Written as a response to…
Chickens We Plocked
After I wrote a story called Girlz I Plocked, inspired by the brilliant Holly Wood, Peter A Slaughter (not to be confused with my husband, Peter Gaffney), and I entertained a few choice definitions for the word, “plock.”
Thus begins the correspondence between Peter A Slaughter and me, with many mentions of Peter’s online nemesis Gutbloom, whom I refer to as My Gutbloom, as both a reference to one of Peter’s many typographic errors and, much to Peter’s aggravation, my unwavering admiration for Gutbloom. There is also a response from our dear eccentric, kooky, brilliant and utterly lovable Alison Bennett and of course a chicken has the last word.
Looks like we plocked this one up Sherry. Plocked it up well and good.
Quick. Before anyone notices, wipe your fingerprints off just like I have and deny all knowledge. If the worst come to the worst we’ll blame Gutbloom. He’s taking the rap for everything else going wrong here so they will naturally think it’s him anyway.
Fingerprints wiped. Can’t blame My Gutbloom as it would interfere with the “integrity” tattoo on my ankle that my husband is constantly pointing out to me when I come up any ideas that are less than virtuous.
Well we’ll keep “Your” Gutbloom on standby. Just in case the shit hits the fan. Though the way it’s going it’s going to be more like the cesspit hitting the windmill. On the upside there will be enough for everybody.
And don’t give me that “less than virtuous.” You don’t think they would have let any of us in if we were virtuous do you. And we’ve all seen what is written on the wall in the gents toilet. If you want a good time call SC it say. And don’t deny it as we all recognised your handwriting.
Anyway, this is no time to be swooning at Mr “I’ve got a monocle” Gutbloom. We’ve got fingerprints to remove and alibis to come up with. I would tell you his nickname is one eyed Willy but it’s a British joke so I doubt you’d get it.
PS Gutbloom says his favourite game is alien and hillbilly farmer and can you get a big tub of KY Jelly.
My Dear Peter,
Well, you’ve certainly exposed my virtuous persona for the facade it is.
Trust me, I may not be British, but it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what “one eyed Willy” is. I fear you have misinterpreted my childlike sense of wonder for stupidity, like so many. Have you learned nothing from my story, Bedlington Terrier?
And by the way, I am not in the least ashamed of the fact that yes, I am a rip-roaring good time. Why just tonight, at an intimate sophisticated dinner party with a titled British celebrity, mind you, I told a joke about bestiality that had the guests spitting their food out, they were laughing so hard.
As far as dragging My Gutbloom into our quagmire, I must object. He is clearly a gentleman and since he is taking responsibility for almost all the ills of white privilege, I hardly think it fair to include him in this sordid situation.
The fingerprints are wiped. I have a connection in Hollywood who can provide an ironclad alibi. Take a Xanax and stop worrying.
If by an extremely remote twist of fate, you are apprehended, I will wire the bail money to my cousin in London to get you out of jail, (assuming the judicial system is similar to ours in America.) If not, you can always use your Ecky Thump skills to protect yourself while incarcerated and I’m guessing since you bring your partner tea and fresh baked bread every morning, she will stand by your side.
Your partner in crime,
p.s. Alien and hillbilly farmer sounds really fun. What are the rules?
My Dear Sherry,
One thing I would never call you is stupid. I had a feeling you would understand but playing on the fact that you would not was part of the joke.
As for Your Gutbloom, and there are rumours about you two, you know. I know this because I started them :O, I think you will find he is well acquainted with this quagmire as he made himself at home here sometime ago. Besides, as I said, if he is taking the rap for everything else what’s one more thing. Also I think he gets off on this sort of thing.
Xanax not required. If you can drink strong dark French coffee you can deal with anything.
Bail money not required here. This Great Britain, not the colonies.
PS There are no rules to alien and hillbilly farmer. Just need plenty of KY Jelly and a can-do attitude. A sense of fun and a lot of imagination helps.
Oh silly Peter!
Of course I knew you were joking re: one eyed willy. Please, please, please do not even entertain the notion of embarking on a journey of self-examination through therapy, (not that you said you would — but just in case), simply as a result of misinterpreting my response as anything more than a joke. I am very sorry if my flippant response caused you even the slightest bit of self-loathing.
I am looking forward to the inevitable viral internet response to the rumors about My Gutbloom and me. I am only sorry for My Gutbloom, as he is a proper gentleman and most likely will eschew this type of sordid publicity. As I tend toward embracing anonymity myself, and am still kicking myself for using my real name here at Medium, I am anticipating his discomfort with deep regret.
Fortunately, the viral response will most likely last but a few uncomfortable days and God knows, we’ve all been through worse than that.
Happy to hear Xanax and bail money will not be necessary. Phew!
p.s. Re: Aliens and Hillbilly Farmers
I absolutely have a can-do attitude and access to KY Jelly but would really appreciate a few more specifics. At this point I’m not sure if the KY is for the aliens, the farmers, the animals or me. Please advise in a discreet manner.
Me, therapy and self loathing. The only sentence I can see those words coming together is, “If you think I need therapy because I am suffering from self loathing then you are nuttier then an overfed squirrel. So let’s not worry about that. I have the sort of ego you could bend iron bars around.
Mr Gutbloom seems to be absent, I notice. I think the technical term is “done a runner”. You have proven too much woman for the poor chap to handle. That and the idea of going viral. He says he still has the rash from last time.
As for aliens and hillbilly farmers, it is simple. You will have heard the saying, strap a pair on. Well the ones we use come with the other bit as well. Just grab the KY Jelly, pick one and go for it. Bit like whack-a-mole. Of course your good self will probably not need the KY Jelly. I say this as I understand if you had chosen a nom de plume it would have been Mrs Moist.
So, have at it and bring the colour to MR Gutbloom cheeks. That reminds me. Don’t forget the paddles.
My dear Peter,
While laughing out loud as usual, at your witty missive, I must ask you to please change my nom de plume to something just slightly more genteel and refrain from discussing the state of my lady parts in detail. If My Gutbloom hasn’t “done a runner” before, he surely will after your most recent post. I can only hope, he didn’t need to be hospitalized from the shock.
I absolutely see how you went there, especially with my enthusiast encouragement, however having my name on the gents bathroom wall AND being referred to as Mrs. Moist may start a domino effect that I fear can only end badly, with both of us being forced to change our names legally.
Perhaps your fertile imagination can conjure up a nom de plume that is only slightly suggestive and a tad more discreet. I have the utmost faith in you.
Suddenly our dear friend Alison Bennett has joined the conversation!
But I just got my salty snacks and made a pillow fort and shit.
I’m 117% ready to be entertained by you two… besides, I told Gutbloom I think I love him last night so he’s already probably blocked me and set up surveillance around his home… I may or may not have been drinking… I can’t really be sure of anything these days…
… anyway, I’m off to practice my Ecky Thump moves for a bit.
I think the problem with Mr Gutbloom is he may talk the talk but does not walk the walk. REDACTED …but I don’t know him that well.
As I observed with Sherry, REDACTED. He is more the shy retiring type. Well, the REDACTED type. Maybe you will have to lure him out with kind words, little treats and, failing that, a REDACTED.
Sadly, Peter has yet to come up with a suitable alias for me. He sent me a weak suggestion that I immediately dismissed. We await his next correspondence.
I am so plocking sick of this shit, I’m about to have a plocking nervous breakdown and plock myself to death.