The engines were finding life
difficult. Bankrupt retailers from the local high street were living under the
viaduct on the Main Line. The retailers needed jobs and would ambush trains
with offers of washed windows and Big Issue magazines, but the Thin Git did not
want to close the railway while the workmen threw them into the canal, and so
removal took a long time.
The engines had to take great care when
crossing the viaduct. They had to, but they didn't. As such, they often got
into fights with the retailers, and the delays inevitably made them late on
their journey to the Yard, where they knew Diesel would be ready to nag the
sh*t out of them.
Diesel grew crosser and crosser, which
many thought impossible.
"Time's time!" he growled.
"Why should I keep my lovely little Steamie-Poo waiting while you
troglodytes toss about on viaducts?"
"Don't blame us!" scoffed
Bowler. "If we ran over the retailers, they might sue us into the ground,
and then you'd have no 'troglodytes' to make fun of anymore! And second,
'lovely little Steamie-Poo'? BLEURGH!"
"At least he can run his trains on
time!" retorted Diesel, "Steamie's a better friend than you've ever
been!" and he hurried away before Bowler could register how f***ing crazy
Steamie wasn't impatient. In fact, he
was downright chipper. He was scheduled to shunt all the trucks Diesel
collected from the other engines. The Yard Manager found that, instead of
Diesel dumping the trucks in a siding as quickly as possible and running away,
everyone was kept waiting till he arrived - even longer than usual!
Soon Steamie grew sorry for Diesel.
"Late again, my very chummiest
chummy-chum?" he remarked as Diesel grumbled wearily in. "We may be
the bestest friends ever, but I thought you wanted your jobs over fast, Diesel.
Maybe it's time we went back on The Jeffrey Bile Show. I reckon we could figure
out what the problem is with you there!"
Diesel vented noxious gas loudly.
"Bullplop!" he growled
fiercely. "I know exactly what the problem is! It's those dim-witted
diesels! They arse about on their viaduct and then blame the Thin Git's crack team
of hobobusters! It's just an excuse for laziness if you ask me, something I
would have no concept of whatsoever!"
And he rumbled away, while Diesel's
Driver tried to contain his laughter.
One day Spamcan was later - and more
riddled with bullet holes - than ever at the Yard.
"Gerroff my back, Diesel," he
wheezed. "Some bloody bank robber held me up at the station, and those
slobs on the viaduct made it worse!"
"It's lucky for you I'm a much
more tolerant and friendly engine after making up with Steamie," groaned
Diesel, "otherwise I'd have told you to piss off and die in a ditch, you
ugly, smelly troll."
Before Spamcan could insult him back,
Diesel purred importantly away.
"Come along, come alone", he
prattled to the trucks. Diesel did their best, but he found that he couldn't
save much time, even with the trucks trying to push him down all the hills.
Suddenly Diesel saw Steamie ahead. His
boiler was cold and his funnel wasn't smoking.
"What's the matter, My Best Friend
Steamie?" asked Diesel. "You should be at the station by now, singing
your lovely songs to all the bad little trucks and coaches. You're late!"
"I feel badly," moaned
Steamie, melodramatically. "All upset in my tummy-wummy, and Driver says
he can't make me better."
"You have a Driver?"
"Well, the voices in my head say
they can't make me better," said Steamie. "But ohhh, woe is me! It's
your other friends, Diesel! They don't see things the way we do! They're so sad
and angry and smelly! I wanted to throw them a jolly party, so we can all be
happy merry friends together forever, but their insults have upset me so much
that my engine's broken down! Oh, the shame! The shame!"
Steamie gestured to a warehouse deep in
the shadows of the Yard. It was old and run down, with a single colourful
banner hanging limply over the doors.
"Thank goodness you're late
too!" Steamie went on. "Can you take all of your friends to that big
warehouse over there? They'll never get to the party otherwise!"
"There'll be free fuel."
"Of course, My Best Friend
Steamie!" agreed Diesel. He suddenly felt very sorry for Steamie and
promised to get his friends to the Yard at once. Besides, crappy parties beat
crappy work any day.
Diesel set off again. Already he felt
much more cheerful and in no time at all the whole of the Thin Git's fleet,
being dragged behind Diesel, all reached the warehouse safely. The other
diesels were incredibly reluctant to follow Diesel at first, but when he told them
that there would be free fuel for everyone, they couldn't wait to join the
When Diesel shunted all of his friends
into the darkened warehouse, Steamie came to thank him.
"I'm sorry they teased you about
being an irredeemably horrible lump of scrap iron," said Diesel.
"That's alright," said
Steamie. "I'm sorry they were right all along."
A loud clattering suddenly echoed round
the warehouse as the doors slammed shut behind the engines. The lights suddenly
flickered on, revealing a bubbling pit of molten lead right in the middle of
the floor and a sparkling "HAPPY DEATHDAY" banner flapping overhead.
spluttered. "What is this!?"
"Some of the best acting of my
career, My Best Friend Diesel," giggled Steamie. "There are times
when being so stomach-churningly innocent and cutesy-poo isn't such a bad thing
after all! Tee hee hee etc!"
The other engines were furious with
Diesel and Steamie, but before they could turn a wheel, workmen in hideous
sparkling boiler suits leapt inside their cabs and poured glitter into their
gearboxes, clogging them something awful.
The Thin Git's engines were trapped!
"At last," Steamie cackled
chaotically, "my lovely squiggly revenge is almost complete! You grumpy
goblins are all doomed - doomed, I say - and you've got the king of the
miseryguts here to thank for it! Isn't that super-de-duper!?"
"Congratulations, My Best Patsy
Diesel! You've just killed all your friends! And you're next! WEEHEE!"
TO BE CONTINUED...