Who here hasn’t, dear readers, after a long day at the office selling prescription books to the plebeian classes or passive aggressively torturing our secretary with sexual innuendoes in the vain hope that they will eventually succumb and we can finally have our wicked way with them in the pharmaceutical cupboard, wish nothing more after been chauffeured home through the rush hour traffic to take a nice relaxing bath.
The anticipation to soak away the stresses and strains of the day, as our man servant runs our bath, is one of life’s more exquisite pleasures; patiently waiting, brandy in hand, as we threaten the old fool with a damn good thrashing if he does not hurry up is a joy we can all share.
Finally the brandy consumed , the bath complete; we can disrobe and slide our pink, naked flesh into the warm beckoning waters. As we lay, prostrate and calm, our muscles unwind there tensions and our minds can drift. But as we reach the plateau of near nirvana, resisting the thoughts of self flagellation, a vile monster awakens with terrible ambitions of destroying our bliss. For, in this state of moderation, the light lunch of foie gras, quails eggs and four glasses of a particularly fine vintage Newcastle brown have conspired to create within our being a heady mix of digestive gasses which our relaxed stomach muscle can no longer contain. As this miasma emanates from our loosened buttocks we would expect, what with the afore mentioned lunch, to experience a slight unpleasant aroma. But what has risen forth is a bouquet of our nether regions so toxic that a thousand aroma therapy candles could never hope to contain. What we have created is the nefarious Carbondibackside.
And here dear friends let me, with the aid of my dear mistress science, explain to you how this foul beast comes into existence.
It is a common misapprehension that the gases which on occasion leak from the human body, usually at awkward social occasions, are concocted wholly of methane. This is quite, quite wrong. The actual combination of an arse cocktail varies from person to person and are composed of four main ingredients, these being oxygen, nitrogen, carbon dioxide and hydrogen sulphide. How these blasted things work their way into our digestive track is a different story for a different time, but rest assured that they are there. The main culprit we want to be examining for belching into existence the dreaded carbondibackside is hydrogen sulphide. This molecule on its own is a whiffy little bugger at the best of times, but released into a nice warm bath it becomes a tenacious hunter. You see in its raw form that the human body produces it in, it is highly unstable, been as it is composed of two hydrogen atoms and one of sulphur, it quickly breaks down after a brief assault on our nasal passages. But when given the opportunity to react with water, which we all know to be comprised of two hydrogen atoms and one of oxygen, it will balance itself by devouring the water molecule of its oxygen atom; thus balanced it has transformed itself from an unstable state into the more stable and vigorous carbondibackside.
When this particular element was first discovered back in the 1890’s, there was not much commercial demand, for although it was realised to have great explosive properties, the stench given off when burned was deemed too outweigh the benefits and after some failed experimental steam powered locomotives where quickly decommissioned, it was largely forgotten. The next time this reprehensible rouge of the periodic table appears in the pages of history is in the brief but brutal uprising on the Dutch colony of Suriname. In late august of 1932 the native peoples of Suriname became disenfranchised with their Dutch overlords, wanting the right to self govern and be free from tyranny. At this particular period in history, Suriname was the chief exporter of rubber in the Dutch empire, fuelling the vast gimp mask and dildo factories in Amsterdam which accounted for 80% of all Dutch wealth. With the uprising on Suriname all exports of rubber stopped and the factories ground to a halt causing mass hysteria within the Dutch borders, gimps where to be seen wondering the streets blatantly unmasked. This scene was totally abhorrent to the Dutch people, for as everyone knows it is preferable to have your sex slaves remain anonymous when you are performing ungodly acts upon their person.
With their economy in near tatters, a secret conclave of the Dutch ruling elite was held on how best to deal with the revolt on Suriname. After long hours of deliberation, it was decided that swift military action was the only viable option. Within days a crack commando unit was dispatched on the long voyage to the far east tasked with quelling the rebellion by any means. Upon there arrival on the shores of Suriname, the commando’s, although heavily out gunning the native peoples, where quickly surrounded due simply to weight of numbers. Having to fight an intense rear guard action, which the Dutch specialise in, the commando’s in a desperate bid for survival unleashed their secret weapon. The Dutch hand grenade.
Three year prior to this episode, Dutch Belgian relations had hit an all time low after the Belgian illustrator Hergé, of Tintin fame, had gotten royally off his tits on Advocaat. In his inebriated state, and with a deadline for his next Tintin adventure looming, he quickly bashed out the story of his intrepid hero in under two hours and sent it to his publishers without bothering to proof read his work. His publishers too, respecting the integrity of monsieur Hergé, also failed to proof read his submission and immediately set to print. Unbeknownst to both parties, contained within this rip-roaring adventure book, on page seventeen, the plucky champion Tintin was depicted sodomising the Dutch queen Wilhelmina behind some bins whilst his dog Snowy takes a shit in an alleyway. Queen Wilhelmina, upon seeing this odious image, was quite perturbed and immediately demanded an apology from monsieur Hergé and the Belgian government. Far from issuing an apology, monsieur Hergé in an interview on the matter with the Gazet van Antwerpen escalated the situation when he stated that queen Wilhelmina should welcome the attentions of Belgium’s favourite son, what with her not been much of a looker and she should take it where she could get it even if it was up the wrong un.
With no apology forthcoming the Dutch and the Belgians stood on the brink of war. Knowing that their military might was lacking in comparison to that of the Belgians, Dutch generals knew the only way for a Dutch victory would be a pre emptive strike. With this knowledge, esteemed scientist Hendrik Zwaardemaker was summoned to the war ministry tasked with developing a secret weapon.
Zwaardemaker’s research at the university of Utrecht had lead him to develop the Olfactometer, a device helpful for smelling things, and in his research he had concluded that our old friend Carbondibackside was the most foul smelling substance known to man. His Task was to weaponise this substance. Initial trials, as one might expect, didn’t quite go to plan. The first idea being to make shells for the artillery that could be launched over the border, leaving the Belgian front line troops incapacitated and retching from the noxious gases, making them easy prey for the advancing army. This proved to be a flawed idea, metallurgy techniques at that time could not contain the power of the carbondibackside, leading to explosions when attempting to load the munitions resulting in casualties to the crew loading the weapons. Successes was only achieved when the idea was proposed to develop a hand portable device for close quarter combat, smaller amounts of Carbondibackside could be safely contained with the technology to hand. Thankfully by the time the Dutch hand grenade was finally developed, tension with the Belgians had cooled and there was no need to deploy such an odious weapon on the field of combat, it remained hidden from the world until that fateful day on the shores of Suriname.
The Dutch commando’s having found themselves surrounded and running low on ammunition, had managed to fight their way to the local town hall and then proceeded to barricade themselves within. With an angry mob numbering in the thousands enveloping the walls of this makeshift bastion, the Dutch commander gave the fateful order to deploy the Dutch hand grenade in a desperate attempt for survival. Donning their gasmasks, the Dutch troops were given fresh confidence, feeling the cold rubber against their skin reminded them of home and of happier times in the red light district of Amsterdam. Then after a muttered prayer to the almighty, the order was given to launch the grenades into the baying mob. At first there was little evidence that anything was happening, fearing that the plan had failed the Dutch troops began to panic, but as the wind caught the gasses released from the grenades, faint tendrils of green smoke could be seen meandering between the crowd. Slowly, in ones and twos at first the horded began to clutch at their throats and noses in a vain attempt not to inhale the noxious gasses. As the grenades continued to disgorge their vile contents, the miasma intensified to a crescendo of arse gas the world had never seen. The lucky natives of Suriname where the ones to die quickly, trampled underfoot as the crowd tried to escape the pongy cloud of death, those not so lucky, unable to free themselves from the mass of bodies started to retch violently, so violently in fact, that several natives where observed to have vomited their entrails out of their mouths.
With the death toll well into the hundreds, the leaders of the rebellion fearing more reprisals, quickly sued for peace, remaining under Dutch tyranny until the outbreak of the second world war. When news of this incident reached the league of nations, all members were horrified that that this event had taken place, fearing the might of this new Dutch wonder weapon, strict sanctions were quickly implemented to curtail the preserved rising threat from Amsterdam. British and French fleets blocked the Dutch ports, effectively crippling the Dutch sex tourism industry. Amsterdam eventually capitulated, promising to destroy its stockpiles of weaponised carbondibackside.
The Dutch hand grenade had since been banned under article twelve of the Geneva convention.
Dr David Salmond is 31 and lives in Hull. He has a keen interest in former Eastern-Bloc Europe in that he eats lots of sausages and drinks beers that have unpronounceable names and are served in vases. He gamely joins in with mine and Mr Taylor’s discussions about football despite the fact he much prefers rugby league. On my wedding day he was legless by 11am. He has read more books than anyone in the entire world.