Kindle Edition
Mark C Sutton Author
Category:
Humor
Publisher: Mark C Sutton
Type: Fiction
Pages: 625
Copyright: Jun 1, 2014
Price: $6.03 (eBook)
'Jeremy's Juicy Pair' contains the two full-length novels, 'Jeremy and the Summer of Stalking', and its sequel, 'Jeremy and the Winter of the World-Wide Stalker'.
'Jeremy and the Summer of Stalking'
Jeremy Felliwell is a very strange and unhinged individual; recently released back into society from a mysterious ‘establishment’, and shunned by most of his family because of ‘that thing that happened with great auntie Mavis shortly after Christmas lunch in 2003’, he is forced to live with an elderly relative, who he despises, in her house in the suburbs of middle England, where his only source of pleasure is the fortnightly shopping trip to the supermarket with his Care Worker, whom he endeavours to upset and embarrass with his increasingly outlandish costumes, argumentative and childish nature, and strange (and occasionally magical) contraptions.
When Jeremy is finally relocated to a grim Council flat, he leaves behind a trail of suspected fraud, disastrous fortnightly shopping trips, and a missing auntie. Two new women enter his life; Lucinda, the seductive and brutal half-sister that he never knew existed, and a mysterious stalker, known only as ‘Sultry Ella’. Locked in battle against both his domineering and psychotic half-sister, and his shadowy stalking antagonist, and armed only with a Magnum and an unreliable magic wand, will Jeremy be able to find the inner-resolve and strength to emerge victorious?
‘Jeremy and the Summer of Stalking’ is a humorous, surreal, and, occasionally, disturbing tale of a hopeless, creepy, inadequate individual who continually finds himself in unusual, challenging and occasionally deadly situations; from an out-of-control gyro-copter forced to make an emergency landing inside the local supermarket, to a prehistoric monster that has manifested itself in his Council-flat kitchen; from a dim-witted sister who causes confusion with every sentence that she utters, to a ‘magic clown act’ that goes horribly wrong.
The tale of Jeremy's summer of stalking is set against a backdrop of mystery and confusion; what is the nature of the 'device' that Jeremy is constructing? Who is the mysterious female celebrity of whom Jeremy is so enamored? What, exactly, happened between Jeremy and great auntie Mavis shortly after Christmas lunch in 2003? What is the fate of auntie Doris? Who is 'The Oracle'? And will we discover Jeremy's astounding secret, a mysterious ability that defies all logical explanation?
'Jeremy and the Winter of the World-Wide Stalker'
Jeremy is now living a relatively happy existence in a new council flat, together with his masked, satanic cousin, Vanessa, and occupying himself by spying on his sexy new neighbour, annoying and humiliating his long-suffering care worker on their fortnightly shopping trips, and building an updated, mysterious 'device'. Jeremy's future is threatened, however, with the arrival on the world stage of the immensely popular 'super stalker' known only as 'IOU'. Will Jeremy be able to rise to the challenge that this new, globally successful pervert, poses, especially when armed only with an Uzi 9mm sub-machine gun and an increasingly unreliable magic wand? What is his cousin Vanessa's dark secret? How will Jeremy deal with having to pay the much derided 'bedroom tax' on his under-occupied council flat? Did Jeremy really murder his much-loathed Auntie Doris back in 2008? What is 'The Device - Version Two'? And where is 'The Oracle', Jeremy's wizened tutor in perversion, who has vanished, together with his equally perverted partner, Sarah (Jeremy's former community psychiatric nurse)?
'Jeremy and the Winter of the World-Wide Stalker' sees the nation's most prolific stalker, Jeremy Felliwell, back from another long stay in the mysterious 'establishment', and locking horns with the global phenomena and self-titled 'super stalker', 'International Onion Utopia', in her vile bid for world domination.
Excerpt
Thursday 20th November
The first half an hour or so, upon arrival and entry into the new flat, which was provided courtesy of the local council, and arranged in particular by my so-called care worker, Pippa McBridey, was taken up with an enormous argument that bordered on violent. I had arrived at the location, by taxi, at around ten this morning. The little that I had in way of belongings had already been transported, ahead of myself, via my lardy nemesis, Pippa, who was now awaiting my arrival, standing by the new front door whilst enjoying a fag (on taxpayer’s time, I hasten to add).
I paid the taxi driver, and then walked down the pathway towards my new home, and also Pippa, who half-smiled and half-grimaced when she saw me approaching.
“I see the taxi driver found the place okay then?” She commented. I ignored her.
“I want to go indoors. I want to see what my new flat looks like.” I instructed Pippa, impatiently. She didn’t appreciate my attitude, and scowled at me. Then she smirked.
“You’ll have to wait until I’ve finished my cigarette.” She advised, deliberately trying to rile me by making me wait to see my new home.
“No, I’m not waiting. It’s my flippin’ flat, and I demand to see what it looks like. I want to go inside NOW.” I said. Pippa smiled and waved the keys of the flat in front of me.
“You can’t get in without these… It’s like I just said, you can wait until I’ve finished my fag.” She repeated. Then she puffed on her cancer stick and blew smoke straight into my eyes, like the big, ignorant pig that she was.
I tried to grab the keys to the flat from Pippa’s fat, blubbery hand, but she snatched them away from me and dropped them into her coat pocket. I raised a fist half-heartedly, with no intention of carrying through with any sort of punch; I wouldn’t know how to throw one, for a start. But Pippa didn’t know that. Angrily, she came towards me, and I was grabbed by the lapels of my slightly pongy brown blazer, then pushed against the long hedge that run parallel to the flats’ pathway.
“Just you bloody well try it.” She said, snarling and flashing her teeth at me. “Don’t you ever raise your fist at me again, you little ponce.”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” I replied, not meaning a word of it. “I wasn’t really going to punch you in your fat face.” I added. Then I noticed her cigarette lying on the floor. Pippa must have dropped it when she went to attack me. “You’ve finished your fag now though, so can we go in, please?” I asked, putting on a sickly, insincere voice. Pippa pushed her face close to mine, and jutted her square chin out towards me. She said nothing, but let there be no doubt about it; this was meant to be threatening. Then she let go of me, and wobbled down the pathway towards the front door.
As soon as we got inside the door of the new flat, I made my first observation, which formed the basis of a complaint.
“Where are the stairs?” I enquired.
“You haven’t got any,” replied Pippa, “you’ve got a ground floor flat.” She advised me further.
“But I don’t want a ground floor flat!” I squeaked, and I stamped my foot on the floor in temper. Pippa gave me a clinical and cold stare.
“And why don’t you want a ground floor flat?” She asked, her eyes narrowing.
“Because it won’t have a balcony.” I accidentally let slip. Pippa viewed me with both contempt and disgust. She was aware of my previous little habits involving balconies, telescopes, and spying on people, mainly women, from them.
“Do you honestly think that we’ll give you a flat with another balcony, after what happened at the last one?” She asked, speaking slowly, addressing me like I was some sort of retard.
“I don’t want to talk about any of that.” I said quickly, and I pushed past my ugly care worker, making my way down the hallway in order to inspect further the new council flat.
After walking around my new home in silence for a couple of minutes, I raised another concern with Pippa.
“This place has three bedrooms.” I said. “I don’t want three bedrooms.”
“Tough. It was the only spare accommodation around for miles.” Advised the lazy public sector employee. There was a glint in her eye that I didn’t much care for; it suggested that she knew something that I didn’t. Except I had a feeling that I actually did.
“I can’t afford three bedrooms. They’ll make me pay that flipping bedroom tax on the two spare ones.” I advised her. Pippa smirked at me.
“This is the only spare accommodation that I could find.” She grinned. I noticed that she had a small piece of meat, possibly bacon, stuck to her top front tooth.
“But I won’t be able to afford it. I’ll have none of my flippin’ dole wages left. The government will flippin’ well fleece me because of this!” I exclaimed.
“This is the only spare accommodation that I could find.” Repeated Pippa, but slower this time, and still with that stupid grin on her face; the rotten fat cow had stitched me up.
“I’ll be skint. I won’t be able to afford anything. How will I be expected to feed myself?” I enquired.
“I guess you’ll just have to starve to death.” Said Pippa, and her grin turned into a full-on smile.
I paced up and down the hallway several times, livid at Pip deliberately lumbering me with a three bedroom flat that I knew would financially cripple me, and all because of that flippin’ bedroom tax. I could feel her watching me in the same way that an eagle would eye it’s prey, shortly before moving in for the kill. It was time for me to put my foot down.
“Get on your mobile phone now.” I ordered. “I’m not accepting this flat, and I’m dissatisfied with you and at the service that the Council have given me in flippin’ general. I want to speak to your manager.”
“I am the manager.” Said Pippa, flatly.
“Then I want to speak to the flippin’ manager’s manager.” I advised her.
“I’m the manager’s manager as well, remember? I got promoted. Twice in just the space of four months. I specifically told you that.” Answered Pippa, who I could see was really enjoying herself, standing there with her fixed, stupid grin.
I started pacing up and down the hallway again, and was about to launch into another tirade about the spare bedrooms. Pippa didn’t give me a chance to get started again though.
“How many times did I tell you to come and look around this place first, before agreeing to move in?” She asked me.
“I was busy.” I replied. Pippa ignored this comment. She just stared at me with a smug expression. “There was never a convenient time.” I also added. Pippa ignored this particular remark too.
“How many times did I warn you not to sign the lease agreement until you had viewed the property?” She asked, trying to make me look like a complete fool. “How many times, eh Jeremy?” She sneered.
“I can’t flippin’ remember.” I said, and then I thought for a moment about deliberately messing myself, there and then in the hallway. That’d teach her a lesson, having to clean up my poo.
“You’ve signed the lease agreement now, I’m afraid. If you want another move, then you’ll have to apply for a transfer.” She informed me, in an official tone.
“But that takes flippin’ years!” I squeaked, like a mouse with its bollocks caught in a trap.
“Tough. You shouldn’t have signed the lease.” Said Pippa, all very matter-of-fact.
“But I didn’t realize that the flat had three bedrooms!” I argued.
“Well, you should have visited the property first, like I told you to.” She argued back. This debate was going around and around in flippin’ circles.
I head-butted the wall of the hallway in temper, which was a really stupid thing to do, as it was covered in jaggedy artex, painted a gruesome yellow, and now with a small trail of my blood on it too. After I had managed to stop myself from passing out, I went right up to Pippa, who was shaking, not through fear, but because she was trying to stop herself from bursting out loud with laughter at my misfortunes.
“You had better start flippin’ well listening to me, because I’m not stopping here, and I demand to be re-housed immediately.” I insisted. Pippa shrugged her shoulders.
“There’s nowhere for you to be re-housed.” She said, with nonchalance. “Besides of which, you’ve signed the lease now. You have to stay here for at least six months. AND THAT’S THE LAW.”
“But I can’t afford to!” I shouted.
“Don’t you dare shout at me, Jeremy Felliwell!” Barked Pippa, and she pushed me away from her with an unnecessary amount of force. For a second time, my head hit the artex wall, except it was the back of my head rather than the front that made contact with it on this occasion.
I looked at Pippa darkly, and then I threatened her.
“Just you wait, you fat old bag. I’m going to get you back for all of this, when you have to take me shopping again.” I warned.
“Do your worst.” She replied, and then Pippa threw the flat keys at me. They hit me in the face.
“Ow! You rotten cow!” I shouted. Before I had a chance to throw the keys back at her, she had bounced off down the hallway, towards the front door.
“If you don’t like it here, then I suggest you seek out a private landlord.” She shouted to me, and with that, she departed from my new, three-bedroom flat, slamming the front door behind her as she did so. I rubbed the back of my head, and then walked into the lounge area; it was horrible. As with the hallways, the walls of the lounge were covered in gaudily painted artex. At least the new furniture was in all place, which was some sort of consolation; as part of the ‘dispersed housing’ scheme, I would rent the furniture from the local council, and it would all eventually become mine. It was quite plush too, which was a good job really, considering I’d probably end up having to sell all of it in order to pay the flippin’ bedroom tax.
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