Marxism

Bunny staggers into Hammersmith Police Station on Shepherds Bush Road.

I wish to register a complaint, he squawks.

The duty sergeant looks up.

Parrot again is it, Mister Hoxburgh? he says.

No, says Bunny. I wish to register a complaint against Senhor Roberto Burle Marx. He hosed me down with raw sewage from a firehose while singing "My old man said murder a clam" at the top of his voice. We were on the roof of the old Osram works at the time.

So, says the sergeant, the great Brazilian landscape architect, some time before his death in 1990 - 

1994, corrects Bunny - 

Knew it was around then, says the sergeant, took time out of his busy schedule to hose you down with raw excrement from the sewers like some kind of demented Robert Bleak? Are you sure it wasn't someone masquerading as him; someone shall we say, Burlesque?

The dude himself, says Bunny. This was way back when. 1988 or something. You'll tell me there's a statute of limitations, or at least a statuesque which brings me to the Contessa Silvia Sassari who was indeed statuesque in a way that I had not previously encountered. She could have done well in burlesque now you mention it, and probably did for all I know.

Pint of the usual was it sir, says the sergeant and Bunny notes with relief that once again he has stumbled into the Laurie Arms two doors down from the police station by mistake.

Yes please, says Bunny.

And peace spread over the land.

The End

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