The Angie’s Room Trilogy - By Miguel and Clive
Part 2 - Gimp-masks are not permitted in the family area
Gimp-masks are not permitted in the family area
I arrived at the address on the letter, it turned out to be a lock-up garage with the words ‘fuck Allah’ spray painted on the corrugated iron roller door. Quite right I thought to myself, and as instructed in the letter, I knocked twice.
“Who’s there?” said a muffled gruff voice. “It’s Clive, I was invited by Angie.” I replied, clearing my throat. “What is the password?” the voice sneered back at me through a slit that was opened in the garage door.”
“Erm, I wasn’t given a password in the letter, my dear.” I instantly regretted the ‘my dear’ I had added on to the end of the sentence when the door furiously rolled open with a crash.
“In ya come then chuck” said the Kathy Liebert lookalike. “I do apologise for the clerical error in the invite, I’ll have to have a word in the club administrator’s ear”.
“You didn’t write that?” I enquired. “Of course not, Clive. I merely sign them. Come on in.”
Judging from the exterior, I didn’t expect much from the inside, but I was pleasantly surprised to see that they had took the advice of the BBC’s Changing Rooms, and created the illusion of space by painting horizontal stripes on the two longest walls, to great success.
“Do keep up, Clive” Angie scolded, ushering me hurriedly into a small office to the right of the main entrance, where she matter-of-factly asked me:
“So, Clive, what got you into collecting venereal diseases?”
“I see you are a fan of my work miss..... “ I enquired.
“Angie, call me Angie.” She said sharply. “That’s my poker nickname”.
“Well, Angie, it all started a few years ago when I caught Gonorrhoea from a female banjo player from Caerphilly that made her living by busking using George Formby tunes. By sheer good luck I’d caught Chlamydia a couple of weeks earlier, which gave the idea to go on and earn the full set, wrap up the whole shooting match, tick it off the to do list, put it in the done and dusted folder... as it were”
“Fascinating Clive, I can see you’ll be a great addition to our little club” Angie beamed.
She then approached me, giving me an exaggerated wink “This is the delightful Dee, our club administrator.” She gestured to the desk behind me with an outstretched arm. “And general dogs body” she barely whispered to me in a high pitched voice, shielding here lips from Dee with the other hand, John Cleese style.
I spun around to be greeted by an abomination which was stood up at it’s desk, with it’s hand out to shake mine. I couldn’t help but notice the unfortunate denim skirt. She had the sort of figure that made it look like she had put it on upside down, and corn beef legs with the early signs of varicose veins.
“Dee, great to meet you” I offered with two thumbs up, skilfully avoiding the handshake. “How is the administration game?”
“Busy, lots of Stage Two written warnings for lateness to be issued - the three minute rule, is the three minute rule” the beast shrieked, with a callous look on her face.
“Come, Clive let me show you around.” interrupted Angie to rescue me.
“Tell me about yourself Angie” I enquired.
“Okay. My real name is actually Anne, and amongst other things, I like to shove broken Tuc biscuits up my rectum and have a young chap lick them out. Occasionally, my lover and I will harvest the congealed blood and Tuc mixture to have it on toast for supper.”
“JESUS H CHRIST, YOU ANIMAL” I bellowed, in case it was a test.
“Don’t be shocked, Clive. We’ve all got our preferences here, and we like to promote an atmosphere of openness”
“Marvellous.” I said, in the style of Neil Channing on the Black Belt Poker adverts. “What time is the poker game?”
“Not for two hours, Clive, you’re a little early. Why don’t you wait in the bar area, I’ll introduce you to our poker sweat shop director, Jimbo.”
“Splendid.” I exclaimed with a little too much mooted enthusiasm.
She led me through a set of double doors to a rather tasteful bar area. My eyes were instantly drawn to a sign on the opposite wall in big red letters that read:
‘Members Bar Only. Gimp-masks are not permitted in the family area.’
The Angie’s Room Trilogy - Parts 1 and 3
It all began when I received an anonymous letter through the post, scented with female-ejaculate, from a Lady identifying herself as Angie. In the hand written letter she claimed that we shared an affinity for poker and the dark side, with the words ‘dark side’ punctuated by a body print of her obviously shaved snatch to represent the commas.
Included in the envelope was a Polaroid image of her naked, with her breasts perched atop a copy of Phil Gordon’s Little Green Book of Poker. Not much of a looker I thought, but hey... inside every bush there is a flush!
“Aye. I run a tight ship, make no mistake. If any of the lads get out of line I’m very much a belts off, trousers down, bend over sonny, this will hurt me more than it hurts you, up the arse, Flower of Scotland belting out, style of disciplinarian. I won’t be doing this forever mind, one day I’ll return to the Glasgow Folk scene as the prodigal son when ‘Flower of Scotland – The Anal Remix’ hits all good Our Price stores.”
Part 3 - The invite said there was a 15% discount on first the drink