Earplug Adventures: Triple Threat (part 8)

Well there was really only one thing they could do. They ran. Like arrows from a bow they ran straight across the Woven Expanse…

…and tried to hide themselves in a strange non-corporeal forest…

…in which Daisy had a remarkable thought: “Oi,” she said, “if these trees are non-corporeal, that means that on infrared we would stand out like sore thumbs.”

So they bid a hasty farewell and tried hiding in the Age of Stone exhibit…

But, had they a brain cell between them, they would have realised that the Security Suite had access to any number of sensors and CCTV cameras…

“Got ‘em.” EvilRoboSecGua reported to the angry RoboSecGua chief.

The command came in an instant: “Apprehend them by any means. And if it hurts like heck…well all the better. If there’s one thing I really detest – it’s teenage female earplugs. They make me so mad!”

Meanwhile, Bunty, Ginger and Daisy were somewhere within the bowels of the Museum of Future Technology and making exhausted progress along another interminable corridor. But, despite their labouring lungs and the agony of de-oxygenated muscles, they all found the energy to be startled when a security light caught them unawares…

And when it changed colour, they paused their headlong flight…

…just I time to recognise what the light inferred and be plunged into the semi-darkness of a Crimson Intruder Alert…

“Oh,” Bunty said into the resulting gloom.

“I can hear you, Bunty,” Ginger replied, “but I can’t see you. Have you been disembodied?”

“I wish I’d been disembowelled,” Daisy informed the others, “coz I’m scared witless – or a word very similar to that.”

As the moment of the girl’s arrest approached, Gregor departed his quarters, whilst feeling very pleased with himself. The damage that he had managed to wreak by proxy was almost beyond his wildest dreams…

But he hadn’t finished: there was more acts of sabotage to invoke. Already some ne’re-do-wells had found inspiration from the TV news reports of the ruined exhibit…

And the RoboSecGuas were suddenly run ragged…

…when a group of disenchanted catering staff devoured an entire pickled cabbage: went out on to the Obsidian Plain; and…

…ignited the resulting cageous emissions.

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2021

Earplug Adventures Wallpaper: Love At First Sight

During a break in shooting Triple Threat, leading actress, Ginger Slack, borrowed the producer’s motorcycle for a ride into the country. The result was instant adoration…

Earplug Adventures: Triple Threat (part 7)

But in the RD&CC joy had erupted like a volcano of invisible endorphins…

“That was fun.” Cheerful Charlie Chopsticks yelled ecstatically. “Do it again.”

Other curators managed to contain their enthusiasm. “Very nice.” Winston Gloryhole said calmly. “What do you think, Cushions?”

“I’d like to see a breakdown in costs.” She replied, as though she knew what she was talking about.

“Costs?” Montagu roared. “What costs? The bloody machine is built: power comes from the Nul-Space generator, which is free. And we lay off half of the exhibit-moving workforce. You don’t need to look at costs: they’re next-to-nothing.”

Meanwhile Daisy had come to her senses. More than that, she recognised the mysterious vehicle for what it was.

“It’s the Deathwish’s armoured thing.” She cried. “We learned all about the Deathwish siblings three months ago. Let’s have a look.” 

Moments later Ginger and Bunty were hoisting their loud-mouthed chum upon their shoulders…

And soon she was safely aboard and eyeing the laser cannon…

“I wonder if this is still active?” She whispered to herself.

Whilst everyone was congratulating everyone else, Gregor couldn’t help but smile…

…as he imagined what three dippy college girls might be doing with an armoured reconnaissance vehicle. Actually he didn’t need to imagine anything: he’d set up a small camera on the Wide Blue Yonder, which was broadcasting images straight to his cell phone. He just managed a quick glance at its tiny screen in time to witness…

…Daisy’s slender forefinger caress the firing button of the laser cannon.

“Ooh,” she said to the others, “I wonder where this gun is pointed?”

Neither Ginger nor Bunty knew the answer to the question: but Gregor did. He’d aligned the vehicle with a brand new exhibit that represented a mid-western town, in the distant future, during the apearence of a singularity in the Solar System…

It was the single most expensive exhibit to arrive in the Museum of Future Technology since Eyewash Station. It was Cushions’ baby. She had already lavished huge sums on advertising, and it was proving very popular. Earplugs would venture to the museum from far and wide, over mountain passes and through inclement weather if necessary…

They would use whatever mode of transportation they could find…

It was even spoke about by hoteliers in Benidorm…

But when the laser cannon’s searing incandescent blast hit…

…and the entire facility erupted in white fire…

…all Cushions could think about was how she was going to explain it to the beings from the future, just how their tech (that had been sent into the past for safe keeping) had been destroyed so utterly. She also considered the possibility that insurance wouldn’t pay up and that her credit card was about to take another beating.

But the three girls had other thoughts in mind…

Daisy and Bunty squeezed their eyes shut and hoped that when they opened them again everything would be back as it should be. But Ginger knew otherwise.

“Oh flipping heck,” she wailed, “what are we gonna do?”

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2021

Nature Wallpaper: Autumn, Meet Winter

Revel in the Ribaldry 36

It’s very easy for a literary genius (like wot I is) to forget that there are stories written (by the aforementioned literary genius) at a time earlier than the present. In other words, literary genii are apt to forget their old stuff: old stuff that might actually be quite good: fabulous even! So, once in a while, that earlier stuff should be dusted down and exhibited. And so this has come to be. Welcome to an extract from a wondrous e-book. An e-book so wondrous that it defies description, pigeon-holing, and a predetermined genre. This wondrous e-book…

The best book ever written. A monument to the imagination of mankind. Or me. An e-book that is available at the best e-book stockists – like the ones mentioned on the sidebar and beneath the header. So here is the extract. Chosen at random, naturally…

When, at last, Izzy and Freda returned to the bar of The Handsome Dong, everyone except Eli Epididymis had returned to their leaden-hearted homes to sleep away the misery of the dark, cold night that stretched out before them like some infinitely long river of demon-filled sludge.

“Well,” Freda explained to an annoyed Eli as she adjusted both her mussed head fur and displaced gusset, “non-reproductive sex wasn’t what I was actually talking about when I burst in – but Izzy seemed so keen I just thought I ought to go along. It also gave me the chance to try out some of those ideas that I put in my sex-aid books.”

“Well they worked just fine.” Izzy was still smiling from ear to ear, and probably around the back of his head too.

“You two didn’t ‘appen to discuss the campaign to save ‘Amster Britain between bouts, I s’pose?” Eli grumbled.

Smiling for the first time since she could remember, Freda sat herself beside Eli in the snug, and knocked back the remains of his half-price rhubarb fizz. “Well actually it was Izzy’s idea of The Campaign for Stale Air that made me acquiesce to his sexual demands.” She told the surprised hamster, “I thought that they were brilliant. I’m fully behind it.”

Eli remained confused. “But didn’t you lead the campaign to clean up the air, and thereby ruin ‘Amster Britain?” he whined.

Freda’s smile fell away. “I did indeed. I used my persuasive literary style to influence a succession of useless governments until I got my way. But now I regret those acts of thoughtless environmentalism, and wish to undo the damage – if it’s not already too late.”

Eli thought about this for a moment. He sighed, thoughtlessly adjusted his testicles, and said, “Sorry about that minge-bit.”

He then explained that it was he who had written the inflammatory letter. He finished with, “…and I don’t want you to die horribly. In fact I want you to live a full and happy life – but in a Hamster Britain that we can all be proud of. Not this airy-fairy version where electricity is considered to be the spawn of  the otter’s rectum: But one where we can switch on a light, or blow-dry our fur, and have a good suck on a lung-full of carbon dioxide and other greenhouse gasses, without interference and finger-waggin’ from an over-protective legislature.”

It was possibly the longest sentence that Eli had ever uttered, and despite feeling slightly light-headed, he was certain that in the coming weeks he would be making many more – throughout the land – in parliament if necessary – and much, much, longer too.

“I wonder if it’s still possible to buy bottled oxygen?” he added, “Or did you ‘ave that banned too?”

Naturally without the aid of newspapers and television – getting the message out to the people of Hamster-Britain was going to be problematic. And there were far too many hamsters living throughout the multifarious isles to write to personally. That left only one course of action open to them…

As the mayor of Teetering-on-the-Brink, Clifton Wassack had not enjoyed a happy tenure. He had overseen urban decay of legendary proportions. True the streets of tiny terraced homes had always been miserable: But at least their occupants had enjoyed the benefits of having go-karts parked in the road outside them. Now all he could see from his council office window was a moribund populace poking around in corners looking for something to do. So when he was suddenly confronted by the sight of the famous writer/environmentalist Freda Bludgeon, and two dodgy-looking sidekicks, who then presented their Campaign for Stale Air manifesto to him, he thought that all his birthdays had arrived at once. This was his chance to become a national politician, and forever be associated with the salvation of Hamster-Britain.

“Of course.” He boomed in his most stentorian voice, “Of course you may use my offices and all my staff to further your cause. Just make sure that my name is mentioned in everything that you do. Might I suggest that we gather a crowd of like-minded folk – storm the redundant television station – and start broadcasting again. I think that it would be an excellent way to start – don’t you? We can print some pamphlets too: I think there’s still a small supply of blank paper in the stationery office. So all that remains for me to say is – let’s get this show on the road!”

Well naturally they did all these things. And Freda personally wrote to all the most influential organizations in the land, and pleaded for their help.

Well equally naturally they rallied round like never before. Soon the National Breast Fondling Club had posters pinned to telegraph poles the length and breadth of Hamster-Britain. And other organizations soon followed suit.

In the capital the weak socialist government quickly recognized the ugly mood of the country, and capitulated. Former business hamsters dug out the keys to their factories and their farms – took on their old staff – fired up the boilers – uncovered their secret caches of fuel – and went back into production.

Within weeks Clifton Wassack was appointed to the role of Prime Minister, Eli and Izzy were proclaimed the saviours of Hamster-Britain, and Freda Bludgeon was annointed in oils and became venerated as a saint.

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2013

In the light of modern climate change fears, this story couldn’t be more inappropriate and politically incorrrect.  Go now: purchase the book: thumb your nose at fate!

 

 

Earplug Adventures: Triple Threat (part 6)

His anger evaporating in an instant, Gregor raced into the ‘doorway’ of the mud hut façade…

“Yeah,” he cheered, “I knew it would work: I did the sums after all.”

Then, to the observers inside the dome, he shouted: “Stay where you are: I’m going to Phase Two.”

Moments later the room turned red once more, and Gregor felt that the eye of the Supreme Being was upon him and him alone…

And perhaps it was, because as Cushions watched in bewilderment…

…the Mark Four mud hut façade had transferred to the Wide Blue Yonder…

…and from it emerged three equally bewildered faces…

“What the flipping heck?” Bunty bellowed loudly enough to be heard in a Café Puke outlet in the arboretum. “Where did that come from?”

But, like slurry in a well-maintained cattle house drains away, all three college girl’s surprise and concern did likewise…

“That was clever.” Daisy opined.

Ginger took it a step farther: “I wonder if this had anything to do with that lovely Gregor. Might this be the opportunity he spoke of?”

They all looked around for any sight or scent of the yellow earplug…

But, as they did so, in the R, D & C-C department, Gregor was summoning another artefact from the depot…

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” he announced to those watching from behind the shield, “may I present an armoured reconnaissance vehicle: not from another era, but from another world entirely…

He then chuckled to himself. “If they think I brought that thing all the way across lightyears of space…well more fool them. But I’m not lying: it really is alien: it once belonged to two adventurous siblings…

…Dorkan and Dawlish Deathwish.”

Meanwhile, Daisy had the stupid idea that they may have missed Gregor inside the hut, so they went to re-enter…

…where they were momentarily blinded by a flash of light…

…and discovered that the hut wasn’t really a hut at all, but an armoured reconnaissance vehicle…

They were understandably startled. In the heat of the moment they all blamed each other for placing them in a situation that they could not comprehend and threatened to overwhelm their fragile psyches.

“Bum face!” Daisy shouted at Ginger, “My psyche is on the point of being overwhelmed. I can feel it: my socks have fallen down!”

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2021

Gnashed Teeth: Another Digital Camera Sets Sail for Cyber Heaven

Off on one of my walking jaunts, recently, I chose three cameras at random. My best one – that being a x50 zoom Sony:  a trusty Kodak compact that I’ve had for yonks: and a very shiny Fujifilm I seldom use that I thought deserved a trip out of its box. The voyage of disaster began badly: the Kodak failed to fire up. Reason: the battery retaining clip had broken, thus breaking electrical contact. Arse – but not insurmountable. The Fuji proved more amenable. For example, it took this pleasant photo of some seed heads…

It went on to produce three more equally pleasant photos – before something made a silent click inside the works and it went doolally. Suddenly, for no obvious reason the video capture only worked on audio; and the still shots all contained interference. It had me looking somewhat like this…

Why doesn’t electronic stuff work properly after you pack it away for a while? You’d think it would be grateful for the rest!

Wallpaper 632: Dark City

Earplug Adventures: Triple Threat (part 5)

Cheerful Charlie Chopsticks wanted to know how they expected to move artefacts and exhibits around more quickly than they currently could. “I mean,” he all but scoffed, “to move things around any quicker than you already do, you’d have to use matter transmission.”

As Montagu growled with annoyance at the curator’s ignorance, Cushions said: “You thick, bozo, Charlie: why do you think we’re here?”

“What?” an even more excitable Cheerful Charlie squealed. “We’re going to see things move around – before our very eyes? Oh wow!”

Meanwhile, the artificial sun was on the brink of slipping below the non-existent horizon: but the girls had made it to the co-ordinates supplied to them by Gregor…

Daisy was as happy as a plugmutt in a litter tray; but Bunty and Ginger felt less confident.

“We’re bound to be in the wrong place.” Bunty moaned in preparation for failure. “I mean, we’ve only got one cell phone between us – and the battery’s almost flat on that.”

To which Ginger added: “And it’s a cheap one from down the market: it probably doesn’t know a co-ordinate from an accordion.”

Meanwhile Wonky had explained the dangers inherent in the demonstration they were about to perform. He then made the mistake of calling it an experiment.

Cushions became alarmed at this. “Experiment?” She bellowed. “I don’t do ‘experiments’. You do the experiments: then call me when you’re ready to ‘demonstrate’ the process. If I’m not entirely safe – the show is cancelled.”

This disappointed the three androids. Their artificial hearts sank. But the sneaky Gregor snatched at the opportunity to both ingratiate himself, and save his plan from ruin at the same time.

“If I might intrude…” He said as Cushions made to leave, “but I have an idea that will keep the development of the matter-transmission technique on track and on budget, whilst giving you a damned good light show that you’ll remember for decades to come.”

He then offered to operate the device alone, whilst everyone took themselves into the complete safety of an energy dome, which would protect them all should the matter transmitter malfunction and blow him to bits.

“Well if you’re happy to risk life and limb,” Cushions responded, “I’m all for it. Let’s get it on!”

So whilst the androids and their guests made their way to the dome…

…and locked themselves out of harm’s way…

…Gregor began setting dials and fiddling with knobs upon the transmitter control panel…

And in the Nul-Space generator power control room…

…the engineers on duty – those being former female weightlifters, Catford Greene and Nennigross Numbwinkle – noticed a surge in demand for energy.

“Ooh,” Nennigross said as she flexed her biceps experimentally, “I wonder what they are cooking at the Research, Development and Cost-Cutting Department tonight?”

With the engineers and curators tucked safely away behind their shield, Gregor increased the energy flow into the matter transmitter.

“Don’t concern yourself about me,” he said sotto voce whilst casting ethereal daggers in the direction of the dome, “I’m just the unheralded and totally disposable Gregor Arsentickler: earplugs like me are a dime a dozen.”

Then he ran around to the ‘business end’ of the device and angrily awaited developments…

“Biological androids,” he scoffed, “think they’re the brains of the outfit. Have they forgotten that earplugs created them? I should be running this show; not them. By the Saint of All Earplugs, I find them detestable – just like the morons in charge who place their trust in artificial life-forms such as them, whilst holding back young geniuses, like what I am, and reducing us to sandwich-making roles and fixing coffee machines. If I had my way…”

But his almost silent tirade was cut short when…

…seemingly out of nowhere, a burst of light almost blinded him. His eyes still hadn’t recovered when everyone became aware that the room was now far from empty…

A Mark Four mud hut, intended for the exhibit Era Gamma Hooter, had arrived from the supply depot far beneath where the observers now stood, via matter-transmission.

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2021

Earplug News 24/7: Under Neptune’s Gaze

Despite the God of the Sea, Neptune’s disapproving stare; the deafening roar of a passing space submarine freighter; and an erupting volcano on the horizon, Iceworld scientist, Uda Spritzer took her paddle board to the aid of two drowning morons who forgot to tether their houseboat properly and were attempting to swim to shore in search of a public lavatory…

She was commended for her bravery by the local coastguard, but then cuffed around both ears and poked in the eye for contravening Health and Safety rules by failing to wear a life preserver vest or a lanyard to her paddle board. In response, spinster, Ms Spritzer was reported to have said: “Sod this: next time I’ll let the bastards drown.”

THIS FABULOUS WALLPAPER IS DOWNLOADABLE.

Gnashed Teeth: A Little Respect Would Be Appreciated

Recently the relevant authority erected a sign at the entrance to the village that I call home. It designates the furthest point west of the South Downs National Park…

I don’t know why, but for some naive reason I formed the idea in my stupid head that people might treat the area with a little more reverence than they do the surrounding towns. Ten paces into the park I discovered this…

Stella Artois: stronger than average: the chosen beer of British yobs: almost certainly tossed from the passenger window of a lowered VW Golf with a loud exhaust: it wasn’t alone: I should have known better.

Earplug Adventures: Triple Threat (part 4)

Chapter 2

Several hours later Gregor Arsentickler approached his apartment door…

The place he called home was located in the less ostentatious sector of the museum’s habitation zone. White walls abounded, and any public decoration lay somewhere south of minimalist. Gregor liked to call it ‘Spartan’. But this wasn’t the reason that he never invited colleagues home. This wasn’t the reason why he always took circumbendibus routes home in an effort to shake anyone who chose to follow him. No, the reason why he did both these, and more secretive stuff, was because he was a Zincist: an acolyte of the detested Mister Zinc. And it was with Mister Zinc that he now communicated via a special transmitter that could be rendered invisible, and a view screen that closely mimicked a portrait that hung upon an interior wall…

“Why are you communicating with me?” Zinc inquired as he stood beside his biological android girlfriend, Blue in a distant outpost at the head of a mountain pass that led to the monastery of Lemon Stone…

…a place to which he had been banished for his prior transgressions against the Museum of Future Technology.

“Can’t you see I’m busy?” The former megalomaniac complained. “I’ve got this pass to oversee. If anyone gets past my watchtower, the Father Superior will send some of his monks up here to kick my arse into next week.”

“Good news, Sire.” Gregor spoke as he completed a curtsy. “I have found some malcontents who are young, foolish and malleable. Already I have set a plan in motion that will result in localised catastrophe. Well that’s what I’m hoping for. Unfortunately these three girls really are dopey, so nothing’s certain. But if your tentative plan to make the curators appear ineffective and slovenly, which will result in their removal from power, and thereby open the way for your triumphant return, is to work, these silly youngsters could be the impetus it requires. They could, effectively kick-start your campaign.”

To which Zinc responded: “Oh, right.”

But Blue, being the more switched-on of the two since their joint banishment to the mind-numbing tedium and cold of the watchtower, required details, which Gregor duly supplied.

“Very good.” She said curtly. “Carry on.”

So it was a smug Gregor Arsentickler who turned away from the screen…

…that instantly resumed its false appearance as a fan poster of the Earplug Brothers, whilst the special communicator flashed briefly before cloaking and becoming completely invisible to either the naked eye, digital camera, or infra-red detector.

“Hah,” he said to himself, “I’m gonna be the best acolyte that my master, Mister Zinc, has ever had. He is certain to make me a high ranking official in his government after the fall of Cushions Smethwyke and her gang of incompetent silicon oafs.”

Speaking of Cushions Smethwyke and the museum’s curator elite…

…Cushions, Winston Gloryhole, Montagu, and a guest curator from the Museum of Rancid Oats – one Fluff Buttons – were taking a quick peek before dinner at their region of reality upon the Omnipresent Scanner. It was just warming up when a message came through for them – the gist of which was the news that a very important development had been made in the museum maintenance department’s endeavours to speed up exhibit change-overs – making them more efficient and thereby reducing expenditure.

“This I gotta see.” Cushions said as she flicked the OFF switch.

The same message was relayed to Cheerful Charlie Chopsticks and Barcode Betty as they strove to regulate the energy flow from the Nul-Space generator…

“Oh goodie,” an excitable Cheerful Charlie exclaimed. “A demonstration of more fabulous tech: I’m all for it. Set the regulator on Auto-pilot, or handle this solo, Betty: I don’t want to miss the start.”

Meanwhile, Daisy, Bunty and Ginger had managed to find their way on to the Woven Expanse…

…which, of course, was the only way for them to gain their destination – the Wide Blue Yonder. Although Ginger’s feet hurt, and she lagged behind slightly, she and the other two girls were determined to take full advantage of Gregor Arsentickler’s offer of a second chance with Major Flaccid.

It wasn’t too far now, they were certain, which was just as well, because at that moment, in the Research, Development and Cost-Cutting Department laboratory…

…the recently summoned curators were being welcomed by the biological android lab staff. Of course Gregor had finagled himself a role in the R, D & C-C several months earlier, and had made himself indispensable – taking on roles that the regular staff were loath to do and sometimes were downright dangerous…

Although Gregor hated Cushions and company with every fibre of his being, he smiled sweetly and stood around on the periphery like the good ‘gopher’ he was…

Montagu, as a biological android himself, was justifiably proud of his team. He introduced the three turquoise androids:

“From your left to right, Cushions, meet Agnes Lovehandles, Steve Jessop, and Wonky.”

He then failed utterly to mention the seemingly eager yellow earplug beside them, which only made Gregor’s inner fury burn that little more brightly…

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2021

Nature Wallpaper: Bright December Foliage

Galactic Newsletter: Chilly Willy Discovered

Whilst exploring an uncharted and utterly frozen world, crew-members of the K T Woo have discovered an ancient space rocket entombed in ice! Former protégé of Magnuss Earplug – Yabu Suchs – who commanded the team and drove the lead hover chariot remarked:

“A quite remarkable phallic symbol. Possibly the most significant I have ever seen.  It’s very big. Very, very long – and perfectly straight too. I say, would you mind switching off your microphone: I’m feeling vaguely inadequate.”

Tooty Nolan Wallpaper: Blind Faith

 

Wallpaper 631: Olde Worlde England

The town of Wickham, Hampshire – as seen through a  rusty cast iron railway bridge railing that was taken out of use during the 1960s.

Earplug Life Wallpaper: Relaxation: Walking the Plank

If there’s one activity that arboreal (or ‘Woodland’) earplugs enjoy more than almost anything, it’s playing at pirates…

Tooty’s Fashion For Fogeys 4

In the previous iteration of TFFF, Tooty displayed an uncanny talent for looking good whilst shopping at Waitrose during the Summer months. Now, rather belatedly, it’s Autumn fashion for old sods who don’t want to follow the norm. Well first up – if you own or drive a Hyundai, Kia, or a Honda Jazz, you’ve no fucking chance, so look away now. For those others still with a bit of pizzazz in their driving, read on. Well autumn colours come in many hues – not just shades of brown (leaves) with a touch of grey (skies). No, autumn trees come in so many varieties: your clothes should reflect this. So to Tooty himself: what is he wearing during the weeks that lead up to Christmas? Regarde…

   

Okay, the coat is brown. Well brown is good for coats: it hides all the shit that’s bound to get on it whilst out and about – especially in grubby underground carparks and the like. But elsewhere upon the lithe, almost youthful body (at a distance, with your eyes shut), you will discover a rainbow of autumnal colours. Is that plum you detect upon the stylish fabric shoes from Spain? Are there reds and oranges in that checkered shirt? Are those Marks & Spencers trousers really apricot? And did he actually choose that bright yellow belt during the hours of daylight? You bet your ass he did: how else are the blinkered old fogeys that clog the Waitrose aisles supposed to see him coming? Yes – follow his example, you old fogey: stand out like a beacon of style – and don’t get in his bloody way: he has a patience deficit you know!

Earplug Adventures: Triple Threat (part 3)

With sufficient shots available in the photo library, and a few words scribbled down too, it’s on with the third episode…

Meanwhile, in a nearby sector, a talented engineer, by the name of Gregor Arsentickler, was deporting himself with grace along a narrow maintenance corridor…

He enjoyed many responsibilities, one of which was the repair of recalcitrant Café Puke vending machines. And, by chance, it was the machine in the temporary TWIT office to which he had been summoned…

He went unnoticed by Bunty as she stared mindlessly at the ceiling. He too failed to register her presence. Instead he set straight to work. But, after a while, he couldn’t help but become aware of an annoying noise. It was Daisy and Ginger in conversation…

“Well, I said,” Daisy mouthed-off loudly, “my boyfriend can jump over much bigger puddles than your boyfriend.”

Ginger was intrigued. “What did she say to that?” 

“Nothing.” Daisy replied boastfully, “what could she say: it was true: my boyfriend lives on a houseboat: he’s been jumping from the deck to shore and back again all his life. Sometimes he does it just for fun. I once watched him do it blindfold with one leg tied to the other.”

Then, with an abrupt change of subject, Ginger said: “I never did learn to tie my shoelaces: now I’m told that the government or someone has banned them. All that practice – for nothing. I tell you – I’m getting sick and tired of stuff these days. It’s not like when we were kids.”

“What, like last year, you mean?” Daisy interrupted.

“Yeah,” Ginger grumbled, “and the year before.”

“They go by so quick, don’t they?” Daisy said whilst nodding sagely. “At the rate we’re going at the moment, we’ll be old before we’ve had the chance to grow up!”

Gregor looked across at the TWIT guard, who had clearly been enduring the conversation for some considerable time…

 

He appeared proto-catatonic, and failed to respond to Gregor’s surreptitious wave.

And the Ginger- Daisy combo continued…

“You know,” Daisy said as she threw a glance in the direction of the mentally absent Bunty, “her dad fell off his scooter last week.”

Ginger looked down at the floor and wished that she could ‘zone-out’ like Bunty: she didn’t like tales of pain and anguish. Then she thought that if she failed to respond, Daisy might take the conversation in a nicer direction. She was wrong:

“Yeah,” Daisy continued, “he really grazed his knee. I had to put a plaster on it. But it wouldn’t stick: I had it the wrong way ‘round.”

Then, to Ginger’s relief, Daisy did change the subject:

“What do you think Bunty’s thinking about?” But before Ginger could answer, she said: “Oh look, I’ve got one of them ulcer things on my tongue.”

“I’ve never been a fan of ulcers.” Bunty said, despite the fact that her gaze remained, clamped firmly upon the ceiling. “I’ve heard they curdle the milk.”

“Yeah,” Daisy agreed, “I’m glad I haven’t got any. Milk, that is: not ulcers. I’ve got an ulcer, look. Can you see it, Ginger?”

Gregor was experiencing difficulty concentrating on his repair work. Fortunately the TWIT operative – Nature Beast – chose that moment to enter…

Gregor was more than relieved: and how the TWIT guard felt about the interruption, he could only guess.

Nature Beast didn’t believe in preamble. He didn’t have much time for short words that joined others together either. As was usual for him, he spoke of himself in the third person…

“Nature Beast got results of test.”

Bunty came down from the ceiling. “Are they good?” She inquired.

“Nature Beast can’t read.” Nature Beast replied. “But colleague told me what’s what.”

“Did he tell you that we passed?” Daisy asked hopefully.

Nature Beast took a moment to consider this difficult question. “Hang on.” He replied. “Nature Beast need moment to think.”

Ginger had the distinct feeling that things were not going their way. “This colleague,” she said to Nature Beast, “was he, by any chance, Major Flaccid?”

A dull light went on behind the monster’s eyes. “Yeah.” He bellowed. “Maybe you not some dumb-ass as Major say.”

But that was as good as it got. As he reduced his volume, Nature Beast added…

“Major say – we got enough dumb-asses in TWIT already: don’t need three more.”

Naturally this was not well received. Bunty was particularly annoyed: “But we took a day off doing…ur…stuff and other important things…to come here: why have you wasted our time?”

The words came too quickly for Nature Beast: he took a few moments to assimilate them before replying with: “Major say – dumb-asses waste my time with stupid test: I waste their time back. He say it reciprocal stuff.”

This reply enraged Daisy so much that her eyes crossed. “You’ll rue the day that you crossed the three…ah…the three…um…us…

…And remember this, you weird excuse for an earplug: revenge is a dish best served…um…is best served…”

“With olives.” Bunty yelled angrily. “Now kindly open the door and let us depart with a modicum of pride…or ‘proudness’, as my mum calls it.”

Moments later Gregor watched his positive read-outs flash up on the wall screen; but secretly listened as Nature Beast showed his guests the door…

 

An idea was forming in his head, and he didn’t want either Nature Beast, or the reanimated TWIT guard to notice his change in demeanour…

So, as the two TWIT operatives went about their next duty, Gregor Arsentickler tossed aside his itinerary – at least metaphorically – and went in pursuit of the three girls.

He found them commiserating over a cup of ghastly coffee…

“Ladies,” he said as he approached their table, “I believe I can be of some assistance to you.”

He then explained exactly how he knew that they had failed their job interview…

“But I have good news for you.” He added. “All is not lost. If you wish to impress Major Flaccid, be at these co-ordinates upon the Wide Blue Yonder just after the artificial sun goes down.”

He then handed them a hastily-written note.  As he turned from the girl’s excited exclamations and walked away…

…he said: “You never know; this could be your lucky day.”

But he didn’t really mean it: he had motives of the ulterior kind.

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2021

 

Portrait of an Earplug: Uda Spritzer

We asked famous Iceworld scientist, Uda Spritzer, how she started her day on such a cold and forbidding world…

She informed us that she rarely eats anything less than a vast bowl of oatmeal for breakfast every day. But, she recalled with some regret, on a recent visit to Earth, someone suggested she add a handful of sultanas to  the bowl…

She won’t be trying that trick again. She is also considering eggs, bacon and fried tomatoes for breakfast from now on.

Earplug News 24/7: UFO Ditches in Popular Winter Vacation Lake

We bring you the news that other news outlets can’t!

Crowds of pissed-off would-be skaters railed against a trio of aliens who had crashed their UFO into a much-beloved frozen lake and thawed it with their super-heated drive plasma. Local hostillery owners insisted that the aliens remain partially submerged until either the lake refroze or they drowned. Tudor Porks – a local government official – was despatched aboard his sky scooter to reconnoiter and assess the situation, but was too traumatised to look, and flew home immediately for a cup of tea and a slice of lemon drizzle cake with his new boyfriend…

Earplug Adventures: Triple Threat (part 2)

Precious few shots in the can so far, but let’s not allow that deficiency to thwart the second episode. Go!

Chapter 1

The day had begun rather badly for three would-be recruits to the armed forces of the Museum of Future Technology. Or TWIT as it was better known. No one could recall why TWIT had been so named. Some suggested that the words Tactical and Weapons might have constituted the first two letters of the acronym; but no one was putting money on it. And since TWIT’s commanding officer, Major Flaccid, was a bone fide twit, himself, the organisation’s moniker seemed most appropriate. Bunty Bridgewater now led her chums, Ginger Slack and Daisy Woodnut along one of many corridors that spread like the threads of some vast fungi through the great edifice…

They had conducted an aptitude test on-line, and had consequently been invited to an interview at the TWIT headquarters, Swottan Hetty…

…which was undergoing refurbishment, following an unexpected attack to its foundations by giant lungworms. Naturally neither of the trio of hopefuls wanted to arrive early, just in case they found themselves conscripted into hod carrying or arc welding – neither of which had been on their college curriculums. So now they wasted the surplus time by wandering around and taking in the sights. Sights such as the world-famous Main Thoroughfare…

…which had appeared in several action movies, and thrilled Daisy to the point where she thought she was about to vomit with excitement.

Fortunately Bunty and Ginger were able to bring their friend’s momentary madness under control by having her breathe into a bag of wine gums. But the interruption had been enough to throw off their innate sense of direction, and soon they found themselves stumbling into the Grand Hall…

…in which a permanently-stationed (and bored witless) RoboSecGua roared in outrage at their intrusion:

“What the flipping heck do you think you’re doing here?” It snarled in a tinny mono-tonal…ugh…snarl…through its speaker grill. “You’re nobodies. You’re silicon scum. Get lost.”

Startled by this outburst of overtly racist cyber-rage, Bunty, Ginger and Daisy quickly retreated to a quiet section in which Daisy accessed the museum’s Artificial Intelligence interface to ask for directions to Swottan Hetty…

…whilst Ginger displayed her ability to produce visible spectrum botty bugles.

“Swottan Hetty?” The A.I inquired. “Surely, you’re aware that it is currently undergoing refurbishment following an attack of giant lungworms?”

Daisy wasn’t aware of the existence of rhetorical questions, but before she could summon a response from her startled brain, the A.I continued:

“There’s a list of temporary TWIT offices throughout this magnificent edifice. A list can be purchased, for a small fee, at any Café Puke outlet. Now I’m a very busy  computer program, so go away and don’t bother me again.”

Unfortunately Ginger’s gaseous emission had effected Bunty’s mental abilities in a negative manner, so she failed to notice the Café Puke signage behind her. It hadn’t done Ginger’s thought processes any favours either, so before long the stoned young female was thoroughly enjoying herself, bobbing up and down in the updraft of the deep fat fryer extractor fan in Mister Pong’s exotic food restaurant…

Worst still, Daisy recognised the earplug who was just exiting the restaurant – him being, none other than, Major Flaccid himself!

“Oh crumbs,” Bunty said when she learned this, “let’s hope he never noticed Ginger’s aerial gyrations.”

“Hmm,” Daisy responded, “you never know, he might be deaf and blind.”

Despite this, time remained in abundence, so the girls took themselves off to the Kiddies Maze…

…where, in their excitement, they got in the way of several parents who had lost their stupid children in the huge circular puzzle. But, despite the aforementioned innate sense of direction, all three were baffled by its circumambience. Of course that didn’t stop them enjoying the act of trying to find the way out…

But, as the minutes ticked by, and nerves grew taut, desperation set in, and before long they found themselves at the centre of the maze…

“Okay,” Daisy said as her face was pushed against the side of the tiny cylindrical space, “how did that happen?”

“Guess we’re not the genii our parents hoped for.” Bunty replied.

“I’m claustrophobic,” Ginger cried out. “My geography teacher told me so. I feel nauseous. I’m getting the heck outta here!”

With that she climbed upon the shoulders of her friends and escaped on to the central ‘island’. She was soon joined by the quicker-thinking Bunty…

“We can jump across the gaps.” She suggested. “There’s a maintenance tunnel over there, in the shadows: it’ll probably lead us somewhere else: let’s head for that.”

Five minutes later…

“Oh crikey,” Daisy wailed, “where are we now?”

“Look,” Bunty yelped as her keen eyes spotted a pair of elevator doors, “let’s give them a try.”

But, having risen through several floors at almost breakneck speed, the trio were no closer to their destination: in fact they were on the roof…

…where they witnessed the departure of two space submarine freighters.

“By the Saint of All Earplugs,” a breathless Daisy whispered, “I’ve died and gone to Silicon Valley. I’ve always wanted to go on a space submarine: and here’s two of them, almost within arm’s reach. Aren’t they wonderful? So black and bulbous!”

“If you like that sort of thing.” An unconvinced Ginger replied.

But Bunty was neither listening to the conversation nor gawping at the space submarines: her gaze was firmly attached to a door that led to the interior of the building. Upon it read the words: TWIT TEMPORARY OFFICE THIS WAY.

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2021

 

Earplug Life Wallpaper: Relaxation: Lessons in Precipitous Ledge Walking

Here professional precipitous ledge walkers, Horst and Greta Stenchlinger take a class in their favourite pastime…

Earplug News 24/7: Midnight Buggy Race Under Threat

The weekly Magnuss Earplug – sponsored Midnight Buggy Race through the streets of the Old Quarter is facing the axe following a display of almost complete disinterest and apathy by the local inhabitants. Apparently they prefer to sit around street corners drinking vile coffee from the Cafe Puke vending machines…

Or visiting the toilet.

Nature Wallpaper: The Crimson Mass

This makes a very nice wallpaper. You should click on it, this instant, and download it with utmost alacrity.

Earplug Adventures: Triple Threat (part 1)

Earplug Adventures: Triple Threat

By Tooty Nolan

Prologue

The honeymoon of Magnuss and Hair-Trigger Earplug had been long and arduous; but now, as their honeymoon barge – the Tankerville Norris – swept by the Moon in a quite spectacular manner…

…inside, watching through a convenient viewing port, the happy couple witnessed its passing of Earth’s celestial companion…

“Ah,” Hair-Trigger said with a sigh, “as much as I enjoyed our last adventure, it’s good to be home.”

“I concur entirely,” Her spouse replied, “I can’t wait to show the boys our holiday snaps.”

It would be only minutes before the Tankerville Norris bridged the gap between Luna and Earth, so the only earplugs aboard casually returned to the bridge…

…just in time to watch as their trusty vessel breached the planet’s atmosphere and plunged towards the clouds below…

“You know, Hairy,” Magnuss began…

But he never completed his line: Hair-Trigger spoke the words for him:

“There’s no place like home.”

Then it was time for a fly-through of the towers in the city that lay closest to the Museum of Future Technology – Ciudad de Droxford – where the inhabitants took to the roof tops to wave their collective welcome…

Then, having shown off sufficiently, the ship curved around in a wide parabolic arc – to reveal the museum itself upon the bridge holo-screen…

“Who would have thought,” Magnuss said as he took in the view, “what might have become of the Museum of Future Technology if my brothers and I hadn’t visited it on that fateful morning, so many years ago.”

“Two things, in all probability.” Hair-Trigger replied in an instant. “The museum would have fallen to the first invaders: and I would never have met you.”

Magnuss smiled at this. “Best not go back in time and change anything, then.” He said.

And he continued to smile as the ship approached their destination…

…because he was very much looking forward to the pool party that his brothers had planned for the afternoon of their arrival…

And he especially wanted to try out the new Café Puke drone delivery service. He wondered; did the coffee arrive in a plastic mug – or did the drone squirt the vile brown mess into the customer’s own mug from an internal reservoir?

“Or maybe,” he said aloud, “they squirt it straight into the customer’s mouth.”

Hair-Trigger would have questioned Magnuss’ strange and unexpected line of dialogue, but she didn’t have time: the Tankerville Norris was settling upon a landing tower…

They were back:  the honeymoon was past tense: it was time to get on with married life with the museum’s greatest hero. And, as she unbuckled her seat belt, she couldn’t help but wonder what terrible threat would next test the mettle of the inhabitants of the Museum of Future Technology.

“Something pretty off-the-wall, probably.” She said.

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2021

The Magnum Opus Rolls On

Never one to sit back on his heels and contemplate his scrotum, Tooty Nolan has gone straight to work upon the sequel to The Lines of Tah-Di-Tah. Some shots have already been…ugh…shot: and a few  words written too! So stand by for the first instalment of Triple Threat:  the 43rd volume of the eight-year (so far) story. Here’s a handful of taster-photos… 

Lookin’ good!

Galactic Newsletter: Fascists Found!

Scientists specialising in the search for alternative dimensions have discovered an alternate Earth upon which fascists rule with a chain mail fist. It appears that the authorities have a particular dislike for mariachi bands, the members of which are rounded up and imprisoned in cramped, cold conditions by evil black-hatted government thugs, where they are expected to wear their sombreros twenty-four seven!

Portrait of Nature: Poised and Ready for Action.

Well, running away in a blind panic, that is…

Galactic Newsletter: Valentine Earplug Makes Remarkable Reappearence

Following days of mourning, when it was thought that the second-eldest of the Earplug Brothers, Valentine, had perished after entering a single-celled space creature aboard his Punting-Modesty XL5 Facepuncher, the Hero of Earplugdom made a welcome return when he and his craft escaped through the giant creature’s surprisingly small anus…

Earplug News 24/7: Amorphous Blob Loose in Age of Stone Exhibit

An evacuation of the Museum of Future Technology’s ‘Age of Stone’ exhibit was announced earlier today, due to the appearence of a strange alien creature that has been described by those who had seen it, as ‘an amorphus blob’. In the absense of any of the Earplug Brothers, their auntie – Doris – and her betrothed, K’Plank the Space Wanderer, have agreed to attempt mind control of the creature with a special wide-brimmed helmet with aerials poking out of it that K’Plank bought many years ago at a church fete jumble sale…

Sunny Comes to Money

I think it’s grossly unfair: whilst my wealthy neighbour’s property basks in Autumn sunshine, my humble abode must shiver beneath its mantle of snow. Booooo!

Earplug Life Wallpaper: Fashion in the Old Quarter

Just because an earplug chooses to live in the Old Quarter doesn’t mean that they are necessarily into ‘retro’ and all things old-fashioned. Check out the headwear of Butch Flambastering’s new neighbour. He was almost impressed…

Life’s Path…

…is difficult to negotiate because it meanders and is unpredictably slippery…

Walking-the-dogs philosophy. It’s surprising what pops into your head whilst waiting for your dog to finish yet another interminable piss.

Earplug News 24/7: Lavatory Shortage Reduced

The on-going problem of a public lavatory shortage in the Museum of Future Technology was partially assuaged by the opening of three new toilets in the Old Quarter. One for females: one for males; and a cunningly-hidden third ‘secret toilet’ for earplugs who are smart enough to find it. Naturally crowds flocked when word got around.