You who are my faithful readers will know from what I’ve previously written, that, in the summer of last year, 2007, I had challenged to a duel or boxing match a reader of someone else’s web-blog who had left comments on it which insulted Her Majesty the Queen of England. My challenge began a concatenation of events leading me to becoming an outlaw in America, hunted by the police in all fifty states.
The commenter had been an American, a Texan, with the non-de-plume of “Jimmy”. Since I lived in England, I would, then, have to fly over the Atlantic Ocean to Texas in order to have a rendezvous with “Jimmy”.
“Jimmy” didn’t accept my challenge as such, merely leaving a comment on the above-mentioned web-log to say that were I and my men to enter his land, he and his men would blow our heads off with their guns. I knew where in Texas Jimmy lived, for I had men in America who were able to track down Jimmy’s house, which I can reveal only that it was in a small town in eastern Texas. Accordingly I flew from Heathrow Airport in London to Dallas, which is a couple of hours driving from the town in question.
I was met at Dallas Airport by five of my men, Mikey Squeaky Freddy Scotty and Smithy, who had, on my orders, rented an SUV for us to drive to Jimmy’s house. Normally I would have gone by myself, for I’m a man of honour, and believe in confronting my enemies alone, man-to-man. But because Jimmy had indicated in his last comment on the web-log that he had a number of men with him, I thought it prudent to bring some of my own men.
Each of us was armed with a pistol and knife, since we didn’t quite know how Jimmy and his men would react when we arrived at his house and I called him out. I had also brought my whip with which to thrash Jimmy were he not to agree to a duel with pistols or a boxing match. So, in addition to the whip, I brought along two pairs of boxing gloves, for I couldn’t be sure if Jimmy would have his own.
Finding Jimmy’s house was surprisingly easy, since our SUV had one of those new-fangled direction finders with a voice which tells one where exactly to go. When first I heard it I nearly had a heart-attack, for it was so unexpected. I even looked around the SUV to see if anyone strange had been hiding inside it. Direction-finders with voices!! What next will you Americans think of?
Jimmy’s house turned out a large one, with also a large garden in both front and back. Several pickup trucks were parked in the road in front and in the driveway. Obviously Jimmy had many men living in his house, or was holding a party. We parked our SUV across the road from Jimmy’s, then I ordered my men to go into the garden and hide behind trees and bushes and cover me as I went to the front door.
I pounded on the door and shouted for Jimmy. The door opened and a man stood there, a seventyish man, small and bantam-like. I asked him if he was Jimmy and he nodded. He asked what my business was, and when I said I was Jeremy and had come to settle matters with him for insulting Her Majesty the Queen, Jimmy motioned to someone inside, then made way for a husky young man who pulled me into the house by my lapels. I flailed away with my fists but the husky young man wrestled me to the ground.
I concluded that my circumstances had become dire, so I pulled out a police-whistle I had hidden on my person, and blew it. This was the signal to my men to come to my aid. Immediately I heard shots fired and the shattering of glass. My men burst through the front windows and fighting began. The house was full of men – Jimmy’s men I supposed – who obviously outnumbered us. The fighting was for the most part silent because I and my men had, in addition to our pistols, also brought knives, British Army knives, for, in close-order fighting there is still no substitute for the knife.
Knife-fighting is always messy at the best of times, so within seconds there was blood everywhere, most from from the gaping throats and gouged stomachs of Jimmy’s men. My life being in danger, I quickly attuned once again to stabbing men, despite my last doing this in the trenches of France more than ninety years ago during the Great War. As for my men, they being former British Army commandos, stabbing men came as easy as eating shepherds pie.
But, this being America, and particularly Texas, guns eventually came into play. Those of Jimmy’s men who were still alive after the first wave of fighting, began firing shotguns. As result, two of my men, Scotty and Smithy, were hit, and, judging by the blood and gore I saw spewing out of their shattered heads, they would have been dead before their bodies hit the floor. Fortunately we killed all the shotgun wielders before they killed more of us.
As soon as I adjudged Jimmy and his men to be all dead, I gave the order for us to leave the house. Speed was of the essence because neighbours might have heard the shotgun sounds, and have called the police. I would so have liked for us to take the bodies of Scotty and Smithy, in order to give them a decent and Christian burial. However, I concluded that to take the bodies would take too much time and therefore jeopardize our lives. I felt that Scotty and Smithy would have understood, and I felt better.
We sprinted to our SUV outside, and, with me at the wheel, it took us, with tires screeching, away for ever from Jimmy’s house of carnage.