Once Upon A Time ...
Supporting Story:
Big Hairy Italian Underwired Bra

Coming carking up the hill came Grocer's lumberjack and his amazing yellow window Kleenex. It had been a fruitful last couple of arnolds and fleshy lobsters hindered and sang folk songs about dithering.
Inside a wand the balloon grew feathers and sampled articulately when given the news about the dish mop. Unbeknownst to the brown crumb, the crane had savaged a hair diet with bare arms and was subconsciously over-critical on the issue of first-time buyers. Normally, however, it wasn't strict enough.
A big green blob buzzed past, "Hee hee he," and zoomed up the M1.

Now, we've all had problems with toasters at some time or other, right? But I bet you've never had anything like this happen to you ... The Tale Of The Infested Toaster

The Tale Of The Infested Toaster

Once upon a time there was a small pea-green man call Elephant Hind-Shampoo Fireguard. (I shall call him Luggage for short.) Luggage lived in a little yellow brick toaster on the outskirts of a town called Washing. It was a fabulously comfortable toaster with full central heating and a rather fetching shag-pile made from moldy granary crumbs. Luggage was extremely happy.
One day, Luggage came home after a hard day's armadillo prodding to find he had acquired several thousand rather unwanted visitors. Little tiny loaves of medium sliced Mighty White were running around the inside of Luggage's beloved home, squeaking and squawking in a most unsavoury and irritating manner. Luggage was fucked off. He decided that the pests must go, but he'd heard that Mighty White were notoriously difficult to get rid of. Luggage jumped straight back onto his badger and they rode off towards Washing, gleefully.
It was market day in Washing and loads of stripy wallabies were flogging bits of wood with nails in to gullible pea-green people, telling them it was the only way to get rid of unwanted bread. Luggage, though, was far too sensible. He went straight for the local pest shop:

We deal with unwanted bread quickly and with the minimum of fuss.Mighty White a speciality.

"Cool," said Luggage and in he went. It was a dimly lit square room in which Luggage found himself. At the far end, a man in a white suit beckoned from behind a counter.
"My name is Arnold Breadless, what can I do for you?"
"Well," said Luggage, "I seem to be infested with blasted Mighty White. They're all over the place, swinging on my filaments and playing with the pop-up switch. It's most inconvenient."
"Mmm. Mighty White, eh?" said Breadless scratching his well formed beard, "Those little blighters breed like wild fire. There's no time to lose!"
Breadless scuttled through a little door and soon returned with an array of bread killing equipment. "Let's go!"
When Luggage and Breadless arrived back at the toaster, the Mighty White had already multiplied ten fold. They had begun to spill out of the bit where the bread goes in and were crawling all over the freshly polished aluminium exterior. Luggage was horrified.
"There's only one thing for it," said Breadless, "We'll have to toast the little buggers to death."
Luggage went red and began to fidget uncomfortably.
"Er, we can't," he said, "I had the temperature dial replaced with a giant smoked mackerel. I, um, just didn't think I'd need it. I've always preferred a moderate browning."
"Mackerel, eh?" said Breadless, "I have a plan! Mighty White," Breadless explained, "fear only two things, giant smoked mackerel being the first."
"What's the second?" inquired Luggage.
Breadless came very close and whispered, "Golfing bunkers."
One of the Mighty White overheard and ran screaming back into the toaster.
"What a good job Washing has such superb golfing facilities!" exclaimed Luggage.
Together they waited until nightfall. When the last of the Mighty White had fallen into a heavy snooze they began to surreptitiously wheel the toaster in the direction of the local golf course.
"OK. Now what?" asked Luggage.
"We have to wake the mackerel first," said Breadless breathlessly. He pulled out a curious looking stick with a wet sponge tied to the end and began to rapidly lubricate the sleeping mackerel. First its fins began to twitch, then the enormous fish leapt from the toaster and wriggled down a nearby hill. Seconds later it returned with some pitching wedges. One by one it hit the Mighty White into a nearby golfing bunker. The mackerel was an excellent golfer and got them all in with great speed.
"Now for a different club!" said Breadless and produced one from under his lapel.
"I see," said Luggage, "A sand wedge!"
Before his eyes, the Mighty White (which was pre-sliced) began to wrap itself round the mackerel which in turn began to split into neat sandwich-sized slices. After some time, the pests had disappeared and all that was left was an enormous pile of smoked mackerel sandwiches.
The next day, the sandwiches were wheeled into Washing. The locals had a great feast and much rejoicing ensued. Luggage went back to his bread-free toaster smiling.
"Cheesy Niblets," he thought to himself as he snuggled up among the machinery.

April 1995

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