On 6 Oct 2010 21:50:01 -0500, "Group_Troll" <GroupTroll@Pissed.Off.nl>
wrote:
>FROM: HMS Victor Victorian <victorvictorian@hushunomail.com>
>
>> Act 1, Scene 2
>>
>> Father
>>
>> Monday, March 29, 6:45 pm
>>
>> The Macmillan parlour at the end of the work day. Mr. Roger Macmillan
>> is a thin man, tall and lanky, with a prominent nose set in a sober
>> face of almost severe features. He has just arrived home by train
>> from his position as a design engineer for a construction firm in a
>> city some distance from home. It has been raining, and even with his
>> mackintosh, galoshes and bumbershoot, he appears at the door drenched.
>> "My God, the weather!" he announced, stomping into the foyer.
>>
>> Peeling the mac off, Roger tossed it over a chair and slipped off
>> his rubbers.
>>
>> "Hello, kids!" He grinned.
>>
>> "Hi, Dad." Claris and Nigel replied, hardly looking away from the
>> television.
>>
>> "Is that a way to greet your dad?" Mum scolded and turned to give
>> Roger a kiss as her husband moved to hang up his umbrella on a wall
>> hook.
>>
>> Dutifully, Claris dragged herself off the divan to give her dad a hug.
>> Nigel, who had been lying on the floor cuddled up in his favourite
>> blanket in the whole wide world, a fleecy Pooh throw with frayed
>> corners, and stroking Poohkums, the family's tan and brown long-haired
>> cat that he'd personally named to the exclusion of everyone's
>> preferences, shrugged off his blanket and stood up. Mr. Macmillan
>> abruptly froze in the act of hanging up his umbrella.
>>
>>
>> "Oh, dear," Angela lamented.
>>
>> "Nigel," Father asked firmly. "Where the blazes are your clothes?"
>>
>> "In the bedroom, I think, sir." Nigel replied softly, squeezed
>> Poohkums, and gave his dad a small smile
>> .
>> Roger sighed an apology. "I'm sorry for the bad language, Nigel, dear
>>
>> "Well," Nigel offered, "That I'm starkers?"
>>
>> "Bonkers is more like it," Claris interjected. "Barmy."
>>
>> "Be quiet." Nigel retorted, wrinkling his nose in disdain.
>>
>> "Oh, Roger," his wife reasoned, "It's just a passing phase. Lots of
>> little boys do it."
>>
>> "Well, I dare say I've never done it." Roger shook his head. "I
>> thought you said he was past it already. How long has this been going
>> on?"
>>
>>
>> "Weeks? Weeks you say! Well, it's got to stop." Dad demanded,
>> him locked up in a cellar with a bone and a bowl of water, or
>> something rubbish like that. People think the worst. We'll have some
>> social worker from the child welfare knocking us up before long."
>>
>> "I hope they take him off," Claris said. "And put him in a home."
>>
>> "Will they take me away, Mummy?" Nigel asked quietly, for the first
>> time looking alarmed.
>>
>> "No, no, dear. Heavens, no!" Mum said, and knelt beside her son. She
>> hugged him warmly, her large arms enveloping and pressing him into her
>> ample bosom. "I love you darling. No one's taking you off."
>>
>> "Oh, yes they will. He's bonkers."
>>
>> "That's enough, Claris," her father warned, and looked down at Nigel,
>> who seemed close to tears. "Now, darling. Nigel. Son. Please.
>> You've just got to keep your clothes on. Can you do that for your old
>> Dad?"
>>
>> "But, why?" Nigel asked.
>>
>> Mum rolled her eyes. Nigel saw the look.
>>
>> "Well, no one tells me a GOOD why!" the boy protested
>> .
>> gently. "People will talk about us and say things. Think of how our
>> family will look. We'll be the laughing stock of the town, and we
>> bobbing up and down. You could get a cat scratch or get it caught in
>> a door."
>>
>> "Poohkums won't scratch my willy!" Nigel protested. "She just likes
>>
>> "You let the cat bat your willy about?" Claris exclaimed in disgust
>> .
>> "Goodness!"Mum interrupted, "That's quite enough, Nigel!"
>>
>> "Now I need to talk to your mother," Father finished, "So back to
>> your programme, both of you."
>>
>> Nigel sat back down on the floor with thump, released Poohkums and
>> threw his Pooh blanket back over him in a huff. Mr. Macmillan
>> motioned Mrs. Macmillan into the adjoining kitchen.
>>
>> "I think it is time perhaps that you-know-who goes to see you-know-who
>> about you-know-what." He said. "Could you make an appointment
>> tomorrow morning?"
>>
>> Angela gave a dejected sigh.
>>
>> "Yes, yes. I suppose we should have someone see Nigel, but I had so
>> hoped we'd not have to."
>>
>> "Not so loud, dear. The children will hear." Roger said, and gave his
>> wife a kiss. "It will be fine. We just don't want it to get any
>> worse."
>>
>> In the parlour, Claris grinned malevolently and pressed up against
>> where her brother's head was hidden under the Pooh blanket.
>>
>> "They've got special white coats just for your type," she snickered.
>> "With long sleeves and buckles."
>>
>> "Oh, belt up." Nigel growled from within his fleecy sanctuary.
>
>Nice story! I know it is yours and therefore you get to do it your way.
>
>But I could modify it into a family hard core sex scandel.
>
>And, being a troll, I think I might steal it and write it my way.
>
>Trolls love play-ger-risum.
>
>Cumin' later: GroupTroll's "Nigel! The Untold Story"
My Dearest and Most Affectionate Malevolent Troll,
Now, you must be patient, dear friend, for my little tale has it all:
bad language, nudity, violence, sex, drugs and rock and roll (tho' you
may have to scruitinise the text carefully for one or two of them) ...
in other words, everything that should be in a child's tale!
T'wold be the bomb to see your version, however!
All My Best Regards,
V
God Save the Queen.
God Bless the Prince of Wales.
God Preserve the Windsors.
Rule Britannia!
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