THE TALES OF MISTER CARBON BUSINESS
NUMBER TWENTY
MISTER CARBON BUSINESS and the CASE of the AFFORDABLE DACHSHUND
WARNING
This is really retarded.
Once upon a time, Pov was travelling along at the speed of stupidity in Mister Carbon Business’s Hyper Camel Shed.
“Look out!” said a passing hernia.
“This is stupid,” said Pov and put on the brakes.
“Ow,” said the camel.
“Shut up or I’ll get the boss,” said Patrick.
Now then…
Mister Carbon Business, meanwhile, was counting his soup in the basement when the phone rang.
“Just a minute,” he called. After all, he had soup to count.
When he finally got to the phone, he picked it up and dropped it into a brightly-coloured fish tank.
“Surreal…” it said and had a heart attack.
At that moment, a floppy disk burst through the wall, out of breath.
“You’ve got to come quick!” it said, breathing a watermelon. “Pov’s in trouble…”
“NOT POV!” yelled an unrelated dingbat.
Mister Carbon Business caught the next hyena to Wampum Land, and from there got a bus to Nepal. He then managed to find his way to Spack Land, where Pov was apparently buried under a nearby mountain.
“Help!” said the mountain.
“Shut up,” said Patrick.
Mister Carbon Business surveyed the scene and decided that what they needed was a creature capable of entering small hole “A” at back of structure, negotiating horribly claustrophobic passage “J5” (being sure to keep claustrophobic passage “J5” out of any enclosed spaces on account of it being claustrophobic) and successfully insert gear “L” into crotchet “?” thereby reproducing the exact harmonic opposite of the Scottish National Anthem.
And, if time allows, saving Pov from his icy grave.
“I know!” said Mister Carbon Business, after lunch. “What we need is a dachshund so long, that even Father Christmas himself would be hard-pressed to find a better tasting sportsman.”
“Hmm… that would be good…” said Patrick.
“Who are you?” said Mister Carbon Business, his hair in a twizzle.
“I’m him” said Patrick meaningfully, pointing at a unicycle.
“Now I’m talking downtown!” it said and spun itself into the ground.
“Well,” said Mister Carbon Business. “That was… unexpected…”
He hadn’t noticed, but while he had been talking to Patrick, a broken salesman had appeared and started dishing out earlobes on a more-or-less random schedule.
“Hi,” he said to Mister Carbon Business. “Would you like to buy a broken?”
“A broken what?” asked Mister Carbon Business, spinning his hamstrings.
“Wouldn’t YOU like to know?” asked the salesman.
Meanwhile, in Double Buffer Austria, the world’s longest dachshund – which was so long that even a teaspoon would have difficulty counting the steps – pricked up its ears as it sensed that it was needed in Spack Land.
It managed to break free of its handcuffs using its hyper mental powers, and a key, and set off for the tube station. Once there, it caught a tube to Spack Land. The journey was long. So long, in fact, that even Michael Jackson would find himself knee-deep in rotating politicians should he try and erase the judo club.
The tube stopped at King Frazzlejack The Third Station and the dachshund got off.
A nearby child giggled at it.
“Shut up,” said Richy Jamburger who happened to be there.
The dachshund left the station and waddled its way to Spack Land, where it found Mister Carbon Business sitting on a crate of French whelks.
The dachshund tugged on his ear.
Mister Carbon Business turned round and fell off his crate.
“Oh no,” he said. “It’s a dachshund! And it’s so long that if I were to start a twizzler at this end, it would be five years before a mutated pencil appeared and convinced me to join the Communists.”
“Wow,” said a blind walrus. “That sounds long.”
“It is,” said Mister Carbon Business.
The walrus sang a short burst of opera and left the scene.
Mister Carbon Business looked at the dachshund, which he just noticed was metal, and ordered it to get Pov.
OK, it said, and got Pov.
“Well that was great,” said Mister Carbon Business somewhat sarcastically. “But I want you to try again, and this time get him out alive.”
So the dachshund returned to the starting block and tried again.
After many hours of tail-numbingly difficult passageways, the dachshund found Pov, who appeared to have a headache.
“Don’t worry,” said Pov, “I’ll get you out.”
And so it came to be that Pov dragged the helpless dachshund to safety and Mister Carbon Business congratulated him.
“Here, take this magic wand,” he said, handing Pov a long pole with a happy face on it. In fact, it was so long that… well, you get the idea.
THE END