And so it go on and even me, molesworth the goriller of 3B, am not unmoved by the sentiments of the season. Helping myself to 7 spoonfulls of sugar in my tea at brekfast i look pensive.
‘Tell me, bro, wot are you thinking, o weedy wet?’ sa molesworth 2, making a lake of treakle in his poridge.
i slosh him and return to my reverie.
Time 2000.
Scene: The laboratory of sir nigel molesworth, full of atommic instruments, retorts, bunsen burners ect. A copy of a horor comic lie on the table and, in the corner, a plektodotroscope revolve slowly, making calculations.
Enter molesworth 2, now grown more hideous than ever. He is an interviewer for t.v.
MOLESWORTH 2: Good evening, sir nigel. This place does not half ponk, if i may sa so.
‘Ah yes, that removed the figgs from syrup of figgs. A grate boon.’
SIR NIGEL: Even with the technical progress of the 20th century no one hav been able to eliminate ponks from labs. They used to be called ‘stinks’ you kno hee-hee-hee.
MOLESWORTH 2: now, sir nigel, one of your inventions was a cure for smoking, was it not, clot?
SIR NIGEL: Yes, yes, That was a simple matter. i made a cig that was so long no one could reach to the end to light it. A simple application of the laws of pythagoras hee-hee-hee.
MOLESWORTH 2: How weedy. But yore greatest invention, that by which you are world famous was the droposcope?
SIR NIGEL: Ah yes, that removed the figgs from syrup of figgs. A grate boon.
MOLESWORTH 2: No, clot, the droposcope.
SIR NIGEL: Ah yes, i’m sorry. A little hard of hearing. The droposcope. That was the first ballooon to go downwards: i’m afrade it made nonsense of sir isaac newton and, of corse, the rusians were grately discomfited.
MOLESWORTH 2: Was not a boy called peason, an old skool frend, associated with yore diskovery?
SIR NIGEL: Peason? Well, i did kno him and he did a little of the elementary alg… mind you, i don’t want to sa a word against him… but you kno, on quite the wrong line… quite hee-hee-hee.
MOLESWORTH 2: Hav you anything else to sa, sir nigel, in the glory of your later years?
SIR NIGEL: Oui. Scram, you clot-faced worm, or i will utterly bash you up.
(He seizeth the microphone and throweth it in the plektodotroscope. A bird sing: a worm turn ect.)
And so it go on. But i do not think i will ever be the BRANE of BRITAIN as every other boy will be. Perhaps by that time there will be room in the world for a huge lout with o branes. In which case i mite still get a knighthood.
THE END
****** All the fakts are CORECT for a change.
* All fakts cored for a change.
* All the fakts are CORECT. They have been certified by the board of trade, ticked by Sigismund the Mad Maths Master and approved by the glassblowers union cheers.
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