This is my first Boosh fic, so good luck to you people reading it. XD I don't own anything of course, and absolutely no disrespect or libel is intended towards the thieving Honey Monster, I promise.. cross my heart.. just don't sue me.
Howard Moon, proprietor and top salesman of the Nabootique, scowled down at the blank sheet of paper in front of him, willing the words he wanted to write to appear. With his literary talent of novelistic prowess it should have been easy. But it wasn't. Carefully he went over the words in his head again, sounding them out silently in the hope of finding perfection. Nothing.
Maybe it was the colour of pen that was spoiling everything. He glanced down at it. Of course, a darker shade of red was definitely needed for the task at hand. He reached for a home-made jazz pencil case, the one that contained the pens all shades of red right through the spectrum, and it was a surprisingly versatile spectrum with a wide range of moods and feeling thank you sir, red's a powerful colour. Capable of expressing-
Thankfully, the door opened with a little musical sound at that moment, diverting Howard from any further musings on the red spectrum. Trying to conceal a startled jump, he kept his eyes on the range of pens in his just opened pencil case.
"This is a rather busy time sir, if you'd like to come back later," he announced tensely.
"Howard, it's me."
It came back to the moustachioed man in a rush that he had sent Vince out for some lunch at least an hour ago. He repeated this revelation out loud to the inconsistent electrogoth, who merely gave an empty handed shrug.
"There was a sale on at Topshop, I forgot all about – What are you doing with your eyes?"
"I'm scowling sir. Narrowing them in a scowl of anger at you."
Vince laughed in an understanding way that only made his jazz-obsessed friend even more angered.
"Come here, there's something you need to see."
The laughter stopped abruptly and was replaced with a defensive pout. "It's not a new filing system for the rubbers is it? You showed me that yesterday; I don't want to see it again."
Howard sighed and jabbed a finger at the television resting on the counter in response, making the contraption splutter into life. Both men stared in horror as a seaweed-haired half-man, half-fish pranced onto the screen.
"Hello Howard, my little fuzzy man-love peach," the snazzily dressed seamonster inside the television crooned, waggling the fingers of a webbed hand in a coy wave. "Here's the video you asked me for…"
"That's the wrong – It's the wrong – I don't know how…" Howard forced an embarrassed laugh, quickly leaning forwards to frantically press the buttons on the TV, ignoring the bemused and horrified stare his friend was directing at the back of his head. "This is the one…"
The picture on screen mercifully changed to an advertisement for a certain popular breakfast cereal mascoted by a certain huge fluffy yellow monster. A certain huge fluffy yellow monster that was advertising its certain popular breakfast cereal with a certain music genre. That was for certain.
"Sound familiar to you?"
"That's…" Vince stared, transfixed, at the screen. Suddenly he dropped into a defensive crouch (no mean feat in skin tight silver skinny jeans) and waved his hands in a vaguely menacing manner at the threat to originality chanting on the screen. "He's stolen our crimping! When did you let him in without telling me during one of our night time crimps?" Eyes widening, the man's hand suddenly flew up to his root-boosted barnet. "Was it that night I couldn't get the straighteners working?"
Howard shook his head irritably. "I've never let him in. He must have been at the Velvet Onion the night of the Crimp Off."
Everything suddenly started going wavery, slinking with ordered erratic-ness from left to right as twinkling music pervaded the atmosphere of the shop. Shaken around like paper dolls, the two men clutched for dear life at whatever nailed down object happened to be closest.
"What's happening?" Howard shouted in a panic over the strange tinkling noises.
"You said 'the night of…' you've started a flashback!"
"But we don't have time for a flashback!" He stared wildly around for the source of the time-meddling disturbance. "Stop! Stop!"
"It's too late now!"
And so it was. The two men were forced to endure a rapid succession of clips showing their crimping face off with the Flighty Zeus that ended with the Mighty Boosh's final triumph. Interspersed with those familiar scenes were new ones of a certain yellow cereal muncher badly disguised in a balaclava laughing evilly as it slunk, unnoticed from the Velvet Onion, a voice recording device clutched in one furry hand. The flashback concluded with the two Boosh boys sitting together, sharing a magazine bearing their faces on the cover.
"Where can you go with crimping?"
"Where can't you go?"
"…Where can you go?"
The flashback ended and everything went back to present time, present place, present problem.
"Right into a lawsuit with a cereal monster," Howard sighed in answer to the flashback's question.
Vince didn't seem to have heard. Overcome with the despairing emotions that had nearly destroyed him when the original crimping copycat had appeared on the scene, he sank down onto a chair and put his stylish head in his hands. "I can't do it again Howard; I can't do another crimp off to defend us."
The jazz musician novel-writing shopkeeper eyed his friend in concern. "Hey, that's not the spirit," he soothed uncertainly. "It's not like you. We can sort this out together, without another crimp off. Look, I'm writing an angry letter in burgundy… or maybe puce… I haven't decided yet." He held up the blank sheet of paper for appraisal, but it was ignored.
"Come on young man, we need to fight this."
"No, I can't do it anymore. There's no point."
Although this statement greatly saddened Howard, he couldn't help but see the logic in it. Their image and self-styled musical genre seemed to have been under attack a lot lately. Maybe it was time they let the masses carry it forwards themselves, leaving the creators behind in the dust, forgotten and unwanted.
"No!" He shook himself out of the pessimistic thoughts that had dogged his whole life, slamming a decisive fist down on the counter. "Ow!" He cradled the injured hand to his chest, battling on with his mini-speech nonetheless. "There's always a point."
"We've got to face it Howard, we're over. I've lost my Crimp Juju." Vince sighed and dropped his hands to the arms of the chair, turning away to stare despondently out of the window. The day was sunny, too sunny to allow for a good gloomy effect, so he moved into a little patch of shadow instead. There, that was the perfect dramatic pose of a beaten man, broken inside, his will to crimp gone.
Suddenly Howard's hand was there on his shoulder, a comforting presence even if it was badly dressed. "We can't become another Joey Trombone. I won't let that happen, sir."
"Who's Joey Trombone?"
"It's a long story."
Vince turned away grumpily, sulking into the side of the chair. "I'm not in the mood for a story."
"A long time ago there was a man named Joey Trombone. He was a good man, a strong man. All the girls loved him and all the men would chase him for giving his phone number to their girlfriends, and when they caught up with him they would jump on his distinctively trombone-shaped head, but he never gave up, Joey Trombone wasn't a quitter.
"One day he was at the park, trying to catch pigeons for a romantic candle lit dinner with the Mayor of London's wife when a spaceship appeared to him. The spaceship gave him a box, a small box all wrapped around with yellow police caution tape. Joey Trombone opened the box and inside was a brass key on a popcorn link gold chain that was very popular at that time, he looked up to ask what the key was for but the spaceship had disappeared. From that day on, he dedicated his life to finding out what that key was for. He tried every door, every greenhouse and every ice cream van in all the land, but it opened none of them. He eventually died alone and bitter in a cave from exposure out in the wilderness, but the important thing is that he never gave up."