The Thrilling Adventures of Snotman - The Prequel

Long before Snotman donned his fishing waders and leotard in order to fight lawless society, his basic snot skills were honed by his loving grandpappy. Luckily, I happened to see this old chap in a carpark last week and was able to witness his amazing abilities first hand.

Well before the man himself appeared, I could hear a collection of strange sounds around the corner. Like a hovercraft travelling over a vast open sewer, there were many slurps, snorts, spits and sucks. Then into view staggered the ancient doyen, his purple face covered in throbbing veins , while a monstrous tongue flicked out poisonous gobs of mucous to the four corners of the carpark. Praise be! The father of our salvation!

Reaching the centre of his stage, the grandee summoned one final mighty effort. A lava flow of mucous was propelled round and round every cavity of  his skull, until at last a huge gob of pulsating spittle emerged from the toothless cavern of his mouth to land squarely on the roof of a new Range Rover.

I couldn't have been more impressed, if he'd dropped his kegs and produced the elusive spit ball per rectum.

It was from this great wizard that Snotman learnt everything he knew. The true architect of mucous magic.

One day, civilization would be inordinately grateful.