An extract from ‘Trans-Uranic Elements; The Dark Side of Uranus’. Some fantastic jokes.
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The Elf’s took in the pair before them. Tom, his wild silver hair dancing the conga in its unkempt fiasco of styling, white linen slacks, his shirt a rich salmon pink exhibiting tiny images of stunning Art Deco pendulum clocks, long black boots that would make him welcome at any Line Dancing event and a cloak fashioned from black damask, whatever that is.
Magdalene, tall and tan and young and lovely, slim and slender, her blond locks cascading round her shoulders, jutting forward over her breasts, hips deliciously rounded, covered in near transparent white linens, a Goddess with black passionate eyes ready to laugh at any moment, barefoot though carrying fine black slingbacks. When the sunlight caught her dress she is a vision fit for any wet dream.
Both wore a large ring on the middle finger of their left hands.
“Is that a worm on your ring?” asked Ken.
“No it is a Great Wurm! The symbol of Eternity!” explained Tom.
“That’s what I said!”
“No you said ‘worm’ but it’s actually a ‘Wurm’. Totally different.”
“I meant ‘Wurm’ when I said ‘worm’; it could just be that the dialogue isn’t being recorded correctly!”
“Are you trying to worm your way out of this?”
“No!”
“Then just see it is the Great Wurm Ouroborous, the beginning and the end, Alfie and Omega Man, Ever loving, ever faithful; devourer of himself to show that all things must pass; yet for every end there is a new beginning, and each beginning is an end!”
“Doesn’t that last bit just mean exactly the same thing?”
“What?”
“The end of the beginning or the beginning of the end. I don’t quite get the difference.”
“Well we’re at the beginning of our quest just now; and when we get to the end it will all start again!”
“Helter Skelter!”
Wayne leaned forward in the tender.
“Why do you want the Witches?” he asked.
“Witch Iz we need.”
“What?”
“Witch Iz is the Witch we want to find.”
“Then go to the land of the Witches!”
“Which is?”
“What?”
“Where is the land of the Witches?”
“Stop!” shouted Magdalene. “I’m getting so confused I can’t work out who is talking or who is asking what question!”
“I asked the What question,” said Ken. “Perhaps you should travel back in time and read the conversation again…”
“Perhaps I already did but still came back confused,” stated Magdalene.
They paused, acknowledged the vagaries of travelling through the chronosphere; and then continued.
“So you want to get to the Land of the Witches; the Land ruled by the Witch King?” asked Ken.
“That’s the one!”
“To find the Witch Iz?”
“You’re on the ball now!”
So Ken adjusted his position and sat more comfortably.
“Do you know about the Witch King?” enquired Ken, with a slight look of terror in his eye; though it may just have been a tear of sympathy at his former predicament; or maybe it was irritated by mushroom spores that wandered lonely in a cloud, beside the river, beneath the trees, looking for a nose to make it sneeze.
“Which King?”
“Some people call him a Space Cowboy, Some call him the gangster of lunch; some call him a joker; others say he is a joker. But I can tell you he is a mean old son of a bitch!”
“And how would I address this mighty King of the Witches, should I ever chance upon him?”
“Some call him … Maurice!”
“Maurice?”
“No – Maurice! Like lease, peace and grease!”
“It seems to me young Elf, that you are familiar with this Maurice.”
“That is a lie! No Elf would ever be a familiar to a Witch! No matter which Witch it was!”
The faceless void engulfed Tom momentarily as he tried to work out what the feck these Elf’s were saying.
“What the firkin Heck are you saying, young Elf?” probed Mad Tom of Bedlam.
“Look,” steamed Ken, “I know about Witches and I know about the Witch King Maurice. But I aren’t his familiar. Nor do I like to be probed!”
“OK! OK! Let’s start again. Tell me about Maurice!”
“He’s dead!”
“What do you mean?”
“You don’t know what dead means?”
“Yes I do – but how can he be dead?”
“He’s a Witch!”
“And?”
“Lots of them are dead. They seem to like it that way! It cuts down on taxes!”
“So King Maurice is a stiff?”
“Not all of him, just the parts that keep the ladies entertained.”
“How does he look?”
“He uses his eyes, like most folks; but apparently he has a deathly stare. And an awful twitch in his left eye…”
“So he is a winking Witch King!”
“Yes the Witch with a twitch.”
“And what of his countenance?”
“His what?”
“His mien?”
“Yes, he’s mean alright! Wouldn’t give you the time of day – not that that would bother you!”
“I mean what does his gob look like!!!!”
“Ugly fucker by all accounts. Face like a bucket of smashed crabs. And pale!”
“Pale?”
“Did you ever go to school? I mean his face is very white!”
“So he is wan?”
“Yes, just him; the only one.”
“Wan!”
“I see! Yes he is the winking wan King.”
Tom looked to Magdalene – who looked to all purposes like a totally muddled epoch touring vegetable.
“So we are looking for Maurice, the winking wan King of the Witches! Where can I find him?”
“I haven’t got the foggiest!” declared Ken. “I’m happy for the Witches to be a legend of some renown but you can kiss my sweet patooty if you think I’d want to know where they live!”
“What about you?” asked Magdalene, homing in suddenly on Wayne like a Labrador on a high pitched fart.
“He lives in Witchland!” spurted Wayne.
Ken Tucky went red with anger, rage and constipation. Like most of us really.
“I told you to forget that!” screamed Ken at his trembling chum.
“I forgot to remember to forget!” bleated Wayne.
“Which land is Witchland?” asked Tom.
“Yes,” said Ken. “Though they do say this land is my land, this land is yore land, and his land is Witchland!”
“What land?”
“Consult a bloody Geography teacher if you really want to know! I am a humble supervisor of a small scale Magic Mushroom Farm, not a cartographer!” declared Ken with more than a hint of annoyance.
“And where would I find such a person?” asked Magdalene trying to relieve the tension; she certainly had the looks to inspire instant relief.
“Probably in one of the bars in Setebos,” said Wayne.
“Hey ho, let’s go!” said Tom.
Fairy Hanny 