Kindle Edition
markcsuttonauthor
Category:
Humor
Publisher: Mark C Sutton
Type: Fiction
Pages: 227
Copyright: Jun 13 2015
Price: $3.10 (eBook)
Someone else has stepped into Brian Miller's slippers...
Grandad Miller, Serial Killer returns... but this time, with a bite. 'The Curse of Grandad Miller, Serial Killer', tells the deliciously dark story of the mysterious imposter, who believes himself to be the mass murderer, Brian Miller... but all is not quite what it seems in this tale of violent death, resurrection, and redemption, that concludes the 'Grandad Miller, Serial Killer' saga.
This re-written and revised novel was originally published as 'The Curse of Grandad Miller, Serial Killer - Act One: Death', 'The Curse of Grandad Miller, Serial Killer - Act Two: The Imposter', and 'The Curse of Grandad Miller, Serial Killer - Act Three: The Ghost-Light'.
Warning: Contains strong language and violence, and is not suitable for minors.
Excerpt
Benny and I reached the entrance to the theatre and joined a small queue. My friend smiled at me.
“Not much of a crowd here to see dear old Nick, is there?” He gloated.
“That’s no surprise. He’s a load of crap. His comedy routine is about as funny as an outbreak of herpes scabs around the mouth.” I said, loudly. Benny elbowed me in the arm.
“Shush, do you have to talk so fucking loud?” He snapped.
‘Oh, stop bloody fussing.” I replied, and I elbowed Benny back. I looked out of one of the large glass windows, towards the car-park, and noticed several coaches pulling up, crammed full of people. I nudged Benny, and pointed towards the parking bay outside. He stared in the direction of the vehicles that were arriving.
“I don’t believe it… how can such a talentless wank-bucket attract such an audience?” Benny asked, as more coaches began to pull into the parking spaces.
“I don’t know… but isn’t it really bloody irritating?” I responded, feeling my stomach knot up with jealousy. Benny nodded.
“It certainly is.” He said.
“Ah well,” I replied, patting my pal on the shoulder, “let’s make his life a fucking misery, just for tonight… we’ll heckle to our hearts content, until we get ejected!”
“That’s always been the plan!” Grinned Benny, and we showed our tickets to the receptionist at the theatre kiosk before making our way towards the main auditorium, giggling like a couple of naughty schoolboys.
A big cheer went up from the audience when Nick Bundy walked onto the stage, well, apart from Benny and I. Benny let out a quick ‘boo’, but nobody noticed; it was drowned out by all of the sycophantic, pathetic, arse-licking applause and cheering. Nick Bundy waved out to the crowd, his balding head already beginning to shine with sweat, caused by the heat of the theatre lights. He grabbed a microphone that had been placed in the centre of the stage, and said ‘hello’ to everyone. The audience collectively replied ‘hello’ back, apart from myself and Benny.
“Fuck off!” I shouted, out loud, but again, this subtle, or perhaps not-so-subtle abuse was drowned out by the rest of the wankers in the audience. I looked at Benny, who smirked back at me. He leaned his head towards mine.
“Look at him, the smarmy cunt.” Benny said.
“He’s a right arrogant-looking little prick… but then, he always was.” I replied. This time, a woman who was sat next to me, some stupid little student/ hippy/ feminist/ lesbian/ North London/ Guardianista/ champagne Socialist type whose name was probably Libby, Hattie, or fucking Frannie, gave me a filthy look. I gave her one back. She was lucky that that was all I did give her; if she’d have shot me a stare like that outside of the theatre, I’d have cheerfully slit her throat and took a chunk out of her face with my teeth, just for good measure.
After the applause had subsided, Nick Bundy began his stupid fucking reportoire. Nick was, in the main, an ‘observational comedian’ (and I use the words ‘observational comedian’ very loosely indeed… ‘observational twat’ was a more appropriate description of the fucking knob-wipe, but there you go), and so he launched, straight away, into a boring monologue about a recent tube journey that he’d undertook on the London Underground. It wasn’t funny, but the bunch of in-crowd tossers that made up most of the audience thought Nick was fucking hilarious. I looked, with disgust, at some of their bright-red faces as they buckled forwards in their seats with laughter. Cunts. It made me feel like smashing all of their heads in, one by one… if it had been logistically possible, I probably would have done just that.
After around fifteen minutes of listening to Nick Bundy’s nonsense, I decided that I’d had enough, and started to heckle the bastard.
“You’re fucking shit, mate!” I shouted out. Everybody’s heads whipped around and they all stared at me. Benny put his hand over his mouth, supressing laughter, his body trembling. Nick Bundy pretended that he hadn’t heard my little words of wisdom, and carried on with his ‘act’. I nudged Nick’s knee with mine, and then whispered into his ear. “Oi, twat, it’s your turn to say something now.” I said.
“Alright, just give us a minute.” Replied Benny. Most of the audience turned their heads back to face Nick, apart from the hippy/ Camden town dweller/ feminist-type woman sat next to me, who continued to give me daggers. I leaned in close to her.
“Tell you what, love… if you keep on staring at me like that, I’ll cut your fucking eyes out with my rusty old fishing knife after the show. Would you like that?” I threatened. The silly little slag suddenly stopped acting hard, and turned away from me. Her hands began to shake, which made me smile; the ability to inflict fear in others was always a truly wonderful thing.
Benny’s first attempt at heckling Nick Bundy was as lame as mine; it had good delivery, but nearly everybody ignored it, probably out of politeness for their hero, and embarrassment. Nick had just finished the crappy old monologue concerning his rush-hour journey on the London Underground (which would never have happened anyway - the flashy cunt owned a Jag, why would he be travelling around on the tube?) to rapturous applause, and was now spouting a load of drivel about his botched attempts at DIY. Benny gave me a quick nudge, and then shouted out,
“Never mind nailing a fucking shelf up, mate, it’s you that should be nailed up… to a cross.” Benny grinned at me, and I burst out laughing. Once again, heads spun around to look at the pair of us, but Nick Bundy, ever the fucking professional, just carried on regardless, looking completely unruffled. The woman sat next to me, who I had just threatened, suddenly got up and hurried out of the auditorium.
“Where are you going love? The shitter? Well, have one for me!” I shouted to the woman, as she squeezed past the other members of the audience in her attempt to flee the theatre as fast as she could.
There was a rumble of disapproval through the crowds at my latest jibe, which, in my defence, wasn’t aimed at their hero at all, and yet still Nick Bundy carried on with his unfunny diatribe against having to do DIY around the house. However, mine and Benny’s behaviour hadn’t gone unnoticed by the theatre staff, and a burly fucker with a bald head suddenly appeared right at the end of the row of seats that we were sat on, watching us like a hawk. I nudged Benny, gesturing to the baldie guy.
“Looks like we’ve got some company.” I said. Benny glanced around at the theatre official, and shrugged his shoulders.
“Ah well, we know that we’re gonna get thrown out, that’s the whole fucking point.” He said, philosophically. I stared at the bald man, who had a dark and unpleasant expression on his face. You’ll get your chance to throw us out soon, sunshine, I thought to myself, but just don’t get too rough, otherwise I’ll have to come back and put a bullet through your brain.
In the end, it was a fart that got us ejected from Nick Bundy’s one-man show. He’d finished his sililoquy about DIY, and was now entertaining his creepy, sheepy fans with a bit of (unfunny) mime artist tomfoolery. The theatre fell silent. At exactly that same time, I felt a huge bottom-burp brewing. I lifted my one leg and bum cheek off the uncomfortable seat that I was sat on, and pushed down hard, forcing the fart out, and to devestating effect; a loud, rippling arse-blast rumbled across the theatre, followed quickly by an almighty stench that quickly had several members of the audience holding their noses and either gagging or coughing. Benny burst out laughing, doubling over in his seat. I looked around at everyone who was staring at me, with a smug, proud expression. The bald theatre guy began working his way towards me. Nick Bundy, who, up until this point, had ignored our infantile attempts at heckling, suddenly stopped his pretentious mime-work, and began shouting out me from the stage.
“Oi, you! Just what is your fucking problem?” He asked, staring directly at me.
“You’re the problem mate, you’re bleedin’ awful!” I replied.
“Well, if you don’t like the show, get out.” Scowled Nick Bundy. The audience all started to nod in agreement, and then began jeering at me and Benny. I flicked a middle finger at a few of them (including Nick), just as the bald guy reached my seat, with a face like thunder.
I looked up at baldie and grinned.
“How’s it going, pal?” I asked him, acting the cunt.
“You heard what Mister Bundy said… you and your mate, get out, now.” He growled.
“Nah, I think I’ll sit here and watch the show, if it’s all the same with you.” I replied, deliberately goading the fucker.
“Oh no you won’t. Now, if you don’t get from out of your seats, I’ll drag you off them.” Threatened baldy.
“Yeah, right. You and whose army?” I replied. “Touch me, and I’ll knock your fucking…” I didn’t get a chance to finish my sentence. The bald guy dragged me up from off of the seat by the scruff of my neck, and began hauling me towards the aisle and, of course, the exit. Benny stood up and began following us out.
“Hey, isn’t that the ‘Grandad Miller’ guy? The serial killer?” I heard one member of the audience say as I got dragged past them.
“Yeah, that’s me, pal. Brian fucking Miller… and don’t you ever forget…”
“Shut up.” Said baldy. We emerged from the row of seats and onto the side aisle. He dragged me towards the exit, with Benny not far behind. We’d achieved our goal; heckled Nick Bundy, and got thrown out of the theatre.
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