Sixteenth excerpt – so it’s back to Book One of the Hamster-Sapiens series, namely this one…
Don’t ask me what the cover picture has to do with a rude hamster comedy; I don’t know. I must have been having a funny five minutes when I selected that one. The version that accompanied the (now deleted) paperback was much better…
Anyway, whatever, on with the show…
Since the military take-over of Hamster-Britain, Boney Legge’s emporium of alien artefacts – known throughout all of Gerbils Ruin as The Where House – had been under the control of Major Hardcourt-Gymp, and his unit of wiry combat veterans.
Whilst a small percentage of the soldiery was housed inside The Where House, the majority of the short-furred semi-automatons remained either in barracks, or terrorising shoppers in the town centre with their tattoos and tales of blood and guts. But their commanding officer preferred a life of luxury. Consequently he had sequestered an entire floor of the nearby Hotel Phimosis, and fully expected its proprietors – a group of immigrant Latvian tundra voles – to wait upon him forepaw and hind paw. This they did, but with ill-grace, and a tendency to urinate in his soufflé, and spit upon the vast portrait of Gymp that had been transferred from his usual pokey little office beside the junior rank’s latrines.
Because of Gymp’s unpopularity, Fanangy had no difficulty gaining access for herself, Lionel, and Boney via the pantry door.
“Da,” Olga the Latvian tundra vole had said when first approached by the irresistible charms of Fanangy, “the Commissar is a total twat, and a vulgar fascist brute, to boot. Of course you can gain entry via the pantry door – if it is harm that you mean to perpetrate against the mean-spirited scrote-arse. Would you like to borrow my steel toe-capped dancing shoes? They are very good for kicking in faces. I used to do it to the communist party leader of my home town every day.”
Fanangy politely declined, and quickly led the others to a place of concealment beneath the first flight of stairs, where they would hole up until their participation was required.
Meanwhile Colin was sitting at a bus stop upon Rincon Del Rectum. From this location he could watch the entrance to the Hotel Phimosis without drawing attention to himself. Or so he thought.
Unfortunately the android had no idea that the military had temporarily suspended all public transportation, and several kerb-crawling reprobates made solicitous advances toward him, which, so far, he’d managed to fight off with a charming smile, a ready quip, and a sharp stick.
It was whilst putting to flight a particularly unpleasant bank vole, that Colin observed Tonks’ entry though the main door of the Hotel Phimosis.
He wished her the hamsteriest luck: All their plans would stand or fall upon her persuasive abilities now…
“At ease.” Tonks snapped as a swarthy-looking soldier leapt to his feet, and quickly adopted his position behind the reception desk.
“Who goes there?” He said in an accent that was redolent of Marmota-España.
Almost instantaneously a rifle seemed to leap into the soldier’s paws, as though of its own volition.
“Lance Corporal Toni Bastardo, isn’t it?” An apparently casual Tonks spoke as she eyed the potentially dangerous individual.
“Si, es so.” Bastardo relaxed instantly. “And what is your name, my sweet little señorita with the serpentine hips?”
Tonks spat on the floor like any hard-bitten sergeant would do. She then explained that she was Hartcourt-Gymp’s aide, and that she required access to his quarters.
“Ardcourt-Heemp: Ee is en el baño.” Bastardo replied, suddenly dismissive, “No es possible to see him with his willy exposed to the air. Esperé, por favor. Come back when ‘e is completa.”
Tonks checked her watch. She’d been certain that Gymp would still be showering: The plan depended upon it: It was amazing how often he managed to make one last all morning. But soon he’d have to come out in order to take an unexpected telephone call from the General. It was one of the General’s favourite tricks: He’d often take great delight in watching his underlings through a powerful telescope: Then, just when they least expected it, he would call them on the phone, and pretend to be someone else – usually seeking kinky sex.
It was a tried and tested technique: He’d discovered quite a few foibles in his officers by this underhand device.
But now Bastardo’s presence forced Tonks into making an unplanned decision. “So what you’re saying is – that I can’t go upstairs?
“Si, es so.” Bastardo nodded, “And you will ‘ave to ‘ave written permission – in triplicate – con la estampilla oficial.”
Written permission wasn’t a problem: Tonks could forge better signatures than just about any soldier in the regiment: But with the official stamp attached would prove to be considerably more problematic.
When he realised that his demands exceeded Tonks’ ability to produce the goods, Bastardo sighed the sigh of a contented arse hole. For him it was almost like being home.
But what he hadn’t reckoned on was Tonks’ airtight bosom. Suddenly the reception desk chair went flying, and Bastardo reeled back in alarm.
“Arrrgh,” he cried. This was quickly followed by a muffled, “Muh, muh, mammarios!”
Thereafter silence reigned.
© Paul Trevor Nolan 2012
As you can see, this book is remarkably charming. So charming, in fact, that it would be fool-hardy of you to miss the opportunity to purchase it at most e-book retailers, including the publishers – Lulu.com (see sidebar logo) – or all those others, too numerous to mention, but very well known (also see sidebar or Tooty’s Books Available Here beneath the header) You wouldn’t be the first; and hopefully not the last either!
P.S Although this excerpt was chosen at random, it does seem very familiar. Have you read it here before?