ismenin

A Baby Invisible Screaming Wimble-bear, Pictured with a Baby Hedgehog Resting on its Belly. Yeah! ;D

Hello! I decided to write this for my sister, and for Julia, as they've both had a rotten few days.

It is odd how things come to you. There I was deep in the throes of Egypt, Part 10, when I had to break off and start this.

Still, I know Julia likes it - this pair, I mean - so here's hoping it'll make her smile. Dunno about Pat, but I live in hope.

Like the pic of the Wimble-bear, do you? Giggles.

Chapter Eight - Part One

Where No -one Has Gone Before....

Marciple Proddy, Exalted Micturator of the Church of Vital Things That God Ordered Should Have Been Done Yesterday, stood outside the temporary lodging of the Impossibly High and Mighty Guardian of the Sacred Piss-Pot of Threem, and nudged his companion, a young lad of fourteen summers, who carried with him a heavy bag containing Proddy's sacred artifacts.

"Shall I give the secret knock, then, Master?" the young man asked, politely, very gingerly putting the bag down, nowhere near Proddy's feet. You just never knew with Micturators.

Proddy studied the tent flap intently. (Pun intended) "Where do you suppose you can give it, Widdle Poe? One can hardly knock on a piece of canvas, you know."

The Widdle gave it some thought. It was true that he, Poe, was only a humble Widdle, and had many levels of hierarchy to ascend before reaching Proddy's high estate, but at least he was more advanced than a mere Drip, or a Squirt. Widdles were the third Degree of Exaltation. He had yet to be ordained a Jimmy Riddle, a Spurt, a Pee, a Penny, a Stream, a Gush, a Flood, and a full blown Micturator, before he could stand in Proddy's shoes (often damp).

An idea formed. "I could rap on the tent pole, Master."

"Do so," said Proddy, somewhat relieved. He had drunk a large amount of pruneapple juice before this meeting, and was anxious to get on with it.

The Widdle rapped, and a disembodied voice spoke from the depths of the tent. "The Flowering Geranium Sleeps in the Night."

"And the Watching Prembles Eat their Prey," Proddy answered.

"The Mighty Thorblat has been Unleashed."

"And so it Devours the Unbeliever," Proddy scratched his neck. He had a boil forming.

"Woe to Those who Mortify the Accessibles,"

"For They shall be Vanquished."

The voice inside said sharply, "They shall be what?

"Vanquished," Proddy repeated, still scratching.

"You cannot pass through the Door - er Tent-Flap - of Enlightenment, unless you give the correct response!" intoned the unseen voice.

"Damn it, Colin, that is the correct response. I wrote it myself, remember?"

"Is it Vanquished, then? I thought it was Vanquish - ed, you know - like in Shakeshaft!" the voice echoed from within. "Vanquish - ED," it repeated with emphasis.

"For they shall be Vanquished or Vanquish - ed - according to personal preference," Proddy said, his teeth gritted, and his bladder full.

"Enter, then, the sacred portals of the Temporary Temple of the Treasured Porcelain Receptacle."

The Widdle picked up the bag, and followed Proddy inside.

Somewhere inside the bag, an Invisible Wimble-bear screamed.

***

Proddy could not wait to unload his pouch, it was getting painful, therefore he tried to hurry the next section of the ceremony. But Colin was not having any of it.

"Have the Holy Incontinence Drawers been Duly Aired?" He asked.

"They have been Duly Aired," Proddy said, hurriedly, thinking that at any moment he might need them himself.

Then he asked his own question, hoping the response would be swift.

"Has the Treasured Porcelain Receptacle been Unveiled?" He always thought it a stupid question, because there it always was, sitting in the space between them, just crying out to be used.

"It has been Unveiled!"

Then...

"Has the High-Priest of Procrastor Consumed the Waters of Revelation?" Colin demanded. He knew he'd drunk his fair share that day.

"The Waters have been Consumed."

"Have the Bladders of Sanctity been Duly Charged?" he further enquired. His certainly was.

"Bladders...Duly Charged," muttered Proddy in strangled tones.

"Then, Let us Decant!"

Proddy Pointed Percy at the Porcelain, and heaved a sigh of relief as the golden liquid flowed into the bowl, and, as a special treat, Proddy allowed the Widdle Poe to contribute his mite to the offering.

They all stared at the liquid swirling in the Receptacle, and Colin uttered a strangled gasp. "That poor bugger, Prince Liyjah, is in for it, again."

The Invisible Wimble-bear screamed again, this time in the booming voice of the God, Procrastor. "Let me Out, You Bloody Fools, I'm Suffocating In Here!"

***

Thirty miles away, in their tent, in the Kingdom of Djellirole, Dom and Lij slept the sleep of the just, little knowing that some very unjust things were about to land upon their handsome and unsuspecting persons.

High above their heads, on his Throne in the Firmament, the god Procrastor began to laugh.