Play Bingo Like an Egyptian
by Brian Morrison
Genre: Humour
Swearwords: Some mild ones.
Description: Is it wise to take your mummy along to a game of Bingo at the Luxor Palace Bingo Hall? Especially when she has been dead for ten years.
Swearwords: Some mild ones.
Description: Is it wise to take your mummy along to a game of Bingo at the Luxor Palace Bingo Hall? Especially when she has been dead for ten years.
Half moon night was Bingo night over in Thebes. As always, every road, river-way and camel trail led tae wan single place. The Luxor Palace . . . Haud oan a wee minute. That is not entirely accurate. Everyone in the land of Pharaohs was well aware that there was actually only wan river in the entire world, and that was the ‘Sacred waterway’, the ‘Great slinky snake tae the Heavens’, the ‘Holy waater’ – the ‘Magnificent (and sometimes a wee bit naughty) Nile’. Protected by that big lanky odd lookin’ lion with the big paws and the stupid heid. Yes, I did say ‘Paws’.
Anyway, the Luxor Palace was the place tae be. Bingo was almost like a God itself. Some of the locals had launched a campaign tae create a Bingo-God up in the heavens. It had tae be a female God, though. That was the stickin’ point with the high heid yins at the God namin’ offices doon at Abu Simbel. The Bingo-God lobby, up until now, had been unsuccessful. But there had been whispers driftin’ aboot like the sands of the great desert that they soon may indeed be thinkin’ of a naming ceremony for the great God o’ the numbers game. Rumour had it that a team o’ star-gazers were oot every night, gazing upwards tae the heavens; drawin’ imaginery lines between the stars. Lookin’fur a wee pattern in the dark sky that looked like a full hoose, or even four corners. There was also a, not-so-secret, ballot goin’ on that would determine the name of this new supreme God. The title had been picked already. Everyone knew that the Bingo-God would be called ‘Eyesdoon’. That fact wis what the locals called ‘A mummy’s empty heid’ or a ‘No Brainer’.
. . . And talking of mummies, it was common practice among the female Egyptian Bingo-goers for them tae wheel along their mummies to the Luxor Palace on half moon nights. A Mummy wis looked upon as somethin’ of a good luck charm. Many o’ these mummies had been avid Bingo fans whilst they had existed in their human form. It was widely believed that the Bingo game was played up in heaven, so why shouldn’t they join in the fun along wi’ everyone else?
One Bingo fan who always wheeled her mummy along to the Palace on half moon nights was Sonya Heffertitty. Her mummy (who was also her actual mummy whilst living) had been a massive Bingo addict. She also, as it happens, had been a massive woman, too. Sonya always had to wheel her into the Palace through the extra wide rear doors. Around forty metres of bandages had been used to embalm Sonya’s mummy’s mummy. Sonya was of a mind that her embalmed mass may have been reduced somewhat in the ten years that she had been a mummy, but the mass of Sonya’s embalmed massive mummy was so much that not much mummy mass on her massive mummy’s embalmed mummy had reduced.
Sonya’s playin’ buddies were Anita Ripintiye and Cindy Araldite. Neither of them brought mummies along with them, so there was just enough room for everyone at their usual table for four. The slaves were busy as ever, runnin’ aroon given oot Bingo cards and offerin’ their bare backs fur a wee scourge or two, whilst the master race set aboot enjoyin’ themselves. Just as Anita sat doon on her seat, there wis a muffled farting noise, accompanied by a pungent odour that wafted aroon and clung tae the underside o’ the table.
‘Haw, Anita, huv you lost control o’ yer sphinx, doll?’ said Sonya, flapping a hand in front o’ her nose.
‘Sorry aboot that, girls,’ said Anita, ‘Ah’ve got a touch o’ the sirocco.’
‘Sirocco? Whit’s that when it’s at hame?’
‘It’s a hot wind,’ said Anita. ‘Ah overdid it last night wi’ the kerry oot. Ah had a monkey’s brains munchy box wi’ extra snake skins an’ figs.’
Sonya puckered her lips and blew a thin feather of air across the space between her and her friends. ‘Oooh, nae wonder ye smell like that then! That is pure hoachin’, man!’
Anita answered, ‘Ach Ah know. The twins, Horus an’ Borus, were wantin’ a kerry oot fur their tea, so Ah couldnae be arsed jist cookin’ fur masel.’
‘You’ll no’ enjoy the half time treat in here tonight then,’ said Cindy Araldite, ‘it’s date pies wi’ mushy figs.’
‘Aye,’ said Anita, ‘Ah think it wid be a good idea tae gie that a miss tonight, right enough!’ She turned to Sonya, ‘So whit is yer mummy huvin’ tae eat at the half time break? . . . a wrap?’
The three girls enjoyed the little joke. Sonya could have sworn that the slightest hint of a grin appeared oan the bandages across her mummy’s mummy’s face.
The Palace Bingo hall was now almost filled tae capacity. The excitement wis risin’. It wis almost time fur ‘Him’ tae appear. The lights were lowered and the mortal form o’ the Great, soon tae be God, Eyesdoon, made his spectacular entrance. Tae be absolutely truthful, it wis jist the Palace’s resident Bingo caller, Ralph Haspittitoot. Oan half moon nights, Ralph wis transformed intae the Bingo-God. Sittin’ high up oan his solid gold throne, a couple o’ dozen slaves carried him intae the hall and up towards the stage. Ralph certainly looked the part. He hud a man’s body, but the heid o’ a horse. It wisnae a mask or anythin’ – he genuinely hud the heid o’ a horse. He got the usual abuse from the regular females in the hall.
‘Why the long face?’ cried out Sonya.
‘Who’s ridin’ ye in next week’s three o’clock handicap?’ was shouted fae the other side o’ the hall.
‘Ach there’s an awfy smell o’dung in here,’ cried oot another.
‘Shut it, youse!’ was the Great God Eyesdoon’s response.
‘Aye, naaaaaaaay bother,’ cried Anita Ripintye - much to the amusement o’ the other Bingo girls.
A little bit o’ gossip came to Sonya’s mind. She beckoned for the other two tae come closer and listen, ‘Know whit Ah heard jist yesterday? Ah heard that big Ralph wis seen at a local night club wi’the Pharaoh’s eldest daughter hingin’ oan tae his arm.’
‘Really?’ said Cindy. ‘The big Pharaoh’s daughter? . . . Khu fu?’
‘Naw, Ah think she only hud wan glass o’ wine.’
‘Eyes doon, look in!’ bellowed big horse-heid Ralph in the guise o’ the Bingo-God.
There was a sudden hush aroon the hall. All joking had been suspended. This wis them intae the real serious stuff noo. ‘Jist before we commence wi’ tonight’s games,’ said Eyesdoon, ‘I wid like tae draw yer attention tae a wee point. We at the Palace Bingo hall huv nae objections tae ye bringin’ yer mummies along oan half moon nights. We wid jist like tae remind ye all that yer mummies must be in a sound condition. Nothin’ hingin’ aff, or nuthin’ aboot tae fall aff. Ah must make this point very clear. We are goin’ through a virtual shit-load o’ toilet rolls in this place. Please don’t use bog roll fur use as make shift repairs tae yer mummies. Costs ur goin’ up a’ the time, an’ if ye continue tae use the bog rolls in this way, it will reflect in the price o’ yer Bingo cards. Dae Ah make masel clear?’
There was no sign o’ any hecklin’ after this outburst from big horse-heid. He continued in a smug tone. ‘Right then, let the game begin.’
Two slaves, one o’ each side of Eyesdoon, ducked their heids intae solid gold vats filled wi’ water. Eyesdoon kicked the one oan the left up the arse. The slaves heid appeared fae the gold vat wi’ a ball in his mooth. This was the Egyptian way tae select numbered balls at random. Noo an’ again the odd slave wid huv tae be replaced when Eyesdoon took too long tae dae the selection process. The drooned slave would quickly be replaced by another minion.
‘Two palm trees – thirty three.’ announced Eyesdoon.
A well aimed boot to the other slave’s arse produced another ball.
‘Sacred coo – forty two.’
And so it went on . . . ‘Pharaoh’s gold mine – number nine. Key o’ the tomb – twenty wan. Figs an’ dates – eighty eight.’
Everything jist went oan as normal until the snowball game wis due tae start. The runnin’ prize hadn’t been claimed fur a couple o’ months, which put the total prize up tae three hundred and fifty slaves.
‘Whit Ah wid dae wi’ three hundred and fifty slaves!’ lamented Cindy.
‘Oh aye, jist think.’ said Anita, ‘All those lovely black bodies.’
‘Your mind is in the gutter, miss!’ said Cindy.
‘What the hell is a snowball anyway? That’s whit Ah’d like tae know,’ said Sonya.
And that was the moment that the fag-end rolled under their table. Being so close tae the rear door o’ the hall had its drawbacks. Due tae the new no-smokin’ policy at the Palace, the rear doors were used fur patrons who wanted tae nip outside fur a quick draw between games. None o’ the girls had noticed the stray lit fag-end rolling in from the doorway. It had been discarded ootside, but the hot wind (not Anita’s hot wind) had blown it back intae the hall.
Sonya’s mummy had been a mummy for ten years. In those ten years, the area aroon the Nile had experienced some o’ the warmest weather conditions in history. Let’s face it – she wis dry. Dry as parchment found in an ancient tomb. No’ even Oil of Olay would huv been any good tae her at this point. As chance wid have it, the lit fag-end came tae rest at Sonya’s mummy’s mummy’s bandaged right foot.
The cremation wis almost instantaneous. Sonya’s ever-so-dry mummy’s mummy was enveloped in flames. It wis the disaster to end all disasters. The Snowball game wis going tae huv tae be cancelled. Hundreds of angry Egyptian ladies were in a rage. Tae compound the misery of Eyesdoon and the Palace Bingo hall owners, tiny wee fragments o’ Sonya’s dry mummy’s mummy became airborne and came to rest oan other dry mummies in the hall. That, combined wi’ the over-use o’ bog roll on these dry mummies, created a towering mummy inferno.
And sadly, Steve McQueen wis nowhere tae be seen.
Anyway, the Luxor Palace was the place tae be. Bingo was almost like a God itself. Some of the locals had launched a campaign tae create a Bingo-God up in the heavens. It had tae be a female God, though. That was the stickin’ point with the high heid yins at the God namin’ offices doon at Abu Simbel. The Bingo-God lobby, up until now, had been unsuccessful. But there had been whispers driftin’ aboot like the sands of the great desert that they soon may indeed be thinkin’ of a naming ceremony for the great God o’ the numbers game. Rumour had it that a team o’ star-gazers were oot every night, gazing upwards tae the heavens; drawin’ imaginery lines between the stars. Lookin’fur a wee pattern in the dark sky that looked like a full hoose, or even four corners. There was also a, not-so-secret, ballot goin’ on that would determine the name of this new supreme God. The title had been picked already. Everyone knew that the Bingo-God would be called ‘Eyesdoon’. That fact wis what the locals called ‘A mummy’s empty heid’ or a ‘No Brainer’.
. . . And talking of mummies, it was common practice among the female Egyptian Bingo-goers for them tae wheel along their mummies to the Luxor Palace on half moon nights. A Mummy wis looked upon as somethin’ of a good luck charm. Many o’ these mummies had been avid Bingo fans whilst they had existed in their human form. It was widely believed that the Bingo game was played up in heaven, so why shouldn’t they join in the fun along wi’ everyone else?
One Bingo fan who always wheeled her mummy along to the Palace on half moon nights was Sonya Heffertitty. Her mummy (who was also her actual mummy whilst living) had been a massive Bingo addict. She also, as it happens, had been a massive woman, too. Sonya always had to wheel her into the Palace through the extra wide rear doors. Around forty metres of bandages had been used to embalm Sonya’s mummy’s mummy. Sonya was of a mind that her embalmed mass may have been reduced somewhat in the ten years that she had been a mummy, but the mass of Sonya’s embalmed massive mummy was so much that not much mummy mass on her massive mummy’s embalmed mummy had reduced.
Sonya’s playin’ buddies were Anita Ripintiye and Cindy Araldite. Neither of them brought mummies along with them, so there was just enough room for everyone at their usual table for four. The slaves were busy as ever, runnin’ aroon given oot Bingo cards and offerin’ their bare backs fur a wee scourge or two, whilst the master race set aboot enjoyin’ themselves. Just as Anita sat doon on her seat, there wis a muffled farting noise, accompanied by a pungent odour that wafted aroon and clung tae the underside o’ the table.
‘Haw, Anita, huv you lost control o’ yer sphinx, doll?’ said Sonya, flapping a hand in front o’ her nose.
‘Sorry aboot that, girls,’ said Anita, ‘Ah’ve got a touch o’ the sirocco.’
‘Sirocco? Whit’s that when it’s at hame?’
‘It’s a hot wind,’ said Anita. ‘Ah overdid it last night wi’ the kerry oot. Ah had a monkey’s brains munchy box wi’ extra snake skins an’ figs.’
Sonya puckered her lips and blew a thin feather of air across the space between her and her friends. ‘Oooh, nae wonder ye smell like that then! That is pure hoachin’, man!’
Anita answered, ‘Ach Ah know. The twins, Horus an’ Borus, were wantin’ a kerry oot fur their tea, so Ah couldnae be arsed jist cookin’ fur masel.’
‘You’ll no’ enjoy the half time treat in here tonight then,’ said Cindy Araldite, ‘it’s date pies wi’ mushy figs.’
‘Aye,’ said Anita, ‘Ah think it wid be a good idea tae gie that a miss tonight, right enough!’ She turned to Sonya, ‘So whit is yer mummy huvin’ tae eat at the half time break? . . . a wrap?’
The three girls enjoyed the little joke. Sonya could have sworn that the slightest hint of a grin appeared oan the bandages across her mummy’s mummy’s face.
The Palace Bingo hall was now almost filled tae capacity. The excitement wis risin’. It wis almost time fur ‘Him’ tae appear. The lights were lowered and the mortal form o’ the Great, soon tae be God, Eyesdoon, made his spectacular entrance. Tae be absolutely truthful, it wis jist the Palace’s resident Bingo caller, Ralph Haspittitoot. Oan half moon nights, Ralph wis transformed intae the Bingo-God. Sittin’ high up oan his solid gold throne, a couple o’ dozen slaves carried him intae the hall and up towards the stage. Ralph certainly looked the part. He hud a man’s body, but the heid o’ a horse. It wisnae a mask or anythin’ – he genuinely hud the heid o’ a horse. He got the usual abuse from the regular females in the hall.
‘Why the long face?’ cried out Sonya.
‘Who’s ridin’ ye in next week’s three o’clock handicap?’ was shouted fae the other side o’ the hall.
‘Ach there’s an awfy smell o’dung in here,’ cried oot another.
‘Shut it, youse!’ was the Great God Eyesdoon’s response.
‘Aye, naaaaaaaay bother,’ cried Anita Ripintye - much to the amusement o’ the other Bingo girls.
A little bit o’ gossip came to Sonya’s mind. She beckoned for the other two tae come closer and listen, ‘Know whit Ah heard jist yesterday? Ah heard that big Ralph wis seen at a local night club wi’the Pharaoh’s eldest daughter hingin’ oan tae his arm.’
‘Really?’ said Cindy. ‘The big Pharaoh’s daughter? . . . Khu fu?’
‘Naw, Ah think she only hud wan glass o’ wine.’
‘Eyes doon, look in!’ bellowed big horse-heid Ralph in the guise o’ the Bingo-God.
There was a sudden hush aroon the hall. All joking had been suspended. This wis them intae the real serious stuff noo. ‘Jist before we commence wi’ tonight’s games,’ said Eyesdoon, ‘I wid like tae draw yer attention tae a wee point. We at the Palace Bingo hall huv nae objections tae ye bringin’ yer mummies along oan half moon nights. We wid jist like tae remind ye all that yer mummies must be in a sound condition. Nothin’ hingin’ aff, or nuthin’ aboot tae fall aff. Ah must make this point very clear. We are goin’ through a virtual shit-load o’ toilet rolls in this place. Please don’t use bog roll fur use as make shift repairs tae yer mummies. Costs ur goin’ up a’ the time, an’ if ye continue tae use the bog rolls in this way, it will reflect in the price o’ yer Bingo cards. Dae Ah make masel clear?’
There was no sign o’ any hecklin’ after this outburst from big horse-heid. He continued in a smug tone. ‘Right then, let the game begin.’
Two slaves, one o’ each side of Eyesdoon, ducked their heids intae solid gold vats filled wi’ water. Eyesdoon kicked the one oan the left up the arse. The slaves heid appeared fae the gold vat wi’ a ball in his mooth. This was the Egyptian way tae select numbered balls at random. Noo an’ again the odd slave wid huv tae be replaced when Eyesdoon took too long tae dae the selection process. The drooned slave would quickly be replaced by another minion.
‘Two palm trees – thirty three.’ announced Eyesdoon.
A well aimed boot to the other slave’s arse produced another ball.
‘Sacred coo – forty two.’
And so it went on . . . ‘Pharaoh’s gold mine – number nine. Key o’ the tomb – twenty wan. Figs an’ dates – eighty eight.’
Everything jist went oan as normal until the snowball game wis due tae start. The runnin’ prize hadn’t been claimed fur a couple o’ months, which put the total prize up tae three hundred and fifty slaves.
‘Whit Ah wid dae wi’ three hundred and fifty slaves!’ lamented Cindy.
‘Oh aye, jist think.’ said Anita, ‘All those lovely black bodies.’
‘Your mind is in the gutter, miss!’ said Cindy.
‘What the hell is a snowball anyway? That’s whit Ah’d like tae know,’ said Sonya.
And that was the moment that the fag-end rolled under their table. Being so close tae the rear door o’ the hall had its drawbacks. Due tae the new no-smokin’ policy at the Palace, the rear doors were used fur patrons who wanted tae nip outside fur a quick draw between games. None o’ the girls had noticed the stray lit fag-end rolling in from the doorway. It had been discarded ootside, but the hot wind (not Anita’s hot wind) had blown it back intae the hall.
Sonya’s mummy had been a mummy for ten years. In those ten years, the area aroon the Nile had experienced some o’ the warmest weather conditions in history. Let’s face it – she wis dry. Dry as parchment found in an ancient tomb. No’ even Oil of Olay would huv been any good tae her at this point. As chance wid have it, the lit fag-end came tae rest at Sonya’s mummy’s mummy’s bandaged right foot.
The cremation wis almost instantaneous. Sonya’s ever-so-dry mummy’s mummy was enveloped in flames. It wis the disaster to end all disasters. The Snowball game wis going tae huv tae be cancelled. Hundreds of angry Egyptian ladies were in a rage. Tae compound the misery of Eyesdoon and the Palace Bingo hall owners, tiny wee fragments o’ Sonya’s dry mummy’s mummy became airborne and came to rest oan other dry mummies in the hall. That, combined wi’ the over-use o’ bog roll on these dry mummies, created a towering mummy inferno.
And sadly, Steve McQueen wis nowhere tae be seen.
About the Author
Born in Saltcoats, Brian Morrison has a day job at the Hunterston Power Station. But in his other life he is well known as a caricaturist and comedy sketch writer. More recently, he has become a novelist and a writer of children's stories. His dark comedy, Blister, is available on Amazon.