Spindlegrin: The Next Generation (Pilot Episode)

Welcome to the next generation of Spindlegrin, a whole
new tangent to the spoon cupboard.

This concept may collapse into a plie of smouldering
dogie poo.
It all depends on how dry the washing is, and if Loki
has the time to write another episode.

Tell me if you hate it, the usual legal restrictions
apply. Spindlegrin TNG is no longer a libelious
concern and at this stage it’s anything to get IBM off
our backs, (what do you mean you didn’t notice?).

Barry
—————————————————–
“But the phone keeps levitating three feet off the
ground” said Mrs. Glassofstagnantwater whilst toying
with the Magical Mangle Crank which had the ability to
turn it’s wielder a fearsome shade of blue and three
sizes too fat. (Unless of course you were one of
Patrick Moores suits, which would be turned 3 sizes
too large and 3 sizes too small at the same time).

The magical mangle crank was having none of this and
pointed out that the phone was, in plain view on a
glass table, before falling on the small entropy god
with the big heart.
Too big a heart in-fact. He had been trying to get the
cash together for an operation but kept blowing the
money at the Lard Track.
For those not in the know, the Lard Track is where
they fire greyhounds around a toroidal course at
hypersonic speeds and the last dog left not friction
fried is the winner. The Lard Track pays out in “Lard
Bucks” and was the main reason for the Entropy God’s
current cardio-vascular vicious circle named Bob.

“I say,” said Bob, “Who do you think we should call?”
“I don’t care who you phone,” said the phone, “but
you’re not phoning anybody on me. I’m not a phone, I’m
an endangered breed of asparagus” The phone then
pulled itself off the table and headed down to the
pub.

“Osmosis!” Said Mrs. Glassofstagnantwater before
collapsing in a heap at the bottom of the stairs that
were still curiously coupled to a three and a half
dimensional sewing machine. “Damn it!” said The Crank,
“She’s spilt that glass of gin and tonic again.”

Nobody laughed, but the strange punch tape device on
the kitchen table was currently outputting a repeating
series of symbols that if they could interpret it,
would remind them to ensure that Mrs.
Glassofstagnantwater wasn’t choking on her tongue.

(C) Loki 2001

barry@spindlegrin.com
loki@spindlegrin.com