I’ve not added much personal writing recently so I thought I’d share a bit of philosophy from Detective Constable Jason Beaver. This is an extract from ‘Inspector Flaange and the Barking Spider’.
“How are you feeling then boss?” asked Beaver as he sat devouring a delicious Cornish pasty.
“Feeling the tension, Beaver. Not sure where this case is taking us,” replied the Inspector as he rolled his shoulders back and forth.
They sat in the canteen at the Oak Street headquarters in Ipswich. It was one of Beavers favourite places. Well actually anywhere that sold food would count as his favourite place.
Bars, restaurants, fast food shops, Burger Bars, hot dog stands, sweet shops, football grounds; even a school canteen.
So much fantastic food to be consumed and only one lifetime in which to do it.
His exception was wine bars as they were just for ‘ponces, hairdressers and men with vaginas’.
Flaange watched the cascade of pastry drop to the plate as his subordinate munched away. No doubt this would be his second or third of the day, his bloated stomach a testimony to the inflatable effects of wheat based products; or so his doctor said.
“I’m considering taking up Yoga,” declared Flaange, a gambit designed to provoke a response from his gluttonous DC.
Beaver stopped mid-bite, looked at the Inspector, then slowly continued to eat. He stared knowingly into the eyes of his well respected leader, slowly chewing the latest bite of sustenance.
Beaver swallowed and put the pasty down.
“You don’t want to be doing that Sir. It’s not right that men should do Yoga. It will be the end of civilisation as we know,” he said whilst dusting crumbs from his greasy fingers.
“If this is going to be another one of your homophobic rants you can keep it,” said Flaange, leaning forward slightly menacingly.
“Not at all boss; I’m saying this for your benefit. Just don’t go there.”
“Why on earth not?” demanded the Inspector. A wry smile came to his lips as he felt beaver would go off on some pseudo-Scientific bullshit.
“Tell me boss – why Yoga?” asked Beaver innocently.
The Inspector again rolled his shoulders, moved his head side to side, then rubbed his temples.
“It will help me to relax and distress from the job.”
“Fair point. It can be stressful dealing with idiot paper pushers upstairs while trying to explain to a young mother that her son’s body has been found sexually mutilated. I grant you that,” added Beaver. “Any other reason you want to try Yoga?”
“Lots of women go,” grinned Flaange.
“Ok so it’s an attempt to pull a bit of fanny; a good enough reason in itself and highly commendable in a divorcee like your good self, Sir. Any other reason?”
“Yes it helps with flexibility; I’m not getting any younger,” added Flaange.
“There you have the reason behind it being so dangerous for civilisation!” declared Beaver, sitting back in his chair and folding his arms in triumph across his ample chest.
Flaange looked across at him. As a trained Scientist he was good at following logical arguments; he even knew why ‘E’ is equal to mc-squared. But there were times when he just could not make out what this fuckwit of a junior detective was trying to say.
Flaange also leaned back, mirroring Beavers position.
Beaver leaned forward, began tapping the table with his right forefinger as he went into explanation mode.
“When you get flexible do you think you will be able to bend double?”
“Yes; that’s what the videos and flyers are saying about flexibility.”
“So when you bend double where will your head be?”
“By my knees I guess!”
“And if you’re really flexible will you be able to tuck your head in further toward your groin?”
“So your mouth will be hovering just over your meat-and-two-veg! Will you be able to resist a suck?”
Flaange laughed; “Don’t be ridiculous Beaver.”
“Imagine Sir if men could give themselves blow jobs. Why would we ever need women? So no need for women equals no baby’s equals no civilisation. QED!”
Flaange stared at him in disbelief. He could never tell if Beaver actually believed some of the bollocks he spouted or if it was just a very clever cover to make him look like a moron.
“So your argument is that self-fellatio would make men switch off from women?”
“So why hasn’t masturbation led to the same thing?”
“I take it you’re not dating anyone just now Sir?” added Beaver as he grabbed at the remnants of his pasty.