Deep within the vast edifice that was the wondrous Museum of Future Technology…
..in which technological artefacts from future eras had been sent back through time for safe keeping in the past, several key curators assembled in the Grand Hall…
“Well,” the hugely-toothed Cushions Smethwyke began proceedings, “with the museum’s greatest hero, Magnuss Earplug, lost in the past with his girlfriend, Hair-Trigger Provost; and his heroic brothers now engaged on the task of finding him, it’s up to us to discover other earplugs to replace them. What have we done so far, Montagu?”
The turquoise biological android earplug turned to Cushions. “We have initiated a study of brain-boxes from all over the world.” He answered. “The smartest have been invited to visit the museum free-of-charge. Hopefully some of them will stay on afterwards and help protect us all from the multifarious threats that we seem to habitually face.”
“Good idea.” The bi-coloured Bubbly Salterton chipped in. “Do any stand out so far?”
“Two, old chap.” The ageing former thespian, Sir Dodger Muir, replied on Montagu’s behalf. “One is a sweet, if slightly tubby, yellow chap named Folie Krimp. The other is exploring one of our highest towers, as we speak.”
“His name is Placebo Bison.”
“And, I’m slightly reticent to relate, he isn’t an earplug at all. In fact he’s…
…a polystyrene packing piece. But, in many respects, he possesses the earplug attributes that we seek. Dare I say, he dreams of…
…touching the stars.”
“Excellent.” Cushions seemed to conclude the discussion. “We’ll decide what to do with this pair later. Now on to other business. Gentlemen, I would like to introduce you to our latest curator: Big Purp…”
On cue, the huge purple earplug, known to everyone as Big Purp, stepped into view. Naturally Rupert Piles rushed forward to record the event upon his huge television camera.
“Hello.” the vast silicon being said with a surprisingly high-pitched voice. “I’m so pleased to be here, I could scream.”
“Now, as I understand the rules of curatordom,” he continued, “as a newbie it’s up to me to suggest an action that appears altruistic, but actually benefits the Museum of Future Technology.”
“And you would be correct.” Cushions assured him.
In response Big Purp instructed Winston Gloryhole to activate the comm system…
“Who would you have me call?” Winston inquired.
At that very moment, far across the unimaginably gigantic building, the commanding officer of T.W.I.T, Major Flaccid, was…
…in the act of selecting a horrible cup of coffee from the Head Quarters’ coffee dispenser. Without warning, the comm system chimed for his attention.
“Bum wipe!” He bellowed, as only a commanding officer can. “Someone get that, will you? I can’t decide whether to plump for Crappachino or Cafe con Spittle.”
© Paul Trevor Nolan 2019