Bingo – King
of the Bongos - Part 16
I landed, not gently, but losing my rag and got rid of the
rag of a parachute. I was thinking, as I had a quick shit behind a tree. Why am
I here? The only reason I was shitting at the back of the tree was because
someone had shat in the front of it. This was jungle and I was not a happy
bunny.
If I ever get hold of that prick who threw me out of the plane at 30,000 feet, I will feed his testicles to my pet dog. The only reason I survived was that I was pissed, the alcohol refused to freeze in my blood. But I had a bit of a headache.
Okay. Get orientated. Find Bingo and Co. Save Mattress and hop on Tracy. I let out a call for help. ‘Help, Help,’ I called. A reply came back – ‘Ahh, ah a ahh.’ I knew that was Tarzan.
Suddenly, Bingo appeared. We hugged each other like lost brothers and after the ritual of smelling each other’s arse, we wagged penises happily and I followed him back to the base camp.
There was Tracy, gorgeous as ever, Macho and Poncho shrieked with delight and hugged their favourite Uncle.
‘Where’s Tarzan?’
‘Oh he, up a tree eating a banana, checking out the scene.’ This was Poncho with that actual fact statement.
‘A banana, Jesus Christ help me, this is the jungle, there are no Bananas trees here.’
‘Oh, he got it from the local ALDI store three clicks from here.’ That was Macho’s contribution to the conversation.
A man approaches me. ‘Your TGK? Hey; I heard you some killer ek-se.’
I squinted my eyes, concentrated. Oh-oh. My blood stirred. ‘Are you not Frikkie, the madman who went rampant in the Rhodesian Bush War?'
‘Yup, that’s me.’ He puffs his chest out proudly.
‘Bingo, can you lend me your machete?’ Upon receiving it – ‘Now Frikkie, what do you see in my right hand.’
‘A machete.’
‘Good, now do you see that aeroplane in the sky?’
As he looks up, I took the mad bastard’s fucking shit head off. His body, much to Poncho and Machos delight, wandered around, pumping spurts of blood and bumping into trees.
Frikkie’s head laid on the ground. I removed my 14,000 dollar alligator trousers and pissed into his surprised open mouth. What a laugh watching it come out of his neck. Zipping up, gave the late Frikkie head a swift boot, it rolled off never to bother anyone.
‘Okay. Let’s get to business. Tarzan you complete wanker, get down here. We need to coordinate and save Mattress.’
Macho and Poncho were screaming with laughter as they kicked up the arse the headless walking corpse around. Tracy was plucking her eyebrows. Bingo was scratching his arse. Tarzan swings down. Beats at his chest, gives me the ‘Uga-Uga’, greeting. I just have to love this twat. The last he did that was considered intelligent was wipe his arse with a leaf. Before he a dump!
‘Ok, Tarzan, I start with you. How many mad chimps have you got to help us take on The Buk ‘em Hard?’
‘None.’
If I ever get hold of that prick who threw me out of the plane at 30,000 feet, I will feed his testicles to my pet dog. The only reason I survived was that I was pissed, the alcohol refused to freeze in my blood. But I had a bit of a headache.
Okay. Get orientated. Find Bingo and Co. Save Mattress and hop on Tracy. I let out a call for help. ‘Help, Help,’ I called. A reply came back – ‘Ahh, ah a ahh.’ I knew that was Tarzan.
Suddenly, Bingo appeared. We hugged each other like lost brothers and after the ritual of smelling each other’s arse, we wagged penises happily and I followed him back to the base camp.
There was Tracy, gorgeous as ever, Macho and Poncho shrieked with delight and hugged their favourite Uncle.
‘Where’s Tarzan?’
‘Oh he, up a tree eating a banana, checking out the scene.’ This was Poncho with that actual fact statement.
‘A banana, Jesus Christ help me, this is the jungle, there are no Bananas trees here.’
‘Oh, he got it from the local ALDI store three clicks from here.’ That was Macho’s contribution to the conversation.
A man approaches me. ‘Your TGK? Hey; I heard you some killer ek-se.’
I squinted my eyes, concentrated. Oh-oh. My blood stirred. ‘Are you not Frikkie, the madman who went rampant in the Rhodesian Bush War?'
‘Yup, that’s me.’ He puffs his chest out proudly.
‘Bingo, can you lend me your machete?’ Upon receiving it – ‘Now Frikkie, what do you see in my right hand.’
‘A machete.’
‘Good, now do you see that aeroplane in the sky?’
As he looks up, I took the mad bastard’s fucking shit head off. His body, much to Poncho and Machos delight, wandered around, pumping spurts of blood and bumping into trees.
Frikkie’s head laid on the ground. I removed my 14,000 dollar alligator trousers and pissed into his surprised open mouth. What a laugh watching it come out of his neck. Zipping up, gave the late Frikkie head a swift boot, it rolled off never to bother anyone.
‘Okay. Let’s get to business. Tarzan you complete wanker, get down here. We need to coordinate and save Mattress.’
Macho and Poncho were screaming with laughter as they kicked up the arse the headless walking corpse around. Tracy was plucking her eyebrows. Bingo was scratching his arse. Tarzan swings down. Beats at his chest, gives me the ‘Uga-Uga’, greeting. I just have to love this twat. The last he did that was considered intelligent was wipe his arse with a leaf. Before he a dump!
‘Ok, Tarzan, I start with you. How many mad chimps have you got to help us take on The Buk ‘em Hard?’
‘None.’
‘None? I heard you would get 40 thousand hard core mad chimps organised.’
Tarzan looks down at his feet and starts to pick at a dried lump of shit stuck between his toes. ‘Erm, they on strike. Refuse to fight. They been watching too much Sky News. Those French bastards. They also want to retire at 61.’
‘Retire! They are chimpanzees. None reach the age of 61. Bingo… what is this nonsense?’
He just shrugs and starts to lick out his wife’s vagina.
I need to gather my thoughts. Okay, how many Buck ‘em hard are holding Mattress prisoner?’
Tarzan chirps up – ’53.’
‘And how you know that?’
‘I went and had a look.’
….
Stay tuned as TGK, attempts to get his motley crew organised to take on the Buk ‘em Hard. Less 40,000 chimp troops.
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