Liquefied by the dropping, plopping mini-blobs, city hall collapsed, followed by the museum and several stately houses. “Isn’t it time for Deathstalker to arrive?” I mused, forking out a hole in my mashed potatoes so the gravy could flow in and smother them. The same effect, you might say, as a mini-blob. “Deathstalker’s busy hacking his way out of the blobby chains that the evil Mega-Blob put him in,” Pantelli reminded me. We were eating our dinner in front of the TV. As a rule, Mother didn’t permit this. However, tonight she was too busy upstairs trying to soothe Madge to object. “Oooo, here’s Deathstalker,” said Pantelli. “He looks pale.” “He always does, after breaking blob chains.” “Yeah, positively sickly. And boy, does Madge have bad acne!” “Huh?” I looked up from the green beans, which I’d been spearing one by one into a fat forkful. That way you have a chance at getting them all down in one gulp. “Madge has porcelain skin, dodo bird.” With his dinner roll, the dodo bird pointed at the TV screen.
