Latest News:

For Your Pies Only (Part 2)


By Dr. B
May 25 2006

We rejoin the action after 0007, the great pie eating Micky Ward, is preparing to thwart the evil machinations of the cunning and ruthless Oz Tin, head of the Pussycat Empire. "Thumper will be down shortly 0007," replied W. "He wants to brief you on the mission before you go."

"Aye well, it's the debrief ah divvent like, like," moaned Ward. "Aal that talkin' and gubbins when ah could be out there duffun' people up like".

"Indeed Ward ..."; some people would have said W was getting tetchy at this point.

“Ah’ll need geah,” said Ward emphatically. “Geah and meeyats to help us oot like.”

“That won’t pose any significant problems 0007,” grinned W in a conspiratorial fashion, “We have the latest and greatest equipment to help you with this mission. Behold your vehicle, the Falconator Banshee!”

Plumes of dry ice rose as W pressed a big shiny button marked “BUTTON” on the control panel Ward had almost destroyed earlier. Nothing happened.

“Hmm,” mumbled W thoughtfully. Pressing the “BUTTON” button again, the cavern was filled with the horrific screeching and grinding of cogs, gears, racks and pinions.

“Wud ya like me to get off this trapdohwer like?” screamed Ward above the hellish racket of metal on metal.

W said nothing. Lightly flagellating himself with an odd length of conduit, he merely nodded wearily at Ward and steeled himself to press the button one more time.

“Howay man. Can ah press the big shiny button this time?” 0007 asked enthusiastically. “Ah like big shiny buttons me!”

“Very well 0007,” breathed W in a voice that suggested he was close to the end of his tether.

Ward waddled over to the control panel, cracked his knuckles (much to the chagrin of W) and surveyed the range of shiny buttons in front of him. The one marked “DO NOT PRESS” caught his magpie’s eye.

“How, what duz thissun do like? DONUT PRESS? Ah like donuts me!” With almost unnatural speed for a prop forward, 0007 stuck out a dainty digit and pressed the button firmly. Quite apart from the almost inaudible muffled thud as W fainted dead away on the floor, all that could be heard was a faint hissing sound. The kind of faint hissing sound you only get when you sink hundreds of thousands of pounds’ worth of armour-plated, jet-engined, missile-laden supercar into a river of molten lava.

“Ah divvent see nee donuts like ….”


View a Printer Friendly version of this Story.

Bookmark or share this story with:


Newcastle Falcons Poll

Is this a poll

See results > Submit >>