Junior Earplug Adventures: The Masters of Scroton (Part Thirty-Six)


Throgennis held much the same opinion…

…as the X1 plummeted through the hole in the roof. Only a split second before it made contact with the furnishings, Cuckoo dared sneak a peek at the engine of her doom…

…and she realised that, perhaps, she and her cousin might still survive the accident…

And then, when the ship failed to explode into a million fiery pieces…

…they shuffled over to take a look.

“Can you see a hatch or something?” Throgennis inquired. “If so, try to open it: I’d like to personally give the pilot a good kick up the arse for ruining my opening day.”

Naturally Cuckoo couldn’t: there was far too much steam billowing about like a plague of corpuscles; and her visual acuity had always been a little suspect under red light.

“Sorry, no.” She replied. “But if he survived, I’m sure he’ll stagger out eventually. I hope he does: I’d like to punch him in the nose for wrecking my whaling boat tables – especially if he’s a complete nobody that no one has ever heard of.”

As if on cue…

…Magnuss and Nigel appeared from out of the gloom.

“Sod it.” Throgennis snarled. “Just our bloody luck: It’s the museum’s greatest hero and an alien sidekick. I can’t put the boot into the first one because if I did I’d be pilloried by his fan club: and I can’t kick the other one because I don’t know where his arse is, or even if he has one!”

Magnuss looked up at the ceiling that he’d so recently fallen through.

“Whomever designed this place deserves an award.” He said. “Those fifteen metres of thermal insulation clearly saved the leader of Scroton and myself from certain death.”

Cuckoo stepped forward…

“This award.” She said. “Does it include fiscal remuneration?”

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2017

 

 

 

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About Tooty Nolan

Writer of silly tales, taker of pictures, and all round good egg
This entry was posted in Photography, Tooty Stuff, Writing / Books and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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