It was just another boring Lockdown day.
I sat, drinking coffee in the lounge and chilling, wondering if we were ever gonna get out of this mess.
And then, something quite out of the ordinary happened...
I heard a horrid gurgling sound, like a tramp's arse after eating an artichoke.
I looked up, my face rumpling with disgust.
What could this be, this horrible mucal sounding, drain emptying noise?
Was a large rat drowning in a carelessly discarded Micky D's milkshake?
Had a sinkhole suddenly appeared under the local swamp and was at this moment emptying it with a gleeful and thoroughly fetid burpy burbling?
Had my ex-girlfriend went to the vet about her claggy fanny and was Mr Animal Doctor, right at this moment applying suction?
It was none of these things.
Instead, it was the Little Lady. She was ever so sweetly snorgling some snot from her nose onto her sleeve.
Excuse me, young lady? We do not wipe our noses on our sleeves. Use a tissue please.
I said, rather snootily as if the wind were whipping at my skirts whilst watching the races.
UGH! No Daddy. Don't you know anything? We are not meant to be touching our faces with our hands and stuff because of the coronavirus?!
The Little Lady retorted with disdain.
I gazed at her impassively.
So. This was it. The moment had finally come. Rebellion. Open rebellion in the house that Boom built.
Rebellion.
There was nothing for it. It had to be...
FLYING KICK!!
BOOM!!
Up into the air I flew, my extended foot catching her straight upside the head knocking her cold to the ground.
I landed lightly on my feet. The cold sneer on my face worthy of Avon after giving Servalan a damn good futuristic space shagging.
I heard a noise behind me and whipped around.
It was the Good Lady.
Oh my god, what have you done, you've flying kicked our daughter in the head. Are you INSANE!?
She raged at me.
What was this? Was I being cheeked? In my own house? By mine own wife? This was abominable?!
There only one response to that.
FLYING KICK!!
BOSH!!
The Good Lady bounced off a wall after my flying kick slapped her sideways into oblivion. I dropped to an animalistic crouch and leered at her prone body beside me.
Nobody questions the flying kick.
At that, the doorbell rang.
Oho?
I swung the door open wide only to see a young feller a couple of paces away with a box of vegetables and fruit. By his feet were two big cartons of creamy milk.
Alright mate. Got your Veg and Milk delivery!
The young goose honked.
Aye aye. What was this? Was it just me or was this young baboon ever so slightly too close to my doorstep?
Hadn't he heard of the two-meter distance rule?
I shook my head in disgust. I could only think of one way to sort this out...
FLYING KICK!
BADOOMF!
Like a lightning bolt made entirely of manly flesh my foot slammed through his so-called vegetables and caved in his weak birdlike chest.
He crashed to the floor, one leg spasmodically kicking out and tipping over the milk which burst in a sea of creamy white horror over my feet.
MILK?!!?
What the flaming fuck?!
FLYING KI...
Daddy-Bear, wake up? Wake up! You were making the most awful grunting noises in your sleep?
The Good Lady sat beside me on the bed, a smirky smile on her face.
I rubbed my eyes and groaned.
How you feeling?
She asked.
Blegh. Rubbish.
I responded groggily.
Rubbish? After your big long sleep? Ha! You must be getting old.
She chortled.
I stared at her in outrage. Getting old? Me!?! How very dare she? There was only one suitable reply to this.
FLYING KICK!!
