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Junior Earplug Adventures: The Grand Tour (Part 18)

So, whilst Scroat Titan emerged from the cave into which he had teleported; and duly spotted the nearby Metalworker’s encampment…

…and even more duly entered it, where he was spotted by a clandestine local…

 

…his nose led him to a vast pile of excrement…

 

…which steamed alarmingly.

”Jeepers,” he’d yelped in surprise at the discovery, ”that sure looks fresh to me. It can’t be more than a few hours old. And it definitely belongs to a cork!”

 

Then realising that he must be getting close to finding Ballington, he’d made straight for his next destination – the Time Shard Museum of Future Technology…

…where fate cast him into a situation whereby he encountered Yelli Smello and the other former inmates of the Sloshed Antlers penitentiary. But, naturally, the Earplug Brothers knew nothing of this. And even if they had, they wouldn’t have cared less. They had a quest of their own; and it involved the ice planet’s capital city…

…in which Chester continued to admire Trubbol Attmill’s rear end – as she led him upon a pleasant tour…

Trying to break through Chester’s fixation upon her devilishly curvaceous buttocks, Trubbol told him all about her enjoyment of precipitous ledge walking; and how, during the Great Thaw, she had been left stranded when a ledge gave way before her…

”Gosh.” Chester exclaimed. ”I bet that was really annoying. Were you late for tea?”

”I was late for tea; the following day’s breakfast; and every meal for a month.” Trubbol replied. ”The surface of the planet had broken up. But I was one of the lucky ones: I had a flask of soup and a packet of doilies in my knapsack.”

Moments later she opened a door to the outside world, where…

…quite unexpectedly, a vicious fog had descended.

”Ooh-er.” They said as one.

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2018

 

 

Junior Earplug Adventures: The Grand Tour (Part 17)

Meanwhile, far, far away, upon Henhouse Island – the home and place of imprisonment for Ballington Cork – the Cork God’s field agent, who was known by very few as Scroat Titan, had arrived by means unknown…

He then proceeded to conduct a fact-finding search, which included Ballington’s necessarily low-maintenance cactus garden…

He was seeking out the spore of his quarry. He even looked down a long, dark sewer…

…but the light at the opposite end told Scroat everything he needed to know. Clearly Ballington hadn’t produced a huge turd in many months, which meant that either he remained in suspended animation (which he didn’t), or he wasn’t on the island.

“Bum!” He bellowed, as only a Cork God field agent can. “Now I’ll have to go search somewhere else for him. What a huge pain in the posterior!”

But before he set off towards his next destination, he thought he’d take a moment to enjoy the cliff top view…

Then he was on his way…

…to none other than…

…the mountain citadel of Lemon Stone, where he arrived at the observation post that was usually manned by Mr Zinc, but which was now empty because the aforementioned megalomaniac had taken up ski biathlon and was away competing in the world championships…

From there he wandered into the monastery where he took in a couple of religious icons, which made him see red, because he knew, for certain, that there were only a few true gods, because they financed his mortgage and broadband payments…

Thereafter he checked out the monk’s anachronistic toadstool-like dormitory…

…where he finally realised that he was on the wrong track entirely and transitioned, by apparently magical means, to another location…

And this time, he swore on his Great Uncle Gut Titan’s grave, that he would find Ballington Cork’s useless carcass, and lug it back to Henhouse Island – dead or alive.

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2018

 

Cricetinae Fictionem – or Something Like That: 18

Long before those demented earplugs appeared upon the scene, my comedic desires were pleasantly assuaged by stories about sentient hamsters that lived in a parallel universe to our own. Hence the Hamster-Sapiens series of e-books.

On this occasion I’ve selected an excerpt from ‘The Where House’.

Several seconds elapsed before Fanangy chirped up with, “Cripes, Colin’s taking an awful long time getting dressed. Shall we intercede?”

“Leave ‘im alone.” Boney snapped. “It’s a very tricky job – putting on a different ‘ead. And he ‘as to do it with his eyes lookin’ the other way too!”

At that precise moment Colin’s subtly altered face appeared at the side window. “What do you think?” he asked.

“Wowie, Colin,” Fanangy exclaimed, unsure whether she was pleased or disappointed, “you still look like you!”

Then, to the consternation of all present, a ripple seemed to flow across Colin’s face, and instantly he looked like someone else completely.

“By The Saint of All Hamsters,” Lionel bellowed in a voice that belied his tender years, “you look like someone else completely. I don’t happen to recognise him, probably because I don’t watch factual TV very much, but it’s quite uncanny. How does it work?”

“Well,” the strange face said with Colin’s placid tone, “this particular face is constructed with thousands of micro-contortion bars running through it. And the epidermis is made of Vario-Visage.”

Lionel mouthed the words ‘Vario-Visage?’ to Fanangy.

“Jeepers, Lionel, don’t you read all the latest science magazines? It’s obviously an alien version of Bendi-Face – the special mask stuff that they make for impossible spying missions into enemy territory.”

Lionel accepted this. He had little choice. “But the voice?” He said, perhaps with a slightly triumphant tone to it, “He sounds like Colin.”

“Oh, I don’t think so, young fellow.” Colin spoke in a perfect facsimile of Gymp’s voice, “Not with my Alterno-Garglebox insert. With this little gizmo I can sound like any damned thing I want to!”

With that he roared like an angry weasel, and everyone cheered until they were sick.

The public flogging of a number of graffiti artists was just getting underway when Colin and the others arrived in ‘his’ staff go-kart.

Immediately Colin made his way to the Officiating Podium to join the General and his wife, Agnes, there. The others simply slipped into the crowd, and thereby rendered themselves anonymous, and therefore invisible.

Colin allowed several thrashings to take place before he began his act of discrediting Major Hardcourt-Gymp. But when he began, there was no mistaking his intent. Making certain that the microphone, which supplied both the public address system and the listening hoards on local radio, was ‘open’, he sidled up to the general and said, “I say, General; you know you were looking at my willy this morning…?”

The General’s grim enjoyment of the spectacle before him evaporated like a fart in a hurricane. “What!” He verbally ejaculated.

Colin continued as though the other hamster hadn’t spoken, “Well I fancied a second opinion. I wonder if your good wife…?”

He didn’t say anything else. Instead he got out his ‘special tool’.

“The Great Angler Herself preserve me.” The general roared as he reeled back in surprise. “That looks a whole lot more impressive than that thing I saw this morning. That certainly doesn’t conform to normal military parameters: That’d make a damned fine target for an enemy sniper, and make no mistake! Agnes, cover your eyes!”

But Agnes couldn’t cover her eyes quickly enough. She couldn’t avert them either.

“Oh, flipping heck.” She wailed before fainting horribly, and falling from the podium.

“Gymp, you buffoon!” The General bellowed like any good general should, “You’re a disgrace to your uniform. And that is definitely not a regulation willy. You are summarily dismissed from the Tadgerstone Rifles. Go – before I have you shot as a scoundrel!”

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2012

Sorry About My Moribundity

I couldn’t help but notice that progress on THE GRAND TOUR has been somewhat slower than is normal with an EARPLUG ADVENTURE. This is because…well actually I’m not really sure why I’m writing so slowly. Maybe I have my mind on other matters. But whatever it is, I thought I should keep you salivating for the next episode – despite my moribundity – even if I haven’t actually written it yet. So, to this end, here is a small montage that features two future characters. Their names are Dorkan and Dawlish Deathwish. They are brother and sister and they have an entire planet to themselves. Here’s some of the stuff they’ll be getting up to…

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2018