Larry and Mick and the Sneeze of Time

"Ahh-" said Larry.

"-gadoo?" said Mick.

"Ahh-" said Larry.

"-bracadabra?" offered Mick.

"Ahh-" said Larry.

"-berystwyth?" posited Mick.

"-choo!" said Larry.

"Oh," said Mick.

Larry disappeared.

***

An almighty cheer.

Lions.

Gladiators.

And such things.

Larry always sneezed two or three times in quick succession.

So he sneezed again.

***

Mick stared at where Larry was. Or rather where he had been. Then he realized it was impossible to stare at something that wasn't there, so he stared at the wall behind where Larry had been instead. It was an unremarkable wall. Dappled oyster pink with the solitary innocuous adornment of a framed 12 by 9 print of a pig playing tennis. He decided this was a ridiculous picture to have on a wall, so he took it down. He then got to thinking about Larry. Upon which Larry reappeared.

***

"Were there gladiatorial contests in England?" said Larry.

"I don't think so," said Mick.

"Then I have travelled laterally as well as chronologically," said Larry.

"Beg pudd'n?" said Mick.

"I'm gonna sneeze again..." said Larry.

And so he did.

***

He didn't think to stifle it. It hadn't occurred to him that the sneeze was the instigator. Or the catalyst. Or something. When he found himself on a filthy London street, surrounded by what appeared to be the assembled cast of Oliver Twist, however, he began to consider the possibility. The dust and grime got up his nose.

Here we go again, he thought, as his nostrils began to pucker.

***

"Stop sneezing!" said Mick.

"I don't think I can!" said Larry.

"Why not?"

"Beca-ahh-ahh-ahh-"

***

"-choo!"

He found himself being pursued by a pterodactyl.

"Bugger," quoth he, as he took to swift divergent motion. The pterodactyl's motion was swifter, however, so the gap closeth.

I know, thought Larry, as he attempted the surprisingly tricky combination of tickling his own nose whilst hurtling pell and indeed mell across the prehistoric landscape. To no avail.

"Aww c'mon!" he declared. Then a fly went up his nose.

***

BAAHH-CHIWAWA!

***

"What sort of sneeze was that?" said Mick.

"I've got a prehistoric fly up my nose!" said Larry.

"That's no excuse," said Mick.

"I think it is," said Larry - upon which he noticed the slightly faded space on the dappled oyster pink wall where the picture of the tennis playing pig used to be. He raised his eyebrows at Mick.

"It was ridiculous," said Mick.

"I'm going to sneeze again," said Larry.

"That's ridiculous," said Mick.

***

Everyone was wearing silver hotpants. I mean everyone.

"Please God, let me sneeze again..." said Larry.

"No sneezing here!" said a silver-hotpant-wearing man. "The common cold is cured!"

"But I'm allergic to silver hotpants," said Larry.

"That should do it," said the silver-hotpant-wearing man.

***

"Ahh!" - and indeed - "Choo!"

***

"Since when have you been allergic to silver hotpants?" said Mick.

"Since about 200 years in the future," said Larry.

"That figures," said Mick.

"How so?" said Larry.

"You are presently allergic to having one trouser leg rolled up."

"That is true."

"Is it me or is it dusty in here?"

"Oh dear."

***

"-choo?"

Bright.

White.

Shiny.

The set of a washing powder advert?

Then the face appeared. It slowly - as it were - materialised. Grey, triangular-ish, sort-of squashy. Big black eyes, no nose to speak of, surprisingly human-looking mouth. Sensual. Feminine. The mouth smiled. The big black eyes twinkled. Larry's man-parts started to feel funny.

"Not a washing powder advert..." said the owner of the face - only its lips didn't move... her lips didn't move. Except they did a little bit. The sensual, feminine lips parted slightly, as the words entered his head.

Not a washing powder advert...

He then realised he was naked, lying on a bed that bore a striking resemblance to a paste table, only marginally more comfortable.

His Rod of Divine Awesomeness was standing to attention.

"Rod of Divine Awesomeness?" said the voice (not unlike that of Angelina Jolie as Lara Croft). "Really?"

Suddenly his Rod didn't feel so Divine. Or Awesome.

***

Mick stopped staring at the wall. He sat down. He checked what was on telly. Re-runs of X-Files. He got out his DS instead.

***

"Try and relax," said the alien Lara Croft. "This won't take long."

"What won't take lo-?"

Then the alien Lara Croft face disappeared and a few more faces (still grey, still triangular-ish, still sort-of squashy, big black eyes, no nose to speak of, but not so much of the sensual lips) appeared. As did the probe.

"Probe!" said Larry. "Alien probe!"

Long. Pointy. Metallic. Buffed to an otherworldly shine. Larry clenched his buttocks and put his hands on his Rod. He felt like he needed to sneeze.

Excellent timing, thought he - (no pun intended)

And with a...

Ahh-

And a...

Ahh-

And a...

Ahh-

Two big rubbery alien fingers pressed down on his conk.

No-o-o-o-o-o!!!

***

Dn-d-dn, dn-d-dn,
Dn-d-dn, dn-d-dn,
Dn-d-dn, dn-d-dn,
Dn-d-dn, ooo-wee-oooooo

"Bring back Christopher Eccleston, I say," said Mick.

***

The probe went in his nose, grabbed something, pulled, came out of his nose, and a little silver ball bearing was plonked onto a little metal tray. The whole process made his nostril hairs tickle.

"You may sneeze now..." said the Lara Croft voice in his head.

And so he did.

***

A few minutes later...

Larry and Mick were sitting around the kitchen table, supping Darjeeling and nibbling politely on Chocolate Hobnobs.

"... and so," concluded Larry, "when the ball bearing was removed, I felt a great weight had been lifted."

"But ball bearings are only small."

"Metaphor."

"Continue..."

"I suddenly knew I had been the unwilling human guinea pig of an alien experiment in time travel."

"How did you know that?"

"The alien Lara Croft told me."

"The one that made your Rod of Divi-?"

"The very same."

"So what now?"

"No more sneeze-induced time travel, hopefully."

"Let us test the theory..." - upon which Mick picked up his plate and blew Hobnob crumbs at Larry's sniffer.

[ fin ? ]