When the smoke cleared, the hedge looked like a giant crushed egg carton, and Hilda was gone, her “me-time” shed a mere dark patch under Legless’s head, his nose mashed into a screwed-up lubricant tube.
A vibrator receipt flapped past. Verruca grabbed it.
“I always thought there was something weird about that place,” said Cyborg, who rarely had the chance to be right.
The third statue worker, not being a “told you so” sort of woman, said nothing.
She, like many, was in a state of shock. Witnessing an all-singing, all-dancing vibrator soaring into the sky and knocking an eagle for six can do that to a woman.
“If only we’d taken a flying platform,” said Dozy.
