A Knock on the Door

There was a knock on The Chipster's door this morning. I was going to let Gabby answer it but then I remembered that she’d mentioned nipping out to the library where she was going to help move some tramps who had taken over the reading corner previously set aside for the Romanian immigrant community. I was in the house alone.

I pushed myself away from my desk, adjusted my bright yellow summer thong, and headed for the door. And as soon as I opened it, I felt something strike me across the bridge of my nose. I fell down, tears thick in my eyes and the unmistakable smell of an oil-based lubricant overwhelming my senses.

‘And you Chip?’ asked a voice.

I scrambled back on all fours and I scuffed my right buttock against the toe of somebody’s boot.

‘Nice thong,’ said the voice and I then I heard footsteps enter the apartment and then the door close.

‘Is that him?’

‘Where do we do it?’

‘Come on, I’ve got a dentist’s appointment at two… They charge extra if I’m late.’

When my eyes cleared, I found myself sitting in the middle of my living room surrounded by five women in various states of undress. Each was wielding the sort of weapon you can’t mention these days in polite company without the inclusion of a few rubber asterisks.

‘What do you want?’ I asked but I should have known full well what they were there for.

‘We’re the hit squad of naked porn stars you requested,’ said the woman dressed in a gimp uniform with cut away holes for her breasts. I thought she smiled but it might have been an trapped bubble of air under the rubber mask.

‘Hang on,’ I replied, ‘is this all over the things I wrote in my blog about the job writing for the porn magazine? I thought he was only joking.’

‘Peddlers of pornography rarely joke,’ said the gimp. ‘In fact, they’re not known for having great senses of humour.’

‘Aren’t they?’

‘Have you ever read Playboy and come away laughing?’

‘Well there was one issue with Latoya Jackson in it…’

A woman wearing a thong shrugged and looked at her companions. ‘He has a point,’ she said and then lashed out with her oddly-textured rubber baton.

‘Listen smart mouth,’ she said. ‘This is a warning and we’re doing you a favour because you’ve done so much for thongs wearers in Wales. But in future, stop posting stuff about us. It’s only going to end in pain.’

‘Yes,’ said the gimp. ‘You don’t want us to come back and get serious.’

‘I could go to the police,’ I reminded them.

‘And say what? You had five naked porn stars in your house and they gave you a good spanking? You’d be front page in the News of the World before your cheeks turned red.’

They had a point too.

That's when a woman wearing fur earmuffs and wielding a machete grabbed my pony tail and thrust her chest in my face.

‘You listen good,’ she hissed. ‘You post another thing about us and we’re coming back. You understand?’

I understood. And only an idiot would go against such good advice and I won’t post on them again. Promise.