Thursday, December 9, 2010

Ace of Cakes

Backing away from the hulking behemoth (who you recognise as the space-trucking ‘biffo’ from Ace Trucking Co) you shake your head and summon a nervous smile. Taking the invitation from your pocket you hold it up for inspection. “Sorry,” you say. “I’m just here for the party.” G.B.H continues to glare and hold the spoon out towards you, but before you can say anything further, some nylon fingers creep around in front of your face and snatch the ticket from your hand. “Hey!” you gasp, twirling to find Ace Garp and Feek the Freek at a messy table, where they have seemingly been attempting to produce a cake mixture – and failing.

Your invite is in the grasp of the fingers at the end of Ace’s scarf, which is passing it into the pointy-headed alien’s hand. “Ummm...can I have that back please?” you venture, as Ace eyeballs the ticket front and back, turning it over and over as if he can’t quite believe it’s real. Finally, his mouth splits into a huge grin and he looks up. “Course you can, good buddy! As soon as we’ve mingled with some stars and got ourselves some autygraphs!” “What? But...” The next thing you know, a rock-like fist is hammering down on your head, clobbering you senseless. As you sprawl on the floor you are vaguely aware of being lifted and dumped into a large bin. Snippets of conversation reach your brain past the horrible ringing in your ears - “...just one will we all get in...” “...take turns, trucking buddies...” “ heehee...Ace never come back...” - until finally you succumb to the darkness and slip into oblivion.


When you come to, some indeterminable amount of time later, you find yourself back in the alley, buried in trash in a large yellow skip. Panicking, you claw your way out of the smelly mess and tumble out, to land in a puddle. As your memories return, you sit up and search frantically for your precious ticket but, is nowhere to be found. Realising you’ve fallen foul of Ace Garp’s famous shenanigans, and knowing you have no one to blame but yourself, you curse your stupidity, resigning yourself to a long and miserable (not to mention cold and wet) journey home. Whatever evil plans the Dictators of Zrag may have set in motion, it looks like Tharg is going to have to sort it out without you...

The End.

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