TTTG: Directigible?
Our hero's journey continues. Rudderless (nothing to do with Kevin, I'm afraid...) and still clueless about why he's on these pages and what his mission is, he finds himself a new conundrum tp ponder. (Not Stibbons, I'm afraid...)
A quick recap of the last paragraph:
But his leak has changed the ocelator. He watches a small plinth of polished walnut begin to form beneath the tank circuit, then an ocelot tail appears to extrude from the walnut plaque, followed by a solid gold pair of ocelot back legs, followed by an ocelot butt, followed by a pair of ocelot testicles.
Whatever could it all mean? No-one took a guess at this conundrum in the last episode so no correspondence was entered into, but now it's time to find out.
Story continues:
He realises that this means a cat-ass-trophy is about to take place and jinks violently to the northwest and hides behind a handy - and hugely oversized - rackful of coat hangers. He notes that none of the coats is his size. Isn't that always the way?
The electronic device is now producing tanks. Maybe it's become confused about what tank circuits are actually supposed to do… And maybe it's also confused about what tanks are actually supposed to do... Some have the expected advanced weaponry, but a few have a flush chain attached and a ceramic toilet beneath them, and several are full of water and being driven by goldfish. They’re all falling down all around the dragon, smashing scooter batteries and cybertrucks, and also steadily erasing the hypnotic chalk line. One tank, apparently made by Toyota (and for some reason being driven by Max Walker) tries to drive over - and wakes - the dragon and is immediately consumed by the dragon's flame.
"Aaaaaaa bugger!" resounds Max’s last exclamation. A few bars of “Ask The Leyland Brothers” hang eerily and inappropriately in the echoes in the cave.
He takes stock of where he is, his dirigible now hidden behind another big coathanger, sees the permanently frozen fireworks in the sky above it and knows that this is the Sydney Harbour Bridge.
The fireworks, being in stasis, aren't as bright and sparkly as real fireworks. Their lights and sounds hang ghostly in the air but they're still a fair imitation of their former glory. They're being played over and over on another Australian invention, the Fairlight CMI.
It must be January 26th in this commomwealthy corner of the cave.
There's a sudden flurry of snow, culminating in drenching rain, violent winds, and then a scorching sun creates 120% humidity. Still in Victoria, then. Sure enough, the weather goes through its cycles several more times as he wonders if the east-west link might be open yet.
He's halfway to the opening above, but somehow also seems to have drifted too far west - he can see the WA border where a pile of daylight saving hours lie, wedged in between the fifty years that WA is behind the rest of Australia. This is why Abbott tried to rig the first election in WA, if he'd been caught it would have given him half a century to come up with a Plan, a Plan worthy of the Suppository Of Wisdom. Alas, since Tony's entire life was also fifty years behind all of Australia, they caught onto him immediately and sent him Packering.
He backs the dirigible up a few metres and takes a run-up, finally managing to shed enough sophistication to allow him to pass over the time-slip. It takes longer one way than the other due to the slope of all that piled-up time, he's done this trip several times by aeroplane, and there's definitely a half-hour difference between heading West and travelling East, and he's sure that this is the reason.
Quite far behind him now, the enraged dragon emits a loud fiery fart, which sets a few more Teslas on fire, which torches a few more Samsung phone batteries. He feels privileged to have seen wind power in action. But he has a mission, a quest! He hurriedly lights up a Viscount, pops up a Wet Ones, and adds a few copies of Farenheit 451 to the burner to gain altitude.
And if you're wondering what the knight in rusty armour's mission is, you're not alone. He doesn’t yet know what it is, either. He’s waiting.
For The Author to - just for once, for cripes sake - write a whole plot outline before throwing our hero in at the deep end without a ladder in sight. Sheesh.
A ladder appears.
"Ah gosh darn!" He looked at the leotards where the material had snagged on a generic can he'd incorporated into the greaves. A can of dog food, he seemed to recall - "so chumpy, you could carve it" - and carve, the can could, apparently. Jen wasn’t going to forgive that one, either. His odd craft goes UP.
"What goes up must come down" isn't so depressing when you realise that every direction can be down, and thus must also always be "up" relative to some other direction. You just have to go far enough and you'll find something else to go downwards (upwards!) in relation to. So any direction is actually just as good as any other, and if you dance right, you can keep going up for your entire life if you so choose.
The thin tin gent is getting the hang of this flying thing now. He's found that by pumping his arms in a slightly ridiculous manner, he can actually add almost a metre a minute to his ascent rate. Which is weird because he's entirely in a small cabin under the craft and his movements can’t push any air the way a wing would.
He suddenly realises how lucky he is to also have what seems to be a complete avionics instrumentation system in the tiny cabin of the dirigible. He's suddenly seized by a doubt - is this a dirigible, an airship, or a barrage balloon?
Thank you for reading!
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