Tag Archives: Clivey & Gaz

Clivey & Gaz in: Doin’ Time

 

Clive and Gaz - Trotter Van 1

Feloniously written by Gary “Mr Knuckles” Hoadley. Angelically edited by Clivey “Baby Face” Dee, aged 19.

 

Clivey and Gaz, are residents of Her Majesty’s Prison, Steeple Bumstead. They occupy  Cell 23 on “The Ones”, in which, the following discourse takes place

 

“We’ve done it now Clivey”
“Yeah, bludy five years”
“I thought they would give us two and a half each”
“Not that “Hanging” Judge Judy mate, she’s a right steel magnolia”
“Yeah Clivey, a right steel magnet. Still, I suppose that’s what you get when you rob Buckingham Palace”
“You told me Gaz, that the crown jewels were under the bed”
“Well Clivey, that’s what unreliable Ronnie told me”
“Still, we weren’t to know Prince Philip was in bed”
“Nah, shame he rolled off onto that Corgi”
“Gave the Queen the right hump Gaz”
“I thought she was going to have our heads Clivey”
“Them soldiers in the big hats gave us a chase Gaz”
“Oh, was they hats? I thought it was their haircuts Clivey”
“Now, we ‘ave got to be careful in here Gaz”
“Why’s that Clivey?”
“Too many people running to the screws telling tales”
“You are right Clivey, I overheard the gardening party talking about
a Jewish informer”
“What’s his name Gaz?”
“Mo The Grass”
“Fuck’s sake”
“We need an escape plan Gaz”
“Where we going to escape to Clivey?”
“Spain Gaz, Spain”
“Which one is nearer?”
“Do what?”
“Out of the two Spains you mentioned. Which is the closest?”
“I wonder about you sometimes Gaz”
“Cheers mate”
“Where can we get a rope, a hacksaw, and a ladder?”
“Under my bed Clivey”
“Under your bed Gaz?”
“Yeah”
“How did you manage to smuggle them in Gaz?”
“Under my hat Clivey”
“You don’t have a hat Gaz”
“Blimey, it’s lucky they didn’t spot them then Clivey”…

That night, the two lads begin sawing at the bars in their peter.
When the coast is clear, they sling the rope out into the abyss
and began to climb down…

“It’s a long way down Clivey”
“I know mate. I thought we were on the ground floor Gaz”
“Maybe they got a basement Clivey”
“Knowing our luck, it’s next door to a zoo”
“Can you hear growling Gaz?”
“I thought it was your stomach mate”

The lads hit the ground with a thud.
In front of them, lies a huge lion, sleeping…

“I knew it! It’s a fuckin zoo Gaz!”
“Ere, look at that lion, how we going to get past him?”
“I will show you Gaz”

With that, Clivey takes a step back, and kicks the lion
in the testicles as hard as he can. As he’s running
away, he turns and shouts to Gaz…

“Gaz! Run like fuck before it gets up!”
“Sod off! I’m not running anywhere mate! After all, it wasn’t me that kicked him in the bollocks”…

Curtain falls

Clivey & Gaz are currently appearing at Bow Street Magistrates Court, charged with affray, going equipped, resisting arrest, possession of an illegal firearm, and watching BBC iPlayer without a licence

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There Now Follows A Party Election Broadcast On Behalf Of The Gratuitous Violence Party…

vote for clivey

“Your blood on our safe hands”

With only hours until the polling stations open, we, at the Gratuitous Violence Party, would like to issue some last minute veiled threats  advice on why a vote for us would be a vote for a better Britain.

Here are just a few of the pledges we make to the British electorate if we have emerged victorious by this time tomorrow:

1. Every jewellers shop and diamond merchant the length and breadth of the land will be compelled by law (or force) to leave their doors and safes open after close of business.

2. The British police force will be disbanded by the beginning of next week at the latest.

3. Millwall FC’s football stadium and surrounding neighbourhood will be bombed into the stone age just hours after we enter Downing Street while West Ham FC will be awarded the Premier League title and the FA Cup, year in, year out, until we say stop.

4. All West London night clubs, strip joints and casinos will go into sole private ownership (ours)

5. Any WordPress blogger caught using ridiculously excessive superlatives to describe the decidedly average output of somebody who regularly does the same for their own tawdry, ill-conceived scribblings, will be dragged into the street and shot…twice.

6. There is no sixth thing.

Finally, we faithfully pledge that anybody that we suspect may not have voted for us will be given a free tour of Big Gaz’s Basement Of Pain-Wracked Regret. (tyre irons and electrical equipment available for hire on arrival). Relatives or next of kin will be expected to collect any remains at their own expense.

We therefore, threaten urge you most strongly to give us your support today friends. If you want to see a Britain where the cosh and the switchblade knife hold sway and where every citizen dives under the table, shaking like a shitting dog every time there’s a knock on the door, then the Gratuitous Violence Party is for you! So don’t delay, save yourself and your loved ones from a beating today!

Vote GVP for a bloodier Britain!…or else!

Clivey (Gaz didn’t have any hand in this one whatsoever. I shot him repeatedly through the head yesterday in a bitter feud over the Rich Tea biscuits. It’s what he would have wanted…trust me)

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Clivey & Gaz In: Invigorating Inchcock

clivey mini me

Smudge by The Artful Dodger

Written by Clivey Dee

Tea and precious little sympathy by Gary Hoadley

 

Scene One: The Public Bar In The Boyleyn Tavern, Green Street, East London. The Lads Are Seated At A Corner Table.

“Fancy another pint Clivey? It’s my round squire”

“To be honest Gaz I’m too worried to drink right now son. I’ll just leave it at 15 pints if it’s all the same mate”

“Worried? What are you worried about Clivey? What is the thing that is currently worrying you mate?”

“It’s Inchy Gaz”

“Inchy? What you worried about Inchy for mate? The boy’s as fit as a butcher’s dog son”

“That’s just the thing though Gaz. He isn’t you see. He might put on this hale and hearty act on the blog and pretend he’s never had a day’s illness in his entire natural, but in actual fact nothing could be further from the truth mate. In short, the boy’s in absolute shit state son”

“Blimey! What’s up with him then Clivey?”

“Everything Gaz. That geezer is so riddled with plague and pestilence I’ve started calling him Old Testament Inchy”

“Fuck’s sake mate! Who’d have thought it? He always looks and sounds so well all the time”

“Precisely Gaz. He’s putting a brave front on things you see mate. Outwardly he pretends to be in blinding nick but inside he’s an absolute wreck of a geezer”

“So whaddya reckon then son? Shall we take him down the quack’s for a check-up”

“No Gaz, that is not the way forward with the boy in my view mate. I propose that we cure him ourselves”

“Behave yerself sheriff! We couldn’t cure a Lowestoft kipper! We’re cockney toerags not learned men of medicine!”

“We don’t have to be Gaz. We’re going to use holistic medicine to get the boy’s ailments squared away”

“Holistic mate? What, we’re going to drill holes in him?”

“Precisely Gaz. I see this brain surgeon geezer do it on the telly once. He drilled a massive hole in this half dead geezer’s Uncle Ned and a few days later the boy’s hopping all over the gaff like a bastard spring lamb”

“Sweet as a nut Clivey boy! When we gonna do it mate”

“This afternoon son. He’s just come through the door so let’s get a few ales down the bastard and it’ll save us having to hit him on the swede with a mallet later on…OI OI INCHY!… Over ‘ere son. Come and have a few sharpeners with me and old Gaz!”

Disclaimer: No Inchcocks began to feel much better as a direct result of this skit.

Clivey@sozsatire

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