Much thanks to all the reviewers.
Cue the theme! ...Actually, cue Let's Dance...RIP Mr Bowie.
...
Okay Mr Starr, you ready?
To make a meme? You bet!
A what-
Ignore what I just said.
...
"Ground Control to Major Tom
Ground Control to Major Tom
Take your protein pills
and put your helmet on!"
This song greeted the sunny afternoon that Thomas the Tank Engine made his way back to Tidmouth, pulling Annie and Clarabel with him. The two coaches were cringing, at Thomas's less than perfect singing.
Thomas had worked his branch-line for many years, and therefore knows it very well. Well enough to hide a secret stash of supplies in case the apocalypse happened while he was out pulling trains at least.
"For god's sake how long is he going to sing?!" screamed Annie.
"Oh give him this...he's been dying to get this out of him for a while now." muttered Clarabel as they trundled over the Watermill. Thomas was in a chipper mood, and when Thomas was in a chipper mood that was unchecked by anything resembling reality, his idiocy rose to new levels. In fact all ready, it could be seen that he was taking a bit less care than usual.
As could be seen by the fact that he was singing louder than should ever be necessary and therefore angering many a potential passenger.
At last, he pulled into Tidmouth Station and braked hard. He came to a stop on the platform, and the very grateful passengers poured out, to try and forget the butchering of Bowie that they had just heard.
"You know just where to stop, Thomas." said his driver. "You can almost manage without me." Both he and his fireman laughed.
Now, whether or not the driver spoke out of the actual movement of the tank engine or whether it was a sarcastic quip regarding Thomas's singing ability, we'll never know. But Thomas took it in the spirit of the former, so we'll stick to that. Thomas had not only become a idiot, he had become conceited, and didn't realize that his driver was joking.
As he puffed off, the idea began to grow in his brain. And like most things that grew, rot set in. It just so happened that the rot was slightly quicker on the uptake.
...
Percy and Toby sighed as peace and quiet settled over them like a warm thick blanket.
"WHAT HO YOU LOT!"
The blanket was rudely ripped away from there by the arrival of the little blue prat himself. As Thomas puffed in, Toby put aside his bitterness and was about to ask about Thomas's day when the blue engine began to boast to the other engines.
"Driver says I don't need him now!" He bragged loudly. "Not that I ever did, am I right guys?!" He found two engines unwilling to listen to any of his boiler sludge.
"Don't be so daft!" Percy snorted. "You have about as much chance of that happening as...as...as that piece of art over there staying!" Said piece of art was Donald's old tender, still stuck in the signalbox and refusing to leave, which had been decorated by a bunch of radical graffiti artists.
"I'd never go without my driver." said Toby quietly yet earnestly. "As ridiculous as it sounds, I'd be frightened to death of doing it."
"HUH!" boasted Thomas loudly. "I'm not scared!"
"You'd never dare!" snapped Toby angrily.
As if he wasn't painting a bullseye on his back for karma as it was, Thomas scoffed loudly. "I would then! You'll see! And I'll be awesome at it! One day, I'll weesh you all!"
Both other engines returned to their usual past-time of ignoring Thomas when he got in moods such as these, and went to sleep as the shed doors closed. Thomas, meanwhile, stayed up rambling in his mind about all the great things he could do.
...
Next morning the Firelighter, who was a very lonely man and therefore didn't have the problem of anything to hold him back in doing his job, arrived early. Thomas let out a sigh, drowsing comfortably, as the warmth spread through his boiler slowly.
Percy and Toby were still asleep, as they had hardened their sleeping training thanks to living with Thomas. Said engine grinned and suddenly remembered. "Silly stick in the muds!" He chuckled deviously. "I'll show them yet! Driver said I could manage it, and I'll just go out for a bit! Then I'll stop and Weeeeeeeeesh! That'll scare the hell out of them and make em jump, no mistake!"
Thomas, ignoring the drunken antics of a cleaner who fell out of his cab and threw up, thought he was being clever. He should have known. But really he was only moving because the careless cleaner had fiddled with the controls. He soon realized his mistake.
"Hmmm, slight problem." He tried to weesh, but he couldn't. "Hmmm...bit more of a problem." He tried to stop, but he couldn't. "Okay, this is pretty worrying!" He just kept rolling along. "OHHHHHH THIS IS NOT A GOOD THING."
He didn't dare look at what was coming next.
There was the station-master's house. Clearly he had taken the same estate agent as the Italian Barber, as his house was far closer to the rails that it should have been.
...
The station master was about to have breakfast. He sat down with his two kids and his very stressed wife. "Dearest!" He said loudly with the importance of a absolute pillock. "Can I get some more food please?!"
Moaning, the wife staggered out as the two kids, rude oiks who were nearly of age but kept acting younger, began to draw rude words on the kitchen table. The stationmaster put his feet up on the table.
"HORRORS!" He heard someone cry out, and he turned his head to see Thomas, eyes jammed shut, ram into his house.
...
The house rocked back and forth. The only reason it didn't fall down was now firmly lodged in the dining room. Broken glass tinkled, plaster was everywhere and four very dazed and surprised faces peered up at the very large dazed and surprised face that now poked through their wall. Thomas had collected a bush on his travels, no jokes please, and therefore resembled a very off season Father Christmas.
He peered into the room through it's leaves, as if to see if he had done that much damage. He couldn't speak for shock.
Silence reigned for a whole half a minute.
The Station Master was furious...not that it stopped him from asking his wife to get him a glass of wine. His wife picked up the plate. "YOU MISERABLE ENGINE!" She scolded. "JUST LOOK WHAT YOU HAVE DONE TO OUR BREAKFAST! NOW I SHALL HAVE TO COOK SOME MORE!"
She flipped the bird to her husband, grabbed her bags and stormed out, slamming the door. More plaster fell, this time on Thomas. Thomas felt depressed, to say the least.
...
Workmen propped up the house with strong poles, (They had found them in a Polish Circus. BA-DUM-TISH.) and laid rails through the garden. If the wife hadn't left already and told her husband that it was divorce time, this would have been the last straw.
Meanwhile, Donald and Douglas arrived, both grinning like madmen at the sight of the poor unfortunate soul.
"Dinnae fash yerself Thomas! We'll soon have yer back on tha rails!" Douglas called out.
"I can't fash myself." spluttered Thomas through the mixture of bush, broken glass and shame. The twins, with chains attached to Thomas's back, pulled and puffed hard and slowly removed Thomas from the house. In doing so, there was a loud clatter and smash as the remainder of the upstairs fell in. The Stationmaster was already being given insurance and a full apology by Sir Topham, but his wife had already left the vicinity, having eloped with the kindly firelighter.
Bits of fencing, the bush and a window frame festooned his front, which was badly twisted to say the least. It looked like a pretzel twisted apart. The twins laughed and left him to be dragged back to the sheds.
...
Percy and Toby grinned at Thomas, who said nothing.
There was worse to come. Of course there was.
"YOU!" snapped Hatt, looking to be on the verge of a complete and nervous breakdown. "-ARE A VERY NAUGHTY ENGINE!"
"I know schir! I'm schorry schir!" came the muffled and lisping reply. Thomas's voice was muffled behind his bush, and both Toby and Percy sniggered like immature kids.
"You must go to the works and have your front mended! AS PAINFULLY. AS. POSSIBLE." The Fat Controller told his aides. "IT'LL BE A LONG JOB ANYWAY."
"Yesch schir!"
"Meanwhile-" came the voice, which now took on a mocking tone. "-a diesel railcar will do your work."
"A-A-A- D-D-D-DIESCHEL, SCHIR?!" Thomas schpluttered- I mean spluttered in shock. Cackles began reaching his lack of ears.
"Yes Thomas. Diesels always stay in their sheds until they are wanted. Diesels never galivant off to breakfast in station-masters houses! AND THEY DON'T COST THEIR BOSSES A HEFTY SUM!"
As he left, Hatt could hear the anguished screams of Thomas as both Toby and Percy tormented him with a barrage of puns about things such as weeshing, bushes and of course, breakfasts.
It was a apt punishment.