Marty
(In
memory of Rik Mayall)
The circumstances were most odd. It
was just like the day when Marty had a fit. Someone had given him a retro
kettle a year ago and, instead of whistling as intended, the thing had started
belching. The back door was swollen with the rains and needed a yank to shut
properly. We were in the lounge discussing the news, Marty was standing by the
door smoking a cigarette, and the kettle was on the boil. Marty finished his
cigarette just as the kettle started to spit. He danced inside with a flurry,
heaving the door with almighty yanks, but it still wouldn’t shut and the kettle
was belching and farting like a volcano. “Oh God!” he said. “Nothing… bloody…
works!” And he fell to the floor, beat the carpet with both fists, and died.
Just like that. We all laughed at the time. He was such a drama queen.
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