“Alright Adrian,” replied John, “Of course you can. When oi die you can have it after me wife. Alright,” said with thumbs up.
“Alright Adrian,” said Tim with his thumbs raised, “Why do you want it?”
“Alright Tim. I’m buying a carpet,” more thumbs up.
“Tim,” it was Alex, “Shall we run away and leave this lot here?”
“Alex old friend, we must do what is right in our hearts. I prayed to Roy last night and he said…”
“ALEX, “ it was Roy, “YOU MUST KILL RASTAS.”
“That’s just you pretending to be Roy, Tim”.
“No: it was Roy.”
“No: it was you raising your voice and putting your hand in front of your mouth.”
“Well anyway. We have to kill Rastas, or he, some zombies or skinheads etc will kill us.”
“Tim?“ it was Parsons, “Can I go to the toilet now?”
Tim went to sleep that night with thoughts of Mungo entering his head. Where was he and where was his beard?
Big Book of Carpets, Chapter 8 Verse 3
And Roy did come before Tim once more as an apparition.
“TIMOTHY!”
“Yes Oh Roy.”
“I AM DECORATING MY HOUSE.”
Tim had heard of Roy’s beautiful celestial palace, and visions of giant fountains and gleaming spires filled his head.
“OK Roy. That’s nice.”
“YES IT WILL BE. I AM REPLACING THE CARPETS FIRST.”
“That’s good.”
“YES IT IS ISN’T IT. AND I WAS THINKING…”
“Yes oh wise and beautiful Roy?”
“WELL…CAN I USE HONEST JOHN’S CARPET DISCOUNT VOUCHER?”
And Timothy was vexed once more for he kneweth that the voucher was made up by John. And why did not oh great and powerful Roy knoweth this? And he did have the thought that maybe Roy was a bit thick. But Tim knew such thoughts were sent to him by Rastas to deceive him. So he spake thus unto Roy: “Yes you can have it for a fiver.”
And Roy did give Tim five pounds which he spenteth on chocolate.
The next morning they awoke at half past eight, had breakfast, brushed their teeth, and put on some nice clothes. Tim strolled to the camp shop and bought the Daily Mail, which he read whilst keeping an eye on where he expected the attack to come from. He turned and looked at the ragged band of 10 disciples he had with him. It made no difference if Mungo and Quill showed up or not: fourteen against thousands was no match even with the disciples’ special powers. Even if there were only 1,000 in Rastas’s army the ratio was 71.43 to 1. So even if each of the 12 disciples and Tim and Alex killed 71 of the enemy there would still be 6 soldiers left. And what if they had tanks? Or bombs?
And then all of a sudden Tim woke up and realised it had all been a dream. And then slightly less suddenly Tim realised that actually he was day dreaming about dreaming and the battle was reality. Even the battle to end all battles could not completely overcome Tim’s short attention span.
Unease at the battle to come was spreading amongst the disciples, “I hereby proffer my resignation”. It was Welsh Bob, “I expect the usual severance package commensurate with someone of my standing. I’ve had my lawyers draw up suitable terms…” but as Welsh Bob handed Tim his resignation papers a strange rattling noise could be heard coming from behind their position.
It was the sound of a clapped out 1970s British car engine. There was the number one disciple in his gleaming Viva. His beard flowed out of the window, in fact out of each window and also the sunroof that his car did not have. As he drove he laughed in an over-excited fashion, beeping his horn and trying to do wheel spins, handbrake turns etc.
There was a large cracking sound and the Viva ground to a halt.
“Halt ‘er up burrr nothing hur hur hur”. Mumbled Mungo.
“Alright Wilf,” said Tim, “Shambapoo eh? Glad to have you here. Have you come to help us defeat Rastas and his army?”
“Army ‘er up! Hur hur hur.” Quipped Mungo, “I brought you this.” He handed Tim The Power and the Glory album he had stolen from his car.
“How did you...”
“Never mind Tim. Tim 'er up.”
Mungo’s words hung in the air, as the disciples waited for the coming attack.
“Where are they?” asked Parsons.
“I don’t know” replied Tim, “Maybe they’ve called off the attack.” Despite the danger, he hoped they were still coming. He was ready to face Rastas.
“Where are they?” asked Parsons, again.
“Don’t worry Wilf. They’be here soon.”
“Where are they?” asked Parsons for a third time.
“Be patient good DJ.”
“Where are they?” asked Parsons.
“Shut up,” said Tim.
“Where are dey?” asked Honest John.
“I know,” said Parsons.
“Where den?” asked John.
“Er…Oh, no I don’t know. Tim, where are they?”
As Parsons asked the same question for the one hundred and eleventh time, in the distance below the hill Rastas’s army hove into view. The disciples could see a thousand kelads, some UFO spacemen, seventeen skinheads and a roboman. Leading the army were Rastas and Jimmy. At the rear on the edge of the battlefield Mr Gibbs was setting up an office.
Rastas addressed his army, “Skinheads and robots…”
“And robomen please!” said the roboman.
“Don’t interrupt me! Aren’t you a robot anyway?”
“No. I am a roboman.”
“What’s the difference?”
“We only look like robots.”
“Us too,” said a kelad, “We are machines on the outside, but green things on the inside.”
“OK…men, robots, robomen, kelads today will be a glorious victory. I expect you to give no quarter.”
“Should we take any prisoners? I mean literally?”
“You shall leave no disciple standing.”
“But what does that mean exactly? Put them in chairs?”
“No it means 'kill them', you pedant.”
“Ooh pardon me. I think it’s quite important to know if you mean ‘kill them’ or not. It’s not being pedantic.”
“OK whatever. Kill them all. Good luck. And anyone who prefers not to fight. I have appointed corporals who have orders to send you to Mr Gibbs on sight.” He pointed at Mr Gibbs’s makeshift office, “Cover yourselves in glory my brave men, robots, kelads, robomen etc.”
Watching this, on top of the hill, the disciples were becoming more and more agitated. Alex and Tim were frantically keeping them together using all their disciple herding skills.
“I can’t hold them!” Alex had roped the Mulligans together, and they were pulling him down the hill. Tim rushed to his aide and together they anchored the Mulligans to a tree.
And then Rastas’s army attacked. They started to advance up the hill while throwing spears, and firing bullets at the disciples. As they advanced the projectiles were getting closer and closer to the disciples’ position. The kelads were slowing the advance up, only able to move on shiny floors, and having to be carried up the steeper, non smooth parts of the hill. But gradually the evil army got closer to the top of the hill.
“They’ll be in range soon!” Shouted Tim.
“We need to take shelter.” Alex screamed back. But there was little shelter at the top of the hill.
“I know. Shelter up.” Cackled Mungo, as he jumped back into his Viva. Quickly Wilf put the car into first gear and floored the accelerator as he pulled hard on the steering. The Viva lurched forward laying down rubber and Billowing smoke. Keeping the wheel on hard lock Wilf continued to keep the throttle pressed. The Viva span round and round, encircling the disciples. Gradually the rubber left on the ground built up and soon Mungo had laid a 7 foot wall of rubber, “Rubber up. Hur hur hur,” cackled Mungo, pleased with his handiwork.
Rastas’s armies spears were soon bouncing
off the wall of rubber, and his evil bullets pinged off it, with a dull rubbery non-pinging sound.
“We’re safe now,” shouted Parsons above the din. But before his words died away another car appeared on the horizon. It was a blue Ford Mondeo. It approached the wall of rubber and stopped. Out stepped Mr Atherton.
“I am Mr Atherton from the ACC.”
“Hallo Mr Atherton.”
“Timothy! Is this rubber mountain your responsibility?”
“Well…,” Tim remembered the council wire he was wearing. It had obviously been a trick by the ACC to keep track on him, Alex and the disciples in order to make sure they paid their council tax, and/or did not build mountains of rubber.
“It is an EEC rubber mountain, and therefore a hazard for all residents within a mile’s radius. It must be demolished forthwith.”
“Later mate,” said Alex.
“No Alex. We must do it now,” said Adrian. And with a quick wave of his thumb, alright!, Adrian destroyed Mungo’s rubber protection (harr burr).
As soon as the rubber wall was removed Rastas’s cavalry charged, quickly covering the ground between them and the disciples, “Quick launch Deirdre Mulligan,” commanded Tim.
“We have no Deirdre Mulligan cannon!”
“Yes we do,” Professor Dave Quill had returned.
“Dave! You’re back!”
“Yis!”
“How did you…”
“I invented a matter transporter and transported myself here.”
“But…where is your anorak?”
“It was in the transporter with me,” A look of horror appeared on Quill’s face, “If it was in the transporter with me…,” it was a terrible thought but Quill forced himself to address it, “Then it must have fallen out and is still in the lab! I need my anorak!”
“Calm down Dave!”
“OK. Anyway I thought we might need a Deirdre Mulligan cannon so I’ve been making one,” from his anorak he pulled a giant cannon, loaded it with Deirdre Mulligan, and aimed it carefully at Rastas’s oncoming troops. He pulled a lever and in a flash Deirdre Mulligan went hurtling towards the advancing soldiers. As they saw Deirdre approach they tried to flee, but it was too late Deirdre crashed into them, killing them all instantly.
“Hurrah!” said Welsh Bob, “I think I should get a bonus.”
“Quick load up Tony Mulligan,” and Tony was also launched. As he sailed towards Rastas’s forces they scattered in panic. One unfortunate kelad had rolled over an anorak, and was rooted to the spot. He was completely crushed as Tony Mulligan landed and parts of the kelad flew in all directions killing many more of Rastas’s army.
One by one the Mulligans were launched until only Steve Mulligan was left, which was now, since there are only 3 Mulligans, “This is our last Mulligan. Make him count” and he was launched right at Rastas’s command post. Direct hit! In the distance 2 figures could be seen scrambling away. The command post was completely destroyed. Many of the remaining troops, realising they were now leaderless, began trudging away from the battle field, “Hurrah!” said Welsh Bob, “I think I am due a new company car”.
In celebration Mungo drove his car round and round, faster and faster. As the speed increased so did the sound. Above the roar of the car a faint ringing could be heard. Gradually the ringing increased in its intensity until it was a deafening wail. Mungo stopped his Viva.
“Look!” shouted Tim and he pointed at where the wailing was coming from: the remnants of Rastas’s command post. The metal pieces were glowing, and reforming into Phil Badd’s Disco Roadshow. The most evil disco in all of Buckinghamshire.
Suddenly the ringing stopped, and all was quiet. Then a badly amplified voice broke the silence, “This is Phil Badd and we will be bringing you all your favourites. If you have any requests I will kill you all.”
“Quick” said Alex we must defeat the Badd disco with our own. Parsons now is your chance. Quick start DJ-ing.” And in a flash Parsons set up his disco in about 35 minutes.
Whilst Parsons was setting up Phil Badd was playing music that was incapacitating the disciples, “This next one goes out for Rastas. This is Money too Tight to Mention by Simply Red. C'mon all you kelads out there and attack while you can...”. As the horrible music continued, the remnants of Rastas’s army reformed in the distance. And the more rubbish songs Phil Badd played, the more the disciples panicked.
“Oi can't take it anymore” said John, “Can you change the channel?”
“It's not TV John.”
“It's horrible! Make them stop!”
“I'll stop them!” it was Parsons.
“But will you?” asked Ray-mond sarcastically.
“Bloody hell ah will. Switch on me smoke machine,” Tim switched on Parsons's smoke machine. A small amount of wispy smoke covered a small part of the battle field, “That'll stop them.”
“No i don't think it will..,” said Tim as a kelad rushed at him, and exterminated him. With one bite Deirdre Mulligan ate the kelad.
The disciples gathered round Tim.
“Tim wake up!” shouted John, poking Tim.
“This is for Tim. It's ‘don't give up’ by Peter Gabriel,” Parsons put the song on, but it did not work. Tim had given up, dead.
“He's dead,” said Welsh Bob, “Who is in charge of my salary now?”
“Dead 'er up!” laughed Mungo.
“He's not dead. It's his short attention span. He's got bored of the battle,” said Alex, “Get up Tim.”
“What? I was just resting,” said Tim, groggily.
“Oi thought that computer exterminated you.”
“The kelad? His extermination ray was deflected by what is under my shirt. Look,” Tim raised his shirt.
“An enormous gut,” said Alex
“No. Here under the flab,” Tim adjusted his stomach, and out fell a charred copy of the Royble.
“Praise be to Roy!”
“Right,” Tim was revitalised, “Parsons put on some good music. It will drown out all the Wham, Kajagoogoo and JLS they are playing.”
“Alright. Let's try this,” but by mistake Parsons had put on Take on Me by Aha.
“No good. It's still rubbish, “ shouted Alex above the din.
“Really? Bloody 'ell! What about this?” The strains of ‘Live is Life’ by Opus mixed with Phil Badd's choice of ‘We Built This City on Rock and Roll’. A few kelads turned back. The rest of Roy's army continued to advance.
“Better, but it’s not enough.”
“Bloody 'ell, it's all I've got.”
“What about Chumbawamba?” asked Alex.
“Who?” said everyone else.
“Nothing,” mumbled Alex, like Mungo.
“Of course it's obvious!” said Tim, The Power and the Glory Album!”
And he gave it to Parsons, who put it on. As the first bars of soft rock roared across the fields, Rastas army knew it had met its match, and started to give up the fight and return home. Phil Badd was left alone, frantically putting on Curiosity Killed the Cat, Culture Club, Jason Donovan, Jason and the Scorchers and Jason and the Argonauts. None of these songs came close to the wondrous beauty of the Power and the Glory Album. The Power and the Glory album was even a better film than Jason and the Argonauts, and it isn't even a film. It's that good.
By the time the album had finished, (“Can we have it again?” shouted Parsons), the only trace of Rastas’s army was Phil Badd sitting behind the remnants of his disco. The disciples trudged down the hill, and walked up to Badd. The day’s events had made them weary. They were tired and confused by all the slaughter. It was time for forgiveness.
“Will you be my friend?” Honest John asked Phil Badd.
And Phil Badd joined the ways of Roy, after a 7 year sentence in Roy’s mighty jail.
Epilogue - Where are they now
Mungo: unemployed mechanic in the RAF.
Parsons: unemployed hospital porter.
Roy: in the sky, unemployed.
&nb
sp; Rastas: the nth dimension.
Olander: set of Leather Boys 4/dead.
1000 pound lamp: rubbish tip.
Alex: Kent, unemployed.
Tim: USA, professional liar (currently unemployed).
Matt: Aylesbury playing computer games whilst looking for work.
Dave: now works in computers (not literally like in Tron).
Roy will return in The Rodney Code
And Roy’s (real) mum did say. Roy we are moving to America.
ROY: OK. I WILL CREATE THE CAPITAL OF AMERICA, WHICH IS PHOENIX, I THINK. AND I WILL CREATE MOUNTAINS AROUND IT. AND I WILL CALL ONE CAMELBACK MOUNTAIN. AND MY DISCIPLES WILL FIGHT A BATTLE ON THIS MOUNTAIN...
Mum: No.
ROY: WHY NOT?
Mum: You have done that already. It’s boring. I know: why not have the disciples run round looking for things instead?
ROY: YOU MEAN LIKE IN THE DA VINCI CODE?
Mum: No, nothing at all like that. I don’t even know what that is. Now turn your music down it's too loud.
ROY: OK MUM.
The End
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with friends