Author Topic: 'Chinaman' Chadwick  (Read 1346 times)

Offline Grognoth

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'Chinaman' Chadwick
« on: April 25, 2006, 01:53:24 PM »
 I make no apologies for the stupidty with which this was written. I wrote it some years ago and thought it might make a change from the more 'serious' stuff. Unfortunately, those of you who live beyond the shores of our tiny island, the UK, much of my 'toilet' humour will be lost. Some of you, maybe all of you, may think it entirely un-funny. However, for those of you who think otherwise, I salute you!

                                                              'Chinaman' Chadwick   



1948: the year was memorable for many reasons. For Lawrence ‘Chinaman’ Chadwick, it was the one year he would never forget.
It was said of Laurence ‘Chinaman’ Chadwick for many years that he was tighter than a duck’s rectal orifice. He was nicknamed Chinaman for the wishy-washy excuses he always made. For example, being late for school, missing lessons, then later in life, missing interviews, being late for work and excuses about how lipstick came to be on his trouser fly.
His advise on giving tips to waiters, was ‘never tip a waiter’. Indeed, only go to a restaurant when somebody else foots the bill: Lawrence never went to restaurants.
He read old newspapers (which other people had bought and discarded), and saved money by using glossy magazines for toilet paper. It was easier to wash the poo off and re-dry it than it was to use ordinary newsprint which, when wet, fell apart in his hands. A good quality Sunday supplement would wash several times and last about a month.
‘Chinaman’ Chadwick was the only son of an upper-middle, lower-class, non-working, criminally insane family.
His father, a bald septuagenarian, whose only vice was a six inch woodworking one that he kept beneath his pillow, was a semi retired dog handler at the local cattery in Bristlethwaite. Generations of Chadwicks had lived and died in Bristlehwaite, mainly because none of the family could ever find their way out.
His mother, Lulu, ran a home for lost Tibetan iguanas, a very rare, almost extinct, snow lizard. On a freezing cold night in the mountains of Tibet, the male Tibetan iguana would give out his shrill mating call. Within seconds, the female would answer “not yeti.” It was a rapidly declining breed
As a child, Lawrence attended Bristlethwaite school for Undernourished Poverty Stricken Pilgrims, founded by a relative of Geoffrey Chaucer, a Sir Cuppen Chaucer, who, in the late 16th century found fame and fortune selling tableware to the rich and famous.
Sir Cuppen had read of his cousin’s travels from Canterbury, and had been struck by the abject poverty suffered by the pilgrims accompanying Geoffrey on his pilgrimage.
Many of these wretches were so poor in health that they would hire themselves out to local farmers. Each pilgrim would stay in a field with a small flock of sheep, slowly and methodically picking out from the sheeps’ fleeces, tiny ticks. For many, this was the only food they could find, and it was cheaper for the farmer than sheep-dip.
Some pilgrims had with them, their disease ravaged children. It was these poor illegitimate, un-schooled urchins that played at the heart strings of their soon to be benefactor.
In his last will and testament, Sir Cuppen Chaucer left enough money for a small school to be built, and each child would be taught the three Rs: reading, ‘riting and rat catching. After all, they had to be fed, so it was impressed upon the young children to be self sufficient.
Unfortunately, within six months of the school opening, all the children were dead, either from the plague, or from having their scrawny young necks stretched on the gallows for thieving. The school soon fell into decline.
By chance, there happened to be a wealthy young man of good stock, Abraham Bistow. Abraham took it upon himself to arrange for children to be brought in from other poor places and he was to pay for the upkeep of the school. The teachers were overjoyed, and celebrated by lighting a fag, unfortunately, the boy died on the way to hospital. It was agreed that in return for the school’s upkeep, the brightest pupils would be set to work in a newly opened factory, owned by Mr. Bistow.
Abraham had invented a new brown coloured sauce which was poured over roasted meat and vegetables. The purpose of this was twofold. Firstly, the sauce disguised the smell of putrefied meat, and secondly, it drowned the maggots seething inside the meat.
Alas, Abraham had no name for his new sauce. Without a name it could not be sold. No advertisement for it could be placed at the local hostelry; “The Dog With Two Arses.”
Abraham stopped people in the muddy streets and asked them to sample his product. “What’s it called?” the people asked.
“Dunno really,” came the reply from the disillusioned Abraham.
“Well bugger offer then. If it ain’t got a name, then it ain’t no good.”
Abraham was at a loss. His business was showing a deficit, he was going broke. His beloved factory was soon to be in the hands of the receiver.
The day before this was due to happen, the bank manager paid Abraham a visit, but Abraham could not be found.
As he was about to leave, the bank manager noticed Abraham peering into a large vat of boiling liquid.
“Ah, Bistow,” cried the bank manager.
Abraham, deep in thought, was taken by surprise and, losing his balance, fell headlong into the frothy mixture.
His body was never recovered. Out of respect, the sauce, now greatly thickened, was used as a final tribute to a talented young man. On the Sunday after the tragic accident, this new substance, now called Bistow gravy, in honour of Abraham, was poured over many plates of roast meat and vegetables. These meals were then given to the poor and needy.
“Well stone me!” said one old woman as she tasted her meal. Then, as she lay dying, a half ton of rubble having been thrown at her head, she continued, “that was beautiful” and then she died. But the factory and the upkeep of the school was saved for ever.
Laurence Chadwick was proud of his knowledge about his school’s history. He would tell jokes about how you could still taste the blood of Abraham Bistow, but in reality, it was the blood of under-done beef which oozed out of the meat and gave the gravy a reddish tint.
At the age of 11, Lawrence cheated at his exams and entered grammar-school. It was during this period of his life that earned him the nick-name ’Chinaman.’
He would spend much of his time hanging around the girls’ quarters, and when seen by a prefect or master, would come up with outlandish excuses. His favourite, of which many variations existed was, “I’m standing by this girl’s open window at 9:00pm because I saw a maggot the size of a chimney pot enter her room, and I came over to protect her, especially as she was standing naked by her bed and you know how dangerous giant maggots can be.”
The strangest thing was, it seemed that Chadwick believed he could get away with it, even though his underpants and trousers were around his ankles!
His expulsion from the school came as no surprise. There he stood, in front of the school principle, his head firmly stuck inside a chicken’s backside, broken eggs and excrement littering his shoulders.
“Well boy, what have you got to say for yourself this time?” asked the head master as he thrashed the back of a leather chair with a 3 ft long birch cane.
 “I was trying to get laid sir,” came the muffled reply.
The cracking sound of birch on a bare bum filled the air. The school governors regretted burying the chicken and expelling Chadwick. Too late, they realised that it would have been better to have buried Chadwick and expelled the chicken.
The newspapers had a field day. “Shell shocked teachers have egg on their faces over randy thicko.” And, “Eggciting news about fowl deed,” were just two of many headlines.
All this happened some years and a number of pathetic jobs and even more pathetic excuses, before 1948. The change which affected Lawrence ‘Chinaman’ Chadwick’s life came when the Member of Parliament for Bristletwaite died in the January of 1948. Being a filthy lying git, it seemed only natural for Laurence to enter into the world of politics.
His legacy lives on even to this day.

                                                                      The End

Grognoth




Offline poxole

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Re: 'Chinaman' Chadwick
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