The Onion enlarging machine will be ready tomorrow and then…
…WE SHALL RULE THE WORLD," yelled evil Onionman in a menacing, evil voice.
"What do we do when we rule the world?" asked an inquisitive onion.
"Patience my dear onion. All will be revealed nearer the time," replied Onionman.
"Does that mean you don’t know?" Onion 984 asked.
Onionman looked down at the cheeky little onion.
"Err…yes…of course I know. I just won’t be revealing the What we do when we rule the world plans until we are actually ruling the world."
And he laughed another evil laugh and all the onions joined him in laughing evilly.
They had to, or they would be joining Salsa 211.
6. Back to Work
Unfortunately for Sergeant Smelly, his holiday was over and a return to work was imminent. He usually enjoyed his work, but today was different. Today was the first day in two weeks he wouldn’t be able to go to Café McPoo for breakfast, lunch and dinner. He was well disappointed. He still made it for breakfast before his job was due to start though.
His first task was a drill with his soldiers. He forgot his drill so they did a march instead. He marched them out to the training area and ordered them to line up.
"Right, you miserable bunch of so called soldiers. Today we will be…", but he was rudely interrupted.
It wasn’t one of his soldiers that interrupted him.
It wasn’t one of his superiors that interrupted him.
It wasn’t the nearby squirrel doing cartwheels that interrupted him, although they were impressive cartwheels. For a squirrel anyway.
No, the thing that interrupted him was a trouser trumpet. And it wasn’t one of the soldiers.
It was one of his.
It was a super-massive fart that shook the very ground the soldiers stood on.
Sergeant Smelly's face grew red with embarrassment, but he tried to carry on with his job as if nothing had happened. The soldiers didn’t know what to do. They knew Sergeant Smelly had let one rip and were trying ever so hard to keep themselves from laughing.
"Err…as I was saying, today we will be…" but before he could tell the soldiers what they would be doing, he let off another trouser trumpet, but this time fire whooshed from his butt cheeks.
The training ground went silent for five seconds.
To Sergeant Smelly, it seemed like an eternity. It was the longest five seconds of his life. He tried to talk again but every single one of the thirty soldiers could contain themselves no longer, and they burst into fits of laughter. They could not stop laughing. Some were curled up on the ground, laughing so much they were crying.
"LINE UP SOLDIERS," shouted Sergeant Smelly who was angry and ashamed of his inability to contain the farts. They just came out of nowhere. Well, they came out of his butt, but he wasn't expecting it. Sergeant Smelly didn’t know what to do. If he didn’t have the respect of the soldiers, they would not do as they were told.
This was a major catastrophe for Sergeant Smelly. Which is almost exactly what Major Catastrophe shouted to Sergeant Smelly as he ran on to the training ground.
"This is a major catastrophe! What the devil is going on Sergeant Smelly? Why are the soldiers on the ground laughing so much and ignoring your orders. This is a major catastrophe!" repeated Major Catastrophe.
"I don’t know Sir. They just keep ignoring me."
"Private Lee. Why are you standing on your own and what is the meaning of all this hilarity? Why are all the soldiers on the ground laughing and ignoring Sergeant Smelly?" shouted Major Catastrophe.
"Sir, Sergeant Smelly farted and produced fire from his bum, Sir," said Private Lee trying to keep his laugh in.
"Is this true Sergeant Smelly?" shouted Major Catastrophe in a rage.
"Err…err…err…" stuttered Sergeant Smelly, too embarrassed to tell the truth.
"Stop stuttering Smelly and tell me if this is true or not," continued Major Catastrophe.
"Yes, it’s true," admitted Sergeant Smelly, "but it won’t happen again Sir."
"You are right about that Smelly. You are suspended until further notice. What the devil have you been eating Smelly?" asked Major Catastrophe.
"I had some Spicy Haggis rolls for breakfast this morning with a large helping of beans and chilli sauce Sir."
"HAGGIS!" exclaimed Major Catastrophe. "HAGGIS!" he said again for effect. "Isn’t Haggis made of sheep poo and cornflakes?" enquired Major Catastrophe completely bemused.
"No," replied Sergeant Smelly, "it’s made of…err, well, I’m not sure actually Sir. But it does taste awfully good whatever is in it."
"BE QUIET YOU SMELLY LITTLE MAN!" screamed Major Catastrophe catastrophically.
At that point someone else arrived on the scene.
"WHAT IS WITH ALL THIS DISORDER AND CONFUSION AND GENERAL DISARRAY?" yelled General Disarray.
Major Catastrophe replied, "It’s Sergeant Smelly, General Disarray. He farted fire when he is supposed to be marching the soldiers. It was meant to be a drill but he forgot his drill. It is causing quite a general disarray. In fact, it’s a major catastrophe General Disarray!"
"SERGEANT SMELLY, YOU ARE SUSPENDED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE. WITH YOUR GENERAL DISARRAY, YOU HAVE CREATED A MAJOR CATASTROPHE! THERE WILL BE A COURT MARSHALL FOR THIS!" yelled General Disarray.
"Yes General Disarray?"
"What are you talking about Major Catastrophe?" shouted General Disarray.
"You said my name General Disarray," said Major Catastrophe.
"Your name isn’t General Disarray. That’s my name. Oh shut up Major Catastrophe. Sergeant Smelly has caused enough general disarray for today."
Sergeant Smelly was sent home a sad and embarrassed man. Not to mention a sore bottomed man. He was as unhappy as an unhappy boy who found out he was allergic to ice cream and chocolate. Sadder than a sad girl who realised the wrapped up bike shaped Christmas present wasn’t a horse, but a doll wrapped up with bike shaped wrapping paper.
Sadder than someone who was extremely sad.
Sadder than someone who had run out of sad things other people might be sad about.
But his sadness and embarrassment vanished in an instant when he had a fantastic thought.
"Well, at least I’ll be able to go back to McPoo’s for a second helping of breakfast."
Which he did.
7. Back to Café McPoo Again
Sergeant Smelly forgot his troubles in an instant and ran straight to Café McPoo. I say ran. It was more of a waddle due to the amount of food consumed from Café McPoo recently. He waddled as fast as he could to ensure he made the breakfast menu. And he did, just in time.
"Two Black Pudding omelettes please. And a large side order of beans please," wheezed Sergeant Smelly.
Sergeant Smelly briefly rested at the table before wolfing his omelettes down, forgetting about his work troubles as if nothing had happened. Three Chilli hash browns also helped him forget about the farting dilemma at work.
As he walked home, it dawned on him that he was addicted to farty food and there was nothing he could do about it. He didn’t want to do anything about it either, as he loved the food at Café McPoo, as well as the smell of his own farts. Even if they smelled liked rotten turnips and cabbages, he still loved them. It is a strange phenomenon. Two people can produce exactly the same fart, but if one smells the other’s, it will be absolutely repugnant. Smell their own fart and the repugnance will be swapped for pride.
"You can’t beat the smell of your own farts after eating a Cabbage, parmesan and turnip soufflé," was Sergeant Smelly’s new phrase.
His favourite smell was after eating two Black pudding and fried egg rolls with Chilli sauce. He even started to pocket-a-fart again, which he hadn’t done since he was a boy. He would cup his hand over his bottom and place his hand gently against his nose, and the hand uncupped would release the wondrous smell directly into his oversized nostrils. He learnt to only do
this after certain meals, as the first attempt was after a double helping of Haggis, Pepperoni and Baked Bean pie and he spent an afternoon at hospital with a burnt moustache and nostrils.
"And how did this happen Sergeant Smelly?" asked the nurse tending to his injury.
"Pocket-a-fart after eating…err… I mean…err…I burnt it on the cooker. Yes, that’s right. I burnt it on the cooker, you see."
The nurse looked at him strangely, not knowing what a pocket-a-fart was and she certainly didn’t want to know either.
When he returned home, he thought long and hard about how he could get back to work but still eat Jimmy McChunder’s scrumptious food and keep his job.
He thought if he taped his butt cheeks together he could contain his farts, but that might lead to an implosion of epic proportions.
He thought he might somehow be able to produce electricity from his fire-farts and sell them to an electricity company. He could make a living from it and set up the Electric Fart Company or the Alternative Wind Corporation and become a millionaire.
He thought and thought and he thought some more. He was a desperate man, but deep down he knew there was only one solution, as the Electric Fart Company was a long shot. There was only one thing for it, and he didn’t like it. He would have to stop eating at Café McPoo. It was the only sensible thing to do. If he didn’t want to be thrown out of the army, he would have to stop farting in front of his soldiers.
He must do it and he must do it right away.
8. Back to Café McPoo once again
And do it right away was exactly what he didn’t do.
Two hours later, Sergeant Smelly was back at Café McPoo reading the new lunch menu. One thing on the menu immediately caught his eye.
"I’m sorry," said the waitress catching Sergeant Smelly’s eye with the corner of the menu.
"Worry not fair waitress. I have another eye and I am too hungry to worry about losing the sight in one of my eyes."
Something else on the menu also caught Sergeant Smelly’s eye. A new dish on the menu made Sergeant Smelly drool at the mere thought of it. The Spicy Onion tart with Haggis and Anchovies sounded absolutely scrumptious.
"I’ll have the Spicy Onion tart with Haggis and Anchovies please waitress. It sounds absolutely scrumptious!"
"Okay, I’ll bring you it right away," said the waitress with a frown on her face, "or sometime in the next thirty minutes, if I can be bothered."
The waitress was having a particularly bad day. New menu days were the worst, as they had to endure a new set of smells from the customers bottoms. They would be just getting used to the odorous pongs from the previous menu, then Chef McChunder would reinvent it, and invite the regular customers to taste the new food, which led to disgusting new fart smells for the waitresses to get used to.
The waitress returned with the Spicy Onion tart with Haggis and Anchovies and Sergeant Smelly tucked into it as soon as it hit the table. He devoured it within two minutes and it tasted so good, he ordered another.
"Waitress, that tart was so good I would like to order another please. And this time I’ll have some French Fries and Chilli sauce please."
But the waitress was not listening to Sergeant Smelly. She was looking more depressed than ever. She started to cry, as if working with all the horrible fart smells she had to endure had finally taken its toll and she could take no more.
Sergeant Smelly looked around the café and everybody was crying. Every single person in the café was crying apart from him. Some placed their heads in their hands and acted like the worst thing in the world had just happened to them. Like losing your body, arms and legs and just being left with a head. Then five years later, you finally grow your body, arms and legs back again, then someone comes along and chops them all off. Making it worse, someone standing nearby who witnessed the chopping says, "He should have quit while he was ahead." BOOM, I’m here for the rest of the book!
Some just cried and walked out of the café without paying for their food and the waitresses were too busy to notice or care. They were bawling their eyes out for no apparent reason. Sergeant Smelly was distressed.
"What on earth is happening here?" shouted Sergeant Smelly in distress. "I want more food," cried Sergeant Smelly rather selfishly.
Sergeant Smelly stood up and shouted again, "I want more food waitress."
But it was a pointless exercise, as he looked around the café and it was deserted. And he hadn’t even looked at the dessert menu.
Sergeant Smelly could not believe what was happening. Two Egyptian chefs stormed out of the kitchen with tears in their eyes, asking for their Mummies. Another chef followed them out of the kitchen in an attempt to stop them from leaving. He stopped in his tracks when he noticed his café was empty. His café that was full every day and was now almost deserted. He too could not believe what was happening. He looked at Sergeant Smelly despondently.
"What on earth is going on here?" asked Chef McChunder.
"Everybody ran out of the café crying. Can I have a Spicy Onion tart with Haggis and Anchovies with a large helping of French Fries and Chilli sauce please?" asked Sergeant Smelly. He was too hungry to care about anyone else.
"ARE YOU MAD?" shouted the chef.
"No, but I am devilishly hungry. I could eat another ten of those tarts. They were wonderful," replied Sergeant Smelly. "In fact, I’m so hungry I could eat my own bogeys. Or anyone’s bogeys for that matter."
"Could you? I mean...eat another ten of those tarts, rather than the bit about the bogeys," answered the chef, forgetting he was angry only for a second. "Everyone has run out of the café crying and all you can worry about is a Spicy Onion tart with Haggis and Anchovies with a large helping of French Fries and Chilli sauce. Admittedly, they taste divine, but we should be out there investigating why everyone is crying," replied the chef, stunned at how selfish Sergeant Smelly was.
"Are you Jimmy McChunder?" asked Sergeant Smelly.
"YES I AM," shouted Jimmy McChunder.
"Then why didn’t you say so. Let’s go and find the cause of the tears, then we can come back and you can make me another tart. I’m Sergeant Smelly by the way. You can call me Sergeant Smelly."
Sergeant Smelly walked out of the café in slow motion.
"Err…why are you walking in slow motion?" asked Captain Chunder.
"To show that something dramatic is about to happen."
"What will happen will happen. This will just take longer."
"Yes, but the tension is growing already."
Jimmy McChunder sighed and they left the café to locate the source of the problem. Slowly.
9. Superheroes
Outside the café, Sergeant Smelly and Jimmy McChunder were confronted with an unexpected sight. Ten, evil, six foot Onions stood menacingly before them. They were only supposed to have onions for heads but something went wrong with Onionman’s Onionator. They had one large onion for a body and five more made up the arms, legs and head. The onions emitted a gas that had the effect of a chopped onion. People would cry if they came within a mile of the onions. All except Sergeant Smelly and Jimmy McChunder.
"Why aren’t you crying like everybody else?" shouted the onions together.
They weren’t sure how to respond. They didn't know why they weren’t crying, and they were befuddled with the badly constructed onions that stood before them.
"Perhaps it is something to do with the onion tart I just ate," replied Sergeant Smelly.
"SILENCE HUMAN," bellowed the onions.
"What do you mean SILENCE? You asked me a question. How am I supposed to answer your question whilst remaining silent? Should I mime any answers. How on earth do I mime eating an onion tart? I could mime the eating part but not the onion part," answered Sergeant Smelly.
"Well, you could point at us for the onion part? Not sure how you would do the tart thing though," replied Onion 8.
It was Onion 8 who inspired the name Onionator.
"Who is the biggest Onion
?" asked Onionman.
"Onion 8 or Onion 9," was the reply, but Onionman only heard the first three words…Onion 8 or.
"I have just thought of an amazing idea for the name of the Onion enlarging machine. I SHALL CALL IT THE ONION 8 OR," exclaimed Onionman.
"Err…wouldn’t it be better to call it the ONIONATOR, rather than ONION 8 OR. The thing is, people, or onions, well maybe not the onions, but people might think you are saying OR at the end, and wait for you to say something else. You might say BEHOLD THE ONION 8 OR and people might say,
BEHOLD THE ONION 8, OR WHAT? They might get confused," said Onion 7 rather cleverly he thought.
"Okay, whatever Onion 72. I SHALL…" continued Onionman before being interrupted.
"Err…I’m Onion 7 Onionman," replied Onion 7.
"OKAY, OKAY. I SHALL CALL IT THE ONIONATOR."
"Perhaps if I hold my ear and fart to suggest it sounds like fart. Yes, that’s it. So I could point at you – ONION, and I could hold my ear and fart to suggest it sounds like fart – TART."
"Enough of this nonsense human. PREPARE TO BE…"
But it was too late
for Onion 8
for Onion 8
had met his fate
Onion 8 did not notice Jimmy McChunder sneaking off. Nobody did. Jimmy McChunder tiptoed off when Sergeant Smelly was having a ridiculous conversation with a six foot onion and retrieved his sharpest knife from the kitchen. He sneaked behind them and chopped the onions within twenty seconds. They didn’t know what hit them. He placed them into Tupperware boxes to keep them fresh to use in his Spicy Onion tart with Haggis and Anchovies.
"Well done Sergeant Smelly for distracting the onions while I retrieved my knife. A clever plan indeed. Unless of course, you were just being ridiculous and boring," said Jimmy McChunder.