It was a difficult day, the usually gin clear skies had given way to the melancholy cement cloudy days of winter. A young girl, Laura: with bosoms the size of freshly plucked apples skipped down the cobbled streets of Melville. Lost in her dreams of what the season would bring: It was time for the Platypus to return, By Platypus, she was of-course referring to Lord 'Platypus' the dashing viscount of Melville.
Every summer, he travelled, oh did that man travel: As Laura worked the cockle market, as she baked pork pies for the war effort. As she slunk down the pub to meet rowdy, hard men for a bit of rumpy pumpy. The Viscount's tales were published on Monday and were fish paper by Friday. The ink stained her chips, but she still ate. As if by absorbing his tales, she could be a part of him.
She loved him, she loved him ever since he decided to stop into the pub one day. It only took half a ham sandwich and a pint of ale, but she knew it then, she knew that he'd bend her over the loos and give her one for England. For he loved his country and was in the habit of shouting about it as he expelled spermatozoa into her eager hole.
At first, he would simply re-part his hair, grab his cane and flee the scene. But each time, he stayed longer, each time he seemed to last longer inside her; until one day; The Platypus simply grabbed her hand and led her to his mansion, totally unaffected by the gawps of the butcher, the baker or businessman. This afternoon he simply grabbed her again and told her:
"Come"
She'd felt like she was in a fever dream, particularly when she observed the vast kitchen; table groaning with sweet meats...Speaking of groaning: Vicount had designed his bedroom into a vast pleasure chamber with all the latest vibrations coming in from gay Pari. For hours, he'd shown her the levers and pulleys; the obscene illustrations of the transvestites of Istanbul, he'd shown her his collection of taxidermied Monkeys doing obscene things to each other. As they made love, the eyes seemed to follow them around.
But there was one thing that remained a mystery to Laura; Why...Oh why did this man of such great culture, this man who had conquered civilizations, shot elephants blindly with with one hand combing his dark mustache: Why had he decided to take up the name of the lowly Platypus; a creature so despised in Melville that it was fed to only the working classes as a pickled dish. It's stupid, vacant face staring out from the vats of the local Picklearium.
The answer; of-course was staring Laura straight in the genitals; For the Lord, had two heads attached to his member:
