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Beware: The Croquette Creeper!


GorillaDelphia – Rage against the Sewing Machine

"What was your last mission?” Maloo asked.
“I was dispatched to the CorcanZeer Mountains to investigate rumors of ghostly apparitions in the BadoWock fortress. Fog fantasms. Turned out to be scouts for Scubar, the Mærgenthal Massacrer, preparing for the invasion of the fortress.
“Ah, BadoWock.” Maloo squinted at the monitor sprouting from the craggy desktop in front of her. “I’ve been there. The air is thinner around there. You probably gained some weight there.” She peered at Ray over the rim of her glasses.
Then, her gaze returned to the screen. “Scubar. That’s the nightgreaver commanding the darkdrill dæmons, yes? Nasty buggers, these drillers… and that’s all finished, yes?”
“Yes, ma’am. Mission complete. Pappinger Gretsch and I were in the right place at the right time. Invasion averted. Scubar was defeated and banned along with his entire army of darkdrill dæmons and storm specters.
“Ah. Well done. And where is Pappinger Gretsch now?”
“Umm… BooBack, I think.”
“Don’t ‘umm’ at me, Moron, it makes you sound like an idiot! If you don’t know what to say, keep your mouth shut until you do know what to say. Why do such a stupendous number of people feel compelled to cram these inane fillers into the slightest lulls in conversation? Arrgh!
“How are your Pappinger skills coming along, anyway?”
“Progressing. I think,” said Ray.
“Ah. You think. How about practicing? Have you mastered the Minor Cajoleries yet? Have you at least been memorizing the formulas?”
Ray tried to smile apologetically, but only managed a dopey grin. His grin was even dopier than usual because his cheeks were still swollen and numb from the injections.
“For God’s sake, lose that lopsided grin, Moron.  It makes you look like an idiot.”
“That’s because of the injections I got at the dentist’s. You know, I just had some… “
“A-ha! I take this to mean that you’ve also failed at Hypnotic AutoCajolery.”
“Um. Well…”
“Goodness gracious.”  Maloo sighed. “And you call yourself Pappinger? Do you know anything about anything?”
Shrinking back from her furious tone, Ray gave a timid little nod. Well, more like a subtle sway of the head with which he wanted to convey “Don’t you worry, ma’am, I got this, everything will be fine, I’ll get around to it any day now, I will not disappoint you.”
“Um. Yes?” he heard himself say.
“Well, well, well. We shall find out soon, shan’t we? Moron, prepare for something momentous. You need to wake up and realize that you’re not in summer camp anymore. You are a Pappinger! When will you finally start applying yourself, and live up to your, may I say, considerable potential? I suggest you do so very soon, because for your next mission, you will probably need every ounce of potential you have, as you may have to face…” Maloo fixed her beady eyes on him and intoned ominously:  “…the Croquette Creeper.”


© 2011 Timo Mrazek / Martina Sitling. Verlag DER TM. All rights reserviert.
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