Wednesday, August 24, 2011


Sherlock writes:
It was a Monday morning, after the night before the night before that.  Watson was in good form, as usual, having sat too close to the fire and burned his backside once more. That man gets through more panties than a hoor in Limehouse.  Anyhoo, I was plagued by a recurring dream about digging holes.  Let them dig holes, Hudders said. But what was the question? I really hadn't the foggiest.  And then some street urchin would be given a spade and told to dig, deeper and deeper and deeper until the poor creature exploded, along with the hole and a trillion grains of earth would pelt the nearest robin, which in turn exploded with a tweet, but not before a deafening trill was unleashed over Baker Street.  And from the shadows emerged Moriarty in black bra and polo shorts.  He told me to dig a hole and so I did, the grimiest, slimiest, squidgiest hole anyone ever did dig, and I too exploded into a trillion zillion atoms which hurtled into a universe no larger than one of Toby's prize winning turds and I thought to myself... wake up, you're on fire!  And sure enough, smoke and flames were billowing from my nether regions and the stench of burnt tobacco and matches hung in the air.  The alarm was raised.  Watson and Hudders threw themselves at my door but budge it would not.  Not to put too fine a point on it, I thought I was toast.  I looked on in terror as the flames engulfed my pubic hair.  "Not my Freddy!" I yelled.  "Anything but my Freddy!"  And at the very moment when Freddy seemed all but lost, Watson and Hudders burst in with buckets of water which quickly doused the flames and Freddy was saved!  Singed but not stirred, he lived to rise another day.  I was mightily relieved, Watson was ecstatic, Hudders was pensive.  "Good grief, Holmes," said Watson, "that was a close one for Freddy, what, what, what!"  "Indeed it was, Watters," said I.  "'I think you'll find, Mr Holmes," said Hudders, "that my first aid training is going to come in very handy here."  Was it a dream?  Was it a fantasy?  Was it elementary?  I shall never know, but now when Hudders brings me my Horlicks afore slumbers, she winks at me ever so gently and says, "Let them dig holes." 

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