Long before those delectable earplugs appeared on the scene, my comedic desires were assuaged by stories about sentient hamsters that lived in a parallel universe to our own. Hence the Hamster-Sapiens series of e-books.
The following excerpt erupts, like a literary volcano, from Fanfare for the Common Hamster…
Nobody likes a sore loser, and there was surely no loser of more intense soreness than the Law Master of Weasels Pit – after once more losing her quarry – this time in a vast sump of slurry. Feeling utterly defeated she returned to the Rancid Maggot Inn where she resumed her copious imbibing, and entertaining those few lawmen who could be bothered to join her by showing them her latest piercings. Slowly, as the rough ale took its revenge for having been wrenched from the sanctuary of the beer cellar, Perfidity’s thoughts slowed, and the exalted feeling of being one with The Wheel seemed to putrefy, releasing the very beast within her that, under normal circumstances, she would have most dreaded: In short she got all horny.
Naturally Quentin Blackheart had already slipped from the scene, and was enjoying a bowl of steaming night time gruel in his little cabin beside Lake Effluence, so could not begin to assuage her needs.
‘Bet he was probably hamster-sexual anyway’, she thought morosely.
And the others now lay upon the floor, snoring in a most unmelodious way. It took a few moments for her brain to fully acquire the next thing that she looked at; but when she recognised the stairs for what they were – the way to Tybrow Mooney’s bedroom – she put aside her feeling of revulsion and loathing, and sent herself reeling towards the door.
Now it’s quite possible that in the event of the Law Master bursting into Tybrow Mooney’s private sanctuary – smelling something evil, and swaying like a rhubarb frond in a hurricane – the potential recipient of a really good rogering could have been forgiven for clutching his night dress to his shallow chest, and screaming shrilly until either his eyes watered, or he ran out of breath. But this did not happen. This did not happen because Tybrow Mooney was very conspicuously absent.
“Ugh?” Perfidity grunted as she whipped back the sequined duvet that covered the solitary bed. Then she staggered in confusion: She could clearly hear the skinny hamster’s snoring; but of his body there was no sign. “Ugh?” she repeated.
Then, as is the way of well-trained Law Masters, her ability to overcome drunkenness kicked in: Rational thought returned. She replaced the approaching third grunt with, “What the f…?”
Then she noticed that the candle beneath her outstretched arm was not burning her fur in the time-honoured way of candles: Instead it was making it stand on end, and giving her tingling feelings in places that she didn’t know existed.
“Tis the Axle’s candle!” she boomed like a wounded fog-horn, “Be extinguished!
With that she attempted to snub out the flame with a thumb and finger.
Naturally the sole result was that she was flung across the room by the resulting electric shock.
Stunned back into full intelligence she decided to avoid the problem of the Axle’s candle for the moment, and concentrate upon the invisible snoring. Well it didn’t take long for her to discover the hidden speakers, and then trace the wire to the bedside cabinet in which the old-fashioned cassette tape recorder lay. Of course she had no idea what she held in her paws as she turned it over and over in a close inspection: But she knew that it was a device, not of Prannick, but of somewhere else entirely. She also conjectured that it was evil incarnate.
“Hmmm,” she hummed as she replaced the items, then tidied the mess that she’d made whilst flying across the room. “Hmmm.”
© Paul Trevor Nolan 2013
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