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There Aint No Justice 098
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| There Ain't No Justice |
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| #98 |
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- The Pukey! -
by Flammable Fuzzball
Mr. Troy's refusal to have a pukey in the house had caused enormous
trouble in the family. "Pukey's are nasty, degenerate things," he said: "They
make filthy messes all over the floor, they corrupt the young, they interrupt
homework and sap the nation, and we have nowhere to put one." His wife would
answer, "Well, well, we are getting distinguished, aren't we? It seems we're
the Duke of Devonshire. Let me tell you that Blanche and Mabel both have
pukeys in their drawing-rooms, and far from being corrupted, they are
happier." Young Miss Troy appealed to her father's sense of status, saying,
"Everywhere I go, Father, It's always: 'What did your pukey do last night?' I
have to admit we haven't got one." "Oh, all right," said Mr. Troy after a
couple of years, "I'll let the pukey-man come and give a demonstration."
A few days later, the man arrived with the pukey and put it's box against
the wall opposite the fireplace. When Mrs. Troy asked,"Won't it catch the
draught there?" the pukey-man only laughed and said: "The point about a pukey,
madam, is that it's bred to be insensible." "But it is ALIVE, isn't it?" asked
Mrs. Troy quickly, "because we'd never pay for something dead. And if it's
alive, won't the dog resent it?" "Both dog and budgie will be unconscious of
it, madam," said the pukey-man, "a pukey speaks only to a human brain."
"Well, cut the brainy cackle and open the box," said Mr. Troy roughly.
Let us admit at once that the first impression the pukey made on Mr. Troy
was a good one. Even lying stupefied on the carpet, its eyes had a wondering
gaze that hardly fell short of sweetness. "It's not just going to flop down
like that all the time, is it?" asked Mr. Troy to hide the fact that he liked
it so far. "Give it a minute, my dear sir!" begged the pukey-man, "It's
hardly got its bearings." "Pay him no attention!" exclaimed Mrs. Troy, "He's
been picking on pukeys for years." "Oh, what shall we call it?" said Miss
Troy.
Shed had hardly spoken when the pukey shuddered from snout to stern and
let its muzzle fall right open, showing six rows of vivid pink gums and
bubbles of sparkling saliva: "No teeth; That's curious!" muttered Mr. Troy.
Then, with no warning, it vomited all over the carpet--A perfectly-filthy,
greenish-yellow mess--Causing Mrs. Troy to cry spontaneously: "Oh, the filthy
little beast!" and Miss Troy to say: "Oh, mum, don't fuss!" and Mr. Troy to
say: "I told you it would foul everything it up. Take the little brute away!"
"An ounce of patience, if you please," asked the pukey-man, "Or how can it
grow on you?" "I'm sure that's true--And I don't mean I don't like it," said
Mrs. Troy, rallying. "Isn't it actually GOOD for the carpet?" Miss Troy asked
the pukey-man, "I know the Vicar said, reasonably used, it was." "That is
perfectly correct, Miss Troy," said the pukey-man, "It's not the vomit but the
abuse of it." "Now there's a remark I always like to hear," said Mr. Troy.
At that moment the pukey, which had been staring at its own emission in a
rather vague, contented way, changed its expression entirely. A sort of
pathetic anguish came over its whole face: it held its snout sideways and
looked at Miss Troy in a pleading, tender way. "Oh, LOOK!" cried Miss Troy,
"It's trying to say it didn't mean bad." They were all wrenched by the
pukey's fawning expression, and when it slobbered and groveled and brownish
tears dripped from the corners of its eyes, Mrs. Troy could have hugged it.
"Damned, sentimental hypocritical brute!" said Mr. Troy. "I still reserve my
judgment." But he was the first to jump in his seat when the pukey, suddenly
throwing up on to the carpet a clot of gritty mucus, followed this up with a
string of shrieks and groans. Everyone was deafened except Miss Troy, who
sensed at once that the pukey was illustrating the dilemma of girls of her own
age in search of happiness. "Why bless my soul!" Said Mrs. Troy soon, "It's
trying to have SEX, that's what it is!" And sure enough, the pukey was now
twisting its hind-parts in the most indecent way and rubbing its flanks in its
own vomit. "I'll not have that in my house," said Mrs. Troy, pursing her
lips, "It's just plain filth, and showing-off." "My dear madam, it never
actually gets there," said the pukey-man: "nothing ever really HAPPENS." "Oh,
mother, you and father make everything seem so obscene!" said Miss Troy, "Even
love." "Well, as long as it only suggests but can't actually do it, I don't
mind," said Mrs. Troy, watching the pukey with a new curiosity. "My mind is
still unmade up," said Mr. Troy. Worn out, it seemed, by sexual frustration,
the pukey lay still for a moment. Then, suddenly fixing its eye on Mrs. Troy,
it gave her such a glare of horrible malignancy that she reached for her
husband's arm. Next minutes, there was a dreadful spectacle: Throwing itself
into a spasm of rage, the pukey began tearing and biting at its own body, like
a thing bent on suicide. "Stop it! Stop it! Put the lid on!" screamed Mrs.
Troy. "It's cruel, and drawing blood." "Frankly, you'll have to adjust to
that madam," said the pukey-man, "Because it fights more than anything else."
"Oh, then, that's decisive for me," said Mr. Troy, "Because I like to see a
good scrap." "It IS the men who like that best," agreed the pukey-man, as the
pukey went through the motions of winding its entrails round the throat of and
enemy and jumping on his face. "I don't mind it's fighting," Mrs. Troy said
grudgingly, "but I'll put its lid on if it overdoes it. I like beautiful
things best." The words, alas, were hardly out of her mouth when the pukey,
sighting backwards over its spine like a mounted cowboy firing at pursuers,
shot her full in the face with an outrageous report. "Now no grumbling,
mother," screamed poor Miss Troy, knowing her mother's readiness to take
affront. "But it's not nice," protested Mrs. Troy, fanning herself with an
evening paper. "Oh, Mother, can't you see it means nothing?" cried Miss Troy,
"It's not like us, with our standards." "Standards or no," replied Mrs.
Troy," I never saw Mable's pukey do that to her." "ah, but this is an
improved model, madam," said the pukey-man.
"Am I correct in supposing," asked Mr. Troy," that nothing substantial
ever comes out of its rear end anyway?" "That is correct, sir," answered the
pukey-man, "all secretion and excretion are purely visual and oral. The vent
is hot air at most: hence, no sand-box." "Yet it has a belly on it," said Mr.
Troy, "I know because I can see one." "You can see a belly, sir,"answered the
pukey-man, "but you can't see any guts, can you?" They all laughed at this,
because it was so true.
After Throwing up another couple of times ("Mercy, what a messy little
perisher it is!" said kind Mrs. Troy), the pukey became inordinately grave and
a whole rash of wettish pimples spread over its face. "Well you are in luck!"
said the pukey-man, jumping up as if genuinely interested, "it never does this
more than once a week at most. Can you guess what it is?" They all racked
their brains, guessing everything from sewage farming to guitar-playing and
still couldn't imagine; until Miss Troy, who was the quickest of the family,
screamed: "I know! It's thinking!" "My compliments young lady." said the
pukey-man, bowing.
They all watched the pukey thinking because it was so unexpected, but none
of them really liked it. "When it vomits, it only makes me laugh," said Mr.
Troy, "but when it thinks, I feel like vomiting." "I just feel nervous and
embarrassed, like it was something you'd seen and you shouldn't." said Mrs.
Troy, and even Miss Troy for once agreed with her mother, saying, "You feel
it's only doing it as a change from being sick, but it's the same really."
"Don't judge it too hardly," said the pukey-man, "Surely the wonder is that
with no brains it can think at all." "Has it really no brains?" Asked Mr.
Troy, curious. "No, sir," said the pukey-man: "That's why it's thinking makes
you sick." "Funny sort of animal, I must say." said Mr. Troy: "Thinks without
brains, bites without teeth, throws-up with no guts and screws without sex."
"Oh, please stop it thinking." begged Mrs. Troy. "I had an experience once
that smelt like that." At which words, the pukey's pimples disappeared
completely and, lying prone with its paws out, it gave Mrs. Troy a smug,
complacent look, showing all its gums in a pleading whimpering. "Oh, the
little angel! It wants to be congratulated for having thought!" cried Mrs.
Troy. "Then we will! Yes! We will, you smelly little darling. You little
stinking, clever, mother's thing!" "I find that touching too," said Mr. Troy.
"No wonder there's so much nicker in pukeys." "It's for love and culture too,
Dad." Miss Troy reminded. "Thank you, Miss Troy," said the pukey-man, "We
breeders tell ourselves that too."
During the next hour, the pukey did all manner of things. Such as
marching like the ColdStream Guards, dancing and balancing on one paw like
Pavlova, folding its arms like a member of Parliment, singing the National
Anthem, plucking away at its parts mysteriously, fighting like mad, and making
such vulgar, explosive noises at both ends that the Troys were all left
speechless with wonder. What charmed them as much as anything was the feeling
that the pukey made no distinction about what it did: whether it was fawning
or screeching or thinking or puking, it made it all like the same, because it
loved each thing equally and looked at you always so proudly for it. "I can
only say your breeders must be jolly high-skilled," summed-up Mr. Troy, "to
root out all the natural organs and still poison the air." "It's more a sixth
sense than a skill," said the pukey-man modestly, "and one which your wife, I
may say, seems to have instinctively." This was the first compliment Mrs.
Troy had had since she gave birth to Miss Troy, and to cover her natural
embarrassment she said sharply, "Well, put it's lid on again now and take it
away. We'll come and fill out the Never-never forms tomorrow."
With the pukey gone, it wasn't like the same home. The walls seemed to
have been sprayed with a dribble the color of maple syrup, and dead flies kept
dropping from the ceiling. The state of the carpet was beyond description,
although the last thing that pukey had done before the lid closed was puff a
sort of scented detergent powder over the stinking mess it had made. But the
Troys were much to impressed to worry about the room: They could only think
of buying the pukey and doing this every night. "It baffles me," said Mr.
Troy, as they went to bed: "It's not human, it's not mechanical, it's not
like any animal I've ever known." "What it leaves on the carpet is human
through-and-through," said Mrs. Troy, and they all laughed at this because it
was so true.
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