Larry and Mick Enter a Jumping Competition

'What are you doing?' said Larry.
'Practising for the Jumping Competition,' said Mick.
'By raising and lowering your eyebrows?'
'You can't run before you can walk.'
'Fair enough.'
Then the phone rang.
'Would you mind answering that, friend Larry?' said Mick.
'Can't you answer the phone whilst raising and lowering your eyebrows?'
'I'm about to proceed to the second phase of the training.'
'Which is?'
'Raising and lowering my jaw.'
'That's dedication,' said Larry, as he answered the phone.
'Is this Mick Mastadon?' said the caller.
'No, it's his very good friend, Larry Lampshade. Mick is in training for-'
'The Jumping Competition, I know. Could I speak to Mr Mastadon, please?'
'I am not sure I am entirely happy with your tone,' said Larry. 'May I please enquire as to your identity?'
'Who I am need not concern you,' said the caller. 'What I have to say, however, should interest you greatly.'
'What are you-'
'Who is it?' said Mick, as he raised and lowered his little fingers, then his thumbs, then his little fingers, then his thumbs... et cetera.
'Just some loony who thinks he's a bond villain or something,' said Larry.
'Oh, that would be Barry Burgerbap,' said Mick. 'Yesterday it was the CIA. The day before, the high priest of a religious cult called The Acolytes of Ambrosia Creamed Rice Pudding - or was it The Acolytes of Anchor Unsalted Butter? Well whatever... Has he threatened me with a slow and painful death if I don't pull out of the Jumping Competition, yet?'
'Excuse me...' said the voice on the phone.
'Hang, on, Mick, the loony's talking...'
'I heard that,' said the loony. 'Now where was I?... I hate it when I lose the thread...'
'I expect you were about to impart some sort of a threat.'
'Oh yes, thanks for that... now then... ahem... be varned-'
'No need for the Russian accent.'
'It was meant to be German.'
'Do continue...'
'Be warned,' continued the bond villain impersonator, in an accent that was neither German nor Russian, 'that your friend, Mick Mastadon, will be met with a slow and painful death if he does not pull out of the Jumping Competition.'
'You done?'
'Pretty much, yeah,' said the loony.
'Bye then,' said Larry, and he put the phone down.

'This Jumping Competition,' said Larry; 'what does it entail?'
'Jumping,' said Mick.
'You mean like, "Long Jump or "High Jump?'
'No. Just jumping. Up and down.'
'Where's the fun in that?'
'Where's the fun in jumping? Are you serious? Have you spoken to any frogs lately?'
'Well I-'
'You should try it. It's immensely satisfying. A little tough on the ankles, though.'
'What do you do about that?'
'What?'
'The ankles.'
'Thick socks.'
'Of course.'

Barry Burgerbap - aka Baron Von Berguzbhap - aka Agent Bapson - aka High Priest of the Acolytes of Ambrosia Creamed Rice Pudding (or Anchor Unsalted Butter) - considered his options. He sat on a big pouffe. By that, I don't mean a large homosexual gentleman, but rather one of those padded cube-like affairs that one sat on or rested one's feet upon. This particular 'big pouffe' was bigger than a normal pouffe and it was covered in leather and it was black. As befitted the evil bond villain persona that Barry was presently personifying. He did not have a fluffy white cat on his knee, but rather a fluffy white cushion, which was near enough in his opinion, and he stroked the fluffy white cushion intermittently, whilst he considered his options.
Barry was also entering the Jumping Competition. Barry, however, knew that Mick Mastadon's talents, regarding such, substantially exceeded his own. The options he was considering were...

1. Assassination of the Talented Mr Mastadon.
2. Bionic augmentation of limbs.
3. Take lots of drugs to enhance his jumping ability (of the powerful and illegal variety, as he had already tried aspirin, and it had merely reduced the intensity of his toothache slightly).
4. Decide to forget about it all and give up, as jumping was stupid and the prize was only £15 in WH Smiths gift vouchers anyway.

Being the evil bond villain, as he was on this particular day, he decided to go with the first option. The method of assassination, however, eluded him. He considered his options...

1. Strangulation by USB cable.
2. Stabbing to death with mobile phone aerial.
3. Repeated pummelling with the latest Harry Potter novel.
4. Force-feeding of twenty gallons of Sainsburys Tomato and 3-Bean Soup.

All of the above would be slow and painful. As would befit an evil bond villain. Barry couldn't help but wonder, however, how much effort they would take.
Barry was a bit of a lazy man. When it came down to it. He didn't like to put too much effort into anything. Hence his quandary.
He stroked his cushion.
He sat on his pouffe.
He wondered whether he was going about this all the wrong way.
He picked up the phone and made another call to the home of his competitor, Mick Mastadon.

Larry & Mick were sitting on pouffes. One each. Not as big as Barry's. Larry's was olive-green, Mick's was electric-blue. Not that the colours of the pouffes were relevant in any way to the story. But there you go.
Larry & Mick were raising and lowering their big toes, the feet of which were un-encased and resting upon white porcelain dinner plates.
'So when's the jumping going to start?' said Larry.
'Patience, Grasshopper,' said Mick. 'One cannot fly until one has emerged from the chrysalis of one's transformation.'
'You what?' said Larry.
Then the phone rang.
'I'll get that,' said Larry.
It was Barry:
'I... erm... well... you see... it's like...'
'Listen here, you,' said Larry; 'I know who you are and what you're up to. And it's not going to work! Do you hear?'
'Well... I was... it's just...'
'We're not going to be deterred from entering the Jumping Competition.'
'You what?'
'That's my line.'
'What is?'
' "You what is.'
' "You what is?'
'You deaf?'
'Well...'
'I said it just a few lines ago.'
'But I wasn't in the scene at that point.'
'Oh... well... just don't say it again, okay?'
'Okay.'
'Good.'
'Anyway...'
'Anyway...'
'You said "we.'
'Did I?'
'You said, "we're not going to be deterred from entering the Jumping Competition.'
'So I did.'
'Yes.'
'Well yes.'
'What?'
'I am.'
'You are what?'
'Entering the Jumping Competition.'
'As well as Mick "the Jumper Mastadon?'
'Indeed so. And I'm six-foot-two, so I'm bound to win.'
'Well I can't kill you both,' sighed Barry; 'that would be just too much effort.'
'You what?'
'Nothing. Good luck. Bye.'
Barry hung up.
'Loony,' said Larry, and he put the phone down also.
'Time,' said Mick, 'for the right foot.'
Larry returned to his olive-green, medium-sized pouffe.

Larry & Mick entered the Jumping Competition.
Barry didn't.
Neither Larry nor Mick was assassinated.
They didn't win the competition either.
They decided that jumping was stupid.

EPILOGUE:

'Ooh, me ankles,' said Larry.
'I told you to wear those thick socks,' said Mick.
'Indeed you did, friend Mick,' said Larry. 'Indeed you did.'

[ FIN ]