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ancientbooshartifacts · 5 years

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White Wedding

Author: Beansidhe_Baby

Year: 2008

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: Howard/Vince; Rudi/Spider; Anthrax/Ebola; Neon/Ultra; Naboo/Bollo; Saboo/Tony Harrison; onesided Old Gregg/Howard; Mr Susan/Sandstorm; the Hitcher/Old Gregg

Vince was having a minor make up crisis, there was a smear of mascara on his upper eyelid, on top of several layers of carefully blended eyeshadow. He sighed in exasperation and wiped his right eye clean and started again. This was supposed to be the best day of his life and the bloody eye makeup let him down at the last gasp. There was a soft knock at the door and Naboo came in without waiting for him to open the door. “I was sure I locked that,” Vince said, looking over his shoulder at Naboo. “I'm a powerful shaman, Vince. And there's a spare key on a hook out there,” he said flatly, “How's it going?” “I'm going to look like a slapper in my wedding photos, but, other than that, fan-bloody-tastic,” Vince muttered murderously at his own reflection. “We all think you're lovely,” said Naboo, in a rare moment of flattery. “Well I look like a lovely slag. Howard's parents are going to think he's gotten me pregnant or something...” “You're a man, Vince,” Naboo reminded him helpfully. “Oh yeah. Men still don't have babies, then?” “No.” ~-~-~-~-~-~- “Is this straight?” Howard asked anxiously, tugging at his bow tie. “No,” said Bollo without looking up from his magazine, “Vince a man.” “The tie, Bollo. Is the tie on straight?” Howard asked again. “Nobody look at you. Precious Vince radiant bride. Groom. Radiant bridegroom.” Bollo said off handedly, flipping through his magazine. “I don't want to let the side down. If this goes on crooked I'll have to look at Vince wincing at the photos every anniversary for the rest of my life.” “If Vince love you when you look like that, he won't care about ties” Bollo sighed, closed his mag and got up to fix Howard's bow tie for him. “Thanks Bollo,” Howard smiled nervously. “Break his heart and I'll kill you.” “Yes sir.” ~-~-~-~-~-~- “Bridegroom or groom?” Lester asked an empty patch of air next to the guest. “I'll find my own seat, squire,” the mysterious green gentleman said, brushing past the blind man. He meandered around the pews before sitting himself down beside a tall man with a large afro who was staring at a man with an equally strange hair style “relieving” himself in the vestry. “Which of the grooms are you with?” the green man asked him. Rudi turned around and seemed to see the other man for the first time. “I'm sorry,” he said quietly, “My mind was elsewhere.” “What's up with the dress then, son?” the Hitcher, for it was of course the manwitch himself, asked. “Actually, that's a common misconception, this is not a dress, it's the robe of th-” Rudi started to correct him before he was interrupted again. “So you a nonce then?” the Hitcher cut across him, with an ever decreasing amount of tact “I am above base sexual desires,” he sniffed. “Oh so he won't let you then?” “I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about.” “Mexican bloke? Uglier than a sack of pigs anuses? He's here with you isn't he?” “Excuse me, I have to go and speak to... anyone else.” ~-~-~-~-~-~- “I don't trust them, they're stealing our look.” “They look nothing like us!” “Look at her with her bloody milky lens. She's wearing your face! Doesn't that get you pissed off at all?” “Getting me a bit randy actually.” “If you're unfaithful to me I'll kill her and make you eat her heart.” “Christ, you're hot when you're jealous.” ~-~-~-~-~-~- “Are they still staring?” “...no” “They are still staring, aren't they?” “...maybe” “Why are we here again?” “We promised Naboo.” “Bloody Naboo.” “Play nice, darling” “One double date with them and we're part of this bloody extended family of theirs.” “Free champagne at the reception though. And besides, everyone knows that sex after a wedding is the best. Except for the poor sods getting married obviously.” “Those electro girls are freaking me out. The little one keeps making stabby hand gestures.” “Little? She's the same height as you!” “Shut your mouth!” ~-~-~-~-~-~- Bryan Ferry was waiting to walk Vince up the aisle. He peeked around the corner at the crowded room. It seemed to be largely made up of scene kids looking fashionably bored, slightly nervous jazz fans and a much bigger selection of various monstrous beasts. In the corner a man made out of sandpaper was discretely chatting up a man made of chamois leathers and jay cloths. He was feeling nervous. He wanted to be back in the forest with trees surrounding him on all sides. He'd sniffed his son's mother-in-law to be, on the neck, and it had all gotten considerably awkward. That would be interesting at the brunch for the close family tomorrow morning. ~-~-~-~-~-~- Vince walked straight forward and all of a sudden, everything else fell away. He forgot about guest-lists and flower arrangements and his hair, and all he could fit into his world view was Howard waiting for him at the end of that long walk. He hadn't seen what Howard would be wearing, they'd decided that they'd already had three lifetimes share of bad luck resulting from broken traditions. He had actually worn a suit. He'd been threatening to wear a Hawaiian shirt and shorts and Vince had been only just sure that he was joking. Vince himself was wearing an elaborate lacy tunic over a pair of knee length leggings. He hadn't felt comfortable in either a morning suit or the white dress so he'd settled for some kind of a mix of the two. He wasn't sure if the result was genius or just bizarre. The way Howard was looking at him, he didn't think it mattered anymore. ~-~-~-~-~-~- “You may now kiss the bride...groom,” Dennis said finally and looked eagerly at the blushing newly-weds. Howard shyly kissed Vince on the lips and Vince threw his arms around his neck. A plaintive cry went through the church and they broke apart to see Old Gregg sobbing onto the Hitcher's shoulder. “Don't worry about him,” Vince whispered, seeing Howard's slightly guilty expression, “He'll get some cock afterwards. Everyone loves the broken hearted ex-girlfriend at a wedding.” “We never actually went out per se, Vince. He kidnapped me,” Howard replied quietly, into his husband's hair. “You look beautiful,” he said, cupping Vince's face in both hands. “You're not so bad, yourself,” Vince giggled, “Not as good as me, obviously, but I think Gregg won't be the only jealous bitch wishing me dead by the end of the night.” “Get in me wheelbarrow, you cheeky vixen.” “I was always in your wheelbarrow, Howard. I was just waiting for you to bloody notice.” They kissed again. ~-~-~-~-~-~- Naboo was dancing by himself in the middle of the floor, pulling focus from everyone else, including Bob Fossil (who no one could quite remember inviting). He was intermittently accosted by small groups of girls who would whisper in his ear. Each time he would shake his head and they'd walk off, looking deeply disappointed. He was off his tits on free champagne (which wasn't all that free, considering that he was paying for the bulk of this wedding) and a couple of twelve skins he'd smoked in the jacks. He noticed Howard and Vince cuddling, or possibly even canoodling, in the corner and suddenly thought that going over to them would be a fantastic idea. “Howard! Vince! You got married,” he smiled widely and hugged them both enthusiastically. “Why aren't you dancing, it's brilliant! All these girls keep asking me if I want to have a good time, but I'm already having a good time, what're they like? Hey, hey guys whose name are you taking? Or are you going to double bar it? Like Noir-Moon or Moon-Noir. Bollo doesn't have a last name, you know.” Vince was looking around desperately for the aforementioned ape to get Naboo to go and have a little lie down somewhere and Howard was looking at Naboo with concern. “Hey Howard,” Naboo leaned in conspiratorially, “I always liked you. You're a good man-thing-horse. Thing.” Howard patted him on the shoulder and he staggered over to one side. “How come the room's moving? Am I paying for a moving room?” he said before falling backwards into his familiar's arms. He looked up and giggled. Vince smiled at Bollo, who grunted shortly and led Naboo over to one of the couches around the periphery of the room. He lay him down gently and when he tried to leave, Naboo pulled him back, almost on top of him. ~-~-~-~-~-~- “Look at that idiot making a complete arse of himself. I tell you Saboo, it's an outrage!” “The only outrage here is that I was talking to a number of lovely ladies and then you insinuated yourself into the conversation and told them all that I was here with you!” “You are here with me. You're the designated driver, you're here with all of us. If you go off with some bird, who's going to get us back? Kirk? He's worse than Naboo! And I haven't exactly been on orange juice all night either.” “Are you trying to imply that you could operate an automobile if you hadn't been drinking yourself into oblivion? I would pay good money to see you even shift gears.” “What? This is an outrage! Who are you? Jeremy Clarkson?” “You had no right to let those girls think that I was shagging a testicle shaped balloon animal.” “As if, you couldn't have me even if you weren't a prize tit” “I could too, have you. You're aching for me.” “Somebody's dreaming.” “I COULD HAVE YOU TWELVE WAYS FROM SUNDAY, YOU KNOB!” ~-~-~-~-~-~- “Alright, I'm going to toss the flowers!” Vince called out before a tide of womenfolk materialised around him. In the front, jostling for position, the goth girls and electro girls were trying to look casual and unbothered by it. Neon and Anthrax were glaring at each other while Ultra and Ebola conveyed their exasperation to each other with a shrug and a wink. Beside them, Mrs. Gideon was preening and smoothing her hair. Somewhere in the middle of the sea of girls, Eleanor, was managing to make every single man in the room anxiously down drinks and pray. Howard looked at the throng of women treading on each other's toes and jabbing elbows into ribs, with horror. This looked like a riot in the making. Decades of feminism and “doing it for themselves”, whatever "it" was, went out the window in the face of a bride(groom) throwing a bunch of flowers. It was absurd! He thought he saw Old Gregg in there somewhere.... The bouquet arced through the air, over the heads of the crowd, and the room was filled with the sound of fifty women (or close approximations) breathing in sharply. The flowers landed, with a soft rustle, in a pair of small hands. Naboo looked down at the flowers in his hands and back up at the murderous glares of the disappointed women. His cheeks turned red and he looked down again before thrusting the flowers towards Bollo. “'Sfor you,” he muttered. Bollo starting to eat an orchid before looking at the shaman's shining eyes looking up at him. Oh. He swallowed nervously and the Orchis saccifera caught in his throat. Naboo patted him on the back until his familiar stopped choking and shyly took his hand. The crowd of females looked less inclined to riot and some were blowing their noses and dabbing their eyes genteelly. ~-~-~-~-~-~- In the back of the hired limo, Howard and Vince necked like teenagers after a dance. Or, like two people who had just gotten married. “Made it,” Vince sighed and nibbled Howard's ear lobe, sending a gust of warm air into his husband's ear. “Just about,” Howard agreed, kissing the inside of Vince's wrist. “I still think we should have eloped and gotten married by Bowie,” Vince said against Howard's throat. “Naboo would have killed me if I took you away and robbed him of organizing the party.” “Cheeky little jack of clubs. D'ya think he had that planned with the flowers?” “He looked pretty surprised. I think it might have been a happy accident.” “I didn't think much of those wedding cake dollies. I looked hideous!” “Well, don't say anything to Leroy or you'll hurt his feelings.” “Oh alright. Howard?” “Yes, little man?” “I love you.” “I love you too.” “Pity Bono had that other party to go to...” “Vince?” “Yes?” “Shut your face.”

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gacktova · 5 years

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#The Mighty Boosh #Noel Fielding #Julian Barratt #Spider Dijon #Rudi van Disarzio #The Priest and the Beast #gif

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boosh-moodboards · 6 years

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♥✩ Boosh Mood Boards ✩♥

#35: “The Priest & The Beast” (S02 E02)

#the mighty boosh #moodboard #mood board #aesthetic #the priest & the beast #Rudy Van Disarzio #spider dijon #bongo brothers #the new sound #is it so wrong for a man to love his guitar #desert #dreadlocks #betamax #purple robe #request #episode moodboard

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soft-demon-bitch · 7 years

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Finding the New Sound

Lately I feel a bit like that episode of the Mighty Boosh where Vince and Howard play Spider Dijon and Rudy van Disarzio try to find the new sound for their band, the Bongo Brothers (minus the black/brownface). Of course, this is a representation in a psychedelic, pseudo spiritual way that is obviously dramatized but trying to…

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#gorillaz #humanz #inspiration #lorde #melodrama #muse #music

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ancientbooshartifacts · 5 years

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Anything Is Possible

Author: IDeserveYou

Year: 2013

Rating: R

Pairing: Rudi Van DiSarzio/Spider Dijon

Rudi and Spider wake in a heap on the verandah, looking out over the neatly hoovered courtyard, the morning sun bright in their narrowed eyes. The girls are nowhere to be seen, though from the bar comes the sound of snoring. The bongo brothers look at each other, and cautiously unwind their tangled limbs. ‘We didn’t…?’ Rudi looks hastily away. Spider throws back his tatty mane and laughs raucously. ‘No, my friend, you would know about it if we had. Although…’ And then the laughter has gone from his voice, and he is speaking honestly, as he never has all through the years Rudi has known him. ‘Although I think per’aps we would have liked to. And maybe one day we will, no? You think zat might be possible for us?’ ‘I do not know.’ Rudi watches the sparkle of sunlight on the water-trough. ‘I cannot see how.’ ‘Look into your mind,’ Spider says. ‘Use the door.’ ‘I do not think the door was put there for this kind of purpose.’ ‘Who is to say why ze door is zere? But it is zere, and ma door is telling me zat if you look behind your door you will see what it is zat might be possible. So look.’ Rudi pushes the door open, just a crack, and looks. Spider waits with an air of expectancy, hopefulness even. His eyes are very blue. Presently he says: ‘Tell me.’ ‘Your body...’ Rudi struggles to find the words to describe what he saw last night: the sinuous twist of Spider’s slim hips in silhouette against the torchlight, the tangled fall of his hair, the abandoned joy in his face. And how his own mouth had suddenly gone dry with wanting. ‘What about ma body?’ Spider stretches his legs out, glances casually downwards and shrugs. ‘It is ze same one I’ve always ’ad.’ ‘The way… the way it moves.’ Rudi looks at Spider’s belt, the way it lies flat across his belly. ‘When the music takes you, and you dance, you are… you are…’ ‘What am I?’ ‘Beautiful,’ Rudi says, and then he turns away, blushing. ‘I never saw it before. It makes me want to… to do things…’ He hears Spider shift beside him; about to get up and walk away, perhaps. He cannot look round. Then a hand is laid over his own. ‘Tell me of zese things.’ Spider’s hoarse, harsh voice is almost gentle. ‘Many people, zey want to do things with Spider, zey tell ’im ’e is sexy and charismatic and a bongo genius, but nobody ever told him he was beautiful.’ Rudi looks down at their joined hands, and takes a deep breath. ‘Promise me one thing, brother. Promise me you will not laugh.’ ‘I promise,’ Spider says. ‘I promise I will not laugh.’ ‘Thank you.’ Rudi opens his mind; dares to push the door open further, and look closer. ‘I want… I want to take you away from here. Just you and me, like it was at the beginning, when we were young and laughed a lot more than we do now.’ ‘Back to Cancun?’ Spider says hopefully. ‘Spider had a great time there, yeah, got drunk for two weeks and laid every senorita on the beach at least once…’ ‘That is not what I am talking about.’ Rudi sighs. Perhaps it was a mistake to think Spider could ever understand. ‘Listen, you got drunk for two weeks and had sex many times. I spent two weeks looking for you and another week sitting by your bedside in the hospital fending off weeping women and their aggrieved boyfriends. Spider may have had a great time, but Rudi certainly did not.’ ‘So, this time it would be different.’ Spider tightens his grip on Rudi’s hand. ‘Spider is older and wiser, knows how to have a good time without killing himself, yeah?’ ‘Spider, what I am trying to say is, that that was a good time for you but not for me.’ ‘Oh… but it ’as always been zat way, ze bongo brothers make an album an’ go on tour, Spider gets wrecked, Rudi takes care of Spider, Spider gets better, zey make anozzer album, zey go on tour again…’ Spider falls silent. Then looks up, his eyes full of sudden tears. ‘But zis time, ze door is telling me, it does not ’ave to be zat way, and I think you are telling me too, no? Zis time we ’ave a good time together, both of us, and Rudi my brother, I am sorry for all ze ozzer good times zat were bad times for you.’ He wipes his eyes on the back of his hand. ‘I am sorry,’ he whispers. ‘That’s… all right.’ Rudi pats him awkwardly on the back. ‘So will you tell me more?’ Spider asks, sniffing. ‘More about what you want?’ ‘Very well. I want to take you to a fancy hotel, it does not matter where. And hire a suite, run a big bath full of hot water…’ ‘Hey, you tellin’ Spider ’e smells bad?’ ‘No. Not at all. You are not the biggest advert for personal hygiene, but…’ Rudi leans down and breathes in the dusty, sweaty, spicy fragrance of Spider’s matted dreadlocks. ‘I like the way you smell. I should like to get to know it better.’ ‘Oh, by takin’ off all ma clothes, hmmm?’ Spider is smiling again now. ‘Yes,’ Rudi says, taking courage, ‘I want to take off all your clothes and look at you.’ Spider shrugs. ‘Precious little zere zat you ’aven’t seen already over ze years.’ ‘Yes, but I will never have looked at you in quite that way before. And when I have looked my fill, I want to bathe you all over, touch you all over –’ ‘And per’aps Spider could do ze same for you, no? Take off your dress –’ ‘This is not a dress. It is –’ ‘Ze sacred robe of ze psychedelic monks, I know, I know, I wear ze same dress too now. Just not all ze time, Spider likes ze support of nice tight trousers around his specially gifted parts.’ Spider hitches at the bulge in his crotch, then looks up and grins. ‘And you like it too,’ he adds thoughtfully. ‘I –’ Rudi is stilled, quivering, a rabbit caught in headlights. Spider’s grin is positively predatory. ‘Even you,’ he chuckles. ‘Even you, Rudi van der Sarzio, you cannot resist ze Spider and ’is eight –’ ‘Exactly. I cannot resist, I no longer wish to resist, I want us to free ourselves of our sacred robes and be together, with nothing coming between us.’ Spider splutters with laughter. ‘Except for nine ’appy cocks, per’aps.’ Rudi frowns. ‘Do not be coarse, my friend. This is a delicate matter. It may not be easy. I will admit, I do not have quite your… experience. I will need to feel my way…’ ‘Fine by me,’ Spider murmurs, shuffling a little closer. ‘You can start now, if you like… Ah. Too much too soon, hmmm? Is OK, stay zere, keep talkin’, tell ze Spider ’ow it will be when you make love to ’im, I am thinkin’ of you bollock naked on ze bathmat and then… does a bed per’aps feature in your plans for our future?’ ‘A bed… Yes.’ Rudi lies down again, his head on Spider’s chest. ‘A big bed with crisp white sheets. I want to pick you up in my arms and carry you to that bed and lay you down, and then…’ ‘And zen what?’ Spider’s heartbeat is loud in Rudi’s ears. ‘What will you do wiz Spider when ’e is all washed clean and lying in your bed?’ ‘I will kneel,’ Rudi whispers, ‘kneel beside the bed…’ Spider chuckles wickedly. ‘You will find it easier to reach if you kneel on ze bed. Zen you will ’ave ze choice of all eight, no?’ Rudi feels suddenly dizzy with the marvellous visions that Spider’s words are spinning in his head. ‘Very well. I will kneel on the bed. And I will lean over and…’ ‘Slide your big mouth over one of ma big ’ard pricks…’ Spider breathes, reaching up to trail a fingertip suggestively over Rudi’s lower lip. ‘I will not be in such a hurry.’ Rudi takes the finger briefly into his mouth, feeling Spider shudder beneath him as he licks at it and then lets it go. ‘First, I will kiss you. On the mouth, then on the nipples, perhaps, if that is something that you would like.’ ‘Oh.’ Spider wriggles ecstatically. ‘Oh, yes, zat is most definitely a thing that Spider would like. An’ when Spider’s nipples are as rock-solid as ’is cocks, zen what will you do?’ ‘I will kiss your beautiful flat belly, and your thighs, and then –’ ‘You missed something. What about ma belly bouton?’ ‘What about it?’ Rudi’s never really noticed Spider’s navel, but now he comes to think of it, peeking above Spider’s low-slung belt, it does have potential… ‘You want me to kiss you there too?’ ‘Ohhhh yes. An’ per’aps slide your tongue in, or a wet finger, as though it were ma –’ Rudi shivers with delicious anticipation. ‘I will do those things for you, my brother, and then I will kneel between your legs and – and – ’ He closes his eyes, breathing hard. ‘And do… exactly what you said earlier. With my mouth. And my hands…’ Spider gentles him; strokes his hair. ‘Easy there, brother. I know, zese things zey are not easy for you to say. But Spider is getting ze message, loud and clear.’ He shifts his position a little, just enough for Rudi to feel the hardness pressing against his lower back. Then he chuckles. ‘An’ when Spider ’as come all over your face an’ your ’ands, an’ ‘e ‘as finished apologizing an’ cleanin’ you up, zen what will you do?’ ‘I will roll you over,’ Rudi says with sudden boldness, ‘face down on those crisp white sheets with a pillow under your... specially gifted parts. And I will kiss you and touch you all over your back and your delectable arse until I am as hard as rock and you are begging me to – to –’ ‘To fuck me.’ Spider’s hoarse, needy whisper almost undoes Rudi on the spot. ‘Yes. To do that. I will prepare the way for myself, carefully, so carefully, I will of course have obtained the proper lubricants and prophylactics, I will work my fingers inside you little by little until you are wet and open and ready for me...’ ‘You seem to know a lot about ’ow to prepare a man for fucking.’ ‘I... read a lot about it. On the internet.’ Rudi blushes. ‘Many women write about it in great detail, and it seemed to me to be something it might one day be necessary for even a psychedelic monk to know.’ ‘It’s good zat you know. An’ one day you will know it with your body, an’ not just in your mind...’ Spider puts his arms around Rudi, and holds on tight. ‘Go on. What will ’appen next?’ Rudi heaves a deep breath. He has thought about this so often, but saying it out loud is an entirely different matter. And actually doing it – if this turns out to be real, and not just another of Spider’s crazy fantasies – will be an entirely different matter again. ‘I will...’ He clears his throat. ‘I will kneel once again between your thighs, and when my erection is suitably protected and lubricated I will spread you apart with my hands, and press the hot, hard head of my cock against your...’ ‘Entrance,’ Spider murmurs. ‘Or my ’ole, or my ring, I do not care what you call it so long as you get inside it.’ ‘I will be gentle, but persistent.’ Rudi’s cock twitches under his robes. ‘And eventually you will let me in, I will slide smoothly inside you and...’ ‘Oh. Oh...’ Spider grinds his hips desperately against Rudi’s back. ‘Oh, my brother, you ’ave undone ze Spider with your lovely filthy talk, I cannot ’old back ze floodgates any longer, I am coming, with all eight at once...’ Rudi doesn’t know what to say; just rolls over and holds the quivering, jerking Spider tight until the climax appears to be more or less finished. ‘Thank you,’ Spider whispers. His face is wet with tears; and when he pulls away from Rudi’s front, his trousers are wet with something quite different. He looks down at himself with a faintly puzzled expression, as though unsure what to do next. ‘Perhaps... a wash?’ Rudi suggests. Spider’s blue eyes come gradually back into focus. ‘Yes, I will go and wash and put on ze dress again, at least it is clean.’ He looks from his own groin to Rudi’s, where the purple fabric is standing up in an impressive tent, and grins like his old self. ‘Zat barn over zere is a good quiet place for a monk to practise some meditation while he is waiting...’ The barn is dusty and peaceful. Rudi pushes the creaking door shut, leans against it, and takes himself in hand under his robe. He summons up the image of Spider, dancing and swaying in the moonlight, and it takes only a couple of strokes before he’s spilling over his fingers and onto the dirt floor. As he’s wiping his hands clean on a wisp of hay, he hears shrill welcoming cries from the courtyard, running footsteps, and then deeper voices: the men of the village are coming home. More running footsteps are followed by a sudden creak, and Spider reappears in the doorway; somehow Rudi knows that he’s wearing nothing underneath that purple robe. The thought is intoxicating. And so is the music that’s just started up again. ‘Can you hear it?’ Rudi asks. ‘The new sound, in the music?’ Spider snorts. ‘Forget about ze new sound, let’s get out of ’ere. Some of zese men are big and tall an’ zey will not be too pleased to find zeir girlfriends ’ave ’ad some Spider Loving... do you think our doors will tell us the way to the nearest travel agent?’ ‘You mean that?’ Rudi is amazed. He didn’t think Spider could possibly be serious. ‘Of course I do.’ From now on, all of ze Spider Loving, it is for you.’ Spider kisses Rudi on the cheek. ‘Now come on, you big man in a dress, stop staring at ze Spider, an’ get moving. I wanna book zat trip. An’ it ’ad better be somewhere far away.’ ‘Why?’ Spider laughs, and takes his hand. ‘Because, ma friend, you ’ave told me what you would like to do to me, an’ now we’ll need a long flight to give me time to tell you what I would like to do to you...’

#Rudi Van DiSarzio/Spider Dijon #the mighty boosh #mighty boosh #boosh #rudi van disarzio #spider dijon #rudi/spider #rudi van disarnio

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ancientbooshartifacts · 5 years

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Ask Naboo

Author: Nonexistantpup

Year: 2010

Rating: PG

Characters/Pairings: Naboo, Bollo, Spider Dijon, Rudi Van DiSarzio, The Braincell, Howince, Moss/Roy

Bollo slid his glasses up to his forehead and rubbed his hairy temples with two fingers. “It no good,” he said with a frown. Naboo looked up, annoyed. He was busy relaxing and smoking and hated to be interrupted. “What’s no good?” “Books no add up,” Bollo said. He sigh. “Bollo warn Naboo that monkeys not make good book keeper.” “What are you saying?” asked Naboo, with an impending feeling of doom. He’d have said he had a bad feeling, but didn’t want to steal Bollo's favourite phrase. “Need money,” Bollo explained. “Stop paying the losers workin’ downstairs then,” said Naboo. “Done that. Sold beach house too. No more money. What else can Naboo spare?” Naboo frowned. There was his submarine, but he never felt comfortable without one of them in the house. His Rudi & Spider memorabilia couldn't go either, of course, and his rug collection was pretty vital. “We better fix this,” he said unhelpfully. “Otherwise I’ll have to sell you, Bollo.” Bollo paled. Or - well, he didn't really pale. His fur remained the same colour. He seemed unnerved, however. “But - Naboo need familiar!” “I know,” said Naboo. He tapped his chin. “We need make money.” Naboo clicked his tongue and took another drag from his hookah. “I suppose I can go back into pop psychiatry,” he said thoughtfully. “I do sort of miss it. Hearing about peoples’ problems. Imparting wisdom. The regular income...” “What about Bollo?” asked Bollo. Naboo shrugged. “You could be my editor.” Bollo seemed appeased by this idea, and put his glasses back down onto the table. “Now,” said Naboo, “Call up the newspapers and tell them I'm willing to reinstate my relationships column." Dear Naboo, I can’t fulfill my partner’s sexual needs anymore; I'm exhausted! If it was just a good, hard romp four or five times a day, it would be no problem, but he’s practically insatiable! He has eight cocks, you see, which means every time we make love, we do it eight times in a row, each time lasting at least a month and a half. Now, I'm not great at mathematics, but I contacted a local mathematician, who informs me that 4 x 8 x 1.5 equals 48. Which means that every day, I have sex for over forty-eight months - in other words, more than four years! I'm exhausted! What should I do? - A Worn-Out Woman ‘Worn-Out Woman’, As I see it, your options are threefold. 1. Dump the freak and get some sleep. 2. Let me tell you the story of the broken flute. Once upon a time, there was a flute. One day, he tripped over one of his shoelaces and fell onto the footpath, breaking to pieces instantly. All the little shards of flute were scattered all over the place, causing passing bare-footed pedestrians to cut their feet. One of these pedestrians happened to be a passing eccentric billionare, who limped home, not realising the shard was still in his foot. The shard of flute had never been in a mansion before, and hopped off gleefully to look around, and liked the place so much that, that night, it cut the millionaire's throat while he slept and inherited his entire fortune. See what I'm sayin’? 3. Get over it. Sure, it may be hard to deal with at times. I get that. But think about it, yeah? You’ve got a man who alters the very laws of physics, the axioms of reality, just in order to have enough time to spend in the sack with you every day. There’s not many men who would do that. Love, Naboo

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To Naboo, How can I make my boyfriend take our relationship more seriously? I mean, we have so much fun together and I know he cares about me, and yet whenever people ask him about me, he lies as if he’s ashamed, saying he is merely changing one of my strings. I love him, but if this doesn’t change, I don’t think I can go on seeing him. Please save our relationship? - Irritated Instrument Irritated Instrument, I had a similar conundrum in the forties, as it happens, when my girlfriend at the time wouldn't admit to being deeply in love with our cutlery drawer. They got together eventually, and are still together today, I believe, and expecting their second child. There are two options I can reccommend: 1. Don’t give up! If he cares for you, he will come through. Speak to him openly and honestly and tell him how you feel. 2. Give up! He’s a loser who seems to enjoy getting off with inanimate objects anyway. Find somebody more your type - a cello or perhaps a ukulele if you’re strung that way. Love, Naboo = = Deer Naboo, It’s got to the point where I just don’t no what to do anymore. I am married with children, yet I can’t seem to think of anything except the other people I’d like to shag and how much the drudgery of an unhappy marriage is marring my carefully pampered image. It would be alright, you know, but the person I’d really ideally like to fool around with just sees me as her boss. I’ve tried everything! I invited her to work late, and she worked late. I told her she was cute and she said ‘thank you’. I even custom-designed a sparkly soot, just to get her attention, but she still doesn't notice me. I'm starting to doubt my dead sexiness and although I know I have quite an important job, my work ethic is crumbling like a fresh piece of shortbread. What can I do?! - Suffering Cell Suffering Cell, I have some words of wisdom for you, although I can’t be sure they will be anything new. You have not been specific about many of your problems, but my crystal ball has kindly filled in most of the blanks. What you must consider very seriously is this tale - the tale of the ant and the grasshopper. Once upon a time, there was an ant and a grasshopper. They were experiencing a fruitful summer. For the whole season, the ant worked hard, storing up food for the winter while the grasshopper just hung around smoking joints and watching the telly, not collecting any food except for what he wanted to eat that day. The ant warned him that laziness came with consequences, but the grasshopper didn't care. When winter came, the ant had a huge stockpile of food - enough to keep it and its family nourished all the way through until spring, while the grasshopper was left outside, cold and hungry. He had run out of weed and the electric company disconnected his telly. Desperate, he knocked on the ant’s front door to beg for food, but frustrated with the grasshopper’s lack of responsibility, the ant said he would only share his family’s food if the grasshopper sold his body, prostituting himself off to the ant in exchange for food. The grasshopper, who wasn’t into that kind of thing (in fact, he was a bit of a prude) turned away in disgust, and the very next day he hopped aboard a plane, smuggling himself in the luggage of a slightly inebriated badger. He found himself on the other side of the world, where it was summer and food was plentiful, paid his way out of debt quickly and hired a lawyer so he could sue the ant for sexual harassment. I hope this has cleared some things up for you. Love, Naboo.

= = Alright, Naboo? Probably are. You seem to be pretty on top of things, being a shaman and that. Anyway, I live with a friend of mine who drives me nuts. He has no taste in clothes or music (ie. wears tweed and listens to jazz), is finicky (ie. Control Freak!) and I just fancy the pants off him. Well - not literally. Do you think it would be possible for me to actually do that though? But that’s not my question. See, he's taken to walking around the place wearing nothing. Well, nothing except this monocle of his - something to do with ‘going au naturale with class’. Whatever the reason behind it, it’s making me mental. I can’t even fancy the pants off him from afar, because a whole lot of the time he ain’t wearing them to begin with! So, what do you reckon? - A Very Randy Socialite Very Randy Socialite, You batty crease. Can't you tell? He's trying to seduce you. Just don't do anything unless you're sure there’s nobody else in the house, yeah? Love, Naboo P.S. I mean it. If I hear you two humping away in the next room, I'm throwing you out on your naked arses. I don't need that shit.

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Dear Naboo, I'm having the most awful trouble getting girls. See, I'm not bad to look at and I'm a clever, sensitive man, but none of them will look past my career. I am a homocidal maniac (hoping to climb the ladder and become an official genocidal maniac). I can't give that up! How can I get girls to accept me? - Bloody Lonely Bloody Lonely, I had a friend with the same problem. He worked in Dickson’s and girls could never come to terms with it, judging him and all that. Here's some wisdom that helped him and will hopefully do the same for you. This is the story of the green crow. Once upon a time, there was a crow. He was a normal crow, except for the fact that he was green and looked like a big, feathered, mouldy potato. In fact, one day Marilyn Manson saw him and was so disgusted that he kicked the poor crow into the recycling bin at a local primary school. The green crow was very upset, especially since he was such a huge Marilyn Manson fan he had a milky lens in one eye and hadn't drunk any water since 1997. Depressed, he sat in the recycling bin for days, ‘caw’ing miserably. On the fourth day, however, a whole lot of colourful craft paper cuttings rained down on him. The green crow was newly inspired. He found some old chewing gum and made himself a turban and cloak out of the colourful paper. From that day on, everybody treated him with respect because they thought he was a mouldy, green, feathered shaman and Marilyn Manson issued a public apology. That should clear up your problems. Love, Naboo.

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To Sir/Madam (I'm sorry, your name is quite androgynous), I must admit I am quite distressed. My best friend and I are always doing things together. We should be seeing girls but instead we’re always in each other’s company like an old married couple. I'm at the end of my tether. Thank you in advance, - In A Flippin’ Rut In A Flippin’ Rut, The answer to your problem is so simple, I'm frankly staggered that you’ve even found the need to ask my advice. Obviously, you and your best friend are meant to be together. The real problem is just that you have all the elements of a successful marriage except for a healthy sex life. So, you know. Get it on. Duh! Love, Naboo P.S. I do have more specific advice regarding what you should do, but it is inappropriate material to have published here. Send me a private email and I shall tell you the story of the phallus-shaped coral.

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Dear Naboo, Just what kind of an advice columnist are you? My friend wrote to you, complaining that we can't meet anyone because we're "like an old married couple" and you send him some story about coral willies and tell him to seduce me in the most disgusting way imaginable. You are obviously a pervert and shouldn't be allowed to give advice to anyone. -Thoroughly Repulsed P.S. Just to clear things up, we are NOT like a married couple in any way.

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Thoroughly Repulsed, That’s gratitude for you. From your indignation, it’s pretty clear to me that the seduction worked. If you wanted it to happen in another way - one that perhaps didn't involve an aquarium, smelling salts or three feet of chicken wire - you should have stepped up and made the first move on your ‘friend’ long ago. What are you, some kind of selfish, absent-minded, narcissistic slacker? You pompous bloody wanker. Love, Naboo P.S. Whatever. P.P.S. Bite me. P.P.P.S. Prick. P.P.P.P.S. Watch your step, yeah? Or I will turn my back on you.

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Naboo, I'll have you know that the seduction did NOT work. What I saw when I got into work this morning made me want to vomit. It's pretty clear to me that you're a wanker with nothing better to do than corrupt perfectly nice people with your kinky fantasies. My friend and I haven't spoken to each other all day and it's been very awkward for the both of us. I hope you're happy. -Repulsed P.S. You're the prick. And how dare you call me narcissistic.

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