Earplug Adventures: The Age of Stone (part 8)


“Hah!” the apparition sneered. “So what do we have here? Could this be the mighty Magnuss Earplug? Saint, bloody, Magnuss? He who can do no wrong? He who, when I almost defeated the Supreme Being in a battle of wits and thunderbolts, dispossessed me of my underpants?”

Magnuss was essentially a very honest earplug; but today he figured honesty was not going to save the day…

“No,” he replied, “my name is Trevor Humphries. I deliver pizzas for a shop in the High Street. To the University de Ciudad de Droxford mostly; but I do a bit of residential too. I’m saving up for a new moped.”

It was a good lie told convincingly. For a moment it almost had the Wonky Supreme Being fooled. “What toppings?” It asked.

Sadly Magnuss had never eaten a pizza in his life: he preferred stir-fry or boiled cabbage. “Um,” he began – and knew, in an instant, that his subterfuge had failed. “Yeah, all right – I’m Magnuss: Whatta ya want?”

“You have a picture of my naked bum, do you not?” The Wonky SB replied.

To say that Magnuss was stunned by the alien’s knowledge would be an understatement. He was flabbergasted. His gast had never been so flabbered. Instantly his mind went back to the day when the falsetto lead vocalist of the Trumptations – that being Cory Turpentine – had opened the rickety door of the apartment that he was hoping to rent out to Magnuss and Hair-Trigger…

…and had invited them inside to view it…

He and Hair-Trigger had been taken with the apartment, and moved in within hours. But there had been a nasty stain on the bathroom ceiling, so (recalling the image of the Wonky SB’s buttocks in precise detail) Magnuss had asked the museum’s most reviled artist – Anton Twerp – to alter the unsightly stain and make it closely resemble a big farty arse in the clouds…

“Hmm,” Magnuss confessed, “sort of.”

“And much hilarity ensued, when you showed it to all your friends – correct?” The Wonky SB snarled.

“Well there was a bit of tittering.” Magnuss agreed reluctantly.

“More than a little.” Wonky SB growled. “You even had the temerity to invite that camera-wielding buffoon Rupert Piles around. My arse made the six o’clock news. And you and your stupid brothers are going to pay for that insult and inner mortification!”

Magnuss didn’t want details, but Wonky SB gave them to him anyway:

“Your quirky quintet is doomed to wander these castles for eternity!” He roared…

 “Eternity. Or until the day you die. Whichever takes the longest!”

This was not good news for Magnuss. But then the image of pox and pustules didn’t make him feel too popular with his host either…

“Gotta get back to the guys.” He whispered sotto voce. “Together we’re a thousand times stronger than little old me alone.”

But, as he fled, he almost fell into the lava pool…

“Yikes,” he yelled, “that was too close for comfort. Sod this – I’ve had a gut-full: where’s the way out?

Shortly he started to relax slightly…

…The lava pool was now behind him; and if he carried on in an upward direction, he would find the surface once more. It was merely a matter of time.

At that moment Chester and Miles were marvelling at the changing faces of their environment…

“Wish I had a camera.” Miles said. “We could film it and use it to make a science-fiction short film.”

Chester wasn’t convinced. “Yeah, but who would we get to star in it?”

Miles paused for a moment, before replying with:  “I was thinking Marvin Fishlegs or Okaw Blymie. Maybe both.” Then he realised that he was talking rubbish and decided to shut his mouth.

A short distance off, Magnuss re-emerged into something that looked vaguely like a night sky…

Initially he felt relieved, and drank in the cool night air. But, as the scenery changed…

…he began to have serious doubts that, even combined, his brothers and he were a match for a being that could abduct and imprison the real Supreme Being.

“Oh dear.” He said. “This time I really think we’ve bitten off more than we can chew. Thank the Saint of All Earplugs that my dear, sweet, former bounty-hunter girlfriend, Hair-Trigger Provost isn’t trapped here with me.” He then promised himself that if he were to prevail in the coming struggle, he would ask Hair-Trigger to be his wife. It was a plan that would give him strength. A reason to win beyond the mere need for survival.

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2021

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