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Discussion Starter · #1 ·
We got the insurance money through fairly quickly after Canon Fodder and Pastor Eyes burnt down the clubhouse with fiery crosses. Something to do with Coxie's cousin Frank working for the Prudential. Added to the income from the video, we had a pretty tidy sum to spend on new facilities, including built-in saloon bar and coffee shop, and a custom made laser routed MDF Brands Hatch with state of the art computer control. Sweet. Funny how often this has happened at West Hamley. Always seems to work out for the best.
So anyway. We were just scuffing up the new super smooth track surface, learning the turns, when Sprote ambled in. Actually, I say 'ambled in'- he was in already. No one saw him enter. He just sort of materialised. One minute there was an empty space just outside Druids, next- there's this fella in dark glasses, two day stubble and an inane grin. It took a while for people to clock him- most were busy learning the track, concentrating- or filling up at the bar, which was still quite a novelty for the older members. So he stood there, gazing about- looking at the ceiling, tilting his head slightly like a daft puppy- odd for a strapping middle-aged guy. Then he started wandering about- that's when people started to notice him. 'Hi' he said to whoever was closest, in an innocent sort of tone. 'That's nice', pointing at nothing in particular. Strolling stiffly towards the pits, head lolling and still in his dark glasses, he collided with the track. Boof. Six cars that were strafing their way through Surtees at the time leapt out of the slot and crashed onto the floor like a squadron of lemmings. 'Gee. Sorry. I forgot how easy it is to de-slot on your planet.'
'Excuse me, I'm Coxie- club secretary. I don't believe we've seen you at West Hamley before. Um... what did you say?'
'Sorry. Heck- nice to meet you. Coxie. Of course. We know all about you at home. But this isn't my first visit. Here- let me help you with that.'
Bruno was fussing over his Nissan, which had hit the floor particularly heavily. The nearside rear wheel was buried inside the body work, while the offside tyre was hanging out in the breeze. Our visitor just sort of passsed his hand over it- I don't think he even touched it- but when Bruno dropped it back on the track it was sorted.
'I-I- uh, where did you say you were from?' Coxie tried again.
'Sorry- I'm being rude. Magnetic wave travel is a bit disorientating for a while. Forgive me. The name's Sprote. From E-POXy. Let me spell it. You probably havn't heard of it yet. It's an unusual doughnut-shaped planet in what your guys call the constellation of Floont. It's about 2,000 light years, uh-'
He pirouetted slowly on the spot to orientate himself, then pointed squarely over his shoulder.
'That way.'
 

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Discussion Starter · #3 ·
'Why do all the wierdos come to West Hamley?' muttered Bruno, still a little puzzled at the sudden speed of his Nissan. Meanwhile, Coxie dealt with the newcomer in his usual quiet manner.
'Always nice to welcome visitors from abroad. Never been to E-POXy myself, Mr Sprote. Is it warm?'
'I shouldn't think you have, Coxie. Your scientists havn't developed the capability yet. And it's just Sprote. Not Mr Sprote. We have overcome titles and hierarchies on our planet. We are several thousand millenia ahead of you here on earth, Coxie. We've managed to eliminate all injustice, pain and suffering from our society. Which just leaves slot racing. You're making a good start here in West Hamley, but there's quite a way to go before you attain universal peace and understanding.'
'I see, I see. Um. Can I get you a drink? From our new bar? We have some very nice German beer on draught- Bitte Bitter from Baden Baden. Double name, double strength, so they say! This way, Mr- sorry- Sprote!'
'Very kind of you Coxie, but I don't drink. But I remember some very interesting forms of protein from my last visit. Do you have any pies?'
'Why yes, Sprote! Eric! Warm up some of Mrs Howmet's Irish Pasties for Sprote here, while I go and talk to the lads. Make yourself comfortable, uh, Sprote! Won't be a minute!'
'Sure, Coxie. I don't have to be home 'till next Tuesday' said Sprote, devouring one of Mrs Howmet's finest in one gulp. Still inside it's cellophane wrapper.
'Any more of those, Eric? I've come a long way today.'

'Clint- Bruno- Claudia. We have a problem here I think. This chap claims to be from another planet or something. He's plainly very distressed. Seems happy to eat Mrs. Howmet's pasties, but I don't know what we're going to do when we run out. Call Inspector Thumb, will you? I'll keep him busy at the bar.'
'But Coxie- we've had lots of visitors from other planets here at West Hamley' said Claudia. 'What's worrying you?'
'Well- he looks pretty human to me. Not 1/32 nd scale, or occupying a parallel dimension or anything. I think he's just plain loony myself.'
'Exactly- whoever heard of a doughnut-shaped planet?' said Bruno- ever the cynic. 'The guy's obviously bonkers.'
'But he fixed your car didn't he?' said Claudia.
'Oh-oh. He's talking to Batty-T now. This could get out of hand.' Coxie hurried back to the bar, where Sprote appeared to be in deep conversation with our resident adolescent problem, Batty-T. Recently graduated from the junior section, he spent all his time at West Hamley with his sweat shirt hood up over his acne, grunting incomprehensibly.
'Gnuh. Fnurgghhh uhhuhhnm. Frugggghhhllllptd fluuurgle. Mmmnnnurgh.'
He seemed to be deep in conversation with Sprote. An obvious impossibility. But Sprote gave as good as he got. 'Fraaaaghhhllipphhh. Uuuuuuuuhhhn. Glaaaargh wuurgle humf.'
'Ah- Sprote. Don't let Batty bother you! He's quite harmless.'
'Harmless and full of very good ideas, Coxie! He was just describing his plans for peace in the world and a double 26 gauge rewind on a Slot-it arm. Why don't you chaps listen to him?'
'Well- we would if we could.'
Coxie backed off. Could this be true? Could Sprote really communicate with teenagers? Maybe there was something extraordinary about him....

The atmosphere in the club was getting tense. Bruno and his mates had gathered on one side of the track, muttering about rules of entry and how any old nutter could wander into the club and disrupt the racing, while Claudia Schiffer and her gang were excitedly discussing the prospect of interplanetary communication, and the possibility of a new era of peace, love and understanding. And slot racing, of course.

When Inspector Thumb arrived.

'Hello, hello, hello. What's all this then? Evenin' all!'
Before he could move any further into the club room, Sprote was at his side.
'Thumb! Thumb! I've travelled 2,000 light years to meet you! You are the only hope for the universe! Without you, without slot racing, without intergalactic race meetings, we are all doomed! You are the only one who can....'

'Right. Thanks for the tip-off, Coxie. No-one gets out of these cuffs, laddie. Argent- take him down to the Yard. We'll get Dr De'ath to section him. Won't be causing you any more trouble, Coxie- you can get on with the evening's racing without any further disruption. In fact, while Argent takes care of the loony, I might as well join you. Never come to West Hamley without my Bently Speed 8 in the pit-box!'
'But Inspector! You can't do that!' Claudia wailed. 'He's come lots of light years to meet us! He's an interplanetary ambassador! Let him go!'
'I'm afraid it's not that easy, Ms Schiffer. There's been a complaint see. I've already started the paperwork. Dr De'ath will give him plenty of medication. Keep him happy. In fact I've tried it myself- some of it's very good. Then when he's so out of it on tranqs he doesn't know if he's sane himself, we'll release him back into society. That's the official procedure, you know. We have to keep these imaginative types off the street or no-one would be able to get in a decent evening's slot racing in peace now would they, Miss? O.k., Argent. Off you go. Give me your report in the morning.'
Sprote gazed at his handcuffs without expression. He turned to Thumb with a smile. 'Gosh. Thank you. I shall look forward to meeting Dr De'ath. I'm sure we will have a most interesting conversation.'

Claudia turned to hide her rage. Silently she slipped her mobile phone out of her pocket and dialled.

Across the other side of the world, another mobile phone trilled out the theme tune to 'Crossroads', and a beautifully manicured thumb slid across the keypad.
'Hello. Former F.B.I. Agent Cheetah here. How can I help you?'
 

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Discussion Starter · #4 ·
'Cheetah? Claudia here. From West Hamley. I think you might be interested in what's going on here. There's a guy says he's from another planet. Yeah, yeah, I know, but this fella is really weird. He wears dark glasses indoors. He fixed Bruno's car. And he can communicate with teenagers. And he likes Mrs Howmet's pies.'
'You know what the time is here, Claudia? Fox and I are trying to get some sleep. I met plenty English guys weirder than that last time I was over.'
'But Cheetah- you must come and meet this guy. I'm sure he's the real thing. He says he's from the Planet E-POXy, constellation of Floont. And he says it's doughnut shaped. No. Not that. That would be weird. No, I mean the planet's doughnut shaped.'
'Hold on there, Claudia. A doughnut shaped planet? In the constellation of Floont? Why, that would explain the orbital eccentricities of the banked-oval shaped galaxy of Indi-500! But no-one could possibly know that! Claudia, you may have something! I'll be there just as soon as I can get Fox out of his harness!'

Meanwhile, the interrogation of Sprote was not going well at Scotland Yard. He appeared to be immune to all Dr De'ath's medication. He'd eaten all the pies in the canteen, and still Inspector Thumb could not wipe the supercillious smirk off his stubbly face.
'Just tell me where you come from, and we can take you home, Mr Sprote. This can all be over very quickly.'
'I've told you where I come from, but you can't take me home! You'll have to wait for the next gravitational wave, which is not till next Tuesday. In the meantime, I have to master the art of driving cars without magnadhesion, like you guys in West Hamley do. It's tough living on a doughnut shaped planet-'
Sergeant Argent threw open the door, and brushing past Sprote, whispered urgently in Thumb's ear.
'Sir- Fox and Cheetah- the X-iles! Somehow they've heard about this Mr Sprote. They're on their way! Can I have a long lunch break so I can get down to the beautician's in time?'
'Cheetah, eh? Does she think this crackpot will advance her crazy ideas? Aliens, for pete's sake! Why is everyone obsessed with aliens?
'Well- we're quite obsessed with you too.'
'Be quiet, Sprote. I have to think. I'm taking you back to West Hamley. I want you to show me exactly how you got into the club room, and exactly what you're up to. I'm going to crack this case before Miss fancy-pants Cheetah gets here.'

Sprote was greeted like a long-lost brother by almost everyone at West Hamley. Thumb was baffled, but Claudia had been very persuasive, as she so often was, while he had been away. She had got the whole club on her side. They all wanted to know more about Sprote, the visitor from a doughnut shaped planet. Even Bruno was persuaded- his Nissan was still turning class-record laps since Sprote had handed it back to him. There certainly was something about this chap. As Thumb bustled him into the club, he couldn't stop Sprote from engaging in a long and incomprehensible conversation with Batty. 'He has a great new chassis design' explained Sprote. He passed Eric, who was stripping his Parma 8-ohm for the fiftieth time that day, trying to cure a mysterious dead spot on acceleration. Sprote leaned over and pulled gently on Eric's right forefinger. There was an audible click as the top joint of Eric's digit popped into place 'It's not your throttle- it's your finger, Eric!'
'Blimey! It's true! I can flex my finger now- it wasn't the resistor at all!'
There was a brief and appreciative round of applause as Sprote helped himself to the contents of a case of Farmer Smarket's Organic Pest Control and Pie Company's Stoat and Onion Turnovers and sat down, his grin, sunglasses and five day growth still intact.
Coxie, who by now had joined the believers, sat down beside him.
'Tell us, Sprote. What is it like on your doughnut shaped planet?'
'It's almost perfect really- we have got rid of all the nasty bits of life that still bug you earth people; work, sickness, disease, pain, hunger- and whittled it down to the essentials of existence. Round-the-clock slot racing. And since the rotational speed of E-POXy is very slow, we get six weeks of daylight- and six weeks of night time. Plenty time to catch a bit of shut-eye after all that racing. We have some great endurance series- and since our average life expectancy is a thousand years, give-or-take...'
'You said ALMOST perfect, Sprote? What could possibly be better than all that?
'Well- that's why I'm here. We have a slight problem with the magnetic field on E-POXy. It's VERY strong....'

'Yes. A doughnut shaped planet with a torus shaped iron core would have a very complex and effective magnetic field indeed, Sprote. Or should I call you Steve?
Fox and Cheetah had entered the room. And they looked mean.
 

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Discussion Starter · #5 ·
Cheetah looked like a Playboy photographer's take on Minnie the Minx; black french beret slanted across her sheer red hair, deep black eyes, full red lips, tailored black jacket pinched at the waist and open at the front to a red satin blouse cut real low- almost to the black belt of her red leather mini-skirt with side vent, showing the upper inches of her black fishnet tights, which at the other end disappeared into tall, red patent leather stillettos. Her laptop computer hung from a strap across her left shoulder.
Inspector Thumb was grateful for the volumious nature of his Scotland Yard trench coat. No-one else seemed to have noticed his involuntary reaction to Cheetah's appearance as he strode over to her side, his highly-trained and intuitive police brain in hyper drive.
Fox looked pretty intimidating too. His usual slick suit had been traded in for a patrolman's cap, and a huge walrus moustache sprouted beneath his mirrored aviator shades. Broad, shiny buckled straps criss-crossed his tight black vest, and he appeared to be packing something very dangerous looking in the front pocket of his skin-tight pants. Maybe it was a grenade. It was hard to tell, but only Argent was looking closely as he air-kissed his old buddy.
'Wonderful night for making a few observations of Uranus, Fox'
'Right on, Argy baby. Our usual spot up, on the roof?'

With that, Argent and Fox disappeared up the fire escape, leaving Sprote in a state of suspended animation. Whether it was the sight of Cheetah, or indeed Fox, the mention of Uranus, or simply the name 'Steve' that had frozen him in mid-bite
was not yet obvious. But Thumb thought he knew the answer, as he looked down at the now rather pathetic looking creature with crooked sunglasses, hands loosely hanging at his sides, and a half-chewed thick-crust brawn and potato pastie still protruding from his mouth. 'Alien from another planet?' thought Thumb. 'That idiot couldn't find his way from Paddock Bend to Druids without directions.'

Thumb took his place beside Cheetah, and addressed the club imperiously.
'Yes. Steve. Exactly. This is all nonsense. We all know aliens don't just walk into slot car clubs- however famous. Where's his space suit? How come he looks exactly like you and me? How comes he speaks perfect English?'
'All the aliens on Star Trek do' interjected Claudia, but to no avail. Thumb had hit his stride.
'No no no. What we have here is one very disturbed individual. Look at him.' Even Claudia had to suppress a giggle at the sight of the disintegrating pastie- Flakes of wet pastry were sliding down the front of Sprote's shirt. Still he had made not a move since Fox and Cheetah's arrival.
 

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Discussion Starter · #6 ·
'Let me take you back to an early Autumn day twenty-five years ago' continued Thumb, his archive-like brain flipping rapidly through Slot Car Division's unsolved crime file.
'Yes. Twenty-five years ago to the day, a young boy was returning from school through the early evening smog. He had much to look forward to- school over for the day, a hot cup of chocolate, and an evening to spend with his cars on his special day. But as he clicked open the garden gate, a surly group of shaven-headed louts tumbled out of the front door, led by his older brother, Stig. Every one of them smirked nastily at young Steve, and nudged and elbowed past him down the front path. 'Enjoy your birthday, kid. We've left you a present... Har har.'
Steve pushed past and into the hall way. There was a burning smell coming from the front room. Without pausing to unwrap his woolen scarf, Steve rushed through the door to where his Scalextric was kept, laid across the carpet between the legs of the dining table, a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.
He retched at the sight. A whole bag of partially-digested bulls-eyes and a Milky Way erupted involuntarily over the remains of his extended figure of eight with Goodwood Chicane and pit stop. All had been ripped, twisted, punctured with pen-knives and burnt with foul-smelling cigarette butts. But the source of that evil burning smell was elsewhere. Hanging in front of the electric fire were the remains of his beloved Ferrari GTO and Aston Martin. Only he would have recognised them. With both bars of the fire on full, red and yellow pools of plastic had collected on the hearth, and the motors were dangling from their lead wires, coated in charred plastic, from the grille.
The scream of despair that ripped through Steve's lungs alerted the entire neighbourhood. Most, of course, put it down to one of the regular domestics that took place up and down Elysia Gardens, but everyone in the street noticed and remembered it before returning to their ironing. All the police were told when they were finally summoned by Steve's parents on their return from their night-shift at the rubber factory, was that Steve had been seen to leave the house, and proceed in a northerly direction up Elysia Gardens in an apparently trance-like state. And despite all official efforts, was never seen again. Steven Potter apparently disappeared off the face of the earth.
The case of the Lost Slot Racer troubled the tabloid front pages for a few weeks. It troubled me for a lot longer, I must say. But after all leads went cold, even I had to give up' continued Thumb. 'But now I am prepared to reopen the case. Steven Potter, AKA ''Sprote from the doughnut-shaped planet E-POXy'' has returned. How he passed the intervening twenty-five years is a mystery at the moment. Evidently, I would say, at some Institutiuon for the mentally perturbed. I intend to find out.'
Thumb glanced sideways at Cheetah for approval, then moved towards Sprote, who had still not moved a muscle. Another chunk of pastie broke off and tumbled down his lap, leaving an obscene lump of pink gristle clamped between his teeth.
'No! No!' Claudia squealed, interposing herself between Thumb and Sprote.
'That's not true, not true at all! Sprote told us all about himself and his wonderful planet while you were away! He's promised to take one of us back with him when the magnetic wave passes at midnight tonight. Leave him be! He's preparing himself for his journey. E-POXy is the galactic centre for Slot Racing- it is paradise for model car fans! And one of us is returning with him! Let it be me, Sprote! Let it be me!'
The murmur rose to a buzz, then a wail as everyone in West Hamley Slot Car Club took up the refrain;
'No- take me! Let it be me! I must see E-POXy. Take me!'
Still Sprote sat motionless, by now a truly ridiculous figure. In the scuffle between Thumb and Claudia- which Thumb had rather enjoyed- Sprote's sunglasses had been knocked askew and his hair ruffled into a child-like tousle. His hands still hung lifelessly at his side, while a pool of drool and pastry accumulated in his groin. But with his sunglasses away from his eyes, people began to notice the fixed stare in his pale, pale eyes. They were locked onto the lapt-top computer on Cheetah's shoulder, which even now was showing signs of life. Electronic whizzing noises were emanating from within, and strange darting flourescent glows visible beneath the closed lid.
'That's odd' said Cheetah, recovering herself. 'I meant to switch it off. Anyway- you have it all wrong, Thumb. I'm here to arrest the notorious renegade astro-physicist Professor Steven Harcklefarckle from Mount Palomine Observatory, University of North Spittoon, New Mexico. Professor Harcklefarckle, who disappeared twenty-five years ago with all the star-charts he had been working on. Charts of the sector of the sky known as the Floont constellation. Charts that seemed to imply the presence of planetary systems with absurd orbital patterns. The X-iles have been on the track of Professor Harcklefarckle for all this time. Observations of Floont were put on hold until Harcklefarckle could be relocated, and his observations checked. We assumed that he had been abducted by some foreign power eager to disrupt our space programme. Now, it seems he has returned. Professor Harcklefarckle is the only man on earth who could know what this man Sprote purports to know. You're coming with us, Sprote- or should I say Professor?'
Claudia screamed again, 'Leave Sprote alone!' and flung herself at Cheetah. An unseemly tussle ensued that distracted most of the male members of the club for a while- those with any sort of imagination, that is. For an all-too-brief moment, the two women clawed at each other, each trying to get a hold on the other's clothing, which soon began to tear and fall away. But Cheetah was a fully-trained F.B.I. agent, and Claudia could not get the better of her. With her blouse ripped to shreds, Cheetah calmly sat astride Claudia's flailing body, restraining her with powerful thigh thrusts, riding her like a rodeo cowboy. 'Cool it honey. Everything will be done to take care of your friend Mr Sprote. Now I need to sort out this darned computer. Seems to have a life of it's own'.
Indeed it did. The glowing lights visible beneath it's secure cover were becoming more and more agitated. Cheetah shifted her weight so that Claudia was pinned a little more firmly, which drew a smattering of applause from the gathered slot-racers. She shifted the laptop computer off her shoulder, dragging the last shreds of her satin blouse with it.
'Let me get this thing fixed' she said, flipping open the lid and simulataneously brushing her sleek red hair back into place over the creamy pale skin of her perfect back.
That was when Sprote made his first visible movement for over half an hour.
'Mmm. More than any man could stand' muttered Thumb, who was pretty agitated himself. 'That proves it- Sprote's as human as I am!'
 

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Discussion Starter · #8 ·
Sprote stumbled towards Cheetah's laptop.
Cheetah stared wide at the flashing display on the screen.
'This isn't one of my programmes...why- it's Professor Harcklefarcker's Floont charts! This is your doing isn't it, Sprote..Professor! But how did you manage to get into my computer?'
Claudia's writhing and only partially clad body went limp as Cheetah raised her equally exposed torso upright, leaning over the computer screen next to Sprote.
Sprote was now chewing, and had almost swallowed the remains of his pastie.
'Let me- shprrrrllll- explain- ssssprtttt.' Sprote spoke his first words of the afternoon between fine sprays of minced offal and pastry.
'As I have explained to all the fine members of your club, I am Sprote from the doughnut-shaped planet of E-POXy in the constellation of Floont. Here.'
Sprote pointed a finger at the screen.
'But that looks nothing like the Floont constellation!' broke in Cheetah.
'That's because this view is taken from E-POXy. If I alter the programme to provide and Earth-based perspective- so- you will, I think, recognise my home, Cheetah.'
'Good grief!'
'I am a fairly regular visitor to Earth- well, in cycles of twenty-five of your Earth years, to be precise. I have to time my visits according to the passage of magnetic waves- the prime method of intergalactic travel for us E-POXyans.
Earth has become a particular object of interest for us, since you have recently embarked on that critical phase of planetary evolution- slot racing. As you already know, on E-POXy, slot racing is not merely a way of life, it defines our entire existence. We do not fight, fall sick, work, or argue. We race and build slot cars.
One problem for us is the nature of our planet. As I have mentioned, it is doughnut-shaped, with a very large doughnut-shaped iron core. This makes the magnetic field of E-POXy very strange, and very powerful. In fact it means that our cars run with permanent and irreversible magnetic ground-effect. Our cars do not de-slot, as yours do here on Earth. Your slot racing is far more exciting and skilful than ours can ever be. So I try and learn from your club. I notice you have a beautiful track constructed entirely from wood, which has no magnetic power. And the contacts are of copper, another non-magnetic material which sadly is almost unknown on E-POXy. This track would cause a sensation back on E-POXy- indeed, it could change our entire civilisation. Even in our advanced culture, we are quick to realise that there are still many things to be learned from more primitive societies- forgive me-such as yours.

There are other valuable things we learn from you Earthlings. Since slot racing made real real car racing obsolete on E-POXy, for obvious reasons of danger, pollution, expense and so on, we have to look further afield to other planets for prototypes of the cars we build. Last season we ran a class of Zxyrllluntian sub-atomic Vluntians, for example. The liveries were a bit dull, since Zxyrllluntian eyes operate in a very limited wavelength. But we are very fond of your Earth 1967-70 Can-Am period at the moment, and many E-POXians are very keen on your JPS, Martini and Gulf colours. So I'm here on a sort of research trip. As I was twenty-five years ago, when I encountered the cases you recently described, Cheetah and Inspector Thumb. In each case I was able to return home with a deserving guest. Which is what I propose to do today.'
Sprote gave a little bow, and wandered back to the floor, to be embraced by Claudia, and surrounded by yelling Slot racers, begging Sprote to take them back to slot-paradise with him.
'This is preposterous', growled Thumb. 'I've never heard so much nonsense in all my life. You're coming with me, Spro- Potter! You have some explaining to do down at the station.'
Thumb grasped Sprote firmly by the arm, and marched him towards the door. But found his way barred by Claudia- who had still not got around to covering herself up- and every last member of West Hamley. Coxie, Lil, Bruno, Clint, Eric- everyone, including Cheetah- who through pursed lips muttered something about 'certain anomalies that needed explanation', and Fox and Argent who had returned from their rooftop star-gazing a few moments previously.

'Sir- I think we should give Sprote a chance' said Argent, to general murmurs of approval. 'After all, it's only a few moments to midnight. He says he's off on one of these magnetic waves of his any minute now. And he's taking someone with him. Everyone wants the chance to visit E-POXy. Even me. If it exists. If it doesn't- if it's all a figment of poor Sprote's disturbed imagination- well, he'll still be here at five past midnight, won't he? Then you can take him to the psychiatrist or whatever for some help. Give him a break, Inspector! Actually, I don't think you have a choice, sir.'
Indeed, that's the way it seemed, as Fox took his gym-enhanced and fearsomely muscled torso to the front of the crowd separating Thumb and Sprote from the club exit.
'O.K.' conceded Thumb. 'Five minutes. Then I'm taking this.... this person away, whoever he is.'
'He might be taking you away sir... ' said Argent. But his voice trailed away as Sprote appeared to slip away into another trance. His arms fell limply to his side, and all expression slid from his face.
'It's midnight- it's the magnetic wave! It must be here! Take me darling Sprote! Take me!' Claudia flung herself at Sprote, while mysteriously slot cars in the pits began to bounce up and down, motors briefly humming and whizzing to life and ceasing randomly. The overhead flourescent lights flickered, and the beer taps at the bar fizzed unbidden with fountains of lager and IPA. The whole clubhouse seemed to be humming, vibrating and then tingling. Then the lights went down, all together. For a split second, the clubroom was in complete darkness.
'Everyone still here?' called Coxie anxiously. 'Yup' came a slightly disapppointed-sounding chorus in return- just before the lights flickered up again and stabilised.
People frantically blinked, getting their eyes accustomed to the brightness again.
'He's gone! Without me!' Claudia wailed.
'Yes' said Coxie forlornly. 'He took the bloody track with him instead.'
 

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Brian Ferguson
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Another great one, Howmet!
Thanks!


.... but I wonder... how come none of the IT girls I worked with, that carried a laptop around, dressed like Cheetah does....
Sometimes the world just isn't fair.
 

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Rob
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Another great story, Howmet.


QUOTE .... but I wonder... how come none of the IT girls I worked with, that carried a laptop around, dressed like Cheetah does.... Sometimes the world just isn't fair.

I'm sure some of these stories ought to be made into movies...

Rob
 

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Discussion Starter · #14 ·
Well, BJ... I like to think of ol' Brer Howmet, a-sittin by the ol' camp fire, spinnin' out these tall tales of Slot Racers past an' present, while all my good Slot Forum buddies are passin' roun the ol' sippin' whiskey, gazin' into the flames, a-strummin' on an ol' banjo, sittin' loooong into the night, and a-hummin' a few toons and a-tappin' their feet.

Don't know why really- I've never been further west than Twickenham.

Otherwise, I just nick stories off the telly and recast them with a slot-related theme and a bit of the old S-E-X to keep you boys happy.

Glad you like them so far. There may be more- stay tuned.

Cheers! Enjoy the Jack Daniels.
 
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