The Big, The Bad and The Massive

"Look mate" said the partially hirsute tournament referee with the massive hands, "Big Blogger is good at telling a chancer from the real thing. You'd better be careful throwing all these outlandish claims about willy nilly."

Steve stood there like the plank he was and tried feigning ignorance. Unfortunately he was terrible at feigning, and so made a non-commital "muh" noise instead.

He needed money. Needed it bad, and to date he had failed miserably at washing dishes (always used too much Fairy liquid, thereby creating a bubbly nightmare), was pants at delivering Sunday papers (his basket was too small; bless), and as first thing this morning had so far not managed to sell his body to the night. He'd tried, but the night wouldn't have him. So he had to come up with some other masterplan with which to amass the necessary readies to appease The Massive Man.

The Massive Man didn't look massive. In fact he was only 5'1", but when cornered his body would swell up to three times it's natural size, and small hairy darts would ping out of his epidermis affecting whatever they landed upon in a way not too dissimilar to being smacked in the face with a bag of english mustard. He was a bit like a human puffer fish and he was very mean. Very mean indeed. And mustardy.

Unfortunately for Steve, he had  gotten on the wrong side of Mr Mahoosive. No details, but let's just say it involved some kitchen furniture, a couple of farmyard animals and five bars of lard.

Because of 'The Incident', Steve now had the virtually impossible task of raising 10 million smackeroonies by sundown, before The Massive Man took his mustard-like revenge on our poor hero.

So Steve had headed to the last place he would ever have wanted to go, but which was the only place he knew he would possibly be able to get his grubby little mitts on that kind of moolah. That's right, he'd gone to The Eastbourne Tea Lounge and Licensed UK Draughts Emporium (of eternal damnation!), had purchased a set of second hand and only slightly muddied white draughts pieces, and was now set to do battle with the undisputed king of the Eastbourne draughts scene - the one, the only... Big Blogger!

He'd heard stories of opponents having their pinky fingers bitten off, their feet stamped so hard under the table that they were now completely flat, and even (NO!) of them having the piss taken out of their name! Steve hated the very idea of a thing so terrible as that, so he knew he'd have to have the resilience of an armadillo, the cunning of an arctic stoat, and the savvy of a muskahound to come through this match unscathed. That's why he'd spent the last half an hour proclaiming how brilliant he was and how stupidly abysmal his opponent was to a packed lounge of bed-ridden war veterans and hardened bounty hunters.

The ref was right to warn him about his conduct as this was exactly the kind of crass behaviour that could get him into some serious pinky biting trouble.

He made his way to the table. It was right next to the gents lavatory, so there was a rich musky urine smell hovering about the place as he took his seat opposite the large dark figure hunched at the other side of the desk. A small plume of what appeared to be steam, but which could possibly have been a fart, puffed out from the dark mass of sub-humanity like a burst of oily smoke from the knackered exhaust of a 1965 Austin Allegro. A grunt and a whistle followed and a black piece moved forward on the board. The game had begun!

Steve sweated profusely all over himself disgustingly and within mere seconds his once trendy t-shirt had changed colour completely, from a tartish orange hue to a shitty green blue thing. He hated that shirt, but no-one would take it off his hands, and he'd sold all his other clothes for biscuits and raisins, so this was all he had left.

Yet he moved his pieces with a dexterity which belied his smelly, scruffy attire and trampish demeanour.

Fingers whooshed and pieces leapt over their negative cousins. He was the new Barry Manilow of the draughts scene! Soon the board was a veritable see of white, and there was an audible crescendo of grunting and groaning coming from Big Blogger's side of the board. Even more steam than before was emanating from his dark mass and occasional sighs were punctuated by angry "wruugghh" and "smorrjjuugg!" noises. He was not happy. And there was some serious money riding on the outcome of this game.

As Steve moved in for the kill, Big Blogger lived up to his name and started to swell up like a human water balloon steadily being filled with sparkling water. Big Blogger was, unbeknown to him or anyone else, the long lost brother of The Massive Man, but that's another story altogether. the thronged masses watched avidly as he expanded so that his throbbing girdle touched all sides of the room, and as Steve moved his piece to take Big Blogger's final draught the air stood still. Time froze, a small last whimper of defeat escaped his body, and his bloated mass caved in on itself until all that remained was a dirty black dishcloth hanging over the back of his stool.

Triumphant, and soon to be released from all his worries (with just enough left over to afford him a nice little trip to Magaluf) Steve did a little victory jig. He looked like a tit to be honest, but he didn't care.

"He may be good as being scary, wearing black and smelling a bit, but Big Blogger is bad at losing. Really shittingly bad."

And with that he handed the briefcase to The Massive One, tossed his denim jacket over his left shoulder, tripped over his own right ankle, failed to grab onto the side of the doorframe, and exited the tea lounge arse first.

It was some exit!

Comments

[Clare]

[pedant alert]

Hang on a minute, your last sentence doesn't contain the phrase...

[/pedant alert]

Sorry.

[Big Blogger (none of that Medium-sized stuff anymore)]

Good point. But hey, it's my game, and I can't get evicted! Ha!

Sorry.

Ps. I could re-jig the ending, but I like it how it is. Does that make me a bad person?

[penfold]

Good that you managed to use the word 'shittingly'. Very underated and underused in my opinion...

[Daddy Papersurfer]

What the heck are you doing in Eastbourne? - get out and stay out!! No wonder it's been so draughty.
Just when I thought I'd found a safe haven.

[Angelalala]

Love the exit, even if you are a bloody great rule-bender!

*raspberry*

[brothersgrim icons]

I with you completely agree.

P.S. Please review our icons for Windows 8