Monday, 1 September 2008

Acme brides: An expose!

Man is a simple creature, he works, he eats, he drinks, he sleeps and he has done this with a monotonous clockwork rhythm ever since the mist shrouded beginnings of recorded time.
Is it an inbuilt metronome that swings him into these daily actions? Some innate instinct passed surreptitiously down through his genes?
No.
The reason for man's seemingly natural actions is of course woman and more specifically wife.

No one knows when the institution of marriage first appeared but the earliest known references to this peculiar ritual appear in Sumerian cuneiform tablets dating from around 5000 BC, a rough translation of which gives us this tantalising glimpse of ancient marriage:

"And so the great king did say unto (Missing word)....thou have placed your arrow shaft into yon virgin's gourd, now thou must promise to doest as she tells thou and buyest all her foot wear (Missing passage)..... if thou does not do these things we will cut off your arrow and boilest thou in the oil of ten camels!"

So it seems that man has needed this mutually advantageous contract since the very beginnings of civilisation, indeed it is maybe even the very bedrock of our modern day civilisation.
Nowadays our fast paced lifestyles and isolated urban existences seem to have separated some men from the necessary contract of marriage, leaving them stranded in a sea of filth, instant noodles and internet porn.
Luckily for these poor unfortunates the marriage agency has sprung into much needed existence as an essential aid in the elimination of unwanted bachelorhood.

News direct decided the world needed to know more about these essential tools of modern love and asked me to delve into my box of undercover disguises and pretend to be a sad unlovable wretch so desperate for love that he would resort to the seedy world of the marriage agency.
I started my investigation by trawling the phone book. After F for fanny didn't turn up any promising leads, I then tried M for marriage and stumbled upon a veritable treasure trove of possible leads.
I decided to start where you're supposed to and made an appointment at a place called Acme brides, which had the intriguing motto of "If you don't get laid (for life) we don't get paid!"

Acme brides was conveniently placed atop a mini cab firm in deepest darkest south Leeds, only a discreet hand written crayon sign gave any clue that the steep unlit and uncarpeted stairs before me had been the stairway to heaven for so many of life's saddest losers and desperate geeks.
I climbed the stairs, after checking no one I knew had seen me, and came to a thin paint peeled door with another elegant crayon written sign bearing the legend:

Not the toilet!!!!
Acme brides
Stopping suicides since 1984
(Not affiliated with Acme medical supplies)

I pushed softly on the door, afraid of taking it off its rusting hinges, then pushed again harder because the frayed carpet under the door had gathered up into a foot worn conspiracy to deny me access to this temple of marital bliss.
A voice called out from behind the door "Oi!! what are you trying to do!!"
I continued to push against the flimsy door "It's stuck! I'm behind the door and want to come in and get married"
"Well don't keep bloody pushing on it! You'll have the door off!!"
I felt some give in the door and gave it one last big push and then felt myself swoon into a sort of free fall weightlessness with nothing but the door guiding my passage to the inevitable floor.
I landed hard, star fished awkwardly across the floored door.
Before me behind an untidy desk sat the astonished face of a portly,slightly purple, balding middle aged man, whom I assumed was the owner of Acme brides.
He stared down at me.
I stared apologetically up at him from the traitorous carpet "It was stuck." I nodded at the carpet "On the carpet."
He stared down at me.
"Pushed it too hard I think.......I can't feel my testicles."
He stared down at me.
"I think I may be genitally paralysed, I'm not joking, I really can't feel my testicles."
He stared down at me, his violent purple face now mellowed into a slightly less memorable shade of puce.
I gingerly lifted myself from my spread eagled position into a more comfortable on all fours doggy style, to try to lift the mood I ventured "Bet this doesn't happen often! Does it?"
He stared at me.
I now maneuvered myself onto my knees and began to vigorously rub some sort of life back into my numb testicles "I've come for a wife."
"Get off my door!"
I looked behind me, then back at him "What?"
"Get off my door!!!!!" He was now turning, cuttlefish style, back to his previous violent purple, it was strangely beautiful.
I pulled my hand from the front of my pants and slowly stood up.
"Get off my door!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
"What?" I looked down "Oh yeah, sorry."
I stepped off his door, and out of politeness, I picked it up for him and took it over to where it used to be attached and leaned it against its one time neighbour, the wall.
"I'll just put it there shall I?"
He stared.
I made a face that I hoped said "Oops!, I'm such a klutz! But aren't we all sometimes!" And which I knew as soon as it had appeared on my face was more like "Ha! I have just knocked your door off it's hinges and I'm not bothered, in fact I find it hugely amusing, because I believe you to be a twat!"
He stared.

We hadn't got off to the best of starts but in a strange way I think the door accident had helped me to establish my undercover persona as a sad and bumbling bachelor desperate for love.
I pointed towards the plastic chair in front of his desk "There?"
At the sound of my voice he took his eyes from his now leaning door, skipped them off me, onto the chair and sort of grunted as he slid down into his own much more comfortable chair.
"Sorry about the door."
He shook his head, slowly wiped a hand over his face and sighed "What can I do for you Mr...?"
I smiled my best smile "Mr Hart, Johnathan Hart."
A look of puzzlement drifted quickly across his face at the sound of my name but by the grace of god and my brilliant forward planning my disguise held.
"So what can we here at Acme brides do for you...Mr Hart?"
I smiled inwardly with the intense satisfaction that another cunning persona had entered the world fully formed and ready to investigate "Well Mr..?"
"Mr Steele, Remington Steele."
I narrowed my now suspicious eyes "Well .......Mr Steele, I won't lie to you or beat around the bush, the fact is that I'm a multi millionaire businessman and I have decided that after a lifetime of cigars and scotch stained board room deals that it is finally time that I settled down and got myself some legally bound pussy." I smiled.
"Mr Hart, we are not a knocking shop, we don't do "legally bound pussy" we are a reputable bureau du amour, a resource for the time poor bachelor, a service to the community."
"Oh yes, of course I fully understand Mr Steele." I winked.

This wasn't really going how I'd hoped it would so I cleverly changed tack "How About I tell you what I'm looking for and we can go from there?"
Mr Steele sighed and nodded his agreement.
"Right what I'm looking for is something with very large breasts." I clawed my hands in front of my chest to give him some indication of an acceptable size."
He shook his head slowly as I carried on "an even temper and an O level in cookery if possible......but obviously the last two requirements aren't compulsory, but I will not negotiate on breast size!"
"Mr Hart."
"Yes?"
"Get out of my office."
"Pardon?"
"You heard me, get out of my office."
"But I want legal love!!!!"
He stood up and pointed at the open space where his door used to be "Out!"
"Just gimme one of your fat ones then!! I'm not fussy!!!"
He then unexpectedly lunged at me across his paper strewn desk and I quickly decided my impenetrable cover as Johnathan Hart multi millionaire industrialist had been blown and he now suspected I was Britain's top investigative reporter.

I made quickly for the stairs and took all thirty two of them in four giant strides, and before Mr Steele could even reach the bottom stair I was off and away down the crowded high street like a investigative cheetah on amphetamines.
Sometimes undercover work is a dirty and dangerous business, but if it helps bring the stories that matter to the people that matter (That's you) I'm willing to do it.

2 comments:

Agnes Mildew said...

What a star. The dangerous work you do for us plebians.
If I could possibly set you up with a large-breasted lady who used to work in catering and has a degree of intelligence, would you give me a commission?
I'm afraid I wouldn't fit the bill, unfortunately, having a chest as flat as a lad's.
Although I make a mean chicken and mushroom pie...

aningeniousname said...

I see dangerous and reckless reportage as my small contribution towards developing the kind of society we would all like to see.
I think archbishop Gandhi said it best when he said: I believe that children are future, teach them well and let them lead the way. Show them all the glory they possess inside. Oooooooooohhhhhh I wanna dance with someb...oh no hang on, thats a different Gandhi quote.
Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm pie.