“Now, let me get this straight, Jeremy. We stand back-to-back; we walk 10 paces and we turn and fire. Is that right?”
“That’s right, Prime…PM.”
Boris looked at the pistol, a relic of the early 19th century and guffawed: “I’m told that you’d be hard-pressed to hit a barn door from 20 paces with one of these things.”
Jeremy skewed his face and remarked: “A barn door would be well within its accuracy range but, in the trembling hands of a novice [he thought it best not to add “such as yourself”] it is a reliably unreliable weapon.”
“That’s a rather disheartening turn of phrase, I must say.” Boris stroked the lovingly crafted pistol. “It certainly is a beautiful…gun. Can I call it that?”
“You can call it ‘Susan’ if you wish,” replied Jeremy.
“And, presumably, my mortal foe will not be well-versed in its use?”
“There is no evidence that Vlad the Pudding ever fired a weapon…in anger. However, his KGB training must have required him to learn to fire a pistol.”
“As I thought,” Boris pulled a face. “But ho-hum, Gott mit uns.”
On the other side of The Great Divide, Tsar Vlad the Duellist also pulled a face…it was the face of his long-suffering personal servant, Igor. I’d like to say that Igor was a hunchback…so I will. He was a hunchback. Vlad loved to pull his face into different contorted positions.
“Igor, you’re old, Exactly how old are you?”
Igor looked puzzled, as if he didn’t understand the question.
“You want to know my age? Phuurf…I have no idea. Why?”
Vladimir Pudding held up the flintlock pistol and asked: “Ever fired one of these?”
Igor looked and the pistol and guffawed: “I’m old, not prehistoric. Why?”
“I’m going to fire one in a duel.”
Igor looked at his master and let out a huge belly laugh. When he finally recovered his composure, he enquired: “Why?”
This type of insolence from anyone else would’ve been punished severely, but Igor had an other-worldy quality about him. He was tolerated, like a court jester. His hump gave Pudding the willies.
“Who’s your opponent?” Igor asked.
“A chubby, tousled-haired English knobhead.”
“Duelling is in their blood, so you could be screwed. Stand side on and keep that big, fat head of yours out of the way.”
Vladimir Pudding thought: “One day, I’m going to have that hump removed with a hacksaw.”
Minority News Report 