We travelled through the eighth dimension of the fourth quadrant …
past the twenty-fifth sector of the ninety-third nebula of the eighth arm of the twenty-second supercluster …
and there was Blobdromeda, right where the little blob said it would be!
‘We made it!’ said Terry.
The surface of Blobdromeda looked pretty rocky, and it appeared we were in for a rough landing, so we decided to take shelter in the room full of pillows.
We had only just arrived in the room full of pillows when Terry said what he always says when we go there: ‘Hey, I’ve got a good idea—let’s have a pillow fight!’
‘No way,’ I said. ‘This may be the place but it’s hardly the time. We’re on a mission—all those blobs trapped in the bog toad are depending on us!’
‘You’re right, Andy,’ said Terry. ‘This is no time for games.’ And then he whomped me with a pillow.
So I whomped him back.
Jill whomped us both—
and the great intergalactic pillow fight was on!
The pillow fight was still raging as we landed on Blobdromeda’s boulder-strewn surface.
‘Everyone okay?’ I said.
‘I’m fine,’ said Terry, emerging from underneath a pile of pillows.
‘Me too,’ said Jill. ‘But that was some jolt!’
‘Can anybody see the bog toad?’ said Terry.
‘No,’ said Jill, ‘but I can smell it. In fact, we’re right on top of it.’
‘Yikes!’ said Terry. ‘We’re on top of a bog toad!’
‘Yes,’ said Jill. ‘And, unless I’m very much mistaken, those rocks and boulders aren’t rocks and boulders—they’re bog toad warts.’
‘Bog toad warts?’ I said. ‘How disgusting!’
‘Look on the bright side,’ said Jill. ‘At least we’re on the outside of this bog toad and not on the inside like those poor blobs.’
We climbed down off the bog toad, which was surprisingly easy, because although the bog toad warts were disgusting, they also made excellent foot- and handholds.
‘That was fun,’ said Terry when we reached the ground. ‘We should build a wart-climbing wall in our treehouse.’
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘But where would we get the warts from?’
‘We can make them in our secret underground laboratory,’ said Terry.
‘Of course,’ I said.
We walked around to the front of the bog toad and stared at it.
It stared back at us.
We stared back at the bog toad.
‘Anyone know how to get blobs out of a bog toad?’ I said.
‘We need to make it open its mouth,’ said Jill. ‘Perhaps we could try making it laugh. Does anybody know any good bog toad jokes?’
‘I know one,’ said Terry, turning to the bog toad. ‘Hey, you, bog toad, do you want to hear a joke?’
The bog toad just stared at him.
‘All right, then,’ said Terry, ‘I’ll take that as a yes.’
The bog toad blinked.
Terry began: ‘A person was at the movies when they noticed what looked like a bog toad sitting next to them. “Excuse me,” said the person, “are you a bog toad?”
‘“Yes, I am,” said the bog toad.
‘“What are you doing at the movies?” said the person.
‘“Well,” said the bog toad, “I liked the book.”’
We all laughed. Well, all of us except for the bog toad. It just stared at Terry.
Terry turned to us. ‘I don’t understand why it’s not laughing,’ he said. ‘That’s a really funny joke.’
‘Maybe it doesn’t know what a movie is,’ said Jill.
‘Maybe it doesn’t know what a book is,’ I said.
‘Or maybe bog toads just don’t have a sense of humour,’ said Terry.
‘Are bog toads ticklish?’ I said.
‘I’m not sure,’ said Jill. ‘But there’s a good way to find out. Let’s tickle it. Ready, set, go!’
We team-tickled the bog toad with everything we had—our fingers, feathers, feather dusters, an electric toothbrush and even a vacuum cleaner …
but nothing worked. The bog toad didn’t even smile, let alone open its mouth to laugh.
‘Hmmm,’ I said. ‘I think we can safely conclude that this bog toad does not have a sense of humour and is not ticklish. Unless we can think of some other way to make it open its mouth, the blobs are doomed!’
Just then I heard a buzzing sound. A really annoying buzzing sound.
The fly was back! And it was even louder and more annoying than it was before!
‘Who let that fly out?’ I said.
‘I did,’ said Jill. ‘I thought it could help.’
‘Help?’ I said. ‘It’s not going to help—it’s just going to fly around and annoy us all!’
‘Exactly!’ said Jill. ‘I’m hoping it’s going to annoy the bog toad as well.’
The fly buzzed dangerously close to the bog toad’s head. It was hard to tell if the bog toad was getting annoyed or not, but it was definitely watching the fly with great interest.
The fly kept buzzing. The bog toad kept watching.
Until, suddenly, without warning, the bog toad launched itself into the air and tried to catch the fly.
As the bog toad opened its mouth to swallow the fly, all the mud that it had sucked up came gushing out in a great brown wave.
We didn’t stand a chance. We were swept away in the great flood of mud—never to be seen again.