What Might Come – On the Earplug Front, That Is.

I must admit that (due to circumstances beyond my control) work upon the next Earplug Adventure has been sporadic; sometimes non-existent. For once I have the outline of a plot in place, but precious little else – particularly the most time-consuming element of an EA – namely the photographs. But whenever the opportunity presented itself, I have grabbed my camera; scooped up a silicon character or two; and snapped a few shots. Here is a montage of some of them…

So there you have it. All I need do now is shoot several hundred more photos; make the necessary alterations to them; sort them into a story board; write the text; and post them here. Then, finally, you’ll see the follow-up to this…

 

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The Time Tamperer (part 58)

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

…thus allowing others to use it…

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

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

…geniuses are born into every era…

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

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

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

At that the spies turned away…

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

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

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

The End (for now)

Paul Trevor Nolan 2018

The Time Tamperer (part 56)

Back in the recent past, with control wrenched from the feeble grip of Mincey Muir, Magnuss and Hair-Trigger proceeded to un-brainwash the populace – using the same means that Piggies DuPong had used to strip them of their sentience and individuality in the first place. They shoved them into the Android Regeneration Booth…

…which usually regenerated androids, but also (as a side-effect) made smart people dumb. They began with the biological androids – Montagu and Agnes Lovehandles – who, in turn took over the task…

…thus releasing Magnuss and Hair-Trigger to do other stuff.

It wasn’t a pleasant experience for the long-suffering earplugs…

…but the results were worth the misery. So much so that soon the visitors from the future joined a lengthening queue that almost stretched…

…around the corner. And, of course, as the remedy was administered to everyone, the T.W.I.T agents felt very satisfied with their day’s work…

…and led them away for a ghastly mug of coffee at Cafe Puke.

The catering staff watched them leave…

“Well, darn it, I guess that’s us out of a job.” Wilson complained.

Duncan stared ahead, as if in shock. “I suppose all these folk are gonna be heading back to the future now.” He said after a few seconds of stunned silence.

“Yeah.” Saxon concurred. “But do we really want to join them? I mean, isn’t this the perfect opportunity to get out of the catering industry. Here we can be anything we want to be – within reason, of course: we are limited by our sub-par education and average intellect.”

“Hmm,” Wilson responded thoughtfully. “That Cafe Puke place sounds interesting. If we could improve the coffee there, we could make it a real hit.”

“Great idea, Wilson, baby.” Saxon replied. “All we need are a few more customers.”

Well at that moment Magnuss and Hair-Trigger were returning from across the Obsidian Plain. Naturally the overjoyed museum inhabitants whom they had released from incarceration raced ahead. Even as the catering staff’s conversation came to a close, the returnees were pouring into the Grand Hall…

They were happy-happy-happy…

…and headed straight in the direction of the only working watering hole around: the Cafe Puke…

They didn’t know it, of course, but Duncan, Saxon, and Wilson’s futures seemed assured.

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2018