Smoothing out more plot-holes in order to cruise more freely on the blog-novel super-highway

The back wheel had gone from simply squeaking to loudly groaning now, ever since the three thugs had 'insisted' on riding up front, and Timothy struggled for breath with each pedal. Meanwhile, Yolanda, perched precariously on the handle-bars, tried to make conversation with Mikey, the one thug that didn't look as if he had been run over repeatedly by a heavy concrete mixer followed by a marching band consisting largely of elephants who were also seeing how high they could leap with each step.

"So, Mikey, what made you decide to join the Gore Mafia?"
"Heehee, mafi...yaaaa! Dasa funny word, he-yuck!"
"Uh-huh.... ri-i-i-ght...."
"I'm Mike-eee!!!! Hahaha!! SNIFF!" (this last word was added on when Mikey suddenly noticed the fact his nose was beginning to resemble Niagara Falls in the rainy season, and had attempted to stop the flow).

Here Frankie, seeing Yolanda struggling to escape the conversation, decided to help out.
"Actually, duckie, Mikey here isn't really part of our mafioso brigade of ruffians, only myself and Arnie possess the unique qualifications neccessary to partake in such a strenuous occupation, what."
"Oh, really?" Yolanda said, acting more interested than she actually was in order to better ignore Mikey's gushing nose.
"Oh, yes, toodle-pip cheerio, what what, eh ol' boy! Mikey just tags along sometimes, because we don't have the heart to turn him away. He is the only offspring of James, you know."
"James?" Yolanda asked, puzzled.
"He means Jimmy Fettucini," Timothy's voice came from somewhere far below.
"Oh," Yolanda commented, "That would explain why Jimmy only mentioned two members to his 'evilly evil gang of Mafia sidekicks' back in Merv's Superette, wouldn't it?"
"Abso-smashing-lutely," Frankie beamed, "And do you have any other queries you would like to post at this time, what what?"
"Uh," Yolanda thought for a moment, "Ok. Why to you all call Timothy 'Timmy D'? His name is Timothy Franklin."
"Oh yes," Frankie smiled, his face creasing into a labyrinth of ugliness, "It's simply a way of avoiding confusion. After all, my name is Frankie. If we called Timmy by his actual name, there would be no end of confusion between the two of us."

Yolanda sat in silence for a while, trying for a moment to understand this logic.

After a few seconds, she gave up, and returned to the questions.

"Alright then, one more. What are we going to do when we get to Beven's lair?"

At this, everyone fell silent (except for Mikey who was busy exploring the vast reaches of his nose with his finger). No-one seemed to have any idea, until another brain-wave hit Arnie (causing him to lose his breath for a moment).

"Bingo!" he yelled, when he had fully recovered.

Before he could explain the brainwave, however, Timothy screamed, and leapt off the bike (causing three thugs and a weed-smoking hippie to fall to the ground in a pile of bodies any abstract artist would have loved to have claimed as their own work of art).

"Oh no," Timothy gasped, staring down at his Mickey Mouse watch for the third time that night, "It's Thursday! It's 8 o'clock! It's Bingo night at work!!!"

And saying this, Timothy ran off into the night, in the direction of "Smithson and Son's Son, Accountants Ltd of Gore." Bingo night was not to be missed!!!

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