‘Maybe we should scan our bottoms,’ said Whirl. ‘Biggest bags the Hall of Fame.’
‘Great idea!’ Evil pulled down his pants and leapt onto the photocopier. A groan. A crash. A tremor. Another idea scratched.
The corpulent editor returned to the table, eyed his gathered minions. ‘We gotta think of something,’ he said. ‘Something really stunning. Set the whole blog alight...’
The minions glanced at each other, as if playing keepy-uppy with some unseen buck.
Then Mrs Varmighan said, ‘why don’t you offer a prize? We haven’t sold a mug in years and the moths have nibbled all the T shirts.’
Evil’s face beamed. ‘The moths! What a fine suggestion! We could bag them up for a Christmas special!’
‘Hey, you could sign each one,’ said Robin.
Steve added, ‘both wings. Twice. Thrice.’
‘Train them,’ said Rachel.
‘Yeah. A dance,’ effused Dave.
‘And music! Costumes! Magic!’
A peal of applause followed Writtenwyrdd’s hearty eureka moment, and for the rest of the afternoon, Evil’s office buzzed like a hive of activity: a hive full of moths. And minions.
But Fairyhedgehog hit on a problem. ‘How do we stop them suffocating in the post?’
The door burst open — Scott from Oregon! Clutching a boxful of miniature lepidopteran aqualung affairs! ‘Sorry I’m late,’ he said. ‘Anyone know what these are? I won them in a raffle.’
‘That settles it,’ said Evil. ‘With a prize like this, it won’t matter a hang what the weekly writing exercise is. They’ll be fighting each other off to submit entries.’
The minions chorused a groan of dismay. ‘They? Don’t you mean us?’
‘It was your idea,’ Evil growled.
‘Mine, actually,’ said Mrs Varmighan, before trying to deny it.
A long silence followed.
Then Whirl said, ‘so are we scanning our bottoms or not?’