Deep in an underground tunnel with lots of flashing lasers and European people, something horrid and probably primeval dripped down the side of a wall undetected, because if you give a lot of grown men with qualifications in confusing squiggles lasers and put them in a tunnel which cost an awful lot of money then they are won’t to be very silly.
They would have been pretending to be Jedi’s if they had been invented, but they contented themselves by pretending to have laser vision and, ironically, accidentally inventing laser eye surgery by nearly blinding themselves but then discovering that they could throw away their glasses.
Unfortunately they did this all at once, hurling them into the air then trampling on them so that they had to call in the services of Matron, a rather imposing woman with upswept blonde hair, wearing a blue suit.
“Come to Mummy!” she drawled, pulling a rather large and fearsome looking rubber tube out of her handbag.
“I feel a dark presence!” said Lola touching her temples and swivelling her eyes, and she seemed to have donned a turban. somehow.
“It’s Clarkson; I think that we need to dump him!” said Bunty pulling a lever which opened a hatch in the roof above the driver’s seat. A clang followed, then a boing, then a prolonged scream as Clarkson was jettisoned into the path of the geese.
“Jolly good.” said Lola, “It’s good job that the car has its own navigational system and can both drive and fly itself, although it took ever such a lot of pigeons to make it work; I still can’t work out how they know.”
“Well, that’s a relief!” said Bunty, watching the annoying former chauffeur hurtling towards the Eiffel Tower and a nasty death.
“It hasn’t gone yet Bunty,” said Lola, “I can still feel it and it’s getting darker…and more present….also, there’s something else joining it.” she whipped out a Ouija board, “Come on Bunty, it’s been far too long since I communed with the Dead; let’s see what the Gefilters are doing on the “Other Side”.”
“You mean the afterlife Lola?” asked Bunty.
“There, or somewhere in the Urals.” said Lola.
The slimy thing slithered, as slimy things do, leaving an acid trail behind it as it garnered momentum, edging towards the sickly syrupy voice and the screams of the scientists in many European accents as the enemas started to take hold.
“Physicists!” she spat scornfully, “They have no chemistry.” The screams were punctuated with the snap of industrial rubber gloves.
The car landed of its own accord in a wooded glade on the edge of a cliff near a rather pointy gothic castle.
The ladies stepped out the car into the deepening gloom, into what promised to be a dark and stormy night with the attendant lightning bolts, angry villagers with torches and assorted Gefilters.