It's hard to imagine a tennis shoe made of fungus. Harder still, is to imagine such an object, swearing and cursing in a language sounding very much like small objects hitting a small body of water at reasonably high speeds. Unfortunately for Brap, of whom was flatulisticly apologizing whenever he could get a fart in, he didn't have to imagine such a creature, as that was who was yelling at him on his vid-com. (If one were to close one's eyes, and listen to the exchange, one might be reminded of a particularly bad case of food poisoning.)
"What do you MEAN you LOST him!?" The Fungicidal Tennis Shoe blooped and dripped angrily.
"I'm sorry Mr. Sploosh sir, really, he seems to have brain-cloak technology" Brap tooted, considerably distracted with his laser-cutting-elevator-escape-attempts and his growing need to pee.
"What!? How'd he figure THAT out!?" The Shoe ker-splooshed.
"Unknown sir. But I suspect he has experienced, equally well-cloaked accomplices" Brap thbbbed, removing the smoldering top panel of the elevator.
"Experienced accomplices!? So this WASN'T just a random thing... I knew it! Someone's setting me up!" Sploosh dribbled and blurfed.
"It certainly seems that way, Sir." Brap grunted, using his tentacles to climb the elevator cable.
"Well, don't expect any help, Brap. We're over-budget on this thing already... Just find him! And add a two credit bonus into your contract if you can bring him in alive! I simply MUST find out who he's working for!" Sploosh splashed.
"Thank you sir. Out." Brap thuh-thubbed, ending the conversation and smashing his way into the surveillance room. "Cheap little..." he silently boofed, accessing the monitors and checking on the police's progress.
No comments:
Post a Comment