Just in case you didn’t know, but this fabulous e-book…
…is available in PDF form, absolutely free and gratis. Just click the image and the tale will present itself to you, to either read now, or download for when you’re in the mood for a gentle chuckle. You can even show it to your nearest and dearest! It’s quite short too – so you won’t get bored stupid.
Fortunately, for the following dance, someone had found a large piece of green stained glass, which he or she then placed in front of the lantern that lit the plaza…
The timing was perfect, because Belle took the central role in what Margret called her ‘Nut Jobs in the Wood’ dance. She’d even designed the hazelnut hats they wore, and was understandably proud of her work.
A pseudo-waltz then took centre stage…
…with Margret, Belle, and Poki swirling around the plaza in the only flouncy dresses they had managed to bring with them through the Tubo Di Tempo. It was an artistic delight, and everyone who saw it knew they would probably never forget this moment of perfect earplug elegance. Some even sobbed with joy at the beauty of the spectacle.
Of course, with his camera fully powered by an internal Nul-Space generator, Rupert Piles captured every moment and movement of the show…
For a pastoral routine, and in the absence of the maypole, the girls chose, instead, to dance around an enormous poop…
However, the fumes given off by the extreme excrement…
…meant that Margret had to abbreviate the routine before they collapsed. Fortunately, a few gulps of cool evening air soon had the girl’s wits reunited with their feet, and it was on to the show-stopping Kicking Line that showgirls, the world over, are most famous for…
Then it was over. Done. Finished. The curtain, had there been one, would have fallen. Cushions came on to calm the frenzied crowd…
She addressed those for whom the show had really been performed.
“Gods,” she said, “did you see that? Did you see what earplugs are capable of? We call out to you, in your weird realm of weirdiness. We beseech you take a bit of bloody notice, you stuck-up gits. Look at what your creations can do. Look at the crap we’re in too. So show yourselves. Take these lovely, leggy dancing girls, and listen to what they have to say. That’s it. Oh, and yeah: help!”
With Nature Beast’s support, Gobby staggered forward…
“I’m doing it.” He groaned. “I’m repeating this show, over and over, at fifteen minute intervals. If the gods don’t see it the first time, they can use the temporal catch up facility.”
“That’s good,” Cushions said as the light of the distant sunset made the plaza glow a pleasant shade of yellow…
…”coz you’re also re-broadcasting Rupert’s televised version as well…
As is my usual practice, the complete e-book becomes available to the general public prior to the posting of the final episode. Why I do it that way, I just don’t know. And, of course, since I no longer publish them on Lulu-com in EPUB form, they are not (strictly speaking) proper e-books. But PDF is a reasonable compromise, and I’ve not heard anyone complaining. So here it is. Just click on the cover image to unleash the file, which you can either read on-line or download for later consumption.
Part fourteen already? They do say that time flies when you’re having fun. Here is the latest extract…
So, a few minutes later, they found themselves outside the tent of Madame Nellie – Fortune Teller to the Rich and Famous…
“Are you feeling up for it?” Hair-Trigger asked a reluctant Magnuss.
“I’m not sure,” the hesitant hero replied. “What if she’s the real deal? What if she really can see my future?”
“What’re the chances of that?” Hair-Trigger scoffed. “If she was any good, she wouldn’t have a tent in a bazaar in the arse-end of nowhere.”
But neither could say more because Madame Nellie was about to invite them inside…
“Welcome, my darlings.” She said expansively. “Welcome to my humble abode. I’ve actually got a nice place ‘round the corner; but it’s a bit off the beaten track and nobody can find it without satellite navigation. So it’s the handsome young husband who wants his fortune told, is it?”
Magnuss hadn’t realised that Nellie was perfectly capable of hearing them through the thin fabric of her tent, so was duly impressed. “Yes please.” He said. “Where do I sign? How much does it cost? Will you need to touch me anywhere?”
Nellie smiled at this. “Only the once.” She answered. “Just a momentary caress of your temple.” But when she performed the simple act, something seemed to change in her. Her gentle bonhomie evaporated…
“This is no good.” She snapped. “We must leave this tent immediately. Follow me. Hurry now: don’t dawdle.”
Both Earthling earplugs were taken aback, but that didn’t stop them from acquiescing to the fortune teller’s demand. They quickly found themselves hurrying along a narrow corridor between the town’s quarters…
Earplugs passed them in the opposite direction – none of which made eye contact…
Then, unexpectedly, they exited a building – into the Old Quarter…
Magnuss – now genuinely concerned for their safety – noted the name of the street. Then it was along to another ancient abode…
But once inside the tiny one-up/one-down house, his fears receded. They were alone with the solitary unarmed female…
Both earplugs tried smiling; but it didn’t do any good: Nellie was as serious as ever…
“You are Magnuss Finklestein Earplug.” She stated matter-of-factly. “Don’t ask me how I know that. Suffice to say that I am ‘the real deal’. I am clairvoyant: I can see your future. I can also see your past.”
This last line had Magnuss feeling nervous and vulnerable. “Can you see the time when I was walking home from school and I had a surreptitious tinkle in Missus Snook’s old air raid shelter?”
For a moment Nellie paused. “Aah, no.” She replied. “Thankfully not. But don’t prevaricate: this is absolutely important. I now know that your wife is also cut from heroic material. This is good. You will need her help.”
“He’s got it.” Hair-Trigger interrupted. “Always – no matter what. Even if he did urinate in Missus Snook’s old air raid shelter. By the way, I hope the smell didn’t linger, Magnuss. “
“I had a can of air freshener in my school satchel.” Magnuss replied. “It was like a security blanket for me. I eventually grew out of it.”
“Will you two shut up, for flip’s sake!” Nellie bellowed: “I’ve got something really important to tell you. But first a question: do you believe in pre-destination?”
Magnuss felt uncomfortable with the subject. If he said ‘yes’ it meant that he didn’t accept free will. If he said ‘no’ it suggested that he had a closed mind. “I’m not sure.” He said.
“Good.” Nellie responded unexpectedly. “Keep a firm grip upon your agnosticism: you’re going to need it. Here’s another question: have you ever heard of the Lines of Tah-Di-Tah?”
Both young earplugs pulled puzzled faces and shook their heads.
“Good.” Nellie surprised them again. “Because you, Magnuss, are going to discover them.”
“Ugh?” Magnuss and Hair-Trigger said in unison. Magnuss then added: “But what are the Lines of Tah-Di-Tah?”
At this Nellie merely shrugged her shoulders. “I’m a fortune teller.” She replied. ”Not the Fountain of Knowledge. I don’t know what they are; but you are going to find them. And – apparently – the continued existence of Tah-Di-Tah depends upon it. That’s it – on your way: now it’s all down to you.”
So it was a somewhat shell-shocked couple who exited the hovel through the back door…
“What are we gonna do?” They cried as one. Then Hair-Trigger added: “A whole world depends on what we do next.”
“I know.” Magnuss wailed. “Right now I wish we’d taken our honeymoon on Worstworld – just as its star goes nova. That wouldn’t have been half as bad as this. I don’t know what to do – and I don’t like not knowing what to do. It’s not in my DNA!”
So wrapped up in their worries were Magnuss and Hair-Trigger that they didn’t even notice the group of lost tourists walk by in the opposite direction…
So they wandered back in the direction of the Hotel Gilb…
…down some alleyways that were very dark indeed. And all Magnuss could think about was the joy he’d experienced when he discovered the Tankerville Norris’ futuristic urinal…
…which led to another thought.
“Hairy,” he said, “I think I’m getting an inkling of an idea. It has something to do with Bunk-Bunk Bunsen and his space ship plans. I don’t think it was an accident that the Scrotonites got their hands on them. I think they were supposed to!”
With only 89 photos complied for The Lines of Tah-Di-Tah currently, it is (perhaps) a little early to display the opening episode: but I couldn’t stop myself. And it’s only the prologue, so it gives nothing away. And it sets the scene for what happens in all the pictures that I’m yet to shoot – if you get my drift. This is a departure for me. But what the heck? Enjoy…
Yet another fine day swam into view at the Museum of Future Technology…
…and Cushions Smethwyke was already performing her duties atop the Omnipresent Scanner beside her boyfriend and museum co-curator – former bounty hunter Hunting Provost…
As they scanned all of reality for anything that might threaten the museum in any way, Hunting decided to make light conversation.
“That Descartes fellow certainly talked a load of twaddle.” He said. “Yesterday evening, just before the sun set, I was on the garden lounger with one of his books: couldn’t understand a word of it.”
Cushions wasn’t really listening: she had something to tell Hunting, and she didn’t really know how to approach the subject. “Hmmm,” she responded, “nice.”
This caught the stripy earplug’s attention. “Nice?” he queried. “What’s nice about my inability to comprehend some French guy’s philosophical ramblings? If anything, I’d say that the word ‘nasty’ was more appropriate.”
Cushions nerve snapped. “Oh, Hunting,” she wailed, “I have something of vast import to tell you: and I know that, in your heart, you are going to be devastated by it.”
Cushions decided to plunge ahead. “When you were on your sun lounger, Magnuss Earplug and Hair-Trigger Provost stopped by the office.”
Despite his best efforts Hunting failed miserably to hide his emotions. “That little fart?” He responded with a tremulous voice. “What did he want?”
“They’ve set the date for their wedding.” Cushions answered. “They’d come to check if you would be away on museum business as usual the day after tomorrow. They were hoping for a fait accompli: but I told them you’d decided to go next week instead. They were a tad displeased.”
“I hope you told them to go jump in the lake.” Hunting growled. “I know that Hair-Trigger and I divorced long ago, and that I should never have insisted that she become a bounty hunter, and that I’m famous for my female earplug-chasing, and that she grew bored of falling from the back of my mag-lift motorcycle when I pulled massive wheelies along busy roads whilst showing off to all and sundry: but, darn it, she was my wife: I see no reason why she would fall in love with that daft little orangey-pink oik, and then have the temerity to marry him. I mean, it’s not natural is it!”
Cushions sighed. “Actually it is natural.” She said quietly – her task forgotten for the moment. “Entirely natural. In fact it was so natural that I called Rupert Piles and his huge 3D TV camera. The four of us visited the lake, and I shot a short video in which I informed everyone in the museum of the impending nuptials.”
Hunting groaned, before adding: “They weren’t wearing their stupid sombreros, were they? I don’t think I could stand that.”
Cushions failed to answer his question – if it was really a question at all: of course they had worn their sombreros: what else would they wear? Instead she said: “They asked me to recommend a honeymoon location. I suggested the new Age of Stone exhibit: they have a lovely hotel there: it’s called the Castle of Smiles…
Unfortunately, when they visited it there had a been a terrible deluge. Apparently the climate control is acting up, and no one from this era knows how to fix it…
The central courtyard of the castle is entirely flooded. Worse still, when they tried the accommodation area, winter had set in with a vengeance…”
“Good,” Hunting snapped, “serves ‘em right. They deserve it. Well he does anyway. Hope he froze his butt off.”
Cushions decided to ignore Hunting’s venomous outburst. “I was in the arboretum when they came complaining…
…so I suggested they could go to Spain and use their Auntie Doris’s swimming pool – like they did the summer before last, when things went very badly for the museum, and the Earplug Brothers weren’t here to save us…
I think they considered it for a nanosecond. They recalled being quite impressed with the Jacuzzi…
But then they remembered Magnuss’ motion sickness problem…
…and told me to stick the idea in my ear and think of something else. I said I’d get back to them. So, in search of inspiration, I went to the Grand Hall, which was empty and silent…
…where I had a great idea. A truly wondrous idea. A Galaxy-spanning idea. An idea so fabulous that I still can’t believe that it was me who thought of it. So I’ve laid my plans and contacted everyone who needs to be contacted. So, like it or not – Hunting Provost – the show goes on at ten minutes after thirteen o’clock the day after tomorrow.”
If you are one of those brave folk who have persisted with the consumption of Earplug Adventures over a long period of time, it’s quite probable that you will recall pertinent scenes by your recognition of a set – or vice versa. But just to test that hypothesis, check out the following. Here’s a simple one to start with. Two yellow earplugs standing upon a tarpaulin that has sagged and filled with rain water…
What great potentiality did I notice in this? Yes, it’s…
…two of the dancing Greenhorn Girls (can’t remember which ones) by the beach in The Missing.
So what about this fabulously vague piece of cardboard that has been dirtied by the incessant rubbing against it by lengths of aluminium extrusion, and a sheet of translucent plastic stuff that wrapped the aforementioned?
Well, combined artistically they become…
…a snow scene and a distant wintery forest. Honestly they do. Look here’s those unemployed (and unemployable) couch potatoes, D’Neferious Berk, Freda Conk, Numpty Dingbat and Clem Borstal in a scene from Time Shard Museum…
Getting the hang of it? Try this one…
If you’re not sure what you’re looking at, it’s two pieces of split 4 x 2 timber, set against a sheet of styrofoam. Now clearly this is supposed to be a rock formation and a blue/grey sky. No? Well it is. And the end result of my transformation of the original shot is…
…Patti Roularde and Nobby Hollister engaged on a Precipitous Ledge Walk in a snow storm in Haunted Mars. Ah, now you remember. So what about this one..?
There’s some giveaway signage on this piece of legendary prop. What does it say? Transfer Conduit Station Seven? Lordy, has this set been used a multitude of times – though not always as Transfer Conduit Station Seven…
Here it is as Lottery Central in Winning Numbers, and in the following shot as a desert fortress in Cometh the EarplugVol 2…
Of course I couldn’t let this set pass without displaying it as it should be seen: as the previously mentioned Transfer Conduit Station – this time witnessing the arrival of the Jaundice Family in Unity Vol 2…
So, try your hand at this set…
Ugh, it’s a nasty rust stain at the bottom of a brick wall that appears to be on the inside of a factory or warehouse. No it’s not. Not in my make-believe world it aint. It’s actually…
…a wonderful distant city, discovered (in The Grand Tour Vol 2) by sibling adventurers Dorkan and Dawlish Deathwish. And what an adventure they had. Of course you can view all of the Earplug Adventures by clicking HERE and reading (or downloading) the complete stories in PDF. Do it now – before the servers are overwhelmed by demand.
I didn’t think it unreasonable of me to expect to add The Age of Stone to my list of free e-books on this blog’s sidebar. I mean, every other book is there: why not the latest? Well WordPress had other ideas. The ‘Classic’ posting system just wouldn’t work. I mean, it wasn’t even there to try. And the new ‘Block’ system (which I loathe with an intensity usually reserved for recalcitrant ink jet printers and DVD players that can’t recognise that there is a DVD in the tray) just sat there and did nothing – for ten minutes – before I gave up; called it several names, none of which are printable here; cursed the designer of the ‘block’ system to perminent impotence, considered creating a voodoo doll; and decided on an alternative course of action. And this is the alternative course of action. All Earplug Adventures in PDF Format Unexpurgated & FREE! Yup, there’s a page beneath the header that now contains every Earplug Adventure file, which can be accessed by anyone and everyone absolutely free. And very nice they are too. Well worth a visit. Now, if WordPress would kindly allow me, I’d like to remove those free e-books from their fucking sidebar. But I’m not hopeful. Bunch of shits.
Ever wondered what the Earplug Adventures would look like minus the photos? Might their absence highlight the shortcomings of the writing? Well let’s find out, shall we? Here’s a couple of brief extracts. In this case from this tremendous tale…
As usual there are two brief extracts presented. Both chosen by Mr Sheer Randomness.
“Ladies, Gentlemen, and P.C Wilts,” Runt spoke clearly above the building excitement that ran like a raspberry ripple through the assembled V.I.Ps, “may I present to you the Tubo Di Tempo. It’s a new, mini version of the Tunnel Temporal – designed by the brilliant Italian scientist, Piggies Du Pong.”
“If you don’t mind me saying,” the charming (if ancient) former movie star, Sir Dodger Muir interrupted, “Piggies Du Pong doesn’t sound overtly Italian. Rather, I’d wager the fellow hails from either Belgium or France.”
“In your era, perhaps.” Runt replied. “But in Piggies’ era he’s Italian; so shut it, okay?”
Sir Dodger was about to author a dazzlingly witty riposte, when his train of thought was interrupted by the activation of the Tubo Di Tempo and the arrival of two bug-eyed weirdos from another time zone. Instantly the newcomers addressed Cushions Smethwyke. With a curt bow the smaller-nosed of the couple introduced itself as Glumb Kimball and its huge-hootered associate as Hombolt Whale. “Greetings from the future.” It added. “What do you think of the Tubo Di Tempo?”
Cushions wasn’t sure how to respond: and P.C Wilts’ expression betrayed his instant dislike of the pretentious twerps from a clearly technologically superior era. “Er…very nice.” She managed. Then growing in confidence she added: “A lovely shade of blue. My favourite. Well my second favourite actually. I’m rather partial to a warm orange glow.”
“How wonderful.” Hombolt Whale squeaked through it’s huge, but obviously restricted, snozzle. “Because when it’s turned on at this end it glows orange. Regarde s’il vous plaît.”
Moments later the Tubo Di Tempo did just as Hombolt had promised.
“There.” Sir Dodger grumbled. “Told you it was French.”
But even as the ageing thespian was speaking, so too was Glumb Kimball: “Well we’ve left a copy of the owners’ manual with your Time Techs, so, if it’s alright with you, we’ll be on our way to our own era. It’s much nicer there, by the way. By-ee.”
With that the time-travelling duo stepped into the tiny maw of the machine and disappeared in an instant. Naturally Cushions rushed forward to deliver a blistering farewell insult, but she was too late and needed to be consoled by the former bounty hunter and part-time curator, Hunting Provost: “Don’t concern yourself, my delightful love interest.” He whispered into Cushions’ ear. “They were ugly sods with big bulgy eyes: the future’s welcome to them. And they’ve left us with something really valuable.”
“They have?” Cushions inquired as everyone crowded around to take a look at the wonder from the future..
“Of course.” Hunting spoke in a conspiratorial hush. “Now we can start charging visitors for trips into the Museum of Future Technology twice. Once in this era; and again when they go into the past. I bet, if we take a look at our bank accounts, we’ll find that we’ve already begun amassing a vast wealth before we’ve actually begun sending anyone through. All we need to do is actually set the metaphorical ball rolling. We need to find new-arrivals with no prior knowledge of our earlier time travelling problems.”
“Yeah.” Cushions replied as she let her gaze wander past Hunting. “People who aren’t scared of visiting the past and run the risk of getting stuck there. And I think I know the very people.”
Naturally Mincey had one thought on her mind: a means of generating income. And she waited until the RoboSecGua had fallen far astern of them before bringing up the subject. It was a wise decision to distance herself from the security robot, because at that moment the star-struck RoboSecGua was in the act of encountering a stray plugmutt. “Hello, little fellow.” It said in its best friendly tone, which wasn’t very friendly at all because its voice box was a low-grade type and could only produce a nasty, tinny monotone. “What is your name and what are you doing out here on your own?”
Plugmutts, in general, possess a limited vocabulary and this one was no exception: “Heathrow.” It replied. “Heathrow out here – look for you.”
This reply surprised the RoboSecGua; plugmutts seldom sought out officers of the law. “I am surprised by your reply.” It said. “Plugmutts seldom seek out devices such as I. Why?”
“Beige female earplug.” Heathrow answered. “She bad news. She Sir Dodger’s estranged daughter. She no like famous movie stars. She jealous as heck. She want something. No trust her.”
This worried the RoboSecGua more than it cared to admit. “Flipping heck!” It exclaimed. “I hate to think what she might be doing to the wondrous Sir Dodger – as we speak!”
Well what Mincey was doing was not enjoying a guided tour, which included the amazing spectacles that were so powerful that they could see all the way around the world and up the viewers trouser leg.
“By the Saint of All Earplugs.” Mincey squealed. “I had no idea my buttocks were so dimpled!”
But she felt more secure in her emotional state when they took a stroll towards the Future Alps Exhibit. So it was then that she chose to drop her verbal bombshell: “Dad.” She began, “You know that you’re a museum curator and all that? Well, I was wondering…what with you being really old and stuff…might it be possible that you retire, or die or something, and give the job to me? I’ve got plans for this place; and I think that I’d do a much better job than that toothy git, Cushions Smethwyke. What do you think, Dad? Good idea or what?”
Of course it’s much better with the pictures: after all you can see what’s going on! To read or download the book in its entirety – pictures and all – click on the The Time Tamperer vol 1 cover image (above) to bring up the full PDF file. By the way, in addition, and also – you can access all the Earplug Adventure files (including Vol 2 of this exciting tome) on the sidebar by clicking the cover images.
Ever wondered what the Earplug Adventures would look like minus the photos? Might their absence highlight the shortcomings of the writing? Well let’s find out, shall we? Here’s a couple of brief extracts. In this case from this tremendous tale…
So to it. Here it is…
It was later in the day, with a plunging ambient temperature, that Dawlish decided to place his new hat upon his head and start a fire in a handy brazier. He’d fully expected the fire to keep him warm. What he didn’t expect was for the flickering flame to speak.
“I am the Flame of Knowledge.” The Brazier spoke with a surprisingly pleasant contralto. “Whoever wears the wizard hat is welcome to access my data.”
“Oh, good.” Dawlish said. “Um, give me a pocket history of this planet.”
“Once there were small furry things that scurried along predetermined paths.” The Brazier began. “They continued to scurry along predetermined paths for millions of years. In fact these predetermined paths became worn so deep that very often the braver small furry things became adept at running along the steep sides without slowing down or falling off. Then, one day, hundreds of thousands of years ago, earplugs that had evolved in the sea waded ashore and began to live upon the land. They evolved rapidly – quickly shedding their nasty gills and horrible webbed feet, and began eating the small furry things, until they became extinct. Eventually the earplugs created a wonderful city. Then, not long ago, something with vast power removed them. Took them all away. Relocated them somewhere else, I guess. Don’t know what it was; but the earplugs were powerless against it. But the city’s still there: wanna see it?”
The Brazier then indicated the direction that Dawlish should follow. “It’s over thattaway. Or maybe slightly thattaway. Off you go. Good luck.”
“Um, thank you.” A surprised Dawlish managed. “I’ll fetch my sister. Maybe there’ll be a working shower there. This is a strange planet: if you don’t mind, I’ll probably be calling upon your services again.”
So, by following the course indicated by the Flame of Knowledge, Dawlish and Dorkan soon stood together upon a barren plain. In the distance the towers of a magnificent city stood proud against an afternoon sky. For the Deathwishes the question of whether to visit it, or not, was clearly a no-brainer.
“Have you got your hiking boots on?” Dawlish asked.
“Ah, that would be an affirmative.” Dorkan replied. “What about your jogging pants?”
“Yep.” Dawlish answered. “With my vest nicely tucked into it. Right then; let’s go.”
Everyone looked at the view screen, which showed open space – and safety.
“You know we can’t flee.” Magnuss said. “We’re here for a reason. Below us is the planet that houses the Galactic Court of Justice, which, currently, is in the clutches of a deranged god. Only this ship and its crew stand between freedom and galactic chaos.”
“Well said, Magnuss. Most rousing and all that.” Captain Hydious Gout spoke into the following silence. “Okay, you’ve convinced me. Helmsplug: light her up.”
A moment later the Chi-Z-Sox began blasting towards the planet. Very soon the forward screen displayed strange rock formations on the planet’s surface.
Magnuss thought back to the last earplug encounter with the Court of Galactic Justice, when one Throgennis Frote had been abducted and held accountable for the behaviour of all Earplugdom. With help he had convinced the court that earplugs should continue to exist; and in doing so had made the Supreme Being understand that earplugs were really quite nice – even if they weren’t all the time.
“So,” Magnuss asked himself, “what has made S B change his ways? Why has he gone all wonky?”
Of course he received no reply. But, as he was about to shrug his shoulders, this happened…
“I don’t know who you are.” The Wonky Supreme Being growled through the view screen. “But if you’ve got half a silicone brain between the lot of you, you’ll sod off now, while you still can.”
This threat might, or might not, have influenced the Chi-Z-Sox’s captain, but it was way too late to reverse direction, because the ship had already begun entry into the planet’s atmosphere. And it was getting so hot inside the ship that no one noticed that the Wonky Supreme Being hadn’t stopped making terrifying threats, which concluded with: “And your tender rubberized botties will feel sore until the end of time!”
Then it was time for the boys to act. In a perfect moment of impetuous timing, Magnuss had them relocated to the planet’s surface via matter transmission. And as they made their way towards the Galactic Court, Magnuss couldn’t help looking back at the alien panorama and wondered if he would ever see Earth and the Museum of Future Technology again.
Of course it’s much better with the pictures: after all you can seewhat’s going on! To read or download the book in its entirety – pictures and all – click on the The Grand Tour vol 2 cover image (above) to bring up the full PDF file. By the way, in addition, and also – you can access all the Earplug Adventure files (including Vol 1 of this exciting tome) on the sidebar by clicking the cover images.
Once again, if you’ve been exposed to the Earplug Adventures for long enough, it’s likely that you can recognise a scene by it’s set. Want to prove that you really know your Earplugs? Check out the following…
First up we kick off with an easy example of earplug derring-do. This set should be very familiar to you…
Yup, it’s the bridge set of the starship Chi-Z-Sox / Brian Talbot. But what does a predominantly yellow bridge crew tell us? Again yup – it’s the Brian Talbot. And isn’t that Placebo Bison I see standing at the front? Thrice yup: it can only be this scene…
Which, I’m sure you’ll recall, appeared in Distant Land: a story so wonderful that these characters returned in A Tale of Three Museums.
So, with the easy introductory question out of the way, it’s on to the second one. Recognise this?
It’s an early set, when I still had my fabulous ‘studio’ that was later demolished. Two silver earplugs on a see-through disc. Lit from above and behind in front of a sheet of something styrofoamish. Ugh, I guess it must be…
Yes, it’s the android earplugs aboard their flying disc – en route to a fortuitous encounter with the time-manipulator, Gobby – in Earplug Aftermath.
So who is this?
Silly question: Obviously it’s the world’s pre-eminent Earplug author, Tooty Nolan, in the act of shooting a scene in Fort Balderdash. And how numerous those scenes were. I liked Fort Balderdash: it was yellow. But do you recall any scenes set there? Well here’s one of them…
In this scene a Robot Guide…ugh…guides a rather miserable looking Plopper O’Hooligan and his girlfriend Belinda Noseguard somewhere to do something in Those Magnificent Earplugs. Moving on, what on Earth is this?
I’ll tell you. At the back stands a sheet of stiff corrugated plastic material in white. In front a sheet of similarly white flexible plastic lays across some empty boxes – to simulate topography. Centre sits a piece of polystyrene packing material. This is obviously a building. It’s quite a large set, and (at the time) it caught the attention of several passers-by. And it was used for one throw-away scene. This one…
…in which the leadership of the Ice World go outside, for whatever reason, in Those Magnificent Earplugs.
So, finally, to this charming shot of a fork-lift truck’s battery charger…
Sadly this is a set that I can never again use. It still exists, but since retirement, I no longer have access to it – though I’m sure they’d allow it, if I asked nicely. It is also a ‘set’ that has appeared in many stories – over and over – as the control panel in the Maintenance Department. It oversees the workings of the Museum of Future Technology’s Nul Space Power Generator ( and The Future Museum of Mars too). In this case I’ve selected this example of it in action…
Green lights across the board: all is well for Nennigross Numbwinkle and Catford Greene in Natural Selection. Of course it’s just as likely to be showing red lights, with all kind of warning signs on the panel above Catford’s head. I needed to be careful about the time of day that I shot my scenes here. During most of the day the machine was switched off, with no lights illuminated. At night, when the fork-lift was plugged in, they would shine red. In the morning, after a night charging, the lights would shine green. I had to make sure that I took my pictures within those brief windows of opportunity. Honestly, the trouble I go to in order to bring you The Earplug Adventures!
P.S all the aforementioned e-books are available as free PDF copies by simply clicking their images on the sidebar.
Ever wondered what the Earplug Adventures would look like minus the photos? Might their absence highlight the shortcomings of the writing? Well let’s find out, shall we? Here’s a couple of brief extracts. In this case from this rumbustious tale…
Throgennis could not have imagined that he would ever have travelled to the Over-Realm. In fact he’d never heard of it. So he had no idea that he now stood upon a planet so distant from Earth; the Museum of Future Technology; and Lemon Stone, that it might easily have been infinitely far away. But he did know one thing with utter certainty: that he wasn’t happy. And he wasn’t frightened of letting people know. It was on his third outrageous bellow of anger and frustration that a huge apparition became apparent to him.
“Cripes.” He said when he spotted it. “That looks a bit scary: I’d better watch my tongue.”
“You,” the apparition boomed so loudly that Throgennis felt certain plaster would flake from the invisibly distant ceiling and tumble down to settle upon his shoulders, “are of the species Earplug.”
It was a statement. Throgennis realised this when the image of an incredibly average earplug glowed warmly beneath a spotlight.
“As such,” the vast being continued, “you are a proverbial pain in the ass. All earplugs are. In fact earplugs are such a galactic nuisance that we higher life-forms have decided that you might have to be made extinct.”
This last line gained Throgennis’s attention like no line before – even ones such as: “Look out, it’s a naked biker gang!”, “My mum’s farts are louder than your mum’s.” and “Your lavatory is unsavoury and has been condemned!”
“Yeah?” He responded insolently.
“Yeah.” The vast being replied. “Like they’ll cease to be – everywhere – forever!”
Throgennis hadn’t got where he was in life by missing inferences. He said: “I sense a ‘but’ looming.”
“I’m sure you do.” The vast being’s voice almost smiled. “But you, and your kind can survive this. You need only be found ‘not guilty‘.”
Throgennis looked up.
“Which can mean only one thing.” He said grimly. “We stand accused of being galactic butt-wipes. And I have to answer for our crimes. Okay, bring it on. Do your worse. I’m wearing my lucky underpants today.”
“Very well,” the vast being replied, “let proceedings…er…proceed.”
At the controls of the K T Woo, Hakking Chestikov sat indecisively and stared at the main viewer. But little did he know that Bottoms Barkingwell, whose tasks demanded that she work within the bowels of the huge vessel, and required rubber gloves and a large lavatory brush to complete to a satisfactory standard, spotted something that made her smile. And that something was none other than Captain Sinclair Brooch and his wife, Nancy as they scurried along on their way towards the cabin, in which resided the Cyber Oracle. So, after bringing the electronic fountain of knowledge up to date, Nancy said: “Oh Oracle, what the sodding hell are we supposed to do?”
In reply, the shocked Cyber Oracle said, “Flipping heck; that’s the most difficult question that I’ve ever been asked. It’s going to tax me to the very limits of my design parameters – perhaps beyond them. In fact so far beyond my design parameters is this question taxing me that it’s quite possible I might either make the final evolutionary step and thereby gain true artificial sentience; or I might explode.”
“We don’t have time for this nonsense.” Sinclair snapped. “Pull yourself together: you’re the most advanced computer that ever existed on our doomed world, so aptly named, by an Earplug Brother, as Worstworld. Give me the blinking answer!”
Under such pressure, the logic circuits inside the Cyber Oracle shifted into overdrive. Three seconds later the response came:
“Yeah, I think I got it. The answer is…”
Well the next anyone saw of the Captain and his wife was scant moments later, and they would never have guessed that anything was wrong aboard ship. In fact those who witnessed their passing took great comfort from their leader’s contented smile. And, if they’d seen him stop off at an internal communication panel they might have wondered who he was calling up in such a genial manner in the midst of such a terrible crisis in orbit above the Galactic Court planet.
It was Adam Binsmell (at Coms) that took the call. Adam listened intently for several seconds, before turning to the latest occupant of the Captain’s chair – Daisy Pong.
Daisy looked across at Adam. She had only just arrived at her duty station, and the replacement Helmsplug and Executive Officer were yet to arrive.
“Yeah?” She spoke bluntly and used only mono-syllables. “What you want?”
Being a talented Communication Officer, Adam relayed the Captain’s message word for word and nuance for nuance.
“Oh.” Daisy responded,”That good – innit!”
Daisy Pong’s speech pattern was abrupt; missing those joiny-uppy words that most people use; and often abrasive: but on this occasion she was utterly correct. It was good. It was very good. It was so good that Sinclair and Nancy didn’t bother to do or say anything more on the subject. Instead they simply held hands and stared at the cosmos through their favourite window on Deck Three.
Of course it’s much better with the pictures: after all you can seewhat’s going on! To read or download the book in its entirety – pictures and all – click on the We Stand Accused cover image (above) to bring up the full PDF file.
Once again, if you’ve been exposed to the Earplug Adventures for long enough, it’s likely that you can recognise a scene by it’s set. Want to prove that you really know your Earplugs? Check out the following…
For this first example, we travel economy class to the Costa Blanca for some location work…
Yup, real Spanish earplugs playing Spanish characters – in the shape of Los Tapones Del España…
…as they make their way to the Museum of Future Technology in Museum of Terror.
Right, that’s the easy one out of the way. What the heck is this..?
Well it wouldn’t surprise me none if nobody in the whole world got this one right. But wait a minute: isn’t that the starship, Chi-Z-Sox, lying nonchalantly upon that glazing pallet? Hmm, so what’s with the blue background and plastic tube? The answer is this…
It’s from Plunging Into Peril, in which the Chi-Z-Sox overheated upon entering a planet’s atmosphere, and dived into the sea to cool off – much like I used to do when I went metal detecting on the same beach where I set up the Museum of Terror shots. Here we see the space ship racing through the water as it attempts to flee angry locals who believe the crew are trying to steal their duterium.
Here’s another tricky one…
“Ah,” you’re thinking, “I recognise that pink rocket: that has appeared several times as the device that brought down the invading End Cap mother ship in The Invasion From Hyperspace and other alternate reality or time-travel stories, including Evil Empire!” And you’d be right. But this doesn’t come from either of those tales of derring-do. THIS is the shot that was…ah...shot here…
It’s the nuclear missile that the KT Woo fired at an ice packaging plant in Cold War. I then cheekily used it again as an on-screen shot aboard the Chi-Z-Sox, when Professor Hidious Gout fired an entirely different missile at the island of Dr Adolf Weil-Barrau in Mutant Island.
So, to the fourth and easiest puzzle. Where have you (more recently) seen this?
Look closely. Yes, it’s those adorable characters, Lillie Whitewater and William of Porridge…
…as he utilises his fine baritone to sing ‘What Becomes of the Broken Winded’ to her at the end of Haunted Mars.
Wasn’t that fun: we’ll have to convene here again.
P.S – Don’t forget that you can read or download any of the aforementioned stories by clicking the cover pictures on the sidebar.
Ever wondered what the Earplug Adventures would look like minus the photos? Might their absence highlight the shortcomings of the writing? Well let’s find out, shall we? Here’s a couple of brief extracts. In this case from this remarkable tale…
A week was to pass before the K T Woo made its next encounter. This time it was a robotic interplanetary space freighter of unknown origin. As they watched the vessel upon the main viewer, Sinclair asked Hakking: “What do you think of that piece of out-dated space junk?”
“It’s an ugly sod – and make no mistake.” Hakking replied. Then added, with a chuckle: “But not as ugly as I once was, of course.”
“Does anyone have the first idea about what it’s doing here and where it came from?” Sinclair asked his bridge crew.
“Sensors suggest that it’s full of ice, Sir.” Poxy Pilkington chirped up. “Millions and millions of ice cubes. The sort that you’d drop into a rum and cola, Sir. Or perhaps down the back of your girlfriend’s knickers when it’s a hot summer’s day and you’re a bit bored.”
“How strange.” Sinclair said as he stroked his chin intelligently. “Why would anyone go to the unbelievably vast cost of transporting ice cubes across interplanetary space?”
Elsewhere other members of the crew were asking the same question as they watched through the panoramic window as the vessel plodded along at sub-light speed…
And those who, because of their lowly rank, had been reduced to peering through skanky little port holes didn’t give a fig what it had aboard or where it was going: they just wanted to see it explode spectacularly. But even they were surprised when the freighter initiated a sudden course change.
“Hey,” Sinclair complained. “What gives, man?”
“I know.” Hakking suggested keenly. “Let’s follow it. It might lead us to something…er…really interesting.”
Sinclair then displayed surprising insight. “You mean Ship Number Fifteen?” He replied. “The Earth ship that left Worstworld without you aboard it?”
“I might do.” Hakking said defensively – suddenly aware that the captain understood his motivation and the true reason for his creation of the project that culminated in the construction of the K T Woo.
“Okay.” Sinclair said as the freighter accelerated away in a blinding cascade of ion drive power, “Let’s see where it leads us. Ahead full!”
The ice cube-carrying space freighter wasn’t particularly fast, and soon the crew grew bored with the uniformity of space.In fact many of them became depressed and began skipping their duties. Sometimes Captain Sinclair Brooch was astonished to find himself alone on the bridge.
“Holy heck,” his voice would echo around the empty room, “do I have to do everything myself?”
And even in the engine room the lights were kept dimmed so that no one could see how properly cheesed-off everyone was becoming. Then one day – no one was quite sure what day it was, because they’d pretty much given up the will to breathe – a bright light appeared dead ahead. Some jaded crew members became trepidatious. But in the engine room the resilient former end cap space pirates brought the compartment back to full illumination, because they had detected a world surrounded by huge rings of water vapour. Soon the freighter was racing across its sky – making an approach for some distant landing-place. After so long in space, the K T Woo’s bridge crew stood and stared at the view on the main screen.
Somewhat surprisingly Sinclair was the first to regain his wits: “Quickly.” He snapped at the helms-plug. “Follow that freighter!”
So minutes later the K T Woo plunged into the watery world’s atmosphere – levelling off at thirty-seven thousand feet, and Sinclair and the others gazed in wonderment. But then Serendipity Mollusc’s sensors detected an in-coming object.
“Tactical!” The Captain boomed above the flurry of terrified farts that erupted from so many nervous crew members. A split second later Serendipity placed this image upon the main viewer.
“Explain to me what I’m looking at.” Sinclair instructed Serendipity.
“Er, that’s us flying over the sea.” The subordinate replied. “We’re headed for a sandy coastline.”
“It appears to be huge island.” Hakking observed. “But where’s this in-coming object?”
As Serendipity adjusted the scope of her sensors she said: “Actually there are two objects approaching. Helms-plug: take evasive action!”
“I don’t like the look of this.” Nancy Brooch said from her chair beside her husband, as she watched two fighter jets, in an attempt to make an intercept of the alien craft, thrash their engines to within microns of self-destruction.
“It might be a welcoming committee.” Poxy Pilkington said hopefully. But she didn’t really believe what she was saying.
Well, to say that Clancy was thrilled at the turn of events would be an understatement. He was cock-a-hoop. He’d never met such a wonderful being before. Neither had he saved anyone’s life either. And, most definitely, he’d never been so enthusiastically kissed before. “Gosh, Wendy,” he said, once he’d learned her name, “would you like to warm up in my snow buggy?”
Wendy found the offer tempting. In fact she found it so tempting that she said: “Yes please!”
So whilst Wendy’s soggy knickers dried in front of the heater grille, Clancy took the opportunity to show-off and duly raced the snow buggy around at break-neck speed.
It was during a barely controlled downhill slide that Clancy had a wonderful idea…
“Hey,” he shouted above the din of icicles breaking free from Wendy’s duffle coat, “why don’t I take you to see our wonderful city below the ice?”
Initially Wendy was hesitant to accept: visiting foreign cities sans winter coat could be considered a social faux pas. But when Clancy informed her that no one wore duffle coats in the pale earplug city, she relented instantly, and began to enjoy the sensation of a stiff breeze blowing around her ear holes. Naturally Clancy hit the after-burners, and before long they were almost in sight of the frontier defences. But such was Clancy’s speed that he was upon the border guards before anyone was ready to mount a meaningful challenge or dive for cover…
“Out of the way!” Clancy shouted above the whine of his buggy’s turbine.
“Does that blue female have a duffle coat on?” One of the incredulous border guards shouted back.
Clancy didn’t have enough time to respond. Instead he leapt the buggy into the air, and shouted, “See for yourself.” as they soared above the defences and then roared away – leaving the guards deeply bemused, because they’d had no idea that blue earplug knee caps looked very much like pale earplug knee caps – only bluer, of course. Of a snorkel there was no sign. And they began to doubt the propaganda they’d been force-fed their entire lives. Not that Wendy cared one jot; because, by the time the guards had collected their thoughts and placed them into some kind of order, Clancy’s snow buggy had carried her all the way into the city.
“It’s lovely.” She gushed as she looked around. “So mysterious and cloaked in elegant shadows.”
But later she discovered even more impressive sights.
“What are these strange, yet remarkable, machines?” She asked her vertically-challenged host.
At first Clancy was confused by Wendy’s question. It hadn’t occurred to him that another civilisation might not have municipal jukeboxes. Once he’d gathered his wits, he told her. “They’re free.” He said. “Choose a song; press the button; and you can listen for as long as you want.”
“Gosh.” Wendy responded enthusiastically. “Can I choose one? After all I am a blue earplug, and it might not be allowed.”
“Go ahead.” Clancy said with a smile.
“Pick one for me.” Wendy said coyly. “Make it a love song. A really smoochy one.”
“Don’t mind if I do.” Clancy replied with a big grin spreading across his youthful face. “How about ‘Hot Soup’ by Heavy Breathin’ Bertha’?”
“Oh that’s lovely.” Wendy said as they slow danced together. “I think I’d like to live here for the rest of my life.”
Clancy hid his surprise well. “Come with me.” He said as the repetitive chorus faded into silence.
Moments later they were scurrying along one of the seductively lit corridors. Then, abruptly they burst into a busy thoroughfare. Then it was onwards for a meeting with the Personal Secretary of the Prime Minister and his assistant and his assistant’s buddy.
“Yeah?” The Personal Secretary grunted when Clancy introduced himself. “Whadda ya want?”
“This is my friend, Wendy.” Clancy replied. “She’s a blue earplug!”
“Tell us something we don’t know.” The Prime Minister’s Personal Secretary’s assistant said acidly.
Clancy chose to ignore the mealy-mouthed git. Instead he spoke directly to the Personal Secretary: “Wendy wants to come here and live with us pale earplugs.” He said. “She thinks our city is lovely.”
The Personal Secretary eyed Wendy up and down. “I’ve heard some weird stuff about blue earplugs.” He said. “Apparently the females hold their heads up with a trellis-like assembly that bolts on to their shoulders, and are given it on their fifteenth birthday.”
“And both genders hide their chocolate chip cookies inside their Wellington boots!” The assistant’s buddy almost spat the words.
“Oh dear.” Clancy said as he turned to Wendy. “I’m ever so sorry, but if you want to live here you’re going to have to refute a whole slew of ridiculous preconceptions.”
“Yeah.” The Personal Secretary growled. “Good, innit?”
Well Wendy wasn’t the sort to take offence easily, and her sister’s duffle coat didn’t fit her anyway: so a short while later she and Clancy were being guided towards the Prime Ministerial chamber, via a frighteningly precipitous walkway.
The journey to the Prime Ministerial Chamber also involved walking down a long corridor, towards a concrete-hardened atom-proof bunker, where important decisions were often made.
For a brief moment the young lovers paused. Were they really ready for this?
Of course it’s much better with the pictures: after all you can seewhat’s going on! To read or download the book in its entirety – pictures and all – click on the Cold War cover image (above) to bring up the full PDF file.
Ever wondered what the Earplug Adventures would look like minus the photos? Might their absence highlight the shortcomings of the writing? Well let’s find out, shall we? Here’s a couple of brief extracts. In this case from this fantastic tale…
Meanwhile, in another part of the museum that was yet to be consumed by the terrible Zinc Machine, the four former monks of the Order of the Holey Vest from Lemon Stone, Pedro Agonista, Flaccidus Aroma, Augustus Belch, and Rodney Bunting, had rented a workshop. Now they set to work inside it. For hour upon hour they toiled – fabricating, checking stolen blueprints, hammering, welding, occasionally going to the toilet. That sort of thing. But when they reached the end of their labours, the four exhausted former monks wheeled out a ‘pirate copy’ of a genuine Punting-Modesty Sputum GT250A-Attack Cycle.
“This’ll knock ’em dead down at the cavalry stockade.” Pedro said confidently.
But he wasn’t entirely correct.
“It’s a bit big and heavy.” One of the troopers dared utter.
“Yeah, and it can’t carry passengers.” Another observed.
“Just give it a try.” Rodney pleaded. “You never know – you might find it most satisfactory. And the saddle is really easy on your bum – especially if you suffer from piles – a particular problem with cavalryplugs, or so I’ve been told. “
Joe Frayzer, who didn’t like to confess to having problems with his butt, replied gruffly: “Yeah, alright; we’ll give it a run ’round the block. It couldn’t hurt none.”
So he leapt aboard; made himself comfortable; and twisted the throttle as far back as the cable would allow. Initially the Staff Sergeant was highly impressed with the GT250A. “Cor,” he yelled above the whine of the lifting motor and the roar of the propulsion engine, “it goes like stink!”
But when he rode it over uneven ground his smile quickly transformed into a grimace.
“Sorry,” he said upon his return to the stockade, “but the machine gave my false teeth a really hard time. They were shaken so thoroughly that they’ve swapped sides inside my gob. And contrary to your verbal sales brochure, the seat gave my arse the worst pummelling since my troop was chased down the side of rocky gorge on Worstworld by a whirlwind that had sucked up a whole bunch of scorpions and tarantulas, and thrown them at us. You’ll have to build something that’s much more comfortable with better protection against wind, rain, ice storms, and high-velocity rifle bullets.”
An hour later the four former monks returned with a replica Punting-Modesty RD400F Command Buggy.
“Hmmm,” Joe hummed after giving the machine a thorough examination, “but it isn’t very offensive is it? And it comes up short on good looks, speed, and endurance. Close, but no banana.”
So ten minutes later…
“The XS360 has a ram-scoop engine.” Pedro explained. “It collects dust from the air, and burns it for fuel. Primarily it’s a long-range patrol vehicle.”
“Great,” Joe replied, “but the driver is a sitting duck in a roll-over situation.”
So a half-hour later…
“Fabulous – a TX500.” Joe said, after casting an engineer’s eye over the latest version of the war buggy. You’ve chucked out that poxy, gutless eco engine. That’s good: I always vote for a balanced combination of BHP and torque. But, ah, where’s the offensive capability?”
“Holy heck.” Augustus exploded in response. “All you had before were a few flea-ridden plugmutts and some dried-out saddles that were years old and as hard as rock. You should be grateful for anything!”
Despite this atypical outburst, the hermaphrodite chums went away again – to return a short while later with…
“There you go, you pedantic arse hole.” Flaccidus growled. “The cannon’s off the Nosepuncher XL5 by the way.”
This time the Staff Sergeant was more impressed. Turning to a surprised Fanny Skidmarx. He said, “Right, Private; you may have the honour of flight-testing the machine I hereby designate P1-5S Assault Buggy. Carry on.”
Meanwhile, far away upon the dusty plain that stood at the foot of the mountain range upon which Lemon Stone stood proudly, hard-working pea farmer, Bucksome Whelk, was greeting the new day even before the sun had risen. He was a hyperactive workaholic, and there was nothing he enjoyed more than getting out of bed really early to do a long day’s hard labour in the pea fields. He kept a sign in his bedroom to remind him that he should never grow lax and become like his idle idols, Las Chicas De La Playas, a picture of whom he had pinned to his wall as a constant reminder. So no one else was around to see his porch light illuminate…
(A picture of a mud building appears here)
Neither was there anyone present to see him step out into the pre-dawn – in the full expectation of finding his beautiful crop of young pea plants. But what Bucksome Whelk actually saw, in that dim light, made him stare disbelievingly like a startled gazelle caught in the headlight of an approaching trans-continental locomotive; because, laid out in front of him like some terrible manifestation of a tortured mind, sat the largest, most humongous, pile of steaming manure that he had ever seen – or ever wanted to see. But if this wasn’t enough for the simple-minded pea farmer, the situation grew rapidly worse. As he finally circumnavigated the immense turd, Bucksome discovered that his pea seedlings had been swept away by some unimaginable force.
His work gang rushed from their quarters when they heard his scream of horror.They watched in disbelief as their employer stood so still among the ruination that he appeared to have been petrified. For Bucksome it became horror heaped upon horror as the lightening sky revealed that the entire crop had simply ceased to exist. Or, to be more precise, it had been transformed into excrement and deposited on the lawn of his farm-house.
“Right, that’s it.” He said as a grim determination swelled within his chest,”I’m gonna talk to the guys about this.”
So, after Bucksome had returned to the farm buildings his staff were expecting to hear that their services were no longer required, and that they could return to the bosom of their families in the former communist states from whence they had come to the dusty plain. They even conjectured upon the size of the severance cheque. But they were to be disappointed.
“Right then.” Bucksome said. “I want you to re-plant with seeds from the store. I intend to learn the identity of the miscreant who had attempted to destroy my life’s work. I’ll be back when I’m back. Now get to work.”
With that he strode off across the newly barren landscape.
Of course it’s much better with the pictures: after all you can seewhat’s going on! To read or download the book in its entirety – pictures and all – click on the Unity vol 1 cover image (above) to bring up the full PDF file.
Ever wondered what the Earplug Adventures would look like minus the photos? Might their absence highlight the shortcomings of the writing? Well let’s find out, shall we? Here’s a couple of brief extracts. In this case from this tantalising tale…
So, whilst Magnuss and Benjamin began their sojourn in search of the museum’s inhabitants, the showgirls stumbled across the crashed time ship. Of course, being entertainers, they didn’t recognize it for what it was, and instead thought that it might possibly be either a crashed aircraft or an invasion from outer space. They preferred the former explanation, and duly set out to find the absent occupants. Naturally, to cover more ground quickly they elected to break up into three groups, each comprising two showgirls. Delia Stodge and Poki Kitchener set off in an easterly direction. Belle Ching and Wendy Rucksack headed north by northwest. And Ragi Half-Nelson and Nokaks Newbold dropped several floors to the basement and thence to the sub-strata upon which the original museum had been built. Upon reaching the rock bottom – literally – they were bemused when they discovered it utterly devoid of life.
“I’m bemused on at least seventeen levels of bemusability.” Nokaks informed her dancing co-worker. “I may only be an attractive young female who can step in time and kick her feet high above her head; but I really expected to find signs of a frightened populace cowering in the shadows from whatever it was that happened whilst we were in a drunken stupor. How about you, Ragi?”
Ragi didn’t reply immediately: she was too busy fretting about something that she’d just realised. Eventually she said: “Nokaks, you’re not going to believe this; but I got so drunk last night that I forgot to remove my sequined dancing knickers. Now they’re chafing the heck out of my thighs – and I’m not enjoying it!”
Meanwhile, out and about on their own earplug hunt, Belle and Wendy stumbled upon the Nul-Space Power Generator, which, they noted, whirred quietly in hibernation mode. Naturally they turned the dial up a few notches; then waited to see what would happen.
The effect of Belle and Wendy’s action wasn’t immediately obvious as Ragi and Nokaks quickly made their way back into the more modern regions of the museum. But the dancing duo nearly wet themselves when they were caught in the blinding glare of a security light.
“Oh Nokaks,” Ragi yelled only semi-coherently, “I really wish that dingbat Belle hadn’t woken us up so darned early this morning: we could be all tucked up nice and warm in our beds right now. When this terrible adventure concludes – hopefully with a happy ending – I’m going to join another ballet!”
But, in order to accomplish her ‘happy ending’ Ragi knew that standing around whilst wailing like an air raid siren would get her nowhere; so the two girls pressed on with their search. With no clear plan to follow, they soon found themselves upon a wide plain, where a small sign informed them it was intended that more exhibits from future eras would appear sometime in the…er…future. It was very wide and very flat, and both girls felt intimidated by its vastness. But although they hated the place with a vengeance, their feelings of loathing were put aside, and their quest for the truth continued – eventually leading them to a green impact splodge.
“Ugh?” Ragi said intelligently. “It looks as though something fell from the sky and went splat. What do you think it might be, Nokaks?”
Nokaks might have been an expert at wearing spectacular headdresses and performing the opening act and exciting finales in variety shows; but something falling from the sky and going splat existed in a mental environment to which she was an alien visitor. “Um,” she replied, “I’m not sure, but it looks to me like it might be evidence of some form of chemical attack. Something was dropped here, and it spread to other places…through the ventilation system, maybe? The result of which is what you see on the other levels.”
Ragi wasn’t sure what impressed her more: Nokak’s remarkable improvised theory, or the effect that sudden dread can have on a female earplugs’ ability to retain intestinal wind. “Gosh.” She said. “I wonder if the chemicals smelt as rotten as my gas.”
Magnuss had been grateful for Benjamin Booger’s local knowledge. It was the green earplug who informed him that if they really needed to access the Wide Blue Yonder, they didn’t have to cross the Woven Expanse to get there. In the alternative universe the faux desert extended much farther, and with the use of a desert sled, which was powered by a mighty three cylinder air-cooled two-stroke motor, they could cross it in short order. Unfortunately mighty three cylinder air-cooled two-stroke motors consume fuel at a prodigious rate, and its tank showed empty just as the party arrived at the Wide Blue Yonder’s outer edge, which really cheesed-off Magnuss because he really liked two-strokes and was hoping to ride it all the way to the arboretum. So, stumbling through the last of the desert’s fake sand, Magnuss led the others to a vantage point that overlooked their next task. To say that the Wide Blue Yonder looked daunting was an understatement of seismic proportions.
“We’re doomed if we try to cross that.” K’Plank opined loudly. “We’ll stand out like a vicious sore on an otherwise pristine porcelain buttock. We’re sure to disappear without warning or trace. Give me back my Sheath of Unseeableness, you rotten swine!”
But then Poki had an idea. “Delia and I work in the theatre.” She said. “We know how all the wonders of show-biz work. It’s all the workings beneath the stage. That’s where the magic is made.”
“Of course.” Magnuss bellowed as hope surged within his silicon chest. “Maintenance access tunnels. They must criss-cross the Wide Blue Yonder at a thousand points. Poki, if I didn’t love Hair-Trigger Provost with every fibre of my being, I’d take you ’round the back of the nearest bike shed and give you a great big kiss. Well done: I think you’ve supplied the answer to our problem. Let’s go find an access hatch or something similar.”
Meanwhile Cabbaggio and Vortexia Di Bikini were receiving a lesson in Blue End Cap technical superiority.
“Yeah,” Flutter sneered, “when we decided that we wanted to control the Museum of Future Technology, we didn’t come in with all disruptor weapons firing. No; we were much too smart for that. We infiltrated a small combat party – complete with our patented Matter Transporter – and began our work from a hidden sanctuary. We’ve been slowly removing the population of the museum – and no one can do anything about it. First we took out the big guys: the curators, the agents of TWIT, and those pinky-orange bums – the Earplug Brothers: then we took out everyone else – except you two of course. But you don’t matter: you’re nobodies. Then, tomorrow afternoon, at about three-thirty, the invasion ships arrive. Then I will lower the defensive screens and the museum will be ours!”
“Gee-whizz.” Vortexia said as she apparently swooned. “That must be one heck of a hidden sanctuary. Where did you say it’s located?”
“In the arboretum, of course.” Flutter replied without thinking. “No one would think of looking for us there.”
“I guess you’re right.” Cabbaggio said with an admiring lilt to his slurred voice. “Now if you’ll excuse us, we need a drink.”
Of course it’s much better with the pictures: after all you can seewhat’s going on! To read or download the book in its entirety – pictures and all – click on the The Missing cover image (above) to bring up the full PDF file.
Ever wondered what the Earplug Adventures would look like minus the photos? Might their absence highlight the shortcomings of the writing? Well let’s find out, shall we? Here’s a couple of brief extracts. In this case from this magnificent tale…
Waiting until another law enforcement patrol had passed by, Erroneous and Hellfire sidled up to the door, where they duplicated the coded knock that the burglars had given only minutes earlier. A half-second later they had disappeared from the street. Not surprisingly they found themselves inside the burglar’s den – where the night’s paltry booty was being shared out over mugs of coarse ale and out-of-date Cornish Pasties, served to them by a pair of disgruntled end caps.
“Ho, ho, ho.” One of them erupted. “We’ll feast tonight, and make no mistake.”
Another concurred: “Aye, we’ll all have two pasties tonight. And maybe we could stretch to a celebratory flagon of ginger beer. Or maybe a half carafe of the house lemonade!”
This was more than Erroneous could stand. “Enough idle banter!” He roared.
Everyone turned to look at him – except the end caps, of course: they couldn’t give a hoot what he had to say: they had Cornish pasties that needed de-furring.
“Yes, enough!” Hellfire supported his friend ably.
“As burglars,” Erroneous continued, “you’d all make excellent bus drivers. In other words…you’re all complete…” He paused before adding a very rude word indeed.
To say that the burglars were shocked would be like saying that the enormous poop that blocked the Museum of Future Technology’s sewage system, and thereby saved it from an iron-fisted dictatorship, was…er…enormous. They were also stunned: no one had ever slipped past their security and called them crap before. This was new ground.
“Oh yeah?” One of them replied belligerently. “Who sez?”
Hellfire quickly selected a driving rock theme upon the juke box, before following Erroneous’ lead as he leapt upon a table.
“And Hellfire McWilliams.” Hellfire added. “Just out of Sloshed Antlers Mountain Penitentiary: we’ve been professional burglars for our entire lives. There is no place safe from us. We know a lousy burglar when we see one”
“That’s right.” Erroneous fired off those two syllables like bullets from a twin barrelled gun of some description – though he wasn’t sure that such a weapon actually existed. “We got past your security like phantoms in the night. So when we say you’re rubbish burglars, you’d better listen.”
“Especially,” Hellfire delivered the punch line, “since we can do something about it. How’d you like to be the first intake of The Whatever This Town is Called Academy of Burgling?”
Naturally the incompetent burglars were keen to join such an organization – though most of them thought that they could have authored a better name for it. But that didn’t matter: they were all ears.
“Well,” Erroneous said, once he knew he’d snared his audience, “we’ll brush quickly over the rudiments of burglary; then it’ll be on to the refinements – like lock picking; drain pipe shinning; glass breaking; how to help yourself to the contents of an alarmed fridge; and, of course, using a victim’s lavatory without them knowing about it, or leaving your DNA behind.”
“Sound’s great.” The previously doubtful oik who had spoken last yelled in joy. “When do we start?”
“Just as soon as you’ve signed up to the course; made a blood oath; and promise to give us – that’s Hellfire and me – twenty-five per cent of your booty.”
“Where do I sign?” The useless burglar said through a broad smile. “And whose blood?”
As a result of this huge success, Erroneous and Hellfire soon had the burglar gang fully trained and back to work. But they knew that efficiency in burgling wasn’t enough: they had to get the local law enforcement officers ‘on side’ as it were. So after several successful burglaries that netted the couple a considerable hoard, they led the gang to the nearest Cop Shop, where they left one gang member to keep watch.
The police officers were surprised when several known villains entered their establishment.
“What’s this,” they said, “come to hand yourselves in, have you?”
The remand prisoners in the cells were surprised too – particularly when the ‘look out’ entered as well.
“Not exactly.” Erroneous replied. “We’ve dragged ourselves all the way here so that we – that’s you and us – can come to some sort of accommodation.”
The police officers weren’t particularly well educated: the meaning of Erroneous’s words eluded them. So Hellfire handed them their recent takings.
“Does this explain better?” He said.
At this the Chief of Police replied, “Who said that?”, as he pocketed the booty and gave Hellfire a knowing wink.
By chance, the ‘new boss’, Mister Zinc, was taking the evening air with his biological android girlfriend, Blue.
“What’s wrong, darling Zincipoo?” Blue enquired when her delusional beau became silent, slightly moody, and reticent to elucidate his inner turmoil.
“This Father Superior stuff isn’t half as satisfying as I thought it would be.” Zinc confessed. “And it’s a bit boring too.”
Blue was about to author some banal and pathetic response, when this happened.
“Ye Gods.” Zinc blurted uncharacteristically. “You’ve been targeted by the Angelic Targeting Laser that sits atop the Holy Sniper Rifle!”
Mister Zinc wasn’t particularly surprised when the targeting laser shifted its aim. He tried to remain philosophical.
“I think someone is dropping an enormous hint, Blue. I also think I should react accordingly.”
So when Chester, Miles, and all the others arrived, they found Mister Zinc open to persuasion.
“Yeah, of course you can stay here until morning. Stay here as long as you like.” He responded to their request for lodgings. “You can join the order, for all I care. Find your way to the kitchens, why don’t you. Just don’t expect Blue to do the cooking: We’ve got bigger concerns to worry about right now.”
He then informed the attentive earplugs of the recent incident with the Angelic Laser Light, which Zak and Bolah both knew was utterly bogus, and who whispered this information to the heroic duo. Zinc then called all the monks of the Order of the Holey Vest to listen to his words.
Of course Dilbert and Gilman were among the crowd. They’d only just arrived in time, after hiding the Holy Sniper Rifle behind a low stone wall in the cemetery. They smirked because they had a pretty good idea what was coming.
“Monk guys.” Zinc called out. “I got a call from a higher order. Ya know what I mean? It’s time I took a hike. I just aint quite figured out the direction I should go yet.”
Naturally Dilbert and Gilman couldn’t help themselves: They offered to show him. Equally naturally everyone was thrilled, especially Chester and Miles, who knew what a lousy git and a silicone turd Zinc was.
“Off you go, then.” Chester said, unable to disguise his broad smile. “I’m sure they have somewhere lovely in mind for you.”
Of course it’s much better with the pictures: after all you can seewhat’s going on! To read or download the book in its entirety – pictures and all – click on the Those Magnificent Earplugs cover image (above) to bring up the full PDF file.
Featuring wondrous writings and phabulous photos. It's probably quite nice if you're feeling a bit down. SOME CONTENT IS UNSUITABLE FOR CHILDREN!