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Junior Earplug Adventures: The Grand Tour (part 20)

With the confidence of a tyrant, Marnus Stenchnee stepped forward…

“Yeah.” He growled. “And if you don’t like it, you can shove it in your ear.”

To both Chester’s and Miles’ dismay, Magnuss equalled Stenchnee in both physical act and style of verbal attack…

“If anyone is going to get something shoved in their ear,” he snarled his reply, “it’ll be you, you big red dope.”

Stenchnee didn’t hesitate for a nanosecond: his response came quickly and was delivered with the assurance of an earplug who believed himself to be in complete control of the situation:

“I wouldn’t test me, Pinko.” The words slipped from between his lips like a string of mercury-coated sausages. “The power generator has a urine bomb strapped to it; and I have the trigger in the palm of my hand. Any silly buggers from anyone and the generator gets flooded with my personal piddle.”

Under normal circumstances, this information would have been enough to quell any thoughts of insurrection: but the Earplug Brothers didn’t believe in normal circumstances. A split second later…

…Magnuss delivered a karate chop to the side of Stenchnee’s head. The world-leader went down like a sack of month-old cabbages, which pleased Marnus Pongfinger immensely. Then realisation struck the ancient, white-haired earplug: “By the Soiled Cacks of the Supreme Being,” he wailed, “we are undone. My evil brother’s puny grip upon the trigger has loosened. Within seconds the power supply will fail. We’re as good as dead!”

“Calm yourself, President Pongfinger.” Magnuss said with a smile. “No such calamity shall assail your fair city. The bomb has been neutralised. Shall I explain?”

“I wish you would.” Uda Spritzer replied as everyone crowded around to kick the inert Stenchnee. “The expectation of a freezing death is…er…killing me.”

“Well,” Magnuss began, “it all started with one of your loyal subjects. His name is Trubbil Dounpitt; and he made a galactic emergency call. One of our ship’s crew heard it and duly took the information to the captain. He, in turn, informed us. As a result we discovered Stenchnee’s despicable plan. But let’s have someone else continue this tale. Let’s hear it from the metaphorical plugmutts’ mouth. Let me introduce my brother, Valentine.”

Valentine didn’t bother with small talk: “Right on.” He said into the resulting, expectant silence. “Rudi and me left Magnuss and Miles holding the fort whilst Chester kept your guide busy…

We thought she looked kinda cute; but we couldn’t take any chances: she could’a been a spy. Know what I mean? Anyway, we went straight to the Nul-Space power generator…

Of course we couldn’t access the urine bomb from up there, so we put on our cossack hats…

…and took the back way inside. Then I emptied the ginger beer from inside my hip flask – all over the bomb. The fizzy goo sealed the bomb in five seconds flat. Then it burned its way through the protective sheath. And that was that: no matter how many times that joker bro of yours pressed his dumb trigger, that bomb wasn’t gonna go splat – no way.”

With that Valentine turned away; happy in the knowledge that he had left his audience in a better frame of mind than they had felt five minutes earlier.

“Gosh, that was good news.” Pongfinger opined quietly to Cruton. “I can’t wipe the smile from my face.”

“Indeed, Sir.” His manservant replied. “But I wonder if Valentine’s reference to his ginger beer-filled hip flask was, in actuality, a euphemism.”

“I was thinking the same thing.” Uda Spritzer added. “I’m a scientist. As a result of which I know a heck of a lot about a heck of a lot of things; and I’m far from certain that ginger beer can burn  through protective sheaths – even the alcoholic kind. It’s a metaphor. You mark my words. A metaphor for his bladder. It’s my scientific opinion that Valentine is no ginger beer drinker: instead he simply possesses the ability to deliver a vast quantity of corrosive wee-wee, on command, with precise accuracy. I just wish I had half his talent.”

“If so,” Pongfinger concluded – if a tad illogically, “I’d hate to be in a cupboard with him when he breaks wind; there’s no knowing what damage he could do to my nasal passages. Have him knighted immediately.”

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2018

 

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Junior Earplug Adventures: The Grand Tour (part 19)

But time is a great healer, and before too many seconds had passed, the two new-found chums discovered that they quite liked the unexpected anonymity created by the fog…

…and considered doing things that they wouldn’t have done normally, in the open air. But good sense grabbed them by the throat and they duly went a wandering – to a place where the fog was joined by a fresh fall of snow…

…which pleased them no end. And when it turned into a full scale snow storm, Chester couldn’t have been happier…

Though Trubbol did begin to wonder if she was dealing with an idiot earplug…

…and so led him, once more, into the palace…

…where she discovered that she too could smile at the thought of doing something really stupid and enjoy the sensation whilst doing so. But soon duty called and Chester rushed to re-join with his brothers in time for a meeting with Marnus Pongfinger…

It seemed, to Rudi at least, that the planetary leader looked ill-at-ease.

”Hey, Marny, baby.” He said with concern evident in his every syllable, ”What’s eating you, man?”

Rudi was to find out…

”Um,” Marnus replied hesitantly, ”Boys, I’d like you to meet my brother.

He has supplanted me as Head of State. Now I suggest you all bow down to him and grovel pleasantly. Quickly, please; years of pointless servitude means that he has a terrible anger within him. He might even have you eaten.”

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2018

 

 

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

 

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

 

Junior Earplug Adventures: The Grand Tour (Part 15)

Yelli had made his farewells by the time that Buttox had rounded up a plugmutt and ridden it into the mountains to a secret, sunny valley…

Stopping only long enough to give the kindly creature the opportunity to piddle up a tree trunk…

…before climbing higher to rediscover…

…the cork gods of the mountains.

“Well if isn’t Buttox Barkingwell!” They exclaimed, as one. They then reminded Buttox of their previous meeting, during which they had given her the magic hat that allowed her to control minds weaker than her own…

Rather needlessly, or so thought Buttox. “Enough of the old times.” She interrupted rudely. “I have something to tell you. It’s about some corks.”

“We know.” They said in unison. “We have read your mind. Now come with us.”

With that the cork gods led Buttox to a patch of instantly forgettable and apparently random mountainside…

…where a couple more corks joined them.

“Fret not, young Barkingwell.” Three of them spoke in perfect harmony. “The matter is in hand. We thank you. Now sod off back to your poxy museum and leave cork problems to corks.”

A moment later the fourth cork escorted the earplug away. Apparently the audience was over…

Buttox took exception to this. In her opinion she was more than capable of departing the secret valley ‘under her own steam‘. The cork’s behaviour was quite unnecessary. She felt insulted. So she decided to produce some steam of her own – and blow it out of her bottom…

…which momentarily overwhelmed her escort’s olfactory senses – rendering him inert. This could not have been better timed, because…

“Did you see that?” The largest cork god exclaimed. “Vile and indignant farts incapacitate corks. Inform our field agent immediately!”

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2018

 

Junior Earplug Adventures: The Grand Tour (Part Thirteen)

And it was also approximately chronologically adjacent to that moment when the ship’s radioplug, Vincent Van Belch, concluded his interplanetary conversation…

…with Trubbil Dounpitt and Wilf Nobblington…

“I’ll inform the captain immediately.” He assured the two Ice Worlders. “This ship is really fast: we can be there in two shakes of a plugmutt’s…er…thingy.”

With that he made his farewells and quickly contacted the bridge…

…where Professor Gout listened with growing alarm. “What?” He shrieked. “But that’s our first destination. We can’t have some half-blood prince taking control. Not yet anyhow.” Then, addressing the helmsplug, he roared, “Make us go faster. Top speed. Thrash our space drive to within microns of disintegration!”

Moments later…

And quite a lot of moments after that…

…the Chi-Z-Sox began a controlled descent through the Ice World’s fridged atmosphere.

Down below, upon the rapidly solidifying surface, two local inhabitants watched as the alien vessel lowered its bulk in their general direction…

One of them was so shocked that he simply couldn’t watch; whilst the other stood there open-mouthed and prayed that someone was capturing the scene on their cell phone camera, whom he could later mug and sell the resulting stolen footage to one of the many TV stations that relied upon the public for its news ‘scoops’. 

As the Chi-Z-Sox’s tongues of fire singed the icy surface…

…more locals raced towards the scene – desperate to be the first to greet the ‘ambassadors of a superior race‘ and thereby become instantly famous…

And as the mighty ship of space settled into the deepening snow…

…one watching couple…

…spoke conspiratorially: “It’s really cold out here.” One said to the other. “Tell you what: when the air-lock opens, you keep the guy on the door talking, whilst I slip past him and use their toilet.”

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2018