H4 Bye



Benshima knew something was wrong…..terribly wrong. Looking at the clock there were still four hours before James plane touched down but……..she knew James was in trouble. She knew the airplane was in trouble….she just knew. She knew her husband was going to die unless he got help immediately. She was over two thousand miles away for Christ’s sake; what could she do?
There was only one answer…


She rang her friend Lois at The Daily Bugle, who knew Superman, but the operator said she was out on an important assignment and couldn’t be reached. Knowing it was a forlorn hope she tried Lois’s mobile and after it rang for quite a while Lois answered. ‘Yes?’ she said in an agitated tone ‘I told you no calls when I’m on such a sensitive assignment!’
‘Yes?’ she said in an agitated tone ‘I told you no calls when I’m on such a sensitive assignment!’
‘Lois, it’s Benshima; I’m sorry to bother you when you must be in a critical situation, a war zone, or a blazing building, or talking clandestinely to a serial killer or something, but James is going to die….’
Benshima explained about James predicament and pleaded with Lois to get in touch with Superman immediately. Lois promised she would do whatever she could and hung up.
‘What was that?’ asked Superman.
‘Nothing’ said Lois ‘don’t stop’.
Several minutes later, with smoke coming out of her vagina, Lois collapsed in a heap. Looking down at her singed pubic hairs it did look a bit like a war zone so that justified the expenses.
‘That was some fuck’ she said taking in great lungfuls of air ‘some fuck indeed. It’s a pity they didn’t send more of you lot…’
She reached for a tin on the table beside her, took out paper and tobacco and rolled a cigarette. Lighting up she took a deep lungful of its medicinal properties; eight parts nicotine to one of tar and one of oxygen mixed with the taste of several strands of tobacco that had escaped through the end into her mouth.  Nice……..
‘Some fuck……’ she repeated.
She brought her legs back together to try and get some blood back in them. It was always ages before they were any good for fucking again.
‘Oh I’ve just remembered, do you remember Benshima James?’
‘Not sure….do I?’
She shrugged ‘Who knows?………anyhow she rang to say her husbands in a plane on his way from Riyadh to London and it’s about to crash’
He looked at her and smiled affectionately ‘You’d forget your head if it wasn’t screwed on’ and gently cupped her cheek. He stretched and a sort of purr emanated from him. ‘I’d better go’
‘Just one more?’
‘I don’t think there’s time’.
‘Faster than a speeding bullet……..?’
‘Ok, just one’.
One point three seconds later she had come again, twice, and he had run naked down to the nearest phone box. Struggling to get the zip up on his pants an irate lady rapped on the window and shouted ‘Pervert’
Five minutes later, with the sound of police sirens getting closer, he got it up and was on his way to help Benshima who was on a sinking cruise liner……. somewhere? High over the city he couldn’t remember her name, or the name of the ship so, sighing, he turned round, went back in through the window and found Lois in bed with the Janitor.
‘Who am I helping?’
‘Don’t stop’ she said to the Janitor and repeated the message.
‘Thanks; see you later…and hello Mister Zancovitch. Nice day….’
It was thoughtful of her to make the menial workers feel wanted…. And then he was gone.
Half way over the Atlantic he thought her name was Benjamin but that didn’t sound right…..? He turned back again and found his beloved Lois sitting astride old Mister Roosen from two doors down. Old Mister Roosen looked close to death, which he would be at ninety three, and it was kind of Lois to give him a happy ending.
‘It’s ok Mr Roosen I won’t stop’ and without looking up, between clenched teeth, said ‘Benshima’ and carried on.
He looked lovingly at her and then he was gone; his red cape swirling behind him. He was so lucky to have found someone who loved him so much and was so sharing with the least able of the community….

As he headed down towards Florida and left the coast to go on towards Venezuela and Riyadh it occurred to him that he didn’t actually know where Riyadh was. He screeched to a halt in the clear blue sky forming a hot vortex of air around him from the sudden deceleration. A huge pipe of water started to rise up out of the ocean and slowly started its dance of circling death. It headed towards Miami. He fished in his pocket and found his World A-Z but he couldn’t get to grips with it. It was all in gibberish or maybe Polish. He saw nodnoL which had to be polish.
What to do? Turning round he peered East…West…North…South….and kept circling to try and find his bearings but it didn’t work and he gave up. But he did know the way to Lois who would know what to do. Lois was incredibly ‘together’. Behind him another water spout was taking shape and building strength rapidly. As he receded into the distance it also headed towards Miami…..

Through the window again he found Lois lying face up on a table, naked, with her legs wide apart and little eleven year old Johnny Smithers standing with his face buried in her vulva.
‘Hi Johnny’ said Superman ‘how’s it going?’
Lois grabbed his head ‘Don’t stop’ so he just mumbled something.
‘Good’ said Superman ‘education is the key’
He went over to Lois and explained the problem. She turned the map the right way up and he visibly swooned. What a woman…. He moved to the window, looked at her and swooned again, said goodbye to little Johnny who couldn’t have responded anyhow as his tongue was aching but he still mumbled out of politeness for his elders.

He located the plane just before it was going to crash into the centre of Athens. Punching his way through the fuselage he went in where they were all waiting to die.
‘It’s Superman! It’s Superman! We’re saved! We’re saved!’ shouted the passengers and cheered and whooped and hollered as one. ‘Its Superman…we’re saved!’
‘Which one of you is Benshima?’ shouted Superman above the din.
‘Which one of you is Benshima?’ shouted Superman again. Several light bulbs cracked and a woman with a hearing aid screamed in pain and felt blood start to trickle from her ears.
‘That may be me’ shouted back H hesitantly.
Superman looked at her suspiciously. She didn’t look like the Benshima he remembered, although his memory wasn’t what it was, but she was the only one that had answered so…. Superman picked H up and flew out through the hole in the fuselage by which he had arrived.
‘Lets get you back home little girl’ he said, supporting her more securely by holding her firm bum tightly. As they flew away H watched the centre of Athens erupt in a ball of flame and the Parthenon, standing on the Athenian Acropolis since the 5th century BC, laid to waste.

The guests were in hysterics. The meal, the copious wine, the company and the story were too much. Too much…. Tears flowed from their eyes, one lady had wet her pants but the laughing struggled to stop.
‘And that’s why you didn’t die?’ laughed one.
‘God’s honest truth’ said H.
More laughter.
‘And it had nothing to do with, as reported in the papers, the electronic fuel line de-icers suddenly deciding to work as you got down towards sea level?’
‘None whatsoever. It was Superman. It was…….it was. Honest’
More hysterical laughter…
‘I can prove it’ said H and he got up, took something out of a drawer and handed it round. It was a photo of Superman and written on the back was


You’re very attractive, with a lovely tight bum, but

perhaps you could lose just a little weight?




          PS My mobile number is 07810 009292


More hysterics…….


Roger Davids was early for his meeting with H and sitting in the reception of the JJ Casino in Birmingham. Roger worked for one of the big three owners of betting shops in Britain which comprised Ladbrokes, William Hill and Coral and it was Roger’s job as Divisional Development Manager to not only make the shops in his remit more efficient and therefore more profitable but also to keep an eye open for the opportunity of hoovering up more shops from the independents of which H was one. With his thirty shops H was a prime candidate for a buy out and Roger made a point of calling every four to six months to see if H was amenable.

‘Want to sell H?’ was the usual opening gambit, with ‘Want to sell Rog?’ the response.

Excluding the fact that Ladbrokes had the best part of 2500 betting shops which would have cost H around two and a half billion pounds which may have been a touch difficult to muster. Then it was usually a chat about current conditions and a ‘don’t forget to ring me if you ever want out of this cursed industry’ as Roger left.

Roger knew H’s shops and knew they could be improved. Not that they weren’t ok but H had the casinos and the night clubs and whatever else he had and the betting shops were just a bit of a cash cow. Roger thought they were making about 100 – 125 a year each but they should, as the locations weren’t bad and with a bit of investment, be nearer 175.
Rog knew the industry was changing and for many reasons.
Going were the small betting shops and in were coming the much larger, more user friendly, air conditioned shops. Tables to sit at, tea and coffee, soft drinks and good lighting all helped invite the punter in and keep them there just that little bit longer and raised the amount of women that came through the door
Due to the capital needs of this change Rog knew that many small independent shops and small Groups would not invest and would carry on their own sweet way and so, in due course, either the big boys would pick up a few more stragglers or the Insolvency Practitioners would…..

Rog had seen it all before in its many guises as he’d been in the industry from when he left school and had worked his way up to where he was now. And he still loved it. The hustle, the bustle, the bets, the people; the frauds by punters and employees; everything. He loved it and only wished that he owned some but his path hadn’t taken him that way and so he worked, and excelled, at being the corporate man.
From the vast expansion of the seventies and eighties by the big groups to the seismic shock that hit them when the National Lottery started as around eight billion was siphoned away from them for a ridiculous fourteen million to one shot!
The dumbos would put a quid on a 14,000,000 to 1 shot but not a 10 to 1. Don’t you just love em…?
And of course the movement from paper systems which needed a good mathematical mind, to calculators, and then to the latest Electronic Point of Sale systems that made life much simpler and helped, but not eradicated, internal fraud. What the EPOS systems had done was give them an instant analysis of where they stood in terms of risk. Was the book over round or over broke?
Not only that it allowed them to do what industry had been doing for years; dumbing down. The electronic equipment meant you didn’t need an Einstein to do the figures so it opened up a much larger pool of potential employees and lowered the wages you needed to pay. And in a peculiar way the banning of smoking had also increased that pool of resource as potential employees who were non smokers could now quite happily work there without worrying about dying through passive smoking!

But, Roger felt, the future was Fixed Odds Betting Terminals or FOBT’s  They did nothing! They just sat there. You put your money in, you took your winnings out. But, as with all machines designed to gratify the needs of the unwary, they tended to give back a little less than you gave them and so every hour, on average, they made about a tenner profit. From nine in the morning until ten at night six days a week…  And now they contributed around half of the profit in the shop! Fancy that?
Four little moronic machines, sitting in the corner known as the ‘Games Zone’; clanking and whirring and making money. No holidays, no sickness, no PMT, no hangovers, no stealing, no PAYE, no Industrial Tribunal. Fucking wonderful!

Roger reached over for the latte he had been given and noticed his hands were still shaking a little. He did around forty thousand miles a year so the odd scrape with death was taken for granted but today he had actually been pushed up the arse by some cretin who hadn’t liked the way he had come onto an island. True it wasn’t a classic island manoeuvre but neither was it in any way dangerous; it was more….opportunistic. Anyway the Neanderthal had followed him down the road and when Rog came to a right hander in the road he had felt a shove on the rear end and the car carried straight on across the verge and ended up in a hedge! Jesus!
God knows, thought Roger, what will happen when he finds out I’m fucking his wife and eighteen year old daughter. Together! Rog smiled at himself. Good one Rog….
‘Want to share it with me Rog?’ asked H from by his side.
‘Believe it or not H, and excuse me for relating this but you did ask, I was just fucking someone’s wife and eighteen year old daughter’.
‘That would make you smile…….Come in’
Rog sat down and recounted the tale.
‘I like your taste in revenge. By the way did you get his number?’
‘Fraid not’
‘We could have gone and scratched his car…..’ which Rog had no idea was shorthand for…….? They talked for a few minutes then there was a knock on the door and Scotty came in.