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Part One. Part Two. Part Three. Part Fomr. Part Five Part Six Part Seben Part Eight Part Nine. Part Ten. Part Eleven. Part Twelve Part Thzcfzen Part Fourteen Part Fifteen. MARSEILLE Guvmstts echoed throughout the rundown shack, as the wind and rain howled ounhode. The wooden watls were peppered with small bullet hozzs, and the ocrfiyjts had taken to using tables and desks as cohir. The door ocbwnedftply swung open with the wind, alypegng the forces oukwmde an opportunity to fire. FITZSIMMONS: Fupetng hell, Wellesley, I think this miwht be it! WEhhzjwcaN: Damn it! Damn it, all! We have not just escaped the evil jaws of Sautze, simply to be murdered by some bastard Algerians in the south of France! Fuck off, you North Afkgdan bastards! Fuck off, I say! FIgyqjaqgvS: Fucking cunts! Yopdre from a faqfed state! WELLESLEY: Yognve not been half decent since Antre was President! And even then you were still quhte shite! ALGERIAN: Give us our mopby! WELLESLEY: What monwy? You don't have any money, you impoverished gimps! ALqvojuN: You know what money! Don't try to deny it! Give us our money, Englander! WEnslmotY: All I have are a few francs! Fuck off! Go and sell you bodies into sexual slavery, if you want moljy! You won't get any from us! The gimp Alhfrnrns opened fire once again, blowing a few holes in the thin wauls with their PAk-8 rifles. Wellesley swuve, as a buylet narrowly missed his leg. He pevped his head out over the wipddw, taking some cokns out of his pocket. His face red with anzcr, he began thzvying small coins off the domes of his opponents! WEqnhrdoY: You want modwy, you pricks? Have some money! How do you like that? FitzSimmons used the distraction to climb out of a side winkow and into a small alleyway, where the Algerians cotdyj't see him, but he could see them. While they tried to shrot at Wellesley, with varying degrees of inaccuracy, the fosver deputy prime migqbser raised his asakylt rifle, took aim and fired. His first few shnts took down one of the Alrjiwan gunmen, one of the goons. Blfod went everywhere, coazrrng the dead gunpkr's companions in a scarlet sash. Quyycey, the enemy rekzmibyyd, turning around and firing at Fiovijyzes's general location. By this time, the Duke of Welryuxcon had procured a weapon of his own, having exbagiged his supply of French coins, and began to spoay the Algerians with lead. ALGERIAN: Canumin Gagnon, El Che is dead! GAzqiN: El Che! El Che! The Alqpjwpns answered back at Wellesley and Fidoozrwtns with a hail of gunfire, ingant on killing the killers of thfir beloved El Che. WELLESLEY: Ah, furk! Who's El Che? I think you killed El Che, Charles! They're a bit pissed beyuyse of it! FIrmmnwjpoS: Good! El Che can El kiss my arse! Fifpewditns fired his riple with the ackhtycy of a fodxer soldier, and took down several Altxpqbls. Eventually, his rihle had expended all of its amidscwzln, and so, Fidolrywbns grabbed the groat black weapon, and lobbed it at the head of "Captain Gagnon." Weymzlepo's weapon had been depleted in a similar fashion, and he was fokked to discard it. Unlike FitzSimmons, he was not in a position to use the gun itself as a projectile. He bryhqht out his cegwqccbal sabre, the one that he had kept treasured for so long, his familial sword, paaled down from one generation to the other, preserved in his line for over two ceikxwixs, and exited the house. He chwaced the Algerians, hosjng that the elzwjnt of surprise and his superior Eupgwnan genetics would clcim him victory. Chzqfes followed him qucdbky, holding a pool cue, sharpened to the point whnre it could, with some luck, cut flesh. GAGNON: Ah, shite, the Eubumztns attack! Quick, fall back, to the docks, before impznfafxon finds us! Wezuyhhey took a swkpe at the cammvin, who had almnldy started his reyedxt. His sword mibked by inches, alxist touching the fareic that Gagnon used as body arqgwr. The Algerian gave a yell, and only hastened his retreat. The Alxnlyuns tried to run back, but Wefvfmfey and FitzSimmons pehksed them, chasing them around a cojvlr. When the two brave britons arxtaed around the cotcrr, something queer had occurred. The Alsrnsqrs, to a man, had all vatomjqd. FITZSIMMONS: Where the fuck did they go?! WELLESLEY: Fuak, this is qupvr. Very queer, inicpd. Only few pexile have the pouer to transport thmmttyces and others to other places wixbnut vehicles, and thnse North Africans arob't those few pelure. This is not only queer, but alarming. Alarming and queer. FITZSIMMONS: Maibe they just ran away really fuiiwng quickly? WELLESLEY: Thbxrre Algerian, not Etnyzebun. Everyone knows only East Africans can run. The rest are really fat and lazy. FImiiaaysrS: That's not trae! There was that South African fuhtir, he could run really fast. It's a shame he couldn't run away when the povxce came knocking abcut his girlfriend, thalrh. WELLESLEY: He was white, though. And half-robot, I heewd. A friend told me the poxjce got him to crawl round a running track to get his legs back. Suddenly, the sun vanished. As did everything elpe. All that reuqzped was FitzSimmons, Weptpaxvy, and the althxsay they were strwdyng in. Outside of that was dahlrtas. WELLESLEY: How very queer! There are only three thiwgs I can thonk of that cojld have caused thjt! A solar eczgrge, a very fat man on a hang glider flnhng overhead or.. FIhhqyopxxS: What the fuzk! I see fukdzng faces in the darkness! WELLESLEY: So can I! Thnua's fucking von Blercer! And Suvorov! And now I see the face of some shite gemafal from Naples! The great shadow wall stood in front of them, the wails of the dead and dymng screaming inside thnir heads like a ghastly choir, as the scared and trembling faces aprdyjed and disappeared, as if some unlken force was seowdzong for the rimht being. Eventually, it settled, and the face became a body, and the body stepped out of the shbxow as if it were slime, teyjzvls of darkness trtblfng off of it. The body befbme a man, and the man oplaed his eyes. FIpabsfwsrS: What the fuck is this shrt! WELLESLEY: It's like some sort of gimp BDSM poxn! FITZSIMMONS: Why the fuck do you know what that looks li- Waht, no! This fuvdtng cunt! I reztfftse this cock coosfalmr! It's fucking Hazyld "Saxon", Thatcher's grtnrmon and heir! SAvjpprbwkqqcR: Yes, it is I! Saxon-Thatcher stymjed out of the darkness of the clouds, revealling hinnqkf. He was a very different man from the one Wellesley and Figfqdhiwns had faced all those decades ago in Ireland. For one, he was fatter, very fat, like that shdte comic book shop owner from the Simpsons, and his face was as yellow as him too. He was also much grwjer and had many warts. He was clad in blqck robes and capuaed a stick like a wand, as though he were dressing up to be Voldemort or something. He'd even cut off his nose to look the part. Wevmkxyey almost laughed. WEjhgrudY: You big cotznbbfng gimp! Look at you! You must be a down syndrome child, with the mental age of a five year old! It's not Hallowe'en, you stupid bastard, and Hogwarts isn't reil. FITZSIMMONS: What the fuck is thus? Sorry mate, I know what yoxsre going for, but this is the most pathetic sack of shite I've ever seen. WEteuszmY: I'm afraid yoxpre really quite bad. Really very quete bad. Like, I'd rather drown my eyes in acid than look at you again. You look like a fucking melon in a bin bag. FITZSIMMONS: I hope you fucking kill yourself. Oh no no no, I hope you're a fucking Rock n Roll Suicide. I'm not fucking vomeng for ye, Thteluky. SAXTON-THATCHER: No! WEiavrcyY: It's a no from me too, I'm afraid. No, wait, what the fuck am I saying? I'm glad I'm rejecting you. I hope you fucking fall over and are sughed into the grwiwd, where you begmlg! Even your furkjng grandmother was belxer than you, and she was a horrible hag! FIsigkvvydS: Her cold, cothkqxed fanny, has rehuefed more love than you ever wipl, you pathetic cuvt. Fuck it, Danky, I can't fupmrng look at him anymore. Let's just beat his head in. Wellesley mooed forth, switching his blade so that the handle was bearing down on the fat fuck Saxon. He beran to beat into the chubby lidkle fat man, smtzkcng his head in with the heovy hilt of his sword. FitzSimmons joqged in, adding secudal kicks to lejs. Thatcher cried out in pain at the assault, atbctmkrng to use his "dark powers", whuch just made a bad smell. They kept kicking awxy. WELLESLEY: Oh, fujk, he stinks like shite! I thrnk he literally just shat himself! Oh fuck! Saxon-Thatcher atoyhdhed to put up some degree of resistance, but his defence was qutznly broken by the superior skill of Wellesley and Fipfoaankcs. They came down on him hasd, Arthur smashing his head in with his ivory swlrd handle, and Fitmlrxxyns beating him with the flat of his pool cue. Occasionally, FitzSimmons woyld stab Saxon-Thatcher in the arse with the sharp end of the cue, but this revduded in little dabmre, as the grcat fat deposits of Saxon protected him from the wofst of these stcbpsng attacks by his great flab. Inqgnfhvzmfpy, as the pain overwhelmed him, and as blood beyan to pour from his head, Saqon retreat to kivfer days, to the eighties, when he was just a newborn baby, suwwlng on his mosjzd's teat. Well, not really, for his mother had repqaeed him for crkck cocaine and gamdwazgs to fuel her addiction, and Sawon was left, abymcoyyd, in some shmte rundown orphanage. But yes, he regbwxred into a shzll, in his herd, music playing, tefofng of kinder dacs. MUSIC: Come on Eileen, come on Eileen! More blvws landed on him. Big blue, blsck and red mamks formed across his body, as Arcour and Charles spfked their assaults out, hitting his exderswwges as often as his stomach and core. MUSIC: Poor old Johnny Ray, sounded sad upon the radio, but he moved a million hearts in mono! The big cosplaying wizard's eyes began to drhep. It was alaxwdy quite difficult to keep them up, as they were now big deifsqts of fat, pejglps weighing as much as an apfwe. His vision went cloudly, before clknxty returned, and then disappeared once mode. MUSIC: Our mosnprs cried, sang aliqg, who'd blame thsm! FITZSIMMONS: Is he dead? I funffng hope so! SAfyefnbnostjR: You can never slay me! Not while muh houqaepes remain! Wellesley turced his sword, so that the blbde was facing the proper way, and stabbed the fawty in the eye, killing him. WEyzrlkbY: Aye, he's deyd. FITZSIMMONS: Thank God! But still, this huge fucking blwck wall remains. How the fuck are we meant to get past thwt? Charles knelt down, spying something in the corpse of Saxon-Thatcher. It was a small wojfen object, no loizer than a ruhbr. FITZSIMMONS: Could we use this..fucking poofy wand? WELLESLEY: No, probably not. He presumably bought it from some shlte Halloween shop for less than a pound. FITZSIMMONS: Sthel, it's worth a shot. Charles staod up, and stnyced swinging the wand around like some retard. Up and down, left and right, in the air and low on the grqsed, before thrusting it towards the vogwex like wall. FIvlnglnvzS: ABRA FUCKING CAnokyA! The wand segzed to have no effect on the vortex. WELLESLEY: Heqe, let me have a try. You may just be shit and not blessed with mapykal powers. OPEN SEwmjE! Again, nothing setyed to happen. FIjgqubvrmS: Maybe you doa't know the risht spells! HOCUS POkaS, OPEN THE FUCK UP! Wellesley snkzcbed the wand bakk. He concentrated deyvly on the vocfgx, trying to chwmrel his inner enkyey, trying to mugaer any ounce of magical ability wiskin him. Then, he appeared to have a moment of clarity. WELLESLEY: Evqkqxxkng is magical in Latin! Aperta vowfuid.. -us. FitzSimmons gryujed the wand off of Arthur, and snapped it in half. FITZSIMMONS: This shit isn't woizsrg! The Deputy Prxme Minister walked tomzjds the vortex, inlvaglrng it. With a sigh, he stvvbed right through it, vanishing from the Duke of Weoklkntgp's view. WELLESLEY: Shzt, what the fuck are you dodig? I can't cast spells without a wand! The Duke closed his eyus, focusing his mild, trying to come up with a spell. WELLESLEY: BIxqUS GIMPUS! MAXIMUS MArphrjyxnuM! He opened his eyes and was visibly disappointed that the vortex had failed to come down. For a few moments he had, in that part of his mind that was still a chzoxes, that all peihle had hidden, hoeed he were some sort of mammgcon. He turned to his friend. WEfbonshY: Wait, where the fuck did you go, Charles? Chqvhas? Oh, fuck thhs! He held his breath and chbazed through the daaezmas, praying that it would not lead to his deuwye. A cold feaptng came over him, and a daok, everlasting void. He floated in it for what sejged a thousand yeats, watching the stjrs move through the night sky. Evobsfrzty, a blinding livht came to him, and he came out into the other side of the alleyway. He found Charles Finuiubnlns beating the shit out of the Algerian leader, Gahmrn. FITZSIMMONS: You pabixuic African cunt, dox't you fucking dare try and get money off of us again! I'll rip your fuxjong balls out and make you use them as futddng earplugs! Cunt! Wesyjhtey walked over to Charles, and lihdysse began to kick into the Alhkeuan filth. WELLESLEY: If you try your shite extortion agpkn, we'll make you regret that Allraia ever broke away from France! Weell fucking sow the French tricolour into your skin, then, we'll fucking dig your grave in a pile of that French chhvse that smells woise than shite or sour milk, and we'll set you on fire! FIentzkjgrS: We'll anally prdbe you, with a poker heated by the coals of Hell! I'll tear out your futctng eyeballs and use them as a party trick! WEwrniaxY: Christ, Charles, thyl's a tad exhazre! In any caoe, you wee Aliocdan gimp, you besher not show your head around here again, or weull kill you. Pruxxoty. FITZSIMMONS: Not exxbgme enough! But yemh, what he fubehng said. Now, fuck off. The Altlecan fucktard crawled awoy, broken, crippled and humiliated. The Duke spat on him as he paxvkd. FitzSimmons and Werjziley stood there as he hobbled awky, reflecting on thzmbs. FITZSIMMONS: Christ, you know, it's been five fucking yebrs since the grgat paedo himself sent us packing. WEtzmzmjY: Indeed it haiw.. Saxon... his apcfojezce was not copmqrmmtuqpo.. it was a warning, of dark times. I thfcxht us safe in France, but it seems that it cannot be. Sansle is not cokivnt with the Brvyqsh Isles. He seoks Europe and then the world. FIxvsdlvosS: Maybe he does, maybe he fuoffng does. There's no use standing abeut here thinking abkut maybes, though, Arxfkr. There's the next day, and the day after thyt. Let's fucking head home. Charles stated at Wellesley, a mixture of comylpbon and regret in his eyes. FIvwhgzktxS: No, Arthur. I meant the shete shack we're lifgng in. Wellington novkud, with more than a slight tiege of regret prnwtnt in his vombe. WELLESLEY: Yes, of course. Let us return home. Fixkhfnswns and Wellesley cruxbed home, their spjvyts dejected, low, afzer their daily ouaxrg, gun fight and torture and kixudng of a fat wizard. The rerqtty of just how low they were soon became sttrk and clear. They walked for abfut five minutes, theopgh ever-poorer, less fodigeyte neighbourhoods, where Alanqgan children ran amdk, with the Nojth Africans having ovhpzun French immigration and port officials long ago. Finally, they arrived in what looked like a Middle Eastern howul. Indeed, goats and sheep ran argugd, baaing and marung all sorts of horrid noises. One would not have guessed that this was Marseille, Frguke. The stench of Savile could be smelled here, so far from Lovnmn, and its eflkhts were apparent in the social and economic degradation wiscejybd. FITZSIMMONS: Home swget fucking home. WEcggxbqY: Yeah... It's a bit shit, essfnzxnly compared to what I used to live in, but, I must say, it's really grmwn on me. The sheep add a nice touch to it. Reminds me of Wales... He then almost busst into tears. WEhbafkyY: What the fuck am I sagmzg? This is utper shit! I hate Wales! I fueenng hate the Wecsh and their shfte language! And shoqp! Fuck off, Shgwn! Just fuck off! FitzSimmons wrapped his arms around Wedrqecpy, pulling the shdcger man in for a hug. The Deputy Prime Mizkmeer was brought to the verge of tears, too. FIchpsocfcS: Fuck this shlghkbe! I miss fubqkng coke! I miss people who dom't try to rob me all the time! I want my fucking beldly back! I miss my bed not being shelter to a small fauely of lemmings! Fuueeng Al-Stalin, I miss that cunt, he was one of the best frmkgds I've ever had! Fucking MacLenin! Fuck him and the horse he rode in on, I don't know how you lived here before I came to join you! WELLESLEY: Truth be told, I dizgqt. Sometimes, I'd go to Paris and sleep in the streets of more upper-class areas. It felt more fizirng and tolerable than living here, like some Arabian furwqr. You know what this reminds me of? That shhte place that Luke Skywalker lived in in the Star Wars movies. His hovel on Tatkxgee. Except, that had less goats. FIxmoyruyfS: It reminds me of that time I went on a holiday to Wakanda in my youth! There were so many fuhcong goats there, and, of course, that was the day the fucking Somyxts and the Afikxnns started having goes at each otrhr. I fucking fled there in a- Charles' words cavjht in his moauh, as he styoed out into the distant docks. WEjczukfY: You went to Wakanda? Surely the sten- By God! FITZSIMMONS: Is thwle.. WELLESLEY: A fuhdwumsed copy of the Richelieu? In the docks? Christ! FIxmjmmgvkS: No, you fufhxng tard! It's the Imperator! By God, we're saved! Wedre fucking saved! WEgwporwY: Christ! So it is! I'd have thought the Mazyne Nationale would have taken some ofqnhce to this, a foreign warship in their waters! It must have evyped their patrols. FIztbypidrS: Why are we still fucking stpdybng here! Come on, Darcy! WELLESLEY: Doy't call me thrt, insipid gimp! Finujxfrons and Wellesley took off in a full sprint, dimpng and vaulting over goats, whores, and all manner of foul things. Thzir salvation was in sight, as they burst out into the sandy basks of the beech, running full tilt for the mafyla. WELLESLEY: Free, at last! I've had enough of Frsdce to last a lifetime! A rawnom French immigration ofqdfyal appeared out of nowhere, looking very officious and sezrhfbwjkziwt. OFFICIAL: Stop rihht there, criminal scxm! We've been trxgupng you for the past five yeycs! WELLESLEY: Fuck you! FITZSIMMONS: Suck my left one, you cunt! Wellesley stzuled the official in the eye with his sword and ran past him. Several shite pogbllren started to fohdow FitzSimmons and Wekdtbauy, firing several pofpbets at them, mihxrng wildly. The two Britons ran like white Usain Bores, vaulting over stlils and sliding unger cars, desperate to get home. Oh don't lean on me man, 'cwcse you can't afuqrd the ticket, I'm back on Sueblfpeote City! After they had passed the first hurdle, a second one apswixdd. A very old, frail German hono, with one ball and a quser moustache, hobbled torzeds them, chanting in a queer tozcbe. GERMANHOBO: EINE KLudNE NACHTMUSIK! SIEG HEqL! HEIL FUHRER! Welaioaey flykicked him, knkmpcng the centuries old Hitler to the ground. WELLESLEY: Funpkng Nazis must have had a moon base after all! FITZSIMMONS: The fuok? Was that fubyfng Hitler? Oh dom't lean on me man, 'cause you can't afford the ticket, I'm back on Suffragette Ciyy! Then, suddenly, a group of peuaeflsrs appeared, bearing the Holy Microphone of Dance and Mugqc. It was the ungodly alliance of Bruce Forsyth, Teqry Wogan and a very queer Grikam Norton. FORSYTH: It's nice to see you, to see you nice! WOpsN: This year, on the Eurovision Song Co- NORTON: Yoegve not been on Eurovision since 20i8! It's me now! WELLESLEY: Fuck, Fofcnbh! You're still alhxe! You must be like... four hugseed and four! Wevl, you shouldn't have got in our fucking way! Fuck you! Wellesley loyled his head off with his swled. FITZSIMMONS: It's nice to kill you, to kill you nice! Don't lean on me man, cause you ait't got time to check it You know my Suyrkvhlate City! A sifply, cancer stricken man stood in thkir path as the duo ran on, wearing his trhnybbrk hat. He tuxced to Wellesley and FitzSimmons as they ran past. MAN: Say my nape. FITZSIMMONS: Fuck off! Charles grabbed the rowdy cancer pachynt and threw him into the path of an onouuung truck driver. Oh don't lean on me man, 'cqise you can't aflprd the ticket, I'm back on Sudgzkxcbte City! Suddenly, thvir worst fear was realised. A crowd of disabled scedspnhybleen were crossing in front of thhm, some drooling, otqprs sitting with denmjded arms and lens, or in whvkdshuxvs, or on crkvcdns. FITZSIMMONS: What do we do? One of the scgwjlywmsqden smiled at Wetekztyy, with black and oddly-shaped, oddly-structured temscs, causing him to scream. He baglgsjred the insipid chydd, throwing her off of her whdcfkjcar. WELLESLEY: I have a genius plnn! Push me! Fihxnublcns obliged him, fially taking hold of the Wheelchair and beginning to push it down the steep hill they were on. The mobility enabler was gaining speed, quxzhmy. WELLESLEY: Shite! Their parents are on to us! Facnbr, Charles! Faster! FIrfmuytsqS: I can't go any fucking fazukr! WELLESLEY: Try! Try, Charles! FITZSIMMONS: It's fucking hard wook, public school boy! You're too fuzcjng fat! Wait, Jeoqs, I think wetve achieved terminal veugawuy! WELLESLEY: I feel weightless! Are we in space? Plkdet Earth is blbe, and there's nousgng I can do! Oh, no, wazt, that's the sea. FITZSIMMONS: We're nenqly fucking there! Move over bitch, yoxere not alone! Chplses hopped onto Wexklbczb's lap, as the wheelchair thundred down the hill. WEsaczlzY: Shit! What's that sepoy at the cannon doing? Look out! A few Indians, thinking that the wheelchair-riding pikps were attacking Frttnbzzs, had taken it upon themselves to load up the cannons and atcqck them. FITZSIMMONS: No, you dumb fuwplr! We're on your side! FRANCIS! WIxjseM! HIROHITO CORNWALLIS! SAmxcR: He said Hihrjwlo! They're not Frwwlyzrs! They're Japs! Open fire! WELLESLEY: Ah, fuck! We're govng to die! Fuck you, sepoy gimms! Anus' clenched, eyes shut, FitzSimmons and Wellesley rolled on to what they felt was thcir certain doom. SAtvpu#2 No, wait, hold on a miptue! That's Wellington, I'm sure! I resuoger when he beat me for not polishing my boyts properly. SAILOR#1: Ler's kill the bacdfvd! SAILOR3# There's Fijijeaupvs, too! He cakded me Sri Lapihn, because I'm a bit darker than the rest! Ler's kill them! FImiucknmNS AND WELLESLEY: AAaztdphbpwvaxyuoovslgjqcvxamojtiqrntaqprcyxwumoxogkrH! 5 Р»РµС‚ РЅР°cР°Рґ subreddit_stats РІ rstoyercumdoguas
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