We were recently contacted regarding the mysterious disappearance of all BLTs in Greggs. This is obviously a devious plan by The Foe and if anyone has any ideas of what it may have done, please contact us at NobleSirsTFG@hotmail.co.uk.
We made our way to Greggs and questioned a few witnesses who swear they saw a ragged man running away with a trolley full of BLTs along the high street shouting about metal aliens. Interesting - perhaps this is a hypnotic chant, caused by The Foe? Only time will tell, folks.
After tracing the mysterious man's footsteps, we tracked him down and confronted him about the theft and The Foe. I walked up to him and announced "Where are the BLTs, fiend?" to which he replied, not verbally, in the manner of urinating in his trousers and lying back on the bench we'd found him on. This was going to be a tough case - he had been trained well.
After much "I bloody well think you rather ought to spill the proverbial beans old chap" and "You're a blooming nuisance you undesirable oik" he finally broke and in rage told us "Leave me alone before the aliens see us chatting! They'll find me and humanity will be defeated!" I instantly understood. A CODE. The Foe is wise with his followers. We shall attempt to crack the code. Until then, stay vigilant!
The code has been cracked! It means GO TO THE JANITOR. I fear I know who this janitor is. I would go right now, but Oops TV just came on. I love that show...
Gregory had gone off to follow another lead, leaving Fitzwellington and I to visit the Janitor. We had arranged a meeting in the alleyway behind Greggs. Turns out he'd been waiting there since the 18th. We asked him what he knew of the horrific case, and he said "BLTs are the least of your worries." We asked him what he meant, to which he replied "Get a Subways". We made our way to Subways and to our shock and dismay it had been BOMBED. We had literally been a few minutes after the bomber (don't ask how we didn't hear the bomb) but he had left a cryptic message behind - "NICE ONE" We are STUMPED. If anyone could help us, email us at NobleSirsTFG@hotmail.co.uk ASAP! Thank You!
We've cracked it with very little help from Dame Bebelia and Sir Jimothy. Knowing who was behind the attack, we went to his lair. He was watching porn as we walked in, it was dark (not the porn, the lighting) but I could see his face - Dr Arsehole! He looked up in shock and we ran towards him, but something caught our feet and fell to the ground. A tripwire! A net fell above us and we were trapped, Dr Arsehole laughing as another person came into view holding a club. To this day, I will NEVER forget the pain I felt at that point...
It was Sir Gregory.
I awoke to find myself in a darkened room with no sign of Sir Fitzwellington. I was a prisoner! Groggily, I surveyed my prison - the walls were plastered with pictures of Dr Arsehole! It was horrific. Never had I known someone so up themselves as Dr Arsehole. I wondered how long it had been since Sir Gregory had knocked me out. Suddenly, the door swung open and Fitzwellington collapsed in a heap. I asked him what had happened, but realised he was unconscious! Behind him in the doorway stood Sir Gregory. "Why did you betray us, you cur?" I yelled at him. "Que?" He replied. I was shocked. Sir Gregory didn't speak Spanish. Now that I saw him in the light, he looked darker and had black hair. I suddenly realised - it wasn't Sir Gregory, it was a servant of The Foe we would later come to know as... Mexican Gregory! Admittedly, I should have noticed the thick Mexican accent earlier, but I was busy being busy. At that point, I knew I had an advantage - I knew the fatal flaw of all Mexican henchmen: pay them more than your enemy did, and they will work for you! I paid him two quid and he immediately set me free and told me in broken English "Meesta Fizzwelliton in comah!" My noble friend had been incapacitated! "Never fear, Fitzwellington old boy! We shall persevere!" I told him before Mexican Gregory and I made our way to the main chamber of Dr Arsehole's lair. We entered the room to find Dr Arsehole had CLONED HIMSELF. We were surrounded by Dr Arseholes who loved themselves and each other. Oh God, the horror! They were closing in on us, ready to bore us to death with reasons why they were so incredibly amazing when someone crashed through the main door....
It was Sir Gregory.
The real Sir Gregory was standing in the doorway with his hair swirling around him and with Sir Jimothy in Muffin Mode on his shoulder and Dame Bebelia behind him, looking fairly confused as to where she was. Sir Gregory hurled Sir Jimothy toward the cloning machine, and Sir Jimothy deactivated it, then turned his beady muffin eyes full of hate to the Dr Arseholes. But instead of attacking them, he bounced down the stairs Mexican Gregory and I had come from! Sir Gregory had charged toward Mexican Gregory and I and handed us metal softball bats. Dame Bebelia had already started suffocating some Dr Arseholes by speaking so fast she sucked the air away from them. Myself and the other two charged in the tide of Dr Arseholes, swinging our bats energetically , nailing Arseholes left right and centre. The original Dr Arsehole started running away, but my attention was drawn to the stairs, where a livid Sir Fitzwellington was barrelling up and viciously knocking out Arseholes too slow to run away. Sir Jimothy had returned to normal, but when we all regrouped, the original Dr Arsehole was nowhere to be found. He was easy to spot because of his fake tattoo of his name on his wrist. We explored his lair a bit more and found the hidden BLTs (but because we took so bloody long to find them, they'd all gone off). Unfortunately, they were classed as a health risk so they were confiscated. Greggs were thankful we stopped Dr Arsehole before he made more trouble. They asked us why he'd do something like that anyway, to which we replied he's just a massive twat, and he gets satisfaction from doing twattish things. The mystery had been solved, but I fear Dr Arsehole was still out there, hiding from a slightly calmer Sir Fitzwellington.