Thursday, March the 4th, 2004

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Istvan, Zoltan or Zoltan, Istvan

“Crikey!” exclaimed Istvan, as he pulled the lever on the incomprehensible big magnetic robot.

“That's a turn up for the book,” observed his twin brother Zoltan.

“And what book would that be?” asked Istvan, as the incomprehensible big magnetic robot clanked & whirred into action. Thumping & minatory, it began to cross the buttercup-splattered meadow in which this exciting scene takes place. It made Istvan think of a Golem, such was its implacable menace.

“What do you know of literature?” sneered Zoltan, but Istvan was already rummaging in his brother's satchel. Moments later, he held triumphantly aloft a dog-eared paperback. Zoltan eyed him closely. “Your arm shot up in phallic conspiracy,” he quoted. Istvan examined the curiously stained cover of the book. He was severely myopic. Eventually he managed to discern the title: Pestilence & Farm Implements—Number 8 in a Series of Dog-Eared Paperbacks by Vercingetorix Sepulveda.

“May I borrow this?” he asked.

“Certainly not!” shouted Zoltan.

“I knew you would always forbid,” said Istvan, making a clever riposte with a quotation of his own. Splendid clouds passed across the battering sun.

“Look out!” screamed Zoltan. But it was too late. The incomprehensible big magnetic robot had turned & was bearing down on Istvan. It had somehow acquired a gleaming & very, very sharp cutlass…