In Arthur Shappey's world, Toblerones belong everywhere. Douglas, Martin, and Russell Brand have some views on this.

Inspired by a tweet, as many of my fics are. In this case I was inspired by ivyblossom, who tweeted this quote from Russell Brand: "Crack goes in the ass easier than a Toblerone."

This is what happened.

O.O No Place for a Toblerone O.O

Douglas nudged the sandwich of dubious filling across the table and picked up his phone. "Helen has this new comedian she likes. He looks like he shoved his head in a light socket and rolled in mascara, but she thinks he's just wonderful."

Martin picked at his lunch and leaned to look at the phone. "Wow. Did she send you a link?"

"It seems so. She thinks it gives us something to share when I get back from a long trip. I play along because she lets me spend some time at the track if I listen to her spout on about this fuzzy haired idiot."

"Let's hear it then."

Douglas downloaded the file and the two hunched over the phone.

.

"Surprisingly, crack goes in the ass easier than a Toblerone."

.

"Hi chaps!" Arthur greeted. "What's that about Toblerones?"

Douglas quickly paused the phone. "Hallo, Arthur. Is GERTI ready?"

"Nearly Douglas. Mum wants the galley cleaned out before the passenger arrives since it's that fellow who does the kitchen things. She said if he saw what the microwave and fridge looked like then we might end up taking all food service off the plane."

Martin frowned. "How does Carolyn propose to feed us when we have long flights then?"

"Let's see, we've got an extra cheese tray ordered just in case, and, well…" Arthur grinned very widely.

"Yes?" Douglas prompted. "Am I to understand we shall be eating cheese and whatever goo created the Joker, then?"

"No! Mum let me work on my recipes during the last off day!"

Martin dropped his face in his hands. "Oh no. Please, anything but Surprising Rice."

"It's loads better than Surprising Rice, Skip. I added some oregano and pasta. It's Italian Surprise now!"

Martin and Douglas looked at each other with a combination of fear and confusion. Arthur, however, peered at the phone once again. "Anyway, what was that about Toblerones?"

"Like a hound with a bone." Douglas quipped. "It's from a comedy my wife sent me with the idea that I should listen and agree with her that this skinny idiot is the funniest thing since a man was slapped with a fish on screen- her words, not mine."

"Oh yeah?" Arthur plopped into the seat next to Douglas. "What's it about?"

Martin swallowed the last bite of his lunch and pointed to the phone. "He's just made an observation that it's easier to stuff a bit of-"

"Martin! What Martin was saying, Arthur, is that the comedian thinks that there are some places that Toblerones should not go."

"What?" Arthur sat back in shock. "Why, Toblerones ought to be everywhere! Remember that horrid duty-free in Russia? They didn't have any and that was very, very wrong. There shouldn't be any place that I can't get a Toblerone."

"Yes, well. You should be able to buy a Toblerone anywhere. But that's not the same as saying they should not go anywhere."

Arthur's face was blank.

"Arthur, sometimes, we cannot put a large, sharp, triangular box anyplace we might like."

"That's alright," Arthur reached into his pocket proudly. "They make the little ones! They can go anywhere! I even sneak them into places where they haven't got them for dessert. Or snacks. Or breakfast." Arthur laid five small Toblerone boxes on the table, one of each variety he could find, and two regular ones.

Martin rolled his eyes. "As useful as a pocket-sized Toblerone may be, I'm not sure that was the jist of the joke."

"Then what was? Just play it, Douglas."

Douglas pushed the phone into his pocket. "Do you remember being told in church that God was everywhere, Arthur?"

"Yes. I especially remember the bit when they told me that he was in my mouth holding it closed for me."

"And did you ever ask if God was in the toilet?"

"Oh yes. I had to ask three times before they would answer me."

Martin picked up a mini-Toblerone and examined the dimensions. "And what did they finally say?"

"They reminded me that God was in my mouth and to think very carefully about where else I wanted him to be at the same time. Then they made me write lines for an hour."

Martin set the box down with a shudder. "Sounds like a truly sanctified batch of Sunday School teachers."

"Oh no, Skip. That happened when Mum and I took a tour of Westminster."

"They made a child do lines on a tour?"

Arthur shook his head. "I wasn't a child, Skip. That happened last year."

Douglas and Martin, at a loss for words, were saved as Carolyn marched up to the table. "Greetings, drivers! The galley has been scrubbed to within an inch of its chrome, which is saying something since there's hardly any left, and if that kitchen sergeant wishes to inspect it he will find nothing more than the cheese tray, four ready meals, two frozen, and a fresh tray of ice. I'm sorry Arthur, your half-eaten Toblerone had to go."

"That's okay, Mum!" Arthur pointed to his collection on the table. "I've got back-ups!"

"Wonderful. Now, if you've quite finished examining the décor of the unremodelled canteen of disrepute, I suggest we make a half-hearted attempt to get GERTI sky-worthy before our passenger arrives."

Arthur sprang up and gathered his candy. "On my way, Mum. And I'll be bringing my new, handy sized Toblerones!"

Carolyn followed Arthur as Martin and Douglas cleared their table. "Martin, did she say we would need to get GERTI sky-worthy?"

"Believe so, yes."

"Think she'll settle for 'sky-capable'?"

Martin squinted at the gauges. "Balance the tanks, please."

"Tanks are balanced."

"Thank you, Douglas." Martin scratched his chin as the flight deck door opened. "Kevin Bacon?"

"Good one! Hello, Arthur."

Arthur sat down cups of coffee. "Coffee's a bit strong, chaps. The passenger insisted I was doing it wrong and made me change it. What are you playing?"

Martin stirred his cup. "People whose names are foods. Any ideas?"

"Nope. But I wanted to ask you again about where a Toblerone shouldn't be."

Douglas sighed. "I think we ought to just agree that there may be one or two places in the universe where a pointy box shouldn't go. Joe Pesci."

"Nice!" Martin nodded as he sipped. "Ugh! My god, what have you done to the coffee, Arthur?"

"Sorry, Skip. He's a feisty one. Mum's having a rough time just keeping him out of the galley. I'm not sure how much longer she can keep him in his seat."

"Shall we just leave the seatbelt light on?" Douglas suggested.

"You can, but I'm not sure he'll care." Arthur glanced toward the cabin nervously. "He's brilliant and all, but he's… he's… well, he's a bit…"

"Sharp? Harsh? Rude?" Douglas supplied.

"Well, he's kind of like Mum."

Martin stirred a third pack of sugar in his coffee. "Good god, do we need to separate them yet? Course change in ten."

Douglas tugged his sleeves into place. "Don't worry, Martin. I'll talk to him before it comes to that. Arthur, you just let me know if you need me to come back."

"Thanks, Douglas. I'll have the cheese tray up in a bit." Arthur paused at the door.

"Is there some other crisis you need assistance with?" Douglas enquired as he prepared to make a turn.

"Well, I might not really want to keep a Toblerone in my back pocket, but I'd carry one there if I didn't have any other place."

Douglas paused. "While one questions the wisdom of sharp corners in the back pocket, no. You are warmer, though."

Arthur pulled the door open and winced. Carolyn's voice carried through the cabin. "I can assure you, the meal service we offer has nothing to do with rats, recycling, or whatever pink slime is."

The door closed with a decidedly less jaunty bang than usual. Martin and Douglas shrugged.

"Turn in 3-2-1… turning. Fiona Apple."

Martin noted the turn. "Good one. Oh! Meatloaf!"

"I'll allow it, even though it is a questionable stage name. John Candy."

"Damn. Jamie Oliver?"

"Close, but no. Holding course until thirteen hundred."

"Thank you, Douglas. Holding course. Lemony Snickett?"

"No."

Carolyn burst though the flight desk door with a bang. "That horrible, horrible man!"

Douglas looked up. "Tickety-boo, Carolyn?"

"Not, it is not, Douglas. That awful cretin snuck out of his seat and into the galley where he spent no less than five minutes inspecting everything."

"Don't tell me. He's seen the chicken sandwich you keep on reserve."

Carolyn snorted. "Hardly. He saw the entrée and declared it fit only for hogs and demanded anything pre-packaged and not destined for the microwave."

The door opened again. "Hi Mum. Chaps."

Martin looked over, mouth agape. "Good Lord, Arthur. Are you ill?"

"No, Skip. Just… he didn't like the coffee. Won't drink the tea, hates the dessert, threw the entrée across the cabin, and called me a-"

"That will suffice, dearheart."

"Who in God's name is back there?" Douglas demanded. "Anyone flying knows better than to expect four-star, and if they're here, they should be aware that Michelin will not be found anywhere near this plane, not even the tyres."

"That's just it," Carolyn explained. "He's a food critic whose original charter cancelled at the last minute, and we were the only service at the airport he was stranded at. Now tell me one of you has something I can give him."

Martin patted his pockets and Douglas looked in the locker. They both shook their heads. Carolyn sighed. "I'm sorry Arthur, dear, but if he won't eat what we had ready, then I'm afraid the sod will have to be hungry till we land."

"Wait, Carolyn." Douglas said. "He said he wanted something pre-packaged that would not be microwaved?"

"Yes?"

Douglas tapped Arthur's chest. "I believe our resident Toblerone enthusiast has a selection for the picky passenger. Arthur, what have you got left?"

Arthur hopped up and down in the crowded flight deck. "Oh! OH! I've got one of each kind left! I can put them on a tray and offer them like we had it planned from the start!"

"Well done, Arthur!" Douglas sat and Carolyn scooted Arthur out to get a tray ready.

"Well, hope that quiets him down." Martin said.

"Right." Said Douglas. "No one abuses Arthur but us. Warren Burger."

"Damn!"

A mere two minutes elapsed when Arthur burst through the flight deck door. "Uh, hello chaps!" He was followed by a bellow of rage.

Douglas looked back. "Was that our esteemed foodie?"

"Yep, and he's about to get on Mum's bad side."

Martin looked away from the controls. "And why do you say that?"

"He just insulted the food, GERTI, and then Mum. In that order."

Douglas winced. "In that order, oh dear, me." He stood and motioned for Arthur to follow him. "Keep the radio ready, Martin. Someone will be arrested, and I'm not sure who it will be yet. Let's go, Arthur."

When they opened the flight deck door, the enraged voice of Carolyn Knapp-Schappy rang through. "And you can shove every one of those Toblerones right up your-!"

Douglas pushed Arthur back into the flight deck and slammed the door closed. "Right, well. Arthur, why don't you stay here a tick while I go handle this."

"Right." Arthur put his hands in his pockets (as he knew to do when in the flight deck) and sat in the First Officer's chair. "D'you suppose I should put coffee on, Skip?"

"Probably not, Arthur. I'm still trying to finish my last cup without twitching. Besides, I think you might need to help Douglas undo any damage Carolyn has inflicted." Martin sniffed at his cooled cup and rejected it.

"You don't suppose Mum would-" Arthur stopped suddenly.

"Would what?" Martin asked.

Just then, Douglas returned calmly and Arthur sprang from his chair. "Douglas! I've just figured it out!"

"The little loops cross and pull the big one through?" Douglas nudged past Arthur and sat down.

"Mum taught me that ages ago. No, the Toblerones!" Arthur clapped his hands and rubbed them together. "So the place a Toblerone shouldn't go. Is it, you know… there?"

Douglas adjusted his papers and glanced at Arthur. "I recall there were none at St. Petersburg, yes?"

Martin restrained a giggle as Arthur became flustered. "Well, there, obviously, but you know… there!"

"Ah." Douglas said sagely. "You mean Carolyn's unfortunate threat. Well, do you recall your recent run-in at Westminster?"

"Of course. My hand cramped for days."

Martin turned in his chair and handed Arthur his cold coffee. "And what did they say about asking about where God was?"

"That I should think carefully about where I wanted him?"

"Yes," Martin prompted. "What else?"

"That he was holding my mouth-"

"Wait, Arthur." Douglas interrupted. "I think it's fair to say you've earned this one. I think we ought to solve your religious as well as confectionary confusion. If God is everywhere, then indeed, he is in the toilet as well as your mouth simultaneously. However, this has caused no ill effect up to this point, has it?"

"Gosh, no!"

"Splendid." Douglas steepled his hands under his chin. "Therefore, if God is everywhere, and all things are his creation, I think we can all agree that some things, such as the Toblerone, are somewhat more blessed than others."

"Oh, yes!" Arthur hopped up and down.

"Then, if the logic given by the venerables at Westminster can be extended ever so slightly, then Toblerones, also, are everywhere. Or, at least, they should be, correct?"

Martin's eyes narrowed. "Um, exactly where are you going with this, Douglas?"

"I'm creating a new thesis for the metaphysical properties of God, Toblerones, and the application of sense. Do keep up, Martin."

"Yeah!" Arthur cheered. "Keep up! What next, Douglas?"

"Well, my eager pupil, then what your mother was offering was merely the fulfillment of the wisdom given to us. There is, however, the question of free choice, whereby we can use our god-given minds to determine the time and place of Toblerone location, but what heresy would that be?"

"Horrid. Just wrong. Irrelevant."

"You mean 'irreverent', but I know how hard it can be. So: to sum up, God is everywhere, God made Toblerones, hence Toblerones deserve a place everywhere. However, as an inanimate object and a mere creation inspired by Him, we are gifted with the choice of where they are. You mother was just making a suggestion. Got it?"

"Wow! If the deacons had taught it that way, I'd never had to write lines!" Arthur bounded out of the flight deck and into the cabin.

"What the hell was that?" Martin demanded.

"That was pretty much how I got the bratty little food critic to shut up back there and eat his reheated pie. It's amazing how you just fiddle with the first things they say and they just do what you want."

The door opened again and Carolyn came in. "Well done, Douglas. The critic is chewing in silence and Arthur has his Toblerones back. Incidentally, is there some reason why he's using them to build a shrine?"

"God speaks to us all in mysterious ways."

For the record, I envisioned Gordon Ramsay as the food critic.

Thanks for flying the friendly skies!