Back... Again... Again.
Krulnor fell for what felt like an age, except it was probably closer to 2.81 seconds, and landed atop a Porsche (highly unsafe!) being driven by a man with a beard (highly disgusting!) drinking a cup of poison laced with razor blades while engaged in deep conversation with a snake.
3.68 seconds later the bearded man died of a blood-related disorder (namely, he didn't have any blood left) and the Porsche crashed into another chasm wall, throwing Krulnor forward onto its now steaming bonnet.
Krulnor emerged heroically from inside (inside? between? amongst, maybe?) the steam, droplets of moisture glistening on his sculpted pectoral muscles as he casually wiped his forehead with the rear of his hand, to the rapturous applause of a crowd of Nelksunian babes. 4.68 seconds later, the babes were in fact raptured, confusing many a Biblical theologian.
By this stage Albert had found himself a Nelksunian female pelican with which he could quite happily settle down and raise a well-mannered Nelksunian (yes, they do exist) family of little Alberts and Albertinas (yes, it is a name) and thus was not particularly disposed to helping our vainglorious protagonist at this point in the narrative.
Krulnor was on his own.
Well, not entirely. That chap on the rhino was still there, and in the 11.17 seconds of steam-related confusion had managed to rustle up (though who knows why he didn't just go and find one) a rope and was currently lowering the rope down the edge of the chasm, the top end firmly secured to Gilchrist's tail.
Krulnor ran for the rope, nimbly sidestepping a casually-placed-in-such-a-way-that-it's-meant-to-look-accidental-but-actually-just-looks-placed pile of razor blades, boldly leaping over a black mamba, heroically sliding past a Carrera, and smoothly punching in the face Liev Schreiber. He then gloriously leapt for the rope, fantastically missed, and stoically fell to the ground and cried for Mummy. Mummy was busy in the kitchen at the moment darling so go and play with your friends, so Krulnor instead just stood up and started to climb the rope.
Unfortunately, nobody had ever asked Gilchrist if he liked having his tail pulled. Which is tragic, really, given that Rhinesque (the official language of all rhinos except the south african ones, who just say "ja" and "springboks" a lot and that suits them fine) is a relatively simple dialect of only 8 verbs, 24 nouns (three of which mean 'grass'), and 5.91 adjectives. But it was too late for all that now, because of course had a qualified Rhinesque speaker been on hand to ask Gilchrist the aforementioned question, his answer would have been "No."
So once he felt the dreaded sensation of a pulling on his tail, Gilchrist reacted the way we all would on such an occasion, and bellowed at the top of his lungs, stamped his feet, and ran as fast as he could for the small hamlet (a village, not a miniature cut of meat popular at Christmas time) of Ricksmond.
Krulnor, heroically climbing the rope as he was, was suddenly whisked (manually, not one of those newfangled electric whisk thingies) up and over the cliff and dragged forward along the dry and rocky ground. He quickly let go of the rope, and tried to roll clear of its steadily advancing tail. But too late! The rope's end caught Krulnor and wrapped itself around his ankle, and before the horrified eyes of the chief of Nelksun and the now childless parents of the recently raptured babes, Krulnor found himself being dragged along the hard ground at a breakankle speed (not quite as fast as breakneck but still a decent clip I'll have you know) and bouncing up and down upon the rocky terra firma.
"Krulnor!" Cried the chief, "Your mission awaits you in the small and backward town of Dleifekaw!" (I mean, literally, even the name was backward!)
Krulnor tried to call out something in reply, in between bounces.
"...get..."
"...m..."
"...p...l....can..."
The chief and the mothers scratched their heads (their own heads, cos it's rude to scratch another skull without permission) trying to work out what Krulnor had just said,
"Get me a politician" seemed like the most straightforward interpretation,
So they posted him David Cunliffe.
Previous Chapter : : Next Chapter
3.68 seconds later the bearded man died of a blood-related disorder (namely, he didn't have any blood left) and the Porsche crashed into another chasm wall, throwing Krulnor forward onto its now steaming bonnet.
Krulnor emerged heroically from inside (inside? between? amongst, maybe?) the steam, droplets of moisture glistening on his sculpted pectoral muscles as he casually wiped his forehead with the rear of his hand, to the rapturous applause of a crowd of Nelksunian babes. 4.68 seconds later, the babes were in fact raptured, confusing many a Biblical theologian.
By this stage Albert had found himself a Nelksunian female pelican with which he could quite happily settle down and raise a well-mannered Nelksunian (yes, they do exist) family of little Alberts and Albertinas (yes, it is a name) and thus was not particularly disposed to helping our vainglorious protagonist at this point in the narrative.
Krulnor was on his own.
Well, not entirely. That chap on the rhino was still there, and in the 11.17 seconds of steam-related confusion had managed to rustle up (though who knows why he didn't just go and find one) a rope and was currently lowering the rope down the edge of the chasm, the top end firmly secured to Gilchrist's tail.
Krulnor ran for the rope, nimbly sidestepping a casually-placed-in-such-a-way-that-it's-meant-to-look-accidental-but-actually-just-looks-placed pile of razor blades, boldly leaping over a black mamba, heroically sliding past a Carrera, and smoothly punching in the face Liev Schreiber. He then gloriously leapt for the rope, fantastically missed, and stoically fell to the ground and cried for Mummy. Mummy was busy in the kitchen at the moment darling so go and play with your friends, so Krulnor instead just stood up and started to climb the rope.
Unfortunately, nobody had ever asked Gilchrist if he liked having his tail pulled. Which is tragic, really, given that Rhinesque (the official language of all rhinos except the south african ones, who just say "ja" and "springboks" a lot and that suits them fine) is a relatively simple dialect of only 8 verbs, 24 nouns (three of which mean 'grass'), and 5.91 adjectives. But it was too late for all that now, because of course had a qualified Rhinesque speaker been on hand to ask Gilchrist the aforementioned question, his answer would have been "No."
So once he felt the dreaded sensation of a pulling on his tail, Gilchrist reacted the way we all would on such an occasion, and bellowed at the top of his lungs, stamped his feet, and ran as fast as he could for the small hamlet (a village, not a miniature cut of meat popular at Christmas time) of Ricksmond.
Krulnor, heroically climbing the rope as he was, was suddenly whisked (manually, not one of those newfangled electric whisk thingies) up and over the cliff and dragged forward along the dry and rocky ground. He quickly let go of the rope, and tried to roll clear of its steadily advancing tail. But too late! The rope's end caught Krulnor and wrapped itself around his ankle, and before the horrified eyes of the chief of Nelksun and the now childless parents of the recently raptured babes, Krulnor found himself being dragged along the hard ground at a breakankle speed (not quite as fast as breakneck but still a decent clip I'll have you know) and bouncing up and down upon the rocky terra firma.
"Krulnor!" Cried the chief, "Your mission awaits you in the small and backward town of Dleifekaw!" (I mean, literally, even the name was backward!)
Krulnor tried to call out something in reply, in between bounces.
"...get..."
"...m..."
"...p...l....can..."
The chief and the mothers scratched their heads (their own heads, cos it's rude to scratch another skull without permission) trying to work out what Krulnor had just said,
"Get me a politician" seemed like the most straightforward interpretation,
So they posted him David Cunliffe.
Previous Chapter : : Next Chapter
posted by Musings | 10:58 PM
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