It was as the pitter patter of moistened globules upon Augustus' tin roof awakened him (me) this three-quarterpast tiffin that I moaned deep and bulbous in a lowly bellow: "Booooaarrgghh..." and so it continued for a period of between 24 and 32 minutes, before that lowly slattern Rebekah finally cared to poke her pointed jaw around my frontal portal.
"Kind zurr," spoke she with impedimence, "how may I be of assistance to you today?" as she began to slip one arm from her hair shirt. "Not now!" I barked, in no mood for her slutted advances (I had already supped a little too deeply at the elfine cup last night). "Bring me my jabs, you owl!" She curtsied and went away for my works, affording me time to indulge in the pleasurable activity of multiple voidance.
As I took my customary injections with a little light vinegar, the images upon Augustus' walls of his (my) terrible forebears bore down on me (him) with sickening eye-judgement. I began to moan as if my foot had become impaled upon the very trident of Poseidon, and so gathered up my walrus boots and whip, in order to leave.
However, my passage was disturbed by Lumpy Pete, my cantankerous old lodger and co-expeditioneer who staggered in, having, I surmised, over-indulged in the lemony dog-milk in which he had beeen seeking solace of late.
"Augustus," he belched, lines of drool flinging across my cherrywood spankmaster. "Augustus, by my eyes! I must have her, that tousle-haired minxter!" I surmised that he refered to Rebekah Brooks, who I had recently observed confering in a back alley with one of the lizard set. I cracked my whip across his furuncled brow and drove my boot into his glutinous scrotum.
"You idiot! Keep away from the red whore! There is something afoot with her, and I must keep her under watch. The experiment must not be infected by your monstrous libido," I bristled, moustache unfurling and darting in cruel points towards the horrid boils on my housemate's jowls.
Lumpy dropped down upon one knee, his hands lifted in solemn entreaty. "Forgive me, Augustus," he begged. "I had no idea that the dollymop was involved in conspiracy. Please, tell me all, and I will endeavor to help."
And so I revealed all to the befuddled pratt; of the messenger boy with the mystery delivery, the receipt of payment from Rupert Murdoch, and Rebekah's horrid exchange with a sinister chameleon. And while I admitted that this final clue may have had much to do with the rather strong mescaline upon which I had gorged myself one hour previous, Lumpy did concede something was amiss.
"Why," he said, farting deeply into the chute I had especially developed for his increasingly noxious emanations, "this mystery calls for the work of Stigwood and Pete - the greatest detectives in Marylebone! "And while I found the half-wit's vapid remonstrations deeply irritating, I conceded that his help could be of use. But what next?
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