The Scotsman was relaxing with a wee whiskey, mulling over the days events. So the Loch Ness monster was a sassenach, and the Lock Ness one was the real monster of Loch Ness. None of it seemed to make sense. Unless...
(Out in space a delegation from Ritsuire 4 were approaching the Earth. Their journey had taken some 200 years, and the atmosphere on board was tense)
What if the monster had mastered an English accent? Perhaps because he'd had to phone up his bank or something and nobody seems to understand anything said in a Scottish accent? It was wearing a top hat and carrying an umbrella, but they could have been a cunning disguise!
(Squirk looked over at Grook. He'd found his habits amusing at first - the slurp he used to make while eating frozen blaat, the odd half moustache he seemed to think was trendy, the nasal laugh. Now Squirk frequently found himself thinking un-Ritsuirian thoughts. They mostly involved a mallet and Grooks head)
As for the cousin that had swam away, wasn't it wearing a turban and looking slightly more tanned than a Scottish monster should? Then there the reports of underwater rumblings, previously explained away with the reason it was the monster with wind. What if it wasn't wind?
(They were just about to enter orbit when it happened. Squirk had brewed some murt. He set it down to engage the braking thrusters and turned round to see Grook taping a sip from his mug!)
His glass stopped halfway to his lips. What if they were developing WND's - Weapons of Nessie Destruction. By the Gods! That was it! It also explained the reports of large monsters visiting cornershops and asking if they had weapons grade plutonium.
Al-Nessyquada were right here, in Loch Ness!
(The Ritsuirian ship plummeted into the atmosphere as 200 years of tension took their ineviatable effect)
"Alert the fleet, condition one" he barked into the phone. "Live weapons and wartime footing. Oh and for god's sakes please stop my sub glowing glowing pink before I get there!"
Clouds rolled, thunder struck, rain cascaded in fountains. A car pulled up and out stepped the Scotsman. His 2nd in Command wandered up;
"Sir, the fleet is ready."
"What about my damned sub? Is it still pink?" growled the Scotsman.
"No Sir! We still don't know why that happened. We found some men with pink paint pots but they swear they weren't anywhere near it."
"Another mystery then" said the Scotsman, "God's knows the world is full of them." He strode towards his sub, seemingly heedless of the driving rain. "Tonight we get rid of one. English monster my *&^!"
"Yes Sir!" replied the 2nd in Command.
The Scotsman boarded the sub and turned to address the men standing topside, "Right lads! Tonight we're going to..." and he stopped. The water erupted nearby and Nessie appeared, a huge sleek hideous monster from the dawn of time.
This was no pretend Nessie, no member of Al-Nessyquada. This was ancient, terrible and angry. It gave out a roar that froze the spines of all listening, a roar that vibrated deep into their very souls and spoke of unseen and glittering horror.
It was just about to attack when, to the faint sound of "That was my damn murt!", an out of control spaceship came thundering down and struck it right between the eyes.
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