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| Chapter 2 We plodded along merrily across the depths of the desert. The moon continued to melt my wax crayons that I�d been hiding from the approaching argonaughts on the horizon, and so my footsteps became so irregular that soon my legs were 2 miles apart. �I need a fishcake,� whimpered Soaps, as he was dragged across the desert floor, like one of those old Indonesian nose garments. After what seemed endless dish pan scrubbing materials, we managed to reach the glorious bohemian peg city known only as Perspaculang. Eventually we found the lair of a Bulgarian hippo, who lay in a mansion full to the sideburns with dismantled sock fuses. �Great sulphuric knee binders!� the hippo cried, �I seem to have mislaid my face!� Me and Blowborb exchanged glances. And pears. �Erm, ya, ve were vondering if you could help uz, oh mighty Bulgarian hippo,� proclaimed Blowborb, �Our old retard friend here, he zeemz to have ein serious caze of�muschzee peez.� �Ah, of course, the pliers, I must fetch the pliers�� The hippo span around and disappeared behind a curtain, only to return moments later wearing an apron and holding what seemed to be a tube of toothpaste and a bucket of apple sauce. I couldn�t help but notice the way the hippo rippled as she engulfed the dwarfs that were seamlessly floating around her. �Persparkleries!� She boomed, �Time to extract the radish case bellows!� The hippo then slapped Soaps up against a wall covered in green fish paper. �Now, open shut!� screamed the hippo. Soaps then fell on the ceiling and rolled eggs over an electric acorn until his face displayed the word �century rubber�. He waffled down and stood sideways. �Oboe�I seemed to fried,� sighed Soaps, �Thank you, oh crinkle-cut one.� Our journey then began to wander sideways, forming an ape-like opera horizon around most of my internal organs. We flowed through the missing teeth of a bucket out of the town of Perspaculang and into what could only be described as �5 features of window jelly�, where a small village containing mouth wax thrived. �I think my feet have fallen off,� mumbled Soaps, �and it looks like Blowborb has formed a rather nasty face fungi.� �Do not fear,� I replied, �for I can see an unlikely hazard sign approaching.� And so the days grew older and trumpets were unleashed from the depths of slightly to the left of Middle Earth via rear factorisation that hadn�t been weighted. Upon our second day in the unlikely hazard sign we discovered that the lord of patchy areas, Grimfold, had seized the entire school of knitting beyond his wildest sensory textures?!? We would huddle and murmur if necessary. And possibly buy a lovely jacket potato. Yummy. |