Larry and Mick and the Coleslaw Catastrophe pt3
The coleslaw delivery driver got out of his van and shoved the petrol hose into the appropriate aperture. He hummed Let It Go, from the popular Disney movie, Frozen, to pass the time whilst petroleum was pouring into his vehicle, and considered what snack to make purchase of.
There was a liquid grumbling sound, which the coleslaw delivery driver assumed was his tum.
“Bugger it,” said he. “It’s close enough to lunchtime, I’m going to have a Happy Meal.”
Little did he know it was the last Happy Meal he would ever have.
“I’m bored of this game of tiddlywinks, Mick.”
“Don’t be so ridiculous, Larry.”
“Okay, your turn.”
“Yay, I win!”
Larry and Mick packed away the tiddlywinks and finished eating their chocolate Hobnobs.
“That Coconut Shrimp was nice, Mick.”
“You mean from the Bubba Gump Shrimp Co in Cancun, Mexico?”
“The very same.”
“Shame the coleslaw was rancid.”
“Yes, I don’t think my stomach will ever forgive me.”
“Nor the fellow patrons of the restaurant, on account of the satanic aroma that emerged from the facilities, upon the vacating of yon bowels.”
“Yes, I don’t think we shall ever return there again.”
“Why the heck not?”
Larry and Mick drank tea.
“What a wonderfully happy meal,” the coleslaw delivery driver chuckled to himself, as he climbed back into his vehicle and prepared to be on his way.
The liquid grumbling sound happened again.
“But I can’t still be hungry!,” said the coleslaw delivery driver.
But it was not his tum that was grumbling.
“Fancy another trip to McDonald’s off junction something-or-other of the M5 motorway?,” said Larry.
“What for?,” said Mick.
“I’m not really sure,” said Larry. “I just have a feeling we should return there.”
“Rightey-ho,” said Mick.
The coleslaw beast slurged into the front of the van like sentient Silly Putty. The coleslaw delivery driver barely had a chance to scream before it enveloped his entire personage and swallowed him whole.
Burrrrrrp, went the coleslaw beast, then returned to the back of the van.
“Here we are,” said Larry.
“Indeed so,” said Mick.
“I recognise that van,” said Larry.
“Me too,” said Mick.
They went up and had a look. Larry peered into the passenger side, Mick into the driver side. They both had a look around and about.
“Where’s the driver?,” said Larry.
“Having a Happy Meal?,” said Mick.
“But it’s only 10.07am,” said Larry.
“Never too early for a Happy Meal,” said Mick.
“He’ll regret it at 1pm.”
“There’s always cake and biscuits.”
Larry scrunched up his face and looked at the driver’s seat.
“Hang on...” said he.
“What?,” said Mick.
“What’s that on the seat?”
“To what do you refer?”
“Little bits of coleslaw... and... keys?”
“By Jupiter, I think you might be right! But what does it mean?”
“Jiggered if I know.”
After they had mutually consumed seventy-six Chicken McNuggets and twelve McFlurries (because it is “never too early for vast quantities of Chicken McNuggets and McFlurries”), they promptly threw up in the facilities, made a swift exit from such due to the high likelihood of ensuing u-bend blockages, then headed back to their BMXes, but gave pause, as they noticed the coleslaw delivery van was still situated by the petrol pump.
“Something’s afoot,” said Larry.
“Sorry,” said Mick, as he moved his foot away from Larry’s.
“No, I mean... look.”
“To where are you indicating my gaze should be directed?”
“Where should I look?”
“Golly!,” said Mick. Then, “Gosh!” And culminating in a, “Prancing Potatoes of Portsmouth!”
“There’s no need for that.”
“Shall we investigate further?”
“I’d rather not.”
“Me too, let’s go home.”
And so they did.
[ the end (or (yes, you guessed it!) is it?) ]