824 – A Magic Number, or the Ceiling?

I’ve noticed that for the past few weeks I’ve maintained an average of 824 followers. When I say ‘averaged’ what I mean is that 824 appears to be the number beyond which this blog cannot go. A sort of light  speed limit, so-to-speak. For an hour or two it slips up to 825, but just as quickly it descends back to the magic number. I wonder why this should be. Here’s a nice photo to tempt you to break through the barrier.

wall of blooms

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Return of the Prodigal Earplug (part eleven)

Whilst the Time Techs quaked in their futuristic boots, Seamus O’Bollocks, his wife – the lovely Vulva, and the other Peat-Boggers (that had been accidentally carried by the Tunnel Temporal to the Museum of Future Technology, several days earlier, from an Eleventh Century Irish peat bog) had taken the Spindly’s warning that they should either return to the peat bog or be exterminated…

spindlies arrive at tunnel

…to heart. So whilst the Time Techs fretted over the huge mathematical wall chart, under the watchful gaze of several agents of T.W.A.T that Flaccid had left behind when he departed for the Twat headquarters of Swotten Hetty…

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…they’d stolen into the Tunnel Temporal; punched in the co-ordinates; and pressed the big button marked ‘Go’. Seconds later…

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“Oh, can’t you just tell we’re home by the smell of the air, wife?” Seamus said gleefully.

“Rotting vegetation and brackish water.” The lovely Vulva replied. “I love it!

Then everyone noticed that she was wearing the pudding hat that had been given to her by the Italian Hat-Wearing team…

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“Oh, female,” Seamus wailed, “don’t you know that it’s an ill omen to bring something of that terrible place they called the Museum of Future Technology to this technologically backward era?”

“Sorry.” The lovely Vulva said…

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…and cast the pudding hat aside and spat upon it.

“Well I’m sure  there’s no damage done, so there isn’t.  Let’s go home.”

So before long…

jun11 010

…the Peat-Boggers began their trek back to the encampment from which they’d departed several days earlier on an adventure beyond either (or any) of their imaginations. They’d seen…

peatboggers arrive from tunnel

…their first computer. They’d been hunted by rogue…

peat boggers hide from sentinels

…sentinel robots, and threatened to eat some frightened rubber bungs. They’d…

peat boggers fear headsucker

…been abducted and placed in suspended animation. And…

peatboggers in ufo

…hidden inside a flying saucer.  But now they were back…

jun11 011

…and sadly things weren’t going quite as swimmingly as Seamus had hoped. Knobby had always liked forests, and had spent an inordinate amount of time in the Museum’s arboretum. Now a nearby copse that no one could recall ever seeing before called to him like a siren song. And so he dropped out of line and disappeared inside the inviting dark wood.

Later still…

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“Does anyone remember a misty lake?” Seamus inquired. “I’m fekked if I do!”

And later still the peat-bog seemed to slowly transform into scrubland.

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“You’ve taken the wrong route, you big daft dick!” The lovely Vulva complained.

This  supposition seemed well supported  when…

jun11 016

…the land turned to arid semi-desert.

“I’m following the fekking sun.” Seamus snapped angrily. “Either it’s moved, or something’s happened to our beloved peat-bog!”

And both these suggestions were equally well supported when they chanced upon a high hedgerow.

jun11 014

“If there’s one thing that I can’t fekking stand, it’s a fekking hedgerow.” Seamus growled. “You always have to walk around the fekkers!”

And when they actually walked around this ‘fekker’…

jun11 018

…they discovered an area of arable land. Worse still, there were people farming it.

“Fekking end caps!” Seamus exploded. “I never could stand the little fekkers.”

“Eat them, Seamus.” The lovely Vulva screamed. “Eat them now!”

Seamus considered this for a moment. He then decided to engage them in conversation:

“What are you bunch of fekkers doing in my peat bog?” He roared.

If Seamus had expected the end caps to be cowed by his opening verbal volley, he was to be disappointed. It seemed that the Peat-Boggers arrival had been anticipated, and one of the end caps, by the name of Crud, was dispatched from his duties to lead them to the office of the new owner of the eleventh century Irish peat bog…

jun11 019

And it wasn’t a task that he relished.

My, what’s happened to the peat bog? Return to find the answer.



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Return of the Prodigal Earplug (part ten)

No sooner had the heroic hero earplugs, Rudi and Valentine, fled the scene, when some new arrivals appeared from the entrance of the Tunnel Temporal.

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“Oh fuck, we’re toast.” The head Time Tech groaned under his breath.

“Future Robotic Security Guards?” The second-in command Time Tech wailed.

“FuRoboSecGuas!” The runt of the Time Tech litter screamed. “For god’s sake – why?”

jun15 002

The leading FuRoboSecGua introduced itself:

“I am Red Five. My compadres and I have come from the future to help clean up the shit in which this era finds itself mired. We will  now leave you to your unenviable task of maintaining a dysfunctional Tunnel Temporal, and go take a look-see around this old dump.”

The Time Techs breathed a sigh of relief as the FuRoboSecGuas departed, and whom soon had their cybernetic noses into everything…

future robos

“Nice view.” Red Five opined to the other FuRoboSecGuas. “Not sure about the fake old shack behind us. A little pretentious methinks.”


red robot cop

…when it spotted a red warning light on the Security Records computer, metaphorical alarm bells began ringing, and it felt duty bound to investigate.

Meanwhile the Time Techs hadn’t been left alone as they’d been promised…

jun8a 004

…because Major Flaccid, and several goons from T.W.A.T had come visiting.

“We don’t like what’s going on, do ya hear me?” The Major opened. “These Time Storms are playing merry hell with law and order. The inhabitants of the Museum of Future Technology  are pooping in their pants with fear and constant doubt that they’ll cease to exist from one moment to the other. I’ve already soiled two pairs of underpants, and I don’t have a third!”

“Just get to the fucking point,” the lead Time Tech demanded, “you jumped up toss-pot, you.”

For a second Sergeant Blob thought that his commanding officer would explode with indignation. He was already in the dog house over the chip pan fire incident, and he really didn’t want Major Flaccid any more angry that he was already.

“Our scanner’s fucked.” The  end cap confessed. “We wanna see yours. If you don’t say yes, we’re gonna beat you up and stick your heads up each other’s arse hole.”

Well with that form of persuasion, the Time Techs were absolutely delighted to allow the agents of T.W.A.T access to their scanner, which showed…

jun8a 002

…people waiting at a mag-lift train station – even though all trains had been cancelled due to their disappearance into another era. And…

jun8a 001

…Rudi and Valentine discovering the pollution in the Crystal Sea.

“Is this a recording?” Flaccid inquired. “Those two guys called us about the pollution over twenty minutes ago!”

“No,” the junior Time Tech replied, “it’s a live feed.”

“But how this be?” The confused military leader spluttered.

“What can I say?” The Time Tech head answered. “Like your scanner, time itself is fucked.”

Flaccid’s fury returned with a vengeance. He dragged the Time Techs into the Office of Temporal Mechanics, where he placed them before a huge wall chart full of numbers and stuff he didn’t understand. 

jun8b 012

“There,” he growled, “is everything that’s either known or theorised upon concerning time travel. You sort this out, or we’ll be back to sort you out!”

Talk about a rock and hard place! What more could possibly happen after that? Return to find out.


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Return of the Prodigal Earplug (part nine)

But, whilst a would-be god continued upon his quest for sovereignty, two of the Museum of Future Technology’s greatest heroes – those being Rudi and Valentine Earplug –  decided to get their arses into gear, and investigate the extent of the Time Storm problem. Their first act was to ride out to the Woven Expanse in their two-earplug runabout…

rudi & val in buggy reversed

“What do you think we’ll find, brother?” Valentine shouted rearward from the driving position.

Rudi thought back to their recent study in the cemetery…

jun8b 003

“A verdant abundance of foliage.” Rudi replied. “Stuff grows like shit during Time Storms.”

But the elder brother couldn’t have been more wrong…

rudi & val find mouldin expanse reversed

“It’s the original mold problem again.” Rudi said in a concerned tone.

But the tone became more than concerned when…

rudi & val find tear reversed

…they found a huge tear in the fabric of space/time.

“Argh!” Valentine was heard to yell when Rudi explained the ramifications of the discovery.

“You mean…?” He began.

Then he was mightily relieved that the runabout could convert into a boat because a time storm chose that moment to strike, and…

rudi and valin boat sharpened reversed

…the Expanse became suddenly inundated.

“Rudi,” he said, “my wanger might be longer than yours, but you have the greatest intellect. I would never have expected this.”

Then something happened that even caught Rudi unawares…

rudi and valin boat sunk

…everything went wonky, and it appeared that space itself was pixellating.

“I don’t like it, Rudi.” Valentine whimpered in a most unheroic fashion. “Explain it to me, or make it go away.”

But before Rudi could respond…

rudi and val on island backlit reversed

…they found themselves upon a small island, which dried out quicker that a damp pair of knickers in a tumble dryer…

sept1a 003

This gave Rudi an idea, and very quickly they rowed to the shore of the nearest permanent lake – the Crystal Sea.

jun8b 001

“Just as I thought.” Rudi growled. “Time has accelerated. The perfectly pure waters are contaminated with red algae. This water is deadly to earplugs!”

“You mean..?” Valentine hesitated to ask the question.

“That’s right,” Rudi replied to the un-asked question, “all public urinals might have to be closed!”

A short while later…

jun15 006

…they tested the public urinals in the only way they knew.

“No,that’s fine.” Rudi announced. “Panic over.”

But if they’s stayed just one more minute…

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“Cripes,” the next user yelped as his wife waited patiently beside him…

jun15 008

…look what the splash-back’s done to my personal protuberance. I’ll have to visit Accident and Emergency, quickly followed my lawyers. Do you have a camera handy? This urinal should be closed forthwith!”

But whether Rudi and Valentine were aware of this event, it mattered not: they’d seen enough. Especially when their forward progress was slowed dramatically…

jul23 018

…by a floor that seemed to be melting with age.

“That’s it…” Rudi snapped…

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…”Time to kick some arse!”

So, after they’d extricated themselves from the metallic mire…

jun15 003

…they went straight to the Tunnel Temporal – and the Time Techs from the future who had insisted on keeping the defective time machine operative.

“Oi, you meddling morons.” Rudi began, as he knocked the welding helmet from one of the Time Tech’s head…

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…”You either shut this thing down, or we do it for you.”

Naturally the Time Techs did not react well to be spoken to in such a manner – especially by two dumkopfs who didn’t know one end of a screwdriver from the other.

jun15 004

“Piss off.” The head Time Tech hissed.

Then the Tunnel Temporal self-activated.

“There’s something coming through.” Rudi gasped. “Quick, Val: run!”

What could it be? Discover the truth by returning for  the next episode.



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Return of the Prodigal Earplug (part eight)

It was clear to anyone watching that Sir Dodger was up shit creek without an outboard motor. Beads of sweat broke out upon his forehead; ran down his face; over his once hairless torso; into his underpants; finally to drip, embarrassingly, from the end of his dick.

Fortunately for all concerned – with  the exception of Ballington of course – Valerie Kitoff was like any other thimble: he never went anywhere without at least two land mines secreted about his person. Within seconds…

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…he’d whipped a couple from inside his voluminous anus, and tossed them to the ground at Ballington’s feet.

“Holy shit,” Ballington yelped as his attempts to take control of Sir Dodger evaporated like the morning dew before the radiant heat of a blast furnace, “are you fucking insane?”

With that he ran like buggery…

jul8 006

“And don’t come back.” Chuck Trunnion yelled at Ballington’s receding back. “Next time I’ll wrap your bollocks in a scalding souffle!”

“An inspired move, Valerie, my old chum.” Sir Dodger congratulated his friend.

“Da,” Valerie responded. “Lucky I forgot to arm them.”

Having made his way quickly from Big Fat Sandy Mountain, Ballington found himself upon the Woven Expanse. Puzzled by his failure with Sir Dodger, he once more placed his mind-control helmet upon his huge head, and tried to influence some passers-by…

jul8 008

…but unless he caught their eye, they all seemed to pay him no attention whatsoever – even Pinkie Stinkerton. So he tried it on the singer, Beeki Spitoon, and her new beau – session-musician –  Hugh J’hampton…

jul8 007

But Beeki’s mind was taken with learning the lyrics to the latest Trumptations song; and Hugh was playing a funky bass line that only he could hear. So he collared a singleton transvestite…

jul8 009

…who just happened to be a history nut, and who had been recently studying Ballington’s lust for glory.

“Oh, I’m such a fan of yours.” He/she said. “Can I touch your willy?”

Ballington gave up, and tossed his helmet aside.

“If you must.” He said.

Later, the mighty Cork God made his way to some of the outlying buildings of the Museum of Future Technology…

jul7 008

…where he suggested that an Iberian earplug also touch his willy – but without success – even when he placed him upon a pedestal and offered to show him how to do it…

miserable tapon in white light

So he grimaced into the morning sun that streamed through a high-level window.

spain summer 2015 108

“What a crap god I am.” He grumbled as he bemoaned his situation. “I’ve allowed one transvestite to derail me. I let my privates do my thinking for me. Well no more!”

With that Ballington strode purposefully to a nearby Earplug Transfer Conduit Station and…

jul7 010

…demanded that the two ‘female’ silver mechanical androids who stood there waiting to travel become his followers.

“We are sorry,” the androids said in unison, “but we are not programmed to believe in gods. We are afraid that we must refuse your demand, and tell you to go fuck yourself.”

For a moment Ballington was bereft. All his plans were turning to rat shit before his eyes. He considered returning to Shithouse Island. Then, with it’s recent success uppermost in its cybernetic mind, the Robot Guide happened by…

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“Well how-dee-do,” it said to Ballington cheerfully, “how’s it hanging, bro?”

Ballington was socially out-of-date.

“Do you refer to my penis?” He inquired gruffly.

The Robot Guide then explained it’s function within the Museum of Future Technology.

Hope blossomed inside the barrel-like chest of the huge cork.

“Show me.” He said.

And so Ballington’s plan became rejuvenated. He didn’t have a follower exactly; but at least someone was following someone else, so it was a good start.

jul7 012

Oh cripes, now the museum’s in for it. Return to find out just what.




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Wallpaper 152: Upsidedown and ready to suck

busy bee

Click the pic to make it big

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Return of the Prodigal Earplug (part seven)

What the Robot Guide said in response to Pooper’s annoyingly spoken statement, shook both Pooper and (to a lesser degree) Linda to the core of their being.

may19 022

“Take a look at this: it’s the atomic motor – with the shielding busted open, and letting out all those weirdo rays.”

Pooper’s heart sank: he knew he was doomed – and still a virgin too! His mouth sagged, and his penis shrivelled.

“Hey,” the Robot Guide cried out when it noticed Pooper’s despondency, ” did ya think I was playing some sick kinda joke on ya’all? Linda, you’d look kinda sweet in a hat; why don’t cha try it on for size.”

“No!” Pooper wailed.

But it was too late…

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“Ooh,” Linda sighed, “it makes me feel really strange. I’m all irradiated. And my moist parts are feeling decidedly squelchy.”

Pooper was amazed. A smile formed upon his fearful countenance. He even popped on his emergency nuclear fall-out helmet – just for fun.

But more amazing things were about to happen. Well one more amazing thing anyway…

may19 023

“Holy crap!” Pooper exploded. “You’re fucking gorgeous. I won’t have to either place a brown paper bag over your head; close my eyes; or take you from behind in a most impersonal manner!”

“Aint that atomic radiation a humdinger!” The Robot Guide said with a cyber smile in it’s voice.

The others agreed, and before long…

may19 024

…the Robot Guide was guiding the earplugs back to the main building, where they planned to rent a room in one of the cheaper motels, and have repeated sexual intercourse – even on the balcony. It appeared to be the happiest ending ever. But appearances can be deceptive.

Meanwhile, deeper inside the Museum of Future Technology…

jul8 002

…Ballington the Cork God had fumbled his way up Big Fat Sandy Mountain, where he encountered it’s sole inhabitant…

“Hello, how pleased I am to welcome you to the summit of my mountain. My name is Muir. Sir Dodger Muir. I expect you’ve heard of me: I used to be a very popular actor on both television and the movies. I was knighted for services to the promotion of eloquence and ownership of  handsome symmetrical faces. Would you care to meet my two guests who are staying over for a couple of nights. The large one is Valerie Kitoff, the famous thimble porn star: the more diminutive one is Chuck Trunnion – the famous sweet chef, the Dessert Warrior.”

jul8 003

Ballington didn’t give a shit who either Sir Dodger, Valerie, or Chuck were. He said as much – even though he was feeling hungry, and the thought of a nice dessert almost caused him to act more pleasantly than was normal for him. But he couldn’t back-track now: it was too late. Already Valerie was looking annoyed; and Sir Dodger had raised a disapproving eyebrow.

jul8 004

“I’m sorry,” Sir Dodger said sternly, “but such crassness must not go unpunished. You…”

He would have said more, but Ballington had donned his mind-control helmet, and was even now attempting to take control of the ageing actor’s rather frail body.

“Mind the knees,” Sir Dodger said as he fought for control of his gross motor functions, “they’re a bit creaky.”

Oh no -not Sir Dodger Muir! Surely not! Come back to find out what happens next!

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