Sloshing through antediluvian bogs and crawling through rank quagmires, being attacked by large, obviously non-domesticated animals; Juan complains that the only thing he has to write for this year’s edition of his memoirs is that he spends all his time up to his neck in primeval muck, and the millions of women who are waiting for his salacious, scandalous, stories of high society are going to be disappointed, and, he adds, biting a crocodile on the snout, he is disappointed as well, he could be dancing with beautiful women rather than sinking into a boggy mire with an overgrown lizard at his throat. Fending off an attack from a hippopotamus, I agree with Juan, fortunately, just as the crocodile bites back, and the hippo stamps me into the mud, Aunt Humperdink’s Agent Rescue Service floats overhead.
They hoist us aboard and, after shaking off large animals, we immediately head to the malt stores, where we break open barrels of vintage Auchroisk, Glenkinchie, Tobermory, Caperdonich, Glenesk, Knockdhu and Aberfeldy, which, together with a barrel of Juan’s Special Reserve, we distribute to the crew. Then, thanking them all, and drinking to their bravery and courage, we tell them that we are upseesishly behind schedule and ask them to take us to Humperdinkadad. They explain that, because of Dirk’s time machine going berserk, there are a lot more agents that need rescuing. Juan asks if we can rescue the beautiful women first, the crew tell us that the first stop will be the Forbidden Zone, to rescue Mahalath. We all agree that Mahalath is very beautiful and, offering toast after toast to a successful mission, cheering, clapping, and yelling with excitement, we head to the rescue, as fast as we possibly can.
Professor Humperdink's Diary