By Salvador Vaughan
As Granky lay in bed, she heard a soft yet arrogant knock on her droor. “No one’s knocked on me droor since my cat got run over by a pack of schoolchildren!” Granky thought. Granky had been shunned by her community of Granks ever since that fateful muggy morning. Granky squabbled up to her front droor. “Who’s it?!” she yelled, fighting arrogance with even more arrogance. “I don’t mean to disrupt but may I come in, it’s very impotent”. (His knock as it turns out had been quite misleading. He sounds no more arrogant than a tortoise with bad breath!) “What’s your name?”, “I’m Barry Stimpleton of Newmarket” the man replied in two. “As opposed to what, Oldmarket!” Granky laughed and laughed and laughed. “I am the phunniest person I know!” she thought. “Ok then, come in”. Granky tried to sound as cool as she could without revealing that this was her first visitor since may I remind you her cat got run over by a pack of prepubescent schoolchildren. The moment Barry walked in in his brown suit pants Granky was immediately inflatulated with his mediocre looks. “Let me show you to the living room,” Granky said. “As opposed to what, the dying room!” glorted Barry. This did not amuse Granky at all, death had been on her mind recently since her cat got run over by a pack of spot-nosed prepubescent schoolchildren. “What’s it that’s so impotent you feel the need to wake me at this time of noon, mister Stimpleton?” Granky was no longer interested in Barry after that sour comment about existence. His mediocre looks faded, once he got into the living room. It was as though he’d lost 4 pounds and looked a day older! “Ma’am let me start off by saying how wonderfully rectangular your face seems to be.” (Barry was known in Newmarket for his dry charm and wet wit). “But in spite of that, I’d like to inform you that your piddysnip has braked in two, your doubly shares of the giggling goose fenting crumpany have been evacuated from your bank and Headger Numps has been named Canada’s minister of adult affairs.” This nasty news in this nasty Newmarket dialect came as a surprise to Granky. “How can a man be so dryly charming yet so dumparingly evil? He’s a right Mister Jekyll and Misses Brown!”. As Granky sat there contemplating what she just heard, another knock came on the door. Granky was far too concerned with her piddysnip being braked in two to notice just how arrogant this knock was. She got up to answer it leaving Barry in the living room all alone (big mistake!). Granky immediately recognized the person towering over her at a staggering height of five foot twelve. It was Headger Numps himself, newly named minister of adult affairs. Minister Numps explained that he was going round every house he could get his hands on to see if any buspicious affairs were being had. This was the exact wrong time for Bad News Barry (a nickname that Granky had given him. She’s been a silver tongued stickler since birth!) to enter the view of the minister. By this time Barry had stripped down to his understock, as is customary in Newmarket after you’re in someone’s house for more than 20-a-minute. Minister Numps, not being accustomed to Newmarket rituals took this as an opportunity to unleash his newfound power. He ordered for the immediate occupation of the Granky house. (It was his understanding that Granky had been married to her cat. He hadn’t heard about the pack of hairy spot-nosed prepubescent school children.
