Cheaper than a latest release blockbuster in a Singapore market stall, more infernally tight-fisted than a bare-knuckled street-fighter; able to parsimoniously pinch every pecuniary penny when he spend de money vendee be he: these are the Average Adventures of Mean Man.
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Previously as the young crime-fighter-to-be accompanied his stepfather to work in the Bureau of Statistics, he had received an innocuous papercut,
The blood left a coppery taste in Blom Adams mouth. Upon inspection of his finger he found a thin red cut on his right hand index finger. Blom pressed with his thumb and was rewarded with another small droplet. As the thirsty young bloodsucker moved his finger towards his mouth he was suddenly yanked sideways. The drop slid off as Blom's foster father wrapped a small pink sticking plaster around his finger.
"There's a ninety-nine per cent chance that the cost of that bandage will come out of your allowance." His statistician foster father said with a smile and a pat to Blom's head.
bOm BoM BOM!
And now we rejoin the youthful Blom on his journey to becoming the cheapest crime fighter to ever save the world from annihilation as the next instalment of an average adventure unfolds in
The Average Adventures of Mean Man #2;
The Continuing Echo of Ripe Watermelon
"Howzaaaaaaatt!" Gordon Foster, Blom's statistician father cried as the ball of paper landed in his cupped hands.
Five of the office worker's in the Bureau of Statistics who were also engaged in the game of office cricket in the space between the desks made various calls of agreement. The spectacled receptionist Frieda accepted the decision with a roll of her eyes and offered up the cylindrical post pack that served as the bat for the next hitter as the sound of drumming rolled around the office. To Blom it reminded him of the sound that his foster mother made with her palms while drumming on the watermelon at the local supermarket to check for ripeness.
Blom, who was fielding out on the boundary at deep fine leg, which was behind a blue partition board and a row of laser printers twice his height, stepped around to see where the noise was coming from. To his astonishment he watched as the office workers, who had pulled out their shirts and held them up under their elbows, drummed on their bellies with their palms; a tradition in the office whenever a catch was successfully made. Blom was waved back to deep fine leg as the next batter took up his position in front of the waste bin that served as the wickets.
Little did little Blom know that as he turned, he bumped into one of the laser printers. Unlike Gordon Foster, Mack Jenkins was much sloppier when loading the printer toner, a powdered substance consisting of tiny round pellets, which melted in the lasers intense radiation and adhered to the paper. Some of the toner sprinkled down and fell onto Blom's shoe.
Just as Blom noticed one shoelace undone and bent down to tie it up there was a cry of "Catchit Blom!" and a projectile came rebounding off the roof directly towards his head....
bom BoM BOM!
Faster than a mamory flashing ex-pop-princess bulleting down the charts; more powerful an aphrodisiac than an octogenarian's dance of the seventy five veils; able to leap small cracks in the pavement with a bit of a run-up and a spring-mat; these attributes and more will not be seen if you join us next time for the average adventures of Mean Man. #3 - Harmonic Balancers of the Toner-Deaf.
Like the grasses showing tender faces to each other, thus should we do, for this was the wish of the Grandfathers of the World.