[Untold Tales Pic]
[Last Of The Flowering Tops] Last Of The Flowering Tops

Johnny Darkly

Short stories and prose poems from the infamous Cutup Jars. Genuine ethnic yorkshire coldwar cutup stuffff! Written in 1981 in Holmfirth, Yorkshire at the same time as the filming of the BBC series 'Last of The Summer Wine'. Thanks to Hugh, Jane, Wig, Walklett, Totties Pete, Cactus Jack, Dave Howlings, the bookies, the bikers, the tree-huggers, the goat-lovers, Nigel Hinchliffe's missus ("It is what it is") & everyone at The Nook, not forgetting The Flowering Tops Themselves!

Divine Intervention Now!

At last the night had come and the nuns were all in bed. Mary drifted unseen from the dormitory window and floated out across the divine landscape. Golden hair streamed out behind and the pounding of her heart mingled with the heavy beat of angel's wings that filled the air.
She entered the stable, cautiously moving past the ox and the lamb to where the donkey stood waiting beside the altar. She lay across it, legs dangling either side, and reached out to guide the massive shaft deep into the uncensored hardcore of her body. Her mind buzzed crazily with thoughts of a froglike god and the powerful loins of zeus. God was her thrash punk metal and she thrilled to the surge of the electric seed which swelled her belly till she thought it must burst. The pinkmeat seemed to fill her brain as her body juddered to a full colour climax making her cry out in religious frenzy.
She had always believed in Divine Intervention and now she had actually experienced it for herself. The Star of Bethlehem hung heavy overhead, and it seemed to Mary that she would soon be going, either: On A Most Extremely Dangerous Mission from which she may never return, Or: On A Long And Beautiful Journey To The End of Time Itself.
Adjusting her tousled green habit, she pointed her powerful beak to the stars and launched herself from the parapet.

(illustration: Sue Swift)
[Divine Intervention]

[It Must Be God] A very strange thing happened that night. Doris and Betty were walking the street when they heard a very strange sound which seemed to come from the sky itself. They stopped at once and stared intently at each other as if the meaning of the mysterious sound lay somewhere in the other's face. At last it ceased, and neither being any the wiser, they remained a while longer to see if it would begin again.
Finally Betty broke the awful silence.
"It must be God", she said, shrugging her shoulders and laughing nervously. She bent forward and kissed Doris tenderly goodnight upon the top of her head before walking on alone.
Turning the corner of the street where she lived, she walked SMACK!! into an enormous pair of quivering wet lips which sucked her up the long fleshy love-tube and out of sight.


They sat sunning themselves lazily on the lush green banks of the Guadalquivir, watching as the smooth green waters slid peacefully past.
He covered her golden body with little reptile kisses, red, flickering tongue darting lightly over her infected parts and the great round swelling of her belly.
The summersounds buzzed through the trees and the tall grasses bowed their heads before the gentle breeze as the evening drew on, and the last survivors of the Planet Earth rolled over together in a warm sticky embrace.

Welcome To The Sump

The wind battered relentlessly against the ancient portals of Cranium Lodge. Inside, deep in the darkened bowels of the old house, the assembled Stumpies sat huddled around their meagre fire. There was barely enough light in the Great Hall to illuminate the rounded bulk and magnificent stumps of old Amos Thripp as he rose slowly to his feet.
"Friends!" he bellowed. "Fellow Stumpies!!!" He paused a while to survey his audience shocked from their melancholic and somnambulent state by this sudden and unexpected outburst.
"For many years now..." He continued, "For many years now our people have travelled the face of the Earth. We have traversed the terrible and yet scorched deserts. We have ridden the backs of the terrible yet enormous frogs. We have journeyed even so far as unto the vastness of the wastelands of yet petrified ratshits!!"
Thripp's oratory was legendary and the Stumpies nodded their silent assent, their minds filled with the adventures and adversities of their nomadic life.
"Yes my friends", continued the great man, his voice strained with powerful emotion, "All these things have we done. But I tell you now that the time has come to say ENOUGH!!" Amos pivoted suddenly on his heel and brought his crutch smashing down upon the speaker cabinet which exploded instantly with a great flash and a bang. "TO-MAA-AA-ATO!!" he screamed, toplung, above the electronic din.
It was an absolute SENSATION!
The crowd went crazywild, all screaming "TOMATO!!" at the tops of their voices and battling with each other in a ferocious attempt to smash their crutches on whatever came to hand. Falling blindly over each other in their frenzy. Somehow they all instinctively realized that the long-awaited time of 'The Greatness' was at hand. And long into that night the shadows of powerful stumps could be seen dancing crazed and twisted patterns across the ancient walls and ceilings of Cranium Lodge.

Later that night Amos turned to his wife Lobelia and said:
"You've just got no idea what this bed is like". He wallowed in the luxurious feel of downy softness around him. "You've just got no idea what this bed is like!" He said again.
With a sigh and for the third time that night Lobelia turned towards her famous husband.
"But I HAVE, dear. I HAVE. I'm in here WITH YOU! Remember?" She explained patiently.
He sat up and stared at her intently for several seconds, searching her face for obvious signs of insanity.

It was Christmas Day and the snow lay thick in the valley, muffling every sound. There, in the house, the ancestral portrait scowled as a young boy tripped and stumbled down the stairs. His small slit eyes widened visible to find the Living Place littered with brightly coloured packages and the dead brown fern bush in the corner adorned with tiny candles.
The boy turned with customary awkwardness towards his aged grandparent.
"W-W-W-What's all thon'uns Grandad?" He stammered in amazement.
Grandad regarded him heavily, knitting his bushlike brows and curling his lip.
"It's from 'im ut North Pole, lad", growled the old man.
"T-T-T N-North Pole, Grandad?"
"Aye Lad, North Pole. Dun't tha' know owt, thi daft little bugger!" Grandad cuffed him heavily around the ear.
Meanwhile outside, exhausted and heavy with child, a young woman stood looking up at the ancient motto which creaked high above the ancient gates of Cranium Lodge:

Twenty years later, as the snow was falling down, a young man was standing at the big table, his adopted family all sitting round about smiling at him. It is his birthday.
Outside the snow blanketed the small wooden grave where his mother lay next to somebody's grandfather. Twenty years she had lain there, since giving birth.
Through the thickly barred windows Carlos could just make out the dim lights of the Village Hall, and hear the sounds of the brass band practising for winter. How he wished he could be down there with the rest of the lads playing his bassoon.
Later that night, after the speeches, he turned to two people and told then he loved them as much as he ever could have loved his real parents, and large tears worried his eyes. He told them that he must run away to join the Prison Service. They nodded, for even though he was only nineteen they could see that he already had a small bald patch beneath his severed head hat.
"Ga-Ga... " He ran on, "...Aar wee twinkl today to lark a reet yarn. Oo'zell 'ave it stamps my flower. Knuckles cunt'ole high goon saw like jaw les prisonieres..."
"Aiee, lad", Saith interjected, "Unt frit thizun lahk ma soop in understanding thi mar goon. Cum up lahk! Tis yon feather intit? Thi tinhole your dad, that ointment tit!"
"EEEIIAIEEEE!!!!" Carlos plummeted instantly to the ground.
"Ah's bin bred upset, lad, ween 'er nose thi fatter bottom knowledge; Ee' wa' Baden Powell, uzgurn naa's pardee lack vietnam, the abandoned hut murder, lahk wenny. What she wailin' the pub last thing ut night, only knows it lahk wailer. Molester fatten years gan otter, off shitty non the step interunderpants. And this is Yage ut Strain!"
On hearing this startling news about his unknown father, Carlos determined to seek him out.
High above the gate, the ancient motto creaked:

She crouched over him as he sat in the bath, her pendulous breasts slapping at the sides of his head. Then easing her way up, she straddled atop his balsalmed bald patch, grinding her muff down hard upon his skull. The creamy wet labia slid effortlessly over his ears as she eased herself lower and lower until at last they closed tight around his neck almost squeezing the life out of him.
The next day he packed his pictures of Betty Grable's Legs securely in the bottom of his knapsack, together with a hamster sandwich left over from the previous night's celebrations. Then, after scrawling a few well-chosen lines from the bible in bright orange lipstick across the hall mirror, he set off in search of his long-lost father.
When she read the note that young Carlos had left, Dolly prayed with all her heart:
"Oh Lord, pleases to give him all the strength to lionelbarrymore all his enemies, et aussi la puissance necessaire. Amen"

Night Of The Lupins

A young girl runs terrified through the fields of lupins in the dead of the night. Her white dress is pleasantly revealing, torn and soiled from where she has fallen. She cries once more for help and rubs her swollen ankle, but there is nobody to hear. She scrambles to her feet and struggles on, away from the sinister house and the thing that pursues her with great twitchings and scratchings.

The mexican sun beat down heavily upon the fields of lupins stretching away to the horizon. All the while Miss Elizabeth lay up at the Big House taking tea with the mysterious but somehow ruggedly handsome doctor. If only she had known then what she knew now: that the ruggedly handsome doctor was secretly engaged upon a series of dangerous experiments involving the use of live animals and hormones, and that these experiments had gone terribly wrong causing the unfortunate man to turn into an enormous vampire rabbit. Further, his terrible secret had been discovered by an unscrupulous white slaver who is blackmailing him into supplying him with young girls who are drugged and shipped out to Russia.
The beautiful Miss Bennet has gone to this lonely house on the moortop because she has become suspicious of the doctor's mad practices and hopes to discover the truth behind the mysterious disappearance of her sister.

A flicker of fear travels across the young doctor's noble features. His father had often chided him about biting the hand that feeds and he knew that he would be struck off for certain if anyone found out about the biting and the drugging of patients.
But now, seeing her standing there in the doorway, all he wanted to do was to touch her, to run his hands over those tight wet curves, to place his mouth over her mouth and taste the warm moist breath inside her.
"Miss Bennet, how good of you to come all this way." He led her into the spacious drawing room.
"Please sit down Miss Bennet, or may I call you Elizabeth?"
"Please do, Mr Cunningham."
"Oh, Carlos, please."
She smiled a strange knowing smile.
"Now tell me Miss Bennet, what can I do for you?"
"Gin will be fine, thank you."
He laughed and handed her the drink before making his excuses and leaving the room.
While he is gone Eliza wanders the drug-crazed passages of the old house in search of clues to her sister's whereabouts. In the course of this investigation she stumbles upon the mutilated body of the housekeeper and faints to the ground.
Carlos returns and stands looking down at her perfect but crimped figure as she lay, small and defenceless at his feet. He is consumed with the rage of misunderstood genius.
"One day we will ALL have completely new bodies, Miss Bennet!" Skillful fingers manipulate the fastenings of her dress as he spoke. While he greases her now naked body with a thick white paste his rage subsides and his face becomes a tortured mass of conflicting emotions. Torn between his lust for blood and the ecer-increasing awareness that he is falling in love with her.
Was it possible? Could he change? Could he leave his practice? The experiments? And the house had had loved since a child? Did he dare? Could he start a new life with her? Would she still accept him once she knew the truth? Could they be happy in Spitzbergen?
He decided it was worth the risk. He gathered her gently in his strong furry arms and walked to the boathouse where the submarine would be waiting for him.
Suddenly Carlos plummeted to the ground.

"Ars bin liner, arbiter lagrimae, non est pater. Botticelli negligee, aid baden powell, serum of nasal perfidy; lack of vitamin especial, hot monkey lacquered cod sniffs and casts aside the puckered aborigine of chaos. In laudit caiter, Molestia Interunderpants!!!"


The Strange Apotheosis Of Adolf Hitler

It was my last night on Earth and you made me see what man must never see.
The hour was frighteningly late and I lay still in my bed, listening. I could not get rid of the idea that someone was prowling around downstairs. Lying perfectly still, hardly daring to breathe, my ears strained for the slightest of sounds.
At last I could stand it no longer. Rising as quietly as possible, I tiptoed downstairs. Opening the door slowly, I tiptoed into the dark.
I wish now that I had never done so, for what I saw there was more than mortal flesh can endure. I was transfixed with fear, rooted to the spot, unable to utter a single cry for help.
Slowly it extended a long tentacle-like appendage (with modifications) towards me and, ever-so-gently, sucked out all my brains.


"I'm telling you, Spode, it's preposterous! Totally and utterly preposterous!"
A single hand cleaved the air in a supreme gesture of contempt.
"You make a mountain out of a molehill, my dear Anus."
"But can you seriously be asking me to believe that Sir Charles was not in fact a highly esteemed and respected member of Her Majesty's Government, but instead some kind of weird creature, half-man, half-fish, that came from another planet sometime back in Earth's prehistory?"
"But he was a Mason!" Anus protested.
Spode touched his cock.

[Hush] The Great Hush

He entered the room silently and evenly as if on roller skates. Their nervous twitching eyes were drawn irresistably to the mark of the rope on his neck.
"Do you mind if I sit between you with my infection?" He asked politely, reaching over to switch off the television.
A great silence descended upon the room. They sat still and rigid, hardly daring to breathe, unable to tear their eyes away from the blank screen.
He could sense immediately the panic he had caused. The room filled with a rising tide of hysteria which grew stronger with the passing of each silent second.
To calm his nerves he hummed a few snatches of an old tune that his mother used to sing to him whenever he was upset or afraid. Even after all these years he could still remember her voice:
'I love the Mediterranean, When it's clear and blue,
No-oo float-ers, No-oo float-ers...'

"I think it was a bad idea to switch off the TV", His hostess said later when the others had left.
He regarded her curiously. She was the kind of woman you could easily wrestle to the ground. Later, at home, he would add this information to her file.

Makimbo & Putney

Makimbo am floater thru the wish I'd learnt to juggle like the omar rashid of bacon when, soddit, he wakes upon the intestines of the three ugly sisters, Amnesia, Diptheria and Vaseline.
"One day", They speak in a croaking old voice, "One day", They begin again, "You, Makimbo, You and all your seed shall be The Bastard of Rectum!"
Makimbo cannot believe what all these people are saying to him, for it has always been his greatest yarn that one day he might hold swede upon the land all over as 'His Holiness, The Bastard of Rectum'.
But before his dearest may be consumed he must first blast the sodden heath of Putney. He does this during a ghostly lunch, when suddenly all the trees start to walk towards his castle mumbling armie talk.
"Is this a dagger I am seeing?" He screams to his daft wife who dances a looney dance. He cannot understand this and so hurls her from the battlement before drinking the poison in memory of his dead son and noble friend, the murdered Putney.


Bagged Gazunga 1991 Chrysanthemum 49.16742 1992 Cafe of Dinosaurs 1992 The World Tastes of Arsenal 1992 Terms and Contradictions 1993 The OS Report 1997 Last Will and Restaurant 1999 In the Days of The Land of Cockaigne 1999 Untitled 2000