There I was, in heaven… with Sweet Morpheus, it was so nice!
I was romancing a buxom lass named Eunice…
And Inchie butted in, with his pestering moans and advice!
But, for the first time ever, we agreed and did empathise…
Perhaps it was not wise for us to try to fraternise?
But we did; I think he enjoyed it likewise!

Inchie: Well, that hospital visit was farce wonnit, mate?

Inchcock: Huh! You again, what’s wiv the mating bit, then?

Inchie: I know we’ve ‘ad our ups and downs, but you’ve been through a rough patch fer this last twenty years or so, and I thought it’d be nice to be nice for a change…

Inchcock: Did yer? I feel like by being non-argumentative, I’m taking away your little pleasures…

Inchie: Worrya mean?

Inchcock: Well, yer usually wins all the verbal fights and tiffs we ‘ave…

Inchie: Naturally yer turd! I’m yer Alto-Ego, yo are the ethereal thing like. So fings like conscience, giving a toss, and yer ability to fret, worry, show signs of pissed-offerdness, and you can get a bit depressed at times… I’ve noticed that! So I’m taking my chance to confuse yer all the more you see?

Inchcock: Not really; I’m flummoxed again already! Why can’t you just leave me alone to get some rest and peace?

Inchie: No, no, no! It doesn’t work like that, dumbo! It’s my job to hassle yer, keep yer on yer toes, like. Else overwise yer might commit Hagi-Kari… then…

Inchcock: What! After all, I’ve been through, do you think that I’d top missen? Rubbish, claptrap, your just stirring things again, aren’t you?

Inchie: Yea, I’m good at that, ain’t I, no doubt about it…

Inchcock: For God’s sake, if you are me, or my other half, surely you must suffer the agonies that I do – so why bother…

Inchie: Ah, you’ve not gorrit yet, have you? You are! I’m not me…

Inchcock: What?

Inchie: Yo just said, for God’s sake, yea?

Inchcock: Yes…

Inchie: Well, I know that yer doesn’t believe in him… see? Provin’ what an ignorant, uneducated, pug-faced, pathetic, docile, pussy-cat, yer really are, cocker! 

Inchcock: Fair enough with the name-calling; there may be an element of truth in some of what you say about me – but surely you must be the same yourself?

Inchie: Perhaps mush, or maybe not. Are you not talking to yourself in reality? Come on… answer that, yer moron!

Inchcock: If there isn’t any God, then why even bring up the subject – I’ll tell you why, no… hang on, what was the question?

Inchie: I know, but it got yer going, see!

Inchcock: How can one see? If you are really me? There is…

Inchie: You retardate; You just can’t grasp it, can you, tit-head?

Inchcock: Grasp what?

Inchie: The relationship between us, knucklehead! Yer still think yer talking to someone else?

Inchcock: I am, you!

Inchie: Yer, but I am you! Ain’t I?

Inchcock: Just because you say so does not mean that is correct!

Inchie: Ah, so you think we are two different entities then?

Inchcock: I’m not sure… what do entities mean?

Inchie: Concentrate pillock! Fink abarght this… you’d know what the word means, yea! If you was me, and I was you… right?

Inchcock: Erm…

Inchie: Look, numbskull, I think it best if yer gerron with the pork pie supper you wuss plannin’, then I’ll give yer an hour or so, I’ll come back to hassle yer a bit more. I can’t be fairer than that, can I? 

Inchcock: Does this mean I’ve won an argument with you?

Inchie: No, you silly old fart! It’s cause it’s Christmas!

Inchcock: Is it?

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Part of the Inchcock Make Them Laugh Series

Spurred by My Comedy Hero Spike Milligan