In this episode, a seemingly insignificant scene appears that could easily be missed. It will become significant later in this briefer-than-usual story. See if you can spot it.
As she went about the museum, Fanny couldn’t help but feel sad…
…Only hours previous the huge building had been a cauldron of silicon activity. How quickly the mighty edifice and its multifarious defences had been brought to its knees.
“I was going to come here shopping at the week-end too.” She said in a dejected tone. “By kite.”
The word ‘kite’ when she spoke it, reminded her of a similar word – ‘bite’. This in turn caused her to think of the museum’s best-known primitive silicon life-form, that being Nature Beast. “Heck,” she roared inside her tiny insulated world, “if anyone can fight off the Northern Mist, it’ll be Nature Beast: he resists technology like similar magnetic poles reject each other!” So, turning on her heel, she made straight for the control room of TWIT…
However, upon entering, all thoughts of Nature Beast’s heroic resistance to the mist were cast aside. His commanding officer, Major Flaccid seemed to be staring straight at her from inside a personal deflector bubble of his own…
But when she spoke to him, all she received in response was his usual intense stare. Then she realised that the bubble was full of mist.
“Oh, you silly sod,” she said to the still form before her, “you’re supposed to get inside the bubble before the mist gets you. You were too slow, you dull-witted oik!”
Then she spotted Nature Beast’s lower half. His upper half was hidden by the control room lavatory. Obviously he’d fallen into it – probably trying to escape into the sewer via the u-bend.
“There’s no helping the truly stupid.” She said with a sigh.
Thereafter she went straight to the security suite and presented the RoboSecGuas with the samples they required…
The tests were begun with alacrity. The results came thick and fast.
“Well we’ve traced the chemical composition of the mist to a region in the mountains very close to Lemon Stone.” The senior RoboSecGua informed Fanny. “The combination of elements exactly matches that of a gas that will be developed in the not too distant future – the plans for which were sent back here from the future, for safe keeping. The self-same plans that were stolen from the museum, by a disaffected barista in the Café Puke organisation, not more than two weeks ago. The barista was arrested and threatened with a good kick up the arse; but he still refuses to give us the identity of the earplug to who he sold the aforementioned plans.”
“We’ve cobbled together a detector of sorts.” EvilRoboSecGua chimed in. “Your task – on your way home, I might add – is to use the detector to trace the origin of the erroneously-named ‘Northern Mist’. Once you’ve done that, just give us a call, and we’ll come running to capture the potential megalomaniac.”
Fanny was no security expert, but it sounded like a good plan to her. So, five minutes later, and with the detector in her pocket, and with a spring in her step, she set out once more…
Moreover, she was elated at the thought that she felt no desire to visit the adjacent lavatory too. But she tried to hide the fact by keeping a straight face in front of the RoboSecGua that saw her off.
During her brief passage through the museum towards her pedestrian exit of choice, Fanny dropped by the almost-complete Skanki Kaffe…
“How interesting.” She said to herself as she poked an inquisitive nose in through the foyer, “I’ve heard they use an entirely different way to make decaffeinated coffee. Their Desalinated is nothing like Café Puke’s Defecated: its pure coincidence that they just happen to taste alike. Oh, well nothing happening here: best be moving on.”
Thereafter she followed a route supplied by the RoboSecGuas that would cut at least an hour from her journey time…
It was a complicated route, and Fanny might have become lost at any juncture; but the members of the security suite were following her on CCTV, and called out to her via the public address system every time she took a wrong turn…
So, before too long Fanny found herself standing upon the verdant pastures that led from the museum to the foothills…
“Right,” she said resolutely, “the only way is up.”
Okay, part 4 didn’t set the world on fire: try part 5…
However progress wasn’t as quick as X2 Zero had anticipated: they encountered the huge amorphous blob named Susan coming down the UP ramp. She carried Chester Earplug in a ‘nest’ upon the top of her shape-shifting head…
“Oh,” Chester groaned from his lofty position, “sorry and all that. Susan doesn’t have a problem with left and right; but she does get a bit confused when confronted with up and down. Would you like my autograph? I’m free and easy with them. But I don’t sign underwear.”
“Nah, it’s alright.” Barclay replied. He then added – somewhat sarcastically, or so thought Bubbles: “Merely being in your presence is enough to make our day. This chance meeting with one of the museum’s heroes will forever be indelibly etched in our collective memory.”
“That’s fine,” Chester said through a fixed grin, “please excuse us as Susan makes herself all thin and squeezes past.”
So, moments later…
…they were free of the obstruction and rapidly closing upon their intended destination.
“Don’t stare or anything,” Barclay said as they trotted along – line astern, “but that’s Margret Greenhorn and the Greenhorn Girls to our left.”
“How exciting,” Bubbles whispered back. “They must be blocking out a new routine. I’d loved to have been a dancer: but I’ve got two left feet – even if one of them is on the right.”
“Café Puke, coming right up.” X2 Zero called. “Would you like me to lead you in?”
Barclay didn’t approve of a servomechanism doing only half a job. “Right on.” He said in what he hoped was the robot’s vernacular.
As the robot led its non-paying guests inside, it found the lighting somewhat subdued…
It couldn’t see anyone either. “Shop!” It bellowed through its high-quality user-interface loudspeaker. At this, the lighting burst into incandescent life…
…and some patrons found themselves made visible.
“Oh, that’s better,” one of them said to their friend seated opposite them, “now I can see the sugar knobs.”
Barclay chose this moment to dismiss X2 Zero – before turning his attention to the counter. However this area of the room remained a little dim, and of the Baristas there was no sign…
“Oh Barclay,” Bubbles complained, “I want a Croaky Cortado, but there’s no one to tell!”
The lighting chose that moment to change again. Suddenly the two visitors found themselves bathed in a red light. They also found Mary-Sue Wassack…
“Hi,” she said in an uncharacteristically cheerful manner, “Is that two Croaky Cortadoes?”
“Please.” Barclay, slightly surprised, replied. “Where did you spring from? Do you have a hidden trap door?”
“No-no,” Mary-Sue answered, “It’s the counter: it’s too high. The shop fitters who built the interior were old and used imperial measurements. The instructions were in metric. So now we have to come around the counter to serve people.”
Barclay accepted this. Then he asked a second question:
“What’s with the kooky lighting? It keeps changing.”
“Oh, that’s the shop fitters again.” Mary-Sue explained. “They didn’t have a normal electrical consumer unit for the lights; so they used one intended for a disco club instead. It plays merry hell with my pupils, I can tell you: I now have dilation problems.”
As if on cue, the brightness increased to maximum in the briefest time possible…
Suddenly Moyst Towlet and Jungle-Jake Johnson became visible behind the counter – not that anyone noticed: they were all too busy shouting, “Aargh!”
But as quickly as it came, the brightness dimmed to a reasonable level once more…
“Ah, that’s better.” Mary-Sue said with a grateful sigh. “Moyst: two Croaky Cortadoes. You two – take a seat: I’ll bring you your coffees.”
Well I’ve cobbled together enough photos (and thought up a few words) for the next instalment: try to enjoy…
Two minutes later Bubbles and Barclay were crossing the courtyard that led to the Punting-Modesty Munitions Company offices…
Whilst Barclay appeared grim and certain of his fate, Bubbles remained hopeful that they weren’t about to receive their severance papers:
“Whatta we gonna do, Barclay?” She wailed. “What can we say to convince them to keep us on? Shall I show them my knickers or something? They’re very frilly. Do you think that would help?”
She was still trembling when they entered the sales office corridor. In fact she was feeling slightly nauseous…
As they passed posters that depicted the company’s most famous product…
…Bubbles paused to regard them.
“Just think,” she said gravely, “this could be the very last time we ever walk these hallowed corridors and gaze upon our forbear’s work of genius.”
“The XL5 is a pile of junk,” Barclay said with a dismissive grunt. “The only time it was used in anger was in the battle against those sentinel robots from the future: and it was totally rubbish. Couldn’t hit a sodding thing. The Earplug Brothers had to visit Mars in order to find a weapon that worked against their cybernetic foe.”
He then suggested that they “get this thing over and done with.” So, thirty seconds later one of the board members became aware of their approach towards the Star Chamber…
But by the time that the junior employees had stepped into view, he, or she, had resumed his, or her, position beneath the ultra-violet lighting, in which he, or she, thought that he, or she, looked most intimidating…
“Ooh-err,” Barclay managed after swallowing several times, “I’m feeling slightly intimidated, Bubbles: do you think you could do all the talking?”
Bubbles might have replied in either the positive or the negative, but Barclay never found out which. This was because the Chairman of the Board – Sir Loftus Pupe – indicated that they both proceed into the room, which of course they did…
Under the artificial lighting it was difficult for the young earplugs to discern the true colouring of the Star Chamber personnel. Consequently it was impossible to read their expressions…
But both thought they recognised Sir Loftus sufficiently well to look in his direction. Unfortunately they were both wrong, which slightly amused the board members…
Looking up from a small square of paper, upon which someone had scribbled the names of Bubbles and Barclay, Sir Loftus turned his attention upon them and quickly slipped the note into a pocket, lest they think he lived in an ivory tower and didn’t know his own staff by either sight or name. His yellow eyes glowing in the blue air, Sir Loftus then addressed his ‘guests’…
“Oi, you two; look this way. I’m the boss – Sir Loftus Pupe. Here, here, you buffoons. I’m over here. Whose stupid idea was it to have ultra-violet lighting? I’m all but bloody invisible!”
To fellow Star Chamber members, Sopier Clandestino and Leon Solent, the situation appeared to be turning into a comedy sketch. But others, such as Dick Jason and Gilly Charlick, felt less comfortable: they had seen Sir Loftus in a rage previously in their careers: they didn’t care to witness the spectacle again…
Fortunately fellow Star Chamber members – known locally as Chamber Pots – Jasmine Greentea and Biggun Browne defused the situation by smiling slightly and putting Bubbles and Barclay at ease. Well Jasmine did: Biggun merely looked stern, but fair…
“If you can’t see Sir Loftus, darlings,” Jasmine said gently, “just look for a pair of disembodied yellow eyes.”
Grateful for this advice, both youngsters did as they were bid.
“Jolly good.” Sir Loftus said as Bubbles and Barclay finally located his position in the darkened room. “Now to business.”
Well, for the next five minutes the Chairman of the Board proceeded to list all of his junior employee’s inadequacies. He lambasted them for their incompetence and lack of scientific imagination. He let them know, in no uncertain terms that they were useless and of no value to Punting-Modesty. He informed them that he fully intended to release them from their contracts and personally kick them out of the building.
“Yeah,” he snarled, “I’m gonna boot you right up the arse!”
But just as Bubbles’ and Barclay’s knees thought they could knock no louder, and their dental fillings began loosening, a partial reprieve was presented by Biggun Browne:
“Ya get one more chance.” He said bluntly and with no hint of kindness. “One final shot at staying aboard. If you can conjure up one idea between you, right here and now, the Star Chamber are willing to listen. We are not without mercy for those who can think on their feet.”
Both youngsters grabbed this life-line like a plugmutt that has fallen from a cross-channel ferry clutches at rubber rings, discarded deck hatches, old mattresses and other marine flotsam. Desperation and hope gave wings to their minds. After a quick consultation Bubbles replied:
“Despite our best efforts,” she said with surprising forthrightness, “we can’t think of any weapon or vehicle that might interest the Museum of Future Technology. But maybe we can steal someone else’s idea. It’s a thought that Barclay and I had once, quite a while ago, in a Café Puke outlet during a visit to the museum.”
Noting that Bubbles had piqued the Chamber Pot’s interest, Barclay joined in. Together they explained their tentative plan to re-visit the museum and steal technology therein; return it to Punting-Modesty, where it could be reverse-engineered, reconfigured, and made useful as a device with defensive capabilities.
“Bit of a long-shot, don’t you think?” Sir Loftus said to this, whilst his eyes scanned the room in search of either doubt or confirmation of his own thoughts in the eyes of the other Chamber Pots.
Jasmine Greentea avoided her Chairman’s eyes. “I think it’s a lovely idea, darlings.” She said. “You get my vote.”
“Since when has the Punting-Modesty Munitions Company been a democracy?” Biggun Browne retorted.
“I’m just saying.” Jasmine replied slightly defensively.
“Well it’s the best idea I’ve heard lately.” Sopier Clandestino offered his help.
“What have we got to lose?” Gilly Charlick added.
Dick Jason threw in his two-penny worth:
“Nothing.” He roared, “Let’s give the kids a chance!”
“If we don’t have some business plan to offer the company’s bank manager,” Leon Solent spoke gravely, “he’s gonna pull the rug from right under us. We’ll all be out on our arse!”
Sir Loftus made a characteristically fast decision. “On your way.” He instructed his underlings. “But there’s nothing in petty cash: you’ll have to pay your way there. Now sod off to the Museum of Future Technology sharpish: bring us something back we can use. Be gone!”
So it was a surprised and, quite frankly, invigorated couple of young earplugs who made for the Star Chamber exit…
“Can you believe this?” Barclay whispered to his supervisor.
“Yes.” Bubbles replied. “And I’m not overly enamoured with the prospect. I have only fifteen Pluggentos in the bank, and three-fifty in my purse: if we’re going to pay our way to the Museum of Future Technology, you are going to have to cough up the dough.”
“Oh-no,” Barclay wailed at the news – rather more loudly than he’d planned – “I was saving up for a nice pea-shucking holiday on the dusty plain below Lemon Stone. I’d even booked a room at Don Quibonki’s stone tower Bed and Breakfast. Oh, I’m so disappointed!”
Early days yet. Very early days in fact. But work is underway with props. Look…
Yes, some land vehicles that have appeared in various Earplug Adventures through the years, have been pulled out of mothballs and given a coat of paint – along with some cheap soft orange earplugs who managed to get themselves all messy with transferred ink and other nasty stuff. Here’s what the finished articles look like…
Since I mentioned – in an earlier post – that the central characters would be visiting Worstworld again, following a long period (and loads of adventures) without setting on eyes on the place (if you don’t count that passing shot in Surprise Visit), I thought I should up-date the remnants of the 7th Cavalry – those that remained behind after most of their officers and enlisted ‘men’ absconded aboard Ship Number 15 when it returned to the Museum of Future Technology in Worstworld Vol 2. Yes, they’ve gone all mechanized. Regarding the second character – to partner with Bubbles Gloor: meet Barclay Scrimmage…
He’s the orange one, by the way. If you’re wondering why Bubbles Gloor looks familiar, it’s because I’m re-using the Daffney De Mauritania figure from Mutant Island – not because I don’t have any more blank earplugs in stock, but because I like it, and I think ‘she’ will do very well. This is a test shot, by the way. It’s a bit too good to leave unsued, so this will definitely appear in the (so far unnamed) story as in interior of the new and improved Fort Dunderhead. Watch this space.
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.
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.
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!