“I want an eel!” Victoria Scab suddenly squawked.
Everyone stopped clapping.
“Daddy, jump in the tank and grab me an eel!”
“I really don’t think Mr Plonka would like that!” said her father.
“I’m two hundred and fifty-ninth in line to the throne!”
She angrily looked from face to face. Clearly no one was going to give her an eel so she had no choice left.
“I’ll get one myself!” And she leaped into the grotty, grimy tank and started poking about for an eel. She was soon up to her knees in gunk and slowly getting deeper.
"Come here, you slimy little thing. I'm gonna take you to school and impress my teacher!”
“I am your teacher!” said her father and she gave him a scowl which silenced him.
Mr Plonka blew his nose and said softly, “Please don’t do that. No, no, stop it at once.”
“Ha!” shouted Victoria, “Got one!”
Grabbing its wriggling body, Victoria held it aloft for everyone to see.
“This is my eel. I shall call him Rupert!” And she started to climb out of the tank. Suddenly, another eel leaped out and wrapped it slimy body around her arm.
“I only want one! Get off me!”
Then another wrapped itself around her other arm.
“Get these eels off me, Plonka!”
Within seconds more and more sticky, stinky eels were curving and coiling themselves around her body like evil spaghetti. One slithered over her head and covered her mouth.
“Get it ...oouuuffffffgh!”
“Plonka!” screamed her father, “Those eels are attacking my daughter!”
“They are, aren’t they? I never knew they were so clever!”
Then with one huge tug the eels pulled Victoria under the water.
Splosh!
“Oh, look!” said Mr Plonka, “They've plunged her!”
The tank fell silent and everyone looked at it wondering what would happen next.
And what happened next was …
A green, soggy bubble appeared followed by another green, soggy bubble. Two big, bloated bubbles bobbed on the surface.
“Whatever are those and where is my daughter?” asked her father.
Plonka said nothing as the bubbles started getting larger and larger. And as they got larger and larger they started floating upwards.
“What's happening, Plonka?” Mr J.D. Scabb B.A. (Ed) demanded.
“I’ve not got a clue!” said Mr Plonka, “But it’s terribly interesting!”
The two bubbles floated higher and higher until they were almost completely clear of the water. Dangling underneath them was Victoria and both bubbles were coming out of her nostrils.
Mr Plonka clapped his hands joyfully, “How splendid! They’ve stuffed her nostrils with bubble gum!”
“She’s starting to float away, Plonka!”
“I know, I know!” giggled Mr Plonka hopping on the spot.
“Can’t you rescue her?”
“Probably.”
“Will you rescue her?”
“I’m afraid I’ve had a bone in my arm for years and I can’t do this anymore…”
And he lifted up his arm to show he couldn’t lift up his arm.2
Mr J.D. Scabb B.A. (Ed) started grabbing and grasping at the air beneath his daughter’s feet but kept missing her. She rose higher.
“What about the Grumpy Trumpers?” shouted Spike Peecee, making sure he’d got it all on his ePad.
“Oh, very well. If you insist,” said Mr Plonka and put his hand under his armpit summoning his workers.
Three Grumpy Trumpers sauntered into the room with mugs in their hands, sighed, emptied them in the tank and produced some string.
“String?” screamed Mr J.D. Scabb B.A. (Ed). “What use is string??”
One Grumpy Trumper climbed onto the shoulders of another Grumpy Trumper until he was level with Victoria’s drooping legs. He carefully tied the string around her foot and jumped off. Victoria was snatched earthwards with a jolt and then started rising upwards again until the string was taut and she could go no further.
“Pop her in the other room!” ordered Mr Plonka.
“Yes, she’ll be safe there!” said Mr J.D. Scabb B.A. (Ed).
“No, no, I don’t mean pop her in the other room. I mean “pop” her in the other room!” He produced a large pin and handed it to the Grumpy Trumpers. “In the Popping Room!”
“That sounds horrible!” said Mr J.D. Scabb B.A. (Ed).
“Believe me, sir, it’s far, far worse than it sounds. Oh, dear, the Grumpy Trumpers are singing. Cover your ears!”
“Little Miss Scabb has come a cropper
So we’ll take her out and pop her!
The only way to properly stop her
is take a pin and jolly well pop her!
We’ll do it nice and oh-so proper
and we promise not to drop her!
The only way to properly stop her
is take a pin and jolly well pop her!
We promise not to try and bop her
But she really is a stropping whopper!
The only way to properly stop her
is take a pin and jolly well pop her!”
The Grumpy Trumpers tugged at the string as they sang and led away Victoria Scabb and her father.
“Oh, they do love their pop music…” said Plonka, wistfully.
* * *
1 There it goes now.
2 Read it again. It makes sense. Kind of.
THE GREAT SEE-THRU LOO
“One, two, three visitors and two online. Not many left!” said Mr Plonka, totting up his guests on his fingers as they stepped from the Eel Room. “Whatever shall we do now?”
Spike Peecee stabbed his keyboard making sure he’d got good footage of everything that had happened so far. He was trying to upload it to MeTube.
“Your connection stinks!” said Spike.
“Thank you very much.”
“No! I mean it’s not good!” He waved his ePad in front of Mr Plonka’s bemused face, “I can’t get a signal. I need to get to an internet café fast!”
“Are you hungry?” asked Plonka
“Are you stupid?” replied Spike.
“Spike, has anyone ever told you that you a bright, intelligent, articulate and thoughtful child?”
“No.”
“I thought not. Shall we move on?”
Grandpop Fred and Marley were whispering to each other as Mr Plonka started to stride off. He suddenly stopped, spun on the spot and returned.
“What are you whispering about?”
“Nothing,” said Marley.
Plonka looked him up and down and pointed.
“Is that an eel in your shirt?”
“An owl?”
“An eel!”
“No!”
“Yes, it is!”
“No, it’s not!”
“Yes, it is, Marley,” said Grandpop Fred, “You told me you were going to hide it and sell it to Eel World when we got out.”
“Gosh, did I?” said Marley, pulling out the bewildered animal. “How silly of me. Good job Grandaddy spotted it and pointed it out to the nice Mr Plonka.”
He handed over the limp eel. Plonka snatched it from him, inspected it, opened the door to the Eel Room and hurled it in. There was a splash as he slammed the door.
“No more nicking!” said Plonka and strode off.
Marley ran after, followed by Spike Peecee and Grandpop Fred who was rubbing his side where Marley had pinched him.
They turned a grimy corner, walked up some grotty steps, around a few gunky puddles, through a murky archway when Mr Plonka squelched to halt and said, “Here it is!”
“Here what is? I can't see nothing!” said Spike Peecee.
“I can't see anything!” corrected Mr Plonka.
“Well, if you can’t see anything and I can’t see nothing why did we stop?”
“Because what you can’t see is
what we are going to see next!” chirped Mr Plonka.
“Cuckoo…” whispered Spike Peecee loud enough for everyone to hear.
“Lovely child,” said Mr Plonka. “Now just let me get out my instructions.”
He produced a tatty scroll of browning paper with scorched edges from his pocket, brushed it down and peered at it like a suspicious accountant. Then he suddenly leaped to one side and pressed his back against the dribbling wall, leaving a slimy imprint when he stepped forward.
“One… two…. three.” He was counting out his paces. He turned and counted off two more. He turned and with a pointed finger he poked something about the height of his chest that wasn’t there.
Nothing happened.
He sighed.
He poked whatever it was he was poking again. This time a little more violently.
Nothing happened again.
Plonka moaned, groaned, mumbled and muttered under his breath something about the Grumpy Trumpers then took his cane and poked it in the place mid-air again.
There was a sudden scraping and rasping sound and out of nowhere opened a big, grey door.
Spike Peecee and his parents stared open mouthed.
Marley Suckett stared close mouthed wondering what could possibly happen next and if he could make money from it.
Grandpop Fred was swatting a fly and missed it completely.
“This is the Great See-Thru Loo!” Mr Plonka announced. “Everyone move inside!”
Cautiously they all stepped through the door followed by Mr Plonka and found themselves inside a toilet. Not a small, normal, everyday toilet cubicle. This was big enough to hold at least nine people. There was a small W.C. to one side which seemed disgusting and a hand towel covered in scabby stains. The walls were dank and dark and drippy and flakes of paint drifted down from the ceiling as Plonka slammed the door.
“What is that smell?” asked Grandpop Fred, grimacing.
“Every possible toilet whiff you could imagine combined into one wonderful pong. Isn’t it utterly splendid?”
“No!” they all said.
“No!” said Spike’s parents a split second later because of the bad connection.
“Why are we here?” asked Marley.
“Well, Marley, the Great See-Thru Loo can take us to any part of the laboratory simply by pushing a bit of gum.”
As they looked about they saw small pieces of used chewing gum jammed in the walls and crevices and in other places you really shouldn’t jam gum.
“This is the epicentre of my grotty empire! Where shall we go, then?”
“Internet Café! Obvs!”
Mr Plonka looked intently at one wall, he scoured the tiles until he found what he wanted.
“Internet Cafe it is, then!” and he poked a small piece of gum.
The Great See-Thru Loo suddenly jerked with a groan and a growl. Then it swooped and swerved, throwing the last remaining visitors back and forth, forth and back, up and down and down and up. It suddenly looped the loop and Spike screamed,
“This is worse than the Mucky Tug!”
“Thank you!” yelled Mr Plonka. Then it juddered and sped up again and through a small, frosted window they saw room after room after room speed past them.
“There’s the Mould Department!” yelped Mr Plonka, joyfully, pointing his cane.
“The Cat Litter Mill!”
“The Cold Curry Workshop!”
“The Old Cooking Oil Warehouse!”
“The Rancid Whiff Foundry!”
“The Slime Branch!”
“The Rotten Vegetable Stock Room!”
“The Mushroom Defiling Area!”
“The Plughole Cupboard!”
“The Custard Curdling Room!”
“The Zit Popping Cinema!”
“The Decomposing Admin Block!”
“The Garbage Juices Quality Control Room!”
“The Dross Management Point!”
“The Old Mop and Dish Cloths Subdivision!”
“And that’s where we bottle the ear wax!”
They flew by the rooms at a hundred miles an hour and everyone was convinced they were going to crash.
Suddenly it went bang, clatter, rattle, clack, clunk and everyone was hurled against the wall.
“We’ve stopped!” said Marley, as he slid down the wall into a puddle.
The Great See-Thru Loo hissed and sighed and steam poured out the cracks, the lights flickered, the hand towel dropped off the wall and the toilet toppled over emptying its contents across the floor.
“I believe we’ve arrived!”
PLONKA’S INTERNET CAFÉ
The three remaining visitors (and the two on Spike’s ePad) poked their faces around the door of the Great See-Thru Loo and saw something weirder than anything they had so far seen on the entire Grot Laboratory tour.
“A clean room!” said Marley.
“I know…” sighed Mr Plonka, sadly, “It’s still a work in progress, please feel free to drag in anything unsanitary to perk it up a bit.”
The Internet Cafe was whiter than the whitest white thing you could imagine. It was as white as ultra-white toothpaste that had been coated in glossy white paint, hosed down with washing up liquid, cleaned with mega-glow washing powder and then neatly ironed. And worse of all it was clean.
All around sat Grumpy Trumpers, on a break, slurping muddy milk shakes.
A big sign dangled from the wall which read…
“Please Keep Everything Nice and Dirty!”
“Those Grumpy Trumpers!” said Plonka, tapping the sign and saying in a voice loud enough for them to hear, “They take absolutely no notice!” He jabbed one with his cane, “You - put your feet on the table! You - could you at least spill some coffee? You - don’t you dare pick up that orange peel! Has anybody bothered to sneeze in here today? Can someone please sweep in some filth?”
The Grumpy Trumpers looked about at each other, shrugged and one said,
“#%€^*$+#, Plonk-face. We’re on a break!”
“See!” said Mr Plonka, turning and appealing to his guests. “This is what I have to put up with! I don’t know why I bother. I should sack the lot of them!” He turned to the Grumpy Trumpers. “I should sack the lot of you!”
One Trumper shouted back, “And who would you get to do your dirty work then?”
“But you’re not doing ANY dirty work!” bellowed Plonka, then went pink, red and slightly grey then composed himself and rubbed a handful of soil on his face which he kept in his pocket for just such emergencies.
“Ah, well - the course of true grot never did run smooth!” He took a deep breath and smiled his one-tooth smile.
“The Internet Café is the epicentre of my empire.”
“You said that about every other place on the entire tour!” pointed out Marley.
“Listen, moofus, my mind is far too huge to always be in agreement with itself. Sometimes I have two completely opposite thoughts in my head at the same time.”
He stopped a moment, thought, then said, “No, I don’t.”
He paused again then said, “Yes, I do.”
The guests looked at their host as he seemed to be starting an argument with himself.
“Do! Don’t! Do! Don’t! It’s perfectly reasonable to have two different opinions in one head. No, it’s not. You’re just contradicting me now. No, I’m not. If you don’t stop arguing I’ll tweak your ears!”
The Grumpy Trumpers took no notice as Plonka continued to argue with himself spinning on the spot with each change of opinion.
“Two headaches are better than one I always say. No you don’t! Arggghhh! Get me off me!” Plonka shouted, jumping around tugging at his ears, before he could tell himself not to.
Grandpop Fred grabbed Plonka by the shoulders and shook him.
“You’re babbling, Plonka, babbling!”
“Slap me in the face. It’s the only way!” wailed Plonka and Grandpop slapped him fully in the face.
“Don’t slap me!
I meant slap me!” Grandpop Fred was confused by who he should be slapping and who he had just slapped. Plonka shook his head, sighed, shivered like he’d just woken up from a bad dream and smiled his one-tooth smile.
“Thank you so much,” he said, pumping Grandpop’s hand. “I feel much better now.” Then under his breath, “No, I don’t…”
Plonka crumpled his collar slightly, battered his top hat a little, bent his carnation and said, “To get the FGE, please wear these eGoggles!”
“What is FGE?” asked Marley.
“Full Grot Effect!” explained Mr Plonka, merrily.
They all put on the battered goggles which Plonka handed them and looked about.
At the side of the internet café sat a huge printer about the height of a giraffe who’d eaten his all greens and the width of an elephant who hadn’t. It was covered in switches, levers, knobs buttons and mice.1
“Spewlett Pickard made it specially for me. Internet Grot, my friends, is the future of grot! We simply scan a grotty product on this scanner here!” He jabbed the machine and it shook ever so slightly, “and it is sliced and spliced and diced and turned into squadrillions of encrypted pongie-pixels using hyperstinks and proxy protocols, which travel via the SmogCloud™, and returns to its old grotty self at that second Printer over there!”
He pointed his cane dramatically at the other side of the room, accidentally knocking over a Trumper’s milk shake.
“That’s better. No, leave it as it is!”
He turned back to his guests, “Questions?”
“But there are no wires!” pointed out Marley.
“No, there are not! This entire invention uses Whi-ffi!”
“What's Whi-ffi?” asked Spike Peecee.
“It’s like wifi only smellier!” trilled Mr Plonka. He started skipping all around the room, whistling through his tooth and gurgling with delight, “Imagine! Little children throughout the world can log on to www.plonkasinternetgrot.com and choose any manner of grot, grime or gunk they wish and within seconds it comes oozing out of their printer! This machine will revolutionise grot distribution! This’ll get Picklescooper and Limpopo™ in a twist!”
Spike Peecee spoke up, “Has the content negotiation authentication access been transferred or can the HTTP variants slow-start the mechanism or do you use connect tunnelling distribution browsers or request response patterning?”
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