Sunday, 19 July 2015

Sand, Sea and Sculptures



Hey, everyone needs a holiday from time to time. Me more than most. For a start, I'm thousands of years old, and only getting older by the second, is it any wonder I get a bit cranky. I'd like to see you stand perfectly still for years, or even an hour. Go on, give it a go, and tell me that doesn't suck.

Here is a flash history course for you.

Pompeii was a Roman city, which was completely covered by a pyroclastic lava flow from Mount Vesuvius in the year 79AD. 1700 years later, someone found unusual air-spaces in the condensed lava, which they filled with plaster. The air spaces happened to be, the only earthly remains of the unlucky Pompeian residents, who died when the lava hit. The plaster hardened, producing near perfect replicas of the long dead people. Some of these casts are on show in the Garden of fugitives, which is where I happen to be found. So, day after day, people shuffle past me by the coach load, taking snaps of my nakedness, to bring home and share with the kids. It pisses me off.

Today, I was standing around, like I do, when a bunch of day trippers appeared. Tagging on to the end of the line were two girls, (and I am being generous with that description), who looked like they had just been thrown out of a night club.

"This is boring Trish, can we go?" said the blonde with the over-sized sunglasses and the undersized hot pants.

"I paid twenty five euro for this bloody trip, we better get to a wine bar soon," said her friend, who was clearly hung-over and having difficulty walking in her cheap flip-flops.

"Trish, would you look at that one," said Blondie, pointing directly at me.

"Ugly little fucker, ain't he," said Flip-flop, chewing her gum like a ruminating cow.

Quite apt that actually.

"He looks like someone nicked his IPhone, or he's taking a hard dump," said flip-flop, who clearly thought she was hilarious. The blonde one snorted a laugh, saying, "Hard dump, good one Trish."

What a pair of geniuses, NOT!!

By this time, the rest of the group had moved on, leaving just the Blondie and Flip-flop in the garden. Flip-flop searched her handbag, pulling out a phone. "Jump over the rope and I’ll take a picture."

Please, no!

"It says 'do not cross,' " said Blondie, pointing at the sign hanging from the guard chain.

It’s amazing. She could read.

"Feck it, go on," said Flip-flop.

Faced with such blinding logic, who could argue? Clearly not Blondie, who stepped over the chain, nearly splitting the seat of her hot pants in the process. She bent down and put her hand around my shoulder, the smell of vanilla perfume would have knocked me over, if I weren’t made out of stone. Flip-flop snapped off a few shots.

"Grab him by the micky, Sarah."

"Jesus, I can't," said Blondie, in mock horror.

You better not.

"Go on Sarah, you've played with mickys older than that one before."

"Mucky cow!" countered Blondie, but shockingly her head vanished between my legs.

Seriously, get away from my penis!

"It's bloody tiny," said Blondie, grabbing a handful of my crotch.

"Give it a rub and see what happens," laughed Flip-flop. Then, with a snorting laugh, the blonde moron started to vigorously rub my ding-ding. 

Flip-flop nearly dropped the camera phone she was laughing so hard, but I didn't find it one bit funny.

I warned you!

"It's starting to get hot." said Blondie, not laughing now.

"Are you surprised Sarah. You could start a fire, rubbing something that hard. No wonder you can’t keep a boyfriend for more than five minutes.” Blondie pulled her hand away from my crotch but kept the other one on my back.

"No, I mean it's getting really hot, have a feel," she said, and then did the exact thing she shouldn't. She grabbed my penis again.

When I grabbed her hand and pulled it away from my nether regions, she screamed. When I spoke, her eyes rolled back in her head, and Flip-flop fell on her ass. Seeing as I'd started, I did what a Fire Demon does best, and flash fried the two of them. The smell of charred skin hung over Pompeii once more and I was forced to scuttle back to the underworld.

So there you have it, the story of how my holiday was ruined. The boss has actually barred me from going back to Italy anytime this millennium, and there's not that many places a little stone demon like myself can go unnoticed. Bloody tourists.



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