54. Davey Donkeydangle & Mister Frisky.

“Hey, Lucifer. You’ve got kids, haven’t you?”
“Depends what you mean, Fluff.”
“What? You’ve either got kids or you haven’t. Now, you’ve got kids, haven’t you?”
“Well, if you’re asking me if I’m a dad, then yes. If you’re asking if I have a cellar full of stolen children, then no.”
“Never mind. What do you want, Fluff?”
“Look, I’ve got this children’s entertainer booked for my little girl’s birthday party this weekend. Only thing is, he can’t make it. You got any clowns you can recommend?”
“I know plenty of clowns, Fluff, but none that would be any good for a kid’s party. Who’s let you down?”
“A bloke called Davey Donkeydangle.”
“Come again?”
“Davey Donkeydangle.”
“Let me get this straight. You’ve got a bloke called Davey Donkeydangle coming over to entertain your kids for an afternoon?”
“You saying you’ve never heard of Davey Donkeydangle? He’s a fucking legend, man!”
“I’m sure he is a legend, in the world of Swedish erotica. If some fucker calling himself Davey Donkeydangle turned up at my house and offered to make balloon animals, I’d be arming myself with a garden rake.”
“You always do this, Lucifer. You’ve got a sick mind. You find something smutty in the most innocent of subjects.”
“Donkeydangle. Come on, Fluff.”
“Well, alright. I see what you’re getting at. The thing is, Davey Donkeydangle is an all round entertainer. He does kids parties, but he also does stand up on a night, you know, a bit of blue material.”
“Why doesn’t he have two names then, something a bit tamer for the kids then Donkeyfuckingdangle for the grown-ups?”
“We asked him that. He said it saved on stationary. He said ‘Donkeydangle’ was a happy medium.”
“Hmm. Let’s hope he doesn’t get his acts mixed up.”
“That’ll never happen, not with Davey Donkeydangle. He’s a professional, The most popular children’s entertainer in West Yorkshire. I told you – he’s a legend! We’ve had him booked a year in advance. They’re kicking his door in to get to him.”
How come he’s cancelled?”
“Well, it turns out they really are kicking his door in to get to him. Hi wife has gone and fucked off with another bloke…”
“Can’t say I blame her.”
“There’s no need for that. You don’t know him! He’s a lovely fella!”
“Yeah, whatever.”
“Well, Davey Donkeydangle phoned my wife yesterday afternoon. He were in floods of tears, poor bloke. Told her he wouldn’t be able to make it on Saturday. The wife was devastated. She’d got everything booked, the marquee, the cake, everything. She asked him if there was any chance he’d change his mind, but he told her that matters were out of his hands now. Turns out that after his wife walked out he’d been phoning her none stop, pleading for her to come back. He told her he had a gun, and that he’d do something stupid…”
“He’s already done something stupid. He called himself Davey Donkeydangle.”
“*sigh* Anyway, next thing you know, the police armed response unit had surrounded his house. They had a trained negotiator shouting at him through a megaphone, asking him to throw out the weapon and surrender peacefully.”
“Fucking hell!”
“That’s what the wife said. Well, here’s how professional he is. He only went and phoned all his bookings for that weekend and cancelled them in the middle of a tense stand off with the police! They had to evacuate the cul-de-sac where he lives for seven hours!”
“Very professional.”
“It’s not all bad, though. The wife managed to book him for our Maisey’s eight birthday party next April while she was on the phone. Just before the police kicked his door in.”
“Right. And the fact that he’s crying down the phone to his wife threatening to blow his own brains out doesn’t put you off at all?”
“Not really. I can’t see it ending in a custodial sentence, Lucifer, unless the keep him in for psychiatric evaluation, or something.”
“That’s a relief. He should be out of the straight jacket in plenty of time for your daughter’s birthday treat. What you going to do this Saturday, then?”
“Dunno. If you don’t know anybody on short notice, then we’ll probably hire a pony.”
“A pony. Why?”
“Pony rides round the garden. We did it for our eldest two years back. They sent a pony called Mister Frisky.”
“How did that go?”
“Shit. Mister Frisky started eating the herbaceous border, and when the wife screamed he went went berserk. Bethany from down the street got thrown into a conifer, and Mister Frisky disappeared across the back field at a gallop. It took them four days to find him, and now Mister Frisky won’t let kids ride on him anymore.”
“Sounds like a lot of hassle to me.”
“With Davey Donkeydangle out of action we’ve got precious little choice, Lucifer.”
“What’s wrong with letting them entertain themselves? We didn’t need ponies or Davey donkeydangle when we were kids.”
“It’s all changed Lucifer. Kids are different now. They want Davey Donkeydangle. You’ll see. In a year or two you’ll be begging me for his number!”
“I doubt that. See you later, Fluff. Good luck with Mister Frisky.”
“They don’t use Mister Frisky anymore, after what happened. The pony they’ve got now is called Jade, after Jade Goody.”
“Jesus wept.”

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