Identity
Rule Number 23 in the Q Dimension: Everyone who is from the P Dimension is a total loser and smells like a latrine.
Cat continued to speak. "I'm in here too Ernie, and this is totally not what I signed up for when I applied for the job as evil minion, I'm totally taking a holiday after this is over!"
"Yes, and I am in here also!" A rich manly voice emerged from our furry friend's cake-hole (or jellymeat-hole to be precise).
Ernie and the Martins all stood aghast, trying to comprehend the strange sitation they now beheld. D&MTD was keeping himself busy changing the Dark and Mysterious oil. Harold stroked Cat absentmindedly. In sync, 5 slightly different sounding "purrr"s emerged from Cat's mouth; it kind of sounded like Bathurst if you know what I mean. At the same time, a weirdly satisfied "mmarrrtin" also emerged. That didn't fit in with the Bathurst metaphor quite so well, unless of course someone was there taking to V8 Supercars CEO Martin Whitaker.
Ernie stepped back for a second and laughed evilly. "Mwahahaha! This has turned out better than I thought! Now all I need to do to deal with this mess is kill this stupid Cat and I will win a victory for all things evil!"
Harold and the Martins all tensed up upon hearing that statement, and a cacophony of conversation burst forth from Cat's jowls.
"No!"
"Ernie!"
"Martin!"
"Good man, desist!"
"This I definitely didn't sign up for!"
"Mraa!" (Translation of this last phrase is disputed, though scholars tend to occupy one of two camps (situated at Teapot Valley and Quinney's Bush respectively), one group suggesting that in this case the phrase should be translated "Don't to it!" and the other group suggesting a more accurate translation is "Biscuits!")
Ernie pulled a menacing-looking knife from out of his sock (it was actually Momma Ville Jeenius' meat cleaver, and at this exact moment she was turning the house upside-down (literally!) looking for it so she could dice some brisket. Dang that brisket.) and advanced upon Cat. Immediately Martin Johnson leapt in front of him, brandishing a stick of rhubarb. "Ernie, stop!" he cried.
Sccching!
Swish!
And the stick of rhubarb fell to the ground, cut in half. Johnson also fell to the ground, minus an arm.
Martin Schpitowski leapt in front of Ernie next, wielding the handle of his vacuum cleaner with clinical precision. "Don't foce me to use this, Ernie!" He cried.
Schptwack!
Slice!
And the vacuum handle was now two half-length vacuum handles! And Schpitowski spent the rest of his life with only one leg.
Ernie continued his advance. Steinhoffenburger was the last to leap to Cat's defense, wielding a strange looking device with the label "Martin Steinhoffenburger's very experimental proton shrinker thingy" stuck to it with pva glue and duct tape. Steinhoffenburger didn't offer a warning, he just pressed an ominous looking red button on the thing and pointed the pointy end of it at Ernie.
And not so suddenly, they were all saved by Harold.
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Cat continued to speak. "I'm in here too Ernie, and this is totally not what I signed up for when I applied for the job as evil minion, I'm totally taking a holiday after this is over!"
"Yes, and I am in here also!" A rich manly voice emerged from our furry friend's cake-hole (or jellymeat-hole to be precise).
Ernie and the Martins all stood aghast, trying to comprehend the strange sitation they now beheld. D&MTD was keeping himself busy changing the Dark and Mysterious oil. Harold stroked Cat absentmindedly. In sync, 5 slightly different sounding "purrr"s emerged from Cat's mouth; it kind of sounded like Bathurst if you know what I mean. At the same time, a weirdly satisfied "mmarrrtin" also emerged. That didn't fit in with the Bathurst metaphor quite so well, unless of course someone was there taking to V8 Supercars CEO Martin Whitaker.
Ernie stepped back for a second and laughed evilly. "Mwahahaha! This has turned out better than I thought! Now all I need to do to deal with this mess is kill this stupid Cat and I will win a victory for all things evil!"
Harold and the Martins all tensed up upon hearing that statement, and a cacophony of conversation burst forth from Cat's jowls.
"No!"
"Ernie!"
"Martin!"
"Good man, desist!"
"This I definitely didn't sign up for!"
"Mraa!" (Translation of this last phrase is disputed, though scholars tend to occupy one of two camps (situated at Teapot Valley and Quinney's Bush respectively), one group suggesting that in this case the phrase should be translated "Don't to it!" and the other group suggesting a more accurate translation is "Biscuits!")
Ernie pulled a menacing-looking knife from out of his sock (it was actually Momma Ville Jeenius' meat cleaver, and at this exact moment she was turning the house upside-down (literally!) looking for it so she could dice some brisket. Dang that brisket.) and advanced upon Cat. Immediately Martin Johnson leapt in front of him, brandishing a stick of rhubarb. "Ernie, stop!" he cried.
Sccching!
Swish!
And the stick of rhubarb fell to the ground, cut in half. Johnson also fell to the ground, minus an arm.
Martin Schpitowski leapt in front of Ernie next, wielding the handle of his vacuum cleaner with clinical precision. "Don't foce me to use this, Ernie!" He cried.
Schptwack!
Slice!
And the vacuum handle was now two half-length vacuum handles! And Schpitowski spent the rest of his life with only one leg.
Ernie continued his advance. Steinhoffenburger was the last to leap to Cat's defense, wielding a strange looking device with the label "Martin Steinhoffenburger's very experimental proton shrinker thingy" stuck to it with pva glue and duct tape. Steinhoffenburger didn't offer a warning, he just pressed an ominous looking red button on the thing and pointed the pointy end of it at Ernie.
And not so suddenly, they were all saved by Harold.
previous chapter : : next chapter
posted by Musings | 6:07 PM
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