Revel in the Ribaldry 13

The thirteenth excerpt from the Hamster-Sapiens series of e-books features this magnificent work…

Surely the greatest book about sentient hamsters that has – or will ever be – written. Well I think so anyway. It’s certainly my favourite. Here goes…

Several minutes were wasted as Sorbresto Titt scanned the mass of fur and flesh that sat before him – searching out an involuntary nervous twitch, or a stray mental burp. But his search was fruitless: Everyone appeared to have turned to stone, and their brain activity reduced to hibernation levels.

Then Lionel had an inspired thought…

“Hey,” he bellowed loudly into the microphone, “Did anyone notice that the last history lesson came from a location that lies north of Hamster Heath? Well it did – and there hasn’t been too many of them. In fact I can’t think of any at all. Now I wonder why that is?”

This was just the catalyst that Sorbresto had sought. Hamstery fugues were escaped, and the naturally inquisitive minds of the rodent crowd began to reassert themselves.

“Might be coz it’s bloody cold up in the north of Hamster-Britain.” Farmer Jacksey postulated his most recent theorem.

“Oh yes indeed.” Beryl Bogbreath threw her considerable weight behind Jacksey’s statement. “And in the Extreme North it’s cold enough to freeze your tits off in the winter – so they say. I’ve not been there, or anything; so I wouldn’t know from personal experience.”

Quite where this was leading was anyone’s guess – and pretty much everyone was figuring on it leading nowhere at all. But then Beryl had a second thought…

“Chester.” She squealed with a sudden recollection.

“Beryl.” Chester Bogbreath responded coolly.

“Didn’t your family come from somewhere north the northiest place of most northern Hamster-Britain?” Beryl asked/stated.

If a smile could resemble a drunkard’s vomit – that’s what the mayor’s smile did at that precise moment. Chester did indeed hail from the most northern extent of the land – and he’d been trying to hide the fact his entire political career. No hamster in modern times had admitted to being a furry northerner, and remained in office. And a matching accent was the purest form of poison known to political hamsterdom. Quite how his wife had discovered the identity of his forebears eluded him for the moment. Perhaps he’d spoken of his childhood whilst hopelessly drunk, or asleep, or during a moment of ecstasy. But whatever the reason – all of Hamster Heath were now aware of the fact.

‘Or are they?’ he thought secretly, ‘I could always deny it, and call my wife a stupid bitch. Yes that’s what I’ll do – only I’ll leave out the stupid bitch bit: That could lose me a few votes and a whole week’s rumpy-pumpy’.

“What, in the name of the Saint of All Hamsters’ made you think that, dear?” he said rather too loudly to be entirely convincing.

“Because it’s true.” Sorbresto called out clearly as he strode to the edge of the stage, and looked directly down upon Chester. He then tapped the side of his head, and whispered, “Psychic – remember?”

“Well of course you’re absolutely right.” The vomit-ridden smile turned mellifluous. “I have a proud heritage. The Extreme North is a wonderful place: Who wouldn’t be proud of a lineage that stretched in a northerly direction?”

“A proud heritage, eh?” Sorbresto said as he invited Chester to join him, “Let’s take a look, shall we? Or are you scared of what we might find?”

Chester could tell when he was being manipulated – and this strange alien hamster was very good at it. He was placing him in a virtually untenable situation. He couldn’t refuse – people would say, ‘what does he have to hide?’ Conversely if he accepted the challenge – everyone would soon learn that he really did have something to hide.

‘What’s best?’ He asked his inner self, ‘to have them suspect – or to have them know for certain? What might the ramifications be?’  His inner self answered in an instant. ‘If they suspect something – they’ll think that you’re a sneaky bastard. Chances are they won’t vote for you come election time – and some of the more argumentative types might assault you in the street – with their fists. But if you confess the terrible crime of your heritage – they’ll think that you’re  just about the most honest politician that they’ve ever met – vote you in for another term – and possibly Molly Horseblanket might caress your private parts for you in the sanctity of your mayoral limousine.’

Chester was shocked: He’d no inkling that he’d ever desired Molly Horseblanket – or any part-time prostitute for that matter. This inner revelation caused his tongue to betray him…

“What do you think I should do, Molly?” he whispered.

For the briefest moment Molly stood mute with surprise. She simply couldn’t understand why the mayor would be asking for her opinion. Then she noticed the tiniest amount of lolling in his tongue department – and like some form of carnal epiphany it all became clear to her. This was her chance to get on the inside of the local council, and she wasn’t going to blow the opportunity.

“Go for it, Chester.” She whispered back, and winked suggestively.

“I accept your challenge, strange alien hamster.” Chester announced as he clambered upon the stage. “Do your worst: This politician has nothing to hide.”

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2013

Naturally this e-book is available at an e-book stockist of your choice. After seven years on release it’s pretty omnipresent.  But then, why wouldn’t it be? Quality always prevails.

Wallpaper 571: Field Scabious in Divine Light

After the funeral of my wife of Thirty-eight years, I decided to spend the following bright and blustery morning looking for one of her favourite wild flowers to photograph. It’s not really the time of the year for the little bloom, but recent excellent late summer weather had me hopeful. So, taking myself to open chalky downland I began my search. There were a few there, but they were scrawny, ill-fed, and barely recognizable. I was about to give up, when a shaft of light suddenly burst through a dense hedgerow – to reveal the very item I sought, waving back and forth in the stiff breeze. Divine light? I like to think so. Look…

 

Growing Old in a Single Season

I must admit that the Summer of 2020 was the worst period in my lifetime. I had to give up work (good) to nurse my ailing wife through her cancer treatment (less good), and, ultimately, its failure and her final days (devastating). Through it all Linzi and I encountered untold kindness and limitless caring from many, many sources. But, as the end approached, I noticed that much of the kindness was centered, more and more, upon me. It seemed that those responsible for that kindness had noticed something in me. A man at the end of his tether perhaps? But I couldn’t see or feel any difference in myself. I was getting by, wasn’t I? What is all the fuss about? Then, today (27/09/2020) I visited my local church and had my little Fujifilm take my picture in the vestibule. And when I saw the result, I realised why words and offers of help and comfort are my constant companion…

I’ve grown old.   

Revel in the Ribaldry 12

The excerpt on this occasion must come from this book…

It’s the rules. As per usual  the selection is made by random chance. Good old random: you can always rely on him. Oh, look, here it is…

As per instructions from Fabian Strangefellow, Roosevelt Teabiscuit duly intercepted Felicity Bugler as she exited The Institute Of Hugely Important Studies, and was not surprised to be invited to walk the young dormouse home. Only when he discovered that they were well on their way towards the wastelands that bordered the petrified forest and The Green Mucus Home For Old Bastards did he begin to have misgivings concerning his employer’s plan. It was most decidedly the ‘wrong’ end of town in which to be found at night. But not all was doom and despondency for the small male dormouse: En route they encountered several roadside rhubarb trees, and despite her obvious attraction to him, at no time did Roosevelt feel the need to fight off Felicity’s ardent sexual advances because, of course, there were none. The reason for this became clear as they skirted the industrial estate: Felicity paused to ignite a thistle cigarette, and by the light of the flaring match Roosevelt could see that she was very slightly younger than himself, and was yet to be influenced by the persuasive aromas of hot young bodies and the presence of strong, silent, rhubarb trees.

Roosevelt was about to introduce the subject of her mental exercises at The Institute for Psychic Rodent Research when Felicity cried out in gleeful surprise…

“Well fluff me: Would you look at that!” She said, pointing toward a row of lock-up garages, “That’s one of Joan’s crossover points into Prannick: I wonder if I can see through the wall?”

This was almost too much for Roosevelt. His plan was working so well that it came close to making his trousers flap with joy.                                                                “Indeed.” He said in a calm tone that perfectly disguised his excitement.

It never occurred to Felicity to try out her potential psychic skills by attempting to see inside the garage. Instead she simply broke the ageing lock with a single karate chop, and let herself inside.

Fortunately Roosevelt always carried his favourite Timmy the Twonk Engine wind-up torch. Most young people of Hamster Heath did so since it had become known that the town’s only Hero of All Hamsterdom – Horatio Horseblanket – was very keen on them, and owned several of each model in a multitude of hues. It took several twists of the large blue knob on the side to fully charge the capacitor. But when at last the meter read ‘full’, Roosevelt unleashed a beam of such incandescence that he thought it might actually burn its way through the wall, and advertise their illegal presence to all and sundry. He needn’t have worried. The sudden arrival of Tybrow Mooney through the same wall placed the tall hamster directly in the beam’s way, and instead of devastating the brickwork, it ravaged the mean rodent’s eyesight so badly that he screamed incoherently, and cast a huge bowl of gold coins in their direction.

Naturally neither dormouse waited to see what would happen next: Instead they fell to the floor, and began sweeping the fallen coins into large internal pockets that Dormice always have stitched into their coats, and sometimes their cardigans too. They didn’t see Mooney turn about in a eye-streaming panic, feel his way back to the wall, then disappear though it. But they did hear the almost inaudible ‘pop’ of displaced air as he receded into the alternative dimension. Suddenly heedless of the great wealth dragging at her, Felicity hauled herself and her bulging coat to the wall, whereupon she placed her forehead to the rough surface, spread her fingers as wide as her tiny paws would allow, and concentrated…

What she ‘saw’ upon the other side of reality could only have occurred because of the close proximity of the psychic catalyst – Roosevelt Teabiscuit. She saw Mooney race from his bedroom, then barrel down the stairs that led to the bar, screaming, “Law Master: Law Master: They’re back!”

Perfidity Gallowsmith, better known to the residents of Weasels Pit as The Law Master, was carousing in a most unladylike fashion in the Rancid Maggot Inn. She had already shown her knickers to various members of the clientele several times, and was in the middle of exposing one of her huge furry mammary glands to Quentin Blackheart, who was equally drunk (and secretly hamster-sexual) when Tybrow Mooney burst into the bar from the back room.

“Law Master – come to my room:” He bellowed as he pointed back along the way he had just come, “I have something to show you!”

Perfidity Gallowsmith spluttered with great mirth at this exhortation. “No,” she waved a drunken finger in her best admonishing manner; “it is I who has something to show you!”

With that the huge furry mammary gland appeared from inside her leather jerkin – slapping Blackheart about the cheek pouches as it did so. She then proceeded to jump up and down several times to increase the shock-effect.

The Law Master knew instinctively that in the morning she would regret this brazen act, and that her pectoral muscles would ache abominably. But she also knew that Quentin Blackheart would ‘lean’ upon any witnesses, so that no one beyond these four walls would ever learn of her disgusting weakness of the flesh.

Mooney paused to savour the moment. He licked his lips appreciatively. Then he then took a few discrete photographs with a digital camera that he kept hidden behind his Official Booze Purveyor badge.

‘Perhaps’ he thought quietly to himself, ‘I can use this as evidence against her. Maybe I’ll get that roll in a shallow ditch with her after all.’

Then it was back to business for him…

“You don’t understand,” He cried out plaintively, “They’ve found me again. The prisoners must have escaped. If we go now we can slay them like the curs they are!”

In her drunken state Perfidity didn’t realise that Mooney had misidentified his pursuers: She assumed, reasonably enough, that The Abbot had assumed his duties as a spy for her against the Stix. But she was too inebriated to think coherently beyond this point.

“Thank you very much, that won’t be necessary.” she slurred whilst popping her wayward tit into its cosy chain mail chest-hammock, “But you can lead me to the bog-hole? I think I’m about to puke vastly.”

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2013

This e-book remains on sale at many outlets – some of which are mentioned on the sidebar and on the Tooty’s Books Available Here page beneath the header. As you can easily see – it’s…ah…fab!

 

Chef Tooty Pulls Up His Caks

Due to circumstances far beyond Chef Tooty’s control, the light in his life has been extinguished. As a result of this  he isn’t feeling quite as jocular as previously displayed, which means that he’s decided not to show his bum any more. But he will continue to cook. After all – people gotta eat, haven’t they? And just to prove that the oven is still hot, here’s a photo of his latest creation…

Yes, the Roasting Thing has been put to use yet again. Unfortunately he forgot to take photos of the stages this meal went through to get to this point. But it was very nice; so he’ll make another one. Just don’t expect to see his botty…

Aesthetics: The Art of Considerate Parking 2

If you’ve read my first Aesthetics; T.A.o.C.P, you’ll know that I like drivers to think about the car beside which they park their own. This is particularly important if said driver drives a brightly coloured car. If, like me, you are burdened with a dull colour – like silver or black – there really isn’t much chance of some pleasant colour co-ordination in your local car park. But those who have – say, a blue car – should never park  beside a red  car because together both vehicles will look like absolute shit.  Always choose the correctly coloured car that will best compliment your own. This is most important: cars are everywhere: clogging up the view at every turn. We really should make them look as nice as we possibly can. Take, for example the owners of this BMW and Ford…

Individually both look quite nice: but together they work in perfect harmony. I don’t know which car was there first; but full marks to the driver that arrived second. Yellow and red: the colours of happiness and joy – and those of the Spanish national flag, which is the most cheerful flag on the planet. So remember, next time you’re parking: think about the car you park beside: you might just make someone’s day.

Revel in the Ribaldry 11

With five books from which to choose the next excerpt, I hope randomness does a good job. Well actually its not quite as random as totally random: the excerpts appear in sequence. e.g Ist excerpt: Book 1. 10th excerpt: book 5. So 11th excerpt can only come from Book 1. This one…

…which is where the randomness kicks in. I now turn to a page; close my eyes;  and plonk my finger wherever it may fall. Oh, look…today’s excerpt is…

It was a poorly measured amount of time later when Tonks reawakened to find herself being carried along a dank, ill-lit corridor. Furthermore this activity could only be described as being done ‘in a furtive manner’. She was about to say something indignant like ‘Unhand me you curs’, or ‘It’s lucky for you I don’t have my army skirt on: If I thought that you’d seen my regulation knickers, I’d have your guts for garters!’ But a soft feminine paw clamped over her snout with a vice-like grip that would countenance no argument.

“Shush,” Fanangy whispered, “we’re getting awfully close to the Artefact Store. Remain silent.”

Tonks sighed, and Lionel and Boney both turned about and ‘shushed’ her angrily.

“Wah we dooa?” she mumbled through her furry gag.

“Pardon?” Lionel couldn’t help being polite, even in the midst of danger and imminent discovery.

Tonks repeated herself three times before Boney indicated that Fanangy should allow their captive to speak.

“I said,” she was finally able to elucidate, “what are we doing?”

“Just what you instructed.” Boney tried a conspiratorial grin, but it got lost somewhere between his brain and his jaw muscles, and came out as a dangerously lascivious leer, which startled Tonks for a moment.

“We have a plan,” Fanangy explained, “that is both devious, and will succeed. It also relies upon you somewhat I’m afraid. Not that I think you’ll fail or anything: It’s just a bit of a cheek of us involving you in something so underhand.”

Now if there’s one thing that’s specifically designed to really get the juices of a female army sergeant flowing – it’s something underhand: Especially when it’s going to be perpetrated against a commanding officer whom she believes is both incompetent and downright mean. She wanted to know everything.

“No,” Tonks finally said with apparent disbelief, after having the entire plan laid out before her, “surely not?”

Then a grin creased her normally bland features, and Lionel thought that she looked almost attractive.

Unsurprisingly Fanangy noticed a slight tremble in Lionel’s trouser department. Her eyes narrowed – at least as much as rodent eyes would allow – and a metaphorical green light illuminated them from within. Then to everyone’s consternation she blurted, “But I think we can probably accomplish our aim without the aid of the good sergeant. I’ll take her role. I’m sure we can dress me up as drably. My feminine curves could be sufficiently hidden by the copious over-use of pillows. And a spot of axle grease administered to my lovely face would make me easily the equal of Tonks on a one-to-ten scale of hideousness. Well nearly anyway. In the dark. To a mole.”

Lionel wasn’t particularly well-versed in the ways of the world; but even he could spot a terrible case of jealousy at a hundred paces – with both his eyes averted, and corks shoved so deeply into his ears that it hurt. For a moment though he was flummoxed. What could have brought about this sudden change? Was it something that he’d done? Then he noticed his trousers flapping – and realised that, for once, it wasn’t wind. This brought on a bout of self-appraisal.

‘Is that why I’m so scared of Fanangy?’ He thought more quickly than he had ever done. ‘Because she’s so pretty? Surely not? But why would I find Tonks more alluring? Could it be that I find Fanangy threatening – whereas Tonks is merely… Is merely what? Certainly not homely and kind in a mothering sort of way. And I don’t go for ugly old bags – so it can’t be that. But something got my trousers flapping – if not spectacularly – at least enough for Fanangy to notice…’

Then, abruptly, a sense of wellbeing came over him as he recognised the truth, and he cried out, ‘I’m normal. I’m normal after all! Praise be to the Saint of All Hamsters, my gonads work within statutory parameters – at least upon a superficial level!” Then he came to his senses once more, and added, “Sorry.”

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2012

That wasn’t too bad, I hope. I should now mention that this e-book remains available at many outlets, including the ones mentioned in the Tooty’s Books Available Here page beneath the header; and the book covers on the sidebar.

 

 

The Race Against Time

When my last Earplug Adventure – ‘Distant Land’ – was published (17/10/2019), and the final extract of the serialised version appeared here (21/10/2019), it was a very different world I lived in – and I don’t mean free of Corona Virus. My wife had recently returned from hospital following a massive operation to free her of cancer. Any ideas of writing a follow up story were shelved in favour of nursing her back to health. Well, to cut a long story short, the procedure failed. The cancer was not defeated. An ordinary life became impossible, and by the time of Corona Virus lock-down in Britain I had to give up my work to care for her full-time. The prognosis was not good. All we could hope for was more time together. As a consequence I felt no desire to write silly stories about earplugs. But, as time passed, and I realised that it was quickly running out, I decided to attempt to complete the story while I still had the chance. I knew I would never write it otherwise. It has been, quite literally, a race against time.  Now (22.00 hrs 08/09/2020), as I lay in bed beside my fitfully slumbering and terminally ill wife, I can announce that I have just completed the 66th and final episode of A Tale of Three Museums. It may not be a great work, but I dedicate this story to her: she who named me Tooty and who has always supported my writing. I hope it’s my best Earplug Adventure. She will never get the opportunity to read it.

Thank you for reading my indulgence,

Tooty.

The extracts will continue to appear on a pre-scheduled basis until the story is complete.

Revel in the Ribaldry 10

The tenth extract means we’re back at the fifth book in the Hamster-Sapiens series of rude tales and daring rodentia. This book, to be exact…

…which is not only wonderful, but stupendous too. Or is that ‘not only wonky, but stupid too’? Whatever – it’s worth a look. Here’s the excerpt…

Blubbersday, the Forty-sixth of Plinth. It was agreed between them that the group of rodents should split into three groups, and go in search of Tybrow Mooney. The obvious place to start was his former inn that had recently been taken over by a group of wandering bank voles who hoped to turn it into some form of perverse theme park. It was patently obvious that if they all arrived together, the voles would instantly draw the obvious conclusion that a mob had been sent to trap and kill them, and quite possibly react badly to this perceived threat.

Being used to bossing subordinates about, Tits took it upon herself to organise the formation of the three search parties. She’d already stressed the importance of leaving no group without the protection of a psychic energy detection system.

“We must have a psychic in each group. Big fists and scary protuberances are all well and good; but when the attack is of the mental kind, we need a psychic ace in our hole.”

“Ah, what hole would that be?” Colin inquired, “Because if it’s a bum-hole I’m afraid I don’t have one.”

“It’s just a term.” Fanangy explained to her android chum. “There is no hole. Or an ace either for that matter.”

“Could I be forgiven for thinking that the former sergeant is talking a load of bollocks then?” Colin inquired further.

Tits recalled a time, many yonks in the past, when she had taken a side arm from her holster, and threatened to shoot Colin up his non-existent bum hole. He had acquiesced to her demands that time: She saw no reason why he shouldn’t again. So she reminded him of this, and fingered her rifle menacingly as she said, “Colin – if you have nothing constructive to say – just shut the fluff up.”

Colin gave a cheerful wave, and took a backward step. “Certainly, Sergeant.” He replied in his infinitely polite way, “Until I have something of pertinence to elucidate, my lips shall remain hermetically sealed. Not literally of course, but you get my meaning.”

Satisfied that she wouldn’t be interrupted again, Tits then chose the teams.

“Colin – you belong to Boney, so you go with him. Boney needs to ride on Gargantua, so that’s him taken care of. For psychic protection team ‘A’ gets Primrose. Team ‘B’ will consist of two couples – for the obvious reason that Felicity’s psychic powers are exactly nil when Roosevelt isn’t around. Fanangy and Lionel will accompany them because of their vast experience doing really weird shit. Adjusterming can bring some wisdom of age to this group.”

“So that leaves you, the vile Arthur Dung, dippy Brenda, and Brother Alfonso Club-cock, with Joan as your psychic protector.” Primrose stated the blindingly obvious. “Couldn’t we just drop Brenda and Arthur off at an inn, and go about our business without their hindrance?”

“Oi,” Dung bellowed, “I wasn’t no hindrance when you needed someone to push all that ice cream up hill. I aint gonna be one now!”

“Golly – me too.” Brenda yelped in support of Dung, “Hey you’s might be needin’ someone with a furry tail kinda thing. Ya never know when a furry tail’s gonna be real useful.”

It was a good argument eloquently put, and no one was able to satisfactorily refute it.

Primrose sighed. “Very well, you two are on team ‘C’. Good luck, Tits.”

To avoid attention from the townsfolk of Far Kinell, the three teams entered independently of each other. Tits had decided to disguise her rifle in a large sack that they’d found wrapped around a signpost, which had almost certainly been deliberately placed there by anti-social urchins to confound and confuse weary travellers.

“Little bastards.” Dung had complained at the time. “Not just a modern phenomenon then? You get’ em everywhere.”

But by now the former rifle-hamster had led Joan, Brother Alfonso, Brenda, and Dung towards a likely-looking hostelry where they hoped to ask questions about any new hamsters in town who resembled Tybrow Mooney.

The bar keeper – a long-snouted wood mouse by the name of  Kendrick Tweezledown – spotted them as they entered the busy establishment, and beckoned them to the bar with a welcoming smile, and a hearty hail.

“Ah-ha, a weary group if ever I saw one.” He roared with laughter immediately after speaking the words, “Is it rough ale and foul pasties that you’re after?”

Tits didn’t realise quite how hungry she was until that moment. Now she wouldn’t turn up her nose to anything – even if it was only vaguely edible and closely resembled a turd.

“Thank you,” she curtsied, and added, “That would be lovely.”

“Well you’ll get nothing of the kind here.” Kendrick bellowed good-naturedly. “We only serve really tasty stuff. How’d you fancy a big bowl of rice pudding?”

This question was answered when five sets of gums began to salivate freely.

“And a big cup of tea too, I’d wager.” Kendrick added. “Or maybe something a little stronger? I have a fresh cask of rhubarb wine out the back. Would you care to partake?”

Joan looked to Brother Alfonso. “Do we have sufficient Prannick Spladlids to pay for it?”

Alfonso gave a brief smile. “I wear the cloth of the Church of The Wheel. He knows that the abbey is good for the bill. Let us eat, drink, and – perhaps for a few moments – be merry.”

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2013

Most E-book retailers, in their wisdom, continue to make this book available to buy. You should partake of their service.

Smart Phone Wallpaper Test: When Bathroom Walls Close In

I found a blog in which the owner gave away wallpapers for smart phones. I thought: “Neat”, so duly downloaded one to test its properties – those being 26mp resolution, and sized at 473 x 1024 pixels. I then duplicated those dimensions with an Earplug Adventure picture. As a Mark One, it kind of worked, but will need tweaking. But just as a test – should you own a smart phone of course – could you download the following picture, to see if it fits and is of acceptable quality? That would be very useful. If it works, I’ll do some more – hopefully better. 

Leave your comments and results in the comments box below. Thank you.