Oliver B. Bomble, a gentleman of independent wealth, and his good friend Ocelot delve into the mystery of a mighty giant on a mission to set things straight in the world. The story is published in daily installments and will run until Election Day. All previous installments can be found below the current episode.
Not far from the barn, one of the oddest-looking motor vehicles ever to grace these pages was parked in the snow. The wind was howling past gothic protrusions and monstrously large wheels, but the driver had found a cozy little spot out of the wind and was sitting down to a simple supper.
“That’s Giddy Goose,” Ocelot exclaimed in surprise. “What is he doing driving some weird monster truck on this snowy day?”
He abandoned the trail, which didn’t seem to be leading anywhere specific, and approached the eater.
“Hey there, Giddy,” he said. “Did you see a giant by any chance?”
“Me? You’re asking little old me?” replied the operator. “I am much too busy to notice little things like that. Do you want a bite? I have peanut butter and jelly here. It’s goood.”
“No thanks,” said Ocelot. “Have you been sitting here long?”
“What are you saying?” asked Goose, a little miffed. “No way I have! Just a spell, just to eat a samwich. Actually, I am much too busy to take breaks. I have a real job now but it makes me all shaky-shook up and then I get hungry. It’s got no springs so that’s how.”
“Hm,” said Ocelot. “That’s a strange-looking truck you’ve got here. What is it for?”
“It’s for driving,” Giddy Goose explained. “Look, you start the engine, put it in gear, and off you go! Rumpedee-dumpedee, rumpedee-dumpedee. It’s real fun, believe you me. But I have to take good care of it as it’s filled to the top with ideals. It’s an image-builder says the perfessor. Isn’t that neat?”
He put his lunchbox away and returned to his truck.
“That hit the spot,” he announced as he patted his belly. “But now I’ve got to be going again or the Prof will get mad. He’s a fun guy but also full of strange ideas.”
“What kind of professor is he?” asked Ocelot. “Where does he live?”
“I don’t think he lives, but he works in town,” Goose explained. “He says that if you’re filled with ideals, you don’t need a life, is what he says. But that sounds too busy to me and so I take a break every now and then.”
“Hm,” said Ocelot. “So what kind of ideals do you hold, Giddy?”
But the driver didn’t seem ready for this sly little question. He started up his rig with a happy smile, and the quiet of the evening was rent apart by a hellish cacophony of firings and misfirings coming from the engine’s innards.
“Giant-ideals!” he shouted at last above the ruckus. “That’s what the Prof says anyways. ‘One day they’ll be following in my footsteps,’ is what he says. See you later!”
With these words he stepped on the gas, and the entire contraption groaned into action, rumbling and bumbling as it went along. Ocelot looked on in amazement for he had noticed that the vehicle didn’t have any rear wheels. Instead, there was a set of massive steel boots mounted on a large drum. They lumbered through the snow, shaking the earth and leaving behind a succession of colossal footprints
Translation Copyright © 2014 by Adrian Meerman © Text and Images Toonder Company, Netherlands