Sir Simon Van Gelding approached the case with his usual stealth, drawing upon his years of service in Her Majesty’s employ to great effect. He prized open the latches without a hint of a click, admiring his manservant Alonzo’s innate skill for oiling hinges. Esmeralda stood quiet as a cat—for she was a cat—watching the proceedings from her perch by the over-sized aquarium in which Van Gelding kept his pet snapping turtle Cedric. The fiberglass tuba slipped into his cunning hands, at the ready in an instant for his devious purpose.
Across the hall, reclining on the hideous divan that had been a gift from his lesbian grandmother, lounged the languid, naked form of the nymphomaniac known as “Moaning Lisa,” whose advances he had spurned for two long years.
Tonight, though, was like no other eve. For, in the shadows of the great breasts rising from Lisa’s form, there dwelt a figure possessed of an evil purpose. His name was Bhuttefueco, and he had designs on the fair maiden. This, Van Gelding could not allow.
Brandishing the deep-throat-ed instrument, he advanced silently upon the ne’er-do-well. Without warning, he plunged the bell of the beast over the interloper’s head, and blew a resounding low “F” into his unprepared ears. The swine dropped the dagger he had been brandishing at the naked maiden, and began protesting his innocence. “Why, you’re no more innocent than a country whore!” Van Gelding exclaimed. Upon seeing the hurt look on Lisa’s face, he revised his assessment, declaring, “Present Company excluded, of course!”
The fiend began to squirm under the weight of the diabolical instrument. Van Gelding let loose with another Basso Profundo, which only served to annoy the villain further. Left with no alternative, Van Gelding resorted to the only weapon left. Fetching a candle from the hall, he dropped his stylish trousers and placed his rectum against the mouthpiece of the over-sized brass instrument. “Surely, you don’t mean to…” a startled Lisa murmured from her repose. “Indeed, my dear! This vermin must pay for his transgression!” replied a grinning, half-naked Van Gelding. Whereupon he reached back, pressed the valves of the instrument in such a manner as to create the shortest distance between the mouthpiece and the bell, let fly with a majestic burst of flatulence, and ignited it with the candle though the spit valve. The creature roared in pain, shook off the brass damnation clinging to his singed scalp, and dove ignominiously out the window at the end of the hall.
“Well, that’s that!” sneered Van Gelding triumphantly. “Not quite,” purred Lisa, spreading her naked legs coyly, “I believe the sight of your nude lower regions have rendered me moistened, good sir!” Sir Simon glanced at her glistening nether-bits, shook his head, and replied, “Sorry, lass. They don’t call me Van GELDING for nothing…”
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