The Mystery of the Bad Egg

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Well, here we are again, following the adventures of our intrepid hero, Tyron Shoolaces. As our story opens, we find Tyron furtively scrutinizing the portfolio of his arch-nemesis the atrocious, belligerent, insidious, nefariously pernicious, venomous, incorrigible, and otherwise big meanie, Omelet Head.

He had just received word from the chief of G.O.O.D. (Government Organization Of Do-Gooders) that the mad Omelet Head was planning to poach Manhattan (GASP!) in a giant pressure cooker, which he was storing at the East Pole at Goomey Gommer Caverns! It just happened that the Caverns were 3.4590236 miles from our hero’s abode, approximately. He had just received this message over his highly transistorized, tuned and channel tuned, electrified, ostracized, stereocized, quadraphonic, crystal radio set. He pushed the bill of his Donald Duck bust and immediately his prize collection of leather-bound Dr. Seuss slid aside to reveal an icebox. He hadn’t had lunch yet.

After feasting on his own creation, a fudgickle (a pickle on a stick coated with fudge), he bounded forth to combat evil! As soon as he fed his blue-toed booby named Herman, who had just returned from obedience school in Albania, learning how to make the perfect omelet.

“Okay, Herman,” said Tyron, “I’ve got a job to do. I’ve got to scramble.”

Tyron jumped into his pink with purple polka dots (highly inconspicuous) 1492 Edsel. With all his vigor, he thrust the key into the cigarette lighter. What happened next was electrifying! As soon as Tyron’s hair settled down, he tried once again.

By some stroke of luck, he found the ignition. Turning it, he made history! For the first time in 22 years, it started! He roared off at a tremendous speed, 15 m.p.h. At that great speed he soon reached his destination: Gommey Goomer Caverns.

“What to do now?” Tyron thought. He sat down to ponder the situation. Without warning, a trapdoor opened below him. He fell into a 21 foot pile of chicken feathers. (GASP!) He knew this was it. A voice cackled out of the oblivion.

“I have you now, Tyron! Now I can go on with my plan and you can’t stop me!”

When Tyron awoke, he was lying, strapped to a table. Omelet Head was staring down at him, sinisterly.

“What evil plan have you devised now?” asked Tyron.

“This one,” said Omelet Head, “I’m especially proud of. You’ve heard of “The Pit and the Pendulum” of Poe fame? This is a replica of that apparatus with one exception: I have installed a feather instead of a sharp blade. It will swing lower and lower until it lightly brushes your nose. It will tickle and you will go into a fit of sneezing, thus blowing your brains out the hard way, of course.”

“Oh, you fiend! Have you no mercy?” screamed Tyron.

Omelet Head nodded. One of his yokles pulled the lever that started the pendulum swinging. Back and forth, forth and back, each time getting an inch lower.

The feather was a mere two inches from his nose. In two more swings he would sneeze his brains out the hard way.

Suddenly his blue-toed booby Herman dropped in from the hole in the ceiling.

Herman, seizing the situation firmly in beak, rent the feather from the pendulum, thus saving Tyron from a fate worse than eggplant.

Herman then dove on Omelet Head and his yokles and promptly made them into an Albanian schnitzel knot.

“Good work, Herman,” said Tyron. “Now release me from my bonds.”

Herman lacerated the steel straps with one slash of his toenails. Tyron leaped up and dashed to the storage area where the giant pressure cooker was hidden. Together they tore off the valve of the pressure cooker. It began to hiss menacingly! (GASP!)

They had to get away in a mere ten seconds. They bounded out the door, and leaped into the pink and purple polka-dotted 1492 Edsel.

Hurriedly Tyron thrust the key into the cigarette lighter. His eyes lit up like incandescent bulbs. His hair did the Watusi.

Herman looked on in disbelief.

3…2…1… VAVOOM BABOOM VAPOWIE! ZOT!

Tyron Shoolaces flew gracefully through the air, Herman following faithfully behind him, with the Edsel preceding them.

The Edsel landed with Tyron in the driver’s seat and Herman in the rumble seat. (He loved to rumble.)

Tyron thrust the key in the ignition. (Fooled you, didn’t we.) They thundered off in the sunset. The world was once again sake for democracy.

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Review?

--Thing 1/the older, more random one