Mr.Flentstroikem (Mr.Flent as we shall call him now) was on yet another one of his mad, unending rampages. He entered his lab, licked his lips, and ate an entire box of biscuits while carefully dividing Infinity by the number Zero. He put on his white lab coat, but it had a stain. A dark, black stain the size of a pin-prick.
“Unbelievable!” he said,” Who DARES touch my coat?!”
And then he remembered, it was Martha. The girl who came to sell him biscuits the other day. But now, none of that mattered. He had the mission for the day. Remove that ghastly black dot upon his sparkling white coat and make it clean and white once more. He would achieve this, he thought, but how? Leaving aside the divisions and subsequent multiplications, Mr.Flentustroikem went into his lab. His OTHER lab. Wearing his astronaut suit, he jumped into a rocket he’d made for himself while being bored. (The reason he was bored was that he’d done all there was to do and if you’ve done all there is to do then what is left for you to do that you’ve not done because you’ve done it all and nothing is left to be done ?)
The rocket was shaped like a pomegranate with a large ice-cream scoop shaped structure at the top. At the bottom of the “pomegranate” was a large tube, almost like a cone faced downwards. The rocket ran on Frequently Altering Rocket Traveler’s Steam. In a moment’s notice, he was in the rocket, and the pomegranate-like rocket was about to launch into Outer Space.
3….2…..1…..
And off the rocket blasted (and as for HOW nothing below was burned or destroyed, that’s another story). As the rocket left behind it a trail of unintended stench, it pushed itself forward to break through the gargantuan atmospheric barrier, and soon, it entered space. The true reason behind why Mr.Flent was so adamant to enter desolate space for the sake of a stain on a lab coat was completely unknown to anyone at that time. Many of the world’s top politicians and leaders and presidents and others convened a conference when they heard of his untimely departure. They discussed, argued and consequently decided that it was best to leave Mr.Flent to his own devices. The round table conference ended and the world was once more at rest. Maybe.
Elsewhere, Mr.Flent: “Based on extremely intricate calculations made while eating biscuits, I have determined the exact velocity by which it is possible to prevent the SG Force from creating the Chaos paradigm. Space Golf Ball!! Here, I come!!” he shouted. (The Golf Ball, of course, refers to the moon.) The rocket darted across empty space and the moment it came in the vicinity of the Great Golf Ball, it came to a standstill. Hovering in mid-space, a ladder descended downwards towards the moon like an anchor dropped by a ship. Mr.Flent stepped down, slightly, steadily (with his anti-gravity boots), all the while holding onto his lab coat with firm, strong hands. (Biscuits were the secret of his energy). The moment his boots came in contact with the white moon, he stopped, placed the shirt on top of a pole (which he took from some part of his astronaut’s suit) and placed it firmly within the moon’s land. He then proceeded to a nearby rock, sat down, placed his timer on the ground, and waited.
Eating biscuits of course, although it’s not clear how he managed to do that on the moon, scientists remain baffled to this day about this extraordinary feat of Flentish innovation. All at once, the timer ticked, and as expected, the lab coat was once more white. It seems to be of the utmost importance to ask the question that shall now be presented below:
“Why go to the moon to remove the pin-prick stain upon the lab coat via exposure to a region without an atmosphere, when all you need to do is send the lab coat to the laundry?”
Indeed, if such a question were to be asked, an equally baffling answer would have to be stated. However, I am not at liberty to do so. Mr.Flent then put on the clean, white coat, put the pole back into whatever place it came from, jumped into his rocket and went back home (with the help of Fr.Al.Ro.Tr.St of course). Once back, he relished the taste of a dark chocolate biscuit (which seemed all the more tastier while he wore his coat), when all at once, a single drop of that savory cream dropped onto his Moon-Washed lab coat. A dark, black stain the size of a pin-prick.
By: Adithya Christopher
