Back in the Plug Agane


in which nigel molesworth diskover Neon Genesis Evangelion

One da I am siting in the prep room at st custards when my grate friend peason enter. He carry a parcel and look furtiv.

“what hav you there, answer me clot or i shall uterly tuogh you up.” i demand.

“It is a dvd plaer and i hav some japanese cartoons.” he sa

“cartoons are all cats and meeses and ducks that speak funny. they are for ickle prety kiddies,” i sa.

“these hav giant robots and wizard xplosions and,” he lower his dulcet tones, hem hem, to a horse whisper and sa “and gurls all of whom look like Sabrina.”

“Sa more, o clot.”

he sho me one of the disks and it look like no cartoon i hav ever seen.

“watch,” he sa, and soon i am staring rapt at the screen.

an angel, not like
any found in div

he is right about the wizard xplosions, but he hav not said 0 about the angels who look nothing like any in div, or that the hero is a wet and a weed and a gurly who make fotherington-tomas look intreppid and that is saing a lot. and did he really do that in the gurls room? he is an oik and a cad and i diskard him.

Then, just as we are about to get to the big fight, where the gurl who is tuogher than Ermintrude (winner of the mrs joyful prize for country dancing and freestyle wrestling for 5 consekutiv years) is about to save the da, it stop.

Ermintrude, winner of the
mrs joyful prize for
country dancing and
freestyle wrestling

“is that it? what happen next?” i ask. this is worse than having to wait for the next eppisode when noble brave ect dan dare hav been captured by the evil treens

he hav another disk, but before we can start watching, the beke arrive and whisk us all off to the dorm and lights out.

that night as i slepe, perchance to dreme (w shakspere, hem hem) i cannot stop wondereing what happen next.

“wake up. stand up. bow. sit.”

i open my eyes and i am in klass!

i bow as the old beke toter in, then look around in horror. yes, it is i, ikari shinji, goriller of klass 2a, and i am sitting with my grate friend kensuke who hav a face like a squished tomato and touji, who hav et vast ammounts of tuck, radio malt, skool sossages, prunes ect. it is really just like st custards.

but hark, who is this who skip litely towards me, saing “hello clouds, hello sky, hello evas, hello angels” i do not think, a frown upon her usually radiant countenance, hem hem?

it is soryu asuka langley, of corse.

“thou utter weed and clot,” she sa, “do you kno 0? did you not here the alert.”

“is it another angel?” i ask. “if so, pappy. bring it on and i will uterly tuogh it up.”

NERV HQ is full of lifts that go whoosh and conveyor belts that go whirr whirr zoom and bring us to where Misato wait with picturs of the angel. as she sho us the photos, and tell us her plan my hart fill with dread. it look like Sigismund the mad maths master hav sent one of his crack rhombohedrons after us.

the mad maths master
musters his rhomboids

but i cannot sa so not in front of all these gurls & pretend i am the noble valiant dan dare and “pappy” i sa.

“i will uterly tuogh it up, and you need do 0, o weedy clot” sa asuka. rei sa 0 as per ushual

the lifts go whoosh and the conveyor belts go whirr whirr zoom, and we are all soon at the controls of our evas. launch sa Misato and with a ka-chung ka-chung zoosh we are standing ready to face the angel.

i diskover that piloting a giant robot is easy-peasy. i just hold on to the handle bars and walk, just like gran and her zimmer frame, and nerely as dangerous.

we see the angel in the distance and i draw my progressiv knife and charge ta-ran-ta-ra!

asukas luvly voice hem hem come on the line. “mind yore feet o clumsiest of clots.” it is as bad as country dancing lessons with Ermintrude.

“you hav trodden on the skool!” she sa. she is a swot and this do not plese her, tho any noble boy will cheer hip-hip hurrah — and we mite even get a half day from this!

asuka is a swot
and a sneke

“boy,” sa the commander, who sound just like Grimes the headmaster, “for wanton destruction of skool property, take 1000000 lines and report to my study for the kane.” being a giant robot pilot is not what it is cracked up to be chiz, chiz.

but it is too late for that. i approach the rhombohedron and it open a vast angle A, and i do not hav the ruler and kompass i nede to bisekt it. i trip, i tarry (peotry, hem hem) and plumet into its depths.

i am plunged into darkness filled with terrible flickering immages it is just like the late sho at the local roxy, my dere.

but soft, what is that awful visage i see? who is that who blub like an ickle prety babe? it is in fakt i, the person behind the noble, fearless, brave ect pilot.

“no!” i cry “no! take it away!”

another hideous face apere

and another hideous face apere in the darkness.

“hush, o grate clot,” he sa. it is peason standing by my bed in his jim-jams. “you hav woken the whole dorm with yore shouting. it is a wonder none of the bekes hav heard and come up in a bate.”

i lie back in bed with relief. toda i only hav latin prep and an algy test to worry about.

hi ho, a pilots life for me.


© Steve Gilham 2005
© Mr. Tines 2005

#include <std::copyright> — about half of the characters and situations in the fic belong to GAINAX/Project Eva, and almost all the rest Geoffrey Willans, Ronald Searle (the artwork, in particular), and, where relevant, their estates. It's just this form of words that is mine.