And then she tied her handkerchief around my todger and flung herself out of the window. Six floors up we were!

Exclaimed my good friend, Anulus Kenders, his bristling moustache rippling with amusement. He was a fine fellow Anulus despite having a face like a Meerkat's minge.

And all this because she thought she would never be bested by a fanny-mallet such as yours ever again?

Asked Dobbers incredulously.

I chuckled and refilled my glass of brandy. We were at the club and it was getting quite late. A prodigious amount of alcohol had been consumed by all and Anulus was entertaining us with many a tale of his walloper and the women it had sailed in.

I looked fondly at my two friends. Life was a fine thing indeed when one could get pleasantly drunk, smoke a good pipe and listen to tales of schlong-induced suicide.

A toast then. To Anulus's walloper!

I cried holding my glass aloft.

Cheers!

The other chaps chimed as they clinked their glasses noisily off mine before we all upended them into our ravening gullets.

I found myself swaying a little and checked the time, on a regular watch and not my TimePiece which I found myself missing greatly.

It's a little late, fellows. Shall we head out for some food and call it a night?

The others concurred.

Oh yes, I for one need a bloody big dod of beef inside me right now.

Giggled Dobbers as he stood.

I whapped my cane against his arse.

Careful, old fellow. One should always be mindful of saying such things when Anulus has had a few snifters!

We all laughed and headed out the door into the night. The doorman looking strangely relieved as he closed the doors behind us.

The street was fairly quiet at this late hour. I made to step into the road when a high-pitched screeching noise sounded out.

Out of the way, you idiots!!?!

I skipped back, only narrowly avoiding a man dressed in a motley collection of neon lycra handkerchiefs atop a bicycle. He swerved and clattered into Anulus's back before falling off onto the road itself with much cursing.

You bloody idiots! Can't you look where you are going? This is a bloody cycle lane?!

The man pulled himself up to a sitting position, clutching at his knee as if in pain and glaring at us with crazed cyclist eyes.

Anulus sprung forward to club the cyclist with one of his meaty fists. Inwardly I winced at the thought of the poor ladies who had to experience those sausage-like fingers never mind the swollen anaconda that passed for his Fanny-Mallet.

Hold Anulus! Let the fellow be.

I had whipped out my cane and placed it between the fallen cyclist and our horse-cocked friend.

You, there on the ground. What is the meaning of all this? Why are you dressed like a fool?

What?! Who the fuck are you calling a fool, you old bastard?

Yelled the cyclist quite angrily.

I looked down at the neon-clad buffoon and swiftly whacked him in the side of the head with my cane. He squealed like a hedgehog in vinegar and slumped prostrate on the ground next to his bicycle.

Idly, I noticed that the rear wheel was still gently spinning.

Old bastard? Moi? How very rude. Anulus. Do me a favour? Dobbers, you too. Hold this chap steady.

I bent over the fallen bicycle and removed a black metal tube-like thing from its frame. The cyclist was struggling weakly against both Dobbers and Anulus but they were holding him fast.

Fool, what is this device?

I said at the wriggling clown-dressed thing.

He stopped fighting his captors and looked at me in bewilderment.

It's a bloody pump. You know? In case I get a flat tire?

He answered, confusion writ large on his face.

Ah!

I nodded at the others and raised an eyebrow good naturedly.

Fellows, I think this man here seems a little flat. Don't you?

Dobbers giggled as he held the cyclist fellows arms.

Oh yes Boomy, old chap. He seems quite flat.

I leaned over the cyclist and gave him one of my best smiles. He flinched and tried to flail away.

Anulus, flip him over.

Anulus cackled madly and flipped the cyclist fellow over with ease, placing a giant boot on his back to hold him steady.

I gave the pump a few practice strokes in the air. Air bellowed out of it with an angry hiss each time.

Perfect! Right. Up the brown trumpet with you!

It took a bit of effort but in no time I had it up and was pumping away vigorously. The fellow squealed and jerked to and fro in horror.

Oowww, stop it! Stop, for the love of god, man!!!

He thrashed about ever more frantically, squealing like a rat in a toaster.

There was a sudden and muted pop.

I stopped pumping.

The cyclist went limp.

I say, did we burst him?

Giggled Dobbers.

I wrenched the pump out. It flubbered free in a red and bubbly mess which spread rapidly out from the cyclist's bahookie. In the yellow glow of the street light it looked a little like frothy hot chocolate.

I do believe we did, Dobbers, old fellow. Bugger. I had hoped he would last a bit longer?

The corpse below us emitted a long and splobbery sounding fart.

Anulus winced.

Christ, that stinks. Anyway, let's get to the kebab shop. I'm bloody starving. What do you fancy, Boomy, old chap?

I gave the bloodied pump a wipe and dropped it next to the now rapidly deflating cyclist.

What do I fancy!? Ha, Anulus, you should know...