Hazard of Parsnips, Chapter 18.

Read more about Hazard of Parsnips (HoP) here

https://worldofsheds.wordpress.com/a-hazard-of-parsnips/

and catch up on the preceding 17 chapters.

Clarence’s Diary

Dear Diary

Upon waking from a fitful slumber, a smile played upon my full lips. I think it was playing charades and it had to make the word ‘SEX’. I’m saying here I’ve got a sexy smile.

When I became sensible of my surroundings I realised my slumber had been fitful largely due to the fact I had been spooning a hedgehog for most of the night. My sleeping companion, Hedgie, had generously offered my lodgings in his, er, hedge and had offered me a cup of tea, as I had hoped. Well, diary, as sure as night follows day, Hedgie got me drunk on hedgerow wine and before I knew it we were singing the Ulyssess 31 theme tune and soon slipped into a companionable unconsciousness.

As morning broke and I noticed the spine marks in my chiselled pecs, Hedgie grinned sheepishly at me. I can’t stay mad at that guy, even though he got me drunk. He did offer me refuge from a notorious pervert, so I owe him my life. Well, I owe him a pint at least.

After I bid adieu to my spiny pal, I wondered what to do next. Should I

a) report to the nearest police station to tell them I was OK
b) Go and see my beloved delicate flower,Eileen, and some hot and dirty reunion sex. She may let me do her up the bum.
c) go home and check my mail

I decided to go with the latter. It might seem, dear diary, like a nonsensical thing to do and quite out of keeping with the character I have painted myself as, but I was really missing my vegetables, my lemon chapstick and I really needed a shit. There’s nothing like taking a shit in your own bog and I yearned for my porcelain bum embrace. Besides, I knew it would also help the writers of Hazard of Parsnips out, as they needed to move the story on and I was about to receive an important letter.

My step was light and my heart joyous to be free! I had escaped my man-napping unscathed(albeit probably broken that poor battle-scarred wench’s heart, but hey, she was collateral damage and this hunk had a body that he owed the world to preserve). My mind briefly flicked back to Teresa. I shook my head, almost as if to dislodge that thought from my mental furniture. I can’t feel sorry for her now. Yes, I lied to her, but it was my only chance of survival. Think Clarence, Think of something nice, i chastised my own brain. I was telling myself off and I didn’t like it. So I sulked at myself for a bit. I can’t stay mad at myself, largely down to my sexiness and tight, high baby bird bum, so I felt better for a bit. I even hummed a little ditty to cheer myself up. It was ‘Wild Boys’ and I imagined myself making sweet, sweet love to Eileen to that very music.

However, the windscreen wipers of my psyche kept flicking back to images of Teresa, dammit, and dampening my ardour. I really had betrayed her trust. It is such a burden being this handsome. I don’t know how most attractive people bear it. I hate the fact people give me preferential treatment because of my looks,think highly of me, and throw themselves at me. It’s such a fucking ball ache. I felt sick to the pit of my stomach when I thought of what that pervert might do to her when he learnt of how she facilitated my escape.

One thought occasionally leads to another, and this was one of those occasions. My mental furniture had shifted, like the Ikea warehouse, and I found myself pondering on other victims of my good looks. My god. I devastated them. What was this I was feeling? Was I feeling…could it be…is this guilt?

It wasn’t, I just needed a massive shit, I told myself.

As I got back to my house, I smiled as my allotment unfolded before me. It was quite handy having a fold able allotment. You could store it away and take it with you when you went on holiday. I let myself in the house, as the glass in the front door had been smashed…how strange. Luckily I had kept a jagged piece of cardboard that I knew would come in handy one day. I set about patching it up. I then realised that I should maybe stick the cardboard to the broken glass and secure it with gaffer tape, instead of trying to fix it with a needle and thread and oddments of material.

It was then I noticed it. A letter. It lay there on the mat daring me to open it. To be fair it wasn’t a massive dare to open an envelope, so I didn’t think much further about it. I tore it open to find it was a letter from Sandra Growbag. Oh Growbag! Another victim of the Clarence love-bug. I could hardly blame her, but she became such a pest. Following me home, watching me through the window, vigorously masturbating countless times in front of me. What was it she wanted now.

My eyes darted across her scrawlings:

Dear, Darling Clarence

Clarence, I cannot bear it any longer. I’ve tried playing it cool, following the rules, but it gets me nowhere. While I stay away, that darned Bilton gets closer to you. To be honest Clarence, I really don’t know what you see in her. Why would a man of taste, like you, be attracted to a woman with huge breasts, am enviable figure, a rich father, a beautiful face and a sweet disposition? Why can’t you see that she’s bAD for you, and yes, it might seem like these are positive things, but I need you to see the merits of a woman who is largely cuboid in physique, is pathological in her passion for you, gets crazy, paranoid thoughts when things don’t go her way, and can’t problem solve in any adaptive way. Oh, I see the way you look at her, like a hungry dog looks at the finish line. It makes me feel sick. She possesses some hold over you that I desire to replicate, but no not how. Until now.

It all makes sense to me. I need to be number one. The only way to become number one is at a Hot Body Show and that is where I am destined to right now. I am single minded in my determination to possess your affections and I believe by triumphing in this pageant, this will secure my place in your heart.

Do not try to stop me. Well do. If you like. You can also try and kiss me and put your hand up my top while you’re there.

Yours, unerringly

Sandra Growbag

_____

My mental furniture had experienced an earthquake. All my psychological objects had been rattled and I took 5 hours to work out what this meant. Sandra had fallen so foul of my charms, she was entering a Hot Body Show to win me away from Eileen. Hot Body Show. That sounds fun. But wait! Alarm bells were ringing. It was the phone, it had been pushed off the hook and was making that dreadful sound. Hot Body Show. That sounded familiar. Who had mentioned that before and why was I getting a bad feeling about this.

Oh god. It was Teresa who had mentioned it. She had been enslaved as part of one and now Sandra was going, like a lamb to the toolbox. All because I’m so damned handsome. God, when were people going to stop getting hurt because I’m such a spunk?

By god, I really needed a shit now.

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4 thoughts on “Hazard of Parsnips, Chapter 18.

  1. Spiny little perverts. They get everywhere. And that’s a bloody good thing too!
    It’s lovely to see your return to the blog internetty thing like innit? It’s given me hope and encouragement.
    And reading the above I was struck by the fact, indeed I was overjoyed to realise at last that I’m not alone in confusing soul corroding guilt with the need to take a huge dump. But then the guilt struck again, and I nearly filled my pants!
    Bless my little cotton/polyester gusset, but it’s a confusing thing, this life.
    Ever yours
    xG

  2. dearest dr angel.
    i’ve decided to rebel against drab conformity and temporarily abandon the use of capital letters and the occasional bit of punctuation but only if it doesnt affect my meaning. i have to retain some of my anal retentiveness and slavery to convention its part of my charm.
    so how are you, i’m hoping youre well and happy, and send you all my best wishes for the new year.
    have a wonderful 2013 and i hope it turns out a better year than damned 2012
    g

    • Dearest Graham

      I am sorry to have left it so late to reply. I was abroad on matters of dietary and physiquely importance. Yes, I was eating cheese and getting fat in america. I trust you understand. Nay, it is IMPERATIVE you understand for matters of national security.

      Thank you for your well wishes. You indeed find me well, if a bit jet lagged. Yes, I have jets lagging all my internal pipework. It’s not amazingly effective as yet, and I’m still having to put the central heating on all day.

      And how, pray, are you my dear? Yes, I do hope 2012 is more fortuitous than 2013. I’ve had a hell of a year with being redeployed, getting wed and all manner of trials and tribulations. However, I hope 2013 is full of eastern promise for you too. x

  3. Drst Dr A,

    Yes, I think I understand. America’s a good place to go if you want to eat cheese and change shape. Holland, too. With the added attraction of chunky blondes in clogs. (Men and women too, I’m not discriminatory in my sweeping generalisations, oh no.) I hope you had a lovely holiday- was it a delayed action honeymoon? Where in America did you go? I’ve only ever been to New York and it’s a wonderful place to go.

    So we’re nearly a whole month into January now. That doesn’t matter, I was just casting around for something to say. I’m damned glad to hear that your internal pipework is lagged by jets, but I’m not at all surprised that it hasn’t proved effective yet; it’s probably something to do with the time difference and the exchange rate combining in flux.

    I saw your lazy latest blog. This year the stats monkeys didn’t send me a year-in-stats message. I think my attempt to reach out for anonymity has paid off. Go me.

    Well, thanks for your late well wishes, and yes, 2013 CAN be a better one.
    xG

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