It’s good to be home.
Hans is putting the kettle on and Sally and I are settling down to watch this week’s X Factor. It’s amazing the things that you miss most when you’re in another universe.
Back to the office tomorrow, Sherby57 Towers doesn’t run itself you know.
Since I’m able to write this then I’m still alive and the plan worked. Sort of.
We rolled up at The Lambot’s front door in our guise as giggling schoolgirls and knocked. The robotic sheep answered the door and we gave him the whole spiel about selling cookies, blah blah blah. He looked a bit suspicious but went to get his purse anyway. Then we noticed a slight flaw in the plan; he was still wearing his crown so we couldn’t nick the Eye of Lezdawzon. Nightmare.
The Lambot soon returned and we panicked; Hans and I kicked his metal shins and start pulling at any loose wires we could see. Sally used a spell to levitate towards the crown and was about to be squashed by a swinging hoof when the Lambot saw up Sally’s skirt and came over a bit giddy. It’s good to know that even all-powerful giant robotic sheep are pervs. Sally was able to get the Eye and scooted back down to ground level – the Lambot’s eyes never left her sweet ass. Luckily, the Lambot’s front door is only human sized and so he wasn’t able to follow us as we ran off. Something of a design flaw – he should have a word with his architect.
Bit of a botch job, but in the end it was a result and a nice way to finish the week.
So, Hans has revealed his master plan. He’s an idiot.
The plan is this: dress up as schoolgirls and try to sell the Lambot some cookies. Then, when he goes to get his purse we nick the Eye of Lezdawzon. He says that it is classic espionage; I think he’s just trying to get some kicks. To be fair, I’d quite like to see Sally in the uniform.
As bad a plan as it is it’s the only one we’ve got, so we might as well give it a bash. Oh well, it’s only the fate of the entire multiverse that rests on it. It’s a good job we brought those school uniforms with us.
I’ll let you know how we got on tomorrow. That’s if we’re all still alive.
So, we’re hidden behind an enormous graphite pyramid as literally millions of robotic scorpions hunt us down. We should never have angered The Lambot.
The Lambot is the ruler of this planet and is a giant mechanical Lamb (obviously). It sounds quite cute but when you see liquid hot lava spewing from its gut-hole you know you’re in trouble. After arriving in this universe, we thought it best to go and pay our respects in the Lambot Citadel and then go and make use of their excellent gift shop. As emissaries of Sherby, we were granted an audience with ‘The Gamboling One’ almost immediately, and this is where the trouble started. The Lambot wore a crown, and at its centre was The Eye of Lezdawzon, a rare interspacial gem that is vital to maintaining the stability of the multiverse. It’s amazing what you can buy at car boot sales these days, but we knew we had to get it back. Hans decided on a course of action – just ask for it. It was an interesting choice, but let’s just say that The Lambot wasn’t happy. Yet again, we legged it.
Luckily, Sally was able to cast a cloaking spell and so the hordes of scorpionbots can’t find us. This is only buying us time so we can think of a plan to retrieve the eye. Hans says that he has had an idea, so wish us luck. We’re going to need it.
It’s not been a pleasant day. If you think that normal trumps smell awful, then you should try having a whiff of a hyperspace one. Bloody awful.
Hans, Sally and myself joined our Sherby44 colleagues, George, Harold and Queeege on a trip in to the unknown. That sounds more dramatic than it actually is; in a universe where everything is energy, every journey is in to the unknown. It’s par for the course. There wasn’t a lot of conversation on our voyage to the fart, Hans was still mooning over Dr Angel and Sally was sulking. At one point, I thought she was going to cast a spell on Hans, but she’s a professional and pulled herself together. Having no frame of reference, it was difficult to put a distance on our journey or how long it took. With the tense atmosphere, it seemed like forever.
We could smell the fart before we could see it, but it was a telepathic smell rather than a physical one, and this means you can’t even hold your nose. I passed out at one point as my body struggled to acclimatise. By the time I recovered, we were there. We started with the most obvious solution – coordinated mental battering. We each reached a zen-like trance and started to kick the fart’s metaphorical ass. Despite several centuries combined experience, we didn’t even make a dent. It was then that Hans came to his senses and suggested the horrific answer, we were going to have to plug it manually.
As it required a phyisical solution, it was down to the Sherby57 gang to step to the plate, and our n0n-corporeal brethren telekinetically launched us at the offending stink! It was like being fired straight up Satan’s bum-hole. But, it worked. Hooray for smelly old us.
It also had the side effect of firing us in to a random universe, one that is ruled by The Lambot!
It's a book of this blog.
 | sherby57 on This Kid |
| Justice Club Idol … on The NEW Fantasti-Man | |
 | misfits' miscellany on This Kid |
| sherby57 on This Kid |
| misfits' miscellany on This Kid |
