Amusing Aliens

How to spot an Illegal Alien How to spot an Illegal Alien

Purley's finest public spirited policeman, Constable Colin Quigley, explains how to spot the illegal aliens in our midst

by our woman who is no stranger to being felt up by the long arm of the law, Mercy Dannenberg

"So, tell us, constable Quigley —"
"— Please call me 'Colin,' ma'am."
"So, tell us, Colin —"
"Colin, ma'am, not 'coalin'. Coalin' is what steam engines do; the vowel is soft, as in 'colander."

"I do beg your pardon. So, tell us, er 'Colin', how do you go about spotting an illegal alien? Is it something in the gait, a guilty look in the eye or simply a shockingly bad haircut?"
"Nothing like that, ma'am. It's the language they uses. Gives 'em away every time."
"Ah, yes, of course, how stupid of us, constable. The illegal alien's command of our post-Norman mother tongue must be tenuous at best."
"I dunno about 'tongue', ma'am, nor any geezer called Norman. Sounds a bit saucy, if you ask me. I don't 'old with tonguing whether it's fashionable or no."
"We meant the alien's grasp of English," we explained. "It can't be up to much."
"Oh I see ma'am. Well, that's where you're wrong because it's bleedin' perfect."

"I don't follow you, constable?"
"Your genuine illegal alien speaks perfect English, ma'am, much as yourself, but with an even posher accent, if you'll forgive the impertinence."
"You don't say. Well, that will be a surprise to our readers, Colin."
"Colin, ma'am, not 'colon'. 'Colon' is what the missus 'as irrigated on Tuesdays on account o' 'er piles, ma'am."
"I do beg your pardon, constable. Does it hurt?"
"The irrigation you mean, ma'am?
"No, the piles."
"I couldn't rightly say ma'am 'as the missus is not one to complain about 'er 'ealth, not about 'er ' appiness come to that; even when she's bent double and gasping for breath."
"My goodness!" we replied, "Is it that bad?"

"I was referring to our monthly conjugals, ma'am, not the weekly irrigation, though, now I come to think of it, the missus seems to enjoy the irrigation rather more than the conjugals."
"She's not alone in that, constable. So, you were telling our readers that illegal aliens give themselves away by their perfect command of English?"
"Indeed, ma'am."
"And how do you account for that?"
"I don't rightly know ma'am, but the word on the beat is they learns it on account of 'ow they've been monitoring our TV and Radio for so many years."
"Why should they do that?"
"To learn to speak like Jeremy Paxman—you know, that posh newsreader on the Telly. Rotweiler Paxman they call's 'im in the station canteen on account of 'ow he allus savages the politicians with his barbed rhetoric, like."

"Even the women?"
"Dunno about the wimmin, Paxman's too much of a gent to be rude to the lady politicians, ma'am."
"We meant do even female aliens speak perfect English, constable?"
"Oh, sorry! Well, I've not rightly seen no female aliens, only males. And when I say they speak like Jeremy Paxman I mean they speak exactly like 'im, not just a bit posh like you do."
"This is bizarre, constable."
"Not really ma'am. My guess is they think it'll 'elp 'em to blend in inconspicuously like with the locals."
"But it doesn't?"
"Well it might, if their feet didn't trip them up, so to speak."
"Their feet?"
"Yes ma'am, on account of the toes."

"Toes, constable?"
"They have seven of 'em, ma'am, sometimes eight."
"Good gracious, constable!" we exclaimed. "Are you sure?"
"Sure as my name's Colin and not 'colon' or 'coalin', ma'am."
"How odd; why have we not heard this before?"
The policeman drew his chair nearer and tapped his magnificent proboscis in a thoroughly conspirational manner: "National security, ma'am."
"But what possible threat could a few penniless, uneducated Albanians hold for this country?"
"Albanians, ma'am?"
"Well, Iraqis then, or Turks, or whatever they are."
"They don't come from Turkey, ma'am, that's for damn sure as mustard."

"Well, where do they come from then?"
"I don't rightly know," replied the policeman, stroking his chin thoughtfully. Sergeant Entwhistle says they comes from Peckam, but I think he's just pulling my plonker, if you'll forgive the indelicacy. The word from the lady wot runs the police canteen is they're from some place called 'Thargh', or 'Dhargh."
"Thargh?" we asked, "Where on earth is that?"
"Well, that's just the point, ma'am," said constable Quigley, lowering his voice to a conspirational whisper. "It ain't."
"Isn't what, constable?"
"On earth, ma'am."

"Isn't on earth?" we repeated, dumfounded, "Well, where is it then?"
"Search me," said the policeman. "Millions of millions of miles away accordin' to Mrs Gussett.
"Mrs Gussett?"
"The, er, canteen manageress, ma'am."
"How would she know?"
"Well, I don't know as I should be tellin' you seein' as you're a lady and all that..."
"Never mind that!" we snapped, "Out with it, man!"
"Well—on your head be it, ma'am. Mrs Gussett says 'er daughter Sharon was sucked right out of 'er knickers while she was walking back from the Cockwell Inn one very 'ot evenin' last summer."

"Sucked, constable?"
"Yes, sucked; that's the word she used, sucked right out of 'er knickers without so much as a by your leave by — by—"
"Yes? By what? Spit it out, man!"
"An illegal alien with seven toes who talked like Jeremy Paxman with two, two, er—"
"—Two what?"
"Enormous willies, ma'am."
"Er, male private parts, ma'am; penises, cocks, dicks, todgers, hugely empurpled, throbbin' great—"
"I think we may safely conclude that our readers know what a 'willy' is, thank you constable, though they may not share Sharon Gussett's definition of 'enormous."
"Oh, I think they would, ma'am."

"What makes you say that, constable?"
"Ms Gussett is a senior clerical officer in the County Council Weights and Measures department, ma'am."
"I see. We appear to be at cross purposes, constable. We were under the distinct impression that you were going to talk to us about illegal immigrants but it would appear that this entire discussion has been about little green men—"
"— Off-pink men, actually, ma'am, with an impeccable grasp of English and two enormous—"
—I don't think our readers wish to dwell upon that particular part of their anatomy, constable."
"Ms Gussett did."

"I beg your pardon?"
"Well, not so much 'dwelt', as knelt. The poor girl was sexually assaulted by the alien."
"I'm sorry to hear it."
"Not as sorry as the members of the Purley Tiny Tots Club."
"Tiny Tots Club?"
"Well, the other mums are not exactly looking forward to having their crèche overrun with eight little aliens all taking like Jeremy Paxman."
"Eight little aliens?"
"Sharon Gussett is pregnant, ma'am. Octuplets I'm told."

"Oh dear, dear oh dear. I can see how that might be a trifle awkward in a small town like Purley. Well, thank you for your time, er, Colin. It's been most interesting talking to you."
"Not at all, ma'am. We in the force like to feel that we make a valuable contribution to the local community. Policing is not just about arresting Teddy Boys for slashing bicycle saddles and helping little old Ladies across the road, you know."
"I can see that now, constable. I'm sure our readers are keenly looking forward to your next talk. Do you know what it will be about?"
"Lion taming without tears."
"Fascinating, I'm sure the ladies will find it immensely useful."

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