From a viewing platform situated somewhere above the small Spanish town of Carpio, The Molluscs gazed with mild interest at the beautiful horizon, as what appeared to be a large boat capsized in icy waters. Filled with a newfound optimism, and unquenchable blood lust, the molluscs were determined to find something interesting to do. Unfortunately, the Molluscs seemed to have lost their cunning and devilish skin suits in what had been the largest swimming pool any of the Molluscs present had ever seen, so blending in was going to be somewhat of a challenge. Thankfully, none of the Spaniards had noticed the terrifying creatures, as they were all hours deep into their lengthy, and increasingly frequent, siestas.
After a detour that involved an escapade into the lucrative spice trade of the Indonesian city of Balikpapan, the Molluscs discovered themselves contemplating their next move. They found their answer as several train tickets, as if by plot contrivance, materialised from thin air directly in front of them, stacking themselves into a neat pile in the shape of an irritated groundhog. The Molluscs decided to immediately head for the airport and, upon their arrival, boarded the next bus to Paris. When their dirigible finally landed, The Molluscs were immediately met with the harsh, winter tundra of Siberia.
The Molluscs had long dreamed of seeing the beautiful city of Moscow, as the name had lead them to believe that the city was the world center of cattle viewing. Naturally, the Molluscs were extremely disappointed to realise that this winter wonderland had not presented them a single bovine creature in many metres, and promptly headed for the Kremlin, where they assumed all of Russia’s prestigious cattle population would be located. Yet, the Molluscs were met with even more disappointment. This was their worst holiday yet. Angered, confused, and feeling like a small void had entered their lives, The Molluscs decided they had to meet with the leader of this cow-deprived nation of idiosyncratic city appellation. Finding him nearby, looking a little too fondly at his stockpile of nuclear weaponry, They immediately accosted him, demanding that he pay penance for his nation’s naming conventions.
“NUN NUN nun Nun!” shouted the Molluscs in a confused and saddened way, devastated that this proud nation didn’t house the cattle they so desperately yearned for in their very souls. The small, yet imposing, man seemed oddly bemused, if not slightly nervous to be approached by the ravenous and clearly angry animals that barely came up to his shins, like some sort of aggressive midget. He shuddered at the thought that this was indeed something he had encountered many times before, in his underground fight ring he held on the side, along with his lucrative monopoly on Vodka production in Albania. The Molluscs tried again to get the man’s attention, but this only confused the gentleman further. Their patience was being tried more and more as the seconds dragged on, and the normally very kind and understanding creatures were growing more and more vicious, and closer. Seeing no other options, the man let out a bloodcurdling shriek, or perhaps some sort of ancient chant from a long forgotten society. At that very moment, a Walrus burst through the door. Or so it seemed. The Molluscs, after several millionths of a second in shock, realised that it was not in fact a walrus who had broken through the door, but a kitten. The kitten was, quite notably, on fire. Immediately, the glorious leader of the Russian nation (whom the molluscs were about to mercilessly tear into for his insubordination) did a stellar backflip out the window, into the chilly Russian air. Landing with mount of finesse and immense grace, the likes of which not seen since the summer of 1945, after a several hundred foot drop onto a bear clad with a cape featuring the national colours of the proud county, who had came bounding over the frostbitten hills, the leader rode away into the unnecessarily beautiful sunset.
At this point the Molluscs were distracted by the flashing and screeching of many alarms throughout the building, and they were jarred into the remembrance of their quest. Shaking themselves to clear their minds of the distraction that was cow shortfall, and of the pain in Mrs. Mollusc’s tail after her accidental bump into the nuclear command console, the Molluscs decided to set off once more.
As they left the building, they noticed several hundred fireworks being launched from a nearby Nuclear Silo. Still feeling disappointed and dismayed at their betrayal, The Molluscs didn’t stay long enough to see the fireworks explode into the rapidly darkening sky, or the mushroom shaped cloud sweeping across the horizon. It really was quite beautiful really, save for the horribly unsavoury screams. Oh well, Cest la vie.
The Molluscs didn’t ponder long on this as they headed back off toward their destination, passing through a small seaside town located on the Czechian coast. Here they were distracted by a passing circus. None of the Molluscs had been to the circus before, and they were wowed by the antics of the animals and men, often clapping their double jointed legs in an inexplicable manner. The fun and games were brought to an abrupt halt, however, when out from stage left came the Mollusc’s archnemesis, the only thing they feared, the great, mighty, mildly introverted, [“WE INTERRUPT YOU HERE WITH A MESSAGE FROM OUR SPONSOR-”]
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