THE TALES OF MISTER CARBON BUSINESS
NUMBER TEN
MISTER CARBON BUSINESS and the KNEE PRINT
Mister Carbon Business woke up one day feeling peckish.
“Hmmm…” he said. “Think I’ll go get myself some figs.”
So he waltzed off in the direction of the fig shop, which was possibly the biggest shop in all of Crapsville.
When he got there, he saw the shopkeeper, Fig Jack, reading an apricot.
“Hello there Fig Jack,” said Mister Carbon Business backwards.
“Alright there, MCB,” said Fig Jack, still concentrating on his apricot.
“How’s business?” said Mister Carbon Business, looking around at the huge shelves stacked high with figs.
“Fine thanks, how are you?” said the apricot.
“Er, yes…” said Mister Carbon Business, trying not to mutate into an electric spaz-muffin.
Three minutes later, Mister Carbon Business was walking back from the fig shop with the fig that he had purchased, and accidentally tripped over a small unidentified canoe factory. He fell over onto Pov, who happened to be there.
“Ouugh, my dictionaries!” said Pov.
“Pov! What are you doing here?” asked Mister Carbon Business in a telephone.
“I was looking to buy some new knees,” said Pov.
“Well, go to the knee shop.”
“I don’t have any money!”
“Buy some then.”
Pov thought about this, and decided he would be better off with a colander.
When they got back to Mister Carbon Business’s office, they discovered an anvil there.
“Geez,” it said and melted.
“Oh for god’s sake,” said Mister Carbon Business, his buffalo in a fry-up.
“Not to worry!” announced Pov, producing a MK5 vacuum hippo.
“This is stupid,” said the hippo and gnawed its own head off.
“OK, this isn’t working,” said Mister Carbon Business, looking at the melted anvil with a rather flat expression on his face.
“What are we going to do?” asked Pov.
“Mayonnaise,” said a death buggy.
“Ah, touché,” said Pov and exploded violently.
“There’s something not quite right about all this…” said Mister Carbon Business thoughtfully.
Then, it hit him.
After sellotaping a fridge to the wall for good luck, Mister Carbon Business ran out of the door and down Letna Lane to the spot where he had bumped into Pov earlier. Sure enough, there in the ground was the print his knee had made. Small green gremlins were oozing out of it and going “mooble.”
Mister Carbon Business knew there was not much time left and he shouted for help.
In a few seconds, help arrived in the shape of a small plastic dwarf.
“What can ah doo?” it said in a terrible Scottish accent.
“I’ve dented the fabric of space and time! Look at this here kneeprint! Don’t you see what it means?” enthused Mister Carbon Business, his eyes popping out.
“My god, that’s tragic” said a passing religious experience.
The small green gremlins were crawling around and bumping into each other. They were still saying “mooble” quite a lot.
Mister Carbon Business decided it was time to run. He legged it to the nearest arctic wasteland, where he found a unicycle and from there wheeled himself to Austria.
Ten years later, he woke up in a stable and saw Arnold Spazfeld.
“Gveetinks,” he said, brandishing a double-ended pig. “Want?”
“Er, no thanks,” said Mister Carbon Business, “I need to look out of the window.”
“That’s nice” said Arnold, absent-mindedly prodding the pig. It giggled.
Mister Carbon Business looked out the window and got hit in the face by an arctic boomerang.
“Work THAT one out,” said a nearby tombstone.
“Maybe I will,” said Mister Carbon Business. “But first, I have more flan-shaped matters to attend to.” He indicated the large army of green gremlins which had surrounded Austria and was knocking to come in.
“Ah, touché” said the tombstone and shriveled up.
There were unidentifiable pig-related noises coming from behind Mister Carbon Business, who decided not to look round.
The army of gremlins raised its horrible grinning flag and charged at Mister Carbon Business, who instinctively baked a cake.
“Fine!” said Arnold and blew up.
“Why is everything blowing up?” asked MCB as a wardrobe blew up.
“It is the powerrr of the kneeeeeeee print!” shrieked a goblin, shortly before blowing up.
“Ah, I see.”
Then, something rather unexpected happened.
A yoghurt appeared and played the national anthem on a set of matching eggcups.
“Beat THAT!” it yelled as it struck the last note a bit too hard and broke an eggcup.
“Oh, woe is me,” it said, noticing. “What will become of the great sardine in the sky now?”
“Speak not my name!” said the great sardine in the sky, and bestowed upon the yoghurt a gift.
“Ooh, for me?” said the yoghurt, unwrapping it. It was a pair of bright yellow trout clippers.
“Ooh, thankyou,” said the yoghurt and waddled off in search of some bright yellow trout.”
“That took a lot of class,” said the sardine smoothly. Then it blew up.
“Stop this at once!” commanded Mister Carbon Business.
“No!” said a gremlin.
“Corkscrews!” said a goblin.
“You’re a goblin,” said the gremlin.
“Really? So am I” said another gremlin.
“So who’s the gremlin?” said the yoghurt.
“Are you still here?” said a goblin.
“No,” said the yoghurt, remembering. “I’d better go,” it said, brandishing the trout clippers meaningfully. Mister Carbon Business watched it disappear over the horizon before returning to interrogate the gremlins, trying to ignore the loud BANG he heard a few seconds later.
“Oooh scary scary,” said a gremlin as there fell a light smattering of yoghurt.
“Quick! We must un-print the knee!” said Pov.
“Pov! Where did you come from?” asked Mister Carbon Business.
Pov indicated the pig.
“Ah, touché,” said Mister Carbon Business and blew up.
THE END