Gettin’ strong nowwwwww
Written by Clivey Dee
Harsh & hilarious smudges by The Artful Dodger
Scene One: The public bar of The Blind Beggar public house in Whitechapel East London. The lads are seated at a corner table. Clivey seems troubled and appears to be in pensive mood.
You alright Clivey mate? You seem troubled and appear to be in pensive mood son.
No I’m not alright as it goes Gaz. I’m troubled and in pensive mood for a very good reason squire.
I knew it mate! I knew you were troubled and in pensive mood! What is it bruv? What’s making you so troubled and pensive me old china plate?
It’s us mate. Have you seen the state of us lately? We’re slap bang out of shape moosh. Our bodies are a complete shambles. If it wasn’t for our knives and shooters we wouldn’t be able to knock the skin off a rice pudden. We need to whip our cockney arses into shape a bit lively or people will start liberty taking. We’ll end up getting mugged off left, right and bastard centre son.
I hear you bruv but what’s to be done chief? How can we turn around our shameful, physical reversal?
Weights son. Weights and Steradent. Anabolic Steradent! We need to hit the gym and start shifting the iron furniture my son. Coupled with the Steradent we’ll be in superb nick in just a few days, trust me.
I thought Steradent was for false teeth Clivey. I thought it was for cleaning the old false Hampsteads.
It is Gaz but it’s also for building up the physique son. You inject Steradent into your arse cheeks and within days you end up looking like that Arnold Swarthyknickers out of Conan The Librarian.
Arnold? That’s a foreign name aint it mate? Is he a foreign geezer then?
Yeah. He comes from Lambeth son. He’s got a little one-bedroom drum in The Palace Road.
Exactly mate, but if we want to shape up and start looking like ‘im, we need to take drastic action. No pain no grain squire. Listen son, if we knuckle down and get this little job squared away, before you know it we’ll have shedloads of naked blart flocking round us like good uns. They’ll be absolutely begging us to cop a feel of their threepenny bits mate. They’ll be showing us their Alan Whickers before you can say Janet Reger!
Blart you say son? Blimey!
Naked blart Gaz. Naked blart.
Righto Clivey, we’ll get stuck in to the old weights a bit lively then. When are we going to start geezer?
The New Year Gaz. There’s no point in rushing these things chief. We’ll tuck into the grog and the fish suppers for a few more months to get our strength up, and then on the 1st of January, we’ll take some Steradent and steam into the heavy poundages son. After a few days of that we’ll be like two brick shithouses. We wont need to carry our tools anymore either. We’ll be so massive we’ll be able to give our sworn enemies a top drawer clumping using just our hands mate.
No tools? What about my spiked, electrified cosh mate? I bloody love that one!
Yeah I see what you mean mate. It’s become a real part of you down the years has your spiked, electrified cosh. It’s a bit like me and me poison-tipped Stanley Blade in that respect. Tell you what Gaz, we’ll keep em, but we’ll only use em on special occasions. Birthdays, anniversaries, an away win for West Ham, that sort of thing son.
Sweet as a nut Clivey! Fancy another livener sheriff?
Yeah fuck it, go on then son, and while you’re up there get us a steak and onion pie and a pickled egg.
Gaz goes to the bar and returns looking troubled and in pensive mood.
What is it Gaz? You seem troubled and in pensive mood squire
They’ve run out of pickled eggs Clivey
For the sake of any filthy colonials, rebellious Scots or non-cockney rhyming slang speakers who may be reading this. “Irons” is London slang for gentlemen of a homosexual persuasion or “Iron Hoofs” as we fondly call them.