As the four boys relaxed in the luxurious crumb upholstered
interior of the speeding Peugeot 406 estate, the talk was of the
morning's football...'What a goal!' exclaimed L, his flinty
gaze alert under a superficially relaxed stance.
'Don't look now but we've got company' murmured B.
I took a sharp right - careering through a shop front and winding
up in a deserted carpark. 'I think we've lost them' said J through
gritted teeth.'Can't believe you have to pay to park on a Sunday though'
grunted L.' We don't' said B as he brought down the parking meter in a
hail of bullets. 'Make it snappy guys - the film starts in five'.
The agents honed bodies tensed for action.'They've tracked my phone.
They know we're here. Quick. The roof!' Expertly they scaled the wall,
bounding across the tiles to the Peckham Multiplex - sending several
lumps of Deco architecture crashing to the pavement in the process.
Meanwhile the mysterious leather gloved Mr X intercepted the coded
message on the abandoned phone:
'Will u b home 4 t?'
J clutched the bullet wound on his arm 'Are we gonna make it?'
'It'll be tight- but if we don't pull this one we'll staying in at playtime. Forever!' B was ashen as they approached the kiosk. Fingers crossed. Here we go.
'Four children and one adult please' said J firmly. Minutes seemed
like a lifetime as they waited for the hungover-looking youth to print out the tickets....
J didn't flinch as he felt the inevitable muzzle of a gun in his back.
'Ah Mr Bond' purred a chillingly familiar voice...'It seems you have
forgotten your Pick n Mix....'
(To be continued........)
MELONEY LEMON: SWEET AND SOUR.
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A hideous apparition appeared, spewing popcorn from its drooling jowls. The front of its coat was a drizzle of soft drink stains and lumps of blood red ketchup nestled in its matted locks.
'Oh hi guys,' Debi said, a lump of popcorn just skimming B's ear as she spoke. 'Come to see the movie?'
' so....we meet again. ' L put his hand on the Thing's ketchup sodden sleeve. 'This has been your hideout then. I suspected as much!'
L recalled with a shudder his last showdown with this creature, half woman, half biscuit, born in McDonalds, raised in Chicken Cottage on the Walworth Road and posessed of super human strength due to a lifetime of food additive consumption....
L snatched back his hand as The Thing before him morphed into an even more ghastly apparition.
A garish Croc appeared on one of its horny feet, an Ugg boot on the other. A fair trade latte replaced the can of coke clutched in its claws.
L looked closer. It was true - the crumbs spurting from its mouth were definitely organic and he could swear he saw a sunflower seed. A familiar-looking canvas bag swing from its shoulder. SNUB, Louis read. Say No to Unwanted Bags. The creature had gone upmarket.
This was the nightmare scenario he had always dreaded. The demi-biscuit had clearly downloaded a How to be Declasse programme. Now it would never be caught, but would blend in wherever it went.
The horror ... the horror ...
'Put the gun down - we've got you covered. It's the compost heap for you my friend.' B gestured to the agents, guns drawn under their tuxedos. J felt the pressure in the small of his back release as The now newly East Dulwich-ified Thing, stepped back. Suddenly it was nowhere to be seen. Such was it's camouflage that the dangerous
arch criminal was now invisible amongst the folk of South London..
'We'll find that crazy custard cream if it takes a lifetime' scowled B. 'I have a (Kentucky Fried Chicken) bone to pick with her'....
Our heroes' blood turned cold as they heard a ghastly howl echoing through the cavernous spaces of the multi-storey car park.
'Bourbon, garibaldi, the humble digestive ...
Rich tea, jaffa cake, chocolate chip cookie ...
You can never trust a biscuit again. Mwaaaahaahaa ...'
'That really takes the biscuit' muttered L wryly.
'What do you think of the show so far?'
'A bit Bond, a bit Heroes. A bit Spiderman a bit Batm.....'
'SHUT UP!' B hissed. 'Look up there'
A dark cloaked figure spread it's arms against the city sky. As they looked, it leapt from the top of the multi storey....falling. Falling and cackling manically...
Then....a parachute (organic cotton and fairtrade silk)ripped open, jerking the figure like a marionette. In the gloom, the agents watched the creature drop to the ground and scuttle off into the night.
The ground shook as our heroes clung to one another, their blood running icy in their veins.
First they heard an ominous knocking from the direction the creature had scuttled off in. The sound swelled and they realised that the sound they were hearing was the tramping of feet. Many feet. Many thousands of pairs of feet.
They watched in horror as Peckham Rye filled with the unspeakable image of endless platoons of orcs, trudging in the footsteps of Boudicca as far as the eye could see.
Lord of the Rings, L muttered, unsheathing his sword now glowing in the darkness.
" What's that. Somebody say something?"
They surveyed the scene in disbelief. Boudicca, Warrior Queen of the Iceni, arms flailing, nostrils flaring over the prow of her chariot, appeared to be leading an army of fictional monsters up Peckham highstreet.
"This wasn't in the script. I've had enough. Who's written this stuff". L frowned as he punched numbers into his phone. " Get me the director.... hello.."
"Good evening Mr Bond. How nice to speak to you again so soon."
No .. it couldn't be.
" You despicable digestive. You sad piece of stale shortbread. Do you really think you can get away with this?"
" I'm afraid I already have - and if you wish to see your director alive again, you will do EXACTLY as I say".....
L knew he had no choice. The image of those flaring nostrils washed over his brain as he shrugged into his floor length leather coat and began practicing his martial arts moves.
He'd already thought the plot unwieldy and labyrinthine. Now it was clear - it was about to get a whole lot worse.
Spinning round, L watched in mounting horror as the nostrils flared and reproduced, over and over until he was surrounded by identical noses, all with dark glasses balanced precariously on their bridges.
They had entered the Matrix. It was going to take more than a biscuit to save them now.
"All we wanted was a peaceful Sunday. See a movie, eat our own weight in sweets then go back and do our maths homework. Now this!"
wailed the agents...
"This leather coat is so 90's. Can't see a bloody thing in these specs either..complained L."
"Stop whining - just believe. None of this is real. Not the Orcs, not the noses, not the creature, not even the Iron Age chick in the chariot..."
" What is real then." L was confused.
" Your maths homework "
OK. So if L has 3 packets of biscuits, one with 12, one with 16 and one with 20, and he wants to share with his 3 fellow agents, how many biscuits are left over for the orcs?
Ha! Trick question. L would never share his biscuits.
The finest minds this planet has produced all gathered for the debate:
Aristotle, King Solomon, Einstein ...
(the time machine had been invented by then)
Bob Marley, Stephen Hawkins, Homer Simpson ...
Boudicca, Dr Who, Joanna Lumley ...
For 40 days and 40 nights, the debate raged as these great minds grappled with the ultimate question:
Are there any circumstances under which it is correct to classify a jaffa cake as a biscuit?
Unfortunately fisticuffs broke out between Wittgenstein and Mr Kipling. As Guiseppe Garibaldi intervened to prevent this ugly scene, Wittgestein was heard to remark "Is it a cake-ish biscuit - or a bicuity cake? That is the question."
Mr kipling was heard to retort: "Who d'you think you are, bloody Hamlet? Anyway I do make exceedingly good cakes."
The plot had clearly been lost forever...
With a sigh L turned to his fellow agents. " Fortune cookie anyone? ". He turned to the puffed out, irritable runner at his side and took one himself..." can I get a coffee to go with this? " " Coffee for Mr Bond " bellowed the runner to another runner clearly lower down in the movie making hierarchy. L munched on his cookie, unfolding the motto inside:
" If you go down to the woods today - be sure of a big surprise. So if I were you I'd just go home."
'Hang on,' L said glancing round in confusion. 'I swear there was another post after this one. Where's it gone?'
'It's the damn particle accelerator thingy,' shrieked Mel in panic. 'It's created a black hole! Told you so!'
'Nah,' Debi replied, shaking her head. A few random crumbs flew from her ginger tresses. TL identified them instantly as ginger biscuit crumbs. 'It didn't work. Don't you remember? They forgot to put a coin in the slot or something.'
'Yes,' argued Mel. 'But that was in the Real World. It's a blog post that's gone missing. That means virtually anything's possible.'
Tune in tomorrow, folks, to find out how our heroes intend to go about finding the missing blog post.
Or that might possibly be the day after ... or maybe next week ...
In fact it was only 2 days later. Toiling over her steaming keyboard, D was working at home. From the bedroom next door she could hear the familiar click of the Playstation.
Walking past on her way to the neverendingcoffeepot in the kitchen, she glanced in to see how her offspring was faring.
She gasped in shock. The boy perched on the bed, eyes glued to the screen, thumbs stabbing the controls was a nice looking kid. He didn't have horns or cloven hooves. No protruding fangs. He looked ok. Just a 10 year old kid.
Just one problem. D's stomach lurched.
That Wasn't Her Kid!!!
" Scuse me " said Debi,exuding an incense of hobnobs as she wafted past the room. "Did you know you're not my son."
"Hm .. thought I hadn't seen these games before. I only have the PS 1 version of Burnout..Yeah well. Whatever. Are you still still the Biscuit Monster - or is it Game
Over?
"I'll let you into a secret. I am only a fully fledged Foxes Crunch Cream at full moon...and that is tonight. The only cure is to douse me in hot chocolate."
" What does that mean?" L said. "Douse."
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