Monday, 3 March 2008
No country for young men
The toilet-seat was so sticky that I had to peel myself off it to stand up when I was finished. Normally I'd be nauseated, but I'd been told that things in lesbian bars weren't the same as anywhere else. I cleaned myself up as best as I could and went back out into the bar where the headteacher of my daughter's school, Ms. Moscow, was drinking Ovaltine cocktails.
Ms. Moscow was in her late forties, had a hairstyle from the forties, a waistline that was probably in the forties and an IQ that -- well, you get the picture. The woman was consistant, and that was a good thing. She also had a slight, brown moustache from the Ovaltine cocktails. As I approached she upended another glass and waved coquettishly as the bargirl.
"You can guarantee me that my daughter will become a lesbian?" I said, sitting on a plush red suggestive couch. "You'll throw her to the gym teachers when you get back to the school?"
"Darling, the gym teachers aren't lesbians!" She sounded shocked. "That's such a terrible cliche. We have deployed our forces far more carefully than that. But yes, I guarantee that your daughter will get useful life-guidance in womanly matters for you."
"Will she be a lesbian by June?" I said, tapping my foot on the floor nervously.
"She'll be a lesbian by June, Marianne and Betty!" giggled Ms. Moscow, flinging her head back. The bargirl, who had been approaching our table with a tray containing a fresh cocktail was taken unaware, and Ms. Moscow's head caught the edge of the tray. The cocktail shot into the air and shattered somewhere in the distance, Ms. Moscow's eyes rolled up into her head and she slumped back onto the couch, and all around I sensed predatory instincts firing into life. I fled.
Back home I called up my procurers, Angie and Val, and had them send a lesbian over. They sent over Hettie, who they referred to behind her back as the dyke bike. When I asked them about this, having been under the impression that lesbians mated for life, I was told that simply wasn't true and I should know better than to believe what bitter gay men had to say. Then Val, waiting till Angie had gone to check out how well I'd vacuumed, had said that Hettie did mate for life, but had many more lives than any normal person. I shrugged; all that mattered to me was that I had a lesbian.
Summoning my poor dead wife was easy with a real lesbian for the channelling. Hettie gurgled like a blocked drain and her face slackened, and then she sat up again, her face twisting to look like my wife's, and I knew I'd got through.
"What in the seven hells have you put me in this time?" she said, sounding revolted. "Just how people are living in this body at all?"
"Angie and Val said she's a dyke bike," I said, "Though I've no idea what they mean by that."
"That's because you've no idea of a how long a normal relationship should last," she said tartly. "Most people manage longer than Hello...Goodbye."
"I spoke to Ms. Moscow today," I said, trying for the higher moral ground. "She says she can guarantee that Helen will be a lesbian by June."
"Do you think we're doing the right thing? It seems slightly wrong to try to force poor Helen to be a lesbian..."
"We've been over this," I said firmly, "in order to bring you back from the dead we need someone similar enough to you. She's your daughter, and the only reason we had a kid in the first place is in case one of us died."
"It would have been easier if you'd died," she said, wistfully.
"Damn right it would," I said, "but you were the one who had to go and find the only lesbian serial killer in London. Anyway, we've talked this through before too. When you come back, it'll pick up all of the imposed lesbianism anyway, and she'll be back to normal."
"Normal?" she said. "How many 'older sisters', and 'concerned mother-figures' have you provided for her over the last eight years?"
"Enough to be looking forward to having you back so I don't have to look after her by myself anymore!"
"I love you too, cumdump."
Hettie chose that moment to recover, so I went to make her a cup of tea. This was all a lot of work, but it would be worth it to have my wife back. Then we could get on with our real plans. We were going to show the world what ruthless really means.