abject thunder mixed with cruel warnings spell Fu Manchu in green
underpants. this is dismal, saith Fu Manchu. the green is less than
green of eyes, or the speed with which lightning dots out eyes. green
underpants for the sinister scowling pumping machine in evil's quest.
yet minions abroad allow for no restitution or calm change. well this
must be dealt with, said Fu Manchu implacably, dilating on the terms
of
expecting a world at his feet. what artist could he be in the end,
trying to outlast green underpants? suddenly the door flies open.
Nayland-Smith and Petrie, guns in one hand (for both of them) and
electric torches in the other (likewise both). we have found you in
your
lair, said Nayland-Smith, with steelly grey eyes determined to see the
thing thru. you see my green underpants! shrieked Fu Manchu, as would
you. keep a bead on him, Petrie, said Nayland-Smith grandly. and so
the
thunder and lightning crackled and thumped in the newsy air. fraught
moment lingered... lingered... lingered... (wait for it)...
lingered...
trial balloons associated with progress, Bill Gates (self-taught evil)
gtalks to mountains, Nordic skies on a snowy lump of earth....
inexorable days pass, exorable ones pass, winter turns to spring,
spring
exacts blossoms, blossoms make apples... now wait a second, said Fu
Manchu (the enchanter of evil), apples as green as underpants (it
makes
him think)... tempus fugit, all by itself... this is England and
civilization to save, barked Nayland-Smith, “Mrs Brown you've got a
lovely daughter”, hummed Petrie with skittish delight. tall like a
piece
of ice, the diabolical doctor shivers. his green underpants are a
warren
of self-doubt. can the world be, um, conquered? he wonders in his
weakness. rains lasts until it stops. dank London implementation of
climatic conditions clutter the spellbound. I still have a bead on
him,
sputters Petrie. Nayland-Smith fumbles for his pipe. there's dottle in
the bowl, which he expertly removes. dottle, pah! says Nayland-Smith.
Dr
Fu Manchu considers the chemical possibilities of dottle mixed with
alchemical wonders, with evil as an antidote to the current situation.
dire wind sounds the same old day. and when the day is done, more
news,
more wet news...
