The Charles And Eddie File

*Warning Extremly Bad Taste Humour Follows*

The following are copies of corispondence taken from the files of the infamous Chief Inspector Pilkington-Smythe during investigation into certain incongruities that appeared during the investigation of the death of one Strangley-Browns close relatives.

Chief Inspector Philip Blythe. Aug 1934.


Letter One:

Received: Thu, 7 Mar 1931

E,

Just been playing a spot of golf with Balko and Strangely-Brown. Top chaps. Do a bit of family-tree pruning themselves you know. Who do you think got the fortune after the sudden death of Lord Samuel Brown and his entire immediate family? Strangely had a cast iron alibi as to where he was when those intruders broke into his uncle's mansion during the family gathering and grusomely hacked all the guests to death with a scythe. He was at my Mayfair pied a terre with Cheif Inspector Pilkington-Smythe. Gave me a huge cut of the will for helping him out. Bought myself new tweeds the next day, couldn't shift the blood from the ones I wore. Fancy a spot of luncheon. I know that Capt. James Harrington's wife is lonely after his sudden and mysterious death on the Ivory Coast. I was there at the time, old boy. Terrible, terrible how he fell into that great hot-mud pool weighed with so many unusual objects in his kit-bag. I'm sure she'd like to dine and have a spot of flagellation for afters.
Whoops-poop-twiddly-dee!!

C.


Letter Two:

Received: Wed, 6 Mar 1931

What-ho!!!
Splendid to be back in Blighty, old boy!! Came back to find £1,399.09 in one's Swiss bank account. I inherited the vast amount after Henrietta D'Arnee passed away in her sleep whilst staying at my Norfolk house. Amazing how these wealthy people leave me so much in their wills, isn't it? Apparently, the old girl had drowned in her own vomit after drinking heavily. The funny thing is, she was the leader of the Ladies of Norfolk Anti-Alcohol Society, which begs the question, how did she hide her mysterious closet-life for so long? Of course, there is pubic outcry, and the LoNAAS has been dis-banded, leaving my distillery's actions un-criticised. (Eds, it was a bugger to pour that brandy laced with tranquilisers down her gullet, but pressing on the bint's stomach until she threw-up didn't take long). So how's things up there? Good to hear that the parents of that 14 year old girl have withdrawn their complaint against you. Exactly how many fingers did you actually break? I take it that you are still buggering the little harlot. Anyway, must go and whip some locals.
Give something resembling my length to that hussy of a daughter of yours.
Adieu,

Charles


Letter Three:

Received: Mon, 19 Feb 1931

E.

Tally -ho, chummy. I say, one had an amazing time at yours the other week. Should do it a-bloody-gain, what? Frightfully nice to see the whole gang again. It'll be a month or so before my presence will be felt (and stroked and oiled etc etc) in the North again, so keep those musketts and elephant-guns at the ready so we can hunt some riff-raff. Thankyou for your most warm hospital-ity, old Edds, and give my regards to all the nurses. Hope Pandy can sit down now. As she said, rectal orifices weren't designed for inserting root vetegables, but there's not much a young girl can do when tied up and greased, but accept. Must go, old boy, Samantha Briskett-Hawthorne is coming. (It is a bit of a predicament writing a note with my todger deep in a girlie).
Chocks away,

C.


Letter Four:

Received: Mon, 29 Jan 1931

E,

Bloody charming of you tiddly poop. Can't wait to see the old gang again, what? (just sent a telegram to that Dutch Bonnet girlie in your vicinity, we must pop out and get immensely blottoed on champers, Edds, old boy).
Heard from her that your b-day is damn soon, hope I'm up to celebrate with you - shoot some peasants, torture children etc etc.
Must dash - keep in touch,

C.


Letter Five:

Received: Wed, 24 Jan 1931

Eddy,

How are you, my worthy companion? I am wondering whether it would be feesable for me to come and spend some time at your Northen retreat on the weekend begining 9th of Feb? Pilky-Smythe told me I'd better lie low for a while after The Yard became suspicious following the workmen digging up the remains of a few bodies in the grounds. I had all the workmen tortured and shot by the gamekeeper of course (you know me, Eddy!!) The oily common ticks. Had a telegram from Ollie Brenkinsop today. He's still on safari on the Zambizi Plain, as you know. He told me that the local population growth has doubled ever since you left three months ago, and there have only been four gunshot accidents compared to the seventeen a week when you were there. I sent a telegram back telling him if word travels, pooh-pooing any of my chums, I shall personally give his youngest daughter something to hang her towel on, and I wouldn't hesitate in giving his wife the photos of him and M'niri, the huge trekker, in action. I think I might give his daughter a dose of meat enema regardless.That's all for now, chappy, the slaves have come-to, and are screaming again.
Bloody twelve year olds!!
Keep me posted,
Chin-chin,

Charlie.

P.S. Talking of screaming twelve year olds, give my love to Pandora.


Letter Six:

Received: Tue, 23 Jan 1931

Jan 23 1936

Evening Eds

Well tally-bally-ho-my-codger-badger-chum-old-boy-jolly-good-show-et cetera. How absolutely spiffing to hear from you once again. 'Fraid I did a bit of a faux-pas regarding which relatives of yours were conviniencely disposed of. Nothing like pruning the scraggly branches of the old family tree, what?!

You remember old batchelor and recluse Bilky De Grace, the art dealer with the Frog father, well, apparently, he had an accident recently. He was at his Buckinghamshire art studio valuing some Gochs and Vinccis when lo and behold one of the heavier picture frames (the heaviest actually, I checked before hand) fell on top of him, and bounced a few times on his head, crushing his skull to pieces. The funny thing is, only a day before had he signed a new will, leaving all property in my name. The Bucks' cheif constable was a bit dubious of the irregularities in the handwriting, but good old Pilky-Smythe had a few words with him, and now he agrees that all documents are tip-top, hunky-dory and whoopie-doo.

Looking forwards to visit Kenya again. Those Umbitzi children did taste well after grilling, didn't they old boy? Might bring some home with me to one of my country halls (Can't have them scampering around London can we, if I aimed at one of them in Oxford St., people would surely get suspicious. Who wants to step over an Umbitzi child bleeding in the street?)

Pip-pip then, old boy, must go and get ready for Finchlay-Topper's little cocktail affair at his Mayfair pad tonight. I've not been invited, but I know how I can get into the wine cellar unseen and help the guests get legless (arsenic affects the feett first, then upwards) Also I know where his 15 year old girl sleeps. You know her, the one you locked in your bedroom for a week last year. Have you seen her lately, last time I saw you & her in the same castle together (Quentin Howllet's, if I remember correctly) she started squealing and twitching like a little frightend animal. You did a good job on her, Eds.

Must away,

Charlie.


Letter Seven:

Received: Wed, 10 Jan 1931

Good morning, Charlie here with a yipp-yapp-zing-zang-zpilipp-don't put your daughter on the stage Mrs. Langford-nicky-nacky-hey-nonny-now-whoops-poop-twiddly-dee.How in the name of rat's wedding tackles are you old bean?
I'm as happy as a man who thought a cat had done its business on his pie, but it turned out to be an extremely large blackbery. Must go and abuse some adolescents while in this mood, what?
Money still non-existant, so I'm afraid it's still a long time away before I come to see you in the North. I'm hatching a plot involving Uncle Pierce "Rolling in it" Protheroe III, and his Spitfire aeroplane. It's all a bit hush hush at the mo'. How unfortunate it will be for him.
Give my love to evrybody,

E.

P.S. Have Bertie and Farquhar Johnson-Smithe got e-mail numbers? If so, could you give them to me please, for as I said , I'm hatching a plan - Uncle Pierce.....


Letter Eight:

Received: Tue, 9 Jan 1931

Tally-ho old chappy,
Happy New Year, you royster-doyster-doorstop-pal-chum-ho-ho-have-one-on-me-type-matey-corker. What an absolute rotter; I have to find £1,600 to pay this establishment so I can stay and learn something. You see, my local branch of authoritarian type-chaps don't think I need any cash, so I have to find my own way 'til next year. therefore, my 'oh-so-social-life' is no more. I am a goddamned recluse. I never thought I'd say this, but Charles, one will have to find work, My old woodwork teacher was stabbed and murdered on his doorstep on new year's eve. I never forgave him for caning me with a two by four in the lower sixth. Couldn't find any darned money in his house, though. Must dash, the children are comming-too, I'll have to tie them up a bit tighter.

Toodle-pip

Eddy-poos.


Letter Nine:

Sent: Wed, 20 Dec 1930

Charlie

Anyway how was Bora-Bora, hope there were plenty of natives to molest. Having a wonderful time with the house slaves. developed a blister on the old tadger was using it so much. One of the charming young things has this very interseting trick she does with a marrow (it has to be seen to be believed). Fraid the postie delivered your last message as an empty envelope (or perhaps I lost it on the way from the door to the living room).

Alex and Panda send their regards (something along the lines of "Hope the smelly old goat catches VD from some forgiegn slut and dies slowly and horribly, blind, mad, and dripping puss from every orafice"). They've increased the man traps on the front lawn on the off chance that your apel to the home office succeeds and they let you back into the country, also they've offered the game keeper an extra thousand guineis if he can just wing you so they can indulge in a little torture (red hot pokers and anal orafices you know the sortof thing {sounds quite fun to me}).

love to the kids (Bestiality is best).

Ed's


Letter Ten:

Sent: Mon, 11 Dec 1930

Ed's

My matey-do-dah-tiddly-pom-down-the-prom-oh-I-do-like-to-be-beside-the-sea-side-ho-ho-ho-hoist-the-jolly-roger-and-heave-hoe-three-bottles-of-pop-on-a-dead-mans-chest-type-chap so nice to hear from you at last. Finally slipped back into the country after the storm died down about cooks death. Wonderful time hacking and slaying in Africa but one can only do so much don't you know (along with the odd rape and pillage of course. One has to keep up the old family fortune What!).

Nearly sold Pandora and Alex into white slavery for a bakers dozen coloured tottie (Asian, Black the whole selection). But they convinced me to I could shoot the slaver (horrible little tike) liberate the girlies adopt them and take them home (Lovely idea I thought). So one has replenished the house serfs with a gaggle of willing (and able) Succubines. This is why its taken me so long to reply, as you can guess I've been rodgering them sensless since returning.

Luckily.

Love to hear from you

Charlie.


Letter Eleven:

Received: Wed, 22 Nov 1930

Eddie,
How fares it me old muckka chump tick-tock-tish & pish salty crumpet trumpet yo-yo dog's bollock? I think I might have given you my e-mail no. in the most uncorrect fashion. Sorry. I saw on the silver screen that you in the north, had the misfortune of being blanketed in frozen water dropplets that we call snow. Awful for you I'm sure. Must find some more peasants to burn, what?! Good for ski-ing on, though. It's quite pleasant here at the mo., which isn't surprising really seeing as I'm at my Bora-Bora retreat (the one my Great Uncle Bertram left me after he mysteriously died whilst attempting to break the world record for holding one's breath underwater in his swimming pool. It's baffling how he managed to tie himself to that huge weight, with his hands in chains behind his back. Good fucking show that I play tennis with Seargant Finnlay and Dr. Ashley, the coroner, what?) My fanancial situation is desperate to say the least, and that's why I haven't come up North to "sort things out" as it were. I will be up soon, as I promised, but not until my second cousin, Deborah (the one you buggered sensless at Topper's wake) has come up with the £300 I'm asking for in return of the pictures. Anyway, I must dash, young Bora-Borans don't sexually abuse themselves, you know!
Give hugs all round,

Charles.


Letter Twelve:

Recieved: Fri, 31 Mar 1930

High Grove Hall
Farwood Grange
Buckinghamshire
31/03/1931

Dear Mr. Kennedy,
How the hell are you, dear chap ?! It's been a frightfully long time since I last wrote to you hasn't it ? How is Alexandra, your dear wife, and Pandora, your nymph-lesbian-cock sucking 15 year old daughter ? Tell them I look forward to taking them in every possition in the barn again. You will be pleased to know, Charles, that I have nearly come into money...you see, Great Aunt Maud left me some inheritance in her will to the sum of œ1, 150. I will have to wait a month or so for the transactions to take their course, but the money will be mine. I do hope that Anthony Partridge III doesn't talk to anybody in relation to the way we drowned the old bag in her bath. I shall end this letter (rather abruptly) here, Charles, for Farquar Bingley-Smithe's 16 year old daughter is about to give me head.
Till we meet again, Adieu, my good and trustworthy friend.

Edmund.


Letter Thirteen:

Recieved: Thu, 2 Mar 1930

Oh , cunning devil... Now that I have tried your love and doubled all your reaches, I am not wounded. The pistols held no bullets, 'twas a plot to prove your kindness to me and I live to punish your ingratitudes.

I'm not fuckin bad thanks, matey. And how the devil are you, Sirha?

BYE THEN!!!!!!!

E.


Letter Fourteen:

Recieved: Wed, 25 Jan 1930


Well, me old jim-jam slap-dog sea-fearing flap-jack yo ho ho matey-doo-dah bacon and egg on deck for breakfast kind of morning if you know what one means, jock-strap piano-tuner larks-allalley and so on and so forth, this that and the other, How the devil are you, me old mukka' ?! I'M BORED. But not for long, coz this time tomorrow, I'll be on my way to Holland to partake in that interesting pastime of " Turning my head to jelly ". HOORAH !!!!! So, 'till after the I.S. break, I'll bid you adieu, and a smooth and pleasant crossing.

Love,
Charlie.

--(Alright these are yet again stuff from the vaults. Correspondences between myself and a good friend Rhys. There was more but it's lost now)--

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