Cap'n Nerg Fleckmuller Recarpets the Born Heist Part 6 - The Awakening of Pancacque Jacque

   An eclipse that whips the grips from man kinds' finger tips. They say that beneath Mt. Wellington is a long sleeping mollusc with eyes of brilliantine black and a tail of odd shape, and its name be 'Flembough the Two Toed', a wondrous being whose exploits were spaken of often, over a foaming cup of belly filler at the famed, 'Time Machine'. Not to mention, 'The Magnetic Potatoman'. I was just thinkin' the same thing! Who needs teeth when you've got chocolate? That furry li'l freak was faster than my perceptive cognition settings could handle!
   The phone next to the TV on the handlebars of his 3-wheeler rang,
"Does Luigi the singing camouflage sardine survivalist who doubles as the late cake-eating actor Plimbo Natchumbi's stunt mustache make an appearance? Think carefully now... 'cause if he do then I be in!”
He spattered through his third helmet's ear-piece excess gumbo spray-hole, as all of this occurred at the intersection of the Great Yellow Sea, and the side exit to the 847th dimension. His handlebar tassels all flailed out in every direction and in a spectrum draining shock o' transparent purple jelly, all whimsy-like.
"STOP! Elvis Spore Rope Cheese AVAILABLE!" he read on a 'passing' sign as he twirled passed and attained the speed of scent. Then, in celebration, he reached again for the ladel, and all of the hoses!
"We-ell! Verify my dribble! Done 'oused an incandescent, blueberry-waffle cone, at Chris'mass, 1952!" mused Elvissella, at the giggling, jerking contortionist bus driver as they passed the clandestine submarine windscreen factory disguised, as it was, as a gigantic, chewed-ended, eraser-tipped, 157 meter tall, faux-lead pencil-shaped novelty salt-shaker, hidden in the underbrush and cliffs at the base of Chunquie Nuggertz Hill. (So, Chunqui! So, Chunqui!).
   The bus man used his left foot to steer the bus wheel with, holding it betwixt 'went to market' and 'stayed home', precariously tangle-wedged over his right shoulder, sweat beads forming on his forehead, (virtually needless to say!) Whilst with his other hoof he coolly toked a gob whiff from his 'Ocean Forest Earth Globule Supa Ultra Menthol King Size' TRAK. As the bus done a heavy exhaust goobey gear change. He could get away with smoking on the bus since it was just he and the big 'E' at this point in the jaunt.
   She was holding a flaming copy of, 'The Transvaal Shopper' at the smoldering business end of her 'Sherlock-Holmesian', deep-bowled, ceramic pipe in response to Busie's flagrant disobeyance of the Sperrt Brothers Transport Co.'s rule guide code book, and gleaned from this rebellious act, a mildly acidic tummy rumble of emotion-bordering on near-nonexistent static pleasure.
   Elvissella was wearing a mauve-pink, unborn donkey-hide and lace full body-stocking with hundreds of tiny white lace L.E.D-bearing flashing ribbons covering it. She was having trouble finding the mouth-hole for her pipe and had that afternoon been eating garlic and onions dyed an unusual purple. Somewhere distant came a sound, quite like thunder.
   The green, goose-fleshed, biker-zombie cartwheeled away, still perhaps unknowingly, half-engorged over their glow-in-the-dark wax cuneiform tablet. Elvissella 'n' Wilbur were slightly perturbed enough by this to (momentarily), break suction with each other's 6-D telescopes, leaving a light mist of silver blue jelly all over the most recent hieroglyphic butter wall carving of their old pal, 'Octo The Oblivious', (Detective for the Dead).
   Sensing the imminent development of a hamburger grease candle making soiree, they hurriedly explored the caves, caverns and blow holes of Sex Beach for the location of Special Seagull 8. Foamy washes of 'Liqui-tex All-Reel Oshun See Phoame' TM swathed in eddies around the gold glitter, space-booted legs of Special Seagull 5 as s/he (ouch!) scanned the horizon, for the hoped for arrival of the intergalactic vessel of Cap'n Dynamic Yeti Octo, and his crew of motorised, gum-moth battle larvae, whilst back at the cave, on Sex Beach, Elvissella cooked chips as Wilbur choogled, hard, to the 'For Whole Afternoons' extended disko remix, in the 85th hour of his latest world record attempt. A laugh that wobbled yellow jelly embedded with miniature tinfoil furniture like...
   Special Seagull 5 shifted his weight from one leg to the other and in silence, scanned the ocean horizon. Special Seagull 8 circled 50,000 or so feet above, on patrol and ready to issue the fabled, 'Command Ultimatum .357', just as soon as 'The Purple Hand' received and deciphered the message, opened the envelope and telepathically transmitted the big okay.
   Anticipating full blown wig, Special Seagull 5 quickly and coolly flicked down the polarised blast shade shield visor on his propeller-topped helmet. Bunion burgers with 'dinnea pig' gravy sauce graced the table of Cap'n Fleeb-urn of the good space ship, 'Consolidated Holdings'. He turned a weary eye, his only, away from the viewing screen.
“Neigh!” he done shouted, all-wonky, like a burned-out pet shop owner counting crisp goldfish. How was he expected to rest, much less eat, when The Secret Seagull Squadron was still at large? No, he vowed not to sleep or eat until they had all been brought before The Spam Queen, Rayleighn Bandilex.
   He pulled gingerly back on the pinball machine's plunger, all the while still grunting and foaming. And as he closed his eyes to sleep, the 947,658 vehicles of the Venusian Space Scouts silently illuminated the entire sky momentarily as they passed...  
   Two Tentacle Tommy the Topically Trivial twisted two toes then toasted Ten Tongue Tammy's toast therapy twice, then the third time.
"That tastes toothpastey." twittered Two Teef Terry, telepathically through the telephone.
"There's the thunder!” thought Ten Tongue Trev the thin thief that thought Alliteration Alice's armpit amplifiers ambidextrous.
 "Well spoop me spoop-chunks!" sputtered Billy, flicking the invisibility switch to 'on' as he maintained his orbit, trailing behind Secret Special Seagull 24.
"Must... find... Cap'n Fleabknittz..." muttered Mushie the Titanium Neon Crab, breathlessly, as his ship approached the horizon, which bore the Venusian sunset. This scene came into view. He had read the note. It really was time for the hot sauce. It really was time for the hot sauce..! Which was itself not 100% authentic 'Chine'e phlegm-rubber', no, instead it was composed of layers of egg whites and yolks all in various states of preparation, e.g: sun-dried, sugar-runny, Curacao blue marinated, jellied... and all of them stolen from the armored nests of the harem of Special Seagull 5 who let out a squawk akin to that insane scream released by that weird, mystical, itinerant, hairy dude who could yell so ferociously loudly that he knocked actor John Hurt out, (similarly amongst the dunes that Special Seagull 5 was hatched in), in that movie they used to play on the ABC at midnight on weeknights, 'The Scream'.      
   Every city has at least one. A middle aged man joined the morning rush as he puttered past along the footpath aboard a motorised stunt scooter. He was holding its throttle like a patient in a hospital holds the buzzer for the nurse, and perhaps he, was in a delirium and every part of this was really just his fevered dream? Pumpernikel Pandora perfectly pumped paisley power puff plumes. I just got a free million points on Flegma Hoops Pro!
   All the gulls are quiet now. They observe Octo The Oblivious spinning in circles at the bottom of the maelstrom, gripping in the sucker of each tentacle, ocean liners, luxury yachts, container ships, oars, life buoys, speedboats... Glowing purple, just below the surface of the ocean, as he swills all these craft over his one moron eye, and above, the only other light in this green, black, sea-storm is that of the lightning bolts landing at various distances...
   "That were e-classick!" spurted Woochooboo who was clandestinely engaged in practicing performing a trick aimed at making every circus clown, (and their bicycle riding fez wearing forty cent cigar smoking monkeys), completely obsolescent within fifteen to twenty five years.

Reviews

[Brett Hernan]

(Now, for parts 5, 4, 3, 2 and 1! Then, perhaps, 4 more?)
Did anyone notice that Pancacque Jacque doesn't even make an appearance in this?
What a complete rip off!