I Hate It When This Happens

By Oswald Carver on March 23, 2010

I had just returned home from work, and was in desperate need of assistance from my butler.

“Montgomery!” I shouted. “Mont-gom-er-y!”

He materialized as if from nowhere. “Pip-pip, Master Carver. ‘Ow wuz it down at the coffee ‘n’ perk?”

“The what?”

“Oh, I say. Just a bit of Brit rhyming there — coffee ‘n’ perk, meaning ‘work?’ Wot wot.”

I stared at him blankly. “Montgomery, if I didn’t know better, I’d say that everything you know about the British language comes from watching television. That bit about the rhyming, for example. I know I saw that on The Jeffersons once.”

“Yes, well, we can only speak as the Creator sees fit, guv’nor. Now then, wot can I do for… oh, I say.”

“What now?”

“Did you happen to step in a bit of shine ‘n’ spit?”

“What?”

“Er, that is — dog shit?”

“No. But that’s why I need you. I crapped my pants on the way home. Again.”

“Wot wot! Well, that won’t do at all. You just slip out of those filthy trousers and scamper on up to a hot bath. I’ll have a pitcher of Old Fashioneds to you before you can say ‘Ol’ Queen Liz,’ ay?”

“Sounds good,” I said as I removed my pants and draped them over Montgomery’s outstretched arm. “Oh, and one more thing?”

“Yes, guv’nor?”

“My new Escalade — I’m pretty sure I left some king-sized skidmarks on the driver’s seat. Be sure and get those out before anything soaks in.”

“Sure and betweedle, Master Carver. Don’t you worry about a thing. Ol’ Montgomery’ll take care of it lickety split, or my name’s not Montgomery.”

I may not be able to understand half of the gibberish that comes out of his mouth, but I have to admit that Monty’s a hell of a butler. Anyhow, time for me to hop in the tub. Feel free to join me if you’re attractive and in the area, ladies.