Lost Treasure Found

Actually the word treasure might be slightly over-egging the literary cake. You see, I was trawling through my document files when I chanced upon a book that has never been published. Why it wasn’t published is beyond me: it’s very silly, rather amusing, and very Tooty Nolan-ish, despite the fact that it was purportedly written by Thunderclap Nolan, and  is entitled Newton Frutt: Wonder Butt, and is the sequel to the very short-lived The Boy Who Grew an Enormous Bottom. It harks from an era when I was experiencing depression, so that’s probably why it was forgotten.  I will, of course, put it through an editing sequence, and then publish it – along with the original book, of course. Here’s a snippet (snipped at random) from it…

For a moment Newton thought he was going to die of boredom: He’d never before met someone quite so dull.

“What do you do for a living?” He asked – looking the customer up and down – trying to gauge both his age and his profession.

Age, he thought, maybe a little older than Marty Friedpants: A little younger than Tammy Springarden. Profession? Boring fart.

“I am a mechanic.” He stated in a tone that suggested that he expected reverence.

He wasn’t getting any from Newton. “That’s a rubbish job, and make no mistake.” He said in his most blunt manner, “All that oily crap under your nails. It’d really annoy me – having to scrub my hands every five minutes just to go to the toilet. Or do you have black fingerprints all over the front of your pale linen trousers?”

The Cro-Magnon looked quite disconcerted, and for a moment Newton wondered if he might be talking with an escapee from the Loony Bin – or worse – an amnesiac.

“I am Pipi LaParr: The finest mechanic in all of France.” Pipi spoke as though his name was famous outside of his home village. Then as if to present his credentials he added, “I wave my box spanners and feeler gauges about for none other than Norbert Disentangle!”

This utterance brought Newton up short. Norbert Disentangle? Surely not!  Norbert Disentangle was second only to Garth Lee-Pong in Newton’s League of Highly Rated Hominids. He was, perhaps, the greatest three-wheeled go-cart racer that ever lived. His name was legend within the go-cart racing fraternity. He had been twice knighted for his Extreme Cleverness Whilst in Control of a Go-cart. And had a Filbert Lungfish award for Smugness Under Pressure sitting above his ample fireplace. What he could do with a piece of string and a sturdy plank often caused consternation amongst his competitors, and brought forth gasps of awe from his many fans. And if the string broke, or the piece of wood was found to be riddled with worm? Well he could steer with his ears and subtle shifts of his buttock region.

“Yeah?” Newton said breathlessly – all else forgotten.

“Oui.” Pipi replied – passing a small leather folder to Newton.

At first Newton didn’t dare open the folder that he held in trembling hands. “Is this Norbert’s?” He asked, hardly prepared for the inevitable reply.

“Oui,” Pipi answered in the affirmative, “It is a gift from the master himself. I am very proud of it – despite the fact that I’ve been working with him for years, and witness all his weirdo foibles on a regular basis. Nevertheless he is a great Hominid; and if he were not male, and I was not a male also, I would kiss him on all four cheeks every night.”

At this point Newton felt that he should have passed the leather folder back to its owner: Beings like Pipi were few and far between, and should never, ever, under any circumstances be left to their own devices: But Newton was Newton. If Pipi LaParr was the mechanic of such a hero – then Pipi himself could bathe in the reflected glory of the ‘great pre-ooman’ to his heart’s content.

“Can I have your autograph?” Newton asked as he began thumbing through a hand-written manuscript of Disentangle’s autobiography – ‘How To Win By a Nose’.

“I don’t do autographs.” Pipi replied with a sniff of disdain.

‘Naturally’, thought Newton, ‘you wouldn’t want to risk damaging those infinitely skilled fingers on something so trivial’. And he meant it. 

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2017

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Junior Earplug Adventures: Natural Selection (Part 28)

It would take time for the prospectors to filter the methane and inject the volatile gas into the thruster fuel cells. So Magnuss,  Nennigross, and Lucian left Fang with Julian and Catford, and then went to stretch their legs…

Lucian asked Magnuss for his opinion concerning the likelihood of success for his plan.

Magnuss paused at an intersection between compartments – or ‘rooms’ as they are known aboard flying saucers. “Well,” he said, as he cast his mind back to earlier adventures…

…”up until this moment it has been a case of ‘so far, so good’. So I guess it’s looking pretty hopeful. And these prospectors are no amateurs: they know what they’re doing.”

This made both Lucian and Nennigross feel much happier. So when it was announced that the worm hole had been detected, and that the thrusters were carrying the flying saucer towards a rendezvous with it…


…neither of them pooped in their pants with fear.

Soon the flying saucer became ensnared in the worm hole’s gravity field, and before anyone could think of anything meaningful to say at such a momentous…er…moment, this happened…

And in almost no time at all, the occupants of the former attack vessel found themselves looking at an entirely different star scape…

“Ooh, pretty.” Fang opined.

Catford and Nennigross couldn’t disagree with their boyfriend’s pet – as, indeed, couldn’t Julian and Lucian either – even if it meant the writing of some diabolical grammar.

But as the terrestrials aboard ship stared with wonder at the new panorama, the prospectors were hard at work. Within minutes they had detected a nearby (and disturbingly dark) planet.

“That’s the one.” Brock stated loudly. “We have just enough thruster juice left for a landing there.”

So five minutes later…

…retro-thrusters were slowing the saucer’s descent towards the planet’s dark surface, where all that anyone could see was…

…dark skies and black mountains.

Fang managed to express everyone’s feelings about their new ‘home’:

“Not so pretty.” He squeaked.

And when they opened the twin airlocks…

…and looked outside…

…they could see nothing beyond the illumination thrown by the landing lights. It was an inauspicious moment as they rode the ramp down to the surface…

And, rather than see themselves as brave adventurers, they were a very nervous bunch of earplugs indeed.

“Oh cripes.” Magnuss said. “I have a very bad feeling about this. I don’t like it here. Can we take off again, please?”

The End (for now)

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2017



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The Fence Has Eyes

Stuff ‘The Hills Have Eyes’: I’ve found a fence that’s twice as scary. Look…

“Oh, Tooty, you stupid git.” I hear you say. “Those aren’t eyes: those are holes. You’ve allowed your fantasy and science-fiction writer’s imagination to overwhelm your good sense!”

But look closer, as I did; and I think you’ll change your mind…


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Junior Earplug Adventures: Natural Selection (Part 27)

…what I discovered was,” Magnuss paused – less for dramatic effect; but more to draw breath – before continuing: “that when the ship was returning to Earth, the crew discovered a wormhole in space – exactly half-way between Earth and the Moon. They considered it so important that they left a warning beacon orbiting the event horizon. All we need to do is use our communication equipment to locate it, and then blast in its direction by using the maneuvering thrusters. Then we enter the wormhole; travel through it; and end up somewhere else completely – possibly somewhere nice and safe – like a planet. We can worry about getting back to the museum later.”

It was a brilliant plan, and everyone who heard it said so. Except Wilhelm Von Schnottgobbling: “We don’t have no fuel for the thrusters either. We can’t steer.”

Magnuss was horrified at the news. “But, but,” he stammered, “without thruster fuel my plan won’t work! Whatta we gonna do?”

Fortunately for Magnuss and his terrestrial chums, the prospectors were very experienced in the art of improvisation. It was Galve Mullion who first summed up the true value of their situation: “This vessel is fitted with Bussard Collectors. With these we could collect the microscopic molecules of hydrogen that exist between the stars, and then refill our empty tanks. Sadly, at our present speed, that would take approximately one million years. But Tufty Jetski could have a simple answer to our problem.”

Tufty looked up. “Of course.” He yelled. “Why didn’t I think of it instantaneously? I do have the answer.”

With that he cast aside his Engineer’s helmet. Without hesitation the others matched his exuberant move…

Whilst others were either dismayed, appalled, or merely excited beyond measure, when he told them of his answer to their conundrum.

“What?” Catford screamed so shrilly that her taut lips exposed her upper incisors. “We have to do what?

Five minutes  later everyone assembled in the fuel reclamation section. And shortly after Tufty had shown the others what he required them to do, Magnuss took his place at the…

…emergency farting tube. He felt slightly embarrassed when everyone watched him insert the tube, which was quickly followed by an equally embarrassingly powerful botty bugle. But he felt immensely pleased with the resulting surge of flammable mist in the collection tank. He, alone, had produced enough intestinal gas to power at least a five second burn of the principal steering thruster. Naturally the others followed his lead. Even Fang added his two penny-worth…

…which came despite great discomfort for the loyal plugmutt. But when everyone had ‘done their bit’ for the cause, the tank meter read full…

Magnuss’s plan had the green light. It was a ‘go’!

To be continued…

© Paul Trevor Nolan

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My Emergency Back-Up Back-Up Last Resort Computer is an Apple MiniMac

I don’t normally post about computing, and this one is no exception. Instead here’s a reminder to all you Apple product users out there. The iBookstore lists all of my fabulous e-books (including my Clive Thunderbolt, Paul Trevor Nolan, and Tooty Nolan by lines). For example, were you to click iBookstore, you would be transported with glee to a place where you can purchase (at next-to-nothing) this book…

I know this to be true because I’ve seen them on my emergency back-up back-up last resort Apple MiniMac. That has to more fun than a kick in the groin from a passing water buffalo – doesn’t it? Shit, I certainly hope so!

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Junior Earplug Adventures: Natural Selection (Part 26)

Despite his personal fears, Magnuss plucked up the courage to ignore Nennigross, and forced himself to be positive.

“Guys.” He said loudly…

…”Quit all that panic-stricken arsing about: fate has a task lined up for you.”

This bold statement caused all activity to cease abruptly…

Of course (being aliens from far away) not one of the prospectors recognised Magnuss: but Catford and Julian did. Their confident smiles proved that they had never doubted that their friends would return, following their unexpected disappearance. The appearance of Magnuss Earplug was a bonus, and both felt certain that an incredible adventure was bound to follow his arrival. Questions flowed like raging white water rapids, and filled the air with so much mental viscosity that anyone other than Magnuss would have sagged with brain-exhaustion beneath its intellectual weight .

“It’s like this,” Magnuss began his explanation for his opening statement. “We’re stuck up in outer space…

…and we’re whooshing away into deep space at huge velocity. It seems to me that the only course of action open to us is to embrace the situation and turn it to our advantage.”

This confused the heck out of his audience, but Magnuss’s apparent confidence filled them with some of their own…

“Tell us more.” Julian and Catford demanded.

“Well,” Magnuss replied…

…”Not many people know this fact, but I once read some of the technical logs from the Museum of Future Technology’s sole star ship, Spaceship Number Fifteen…”

“And?” Buddy Napalm demanded.

“And…” Magnuss replied…

To be continued.

© Paul Trevor Nolan

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Wallpaper 331: True Blue

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