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“Oh, I just HATE Ben!” Darcy groaned, flopping down on the couch that had formerly been Charlie’s couch. Following a strange feeling of nostalgia Darcy had taken up residency in Charlie’s dildo after he had quit his employment with Genie Inc.
With a pop Brad, their supervisor, appeared. Darcy didn’t grace him with any acknowledgement as Brad studied them.
“Rough day?” he finally asked.
Darcy groaned. “You could say that, yeah. I just came back from another mission and Charlie and Nick are fine now in that universe, but HOLY COW did that prick Ben Hope put poor Charlie through the wringer!”
Brad sat down next to Darcy and said soothingly, “Darce, he’s not our Charlie, remember that.”
Darcy looked at him and sighed. “I know. But he’s just the most precious bean in any universe, even if he is a prickly arsehole sometimes, too. I just can’t help it, I feel so protective over him.”
Brad nodded understandingly.
“Wait - maybe there is something I could do to make that prick pay …”
“Darcy,” Brad said warningly and a little scared. Darcy was a menace, especially when it came to defending their friends.
“Be right back!” And with that Darcy vanished with the telltale pop and reappeared just moments later. “All done. Mission cleared,” they smirked.
This time, Brad groaned. “What did you do?”
“I may have gotten permission from the universe to have a little fun with that prick,” they announced.
Ben was walking down the street towards his office. His shoes were shiny (like every day), his hair was perfectly styled (like every day) and his tailored suit was in pristine condition (like every day). His mood, however, was especially sour today, since he had to do everything himself lately and now he was running late. That oaf, Nick Nelson, had sneakily stolen away his boyfriend (manservant), and Ben hated having to do things himself when once upon a time Charlie had been only too happy to do everything for him in exchange for some scraps of affection from Ben. A transaction that had suited Ben just fine, since it had also included some free-of-charge fucks (mediocre at best, but at least free).
When he passed a phone box on his way, the phone within started ringing.
Ben looked at it in bewilderment. Who the fuck phoned a phone box out of nowwhere? But, there might be a chance in it to humiliate someone, and that possibility filled Ben with glee. He needed a mood booster.
He stepped inside the box, closed the door and picked up the phone (not realising the click with which the door sealed itself, trapping Ben to await his judgement - or Darcy, in this case.)
“Hello? Who the hell is this? You do realise that only a complete loser makes a call to a phone box?
“And you do realise that only a bigger loser would pick it up?””
“Oh, is that so? Well then, I suppose somebody like you would have to tell themselves lies like that to be able to live with their sorry selves. Have a miserable life, you tosser!” That had worked, Ben could feel his mood skyrocketing and was about to hang up.
“Ben Hope, don’t you even think about hanging up that phone!”
Ben was perplexed. “How do you know my name?”
“Oh, I know a lot about you, you prick. I’m friends with Charlie, you see …”
His lost trophy? How the hell did this person know about that? It was humiliating. “Oh, how is the little pussy? Already tired of that rugby oaf? Ready to come home?” he smirked.
“Well, not really. Instead I thought I’d pass on his regards … ” A loud fart escaped Ben. What the abolute fuck? A SMELLY fart at that.
“... and his undying gratitude … ” Another fart, louder and not only smelly this time, but wet . Holy Jesus!
“... for seeing your ugly …” Fart number 3, “...pathetic …” Fart number 4, accompanied by some pee that began to soak his tailored trousers. Ben seethed, humiliated and a little scared and disgusted by the smell he was giving off. He tried to open the door, but it wouldn’t budge, caging him and his smell and his piss firmly inside.
“... oh, yeah, and I forgot, your shitty …” (which is exactly what happened, no need to describe it any further, urgh! ) Hot tears ran down Ben’s sweaty cheeks. He was properly scared now, unable to hang up, unable to open the door, unable to hold the various waste products his body seemed to be producing on overtime now, and nearly unable to breathe because of the gasses he produced.
“... completely wobbly arse getting what it deserves! Have a nice day!!” On that cheery note, Darcy hung up.
The Daily Telegraph
MYSTERY PHONE BOOTH DEATH
29 year old man found dead in Piccadilly Circus
The Metropolitan Police are still startled by the body found in a phone box in Piccadilly Circus yesterday evening. According to the examiner the man that was found died of asphyxiation, probably and mysteriously caused by the gasses he seems to have exuded into the phone booth by way of farting. Why the man didn’t open the door to let the farts out remains an unsolved mystery.
The police are looking for witnesses that might be able to help solve this riddle.