As in the time honoured fashion of Revel in the Ribaldry, for the fourth extract from the defiantly different Hamster-Fiction series of e-books, I have delved into the fourth book. Well it makes sense to – doesn’t it? Actually, in some ways, it doesn’t. And that is because this book…
…is the forgotten book of the series. For some reason I cannot fathom, not a single copy of this book has been bought by anyone anywhere. That, or my stats are faulty. But whatever – here comes the promised extract…
“Big tits and arse holes!” Desmond roared when he received Wetpatch’s subsequent report. “Space/time has gone to buggery!”
Everyone crowded around the lounge table in order to study the sheaf of photographs that Wetpatch had brought with him from the recent past.
“Are those Bermuda shorts that Tutu’s wearing?” Amy inquired. “A little out of character I would have thought.”
“And regard that calendar, if you will.” A madly-pointing Roman gesticulated towards the photograph of his choice. “I thought we were supposed to be saving the Crustacean Collective: Not the Cephalopod Emirates. If that’s not a naked octopus waving its tentacles in a most provocative manner, I’ll eat my police truncheon!”
“And look at this picture of me in the showers.” Amy squealed. Then she thought better of it, and quickly changed her tune. “No, on the other paw, perhaps you shouldn’t.”
But it was too late: Everyone’s eyes turned to regard the picture with rather less than entirely intellectual interest.
“Oh I see what you mean, Auntie.” Wetpatch called above the resulting clamour. “Your nipples are protruding through your silken chest fur like cigarette butts, which obviously means that you’re taking a cold shower in this picture. You never take cold showers, Auntie: Never in a million yonks. You like ‘em hot ‘n’ sweaty – like your sex. That can’t be the real you!”
“Now perhaps you’ll understand why I shouted ‘Big tits and arse holes’:” Desmond bellowed, “This is an utter disaster. As a brilliant scientist I am mortified. This is probably the lowest point of my career. I was going to retire when this particular adventure is over – but now I can’t possibly. Now I’ll have to spend my dotage producing ever greater works, if I’m ever to live this down. I’d like to kick myself up the arse if I could.”
“It wasn’t your fault that there was some sort of weird interference.” Sally tried to placate the desperate genius. “You’ve never made a time machine at the bottom of the sea before.”
“Indeed.” Cringe put on his most enthusiastic voice, “At least the youngster came back alright. At least we know that he’s really him this time.”
The enthusiasm turned out to be infectious.
“Yes, that’s right.” Roman added his two Rodentos-worth, “I can vouch for that.” He said adamantly.
“You can?” Desmond’s tone had turned hopeful once more.
“Of course.” Amy stood foursquare with the police constable. “Roman and I took Wetpatch into the toilet, where we drew a huge cross upon his buttocks with a felt-tip pen.”
“Yes, that’s right.” Wetpatch chirped happily. “And just to prove it…”
© Paul Trevor Nolan 2013
P.S Its hard to believe (isn’t it?) that this book has a sales figure of zero. I mean – seven sodding years, and not one copy graces someone’s e-book reader. How about putting that terrible wrong to rights? Why not visit an e-book stockist – like the ones mentioned on the side bar to your left, or that area beneath the header – and purchase an e-copy of The Abduction of Wetpatch Wilson right now? Its jolly good you know – in a slightly whacky way. It’ll probably make you chuckle.