Disclaimer: I don't own it, Mr Julian Barratt and Mr Noel Fielding do.
Allegedly based on true events. Someone my dad knew as a kid apparantly got bored one day and wondered if he could get into the house via the bathroom window. His brother had to get him down.
Revenge
Howard just wanted to sleep. It wasn't a demanding request, or an unreasonable one. He just wanted to be allowed to sleep. But no, at half past two in the morning, Vince couldn't have the common decency to come in quietly, could he.
Banging. Why was he banging? Howard tried to ignore it, tried to block out the thumps from the corridor.
"Howard! Howard!"
Howard didn't care. He was not letting the drunken little tart into his room. He didn't care if Vince was lonely, or had a compulsion to tell some random and utterly pointless story about his night out, or if he wanted Chinese but was too drunk to read the numbers on the takeaway menus. He could stay right outside.
"Howard, help!"
What had the brat done now? Well, damned if Howard was going to get up for him. He could wait until the morning.
"Howard! Please!"
Suddenly Howard realised something. Vince's cries were a little bit too muffled. He could usually hear him much more clearly from the other side of the door.
He sounded like he was coming from the end of the corridor.
Shivering, Howard got up and left his room. He turned and saw Vince, or at least the top half of him, hanging through the window trying in vain to push himself through.
"What have you been up to, little man?" Howard asked, grinning evilly.
"They always complain downstairs," said Vince, slurring slightly.
"What?"
"'Bout the noise."
"I see."
"Thought if I come this way, wouldn't wake anyone up."
"Didn't work, did it," chided Howard.
"No."
Howard gave him a reprimanding look, then finally came forward and took hold of Vince's wrists. He pulled. He pulled harder. He stuck his foot against the wall and used it as leverage. Vince wasn't budging.
Howard looked at the window and noticed that Vince's round rear was wedged in, and wasn't likely to come through without a struggle.
"Right…" mused Howard. He stepped forward and grabbed Vince under the arms. "Grab on."
Vince obediently gripped Howard's waist and held on tight. Howard pulled back with all his strength, but the inebriated fairy could still not be removed from the window frame.
Howard let go of him, and waited a moment for Vince to realise and do the same, then stepped around Vince and examined the window. He pushed up on it, but there was no way he could get it to open any more without breaking the frame. And Naboo would not be happy about that.
"I could lube up the window frame with cooking oil…" Howard suggested, more to himself than to Vince, who was probably on the verge of passing out.
"You are not getting cooking oil anywhere near these jeans!" Vince snapped, much more loudly, clearly and coherently than Howard had heard him speak all day, let alone since finding him.
Howard sighed in frustration. What was really maddening was that Vince probably didn't know just how difficult he was being. A thought crossed his mind, but he dismissed it as it came. There must be an alternative to having to try that.
He could… if Vince… um…
No, there wasn't.
And it wasn't like Vince didn't deserve it anyway, to be fair. And if he remembered in the morning, he might think he dreamt it.
"Vince, how did you even get up there?" asked Howard.
"Climbed," mumbled Vince, his coherence gone completely.
"What, up the drainpipe?"
"Yeah."
"In that state?"
Vince didn't say anything, just lifted his head and nodded until he got too tired to keep holding it up.
Yes, he deserved it…
He put a hand on Vince's shoulder and gave it a teasing squeeze, not bothering to hide the evil grin on his face, because even if Vince was in a position to see it, he was too pissed to find anything to be worried about in it.
"There's only one other way I can think of to get you out of here," he said. "I'll have to force you through from the other side, but I don't think you're going to enjoy the experience."
Would Howard enjoy it? Would it be wrong if he did? Did it really matter?
"'Kay," said Vince, through what seemed to be semi-consciousness.
"Back in a minute, little man," said Howard.
Howard found a jacket and ran downstairs, quietly so as not to wake Mrs Winslow, unlocked the front door and came round to the drainpipe at the side of the building. He could see Vince's legs suspended from the window next to it.
Slightly nervously, though he kept reminding himself that if a drunken ponce with all the upper body strength of a plastic bag could manage it, he should have no problem, he shimmied his way up the drainpipe to where Vince was hanging. He came up level with the window, and as he glanced over at Vince's upturned behind he couldn't resist coming out with a tongue in cheek line.
"Just remember, Vince, I'm doing this for your own good."
He saw Vince's legs shift as Vince presumably tried to look behind him. Without waiting a second, Howard raised one hand in the air, making sure the other was very firmly clamped to the drainpipe, and walloped Vince sharply on the arse.
"Ow!" he heard Vince shout from the other side of the window, as he jerked from the force. "What you doing? Get off!"
Howard ignored him, and instead gave him another smack, giggling slightly. Vince was complaining loudly, but Howard thought a few more would probably be enough to get him through. He landed another whack, and was certain he saw a little more of Vince's arse disappearing through the window. By now Vince was struggling to free himself and escape from the tyranny of Howard's hand. Now laughing uncontrollably, Howard smacked him again, provoking a string of slurred obscenities.
"Language, little man," he shouted through bursts of laughter, as he clouted him one final time, dislodging Vince's backside from the window. He watched Vince scramble all the way through, then closed the window and shimmied back to the ground.
"What on earth was that?" seethed Mrs Winslow as he came into the foyer. "It's bad enough when your daughter makes this much noise, but coming from you it's bloody disgraceful."
"Vince didn't want to wake you, so he tried to climb through an upstairs window and got stuck," explained Howard. "I've just smacked him through."
"Well good," sniffed the old lady, turning and going through her own front door. "Kinky nutjob," she muttered under her breath, hoping Howard didn't hear.
Howard let himself into his own flat and found Vince leaning on a wall with his hands on his bum and a pained look on his face.
"Git," he said as Howard approached.
"Got you through the window, though, didn't it," gloated Howard.
Vince didn't say anything. He just stood there and looked indignant.
Howard smiled and gently nudged Vince's waist. "Come on, you."
Vince moved from the wall, then staggered and nearly fell. "Where we going?" he asked blearily.
"You're going to bed, little man," answered Howard, steering Vince towards his room, not letting go in case Vince fell over. In there, he let Vince go onto his bed, and Vince toppled like a Jenga tower, half on and half off.
"Vince," Howard said to him softly. No use. He'd passed straight out.
Groaning, Howard removed Vince's boots for him and pushed him fully onto the bed. Out of some probably deserved pity, he left Vince on his front.
Then he stalked back to bed, thanking the heavens he didn't have to get up in the morning, and vowing not to budge if Vince woke up before he did.