Junior Earplug Adventures: The Grand Tour (Part Twelve)

At, more or less, the same time that Trubbil Dounpitt had begun his search for an interplanetary communication system, aboard the distant Chi-Z-Sox TV reporter and camera operator, Rupert Piles, was busying himself shooting pictures for live relaying back to the Museum of Future Technology via hyperspace…

He’d traversed the huge space vessel several times, snapping snippets of life aboard. One of these included some of the museum curators who had made the journey as top-ranking representatives of that great organisation…

…among them Bubbly Salterton; the recently promoted Nature Beast, and popular Aquaplug actor – Bert Frogget. Of course Rupert realised that any footage that he delivered (from deepest space, remember) to the TV broadcaster was potential digital gold dust; but his tour de force would surely be an exclusive with the museum’s best-loved inhabitants – the Earplug Brothers. To this end he set up his camera in the one place that the quintet would undoubtedly appear: the toilet beside the bridge…

Equally of course, the five heroes were more than pleased to oblige Rupert’s request…

…especially when Rupert had gone to the trouble of having some nice words painted upon the wall…

But this was nothing compared with what came next. Suddenly a light in the adjoining room blazed into incandescence and a familiar voice called to them. Following its lead, Rudi, Valentine, Chester, Miles, and Magnuss found themselves upon the star ship’s bridge…

…where they were thrilled to a point that approached delirium…

…when the captain – Professor Hydious Gout…

…personally welcomed them aboard.

“Hi, young guys.” He said, as he tried desperately to sound modern and groovy. “I’d high-five each and every one of you; but I have to stay here – in the captain’s chair – because of ship’s regulations and general earplug bridge etiquette. Now, if you’d care to stand in front of me, facing forward, with your backs turned…

…yes, like that… I can give you a nice surprise. Are you ready?”

As the eldest brother, Rudi spoke on behalf of his siblings: “You’re not going to pull down our trousers and take a photo of our bare bottoms, are you?” He said with a voice so tremulous that it belied his famous and naturally-occurring (and incredibly intense) braveness.

“No.” The captain’s wife, Doctor Putridity Gout replied. “Though I’d love to, personally.” She then gave a nod to Magnuss’s old Martian co-adventurer Yabu Suchs. 

A split second later…

…interstellar space blazed on to the bridge via the main view screen. And whilst a couple of hardened bridge crew blanched at the scene, the five brothers were delighted. They knew this region of the cosmos. They’d been here before!

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2018

 

 

 

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Junior Earplug Adventures: The Grand Tour (Part Eleven)

But astonishment quickly faded to banal acceptance when he realised that he had totally misidentified the earplug that stood on the opposite side of the subterranean door. It wasn’t the missing popular TV presenter, Frida Doonage, after all. There was no chance of getting the reward that had been so generously offered by Frida’s production company for her safe return. No, it was just a flat-headed technician, by the name of Wilf Nobblington.

“I know exactly what you’re looking for, young Dounpitt.” Wilf said, as…

…he pointed out another solitary door in another icy wall…

“I am?” Trubbil enquired.

“You don’t remember me, do you?” Wilf enquired in turn. He then explained: “At Radio Communication school.” He hinted with a smile of reminiscence. “I was your form teacher in Class 2b.”

“Mister Nobblington?” Trubbil cried out as he decided that he was astonished after all, but for a completely different reason. “I heard you’d drowned when the planetary ice crust thawed. It’s great to see you alive and kicking. But enough of that: why do I want me to use that door over there?”

“Because you’re a radioplug.” Wilf replied knowingly. “And radioplugs want only one thing: they want to call people up. People who are far, far away. Am I right? And I didn’t fail to die in vain, young Dounpitt. I saved the Ice Planet’s only working Interplanetary Com-Unit!”

Five seconds later…

“A star ship, Wilf.” Trubbil said as the two radioplugs burst in through the door. “I have to contact an alien race. And I need to do it now!”

If nothing else, Wilf Nobblington knew his radio equipment. He quickly scanned the ether. Moments later his Visi-Screen detected this…

And following some judicious knob-fiddling and dial-twirling…

“Hello?” A surprised radio-tech said as he turned to face his own com-unit. “This is the Chi-Z-Sox: Radioplug Vincent Van Belch speaking. How can I help you?”

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2018

 

Cricetinae Fictionem – or Something Like That: 15

Long before those adventurous earplugs appeared upon the scene, my comedic desires were pleasantly assuaged by stories about sentient hamsters that lived in a parallel universe to our own. Hence the Hamster-Sapiens series of e-books.

On this occasion I feel that I should present an excerpt from the first in the series – that being The Where House. And here it is…

As things transpired, Lionel still hadn’t actually fashioned his ultimate plan to thwart the advancing menace that was The Overmind: But he’d formed the beginnings of an idea inside his fluffy little head that should, he hoped, free The Where House of its bio-electronic tyranny.

“So what shall we call this thing?” Lionel inquired as he held the artefact aloft for all to see. “It’s a bit dull to look at, isn’t it!” He added as he turned it over in his paws beneath a stuttering light in the lower latrine.

Indeed the artefact was a bit dull. In fact it was exceedingly dull. On a scale of visual languor it would have scored ten out of ten with consummate ease. So, as a consequence, not one single hamster present could summon up an idea for a suitable moniker.

All, that is, except Boney. “How about we call it ‘Arse Wipe’?” he half-suggested  – not thinking for one second that anyone would take him seriously.

Ten eyes – eight of them real: Two totally artificial, all swiveled to regard him. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought he saw pity reflected in at least five of them.

“Well I mean,” He quickly realised that an explanation for his outrageous suggestion was required, “it’s gonna be about as useful as a bog roll in a hail storm when we confront The Overmind with it – aint it!”

Lionel continued to stare: ‘Could the ageing rodent be right?’ He thought to himself in that frozen moment, ‘Should this potential battle-winner be named ‘Arse Wipe’? If nothing else, it was original’.

“Oh, Boney,” Fanangy scolded, “How can you be so untrusting of Lionel’s abilities? Of course the Arse Wipe will be of more use than a bog roll in a hailstorm. Obviously Lionel’s plan is going to be ingenious: Success is certain. But Arse Wipe does have nice ring to it: I once had an Uncle named Arse Wipe – though of course he pronounced it Arssay Wippay. His wife was named Ringpiece. She had cruel parents. They were put to death for their crime – or so the legend goes.”

“So,” Colin felt duty-bound to step in and halt the pointless banter, “now that we’ve sorted that out – what are we going to do with it?”

Up until now Sergeant Tonks had remained quiet; and Major Hardcourt-Gymp appeared to be almost comatose with silence. But suddenly the Major’s aid spoke. She said, “Yeah – what are we going to do – like now? Emphasis on the now.”

This seemed to galvanise Gymp. “Indeed: Well put, Sergeant. We must cease this prevarication, and act. Hand me the Arse Wipe: I shall activate it once more; and we shall be about our business, which of course is my reinstatement as a sentient hamster that is fit to once again lead the Tadgerstone Rifles.”

“But you don’t know what to do with it.” Lionel whined as he realised that the situation was slipping from his tenuous control. Then a steeliness came over him, and he pulled the artefact to his puny chest, adding, “No – leave it alone: It’s mine.”

“Yes, that’s right, you big bully.” Fanangy instantly sided with her beloved Lionel, and snarled at the military officer in such a way that he blanched beneath his military-regulation facial fur, and began to wonder if being sentient was all it was cracked up to be.

“Will you lot stop all this yakking!” Boney roared as best he could with his age-clogged lungs, “All the time we’re stood about doin’ nothin’ – that thing upstairs is takin’ over more an’ more of my business.”

And of course he was right – and Lionel knew it. “Right then.” He said in his most authoritative voice, “To the elevator!”

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2012

Now isn’t that one seriously silly tale? It – and the other five stories – are available as e-books at most e-book retailers. If you take a look at the sidebar you’ll discover access points to several of them. Be curious.