As all of the fusilli pieces turned round s l o w l y, Thomas saw his chance to get out of there. He picked up a plank of wood from what used to be his coffee table and surfed his way to safety, only to be blocked by Sergeant Wheat. “Going somewhere?” he questioned sarcastically, but before he could finish his sentence, Tom was outside. “Cheerio!” he said and ran off.
“Aaaatteeeeeention!” he shouted. “Team A, track down our friend here. Teams B, C and D, continue to rampage across this place. Teams E and F, kill allof the humans you can. Finally, Team G, be on the lookout for any homo-sapien rebels, then kill them and eat their livers. I’m on Team A.”
As the general marched down the road at high speed, Thomas risked a look from behind his hiding place, a bush. He had heard all of the conversation about which teams were going to do what, and had decided to spy on Team G. He wondered if they would actually eat their livers. Probably not if you ask me.
Tom saw somebody’s car on the street, and it looked as if they were asleep or had been killed by Sergeant Wheat. With that, he sneaked out of his shrub and unlocked the door with a key left on the roof. Grinding loudly, the old mini pulled out of the drive and slowly followed Team G.
“D’oh!” he exclaimed as one of the top-ranked pastas turned round to look at what was shouting ‘d’oh’ every five minutes, but also the strange grinding sound chasing him around. “Come out, D’ohey!” he said, scanning the area. “What did you just call me?!” shouted Thomas, without thinking what was going to come out of his lips. “Aha! You are there!” said the egg-based enemy, turning his head back round to the previous street, where Tom had innocently parked his car as if he was just a normal citizen and not a follower of pasta pieces.
The leading fusilli, who’s name was Lieutenant Larry, clicked his fingers in the way he wanted his comrades to go, and they followed his exact orders.
Thomas struggled to escape the brown car, as he had foolishly locked the doors, but the boot was still open. Would Tom make it or not?
“Aaaatteeeeeention!” he shouted. “Team A, track down our friend here. Teams B, C and D, continue to rampage across this place. Teams E and F, kill allof the humans you can. Finally, Team G, be on the lookout for any homo-sapien rebels, then kill them and eat their livers. I’m on Team A.”
As the general marched down the road at high speed, Thomas risked a look from behind his hiding place, a bush. He had heard all of the conversation about which teams were going to do what, and had decided to spy on Team G. He wondered if they would actually eat their livers. Probably not if you ask me.
Tom saw somebody’s car on the street, and it looked as if they were asleep or had been killed by Sergeant Wheat. With that, he sneaked out of his shrub and unlocked the door with a key left on the roof. Grinding loudly, the old mini pulled out of the drive and slowly followed Team G.
“D’oh!” he exclaimed as one of the top-ranked pastas turned round to look at what was shouting ‘d’oh’ every five minutes, but also the strange grinding sound chasing him around. “Come out, D’ohey!” he said, scanning the area. “What did you just call me?!” shouted Thomas, without thinking what was going to come out of his lips. “Aha! You are there!” said the egg-based enemy, turning his head back round to the previous street, where Tom had innocently parked his car as if he was just a normal citizen and not a follower of pasta pieces.
The leading fusilli, who’s name was Lieutenant Larry, clicked his fingers in the way he wanted his comrades to go, and they followed his exact orders.
Thomas struggled to escape the brown car, as he had foolishly locked the doors, but the boot was still open. Would Tom make it or not?
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