Written by Renee Bernard, Vonda Norwood and Danny Kemp.
Last week we were left with Spot and Myrtle about to make their way to London and rescue Brenda, would be QUEEN OF WALES, from Newgate Prison. What follows is not nice, so please take care when reading!
Myrtle, I and Seamus, (that’s the shire horses’ name, I chose it, good eh!) are camped outside Newgate Prison. I now have the time to copy the full message from Myrtle’s mum, Brenda. I think you should see it in its entirety. (I like that word….A LOT)
If you get bored, reading this drivel, whistle the tune to, It’s a long way to Tipperary, it may help. Ask Sherry to sit beside you whilst you read, dear one. Her company might be soothing.
The Dirty Dozen and your dear sweet mum are in Newgate Prison, Myrtle. There is talk of taking us to Tyburn Tree and stretching our necks! We need your help. All our phones were confiscated but luckily, Phyllis The Pigeon, your grandmother’s best friend, had this bird hidden about her person. Never ask me where, dear child; NEVER! I have used my cell’s pillowcase to write this note with my favorite ruby-red, gloss lipstick.
I pray on all the daffodil heads in Wales that someone sees this arrive in Phyllis’s dovecote and….quickly. The straw from the pillow is getting tangled in my hair.
This is what happened to us.
It was half-past six, I had just swallowed a mouthful of the chunky white bulb, from the last dried leek, when an ominous hush rolled from the back of the truck and swept through to the front. I hoisted my bosom from the steering wheel, dropped them on my lap and then my meaty, pink palms took control of the wheel.
Yes, dear Myrtle, three weeks after we headed out, I finally turned that brown rectangle UPS van onto the land called, England.
We drove for two whole minutes before we finally saw a pub. I parked the truck, Mack held open the back doors, and then two-hours later we were ready for the thirty-minute event of street crossing and constantly pausing for breath.
Safely on the other side of the road, and after all the silver heads were accounted for, Mack opened the pub’s door.
Everyone of those English people gasped with great awe as I made my entrance. My powerful hips jiggled and bounced as I strolled my magnificent bold example of true womanhood up that English pub’s aisle… Tables toppled and ale spilled… The Dirty Dozen filed in behind me.
The pub goers hopped to their feet and held their silence in an obvious show of respect for my royal presence. I mounted the first bar stool I came to, and then I climbed it. That damn English oak seat snapped like a twig when I sprung from the chair and plopped my extensively, impressive backside on top of the counter.
You should have seen those English eyes widen when I told them of their fate, “I am Brenda, and I am here to collect your cash!”
The crowd shook their heads and mumbled obscenities. The Dirty Dozen surrounded them, while I continued, “Soon I shall be Queen of Wales and you lot are going to pay for the coronation, oh, and the cake!”
The whole lot of pub goers stepped forward and then toward the exit, but your grandmother threw herself in front of the door lifted her skirt, and then the group jumped back as that fox wrap around her neck snarled and snapped.
I raised my voice, “Listen up!” And then, just as I suspected from the very beginning, Mack sauntered to the middle of the room, he reached into his brown leather Chaps and then he pulled out his weapon!
Oh, the English were in shock but not half as much as my army of grannies whose jaws dropped. I grinned and said, “I told you it was only a gun.”
To the sounds of regretful groans, I continued with my declaration of intentions to raise funds,
“The men of Wales never tire, they never back down and they never stop training for that stupid sport called, rugby!” The Dirty Dozen clutched the hems of their wool skirts…
“Yes, rugby pays better than the army… And yes, it is easier to crush you English in sport, rather than on the high seas, but I WANT TO BE QUEEN!” It was then that The Dirty Dozen lifted their woolly hems! The Englishmen hid their eyes behind their hands, they gasped and they moaned and they screamed and they cried about shame, as one of them did a whole lot of whaling!
I chuckled hard and loud, granny’s stole growled and that crowd sneered at Mack as he filled his sack.
“Pay up and pay big, it’s the only way out that door!” I told them.
I’m proud to say we collected two hundred pounds that night, and then at the second pub, we got three hundred and twenty-one pound fifty pence. I stamped hard on the foot of the miser who only gave the fifty pence!
On our way to London, word of our traveling show, that the English had dubbed, “Shocking and Disturbed,” got around quick! They were terrified, Myrtle! All of them, scared to death! In London they had watchers and they had runners… All I had to do was put the truck in park and then men who were built like tanks approached my skinny door, they tossed envelopes filled with 100’s in pounds at my face, and then they ran away.
Raising funds for war couldn’t be easier!
After all the hard work, shopping in Bicester, near Oxford was where I wanted to take the grannies for a change in clothing. But The Dirty Dozen, aimed their long hard leeks at my head and insisted we stop at Angels in Shaftesbury Avenue instead! While inside, being fitted in Ladies-of-the-Evening pleasure gowns, I sat in the truck with my new notebook. I did an internet search and found the cheapest arms dealer in the whole wide world.
Well Myrtle dear, seems one can search the internet and find most anything for sale, but turns out it’s not legal to order assorted military weapons from Russia. Yes… Yes, Russia! They offered tons of big guns and their stuff was really, really cheap! Oh my God, Myrtle… they were having a SALE!
The internet search engine gave me the name and web address belonging to, UndercoverAndIntelligent. That name elated my womanly sensitivities… I sure thought he’d someday be a sweet treat to greet for a bite to eat. But then not two minutes after I made the deal with that delicious name for a man, The Dirty Dozen marched out of Angles. They were a fabulously frightening sight to behold… I knew London would be totally defenceless against the Shocking and Disturbed group of elderly women, who were dressed like hookers and drag queens from the Roaring 1920s. My chest swelled with pride while watching them inch their cautious way across the road and toward the truck. But then…
No fewer than five helicopters were above our heads, Bobbies stood shoulder to shoulder lining both sides of the street! Then came soldiers and agents from British Intelligence. The Dirty Dozen were surrounded in the middle of the designated crossing area AND… with the traffic signal about to turn red! The women grabbed for their lacy teddies and satin underwear, but the Bobbies tasered them and then they handcuffed them…all the while… I struggled to squeeze my poorly lubricated arms and hips through that stupid truck’s crack.
Oh yes… Yes, they came at me too… They came fast and they came hard… armed with tasers and stun guns. They tasered me, they stunned me, and they even shot pellets at my teeth! And to make matters even more uncomfortable, they threw spike strips down in front of my feet. But nothing was going to stop me, Myrtle! I was invincible!
I was on my way to conquering the English and becoming Queen of the Isle of the Mighty! But then the firemen showed up…
Hard to resist a man who aims at you, such a big and long weapon that, which once turned on, grows in length and firms in width! Oh my God… I was mesmerised and seduced into removing my clothes and then I just stood there like a docile hippo, while they hosed me off with their powerful spray which wiped away the 2-inches of motor oil along with that overpowering stench!
Yeah well, now I’m butt naked, hogged tied and laying on my back on a cold cell floor. You need to grab your English Spot, find some money and come to London and bail me out!… Myrtle… Help me and The Dirty Dozen. WE NEED YOU!
After this arduous, tiring journey all the way from Wales, Spot has the muscular build as good as any trained athlete in the world and the strength of Hercules. I plan to pull down the walls of Jericho, I mean Newgate Prison with only Seamus to help me. If that fails then I will ride Seamus through the Streets of London naked, and plea for mercy.
Have you any advice for Spot, Auntie, before I begin this venture?
Once more into the breech… Let’s tackle this with some common sense, shall we? Criminals are largely behind prison walls for very good reasons and in the case of your Welsh friend with a penchant for treason, highway robbery and streaking, I should think prison suits her beautifully. She can be Queen of Newgate and make many new acquaintances during her stay.
In other words, you, my fit and handsome boy, should absolutely and under No Circumstances, commit the crime of assisting in a prison break. Park the horse, climb down gracefully, and make yourself a sandwich. It is a new culinary invention and one that I am assured, makes any occasion seem better.
I dislike this Brenda woman for many reasons, one of which is her vulgar obsession with the cost of items and use of the word “sale”. A lady would never delight in things that are “cheap” lest she reveal to her neighbors that she has no good grasp of gracious economy and the quality pieces that a good home requires. Not that I would ever decorate my parlour with Russian weapons! Goodness, what a notion! (I did know a lady who allowed her husband to place various ancestral swords all over the walls but I will tell you honestly that dining in her home was like trying to eat in an armory and most unsettling to the digestion!)
I recommend soothing syrups as a gift to your friend’s mother. Perhaps her hysterics will pass after a sizable snort to calm her nerves… but in any case, my advice stands unchanged. You are NOT to do more than offer a care package and you are NEVER to thwart the law and assist these grannies in an escape of any kind.
P.S. I am truly thrilled to hear of your new physique and hope that you will apply the same effort to your character to match it. You resemble a hero but now you must demonstrate the heart of one. (And continue to wear pants.)
Will Spot heed this cherished maven’s advice? Will the Streets of fair London Town be running amok with naked grannies? Will Seamus stand the shame and who the hell is Mack?
Tune into Female First for next weeks episode.