Earplug Adventures Wallpaper 63: Defensive Capability

Not very earpluggy, I know; but there are earplugs inside that mighty space craft. Honest!

Their names are Richter and Beaufort Skail…

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Origins 1

When I first arrived upon the WWW, it was upon a now defunct platform run by Microsoft. When it closed, it was they who introduced me to WordPress, with whom I’ve continued (with a couple of breaks) ever since. In those early days I posted old movie stills and black and white pictures that featured my captions. They weren’t very popular; but neither was I. So, I figured, now that more people have become familiar with my humour, perhaps it was time to give them another airing. And here are the first of them…

“What?” I hear you yell. “How is it possible that these wondrous examples of British wit were over-looked previously?”

Yes, I had the same thought.

The Time Tamperer (part 58)

So it was with broad smiles rapidly spreading across their faces that the heroes of the Museum of Future Technology walked away from the public telephone…

…thus allowing others to use it…

“Well where do we go from here, Maggy?” Hair-Trigger inquired. “Tanganika Chunks may be ready to anchor herself to domesticity and a pleasant husband; but I’m not. Not yet anyway. I want action.”

“Fret not, Hairy.” Magnuss replied through an almost fixed smile. “I feel the same way. And I’m not prepared to wait until some whizz-kid in the future comes up with an alternative to the Nevertron. I say…

…geniuses are born into every era…

It’s up to us to find one here and get him, her, or it, to fix up the Nevertron for us. I intend to see my brothers and the Museum of Future Technology again – before I’m old and grey!”

And in that future time the three spies from the Museum of Abrasive Materials had discovered the Inter-Galactic Communications exhibit, where they were able to speak with the vacuum-breathing blobs of Weird Space…

“Hello.” One of the Blobs said, when it finally noticed the spies presence. “You’re from out-of-town, I can tell. If you don’t mind me saying – you looked a little disconcerted. Stunned even. Yes, the Museum of Future Technology tends to do that. In fact I sometimes wonder why other museums even bother trying to compete with it. Well have a nice day – whatever that is. We don’t have days, or nights, in Weird Space. Or toilets either. Or itchy bums, when I come to think about it.”

At that the spies turned away…

“Where are you going, Caleb?” Brengun Rooney asked his colleague.

“Back to work.” Caleb Rotter replied. “Where I intend to hand in my notice. That bug-eyed monster is right: there’s no competing with the Museum of Future Technology: it’s the best museum that’s ever been.”

“Yeah.” A morose Wigo Rong replied. “Or will ever be.”

The End (for now)

Paul Trevor Nolan 2018

The Time Tamperer (part 57)

Epilogue

It was the following day when Cushions Smethwyke finally used the Omnipresent Scanner to contact Magnuss and Hair-Trigger.

“Sorry,” she said through her huge set of gnashers, “but I’m afraid that with the Nevertron off-line, we can’t get time-travel to work at all. It’s as if the Nevertron had always existed and thereby allowed passage between eras. That Piggies DuPong must have been one heck of an evil genius: he planned everything. He just didn’t allow for an out-of-work actor; a disgruntled chef; and a plugmutt turd. Well, anyway, so until some advanced tech from the future arrives, you’re stuck there. You two; the Twits; and our paying customers!”

Magnuss would have responded with some up-beat and utterly meaningless platitude, but before he could do more than lick his lips in preparation, the link with the future failed…

“Oh bum wipe.” Hair-Trigger responded to the darkened screen. “Without a com-link to the Museum of Future Technology, we can’t figure out a way back.”

Once again Magnuss whetted his tongue. This time though he was interrupted by the jangling of a nearby public telephone. Naturally, in the faint hope that Cushions might be on the other end of the line, he answered it…

Both earplugs were thrilled to hear the voice of a chum they thought had been blown to smithereens.

“Yes, I’m still alive.” The excited space pilot’s voice screeched from the speaker grill. “I rode upon an anti-gravity belt – all the way across the sea, until I met a distant shore…

…where the power ran out and I landed in a nice-looking farming community…

Then a really nice farmer came rushing out of his house…

…and introduced himself to me as Farmer Thompson. Well we hit it off like we’d known each other for years. So, when he asked me in for a glass of gin and tonic and a slice of tortilla…

…I found I couldn’t resist. So, what I’m trying to say is; that last attack cured me of my need for daring exploits. There is no way I could ever top that. I’m ready to settle down to a domestic life now. So, what I’m really trying to say is: don’t come looking for me; I’m doing fine. In fact I’m getting married in the morning. It’s been great knowing you; and you’ll always be my favourite Saint and his girlfriend. Byee!”

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2018

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 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