TOM - Dick. Dick. Where yer been? You’ve been gone weeks and I’ve been proper worried. Did yer accidentally lock yerself in the pub and have to survive on pork scratchings and beer, again?

DICK - No accident Tom, I’ve been working.

TOM - What investigating? Without me?

DICK - Nah. I’ve been working for the government. Firstly I had to sample beers. Lots of beers, to ensure there was no big bad guy evil plot to poison beer with an antidote to counteract the conspiracy drugs that have been genetically bred into yeast. This dude was so impressed with my efforts, that I had taken upon myself to pursue, that I was recruited, there and then, to be a spy.

TOM - A spy?

DICK - Yeah. I couldn’t tell yer. It was all hushy hushy and secretive stuff.

TOM - Like Secret Squirrel.

DICK - Nah Tom. More like James Bond.

TOM - Never. You locked yerself in the pub cellar again didn’t yer. It’s OK, you can tell me, I was just worried that’s all.

DICK - Nah Tom. Honest. We have to wear beergoggles for a reason, yer know, it’s not that our eyes are fucked but what we see with our eyes that’s fucked. Profound eh! I’ve been reading all sorts of bollocks. Braining-up me brain. These people don’t want spies that are thick as shit. Anyways, inbetween reading bollocks, talking bollocks and scratching me bollocks, I had to do training like climbing walls and chasing badgers and earwigging on people and all sorts of stuff that if I tell yer about I’d have to kill yer dead. True. I was Special Agent Dick Point OH OH Seven.

TOM - You were an OO like in Typhoo Tea.

DICK - Nah Tom. A Point OH OH Seven as in Goldiebumfinger and Roger Moore’s eyebrows, in fact I met Roger Moore’s eyebrows and we went to casinos and cocktail bars. They’re a right laugh once yer get to know ‘em. Like cuddly furry slugs.

TOM - Fuck off! Them is caterpillars, and some of them gives yer rashes and prickly heats.

DICK - Tom! You swore. I’m not sure if I’m more shocked ‘cos yer don’t believe me, yer old mucker, me that saved yer from loads of scrapes and shit, or ‘cos yer swore. Anyway, I thought yer might not believe me so I brought yer back a pressie from where I’ve been on me mission.

TOM - I was gonna comment on how good you are at talking bollocks, but I love pressies more than cheap digs. What yer got me? Is it socks?

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DICK - S-word Tom. S-word. And this is no cheap pressie.

TOM - I’ve actually missed being clobbered by yer frying pan. Welcome home Dick. Come on, come on, don’t keep me in suspenders any longer. Where did yer go? Where’s me pressie?

DICK - Can’t say exactly Tom, I ‘ave to be careful ‘cos I’m still doing all me training and stuff, but it were somewhere foreign where they talk funny. I’m not really supposed to bring yer back stuff, but I’m managed to get this. I had to hide it up my bottom.

TOM - What is it?

DICK - It’s a stick of rock.

TOM - It’s got writing on it. Is that spy stuff?

DICK - Yes Tom. You mustn’t say nothing, but Southend is actually a code word.

TOM - Really? Wow! What’s it really mean?

DICK - Sticky. It’s our special code word for sticky. So anyway, what you been up to Tom?

TOM - Mmm Let me see. I’ve reclassified my so… my woolly and cotton and nylon foot wear. I counted them. All of them. Four times. I’ve a white so … nylon foot wear item missing so I’ve been hunting high and low for that.

DICK - Oh sorry I forgot to tell yer. I’ve got that. I thought I’d best take some contraception with me ‘cos I know from watching the telly that this spying lark involves loads of ladies that ain’t ladies but right naughty slags who fuck information out of yer. Them’s me favourite kind of ladies.

TOM - Eh? I’m not sure I understand.

DICK - Don’t matter none. I’ll give it back to yer when I unpack. It’s a bit crispy ‘cos I had to practice but it’ll wash up OK. What else yer been up to?

TOM - Well, I’ve accepted an investigating job, if yer up for it?

DICK - Yeah, not ‘arf. I can apply all my new skills. Torture answers out of our victims then with one phone call to Roger Moore’s eyebrows, I can ‘ave ‘em killed. It’ll be fun. So spill the beans, what we investigating or do I have to torture yer?

TOM - Well, we are going to be investigating Russian dolls

DICK - Now this is more like it.  Investigating lovely foreign ladies.

TOM - Not quite Dick.  We’re going to be looking into dolls.

DICK - Well, at least cute dolls ain’t sweaty weightlifters with hairy armpits and beardy chins so I don’t mind.  Perhaps trolly-dollies with all that good advice like in case of emergency put yer head between yer legs …

TOM - No Dick, dolls as in toys.

DICK - Bendy as in toys.  I once knew this Russian girl who could wrap her legs behind her head and li…

TOM - I don’t really think we need to know this Dick.

DICK - I think she was Russian, it’s hard to tell when someone’s talking with their mouth full and making all sort of slurpy slurpy sounds, and I must admit, I wasn’t really paying a lot of attention to what she was saying.  Didn’t seem a lot of point ‘cos I can’t understand Russian anyway.

TOM - It’s rude.

DICK - Well I dare say Russians have different table manners to us, but it was more of an eye-opener than rude.

TOM - That’s all besides the point, we are not investigating bendy Russian ladies but one of these dolls I’ve been given.

DICK - Is that it!  What’s to investigate?  I mean they ain’t very shapely are they, let’s face it, Barbie (bless her) they ain’t!  And who gave you a doll? - poofty!

TOM - An admirer.

DICK - An admirer!  Fuck off!

TOM - It’s true!  It is.  It is.  It is.  And they said please look after Anastasia for me and see what you can find out about her.

DICK - I don’t like this Tom.  She’s either a Russian agent, you know a sneaky spy like in the KFC or something, or she’s an illegal immigrant and we’ll be dun for people traffic without due care and attention and then we’ll end up in prison and be raped in the shower by Mr Big, who, let me tell you Tom, ain’t gonna be called Mr Big for no reason.  I don’t like this at all.  Why can’t we investigate Barbie’s (bless her) knickers?

TOM - The restraining order she took out on you might have something to do with why we can’t go looking into Barbie’s (bless her) knickers.  The last time you looked into Barbie’s (bless her) knickers she was still wearing them.

DICK - Now that girl really is a doll.

TOM - I have to admit Dick, she is rather cute.

DICK - Cute!  Not cute Tom, that girl ain’t got no bits!

TOM - Eh?

DICK - Down below department doesn’t exist.  The way into Barbie (bless her) is barred.

TOM - Eh?

DICK - Don’t matter.  Don’t fancy her anymore, anyway.  Not since she became a lesbian.  Come on Tom, who’s the admirer?

TOM - Not telling.

DICK - Not telling ‘cos they only exist in your head not telling.

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DICK - Tell me.

TOM - Not if you keep hitting me on the head with your frying pan I’m not.

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DICK - Tell me.  Wait, you said; ‘they said please look after Anastasia for me and see what you can find out about her.’  It was our agent giving us our assignment wasn’t it?  Admirer my arse!

TOM - Might have been.  This is getting a bit confusing ‘cos you is becoming a secret agent and we’ve got a showbiz bookie agent. Too many agents make me wanna cough. But now look what you’ve done.  You made my head smack Anastasia and now she’s … she’s …  splitting in two.

DICK - Shit.  That’s not a good sign.  She’s either schizo psycho or she’s all sort of broken.

TOM - Wait a minute.  What’s this?  There’s another doll inside her.

DICK - Fuck! Multi personality disorder.  That is so mental.  Either that or like I told you it was doll smuggling. I beginning to think the doll smuggling is the safer option.

TOM - This one is called Ilya.

DICK - Really.  How ever this pans out we’re in big trouble Tom.

TOM - And look, if I twist her belly … Oh wow!  There’s another one.  There’s Baibichia.

DICK - This is so so wrong.  Baibichia was in yer Ilya, and Ilya was in yer Anastasia.  This is sick.

TOM - Wait!  Wait!  And there’s another.  Look!  Here’s little Ivana.

DICK - Oh! Jeez!

TOM - And yet another one, a teeny teeny tiny little Tatiana.  Wait!  Wait!  Even smaller.  This is amazing, isn't this just … amazing.  Here’s another one.  Mini Meryl.  So tiny you could keep her up yer nostril.

DICK - No need to get all David Attenborough on me, and anyways, Meryl’s not a Russian name you numpty.

TOM - Merylski then.

DICK - Fucking great!  Kiddie doll trafficking.  We are so dead!  We’re gonna be showering with Mr Big and we ain’t gonna be able to sit ever ever again and we’re gonna be hunted by the KFC and given radio active jelly babies that will blow up in our bellies and make us sick up mushrooms and we will go green and mutate into cheese.  Sod Tatiana, it’s tat-ta I’m off up the pub.  And you better glue them back together or something and give them back pretty quick before there’s a knock on the door.

TOM - Are we expecting someone for tea only I’ve got no fairy cakes and you smoked the last of our muffins before you went away?

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DICK - Just get rid of the cheeky girls.  I swear Tom, why is it you always end up getting us into so much trouble?  And take Merylski out of your nose.

TOM - By donb dink the dis.

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DICK - Tom!  Will you take Merylski and Tatiana out of yer nostrils.  No one can understand what you are saying.

TOM - I said, I would like to keep them.

DICK - Why?

TOM - For company, you know, when you’re away on missions I get lonely.

DICK - You dirty old Toon you. There’s a bit of life in yer yet me thinks.  But think about it Tom.  I mean they’re Russian, and you can barely talk English so they’re hardly gonna be great company, unless you’re thinking what I’m thinking. Whey hey!

TOM - I don’t know what you mean I’m sure. My intentions are honourable. Honest.

DICK - Fuck that! My intentions are downright disgusting. All these doll ladies in our flat. Happy days Tom. Happy days.

TOM - But you were dead keen to get rid of them.

DICK - I’ve pondered upon all possibilities and even though they’re hardly what I would term stunners I’ve come to the conclusion that I wouldn’t kick ‘em out of bed.

TOM - No.

DICK - Somehow I didn’t think so.

TOM - But I know enough not to leave them alone in a room with you, that’s for sure. And I don’t wanna give ‘em back to the authorities either. I might just have to hide them in our attic like them other two that wrote that book.

DICK - What two?

TOM - Anne and Frank. Have we got an attic?

DICK - No. Why not hide them under my duvet?

TOM - I’ve got cleverer places than that in mind.

DICK - You’re gonna hide them in yer orifices ain’t yer?

TOM - No.

DICK - Is that a ‘no’ ‘cos you couldn’t fit Anastasia in anywhere?

TOM - Might be. But she did fit except I couldn’t sit down without my eyes watering.

DICK - So where is she?

TOM - Not telling.

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TOM - Still not telling.

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DICK - Well I’m gonna test some more beers so we’ll sort this when I get back.

Two days later and Dick returns from the pub

DICK - These Russian dolls Tom …

TOM - Umm.

DICK - Tom, where are the Russian dolls, I can’t see them?

TOM - Umm.

DICK - Where have you hidden them?

TOM - Can I just say that this really isn’t my fault.

DICK - Tom, what’s not your fault?  What’s happened Tom?

TOM - Well Ilya said that the dolls wanted to buy you a present, and what with you being all grumpy, and not very nice and wanting to get rid of them I thought it might be a good idea.  You know to cheer you up.

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TOM - Ow!  What for you hit me with your frying pan?

DICK - ‘cos that’s what cheers me up.  Look I’m smiling.  Now tell me what has happened.

TOM - There’s no easy way to say this.

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DICK - Still smiling.

TOM - They’ve taken all our money and they've not come back.  Not for hours and hours and hours

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DICK - Not smiling.

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DICK - Still not smiling.

TOM - I’m sorry Dick.  I am I’m sorry.

DICK - This could be your lucky day Tom ‘cos I’ve got my lady sniffing badge.  Now I’ve two choices, I can tell you more but I’ll have to rub you out.  That’s a technical term not a sexual one Tom.  Or I can tell you more but you’ll have to sign some Official Secrets Act thingy and then I’d be obliged to keep you as a pet and feed you mice droppings.

TOM - Gosh!  This sounds exciting, although I’m more partial to peanut butter and spinach sandwiches.

DICK - Aren’t we all, but now I’m a M.I. 7 agent - Russian doll hunter!  Code name: Scrotum, I’m on a special diet of coded message spaghetti and radium crackers.

TOM - Do you get gadgets and stuff?

DICK - Well, I have to get them sorted out myself because of Government funding.  I went sneaky sneaky into a Miss Poundpenny’s bedside cabinet and got this big cigar shaped thing that goes buzzy buzzy.  I think it’s some kind of radar tracking what's used mainly to trace lost cats as it smells a bit fishy, but I'm sure I can adapt it.  Have to get new batteries these seem a bit well used.  I’ve also got an odd old fashioned looking pen … wait, before I say anymore you better sign this.

TOM - OK.  T-O-M.  This pen smells funny.

DICK - I’ve got a watch, disguised as a Mickey Mouse watch that tells the time and glows in the dark … Tom wake up … when Mickey changes his gloves, that means there’s a secret coded message in the numbers he’s pointing to… Tom wake up.

TOM - Zzz  Zzz  Zzz

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DICK - Wake up Tom.

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TOM - Zzz  Zzz  Zzz

DICK - So that’s what the pen does. Where would I be without Tom as my experimental hamster  What a fucking numpty! Best report in to Agent Mouldy Scully and tell HQ about the spies that are on the loose but not to worry as I’m on the case. I’ll just set my lady sniff radar to Russian - Oh gosh! the little pink tip goes round and round - didn’t expect that. Let the mission begin. Codename: infiltrate my undercrackers - if I’m lucky.

©2011 Dick and Tom