmint moved to where the sound of expensive shoe impacts and high pitch squealing could be heard, he opened the door to the image of pure gore caked on the walls and a naked Cherrybuster with shoe in hand about to blast a nest of unworthy stoats. Cherrybuster dripping with sweat and sporting a penis shaped device strategically placed within his self turned suddenly to meet eye contact with Spearmint. 'DONT LOOK AT ME, DONT LOOK AT MEEE!!'.
'Oh do hush yourself Cherrybuster, I saw a lot worse at oxford university..' Spearmint lit a mountain goat's curly horn pipe and walked closer to the appalling buster of brown cherries. 'Dear uncle. Do tell me what you know of Simon Jarrod....and why do I get the feeling you have something to with him.

Cherybuster looked up at Spearmint with uneasy haste "I did so want to tell you not to hire that rogue at the town hall, but when the foul rent claimed to know were the tiger was bestrewn I had to give him the benefit of the clouts" Spearmint took the horned pipe out of his mouth and casually flicked burning hot woodbine ash onto Cherrybuster's antique Aborigine skin rug, sending small plumes of smoke and the smell of burnt human flesh searing up into the rooms already strained atmosphere. "my dear bastard uncle, I know there is more to this story than meets my Japs eye, it seems that Simon Jarrod has been behind the attacks off late, what I want to know is why of all people has Jarrod some sort of unnatural control over your former beast." Cherrybuster looked at the floor and then at an artists impression of a young Johannesburg Cherrybuster atop the mantel piece in this most obscure off rooms, "its difficult you know!" cried Cherrybuster.

"spraying perfumes most divine onto ones self to cover up the foul smell that lies within this old husk of mine, I can apply all the face powder and blush a man could want but still I would remain a man who has fallen foul of old man time and his perpetual gang rapes that makes up life's passing, this old man has many a tale to tell but none more sad than that I am about to tell thee. It was the summer of 1869, I had just got my first real six shooter, I Bought it at the five Crowns store and shot it till the servants bled, did I mention it was the summer of 1869, any how once I had grown board of my new toy I wondered into town were I met a strange young man, he was a member of a new youth hostel that had been set up to accommodate street orphans and those who had just been released from those god awful work houses, he was such a handsome thing, it was a difficult period in my life as I had just given up boxing, I was beginning to realise my true self and having just taken residence in Luton I accepted his offer to show me around the hostel, on arriving however I soon discovered that it was in fact a place in which the systematic abuse of its guests was wide spread, the mechanised buggeration of all and sundry was endemic, I offered for my new found friend to come and reside at my newly built palace. The offer was accepted thank steam. A few months passed and our friendship had blossomed into a whirlwind of friendly fist fights and badger baiting binges. However the scares of hostel life were too much for my dear dear Simon..........." Spearmint was taking a piss in the corner, he turned to face his uncle "so you knew Jarrod all this time" . Cherrybuster looked back at the floor "yes, yes I did, all was going well, but he took to having flash backs of his time at that satanic youth shelter, one night I awoke to find every bed in the palace caked in human excrement and beard trimmings. The tortured soul had turned the billiard room in the east wing into some kind of fortified nest stroke operations room, to this day I have not set foot in that accursed room we fell out and became bitter enemies, he occupied the east wing I the west, one summers day I had not seen nor heard Simon for some time so I decided to break into his secret room. The sight that met me when I entered it was so disturbing I have never loved since" Spearmint and Wagner walked over to the now pale and bedraggled Cherrybuster "What of Jarrod" Blazed an emotionally defiant Spearmint, "he went back to the hostel, he slit the gizzards of all those within, after that he spent some time in the work houses, he was never given a real jail sentence for his crimes by the courts as all of Luton's judges had in the past partaken in unnatural fox hunting with him. From then till now he has worked the streets, how he came into contact with my tiger is unbeknownst to I" Spearmint puffed on his battalion pipe some more, "right you best selling queen to the east wing" Cherrybusters face tuned an even paler shade of ****.

‘I SAID TO THE ******* EAST WING!!!!' screamed Spearmint something reminiscent of an impatient adolescent sergeant. Cherrybuster was shaken out of his traumatic daydreaming with a camp whimper and Wagner wrapped a giraffe pelt around his stoat guts and sex sweat soaked body. Spearmint waltzed down the corridor, a hammer in both hands smashing either side of the priceless walls when he felt like it as he walked. The possibly anally ruptured and gaunt faced Cherrybuster hobbled a little way behind, too traumatised to react to the care-free yobbing Spearmint was exacting on his museum spec walls.

Spearmints rambunctious abode hammering came to an abrupt end, as he held his hand up to his nose in disgust ' urrgh sweet ******* dog egg and bacon, looks like we are here then...'

Tactlessly, Spearmint bust open the doors by throwing the fragile and emotionally unprepared body of Cherrybuster. His semi-royal self collided with a wall of contradicting assaults on the senses. as he lay on his back on the floor of the sealed off room his nasal passages were in bliss from the aroma of finely crafted perfumes, but sadly his eyes watered from the heavy rotten atmosphere of what the fine residents of Milton Keynes like to call, 'shit'.

Wagner walked in only to scream in horror, 'blastdammit woman this is no place for the eyes of the fairer sex!!! Spearmint pulled her from the floor and took her outside, making sure to use the situation as a immorally good excuse to grope her ample breasts and dad-chatter heavily in her ears. Spearmint re-entered the room and his badger bone powder snuff glazed eyes rested on the shocking image before him. The ground was merely a pool of raw sewage strewn with condoms made from twine, no doubt for extra strength for the appreciators of the male sex. The walls looked like anything from a madam's boudoir, glamour mirrors, perfumes and exotic wigs. But it was the ceiling that took the cunting biscuit. On the ceiling appeared to be the skins of every 16-19 year old male victim Jarrod buggered and gutted whilst living under Johannesburg Cherrybusters roof.

'Looks like the abused became the abuser' mumbled Spearmint; he henceforth wandered to a curious note that lay on the ponces desk. It was a torn out piece from a diary.

'March 3 Tuesday:

I was returning home after wandering around the back alleys of Luton as I usually do looking for lost teenagers or a renter to give me mouth relief, and as it goes I found myself a brute of a man...perfect...I thought. But something was off, the blowjob was utterly ****..So I farted on his chin as is the accustomed way to alert a renter whilst he performs services. 'What is wrong he asked?' upon further assessment of his pubic burnt face I noticed he wasn't a man!! it was in fact a peasant woman finding business posing as a man!! Needless to say I gave my fur boots a right old wearing in on that bitches spine! no wonder the gobble was crap...upon returning home I was confronted by the accursed Luton tigress.....this is it I thought am dead...in a last act of defiance i threw a hand full of metal junk and cables at the cat out of fear....as the clump of rubbish connected with its cat face, lightning struck its neck!!....it lay on the ground ...it was dead for sure I thought to myself. I walked over but... it stood up!! But it did not attack. I begged it not to harm me, it didn't, I told it leave it did....I told it to come back.....it did. What a wonderful tool I have found.....

'Lucky ******* mental queer.....' Spearmint muttered crushing the note in his ham smasher.

All of a Jewish sudden!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Smithe Manchesterd through the door to Jarrod's aberrant HQ, Spearmint and Johannesburg stood a back in awe as the refurbished mad cap inventor steamed towards him and Cherrybuster, "Look at those steel tracks, who did you shag for those, bellowed Cherrybuster in jest, "Listen old gun my sphincter is now a one way street, if somebody tried to drive up it the wrong way on a penny farthing he would be facing a busted chin bone and a three hundred guinea fine!" replied the metallic Smithe. Complete with track and wheel, piston and boiler, coal and furnace he was not your typical everyday nineteenth century gentleman Cyborg. Too boot was a coal boy, shovelling coal into a hell like inferno at god speed, the intense fires which made up the furnace heated a sizable tank of water, once heated steam was generated from it, and in turn the piping hot vaporised water forced monumental pistons to move slow at first but soon enough they reached an unnatural rate of strokes, propelling Smithe to previously unheard off speeds off over 32mph. "By the great fire of Leeds Smithe your alive" Cried Spearmint, "no thanks to you Dave, I left you a ******* a key" barked the fearsome Smithe, "a key" replied a confused Spearmint, "yes a ******* key you upper class ******, a key to my predetermined ‘re-hag' room, if you didn't all ready know it am suffering from a highly aggressive degenerative sexually contracted disease of yet unknown science and consequence, old boy! That room as the note that was attached to the key explained, holds a complete work shop designed by Brunel himself for the sole purpose of re-building shattered bastards, however you saw fit to loot my battered body for spare change which you will now give back rather than helping your loyal man servant" Spearmint looked at the ground trying not to laugh showing no amount off shame, both Cherry buster and Wagner stood looking at David in disgust.

Spearmint broke the atmosphere by gamely laughing as if it was all a big joke, he pulled out Smithe's pilfered change from his velvet lined pockets and before turning to walk away threw the shillings and guinea's at Smithes general direction. The scattered coins flew into the pistons and mechanical workings of the rebuilt Smithe causing all sorts of minor malfunctions, forcing the coal shoveller child to feed fuel into Smithe's combustion heart at an even further rate of illegal hard labour to enable it to cope.

As Smithe let out digital screams and tonnes of cubic squares of life-steam in the background. Wagner, Chezbuster, and Spearmint walked on in deep ponder. "That Jarrod is going to do something, both horrifically violent and camp, that much is obvious...but when?"

Later on, while Cherrybuster was getting back into some regal clothing and Spearmint was whispering utter Asian filth into Wagner's non multi-lingual ears at any given opportunity. A homing heron with a scroll wrapped around its face abruptly busted through the rooms window.

"Great scalp of Hercules!!" exclaimed Spearmint. The giant marsh dwelling raptor lay sprawled and exhausted in the middle of the cavernous room. "DIE JARROD DIIEEE!!!" screamed a terrified Cherrybuster and began dismantling the animal crazily with a poker and soot brush from the fireplace.

"Sweet crisps of Nazareth Cherrybuster calm down, its merely a messenger of news!!".

Cherrybuster halted his panicked slaughter and realised the error of his ways. He bent down suggestively just in case any homosexuals were passing by and picked up the scroll around the beaked animals face.

His mole sized eyes scanned the pages and his antique mouth dropped in astonishment.

"Its from the council,...I shall read it aloud"

'Dear esteemed buster of cherries.'

As the newly appointed head of the Luton-upon-brown council committee I am proposing to you a non negotiable task. That is intended to make up for the lack of tiger flesh and pelt still not yet gifted to us as promised. Too much time has passed waiting for that ripper of tramps and travelling buskers to be undone. And instead of being hung like previously stated for not presenting the dead beasts carcass. Instead I propose something else.

Its no secret to the townsfolk that you have recently smashed your way out of the closet, anal rupturing past the hour of midnight have increased by triple since you did as such. So to calm the impatient minds and fists of the locals it has been appointed to you that you make up for your failings by being the main ringleader and endorser for the 'Luton gay pride parade' that will take place next week.

Yours truly: Horris Satchmo.

" ****....looks like Jarrod is working behind the scenes of the council now to lure me out of my sex pit/mansion, last time Luton tried to hold a gay parade 250 queers were set on fire by suicide bombing football hooligans and angry wives. This is a classic knob jockeys set up...." Cherrybuster looked to Spearmint in desperation.

Spearmint contemplated the situation for a second, his tactically inept mind weighing up probable scenarios that may happen if such an event were to take place, after some deliberation Spearmint arose from his sitting position on Wagner's frail chest, "Assemble your finest steam engines, penny farthing 'wall of death' riders and rainbow comrades, this is going to be the finest gay parade Luton has ever seen!"

After a week of calling in imperial favours from every man and his ******* leopard Cherrybuster had managed to organise what looked to be a fairly respectable if a little typical 19th century gay pride parade. "Well that's the Basingstoke ass hounds booked, now were in the name of French chauffeurs did I put the telegraph address for the Spinksworth axe wound's, oh were the rusty rifle has it got too!" as Johannesburg was frantically trying to put the finishing touches to the parade, Spearmint round housed through Cherrybusters office door and for good measure tossed in a small gunpowder charge 'BOSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!.

"how's the jobo coming along old buster" jeered Spearmint Cherrybuster who was knocked to the floor by the small explosion quickly picked himself back up, "Sweet cat Christ David what was that for, look what you have done you've set fire to my telegraph machine" Spearmint completely dismissive of the destruction he had just caused began to run through the morrow's battle plan with the soot burned cherry buster.

"Am expecting Jarrod to launch a massive tiger assault when the parade passes by the town hall, The streets narrow at this point and will cause a bottle neck, an attack here will see the best part of ten thousands 'Rod Masters' panic and flee causing untold confusion and panic, in which Jarrod would have obvious tactical superiority over our anti tiger capabilities however he has underestimated our disregard for friendly fire causalities and our float will be none other than Smithe, casually disguised as a closet, with you and I, well me disguised as a bugle boy, once the attack is under way panic will ensue, this we can use to our advantage, Smithe has fitted a steam powered snare trap to himself in order for us to bag the Bengal, as tigers no matter how well tamed can never resist to run amok in fleeing crowds Jarrod will there for loose control of his tiger for a short period of time giving us the opportunity to seize the beast" Cherrybuster sighed "David how do you know the attack will take place in front of the town hall" Spearmint peered at his uncle "well that's how I would do it, Jarrod is after publicity and fame, if indeed he is behind this spontaneous gay pride request then he intends to use it as a canvas on which to paint his bloodiest attack yet, once the parade nears the town hall he will attack in due course trust me so"
Cherrybuster turned his back on Spearmint and tried in vein to extinguish the multitude of small fires that burned through his study.

Finally after a week of planning and Spearmint style gunpowder surprises intense enough to give Cherrybuster a nervous breakdown, the 'special' day was upon them.
The large number of parade floats emblazoned with homosexual paraphernalia and leather dungaree wearing men were all waiting outside of Cherrybusters cul-de-sac, waiting to make their journey into the centre of town. When the destination was reached the high point of the show was Cherrybuster coming out of 'the closet' in front of the town hall. That was when the supposed Jarrod instigated tiger attack would ensue.
Cherrybuster turned to Spearmint as they sat in a cubicle behind the entrance of the 'closet' and went to say a private word to Spearmint. "Bear in mind Spearmint my dear nephew that although I do like the occasional young man teetering on the edge of legal sexual age, I must say I deeply resent this kind of **** dodger based showman ship. It gives true fans of colon decadence a ******* bad name..". "Whatever", replied Spearmint too busy thinking of how much damage this charade would exact on his prostitute sex appeal?
Cherrybuster made a signal with his arse cheeks and the parade began slowly trickling into the streets of the city. Music blaring from a folk band was playing something containing what would later become the famous chord progression found in 'small-town boy' by Bronski beat. Although played by harp and accordions it still sent the crowed into a gyration frenzy that would have made the 1980's proud.

After 2 hours of illegal sexual free choice promotion by Cherrybuster and his fleet of floats, they were drawing near to the town hall entrance. It was incredible they made it this far after losing a fleet of Chelsea cockgobblers and a float full of scantily clad performance dancers that got bricked into dust and feathers whilst passing a street party being held for the 49th birthday of Frankie fistknives.

Regardless the music and entertainment ensued, most of the people watching were the curious and mentally disturbed which convinced Spearmint and buster this was shitty set-up indeed.
Cherrybuster and Spearmint walked hand in hand through the rainbow tassel entrance of the 'closet'. Spearmint winced as he lost the respect of 97% of the nearby hookers Cherrybuster himself winced bracing himself for a possible attack...

Seconds passed, the applause of the masses and the heckles from street youths seemed to dissipate in the anticipation of Jarrod's attack, the beady eyes and pink lips of Spearmint surveyed the crowed, Cherrybusters powder white face began to melt into morning porridge as glands secreted nervous beads of sweat down his regal facade, "Wait for it" calmed Spearmint, Cherrybuster looked to the left, The wall off death penny farthings were near horizontal twat velocity, he looked to his right, the Basingstoke ass hounds were scattering Oscar wilds ashes into the faces of conservative Christians, everything was normal, no sign of rent boy belligerence, when all of a sudden a large ginger blur pounced from the roof tops, in its mouth a gangly corpse, the tiger landed on Cherrybusters float, the crew fell silent. Spearmint took from his leather bum bag a fore arm sized duelling pistolet, however the tiger had other things on its mind, the badly mutilated adman within its maw was none other than Jarrod, the beast balanced its self on its hind legs, "Shoot shoot dam it shoot, cried Cherrybuster, but David Spearmint placed the pistol back in his colon bag, the beast stood as tall as man on its hind legs, with the width of a gypsy bear knuckle boxer she presented a formidable posture, the tiger slowly loosened her grip on Jarrod's body letting it awkwardly fall onto the deck off the float, the injuries were cataclysmic to say the least, The tigress then pounced into the crowed taking a elderly queen with it as it bolted into the darkness of a near by ally way, "David you let it escape" Bellowed Cherrybuster, "The beast has no master" replied Spearmint...............................................

"well its clear as albino skin the beast has no ******* master Spearmint, you daft ******* arsecheek!!, Jarrod lays before us in a pile of flaps...Jesus Christ I didn't get one more man shag in before he died....." Cherrybuster ranted on in anger both fuelled from the tiger escaping once again and the fact he paraded his homosexuality around Luton opulently at the cost of his dignity and the lives of other gays who could have been possible future sexual conquests.

Spearmint hushed his waling uncle by picking up the husks of Jarrod and lobbing them at the pink lipsticked Cherrybuster and threatening him with his quad barrel blunderbuss. After losing interest in making Cherrybuster **** multiple shades of yellow and brown.
Spearmint lowered his weapon and squatted down next to the putrid corpse of Jarrod and the quivering Cherrybuster to have a quiet beard wiggle.
"I'll admit it Cherrybuster....I underestimated this animal and the task of neutering its soul from the living world, am going away for a while, to think......"

Cherrybuster was astounded to the point of swearing he was still on an opium trip he started last night, he had never seen his diabolically overly self confident **** of a nephew lose heart before.
Spearmint left to leave on one of the penny farthings from the wall of death that had inevitably spiralled out of mach 5 control in the woofter confusion. Wagner, robo-Smithe and the buster of cherries we know as lord Cherrybuster watched on in vain as Spearmint 'power farthinged' off into the distance.
3 weeks had passed, and Spearmint had descended to what most upper class folk consider a version of 'feral'. He was living in an out of bed and breakfasts, making a small amount of money by mortaring bird and game in the country and selling the spoils to local butchers. Also occasionally battering to smoke and dust unsuspecting part time fighters in the back of illegal gambling pubs in the evening. His superior army general whiskey hound brawler training meant that the impoverished common men sluggers just trying to earn a few bob on the side didn't know what the **** just crippled them. It was easy money....

Spearmint awoke, his head throbbing, all of his joints stiff, he seemed to be moving, the hangover lord sat up all around him lay flat swamp land. He was in a cart of some description............ "So you're awake then!!!!!!!!!"................ Spearmint looked round to see a Mormon staring at him, "what the sevens and nines is going on here, do you know who the **** I am" bellowed Spearmint, the Mormon halted the two horses that pulled the carriage along. "I know what you are boy, a booze swilling wreck mouth chancer" Spearmint reached for his lung dagger but found it absent, "ive taken that brother" cheered the Black clad Mormon, "Can you tell me how I have ended up in a **** kickers **** truck" The Mormon tilted his hat as to deflect the early morning sun away from his bearded face, "you were leaving a barn fight, when a gang of working class sluggers and Doncaster gun slingers jumped you, although you thought most of them off your wounds were severe, after the brawl you stormed into the 'face and blunderbuss' inn were you ordered a pint of rum and a whisky soaked balaclava, I was tending to my horses outside when you stumbled out of the pub throwing a tankard full of rum at a prostitute, seconds later you were holding a pistol to my head ordering me to take you to Ely in the isle...........................

Spearmint held his still perfectly hair styled head as it throbbed, "that rum and balaclava must have been spiked with ye olde rhypnol, cuz I cant recollect for the ******* spine of me what I did last night....although the taste of boot polish in my mouth indicates I pulled a few attackers scalps off with my teeth." the Mormon turned to Spearmint once more "only about 5 more miles to go to Ely my good sir...be there in about 3 hours......my my why the stern face old chap?" in a flash of cigar stained fingers Spearmint snapped the Mormons neck and tossed his body in the trailer where Spearmint had been temporarily comatose. He then dislodged the trailer so it flew down a ditch. Spearmint was feeling far too rough to put up with travelling at Mormon speed and proceeded to whip a more satisfying 27 mph hour out of the Mormons barnyard donkeys instead.
Upon reaching the centre of Ely. Spearmint, like most modern joy riders of a stolen vehicles, proceeded with dousing the donkeys with a tank of oil and set alight the knackered out asses to get rid of any evidence of his wrongdoings.

Realising he was no where near emanating the usual upper class aura after looking at his ramshackle self in a shop window. he made it his first priority to politely mug the first posh git he could find, rob him of his clothes and wares, also making sure to seduce his wife in front of him and threaten him with a guaranteed failed mortgage should he pluck up the courage to tell the authorities. Walking away from the antique crime scene, Spearmint took a look at the time on his newly acquired timepiece, ripped out the photo of the wife he just gutter buggered , and slotted it back in his chest pocket with a refreshed sigh.
I best take a look at the news and current events, ive been on an ale fuelled pub fighting tour for god knows how long. Spearmint walked up to a Jewish corner shop. 'hmm there was a lot less of these when I was around....mainly cuz I personally prevented these ******* things cropping up every two minutes...oh well...desperate times...' Spearmint thought to himself.
As he entered the shop he invented the Nazi salute and kicked over a cabinet of ethnic foods, he then cast a bitter eye at the petrified shop owner and went to the news stand. "Time to see what's going on in Luton.....if it hasn't been tigerocalypsed beyond all repair already......

Spearmint surveyed the newspaper shelves but couldn't find the Luton whisperer any were, "you there, yes you old testament boy have you a copy of the Luton Whisperer, don't tell me am going to have to get a gang of bald coats down here and renovate this shitter" The proprietor rushed from behind the counter and jumped upon railed ladder that afforded access to the top shelf literature, "The Luton Whisperer is classed as grade E Smut, its the only newspaper that can make the bald man cry, what with its page nine leg flashing" commentated the store owner who clambered up the ladders and grabbed the only copy of the whisperer "here you go, now leave no charge just go" Spearmint clutched the paper and booted the sliding ladder, sending it and the shopkeeper flaying into seventy back issues of 'confessions of a steam boat sketcher'. Leaving the shop Spearmint unrolled the paper, the front paged depicted a crude artist's impression of Cherrybuster and Smithe behind bars, clamps and chains adorned Smithe whilst Cherrybuster merely had his arms bound by fox tails. The headline read 'Lord Johannesburg arrested for grand treason & Sodomy' Further down the page an article described how the so called huntsman of the century 'David Spearmint had been ran out of town by the beast, the journalist had declared that Spearmint had come down with a bad case of 'Tacticular Cancer' the articles author proclaimed the once proud sex warrior and legend that was David Spearmint had been reportedly seen partaking in illegal shed fights for cash, another crude artists impression showed the earl of Kensington dressed in rags with stubble upon his face clutching in his scurvy ridden hands a bottle of 'fucktards gin' "Dam Nation" bellowed Spearmint, Spearmint threw the gutter rag into a nearby gutter of all places, Spearmint had come to Ely for a good reason, his old commanding officer retired here, he had taught him 25% of everything he knew, it was time to pay the old muff a visit,

Goddard Finsbury was bench pressing a cage full of Stud German Shepard's when he heard the front door of his newly acquired cathedral/home open, the old rogue had stolen so much gold from the commonwealth that it afforded him the luxury of purchasing Ely Cathedral as his second home. Bald of head yet ginger in moustache the stacked and tendon wrapped veteran tossed aside the cage. Unhooking a musket from the alter, he slowly made his way towards the entrance, "who goes there, state your name and business, fail to do so and ill put a musket ball through you chest" Spearmint walked in the shadows of the cavernous stone walls, he could see his mentor, Goddard stopped, he ran for a second before power sliding on his knees, chest and chin, on a pre waxed section of granite floor, he was gone, Spearmint shimmied along the wall, no sound, no sign of Finsbury. All of a sudden Spearmint looked up, silent as a barn owl Goddard was free falling towards him, Spearmint narrowly avoided being skewered by a musket bayonet as he barrel flipped away from Goddard's devastating trajectory plummet, Spearmint rolled out of his flip, dusting himself down as he walked into the light so the old colonel could see who he was "Goddard Finsbury, the bastard of Manchester, the **** of Calcutta, how the devil are you................

Finsbury still with battle goggles on, was on too much of a Green Beret trip to see it was Spearmint and lunged at him one more time. Spearmint let out a sigh and forearm chopped the heavy set ginger moustached ‘man mountain' right in his gristly Adams apple. He went down like a sack of lambs. Spearmint crab walked over to the Finsbury who was gasping in agony on the floor, so he could get a good look at his massively ginger freckled face. after Finsbury had caught his breath and come to terms with the fact Spearmints attack caused his voice box permanent damage, making him talk in a pitch 3 octaves higher than usual. He finally realised who Spearmint was " by the groin of Mohammed! its you"." well you obviously weren't expecting any female visitors.."Spearmint harshly remarked frowning at the dated and ancient decor of Finsbury's housethedral.
The two sat down in Finsbury's lounge which was basically just a sofa on top of a giant chandelier, supping away on a cup of warm pigs blood and reminiscing about their experiences of working together as mercenaries for a younger, angrier Winston Churchill. "look Finsbury old boy, I cant stay here talking about how many times we prevented women getting the vote using nothing but excessive physical force, although I wish I could....ive been having a spot of bother in Luton-upon-brown". Spearmint was interrupted by Goddard. "Say no more David....all the right people in the know knew your were hastily called in by prats for a job that requires a full tactical unit. trust me you have only lost the respect of the poverty stricken and outright ******* stupid"....."Well that's a relief" responded Spearmint. "I had to even pose as a homosexual at one point"...."FUUUUCK MEEEE!!!" exclaimed the shocked and sickened Finsbury.

The two men tweeded up and exited the housethedral, the cold winter air biting at their massively eye browed faces.
"so I guess we are off to fetch old McPherson the explosives expert....I cant see us going back to Luton without a guy like him..". "no can do Spearmint...McPherson was hung drawn and quartered for taking revenge on a bunch of royal Scottish assassins after they accidentally turned his sausage dog herd into decomposed haggis mounds"....."Ah....I see...so what do we do for a dynamite ****?" inquired the concerned Spearmint. "Fear not David...there's a man that goes by the name of Veta in witchford that's been making quite a name for himself recently."

The colonels wispy high pitched voice sounded like that of a Banshee in an all night rave trying to shout over the music in order to communicate with the person next to him, Spearmints ears could take no more he accidentally on purpose elbowed his old colonel in the neck but it only made the problem worse. Finsbury and Spearmint started the long 3 mile ride to witchford, sitting upon an Irish wolf hound pulled double Decker rickshaw the two terribly typical 19th century pistol and powder experts calmly slumped into there first class surroundings, for such a small vehicle with limited space no luxury was spared, leather brandy chairs and a fairly respectable bookcase made up the compartments, to boot with complementary Turkish cognac and Alaskan cigars these were the gentleman's mode of transport and helped along the golden age of dog powered transit in England during the later half of the 19^th century, The seven hour journey came to an abrupt halt when the Irish wolfhound pulling the two wayward gents stopped for water at the 'shoulder of slut' inn, "may as well follow suite Spears old gun" with that Finsbury and Spearmint climbed out of the rickshaws and headed into the inn, "so this is witchford hey, I have heard many yarns about this place" enquired Spearmint, "yes witchford is indeed steeped in folk law, its unusually inbreed locals do tend to make a name for themselves" Spearmint turned to Finsbury "tell me more of this Veta chap" Finsbury walked over to a near by table were two farm hands were about to guzzle out off freshly served ale tankards after a hard days graft when the ginger moustached rogue seized the tankards before their eyes, "this tale is best told over a few pints of ‘Rapists Boast', courtesy of those two bastards over there". "Before you joined my elite squadron of shits and bandits, otherwise known as ‘Churchill's children' I was second in command, Veta was in charge back then, however things were about to change, dispatched to South Africa to stamp out a Zulu rebellion in Cape town the entire squadron was mobilised, Veta was not just the acting commander and tech bishop, but a supremely gifted explosives expert who commanded great respect from his men, it was he who trained ‘wild cat gizzard George' the man who blew the second Taj Mahal up, and the late McPherson in the ways of fiery destruction. The ship bound journey to the ‘cape of good grope' took several months, several months of rum binges, mutinies and raids along the once prosperous west coast of Africa, once there we were flung against the might of Bobby Tutu the most revered Zulu king since Oliver Cromwell himself god bless his bastard souls. We drove the naughty blacks out off cape town, not without sustaining heavy losses mind, the regiment of redcoats that were attached to our squad us was reduced to ten percent of their original force strength. The fighting was harsh and unmerciful no prisoners were taken and battle field executions were as common as aids amongst the infantry old boy!, when our cannons and muskets fended of yet another attempt to re-take cape town we knew our ammunition and food supplies were running low, Veta ordered the remaining troops to set up defensive positions atop table mountain and await British reinforcements which were due any day now, There we fended of numerous attacks by Bobby Tutu and his uncompromising Zulu worriers, at night they would release chaeta's and leopards amongst our ranks to deprive us of sleep and pornography studies, by day human wave attacks slowly dried up the last off the musket and cannon balls, before long, hand to hand fighting ensued, only our squadron remained, Veta had ordered the men to drill small but deep holes into the rock face, after we had stitch drilled the entire north face of the mountain he ordered us to pour what gunpowder we had left down into them, The men thought he had gone mad as a result of the sun and the equally relentless Zulu attacks however during the seventh night a combined big cat and Zulu assault took place, I thought this was it! There must have been six Thousand tribal warriors and as many cats bailing up the steep slopes of table mountain, with only rock, boulders and bent bayonets to fend them off our chances looked bleaker than Lucy Carters Distemper tests, Veta stepped forth from his field tent and ordered the dozen or so remaining men to prime their gunpowder holes, he let the combined Zulu/cat charge get three quarters up the slope when at the drop of his late wife's hand job glove the order was given to light the fuses, each man struck two flints to their dried out moustaches and lit their once magniloquent facial hair, placing there regal faces upon the fuses the gunpowder was lit, each man ran for cover, Veta remained, standing on top of a large boulder as he watched his master plan unfold, the gunpowder exploded sheering the entire north face of the mountain off, sending millions of tons of rocks onto the approaching enemy desecrating there ranks consigning both cat and man to a rocky gave, Veta unwittingly invented modern blast mining techniques that day as well as saving himself and his men. so enraged was he that the British high command never sent reinforcements Veta resigned his commission by head butting king George on his majesties royal chin at his Iron Cross award ceremony, I became commander henceforth, Veta retired to the newly drained fenland were he resides to this day teaching chemistry and history at the local work houses"

Spearmint and Finsbury downed their sex attack inspired ale's and downed a few chink's blood and whiskey chasers before leaving the shoulder of **** inn. "Apparently he is attempting to educate the local folk at dole dosser park, we should go there hitherto" exclaimed Finsbury. Spearmint nodded in approval before slumping into the non road legal rickshaw.
The Irish wolfhounds pulling the gargantuan vehicle of leisure finally met their maker as their less than capable spines blew out from the obscene weight they had been tasked with pulling. conveniently it had occurred at the entrance of dole dosser parks 'fenland warfare public school', Finsbury proceeded to do the honest thing of setting their faces aflame to put them out of their misery, before walking towards the field of scientific sheds on the lookout for Veta. Just as the scent of Vaseline and diesel fumes hit their nostrils the two regal princes spotted their tweed breatherin atop a hill staring intently into the distance as the wind billowed what little hair he owned. Below him was a fleet of students wearing less than dignifying P.E costumes and practically passing out from the ice cold fenland gale force breezes. With a blow from a whistle the scantily clad students of both male and female sex began clamouring up the hill face towards Veta, as they reached a large portion of the way to him, Veta lit his moustache and ignited a gunpowder charge blowing the hill face and the masses of soil ****** students with it to the ground.
As the heap of Veta apprentices lay on the floor exhausted and or severely injured, Veta called out to them, "NOT GOOD ENOUGH!!"
Spearmint turned to Finsbury, "look at the poor walrus....reduced to re-enacting his past glories on a bunch of boot polish faced youths...disgusting waste". With that harrowing sentence, Spearmint put two flares in his hairpiece and ran at falcon speed up the hill at Veta. Veta not yet able to see what yuppie was challenging his skills at cliff face detonation screwed up his face in retort, and preceded to light further bomb charges to disperse the new challenger. Spearmint classily and precisely dodged the explosions with guile, cunning and using the injured students as bomb shields, one final front flip saw him safely over a final onslaught of grenades and the like from Veta, Spearmint perched atop Veta's shoulders and kissed his red bald patch, Veta's eyes widened in blissful realisation.

"who the borstal go-kart are you!" Veta with a tiny bead of sweat running down his rum tanned face took a small vanity mirror from his tweeded to shitters jacket, angling it so he could view his shoulders and face he saw a man of gentile prestige perched upon his ox like shoulders with a ascension like grin upon his face, "Nobody has ever survived my ordinance dance" pleaded Veta, Spearmint climbed down from the stunned if a little offended veteran bombardier, "am not anybody, am the farther ******* earl of Kensington" Veta drew his hip mounted pistol but before he could fire it at Spearmint a familiar voice rang in his cauliflower ears "Brian Veta long time no wolf lips" Veta turned to view his old friend Finsbury, "am assembling the old sex machine again and your the first rape" Veta Nodded in carnal appreciation, "We have three men of foul repute, just another two to go and we have our selves a tiger hunting foursome!" Veta and Spearmint looked at each other in appreciation of Finsbury's blatant ale related Numerical error.

Spearmint and Veta enforced a double piggyback ride on the broad upper torso of Finsbury, clasping to his straining and possibly breaking ribcage the two made way over fenland ditch and agricultural efforts to reach a horse and wagon causeway we now lovingly refer to as the Bastard A10.
Without vehicle, the search for another to add to the ranks of rum bearded tiger obliterator's corps would be as futile as a pelvisless swine. Finally after much cigar chomping and stash box comparisons at the side of the road a horse and carriage came into view, as it drew near without naught said or warned, Finsbury Spearmint and Veta hounded out and physically aggravated the owners of the carriage with upper class yobbish shouted insults and empty beer bottles. one would like to think that if the red faced hijackers of horse and cart were to know they were a family of Irish travellers desperately seeking a better life away from the potato famine they would have thought twice about their actions...although this is extremely unlikely and would have probably only served to goad the three to abuse them further.
On the way to Soham in they're newly acquired vehicle, Spearmint made note of the lack of food and began throwing what little possessions the Irish family had into a dyke to make room for their jackets and boots, Finsbury was at the helm of the horses. Spearmint and Veta already began spouting beautiful tactical whispering from behind and beyond their awesome facial hair to kill time on the journey.
The horse and cart pulled into soham finally and Finsbury began sorting his massive sleep deprivation and chest cavity trauma with an umpteenth ale, they decided it would be a good idea to pull into the Huntley inn and rest and feed themselves after the arduous day.
"Spearmint old boy!!" Veta screamed from across the table, "you've barely finished your cement mixer of caviar and bowl of sorted magic mushrooms, what's wrong old boy?". Spearmint looked up at his two henchmen stuffing otter guts and waffles into their less-than-appealing-to-the-female-kind-faces. "Oh...nothing at all these duck skulls in pigeon **** soup is wonderful, but I am getting concerned for Wagner's well being, I want to get sorted what I came here for". and with that Spearmint got up knocking 4 grand's worth of food on the table onto Veta and Finsbury he left the premises leaving them to foot the bill and damages, he began looking for a certain legendary ***** that goes by the name of Donna kebab...otherwise known as 'the freestyle scat queen'.

After storming out of the Gastro Huntley, Spearmint began the search for the ill famed Donna Kebab, of course this not being her real name, the legend we have all come to love and fear in equal proportions is that off a once gentile maths and steam abacus teacher who once went by the name off Donna Johnston , Teaching at the same local tip that Veta himself now teaches she led a quite life, until one fateful morning in deep winter she was hiking to work when a gang of destitute Romany shire horse pirates had there wicked way with her, trampled and pummelled by hoof and love baton she managed to crawl the remaining distance to her teaching hut, so destroyed was her once renowned vulva she was given the humble heart warming nick name Donna Kebab by the pupils that found her lying in a pool of Gypsies dna. After this day a healthy regime of weight lifting, heavy engineering studying and steroids produced the now impenetrable and noteworthy bastard mother ****** we see before our ale ****** eyes. Revenge was to be sweet for the now robust and manly Donna Kebab, the torrent of Romany sex traffickers and slavers were dining at the ‘horse and shotgun' road tavern in Ely, Unbeknownst to the wayward abusers of all things vulnerable was that Donna Kebab had rigged the tavern to the ‘Jonathan sacks' employing a sky harness, a system of rails chains and leather strap wear, which enabled its user complete 360 degree combat patrol status in any given room in which it was deployed. It was made from horse tack, old steam engine fan belts and of course iron railway track, once strapped into the make shift body harness the wearer would then ascended via a block and tackle mechanism, pulling a chain with her left hand gave her vertical movement via hoist, pulling the tensile chains with her right arm gave her dominance over what we call left and right movement, horizontal movement if you will was achieved by using her considerable pelvic muscles which controlled forward and backward motion. Swooping speeds in excess of 457mph could be achieved with this system, speeds which could kill a man dead, vertical drops onto a mans head could reach speeds of up to mach 7, steel belly shields sore to it that the user of this insidious devise came to no harm when performing free fall mach 7 assaults, the sky harness was all to easy to use, easily set up in any urban environment and as deadly as plague cancer to its intended targets, this was truly a formidable weapon. The first night the sky harness was used sore the death of twenty men and there shire horses, on finding the terrible scene the local population of Ely hence forth renounced the existence of god.

After breaking into 80% of the houses in Soham in his search for this mystical Zena of the fens Spearmint struck lucky or so he thought.

Veta and Finsbury were playing footsy with a concerned German Shepard back at the Huntley Inn, so drunk were they that both of them were convinced that the now fleeing dog was a busty ale wench, "so were the combustions has Spearguts gone" bellowed Veta, I suspect he's of to find Donna Kebab, replied Finsbury, Veta spat out a mouth full of ‘Sheep Lips' Ale, "Whaaaaaaaaaaaaat ! , that fool pray to Allah he hasn't found her Finsbury, only one man can awake her from her virus hibernation"

Spearmint entered what looked to be an old rail yard, dismissing warning signs and shouts of a near by farmer. Faecal matter and rats were abundant in quantities not seen since the India campaigns. One building amongst the many desecrated structures stood out from the rest, he approached cautiously, the atmosphere wasn't good here, pain suffering and anguish made the air heavy, ghosts of the past seemed to rule over the kingdom of the living, this was no place for an Earl. Spearmint approached a small port hole window in the heavy set steel door that constituted the entrance to what seemed to be some form of pressurised tank, peering through Spearmints hair stood on end when he saw what lied within, suspended from a system of pulleys chains and ropes was a woman of monstrous proportions, her lips blue as the sky, her skin as pale as a Scotsman's knee, naked as the day she was birthed. Her .... Its eyes open yet glazed over, there was no debating it was asleep yet it seemed to be staring into the deepest depths of Spearmints soul, he looked away, no more could he look at those eyes, white with small black pupils, Hideous Bastard mumbled Spearmint, he looked up again, his stomach turned and cold sweat ran down his face, the beast had gone, frantically looking through the port hole all he could see was chains pulleys and gears, winding, pulling and spinning madly fast.

Veta ran up to a message boy seated atop a large black stead, "Take this to Davis Jones of Stratham tell him to meet me at the old rail yard post haste" Veta let a flash bang of in the horses face sending the animal careering off into the distance, "if you want to see your boy alive again Davis Jones is our only hope" Finsbury face turned from ale bliss to tramp piss.

Unbeknownst to the pock marked face and raspy breath man, that some frightened women and children refer to as Davis Jones, was that he was now cruci