Wallpaper 639: The Breakfast Sentinel

Every morning, before breakfast, I shuffle to my garden shed to feed the wild birds in my garden. The first to arrive is Jacques, the Robin, who flutters in front of me like an inebriated humming bird, demanding access to perch upon my hand and pick through the tit-bits I have for him. Then, as I emerge fully, and begin to place the food upon the various feeders in my quince tree, the resident crow  starts calling to the other birds  from my roof – announcing that breakfast is served… 

Why it has taken on this role, I have no idea: but the pigeons and jackdaws seem particularly pleased that it has.

 

The Epoch of Dung (part 12) An Earplug Adventure

Shortly Angel was only too pleased to report recent events to Cushions Smethwyke…

“This can’t be coincidence,” Yabu said as he and Cushions were appraised of the situation.

“It can’t?” Cushions questioned the leader of Yabu Youth.

“Well yes, obviously it can; but it’s very unlikely.” Yabu replied. “Funny, don’t you think that just when something goes seriously awry with the Tunnel Temporale, we find a bunch of enemy Incense Cones hiding in the bowels of the museum?”

“When you put it that way, I guess you’re right.” Cushions acknowledged the logic of Yabu’s reasoning. “But how are we gonna find out: they don’t speak our language – and they think like weird aliens!”

“Leave that to me.” Angel said. “Let me remind you that when the museum was attacked by End Caps from Hyperspace, I used my power of illusion upon them. It even worked upon their Attack Robots. I have a plan for this bunch of evil subversives. They are going to tell us everything they know.”

Five minutes later Angel had joined the captives in the museum’s jail. Five minutes and one second later, all six captives had forgotten they’d ever been in a fight, and were safely ensconced inside their hidey-hole. Moreover, their leader – Emperor Conrad Moose – appeared to…uh…appear on their com-panel…

“Right then,” Emperor Conrad Moose’s voice seemed to roar from the tinny speaker grille, “I’ve been very, very busy running my enormous empire, and I’ve kind of, sort of, forgotten why I sent you to the Museum of Future Technology. So I want you to bring me up to speed with my plan and what you’ve been doing whilst I’ve been very, very busy. Oh, and by the way, I’ve decided to learn Earplug really well, so use that language. Use our own language, and I’m gonna get really angry with you. Understand? Right: go.”

The Incense Cone Infiltration and Temporal Dislocation Squad – as they liked to call themselves – were slightly taken aback by this: their emperor usually despised anything related to earplugs, except news of their failures and disasters. To demand they use the cursed language of their enemies confused them: but they rallied quickly…

“Um, where would you like us to start?” The pink Incense Cone inquired.

Major Flaccid, who was providing the voice of Conrad Moose, decided to take a chance: it would be inadvisable to rouse his captive’s suspicions by knowing nothing whatsoever about their mission. “Well obviously I remember the earplug’s horrible Tunnel Temporale is involved: but I can’t quite recall exactly what you’re supposed to do with it. Like I said, I’m a very, very busy emperor.”

This seemed to settle the Incense Cones. It was the turn of the pink Incense Cone to preface his opening line with the word ‘well’. “Well,” he said as he tried to ignore a nagging and implausible ache in his groin, “we travelled the requisite amount of distance in time to this era, where we set off a chain reaction in the Temporal Cascade Equaliser. Coming from a period in which the technology is more advanced than it is in this era, it was easy-peasy to kick-start the troublesome Tunnel Temporale with a remote hyperspace signal. The first the locals knew of it was when the Tunnel burst into life. But then something unexpected happened, and we don’t really know why.”

“We suspect,” the blue Incense Cone, volunteered, “that the activation of the Tunnel Temporale initiated an instantaneous time storm. Rather than destroy the current Museum of Future Technology, as planned, which would then instigate a massive incursion into this portion of space/time, by our gallant assault troops from the future, and the annihilation of any surviving earplug resistance, something else happened.”

Major Flaccid – a keen ‘amateur dramatics’ actor in his spare time – decided to ‘go large’. “What?” He roared. “What?”

Angel inserted a suitable visual representation of Conrad Moose…

This resulted in the exposing of Incense Cone physical characteristics that earplugs were unaware of…

…those being enormous gobs; startled expressions; and nasty odours that erupted from their hindquarters.

 The pale Incense Cone with yellow lips was the first to overcome its shock and horror. “It’s not all bad.” The creature said hurriedly. “We seem to have created a divergent time-line.”

“Explain to me how this is ‘not all bad’.” The Moose/Flaccid apparition demanded.

“When the alternate time-line reintegrates with the flow of time,” The Green-Eyed individual at the end of the line interjected – and therefore hoped to gain some ‘Brownie’ points – “disaster will be invoked. One of the time-lines will be destroyed. We are currently in the process of constructing some advanced devices, of my design, that will guarantee that it’s this time-line that fails to survive re-integration. We’ll poke them down the Tubo Di Tempo as we leave, just before temporal re-integration commences.”

Flaccid gulped at this news. Fortunately, his ‘subjects’ put this down to a case of ‘wind’. “Yeah-yeah,” he mumbled as he tried to collect his wits, “But won’t the accursed earplugs spot the devices and remove them?”

“No probs.” The pale blue Incense Cone – sensing that it was in danger of being a mere spectator in the Emperor’s eyes – said quasi-confidently. “We’re wrapping them in Bags of Invisibility.”

Again, Flaccid found himself caught unawares. This time, however, an involuntary and enormous fart enveloped his entire body, which was serendipitous because it gave his brain the energy it required to think quickly and with precision. “Oh, good. What do they look like? Do the earplug’s Cones of Invisibility interact with them – rendering their contents visible?”

“They look like unused plastic roasting bags.” The grey Incense Cone, who was beginning to feel like a bystander, answered. “Inflated ones, of course, with the little plastic ties pulled tight. We’ve calculated the likelihood of an earplug-built Cone of Invisibility making contact with our Bags of Invisibility, and therefore rendering it visible, as less than one in a million. Don’t worry, Emperor Moose, the earplugs won’t know what hit ‘em. In fact, they won’t even know they’ve been hit. They won’t exist.”

The pink Incense Cone didn’t want to appear to have lost control of the conversation: “Yeah, that’s right.” He said. “We don’t know what the alternate version of the museum is gonna be like exactly; but it aint gonna be pretty. We can clear them out in no time at all – excuse the pun.”

Naturally, Angel took this startling information to Cushions and Yabu…

Cushions quickly shifted mental gears. “Okay,” she said, “I’m not quite sure what we can do with this info, but at least we’ve got the perpetrators under lock and key. Let’s hope Margret Greenhorn and her leggy dancing girls are on the case in the other time-line.”

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2022

The Epoch of Dung (part 11) An Earplug Adventure

Part 11 already? Flipping heck, time sure does fly when you’re having fun!

However, they were alien thoughts. Thoughts that Angel simply couldn’t decipher – even if she really concentrated, screwed up her eyes, and pricked her bum with a hatpin. She was able to understand that the Incense Cones were planning – or had planned – something of vast magnitude that placed everyone in the museum in danger: but there were no specifics. If she were to learn anything from these back-door invaders, she would require the services of professional interrogators. To this end, she quickly made her way to a seldom-used com-panel…

…where she placed a call to Major Flaccid in the control room of the TWIT headquarters, Swottan Hetty…

Naturally, Flaccid was in the middle of talking a load of old rubbish very loudly to his troops when the call came through. “Excuse me, guys.” He said as he answered. However, when he finally comprehended some meaning from what Angel told him, all bombast was forgotten. “Follow me.” He snapped as he made for the door. “Prepare to repel boarders!”

Therefore, it was a satisfied Angel who turned away from the com-panel…

“Hmmm, I like this,” she said as she flexed her wings in triumph, “it makes me feel all sexy. I’m going to go disco dancing. I think I still have my old tight spandex pants in that cardboard box under my bed. I certainly hope so. Gonna knock ‘em dead on the dance floor tonight – huh!”

In Swottan Hetty, the laboratory-created TWIT operative, Nature Beast was in the toilet when Flaccid had led his troops from the control room…

“Ugh, where everybody go?” he asked the room as he re-entered. When he received no reply, he grunted again, before adding: “Nature Beast smell nervous sweat on floor. Team going on operation without Nature Beast. Matter not: Nature Beast track scent of scared TWIT boys. Nature Beast reckon gonna be a punch-up.”

Whilst Nature Beast made best speed in pursuit of his comrades-in-arms, Flaccid had used a shortcut to apprehend the Incense Cones before their meeting had broken up…

“Ah-ha,” he bellowed as the Incense Cones turned to face the threat, “got you. Now surrender without a fight and I won’t beat you senseless with a tyre iron during your subsequent interrogation.”

Now it is possible that the invaders had studied Major Flaccid, and as a consequence knew full well that he was nothing more than a big blow-hard who caved whenever anyone stood up to him. However, whatever, these Incense Cones were all too happy to give him a fight. They quickly waded in…

Flaccid was the first to go down. With their leader incapacitated, it would have been forgivable for the TWIT operatives to flee in fear of their lives: but perhaps because they were fighting on home soil, as it were, their pride would not allow them to retreat. They fought back. But not well enough. Three Incense Cones broke through their line…

In a second or five, Flaccid was on his feet again. “After them. After them.” He bellowed through a lip gone sore from a punch in the mouth. “Oh where is Nature Beast when you most need him? Oh curse his recalcitrant bladder!”

Then, as if on cue…

…Nature Beast’s grotesque countenance stole from the shadows…

“Nature Beast here.” He said as a look of delight spread across his aforementioned grotesque countenance.

At this point, the pink leader of the Incense Cones would have done well to hold up his hands and say: “Okay, it’s a fair cop: I surrender.” But he didn’t get the chance. Nature Beast didn’t believe in taking prisoners: he kicked the pink Incense Cone somewhere where it really hurts…

Then he clobbered the others who stood against him with his trusty rubber mallet that he always kept in his waste-band…

“Nature Beast says ‘game over’.” He grunted with satisfaction.

“Well done Nature Beast.” Flaccid said as he slapped his subordinate upon his powerful shoulder.  “I knew I was right when I recruited you. Shows what a damned good leader I am!”

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2022

P.S Gosh, aren’t these fight scenes so realistic? It’s almost as if you’re there! Almost.

P.P.S If you enjoyed this episode, you’re really going to like the next one. Lots of exposition: very silly.

Country Life Wallpaper: The Lab Chase

Here, a huge hulking male Labrador chases it’s playful offspring…

Later I met with them, and the youngster’s mother. Being Labs, of course they were kind and gentle. Well the mother and son were. The father ambled up to me with his tongue lolling and his jaws agape; mis-judged his speed, and nearly took my patella off.

P.S If you look carefully at the centre of the upper half of the picture, you will note a blue portable toilet. Just for the record: I didn’t use it.

The Epoch of Dung (part 10) An Earplug Adventure

Chapter 4

As far away as it is possible to get in the space/time continuum, the ‘regular Museum of Future Technology was cloaked in the semi-darkness of approaching night…

Out on the Wide Blue Yonder, crowds massed for prayers to their particular, if ridiculous deities…

Much wailing and beating of chests occurred. However, inside the building proper, Rupert Piles – i.e. the ‘original’ Rupert Piles – was going about his regular duties: that is recording events for later transmission across all Earplugdom. His reporter’s ‘nose’ told him that the strange time-altering being, known as Gobby, would play an important role in coming events…

Gobby was aware of his presence and told him to go away.

“Freedom of the press, Gobby.” Rupert responded. “You can’t deny me my right to shoot motion pictures of anyone in the Museum of Future Technology. It’s in the constitution.”

“I could send you back in time by fifteen minutes.” Gobby threatened without actually turning around to face the source of his annoyance.

“Same rule applies.” Rupert replied. “In any case, I could always fall back on the Security Suite’s CCTV footage. It would just be a bit grainy – and not in three-dee.”

Whilst this exchange of words was taking place, Angel with a Huge Nose was walking into the Grand Hall beside the curator (and former gangster), Pretty Boy Plankton…

“Hey, Conk,” Pretty Boy said to the being who, long ago, had been mortally injured during an invasion of the museum, but had been resurrected as an angel by the museum’s Avatar, “I aint never learned to read real good: does that sign say ‘toilets’ or ‘tar pits’?”

Angel smiled, as she always did. She was well aware that Pretty Boy was telling a lie: she’d once caught him reading the vast volume War and Peat in the arboretum: he was just trying to make conversation. She was about to admonish him gently with a cuff around the jowls and a poke in the eye, when an apparition appeared before them both…

Pretty Boy’s eyes opened in wonderment, and Angel’s smile widened as the ethereal vision took on form.

“This is higher level stuff.” Pretty Boy said as he beat a quick retreat. “I’m outta here.”

Therefore, it was with Angel alone that the Avatar strolled along the adjacent corridor…

The Avatar was slow coming to the point of her appearance to Angel, but the former regular earplug didn’t mind: she loved being in the company of the higher order being. They chatted of this and that, and Angel fought valiantly to overcome her desire to gaze upon the beauteous face of Avatar.

“Yes,” she said, in a slightly whimsical manner, “cornflakes really are tasty, aren’t they.” 

But, then – her mind apparently made up – Avatar stopped walking. Naturally, Angel did likewise…

“What is it? What is it?” She said eagerly.

The perpetual smile upon Avatar’s face slipped ever so slightly. “I’ve become aware of a presence in the museum.” She told Angel. “Sensors cannot find anything that shouldn’t be here; but I ‘feel’ something. Angel, you must use your huge nose to seek out the interloper. This could be of the greatest import. Take care. Don’t fail me.”

With that, a blue glow suffused the immediate area…

…and the Avatar reintegrated with the museum’s structure.

Angel didn’t waste a second. She set her nasal sensors to ‘delicate’, and proceeded along the corridor at a considerable rate of knots…

“What’s wrong with the Angel with a Huge Nose?” people would ask each other as she raced towards and intersection that would take her to an area of the museum that had yet to be fully utilised…

…”did someone slip a tarantula into her underwear?”

Of course, Angel heard nothing of this, and even if she had, she wouldn’t have paused to refute their ideas. For her, time was of the essence. Soon she was barrelling along darkened and deserted back alleys that seldom heard footfalls…

Her nose had detected something. Something she could not recognise. Something that did not belong in the Museum of Future Technology. However, as she entered a region that enjoyed a pleasing deep suffuse blue she slowed…

Cocking an ear, she thought she could discern the indistinct sounds of voices. So, creeping forward quietly…

…she discovered an interior window that allowed a difficult view of an adjacent compartment. Moreover, when she managed to clamber into a position where she could see over the lip of the frame…

…she was astonished to discover several Incense Cones in conversation. Well, obviously she couldn’t believe her eyes. It was impossible that members of a species that had sworn to become the enemies of Earplugdom could have entered the facility by regular means. She surmised that they could only have arrived here by clandestine or nefarious means. Clearly, they were up to no good. So, for the first time since she had proven to her would-be beau – (the youthful) Magnuss Earplug – that she was no longer an earplug and could not love him, she unfurled her wings; rose from the floor in silent flight…

…watched intently and listened to their unintelligible words and unguarded thoughts…

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2022

My Four-Fendered Friend

Okay, I took the title from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, but that’s how I feel my ‘modern classic’ Toyota Corolla treats me. Yet again – for the  eighth time in a row – it has passed its annual safety and emissions test, known in Britain as the (dreaded) MOT. Guess it was a “thank you” for all the money I spent on it during the past year. Or maybe it enjoys sitting on the hardstanding beside it’s cousin – the Yamaha XJR1300 – another ‘modern classic’. Yamaha make many of Toyota’s engines you know: maybe their hearts came from the same factory.  Happy Nipponese buddies, watching the world go by through my car port opening…

The Epoch of Dung (part 9) An Earplug Adventure

 

Shortly after beating a hasty retreat from the company of the confused sewage workers, Margret had the misfortune of stumbling into the plugmutt pen…

“Oh goodie,” the matriarchal leader of the pack cried out with glee, using her rudimentary speech capability, “an earplug: it must be din-dins time!”

In a nearby facility, which had an inexpertly sawn door, and might have been a public lavatory…

…the actor, Bert Frogget, and his friend Cyrus Buttcleft, overheard manic screaming, so rushed into the open air – just in time to witness Margret flee the plugmutt pen…

“Silly old hoofer.” Cyrus said. “The plugmutts thought she was bringing them their dinner.”

Bert would have laughed, if he hadn’t been a useless and bitter has-been whose fame had come by playing Aquaplug in a popular children’s television show many years previous. “Yeah, silly old hoofer.” He said. “She must have thought she was dinner.”

Meanwhile, elsewhere in the huge mud structure, Doctor Pox was seeing his first patient in his ‘new’ surgery…

“These ceilings seem awfully low.” His customer observed.

“Yes,” Pox replied, “I have a sore spot on the top of my head. Unfortunately, the only doctor in town who might look at it is me: and I don’t have a mirror. No one does; they were all destroyed!”

Meanwhile, just around the corner, Delia and Poki had encountered the museum’s bounty hunter and well-known lothario – Hunting Provost…

“Why hello, Ladies.” He said smoothly through a sly smile, “where have you two been all my life?

Whilst Poki sighed and looked skyward with exasperation, Delia replied:

“As far as I can see, we hadn’t been born for the first half of it. Now get lost and go play on your mag-lift motorbike or something.”

Hunting, crestfallen, knew when he was not wanted, and duly stepped aside to allow them access to the mud village…

…from which black smoke belched most unattractively, which had caught the attention of Police Constable Salisbury Wilts: and someone had been blown out of their hovel by a steam explosion.

“Hmmm,” Poki whispered disparagingly, “a regular home from home.”

Margret, meanwhile, had allowed Ninja Perkins to take her to the seat of the mud village’s power, Cushions Smethwyke and Yabu Suchs…

“This is strange,” she said to them, “it was you two that sent us here on our mission of discovery. I don’t think that either of you imagined you existed in both time-lines.”

This came as startling news to both earplugs. “But we had no idea.” Cushions wailed.

“That’s right.” Yabu all but sobbed. “We knew that the time-lines had diverged, obviously: we could sense it with our silicon DNA: but having duplicates of ourselves in the alternative time-line…well it changes everything. We assumed that this time-line would eventually re-integrate with the River of Time, and that when we finally dig our way out of the ruins, we’d be able to rebuild the museum to its former glory. We’d even named it. The Epoch of Dung. Poetic, don’t you think? But your arrival and what you tell us changes everything.”

“Does it?” Cushions inquired of Yabu. “You know I don’t do temporal mechanics very well. What are the ramifications? What’s the upshot?”

Yabu spent several moments considering the question. Margret stepped into the breech, as it were: “One of the time-lines will be destroyed. It’s a fifty-fifty chance either way.”

“It must be this one.” Yabu blurted. “It’s the only way.”

Expert in temporal mechanics or not, Cushions didn’t like what she was hearing: “Why must it be this one? This is the one that I’m in: surely it should be the other one.”

“No, Cushions.” Yabu replied sagely, “I can only be this one. We have no museum here. In the other time-line, the museum remains intact and functioning. No re-build is necessary. There will be no need of a dirty, filthy, incredibly smelly Epoch of Dung. And it is populated by our original selves. We are the copies. The clones, if you will. We must be destroyed.”

“No, no, now hang on a second.” Margret interrupted. “We were sent here to make sure that the museum’s time-line remains intact: but now that we’ve found it populated, the whole situation has changed. If this time-line ends, it shouldn’t be taken that your lives go with it. We have to find a way of returning you all to the correct time-line, but leave the ruined museum behind.”

Cushions grabbed this idea like a drowning plugmutt grabs its own buttocks and bobs to the surface of any liquid – including mercury. “Brilliant – that’s what I like to hear. Okay, I designate you as Problem Solver Alpha One. It’s your job to figure out how to save us all before the time-line re-integrates. Right then, on your way. You have the full support of this entire mud edifice at your disposal. Go for it.”

So Margret found herself despatched upon an almost impossible mission. Even Ninja’s up-beat attitude couldn’t snatch her from the edge of the pit of despair…

 “Oh joy,” she groaned. “I’m a choreographer and troupe owner: what do I know about temporal mechanics and saving the occupants of a mud, poop, and straw-derived society?”

“You’re smart.” Ninja replied chirpily. “Not like the Bozo Brothers, who, having discovered their plight here, tried to appease the gods by taking their sister, Anthracite, out on to what remained of the Obsidian Plain at night, and sink her up to her armpits in the tar pit…

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2022

The Epoch of Dung (part 8) An Earplug Adventure

A short distance farther on, Ragi Half-Nelson had found a narrow ‘bridge’ of her own. She also showed some pluck by walking straight across it…

Sadly, Wendy was doing less well – especially when the experienced Precipitous Ledge Walker, Greta began making the ‘bridge’ sway from side to side…

Whilst Wendy screamed incoherently, Horst chuckled to himself. “Oh what fun we are having, ja?” He said.

Others, though, were having less fun. Having been shown their ‘apartment’, former inmates of Sloshed Antlers Penitentiary, the square-eyed Yelli Smellow, Flob Cunundrum, and their red female parole officer, Gladys Pipe, were in the process of discovering that several amenities were yet to be added to the basic structure…

 

“No sink?” Yelli growled like the former felon he was. “How am I gonna brush my teeth before bed?”

However, Gladys had greater concerns. “I’m afraid you won’t be going to bed.” She informed Yelli. “No one has cut an opening for a bedroom door!”

Through the aforementioned wall, a trio of earplugs overheard this statement of fact…

“Yelli Smellow?” One of them hissed quietly. “This is my bedroom: I don’t want him or his kind in here with me.”

Things could have been worse though. Huget Johnson, who usually crewed aboard the KT Woo with his wife Betty, had discovered that his stairs were yet to be installed…

Unlike Yelli, he did actually possess a bedroom: he just couldn’t access it.

Better news included the discovery that Belle had found her false eyelashes, and was now in conversation with some new recruits to TWIT…

“Do you like your new quarters?” She inquired.

“It’s lovely,” one youth replied. “But not as lovely as you. Wanna kiss?”

A short while later, after Belle had re-joined with Margret, they both encountered Rupert Piles and his enormous 3D TV camera…

“When the tsunami struck, I had a choice.” Rupert told them, “It was either the contents of my underpants drawer; the file containing my home insurance; or my enormous 3D TV camera. The camera is lined with sound deadening insulation that makes it lighter than water:  so it was a no-brainer. I’m very disappointed that the decals have peeled off though. But it has a built-in Nul-Space generator and unlimited memory capacity, so I’m shooting everything for posterity.  Smile now: let’s see those pearlies.”

A short while later, members of the sewage workers union accosted Margret…

“Hey,” Marty Friedpants complained to her, “some people say we smell. Well if we do, that’s because, as sewage workers, it’s up to us to carry the plugmutt poop to the straw and mud depot, where other members of our union stir it together to make building materials. Whatta ya think?”

“Think?” Margret replied sharply. “What am I supposed to think? Rephrase the question in a way that I can comprehend and answer to the best of my ability.”

“Do we smell?” Marty demanded. “Or what?”

“Oh, what.” Margret answered positively. “Definitely what.”

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2022

The Epoch of Dung (part 7) An Earplug Adventure

It was a fabulous tale, told expertly; but Margret felt that she hadn’t crossed the temporal void to hear fabulous tales told expertly: as far as she was concerned, the Greenhorn Girls were here to save the Museum of Future Technology. In order to accomplish this task, she felt it best that her troupe collect and collate as much ‘first hand’ information that they could. To this end, she sent them off to see, with their own eyes, what the situation was in this alternative time-line. She, of course, remained with her host…

She was about to say, “it’s a bit smelly in here: let’s adjourn to the outdoors.” When, to her surprise, Ninja spoke almost the same words – except she suggested they find another location, without mentioning outside…

“I want to show how much events have affected the communal psyche.” She said. “People react differently to unexpectedly stressful situations, like being separated from almost everything they’ve ever known. Look over there.”

Margret acquiesced to Ninja’s bidding…

“I don’t understand.” The puzzled choreographer muttered. “Why is that cup of coffee sitting below that spotlight?”

“It was placed there almost a week ago.” Ninja answered. “We’re still digging all sorts of ‘tech’ out of the mud: most of it is smashed beyond repair or use; but sometimes we find items that still function. On that particular day, the earplug who found the working spotlight had a cup of coffee handed to him when a colleague discovered a functioning Café Puke dispensing machine. In a moment of quasi-religious euphoria, the earplug placed his coffee upon the floor here, and lit it with the spotlight. It’s like I said, that was almost a week ago. The coffee is yet to spoil: and it’s still warm too. It defies the laws of physics.”

Margret pondered this for a moment. Eventually she responded with the words: “No corruption, huh? The effect of temporal dislocation, do you think: or divine intervention?”

“Beats the heck outta me, Miss Greenhorn.” Ninja replied. “I wonder how your girls are doing on their reconnoitring.”

Chapter 3

Well, actually, the girls were not doing very well at all upon their mission. They absolutely hated the hurriedly constructed mud caves…

“Horrible,” Belle complained bitterly. “And I’ve lost my false eyelashes too.”

A floor below the dancing girls, two female earplugs stood in the doorway of their mud cave. “Well,” one of them said to the other, “if that’s all she has to worry about – good for her. But wait until her bra strap chafes her shoulders beyond endurance, and she can’t find any soothing balm, coz there isn’t any: then she can start complaining.”

“Nice carpet,” the other replied. “Dried moss – or lichens?”

On a higher level, a recently married couple were just moving into their cave…

“Oh, by the Saint of All Earplugs,” the husband bellowed as he overheard the earplugs below, “they have carpets. Why haven’t we got carpets?”

“Who needs carpets,” his wife whispered for fear of antagonising the neighbours, “when we have a charming safety rail made from re-purposed bean sticks?”

Higher still, Wendy Rucksack and Poki Kitchener overheard the marital exchange…

“Honestly,” Wendy said to Poki, “somethings never change – even when the world seems to have ended. Keeping up with the Joneses never dies.”

However, any such thoughts of one-upmanship between neighbours evaporated for Wendy, when Horst and Greta Stenchlinger found her nervously eyeing a narrow structure that bridged a gap between floors…

“Oh, flipping heck, Mrs Stenchlinger – you cannot be serious!”

“If one is wanting to use the toilet, young female,” Horst said from behind her, “one is not having very much choice: over there the toilet is being.”

Yet higher still, the former female weightlifters, Mandy and Candy watched Wendy’s first tentative steps upon the ‘bridge’…

“For a dancing girl,” Mandy said from behind a roughly hewn sheet of welded steel mesh, “she sure is showing some pluck.”

“Dancing girls are known for showing things.” Candy replied. “Pluck isn’t usually one of them. An ocean of thigh, yes; but pluck? Less so.”

Mandy might have said something in response, but their upstairs neighbour in the penthouse hovel called down to them…

“Hey, ladies,” he shouted, “I like your clock. If it’s a classic wind-up version, would you care to swap it for a TV with no remote control and a plug-less power cord?”

The subject of their classic timepiece gave the weightlifters a warm glow of self-satisfaction and well-being: it being the only object they owned that had survived the destruction of their apartment.

“No, it’s alright.” Candy called back. “It doesn’t have a key anyway.”

“Naughty,” whispered Mandy, “telling fibs. I know you keep it on a length of string down the back of your knickers.”

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2022

The Epoch of Dung (part 6) An Earplug Adventure

Part six already: doesn’t time fly when you’re having fun!

“Ooh, it was terrible – it really was. It all happened straight after that odd, green, shape-shifting Susan won the Woven Expanse Annual Wind-Breaking Contest…

Everything was going fine. The museum was facing no obvious threat. The local heroes all took themselves on various jaunts off world…

 In fact, I think it was quite possibly lining up to be the most relaxed era in which the museum has ever existed. Then something tripped the dormant Tunnel Temporale. No one knows what it was, but some have conjectured that it might be an attack from extra-terrestrials.”

Ninja then held aloft her cell phone for all to see. It displayed this image…

“As you can see,” Ninja continued, “it was pretty spectacular. A ‘temporal event’, some called it. Well anyway, this happened next. I snapped it from my toilet window…

All seven dancers stared in bewilderment at the cell phone screen.

“It’s a time storm.” Ninja explained. “Well at least we think that’s what it is. It tried to re-set the time-line back to the Year Blob.”

“The Year Blob?” Delia questioned.

“The very first year of earplug existence.” Poki informed her. “There is no time before the Year Blob.”

“But it wasn’t entirely successful.” Ninja continued. “The Time Techs managed to throw up some temporal defensive shields that slowed its effects. Instead of re-setting Earplug history, it destroyed everything it touched. Very quickly, it melted all the ice in the Ice World and Future Alps exhibits. That in turn flooded the Arboretum and Wide Blue Yonder… 

Then the artificial sun that lights and heats the museum fell off its stand and dropped into the resulting super-lake…

…causing tsunamis and all that sort of stuff…

Luckily, most people had either taken to high ground, buildings with solid foundations made from bedrock, or boats…

Then, as the raging waters stilled themselves against the unbreakable outer walls of the museum, everyone set about rescue missions. The Age of Stone exhibit became a refuge for many earplugs; but they all needed rescuing because Cushions Smethwyke had cut costs by building it on unstable scrubland…

Eventually the waters found their level, and an inland ocean had formed…

Of course all that sploshing about effected the Nul-Space Power Generator, which quickly got out of control and became a volcano. Also luckily, we had a Space Submarine Freighter in for repair work, so we used that for ferrying people and equipment around. As is the nature of ‘tech’ it eventually conked out and sank in several fathoms. So scouts were dispatched in small boats to find a way out…

…but every exit was blocked with millions of tons of debris. And, of course, we were left with huge quantities of mud and sand…

“How awful. That’s a real bummer.” Poki said carelessly. “In our time-line everything is much as before – except for the divergence in time, of course.”

“And the Ion Storm that’s stopping all the heroes from returning to help.” Ragi reminded her dancing chum.

This shocked the watching quartet of earplugs so badly that they stepped into the light…

Ninja’s face fell. “That explains everything,” she sobbed. “We wondered why all the museum’s heroes had failed us simultaneously. Worse still, with no surviving tech, we can’t even call out. No one outside these hallowed and impregnable walls knows that anything is wrong. They probably think we’re closed for renovations or something.”

“Or we’ve gone on holiday.” Billy Bromide added.

“Sí,” the unnamed member of Los Natillas said sadly, “No hay vacaciones para nosotros. We work real hard instead.”

“Indeed,” Ninja took it up, “with no weather control or roof, which fell in by the way – when the supporting towers were swept away by the tsunami – we’ve spent our time building houses from the resulting mud. Fortunately, the Seventh Cavalry’s plugmutts all survived…

…so we have plenty of dung to mix with the mud.”

“What about binding materials?” Margret inquired.

“Oh, we got lucky there.” Ninja answered. “There was an old exhibit that comprised thatched cottages and an old barn.”

“Yeah,” Billy Bromide interjected whilst examining his calloused hands, “it got destroyed real proper: but the thatch floated to the top. I’m a country boy, so it was my job to collect it all so other folks could mix it with the mud ‘n’ dung.”

Margret turned to her troupe. “Told ya.” She said.

“Of course,” Ninja continued, “we had precious few mud-building specialists in the museum at the time…

In fact, we had only one – and he’d only spent six months on day release at college learning the trade, before giving up and becoming a tax inspector. He was very good though: he only complained when night fell, and the winter chill froze the mud, his nose, and eventually his nether regions.”

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2022

The Epoch of Dung (part 5) An Earplug Adventure

The photo-novella featuring sentient earplugs continues apace…

Whilst this brief conversation was taking place in one time-line, in the other temporal hiccup time-line, the Tubo Di Tempo burst into crimson life…

Moreover, as the unimaginable energies abated, and the device began to glow coolly…

…the Greenhorn Girls stepped into an altered reality. As Poki Kitchener gasped in surprise, Margret Greenhorn said:

“Er, what’s with all the wattle and daub wall coverings?”

“Maybe we’ve landed in an exhibit that represents a period in history when they ran short of tech and had to resort to Twelfth Century European construction practices.” Delia suggested.

Belle, a dancer who often looked for details that other dancers might have missed, stared straight ahead in horror, and wailed:

“Flip me sideways – the smell…it’s ghastly. These aren’t just mud walls: they’ve got poop mixed in with them too. And not long ago either: they’re still fresh!”

As trans-dimensional dancing girls, it was very easy for the troupe to become collectively fixated upon one subject. Consequently they continued talking about the unexpected nature of the building though which they passed…

“They would need straw to bind the mud and excrement together.” Nokaks informed the others knowledgably from the rear. “Not something commonly found in the Museum of Future Technology, I would have thought.”

Ragi Half-Nelson had been reading up on the recent history of the museum – specifically since the arrival of the Earplug Brothers, which coincided with events becoming vastly more interesting and numerous:

“Well there was that old barn they hid the museum’s interceptor craft,” she reminded everyone. “You know – the saucers that defended the museum from Hyperspace Pirates in their earliest adventure.”

Margret was also quite well versed upon the subject of the Earplug Brothers – particularly Magnuss, whom she thought was ‘kinda cute’. She cast her mind back to the event and place to which Ragi referred…

“Of course,” she cried out in revelation. “The barn contained the remnants of marsh reeds. They must grow them in the arboretum!”

“But why would the Curator Elite waste time and energy on simple, non-teccy stuff like marsh reeds?” Wendy Rucksack inquired in her best ‘oh that’s so stupid’ voice. “I mean, like, this is the Museum of Future Technology after all. Duh!”

“To save money, of course.” Margret explained. “There’s a rather unpopular exhibit that includes a delightful hamlet that comprises several thatched cottages. I don’t know what era it’s supposed to represent, but it appears quite pastoral. Maybe it was here first, and they decided to keep it, despite the need for occasional re-thatching of the roofs. But, whatever, it’s obviously cheaper to grow the reeds in-house – rather than import them at exorbitant prices from outside.”

“Yes, of course,” Belle said as she examined the walls of the narrow alley, down which they now found themselves wandering, “that would explain so much. But where do they find their poop? The smell alone tells me this isn’t earplug doo-doos.”

“It’s a mystery alright.” Margret said with a sigh of exasperation. “We’ll just have to wait until we find someone to ask.”

By the strangest of coincidences, the alley down which they travelled did a quick left-right, and, in a moment, they found themselves facing a solitary female earplug…

None of them recognised her from their time-line, so they each tried a warm smile of welcome.

“Howdy,” Margret said before the mysterious earplug could take both fright and flight, “I’m Margret Greenhorn: these are the Greenhorn Girls.”

“I know!” The yellow earplug squealed with delight. “I’m Ninja Perkins: I’m your greatest fan. One day I wanna be in your troupe. I’m a really good dancer – and, look, I’m already wearing false eyelashes and mascara!”

Margret was suitably impressed: she had plans to expand the troupe’s repertoire, which would require at least two more dancers. Ninja certainly looked the part. “Lovely,” she said, “but first of all we’d like to know what the heck has happened in this time-line. Where is the Museum of Future Technology?”

At this, four more figures appeared from the shadows of a mud hut…

Margret recognised country singer / songwriter Billy Bromide from both her original quantum reality and the one to which she and the girls had escaped. Although two were strangers to her, she thought the earplug beside the doorjamb nearest Ninja Perkins might be a member of the mariachi band, El Custardo Y Los Natillas – so beloved, by the Future Museum of Mars curator, Frisby Mumph…

However, before she could wave daintily in his direction, Ninja was explaining everything:

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2022

The Epoch of Dung (part 4) An Earplug Adventure

Ah-ha, finally we break new ground. In Part 4 you will find pictures that you have never before seen. How exciting!

Chapter 2

At that precise moment, at the main entrance to the Museum of Future Technology, the Robot Ticket Collector was greeting the subjects of conversation…

“Hi, girls,” it said in its pre-programmed cheerful voice. “May I say how lovely you all look – bathed, as you are, in the rays of the setting sun?”

“Thank you,” the troupe owner, Margret Greenhorn replied, “we’re here on official business. No sequins. No high kicks and skimpy leotards. We want to see Yabu Suchs.”

If a Robot Ticket Collector could look disappointed, this particular Robot Ticket Collector would have. “Enormous piles of doo-doo,” it bellowed electronically, “I really like fishnet stockings: I was hoping to see your show – even if it was rubbish and you were all out of step. Oh well, I suppose you’d better come in then.”

Margret, although a generation older than the members of her dancing troupe, was well used to being ogled for her timeless beauty, so took no offence at the robot’s attitude. “Come on, girls,” she said, “show a leg.”

However, five minutes wandering about inside the museum left all seven females concerned…

“Where is everyone?” Poki Kitchener inquired nervously. “Erie or what?”

“This is redolent of that time when everyone was abducted by aliens in our own space-time continuum.” An unusually eloquent Delia Stodge remarked.

“Hiding, I expect.” Margret replied. “Probably under the stairs – with a thermos flask and some sandwiches wrapped in cling film.”

Then she noticed the Robot Guide in front of her. “Hi,” it said even more cheerfully than the Robot Ticket Collector, “you guys must be looking for Yabu Suchs: follow me.”

The streets, thoroughfares, and corridors had remained empty for the duration of the walk from the foyer to the front door of the Yabu Youth Centre…

“Well here you are; my task is complete.” The Robot Guide informed them. “Now go straight in – Yabu’s waiting for you.”

“Aren’t you coming in with us?” Belle Ching asked the automaton. “Mister Suchs has such huge, scary eyes: If I feel my knees knocking, I’d like to hide behind you.”

“Sorry,” the mechanism replied with false sorrow, “but one of my caterpillar tracks is all wonky and pulls to the left. I have to get it straightened out before my limited slip differential explodes in an exhortation of red-hot steel shards and boiling oil. That’s a health and safety issue: it overrides your silly girly fears. See ya.”

With those words still echoing off the museum walls, the Robot Guide was gone, and Margret decided to lead the girls into the Yabu Youth Centre…

…where they were somewhat horrified to discover that the large-eyed male was not alone. The chief curator – Cushions Smethwyke – stood beside him. They gulped as one – especially when the museum’s Artificial Intelligence appeared upon a wall screen beside them…*

Cushions had never been one for preliminaries: she got straight to the point:

“Right, you lot,” She said, “Yabu can give you the details; but the crux of the matter is – we need someone with guts and brains to go into an alternative, divergent time-line; find out what the heck has happened. They have to make sure that this time-line survives when time itself re-integrates – even if it means the total destruction of the alternative time-line and everyone in it. Got that?”

Well, Margret Greenhorn wasn’t entirely certain that her troupe of high-kickers were ideal candidates for such a daring mission: but they had traversed trans-dimensional space without injury; and time-travel wasn’t a complete stranger to them either. “Whatta ya think, girls?” she inquired of her employees.

Six pairs of eyes turned to regard each other. The dark-eyed beauty, Wendy Rucksack was the first to find her voice:

“If it means missing rehearsals for a couple of hours, I say… go for it!”

Five minutes later seven pairs of eyes regarded the Tubo Di Tempo in minute detail for the first time…

Cushions sighed and allowed her gaze to wander to the ceiling. “Do we really have time for this?” She asked herself sotto voce.

Yabu, whose hearing was monumentally fabulous, heard her. He smiled. ‘Cushions,’ he thought to himself, ‘despite all her experience, still doesn’t really understand the principle of time-travel.’

“Ooh,” Belle Ching said to Delia Stodge as the troupe peered into the dormant device, “I used to have a pair of knickers that colour. But they got stolen off my mum’s washing line.”

“Sorry to hear it.” Delia responded. “Were they really comfortable?”

“Very,” Belle answered, “though they did fall down repeatedly during netball practice. But it kept the boys in the maths lesson entertained, so I think it was worth the inconvenience. It’s what got me into show business.”

The conversation might have continued, but any thoughts of loose elastic evaporated when the Tubo Di Tempo activated…

Yabu passed Margret a hastily written guide, then stepped back.

“Off you go, then.” He said with a cheerful smile. “See you when time re-integrates.”

Moments later the Greenhorn Girls had departed their immediate portion of space / time. It was only when the red light transformed into a blue light, which informed those operating the device that the transfer through time had been successful…

…that the two yellow earplugs allowed doubt to register in their conscious thought processes.

“Oh flipping heck, Yabu,” Cushions spoke in a voice suddenly grown small and reedy, “I hope we’ve done the right thing.”

Yabu gulped audibly. “Hope?” He said. “That’s all we have. If we’ve chosen wrong, I doubt we’ll know anything about it: we, and everyone and everything we know, will just simply cease to exist.”

Cushions didn’t know how to react to such a fateful response. “And if we’re right?” She inquired.

Yabu’s smile was wry. “It means you’ll still have to worry about your credit card bill: all the time we’re in fiscal limbo, we can’t allow any new customers in through the door. We’d get sued for negligence.”

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2022

*Finally I get to use the very first earplug picture – taken on August 4th, 2014. Shit, was it really that long ago? Originally they had no faces – just a glans drawn on the top of one. It was supposed to be a tiny pink penis. How juvenile. Then the face was added. The Earplug Adventures had begun.

The Epoch of Dung (part 3) An Earplug Adventure

Cameo alert. Cameo Alert. Lots of famous earplug names not really contributing to the tale.*

The look of horror upon Yabu’s face intensified. “I can’t,” he cried out in mental agony, “they’re not on Earth. Magnuss and Hair-Trigger boarded the Tankerville Norris…

…to visit the Ice World. Having arrived to great fanfare and hullabaloo, they set off on a sponsored circumnavigation of the planet’s equator…

…upon which they hoped to raise sufficient funds to begin a scientific exploration of the crust’s re-formed sub-strata, and discover why it’s gone all visually mono-tonal…

“Okay,” Cushions said with a sigh. “So the ‘A’ team are out of town: what about the remaining four Earplug Brothers? Don’t tell me they’re off-world too!”

“Sorry.” Yabu replied. “Actually they are. They’re on Mars – checking out the progress of planetary terraforming.”

Cushions was confused by this information. “I’m confused.” She said in a tone that could only be described as ‘confused’. “This information makes no sense. The last time I looked, Mars had been moved to an orbit directly opposite this world, but on the other side of the Sun: it has a climate much like Earth’s now.”

“True,” Yabu replied sagely, “but Mars’ deserts have been dead for thousands of millennia. Earth seeds don’t like them. So the boys have gone along to cheer up everyone on the project. And, whilst they’re there, they can get to fly around in the Punting-Modesty Facepuncher XL5 without worrying Air Traffic Control.”

Cushions mused upon this information for about three nanoseconds. “That’s why they’ve gone to Mars, isn’t it? To play silly-buggers on a planet with a thinner atmosphere, reduced gravity, and a tiny population, in a powerful attack craft. Really it’s all about having fun.”

To which Yabu answered in the affirmative. He then added, “It’s their way of reducing stress. You know – the stress of always having to be heroes and failing at nothing.”

To which a scornful Cushions replied, “Huh – I’m so stressed that sometimes I think my knicker elastic will snap with the strain: but I don’t go racing around alien worlds in rocket-powered aircraft. Call them back instantaneously!”

A sheepish look slid…er…sheepishly… across Yabu’s countenance. “That could be a problem, Cushions.” He said. “We received a very garbled message from Folie Krimp and Placebo Bison. They were on their way to Earth aboard the Gravity Whelk at the time. Would you like me to play it back to you on my cell phone?”

Yabu didn’t wait for a reply. A split second later, his phone’s tiny screen displayed this…

Whilst Placebo was yelling, “Aargh”, Folie managed to bellow a warning:

“Massive ion storm encountered in Solar System. All ships should attempt planet fall at the soonest opportunity – like now. Communications are failing. Act immediately. Our ship is loads better than yours; and look what the ion storm is doing to it.”   

The scene shifted to a remote external view…

Cushions had time for one decent nervous gulp before the screen blanked.

“Coms have been out ever since.” Yabu said miserably.

This was terrible news: it should have floored the curator. However, Cushions rallied quickly. “What about those three girls? You know – the heroes in training. They’ve got a great big robot freighter: surely they can do something to help. I mean – what’s the point of heroes in training, if they can’t do something heroic when the need arises!”

“You mean Bunty Bridgewater, Daisy Woodnut, and Ginger Slack.” Yabu  answered…

“Do I?” Cushions snapped. “Oh yes, I suppose I do. Those names do seem familiar. Well?

“Their ship was severely damaged on a training mission by an ethereal alien walking machine on a dark planetoid.” Yabu replied…

…”They’re still waiting for a tow-truck. But, I do have one trick left up my sleeve. Remember Margret Greenhorn and her dancing troupe, the Greenhorn Girls?”

Cushions screwed up her face – partially in doubt, and partially because she was trying to remember when she had last seen the Greenhorn Girls in action. Then it came to her: they’d danced at the wedding of Magnuss and Hair-Trigger Earplug…

“Flipping heck, Yabu,” she wailed, “is that the best you can do?”

Yabu shrugged in response. “I’ve sent out a page to Margret: they should be at the front door right about…now!”

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2022

* Also allows him to use some of those ‘arty’ earplugs shots that wouldn’t otherwise appear.

The Epoch of Dung (part 2) An Earplug Adventure

So, on to the second instalment. If it appears familar that is because (like part 1) this episode has also appeared before. But this time it’s good…

This wasn’t Glumb and Humbolt’s first encounter with the Museum of Future Technology’s curator- in- chief. They knew when it was best to stand up and ‘front’ her. They also knew when to cower a little and behave as obsequiously as they could, taking into consideration, of course, their sense of self-importance…

“Well, you see, your worship, it’s like this.” Glumb began.

“Like what?” Bubbly Salterton inquired of Winston Gloryhole sharply. “What’s it like?”

“Something very interesting has happened.” Humbolt replied as he attempted to view the read-out upon his hand-held Chrono-Shift meter at the same time that he spoke. “If these figures are correct…aah…something really significant – temporally that is – has occurred in this era.”

This was news to Glumb Kimball. “It has?” He inquired as his huge, bulbous eyes snapped sideways to regard his colleague.

Humbolt wasn’t sure whom he should address first. A look of thunder from Cushions made up his mind for him. “Yes,” he said, whilst looking straight at the curator, “and it absolves Glumb and me of responsibility – completely and utterly. This is your baby, so-to-speak, Ms Smethwyke; we can wash our hands of any repercussions. You want to step up to bat? Here’s your chance. Be my guest.”

Glumb appeared considerably relieved by this uncharacteristically verbal outpouring from his normally taciturn co-scientist. “Right then,” he said as the curators stood open mouthed, “we’re out of here. Bye-ee.”

Naturally, the Time Techs rushed to usher their superiors into the Tubo Di Tempo…

…but, as the time machine activated, Widderspoon Flange made to intercept them.

“But you haven’t told us what this significant event in our era is.” He cried, “What is going on?”

Humbolt passed his Chrono-Shift meter to Gregor Koch. “Ask Gregor,” he replied to Widderspoon’s question, “that’s assuming he can remember how to read the data correctly, of course: he’s probably a little rusty.”

Meanwhile, Auntie Doris, so recently promoted to the Curator Elite, smiled warmly at the worried Cushions, and said:

“Don’t worry yourself, Dear: Whatever it is, I’m sure the Earplug Brothers can sort it out for you.”

For a fleeting moment, these kind words gave Cushions a degree of confidence that she so badly needed. Then Widderspoon and the Time Techs returned with some news. News that would shake the very foundations of the museum’s existence.*

Chapter 1

A short while later, Cushions Smethwyke and the curators that had accompanied her to meet the recent arrivals from the future, stood resolutely together…

…and faced the camera of the museum’s TV reporter, Rupert Piles…

They wished to address the entire populace of the museum with the devastating news. Of course, Auntie Doris tried to soften the blow with a pleasant smile, but it did little to lift the spirits of those who watched and listened upon the TVs in the imagined sanctuary of their own homes…

…their workplaces…

In bars, restaurants, and walkways…

And upon the huge wall screens that hung in most thoroughfares and public meeting places, such as the Great Hall…

Even zombies, on their way to a hat-wearing competition, paused to listen and learn…

Wherever earplugs – and other silicon-based lifeforms within the Museum of Future Technology – heard Cushion’s resolute and unwavering voice as she elucidated in her most dispassionate manner, the result was always the same…

Shock, fear, and an intense desire to visit the lavatory. Some – those being first cousins of the Earplug Brothers, Clancy, Brad, and Gilbatross Earplug…

…fled to the lower levels and catacombs beneath the earlier museums that formed the Museum of Future Technology’s supportive strata. But seasoned – if terribly young – campaigners, such as Fulham Peach and Crudlove Twang…

…reacted in a more positive manner. They had recently joined The Yabu Youth – an organisation created by Magnuss Earplug’s protégé, Yabu Suchs, to discover brave young earplugs with the wherewithal to become future heroes. Whilst Fulham considered fortifying herself with the rapid consumption of a cup of Café Puke’s fabled Crappachino, Crudlove was receiving a page from their leader. Casting a quick glance over his shoulder at the sunset, he said:

“Fulham, sweetie: it’s time to act positively. Let’s go volunteer.”

In fact, the only people who failed to react with any observable…er…reaction were Baron Frankincense’s monsters…

…who had escaped his laboratory and were now on their way to the cinema to watch an avant-garde rom-com about high school girls experiencing abduction by a swarthy band of pirates and discovering the delights of tight pants and disco.

Whilst he awaited the arrival of Crudlove and Fulham, Yabu Suchs – of the Yabu Youth – spoke quietly with Cushions…

“So, Chief,” he said, “is that right that there has been a divergence of time-lines – right here and now, in our era?”

To which Cushions replied:

“You’re quick on the up-take. Of course it’s right, you vaguely off-yellow twerp. Something happened that caused the Tunnel Temporale to hiccup, so-to-speak, and create an alternate time-line. Starting, as of a couple of hours ago, there are now two potential histories. One is the correct time-line that will eventually reconnect with the river of time: the other will lose temporal momentum, and stagger to a halt – freezing whatever exists during those final moments before the end of time in a repetitive causality loop that can never be broken. Death will hold no dominion there; but everyone will go completely ga-ga with boredom and probably eat each other.”

A look of horror crossed Yabu’s face. “And in the morning they would find themselves whole again, and go just that little bit more insane. Oh such misery – and eternal too! ”

“Yeah, and it gets worse.” Cushions added mirthlessly, “There’s nothing to say that the ‘other’ timeline gets the bad news. It’s a fifty-fifty chance that it’ll be this time-line that enters the loop. That it’s we who go ga-ga and eat each other. We need the Earplug Brothers; and we need ‘em quick. But we can’t find them. They’re out of town. You’re Magnuss’ protégé; you must have their number; give ‘em a call!”

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2022

* Whatever that means.

The Epoch of Dung (part 1) An Earplug Adventure

Following the aborted first attempt to display this latest wondrous tale of silicon-based life, sufficient photos and enough script has finally been produced to allow it’s creator to release the opening salvo of this, the 44th edition of the Earplug Adventures. You won’t be disappointed Earpluggers. It may be shorter than average – but only by twenty-five percent or so. And you know what they: the best things come in small packages…

Earplug Adventures: The Epoch of Dung

Tooty Nolan

©Paul Trevor Nolan 2022

Prologue

Every day was an interesting day at the Museum of Future Technology – especially since a new spaceport had opened to the paying public…

 

Visitors would wait, often interminably, in the foyer for the next shuttle to arrive…

…to take them to the Departure Lounge – from whence they would board space ships to here, there, and everywhere. Therefore, it was into this seething cauldron of silicon life that the next potential disaster poked its unwelcome hooter. Biological android, and self-proclaimed princess, Princess Agatha, and her friend, Belinda Noseguard, had happened by the long-abandoned (and previously troublesome) Tunnel Temporale, when suddenly it erupted with crimson light. Although technical imbeciles, both long-term inhabitants of the museum quickly realised that any activity within the futuristic tube that possessed the ability to traverse the river of time, but which had caused unprecedented damage when it allowed time storms to rip through the structure of both the museum and space/time itself, was very bad indeed. Naturally, they scarpered as quickly as they could…

At more or less the same time, the three Time Techs, all of which had been marooned in their past by the resultant closure and long-term temporary decommissioning of the Tunnel Temporale, were strolling back to their work stations after a quick visit to the nearby Café Puke outlet to use their toilet…

The chief Time Tech, Gregor Koch, looked sideways at his subordinate, Twinkles Forget-me-not, and said:

“What lovely urinals they have at the Café Puke. So sweet smelling. And the soap dispenser is to die for.”

“Pity their coffee tastes like it came from the same dispenser.” Runt said from behind Gregor.

“Mine tasted like it came from the urinal.” Twinkles complained. He then added, “Why can’t we have our own toilet? Why do we have to borrow other people’s loos? It’s so demeaning.”

“Cushions Smethwyke still blames us for the time storms.” Gregor replied. “She still thinks that our attempt to return to our period in history, during the worst of it, was tantamount to desertion.”

“She has a point.” Runt spoke again. “We are Time Techs after all: running out on them during their greatest need of us was kind’a ploppy.”

“That’s easy for you to say.” Twinkles grumbled. “Of the three of us, you’re on the lowest pay level: you don’t have a fortune in back-pay accumulating in the future.”

Runt had to think for a second before responding. “Hmmm,” he replied, “and I’m not exactly loaded here either. I might consider applying for a position aboard the K T Woo, you know: they’re always looking for crewmembers. You get to meet aliens too. Sometimes they shoot at you with advanced directed energy weapons. But most of the time it’s great. And the pay is terrific.”

One of the older Time Techs might have responded with, “Yeah, go for it: you’re no sodding good to us.” but the sight of the startled-looking Princess Agatha interrupted any such thought process as she exited an elevator behind Belinda Noseguard…

It took both blue earplugs approximately a half nanosecond to cover the distance between themselves and the three semi-permanent visitors from the future…

…where they quickly transferred responsibility for whatever might happen next because of them having found the Tunnel Temporale in unexpectedly operative mode.

“Yeah,” Belinda blurted, “it was all glowing red and stuff.”

“We were so scared we had to stop off at a launderette on the way here!” Agatha added for good measure.

Gregor didn’t respond initially. Well actually he did. An almost inaudible squeak escaped his trousers. But, rallying with alacrity, he said, “Thank you, ladies; on your way; leave this to us.”

Thirty seconds later, any potential CCTV cameras would have found all three Time Techs making best speed for the Tunnel Temporale…

…which startled the crews of two armoured hover reconnaissance vehicles, who had stopped off for a wee behind one of the huge concrete support columns that held up the disused roller skate park roof.

However, nothing – not even the complaining members of the military – could be allowed to slow Gregor, Twinkles, and Runt, as they raced towards (what they feared was) their destiny. Moreover, to their horror, they soon discovered that neither Princess Agatha nor Belinda had been exaggerating…

“I can’t look!” Twinkles wailed as all three Time Techs turned their backs on the apparition.

“Quick”, Gregor yelled above the humming sound that emitted from the Tunnel, “let’s run away; kill the witnesses; and feign ignorance of the whole damned deal!”

“No,” the calmest earplug present snapped. “Pull yourselves together. We must inform our superiors. Quickly – to the smaller, but infinitely more reliable, Tubo Di Tempo!”

Of course, Runt was entirely correct. So, five minutes, and several high-speed elevators later…

…Gregor, Twinkles, and Runt arrived at the Tunnel Temporale’s replacement, just in time to see it activate remotely.

“Looks like someone in the future already knows about our little problem.” Twinkles observed.

He wasn’t wrong. A moment later, the colour of the Tubo Di Tempo shifted into the blue spectrum, and two figures emerged from it…

It was a slightly shaken Humbolt Whale who led his colleague, Glumb Kimball, from the machine.

“Ooh, that was a nasty ride.” Humbolt managed after a bout of retching. “I’ve never been travel sick in a time machine before.”

“It must have been temporal eddies caused by the temporally-adjacent Tunnel Temporale.” Glumb conjectured. He then explained to the waiting Time Techs that he and Humbolt had been conducting some preventative maintenance upon their future version of the Tunnel Temporale…

…when it activated spontaneously.

“Spontaneous, it was.” Humbolt said in support of his co-worker. “We didn’t touch a thing.”

This amused Runt because it displayed a level of insecurity that matched his immediate superior’s. He was almost tempted to say, “See, Gregor, even your boss feels the need to cover his arse.” but he didn’t get the opportunity because Glumb continued to relate their tale…

“So, after due consideration, we thought we ought to get ourselves here and see if there was someone else would could pin the blame on.”

It was very fortunate for Gregor that Cushions Smethwyke had been following the situation aboard the Omnipresent Scanner. Just as Glumb had spoken those words, she and several curators entered the room.

“Ah, she said, as the surprised Time Techs turned to meet the party…

…”you’re all as bad as each other in the future. It’s time someone stepped up to the plate and took some responsibility. Well I’m here to say to you, stand aside, you gutless wonders: Cushions Smethwyke has entered the building.”

She then demanded to know ‘what the heck’ was going on.

Paul Trevor Nolan 2022

P.S If you ‘Liked’ this before, I’d be very pleased if you ‘Liked’ it again.

Nature Wallpaper: Hiding in Plain Sight

He thought he was all alone…

Pastoral Wallpaper: The Village Flock

For some reason, the village in which I reside peacefully(ish), has a flock of it’s own. The sheep aren’t used for anything: they are there just to look nice…

Unfortunately they also shit all over the place.

Tooty the Chef and the Near Linguine Cheese Disaster

Tooty the Chef had been talked into attempting his late wife’s signature Spaghetti Cheese. Despite a talent that transcends gastronomy, he had his doubts – especially when he discovered that the larder contained insufficient quantities of Italy’s finest export (not counting Asti Spumante of course). So he went with Linguine instead. I mean, why not: it’s all bloody pasta, isn’t it? After boiling it for the required period of time, he drained the sloppy result and went looking for his world-famous Roasting Thing. But, oh curses; something inexplicable had happened to his world-famous Roasting Thing. A corner had fallen off!

What a to-do. And what was he to do? His other Roasting Thing was too small and oval shaped. No good at all. Then his late wife came to the rescue. The thought entered his head that he should look on the bottom shelf – right at the back – of the kitchen corner unit; a place that is best known for chill winds and stygian darkness. And there he found it: a new, never-been-used Roasting Thing. So he mixed the linguine with some chopped tomatoes, passata, tomato paste, garlic paste, grated cheddar, grated mozzarella, black pepper, spaghettata al limone, and peas. The gooey result was then hurled into the middle shelf of a maxxed-out oven for twenty-five minutes…

Yippie – spaghetti cheese – just the way his children’s mother used to make it…

…except for the linguine – so it wasn’t quite the same. But it was similar. Another success for the floppy-buttocked burk!

The Lightning Tree

And just to prove it, here’s a version of it that I’ve fiddled with…

That will have to get used in an Earplug Adventure.

Earplug Adventures Wallpaper: Extreme Precipitous Ledge Walking

From the forthcoming EPOCH OF DUNG…

…Horst and Greta Stenchlinger teach Wendy Rucksack the rudiments of precipitous ledge walking. 

Nature Wallpaper: A Warm Evening in May

Pig Sick and Thinking of Spain

If you are a long-term reader of this illustrious blog, you’ll know that I have a long lasting affection for Spain. As I watched the three-day build up to the 2022 Spanish MotoGP – with the first mass crowd in evidence since the original Covid 19 lockdown in 2020 – I could almost feel the heat of the sun as it beat down upon the spectators from a perfect blue Spring sky above Jerez. I could smell the jasmine, scorched soil, drains, and petrol fumes. As the meeting progressed, more and more I wanted to be there. But I didn’t let it effect me: I was at home, with my family, and that was that. Then, as the meeting came to a close, a camera panned around to the motorcycle park – zooming in on a portion of it. The air sloughed from  my lungs and my shoulders slumped. But not before I’d freeze-framed the playback. This is what I’d seen…

I went to bed – totally pissed-off.

Tooty the Chef’s Tips on Presentation.

Here’s a very simple tip to follow from Tooty the Chef…

It really doesn’t matter how you slap the grub on the plate: just make sure that the cutlery matches the accompanying drink. Or vice versa. The guests / recipients will be so impressed that no one will notice the food…

Hoi Sin stir fry, by the way. Tasty.

Rural Wallpaper: Young and Inquisitive

“Hey, Ma – there’s a strange thing with two legs over here. It’s looking at me!”

“Ignore it, Dear – and eat your greens.”

Making Art Out of Doo-Dahs and Thingamabobs: The Invasion from Hyperspace Begins

The thingamabobs and doo-dahs in question here are laserjet printer ink on cardboard,  industrial light fittings, and a small infinity mirror. Oh, and bags of fabulous creative genius naturally.