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Edited on Wed Apr-22-09 08:35 PM by nuxvomica
...his best Members-Only windbreaker.
"I'm gonna win this competition, Mum," he said to his hovering, aged mother. "They'll see. I'll put East Lothian on the map, I will."
Just as he was finishing, the doorbell rang.
"Stardust!" Gabriel shouted, "Stardust, stardust, stardust, stardust, starrrr-dust!" His cherubim assistant covered his ears. He knew it was a bad word because angels crap stardust. They fart clouds of nitrous oxide and piss Dom Perignon, but they crap out stardust and following the rules of scatology it's a word reserved for moments of heightened frustration.
"Dear Gabriel," the cherub interjected. "What fell thing has occurred to vex thee so?" The cherub's eyes glowed deep blue, a sign he was fearful of the answer. Chubby arms of eternal babyfat were raised close to his tiny ears in case Gabriel continued his dark tirade.
"I ordered a special throat spray from Angels Warehouse and it hasn't arrived yet," Gabriel responded. "I've refreshed the UPS tracking site ten thousand times per second and it says it's delivered but for some reason the destination is listed as 'Gabriel Road, East Lothian'. That's someplace in England I think."
"Excuse my impertinence, oh one," said the cherub, nervously, "But what need have thee for throat spray. Thee hasn't engaged in song for more than a week now. Surely thy throat is well rested."
"That's just the point," Gabriel replied angrily. "The Old Man hasn't wanted to hear our song since He found that video on Youtube, the one with that mortal woman singing. He thinks she's a sensation. He talks about her range and control. He says her voice makes Him feel like he should do more with his eternal omipotent existence. When we offer to sing, he just waves us off!"
"Well that explains the hurricanes," the cherub thought quietly to himself.
"So I ordered this special throat spray for angels only. It's supposed to improve my voice, which I never in a million epochs thought I'd need to do. Now I can't even have that. I am thoroughly Dom Perignoned!"
The cherub was so unnerved at Gabriel's language that he vomited out the purest, sweetest Godiva chocolate.
Agatha Cozybotham opened the door to a smiling UPS delivery woman. "Yes, dear," she said. "What can I do for you."
"I have a package for you," responded the woman. "It's a special delivery. Now all I need is your signature on this electric gizmo."
The woman gave Agatha a stylus and pointed to a small grey screen on the gizmo where she was to write out her name.
"Oh dear," Agatha exclaimed, "Can I try that again. I don't think you can make out all the letters."
"That's fine," the woman replied, "And here's your package." She thrust a small, oblong box into Agatha's hands, said "Have a nice evening" and returned to her lorry.
"Oy, oy, what's this 'ere?" said Freddie, eyeing the small box on the kitchen table.
"Oh that's the package you ordered. It were just delivered," replied Agatha while preparing a pot of tea. "It were an 'especial delivery'," she said it as though something had just dropped from heaven.
"I didn't..." Freddie had already ripped the box open and held up the beautiful crystal bottle with a gold stopper. Attached to the stopper was a long tube that ended in a small, oval bladder, all of which was covered in a shimmering gold cloth that made his shirt look a coppery color by comparison. "...but then again maybe I did. Maybe I just did." Freddie had noticed the large fancy golden letters embossed on the bottle. The fancy script was hard to read at first but when he made it all out a self-satisfied smile grew broadly across his face: "ANGELS WAREHOUSE" read the first line. "Well that's a cheeky name," he said. "THROAT SPRAY FOR BEST SINGING" read the next and the last few lines were too highly flourished for Freddie to decipher but they read "WARNING: FOR ANGELS ONLY! SEVERE INTESTINAL DISTURBANCE IS LIKELY IF USED BY NON-ANGELS"
"Well this will be just the thing, then." Freddie whispered conspiratorially. "My voice is fine as it is, especially when I've had a few pints, but this can't hurt."
Freddie finished his tea and headed for the train station with the bottle secreted in his pants pocket.
"Good luck, son," shouted his mum as he bounded through the cottage gate.
Backstage at the theatre, Freddie was starting to get a little nervous. A woman carrying a clipboard had just informed him he would be on in five minutes. The woman had forced a smile and then frowned as her eye caught sight of something. "Perhaps you might adjust your parachute pants," she said weakly.
"Oh don't worry about, that," Freddie responded. "That's just a bottle of me special throat spray. All the good warblers use this brand." He held it up, pointed the nozzle end at his open mouth and pinched the bladder briskly four times.
"And what are you going to sing for us tonight?," asked Simon Cowell, his eyes still rolling at the sight of the 50-year-old man in parachute pants, gold lame and a windbreaker. Time had not been kind to Freddie nor to his ancient 1980s wardrobe. Too many crisps and teacakes had taken their toll and he looked like a large trussed mortadella but with an unexpected coppery band across the middle.
"Well, if you don't mind, guv'ner, I'd like to sing a little number you may have heard before. It's called 'Mem'ry' and it's from a musical theatre show."
At that moment, the silvery fluid Freddie had sprayed on his throat had slipped down into his gullet and involuntary muscular contractions began in his stomach and intestines. A loud "Ba-ooom" shook the theatre and all eyes turned to the orchestra's tuba player, who shook is head and held up his hands so all could know he wasn't responsible for the suddent noise.
It was followed by a foul smell and everyone -- the musicians, the audience members, the backstage crew and the three judges -- began to laugh uncontrollably. At this point, Freddie was visibly glowing and large throbbing bumps appeared all over his body. He had never been more frightened and his urethral sphincter collapsed, causing him to emit a steady stream of what smelled like hot champagne. He heaved and heaved until liquid chocolate spewed from his mouth and spattered a girl in the audience wearing heavy eyeliner. Amanda Holden was laughing so hard she made honking noises. Freddie himself had not uttered a single note before relief came as a shimmery, extraterrestrial powder filled...
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