Earplug Adventures Wallpaper 50: Girl’s Frosty Night Out

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Three Years On – Can a Book Improve With Age?

I can’t believe that more than three years have passed since I completed (what I believe is) my best work. What have I been buggering about with since then? Oh yeah – some certain Earplug Adventures. Well, just to prove that I can be serious, here is a brief snippet from this book…

For bonds Tasman used cable ties that he found in the maintenance department. Speaking pidgin Espeeg to our captive he instructed the youthful technician to sit upon the floor with his legs out in front of him. He then tied his hands together, followed by his feet. Then, just for insurance, he bound his feet and hands together.

“I hope he hasn’t eaten recently.” I said. “With him bent double like that we’re likely to find out what it was.”

“Couldn’t care less.” Tasman said as he stood up. “All I care about is that he stays still and quiet.”

He then mocked the technician by making chicken-like movements and clucking.

For a brief moment I began to feel pity for the captive: I assumed that like many a soldier before him he’d been a victim of his civilisation’s ways and the demands of their society, which meant that he little option but to comply with the demands made upon him. Or to put it more simply – he’d been drafted. But when I saw the malice in his eyes; the arrogance in his bearing (even when bound hand and foot); and the barely disguised smirk upon his face, my sympathy evaporated.

I waggled my Espeeg weapon in his face. “Tell him that if he moves I’ll cut him to pieces with this.”

Tasman translated for me as best he could, and our captive’s widening eyes told me that he believed that I’d do what I said. But they quickly narrowed once more when the distinctive hum of an approaching Espeeg flying machine permeated the building.

“They’re here!” I shouted needlessly and with an obvious panic that embarrassed me and emboldened our captive into a full-on sneer.

Tasman ran to the electrically powered roller door that led from the bottling plant to the outside world. Looking through a tiny window set into an adjacent pedestrian door Tasman confirmed my hypothesis. Unslinging his MP7 he hit the ‘up’ button on the roller door control box.

“No time for cleverness and subterfuge.” He said, “Let’s give these guys a warm welcome: a very warm welcome.”

Then he was moving towards the plastic swing door that led into the warehouse. I was yet to move – apparently rooted to the spot with a terrified look upon my face.

“I’ll take care of the dogs.” He shouted as he placed distance between us, “You take out the Law-Keepers.”

Then, just as he was about to disappear from sight through the semi-transparent material he added, “Watch your trigger finger, Fel: If your gun is anything like mine it won’t reload.”

‘Anything like? It’s exactly like!’

“Thank you.” I shouted at the empty space that Tasman had occupied a nanosecond previously, “Thank you very much indeed.”

Then my adrenal gland went to work.

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2014

Gosh, what might happen next? Big shoot ’em up perhaps?

See side bar for outlets that supply this book in e-book form. For a paperback version simply click on the Lulu logo. It will not be the worst thing you’ll do this week. Quite the opposite, I think.

The Day Approaches

The day approaches when you will no longer need to trawl back through the recent serialisation of The Island of Doctor Weil-Barrau in order to enjoy the spectacle of earplugs having ridiculous adventures. Yes, like an avenging walrus, the e-book is almost upon us…

Release date: Soon!

What Once Was Lost…

After much searching of memory sticks, I have finally located the file that contains the first-ever Hamster-Sapiens story. Originally written during the long hot Spanish summer of 2004, it was re-written in 2009 and released (to more success than I expected) in paperback form. In 2011 it received another re-write, but quickly disappeared when I endured a period through which I wasn’t entirely compos mentis. But now it’s back! Here’s a snippet…

Preface

Horatio Horseblanket was really quite a likeable little guy – especially for a hamster with a tendency to speak his mind at inappropriate moments; break wind in public; and treat the world as though it was his own personal playground. He wasn’t helped by his menopausal, part-time prostitute mother who would do whatever it took to keep a roof over her head (as long as it didn’t involve work or paying bills) either. Or his pathetic runaway father. Or even his real biological father who didn’t even know that he existed until he reached puberty. Or The Reverend Lewd, who always seemed to have it in for Horatio. Or the useless Doctor Growbag. Or… Well the list could go on and on. But all that’s by-the-by. Let’s go back – not to the beginning, because that’s too obvious – but to a time just before his balls dropped…

Chapter 1: Little Lost Cruncher

The crickets sang and the bees hummed through the tall, brightly coloured flowers of the stonewalled garden that belonged to a delightful country cottage, which – perched upon a green and pleasant hillside – looked out over the equally delightful country town of Hamster Heath. All was sweetness and light within the garden – as Horatio Horseblanket enjoyed a quick piss behind the lawn roller, followed by a gay gambol with his hairy pet caterpillar, Cruncher. Horatio would toss his heavy leather football to the butterfly-in-waiting, and the sweet-natured herbivore would ‘head’ it back to him with all the skills of the current centre forward for the football league leaders, of whom Horatio knew nothing, and cared even less. Cruncher could have kept this up for days; but Horatio quickly wearied of the repetitive game. So after throwing the ball over the wall, and then tying his caterpillar to a large stone to stop him recovering it, Horatio conjured up an alternative activity…

“Cruncher – can you play cricket?” he enquired.

Ever eager to please, Cruncher wriggled his many feet with enthusiasm.

“Excellent:” Horatio beamed. “Stay right there – I’ll get some stumps and stuff from the shed.”

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2017

Any opinions? They are more than welcome.

Junior Earplug Adventures: Winning Numbers (Episode One)

Every day the Museum of Future Technology’s two most popular maintenance crew members would walk across the drawbridge…

…into the museum’s little known and barely acknowledged maintenance department…

…where they would receive their instructions for the day, courtesy of the museum’s Artificial Intelligence…

… and then ride the service elevator down into the bowels of the vast edifice…

Then, when they reached the first location on their extensive list of problem places…

…they would less-than-joyfully go about their (sometimes dangerous) duties…

…usually without complaint. Their names were Charles and Wolfgang; and despite having the occasional moment of fun in the swarf pit…

…most of their time was taken with cleaning up stuff…

 

…and fixing collapsed floors and cave ins…

So when they heard that TV reporter, Rupert Piles was prepping a very important newsflash on the museum’s television station…

…they paid close attention. This might signify a possible end to their intolerable existence.

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2017