THE TALES OF MISTER CARBON BUSINESS
MISTER CARBON BUSINESS with LUMPS IN
Mister Carbon Business was standing in a line one day. The line was long and thin and it had lumps in.
“Deary me,” commiserated Mister Carbon Business. “In my day, lines had no lumps like these. What is the world coming to?”
Then, an idea hit Mister Carbon Business. Not wanting to start a fight, Mister Carbon Business simply accepted the idea and spake thusly:
“I’ve just had a great idea! I’ll get my line-strainer at once.”
Mister Carbon Business rummaged around in his large black bag for a few hours until he touched something that felt like a line-strainer.
“Heave,” he said rather unenthusiastically as he heaved the object out of his bag. But, alas, it was no line-strainer.
It was Pov.
“Mornin’” said Pov cheerfully. “Shall I put the kettle on?”
“What, there’s a kettle in that bag?” asked Mister Carbon Business with a lemon.
“No,” said Pov, (with a grapefruit), “I meant the one in my scuba gear.”
Pov presented a set of scuba gear, complete with snorkel and duck larynx, and somehow managed to extract a kettle from it.
“How odd,” commented Mister Carbon Business in a deep, murky voice.
Pov put the kettle on. Everybody present would have been at a loss to explain what exactly he put it on, but he did a darn good job of it nonetheless.
Then, for some unknown reason, it started to rain chimneys. One smashed into Pov’s spleen.
“Ouugh, my spleen!” said Pov, rubbing said spleen as if that would somehow make it better.
“Well, it serves you right, Pov,” said Mister Carbon Business, indicating a yellow sign. It said, “ /!\ WEAR SPLEEN PROTECTION AT ALL TIMES”
“It’s a bit bloody late for that” retorted Pov at the sign, throwing it an angry look.
The sign, being immobile, failed to catch Pov’s angry look and it smashed into a nearby wall, which started to leak chickens.
“Let’s get out of here,” said Mister Carbon Business.
Pov quickly donned the scuba gear (complete with snorkel and duck larynx) and dived into the kettle as a chimney exploded next to him.
Mister Carbon Business instinctively followed suit, before realising he couldn’t breathe. Very quickly, he jumped out of the kettle and nicked a second set of scuba gear from a nearby whelk factory.
“Hey!” said a whelksman, “What about the duck la—“
But his words were cut off as a chimney fell on his head and shattered.
Once Mister Carbon Business and Pov were safely inside the kettle, they closed the hatch and swam off down a disused hospital corridor.
It wasn’t long before they realised they were being followed by a sticky little man in a brown hat. They stopped and looked at him.
“Give me back my scuba gear, including snorkel and duck larynx,” said the man firmly.
“Er, how are you breathing down here?” asked a puzzled Pov.
The real Pov looked round at the puzzled Pov and, realising it was merely a cheap imitation, punched it in the knees and turned back to the sticky man, who, realising he couldn’t breathe, had started to drown. Panicking, he pulled out a harpoon gun and fired it inexpertly at Mister Carbon Business. Then, he pulled out a flamingo and used it to teleport away.
Mister Carbon Business and Pov flapped off down a side corridor as the harpoon sailed past.
“The water round here has lumps in!” exclaimed Pov as they turned a corner. The water did, indeed, have lumps in.
Behind them, the harpoon fizzed through the water and thudded into a large red button next to a sign saying, “LAWYERS”. A hatch opened and lots of little men in suits popped out. They began to paddle after Mister Carbon Business and Pov, adjusting their ties and arguing about economics as they went.
By the time all this had happened, Mister Carbon Business and Pov had already reached the surface and climbed out of the well.
“Yes! We escaped the well!” said Mister Carbon Business.
“What well?” said Pov.
“Exactly!” said Mister Carbon Business.
He looked around. They seemed to be in some kind of bricklaying stadium. Maybe it was red.
Mister Carbon Business went through a door.
“Sheesh!” said the door.
“Quiet, you!” said Mister Carbon Business vindictively, pointing a long sharp finger at the door.
As Mister Carbon Business turned the corner, he found himself face to face with a man. But it wasn’t just any man.
It was a lawyer.
He had a large nose and a small, frustrated pair of glasses whose purpose was to look threateningly at people so he didn’t have to. He was wearing a grey suit, possibly a lawsuit, and held a double-barreled tungsten clipboard in his hand.
“One move and you’re newsprint,” he said, aiming carefully at Pov.
Mister Carbon Business made one move.
“We’re newsprint,” he said resignedly.
“Not necessarily,” said Pov in a cunning voice, “I have a plan.”
“Go on then, quickly…” said Mister Carbon Business, not quite believing his knees.
Pov reached into his pocket and proudly produced a small blue bit of paper with lines on it.
Mister Carbon Business took it and unfolded it. It was a picture of a small wooden house.
“What is the meaning of this?” asked Mister Carbon Business, in italics.
“It’s a plan. For my dog house,” replied Pov, in small caps.
“I’ve been meaning to build it, but I never really got past the planning stage…” he trailed.
Mister Carbon Business looked at him.
“Good plan,” he said.
Very quickly, Mister Carbon Business folded Pov’s plan into a small paper aeroplane and launched it in the direction of the lawyer.
The lawyer remained completely oblivious to its existence.
“It’s a stealth bomber,” explained Mister Carbon Business as said bomber dropped said bombs on said lawyer.
“Ouugh,” said said lawyer and sprooned.
There were loud sounds of rejoicement from Mister Carbon Business and Pov.
They did not get a lot of rejoicing done, however, as a large silver lump appeared behind them and said in a banana-flavoured voice:
“I am the lump.”
Mister Carbon Business avoided the lump and jumped down a nearby jiffy chute.
“Screeee!” he said as he went.
Three minutes later, he popped out the other end into a yard. It had lumps in.
Fortunately for Mister Carbon Business, Pov was there with a can of lump spray.
“Haha,” he said quietly as he sprayed the lumps, which began to go away.
“And that was the end of that,” said Mister Carbon Business with a bang.