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For Your Pies Only - 3


0007

By Dr B
May 26 2006

Quite apart from the loss of his primary vehicle for the forthcoming mission to destroy once and for all the Pussycat Empire, Ward would have been astonished (had his mind not been preoccupied by the apparent lack of donuts) at the presence of molten lava deep below the frozen KP pitch. All that time, he would have thought, we had Melon warming up the showers for Burkey and we could have tapped into this infinite resource of geothermal energy! However, Ward was a forward and thus not capable of such intellectual thought processes; the only man who was capable was currently otherwise engaged in the Hiding Place crčche teaching the younger members of the squad how to recognise narcissism by way of reading Permatan’s autobiography.

A groggy W came round, prostrate on the floor after 0007 had destroyed the one and only Falconator Banshee.

“Ward? What have you DONE?” sobbed W.

“I dunno like,” began Ward.

“ENOUGH!” A new voice echoed around the confines of the Fat Cave. A voice of authority. The voice of a man who was in complete control of his own destiny. The voice of a man who didn’t tolerate mediocrity in any guise. The voice of the all-powerful Thumper.

“Thumpah!” Ward greeted the Kingston Park demi-god warmly, shaking him by the hand and breaking Thumper’s wrist in three places.

Gritting his perfectly capped teeth through the pain, Thumper addressed W.

“What happened here Walts?” he enquired?

“Ward, sir. He pressed the “DO NOT PRESS” button.”

“Ah thought ah’d get some donuts like,” began Ward angrily.

“Why have we got God teaching the backs to read when the bloody forwards can’t either?” howled W from a reclining position on the cavern floor.

“ENOUGH!” screamed Thumper, the veins on his forehead bulging (and curiously spelling out the words “RA is my lovechild” at the same time).

Apoplectic with rage, Thumper stalked over to the control panel and jabbed at another button; a shabby, ragged button in a curious shade of puce that simply read “BACKUP CAR”.

In a triumphant fanfare that sounded like a hooker breaking wind in the communal bath, a trapdoor opened in the floor and Ward’s new vehicle was revealed in all its glory …………

“Whatthehell’sthat?” spluttered 0007, aghast at the behemoth that greeted him. He was cheered however by the discovery of a Cadbury’s Crčme Egg in W’s coat pocket as he helped him off the floor.

In front of the three of them stood the least impressive spy vehicle W, Ward and Thumper had ever seen. A modded Sinclair C5 in an enamouring shade of off-white stood glistening under the arc lights of the cavern’s roof.

“Wozzat then? A radar tracking suppository?” asked Ward, baffled.

“That’s your new vehicle 0007,” smirked W. “Seeing as you took it upon yourself to destroy the Falconator Banshee, here’s your backup. We haven’t given it a name, but it looks ugly, runs like a tank and hasn’t proved to be much use so far this season.”

“Ah, nice one,” giggled Mickey. “Ah’ll call it Tino”.


IN THE NEXT INSTALMENT, 0007 MUST CHOOSE HIS CRACK TEAM TO BRING DOWN THE PUSSYCAT EMPIRE. WILL ANYONE BE IMMUNE?

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