Wallpaper 507: Floral Rotor Blade

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Coming Soon – to an E-Book Supplier Near You!

Once again the latest story is simply too big for one e-book. So, as a result, the multi-megabyte tale will be published in two volumes. And this is what they will probably look like – assuming that they get past the publishers standards, that is…

Utterly charming, I think you’ll agree. So watch out for more news on the subject.

P.S If you think either cover closely resembles a pile of excrement, please say so in the comment box: I’d hate to produce a shitty book.

The Time Tamperer (part 56)

Back in the recent past, with control wrenched from the feeble grip of Mincey Muir, Magnuss and Hair-Trigger proceeded to un-brainwash the populace – using the same means that Piggies DuPong had used to strip them of their sentience and individuality in the first place. They shoved them into the Android Regeneration Booth…

…which usually regenerated androids, but also (as a side-effect) made smart people dumb. They began with the biological androids – Montagu and Agnes Lovehandles – who, in turn took over the task…

…thus releasing Magnuss and Hair-Trigger to do other stuff.

It wasn’t a pleasant experience for the long-suffering earplugs…

…but the results were worth the misery. So much so that soon the visitors from the future joined a lengthening queue that almost stretched…

…around the corner. And, of course, as the remedy was administered to everyone, the T.W.I.T agents felt very satisfied with their day’s work…

…and led them away for a ghastly mug of coffee at Cafe Puke.

The catering staff watched them leave…

“Well, darn it, I guess that’s us out of a job.” Wilson complained.

Duncan stared ahead, as if in shock. “I suppose all these folk are gonna be heading back to the future now.” He said after a few seconds of stunned silence.

“Yeah.” Saxon concurred. “But do we really want to join them? I mean, isn’t this the perfect opportunity to get out of the catering industry. Here we can be anything we want to be – within reason, of course: we are limited by our sub-par education and average intellect.”

“Hmm,” Wilson responded thoughtfully. “That Cafe Puke place sounds interesting. If we could improve the coffee there, we could make it a real hit.”

“Great idea, Wilson, baby.” Saxon replied. “All we need are a few more customers.”

Well at that moment Magnuss and Hair-Trigger were returning from across the Obsidian Plain. Naturally the overjoyed museum inhabitants whom they had released from incarceration raced ahead. Even as the catering staff’s conversation came to a close, the returnees were pouring into the Grand Hall…

They were happy-happy-happy…

…and headed straight in the direction of the only working watering hole around: the Cafe Puke…

They didn’t know it, of course, but Duncan, Saxon, and Wilson’s futures seemed assured.

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2018

 

Cricetinae Fictionem – or Something Like That: 24

It has been a significantly vast while since I posted an extract from one of these books…

They are, of course, the legendary Hamster-Sapiens series. And on this occasion I have chosen a random extract from Danglydong Dell Diaries.

Fanangy Panakan had lost neither her great beauty nor her foreign exoticness during the years since she arrived in The Where House from a distant land that was lost in time. She was scrumptiousness personified. She was delectable upon fifteen levels of gorgeousness. Every heterosexual male hamster in the dell that night would have gladly taken her home and placed her upon a pedestal at which they would have worshipped. Only Lionel Flugelhorn knew that she suffered the occasional spot on her bum, and that she farted really badly if she ate celery. But for once in her life it wasn’t her stunning good looks that most of the audience were now giving rapt attention: It was the story that she had to tell. So with the voice of a helium-fuelled angel the lovely Fanangy Panakan spoke…

Noodlesday, the Forty-fourth of Plinth. Boney hadn’t been entirely correct when he’d assumed that the interior of the hangar was going to be warm. Certainly it was warm when compared to the exterior temperature, but Fanangy Panakan’s spectacularly erect nipples told the true story. And the intense moisture of the returning fog was making the whole affair look like a decidedly seedy ‘wet T-shirt’ competition. Had his teeth not been chattering so badly that they interfered with his vision, Boney might even have enjoyed the view, but since Gargantua had discovered the ‘close doors’ button by accidentally sitting upon it, the light levels had dropped below his personal levels of ocular acuity, and he was rendered virtually blind. He could still feel his way about of course, but after tweaking the same nipple three times, the act was beginning to wear annoyingly thin with all three females present.

They had Sergeant Tonks to thank for the brilliant idea of boarding the giant dirigible that floated above them like some sort of bobbing-up-and-downy spectre of doom.

“We can climb up a mooring rope.” She’d first suggested.

“You can.” Boney had grumbled. “I can’t. I’m too old.”

“Me Too.” Gargantua piped up from the darkness. “It’s not that I’m too fluffing old: I just can’t climb. I’m a cavy: Cavies can’t climb. It’s a well-known fact. We’re real ass-wipes at it. And paddling canoes too.”

Fortunately Adjusterming recalled his one and only trip aboard a dirigible, and in doing so saved the day. It had been aboard the airship Dragon Slayer as its crew had attempted a non-stop circumnavigation of Hamster-Britain. Unfortunately one of the propellers had fallen into the sea just off the coast near Chunderland, and the seafront fondant shop that belonged to Henderson Dangerpimple had been utterly destroyed by the mini-tsunami that followed.

“This is fascinating, Mister Boficals.” Colin had politely interrupted, “But how will your pointless reminiscing gain Boney the sanctuary of the vessel above us?”

In response to this Adjusterming had looked down his considerable snout at the android. “The Dragon Slayer had a service elevator.” He sniffed.

And so the problem had been solved.

“Cripes, if it hadn’t been for fog hiding the ground, I’d have been really scared. I might have vomited with fear. Heck – it’s a long way up!” Fanangy said as she peered over the railing and watched Gargantua arrive upon the service elevator, which was actually little more than a square wooden platform with a rope attached to each corner, and which was usually pulled upwards by a squad of burly crane operators. But in the absence of the aforementioned crane operators this particular night the gigantic cavy was forced to endure the stress of being hauled up by his new-found friends, and he wasn’t entirely certain that they possessed sufficient strength and stamina.

Eventually, though, all nine rodents made it to the sanctuary of the warmer air at roof level, and the protection from the fog offered by the passenger gondola. Sweating and gasping, the hamsters and dormice either dropped into chairs or directly to the floor. Only Gargantua was unaffected by any physical effort because he’d basically just sat there and let everyone do all the hauling. But even so he still managed to eject several nervous pellets before he could bring the inner turmoil, caused by his ascension to the gondola, under control, and finally to relax. And, of course, Colin – who was an android who never sweated or gasped; but whose internal power supply had reached critically low levels, which meant that he had to place his higher functions in ‘hibernation mode’ before he lost all sentience.

It was during the release of the fourth cavy missile that an idea formed inside the fertile mind of Lionel. He’d already watched pellets one, two, and three ricochet off a roof support stanchion and tear themselves to fragments, and so merely enjoyed the aesthetics of the spectacular display of excremental destruction. He considered how pretty they looked. But the fourth missed, and duly sailed across the void like an airborne torpedo. It seemed to him that the scene resembled a world in miniature. The fog was a bank of clouds: The turd was a dirigible. The very sight of it brought out the wanderlust in him.

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2013

Naturally this book is available at most e-book stockists – including all those mentioned on the sidebar (to the right) or – should you be using a phone or tablet – above, beneath the header. Equally naturally – were you to actually purchase this wondrous tome – you would adore every page. So off you go then.

The Time Tamperer (part 55)

Of course an explosion of that magnitude, when deflected by massively powerful electro-magnetic defensive screens, is likely to take the top off any building, irrespective of its size, design and…um…futuristicness

As the blazing light faded and the dust settled, it became clear that two towers – both over a kilometre high – had been blown away and now smouldered pleasantly…

And it was through one of those enormous openings that Tanganika Chunks had been blown…

…to ride the currents of air upon the anti-gravity belt that she’d had sewn into the waistband of her space panties by an old crone who specialised in that sort of thing.

“Whoo-hoo.” She cried as she drifted off across the ocean. “This is fun: I wonder where I’ll land?”

Meanwhile, in a later era inside the Time Shard version of the Museum of Future Technology…

…three members of the disgraced mountain rescue squad watched the changing light upon the mountains, whilst the other two took a leak in the futuristic urinal.

“What do you think?” Carlos Minehunter asked of the team member beside him.

“Very nice.” Chaz Wassaloni replied. “I’ve always been a fan of modernistic lavatories.”

“No, Stupid.” Carlos snapped. “The view of the mountains: Doesn’t it make you want to get out there and climb them and, possibly, rescue someone?”

“No.” Chaz answered. “There are no toilets in the mountains.”

Any further inspired and spirited conversation was suspended when the sound of approaching footsteps stalled their thought processes…

“Oh look.” Said Cowpat Carlson…

…”it’s the lovely Buttox Barkingwell and her handsome monks, Zak and Bolah: I don’t know which one I like best.”

“Good news.” Buttox said without preamble. “The proper Museum of Future Technology has terminated your contracts. You’re out of work. I live in the mountains in my stranded museum; how would you like to work for me? I’m certain there’s money to be earned saving people from an icy death: some of it could come your way. And you get free board and lodgings. Sound wonderful or anything?”

“I think I speak for the five of us.” Cowpat replied. “We think this museum has a future – no pun intended; we’d like to practice our talents here.”

“Yeah.” Chaz added. “You’ve got great toilets here too. Some of the pipes gurgle real musical, know what I mean?”

So it was a done deal…

…and Buttox departed with a smile upon her face. She’d gotten one over on the real museum: unlike her, Cushions Smethwyke and her cronies didn’t have any mountain rescue capability. Now her museum would appeal to thousands of mountaineers around the globe. As she walked away she could almost hear the cash registers ringing.

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2018