Jimmy, The Glue Factory and Mad Mr Viscous

by Gerrard Wllson

valve, but it refused to move, not even an inch. “It’s no use,” he grumbled, “I need something to lever it with.” Climbing down from the machine (it was beginning to make some very peculiar noises), Jimmy searched for something he might use as a lever. “Ah,” he said, spying a length of pipe jutting out from beneath one of the smaller pieces of machinery, “just the ticket!” Leaning down, reaching under the machine, to grab hold of it, Jimmy was shocked to see it move away from him. “Is that you, Eric?” he asked, thinking his friend was there, playing a prank. “If it is, you had better think twice, and grow up!” Eric, however, said nothing, how could he when he was not even there?

  Jimmy was in a quandary; in order to close the last valve, he needed the length of pipe. On the one hand, appropriating it might prove dangerous, even fatal, if whoever had moved it was intent on stopping him no matter what. On the other hand, if he failed to act, it could prove fatal for the horses. Jimmy knew, though, deep down inside, that he had to act. Delving a hand under the machine, he grabbed hold of the pipe. “Got you!” he yelled triumphantly.

  “And I’ve got you!” a voice from behind boomed, wrestling him to the floor. Dropping the pipe, though struggling to regain the initiative, Jimmy struck out at his attacker. With two of the cut-off valves already turned off, speed was imperative. He had to turn off the last valve, and get out, as far away as humanly possible before it let rip – exploded. However, he needed the length of pipe, the one his attacker had wrestled from him.

  Jimmy fought valiantly, trying to regain control of the situation. “Whoever you are,” he hollered, swinging a backwards-aimed punch at his assailant, “you are not getting the better of me!” Just for good measure, Jimmy let rip with another backward aimed punch. This one, finding its mark, sent his attacker reeling in pain. Turning round, to face his assailant, Jimmy was aghast to see it was Mr Voracity.

  Blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, Mr Voracity scrambled to his feet. Wiping the blood away with the back of his hand, then licking it with his incredibly long tongue, smiling bizarrely, he said, “Aren’t you going to say hello?”

  “To you?” Jimmy barked. “Why on earth would I want to say hello to you?”

  Smiling even more bizarrely, pointing at his chest, then behind Jimmy, Mr Voracity said, “Not me – her!”

  Turning round, Jimmy found himself staring into the larger than life face of Madam Poulfarriy. Smiling crazily, saliva running freely along her elongated jaw, she said, “Hello there.”

  He grunted, Jimmy grunted at the Madam, thinking it all she deserved.

  “So,” said the Madam, poking Jimmy in the ribs with the length of pipe he was after, “we have found our tasty morsel.”

  “Stop that!” Jimmy protested. “I might have been frightened of you, before,” he lied, “but not anymore!”

  Eying him with as much scorn as derision, the Madam poked him some more.

  “I’m warning you!” Jimmy barked, raising his hands, in threat, “I am an expert in jujitsu!”

  “Jew – who?” the Madam asked, scornfully deriding his pitiful attempt to threaten her.

  “I think he’s trying to tell you he’s part Japanese,” said Mr Voracity, slapping his side, laughing.

  Her eyes narrowing, inspecting Jimmy with a newfound purpose, the Madam said, “No, he’s not Japanese… Perhaps Korean, on a good day, but he’s certainly not Japanese.” Bellowing peals of laughter, Jimmy’s two protagonists, tears of mirth running freely down their faces, forgetting about him, dropped their guard.

  Seeing his opportunity, Jimmy, grabbing hold of the pipe, yanked it free from the Madam’s tight grip. Before she realised what he was doing, he clambered his way up the munching machine, where he hurriedly began closing the third and last valve.

  “Wha!” the Madam spoke, in alarm.

  “You let the little pipsqueak take the pipe!” Mr Voracity boomed.

  Close the Valve and Shutdown the Pipe

  It sounds easy, to close the valve and shutdown the pipe. Was it that easy? Read on and see…

  Using the length of pipe, Jimmy managed to shut off the third and last valve. Looking down at the Madam and the Mr, arguing about which of them should climb up and get him, he laughed at their stupidity. “What a load of codswallop,” he declared, “to think I was frightened of you.”

  Surprised that Jimmy had said such a thing, the Madam and the Mr stared up at him, their heads turned askew, lost as to what they might say in reply.

  Jimmy, however, had no such problems; he knew exactly what he must do. With the blocked off valves serving their purpose, causing the munching machine’s workings to go into overload, it was going to blow – and soon. He had to get away from it – and fast. Without wasting a second, he scrambled down from the machine, hell-bent of gaining as much distance between him and it as was humanly possible. That was his plan, to run away from the machine and the impending explosion as fast as his legs might carry him. Plans sometimes do not go – according to plan; this was to prove a prime example of such an occurrence.

  “I’ll get him, the little pipsqueak!” Mr Voracity boomed, making a swipe for Jimmy as he dashed past him.

  Being young and ductile, Jimmy easily avoided Mr Voracity’s powerful swipe. Squealing with glee, he called out, “Missed me, you big twerp!”

  The Madam, on the other hand, being of a thinner stature, was somewhat faster. Reaching out, surprising him, she caught hold of Jimmy. “So, not so gleeful now,” she said tauntingly, her eyes inspecting every inch of his succulent young flesh.

  “Not yet!” the Mr warned, spoiling her moment of triumph.

  Hissing her disquiet, the Madam said, “Just a small bite, a morsel from this most dainty of delights, will suffice me for now.” She stroked Jimmy’s arm as if it were a prime piece of steak ready for the pan.

  Grabbing the Madam by the throat, shaking her by it, Mr Voracity said, “NO, means NO! Mr Viscous has other planes for the pipsqueak. Give him to me!”

  Staring into his bloodshot eyes, the Madam deliberated the pros and cons of crossing Mr Voracity and, more importantly, Mr Viscous. The cons outweighing the pros by a long shot, she loosened her grip on Jimmy’s arm, relinquishing her tasty treat.

  Taking possession of Jimmy, the Mr, licking his lips at the possibility of a so dainty a treat, controlled himself like never before. Pointing to the valves atop the munching machine, he said, “Open those valves, Madam Poulfarriy, lest we are blown to smithereens.”

  Looking up at them, grumbling under her breath, the Madam climbed the munching machine.

  Calling to her, the Mr said, “Perhaps, when Mr Viscous has finished with the pipsqueak, we will be offered a tasty morsel?”

  Smiling, dripping saliva, the Madam replied, “That would be good, incredibly good, far better than scraps of dead equine snatched from the cogs and workings of the munching machine.”

  Here he is,” said Mr Voracity, pushing Jimmy forward, knocking him to the floor.

  The fat, moustached, bald-headed man stared long and hard at Jimmy, his piggy eyes cold and unblinking. After what seemed like an eternity, he said, “So, we meet again…”

  “Yes, we do!” Jimmy answered defiantly, scrambling to his feet.

  “I said it before and I’ll say it again,” said the factory owner. “You are either incredibly brave or unbelievably foolhardy...”

  The Madam and the Mr, their heads nodding in agreement, watched in silence.

  “I’m as brave as anyone would be,” Jimmy retorted, “trying to stop a madman making glue from poor, unfortunate horses!”

  Pointing at himself, the factory owner said, “Me? You think I am a madman?”

  Jimmy nodded that it was so.

  His piggy eyes narrowing, Mr Viscous said, “From where I am standing, there is only one person who appears mad, and it is most certainly not I.”

  With all eyes trained upon him, pointing to himself, Jimmy said, “Me? You think I am mad?”

  Nodding, Mr
Viscous replied, “You said it.”

  “But!”

  “Not buts or ifs,” the factory continued. “I think it’s about time you learned a lesson.”

  Gulping hard, speaking less defiantly, Jimmy said, “A lesson?”

  Without bothering to answer, the factory owner signalled for the Madam and the Mr to hold him steady. Jimmy was going nowhere.

  Thinking fast, Jimmy cried out, “I never did get around to explaining, telling you why I returned to the factory!”

  “To steal my horses, of course.”

  “No…well, yes, we wanted to free them, but there was another reason…”

  They say curiosity killed the cat, although Mr Viscous was about as removed from being a cat as it was possible to get, he began acting in a most feline way. Filled with curiosity, he asked, “Another reason?”

  “Yes,” Jimmy replied, feigning confidence. “I wanted to tell you about the witches...”

  Pulling his moustache, not stroking it or even rubbing it, but actually tugging it hard, the factory owner was obviously intrigued. “Witches?” he asked, barely audible.

  “Yes,” Jimmy replied, slightly more confident.

  “Pray tell me, where are these creatures?” he asked, tugging his moustache some more.

  “They’re everywhere!” Jimmy replied, raising an arm in a wide arc, for added emphasis.

  For several minutes, the factory owner remained silent, tugging all the while at his moustache. Jimmy was sure blood would appear at any moment. Settling his moustache with a gentle caress of an index finger,