Alistair Withnail in 'Small Profit, Quick Return'
Who: Doctor Alistair Withnail
Where: Blue Dwarf Science Lab
When: 6 8 Weeks delivery time after last post featuring him
Alistair Withnail, Blue Dwarf's latest brainbox, removed the welding
goggles and insulated gloves and looked on at his latest creation, a
thin lipped grin spreading across his face.
On the workbench in front of him was a large contraption that looked
like the bastard child of a Dyson hoover and a fax machine. This was,
according to the article in `Unethical Scientist Today' was the `SL-
EZ 700 Instant Money Printer'. According to the instructions, he just
had to load the tray with regular printing paper, and the machine
would instantly print out 50-Dollarpound Notes.
Withnail needed money quickly. True, he was paid a standard weekly
wage like everyone else on the ship, but he usually spent this money
on a kebab on his way home from work. Just a few months ago his days
had consisted of breakfast of Dodo's Eggs and Tyrannosaurus steak,
revolutionising technology or building highly advanced machines by 10
in the morning, deflowering virgin secretaries by lunchtime and
selling secrets to terrorists from New Wales just before bedtime (his
bed being covered in supermodels wearing edible underwear). Now, he
slept in a dingy, cramped cabin which smelt strongly of mackerel and
spent his day, 9 to 5, repairing hoovers and the Captain's Bucking
Bronco. Dammit, he was a man of science, not a common repairman!
Withnail looked around at the other scientists working in the lab
that day. Those who actually bothered to show up, he had noticed,
were less concerned with creating new inventions or revolutionising
medicine, but more concerned with the waste bin basketball
championship and the wheelie chair racing tournament. Making sure
that nobody was watching him (which was more a case of no-one caring
what he did) and slid several sheets of paper into the machine,
plugged it into a wall socket and turned it on. The machine instantly
chugged into life and began printing.
Alistair leaned back against the wall and took out the cigarette
packet in his lab coat pocket. He took out a cheap Spanish cigarette
and watched the machine go. The cigarette tasted awful, but he
consoled himself with the fact he would shortly be smoking a Zuban
cigar rolled on the thighs of a virgin Queen.
Half an hour and one coughing fit later, Withnail collected his new
found money and loaded it into his wallet. Superstitiously concealing
the machine in his locker.
`Time for a celebratory drink methinks' he'd had his eye on
the `Special Cabinet' of expensive liquors in Parrotts and mentally
weighed up what one he would flash his new cash for.
Arriving a few minutes later at Parrotts he noticed it was - rather
unusually - sparsely populated. This annoyed him a little. He'd
wanted to show off he, a minimum wage scientist could afford a bottle
of Don Carleone '41. The finest vintage champagne from Nu Rome.
"Barkeep!" he said, propping himself against the bar casually and
clicking his fingers. A bald, middle-aged man with a `I-am-not-
getting-paid-enough-for-this-crap' look on his face slowly made his
"Can I help you... sir?" he grumbled
"A bottle of the Corleone '41 if you please, barkeep" he said. The
bartender eyed him up suspiciously before shuffling over to the
liquor cabinet, unlocking it and carefully removing a dusty bottle of
"Here you are... sir. That'll be £$1900"
"here's £$2000... Keep the change" said Alistair, all but throwing
the money at the man.
He turned away to walk off with his bottle of vintage champagne
before he felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder.
"Excuse me sir. But there appears to be a mistake. We don't take
Euro's anymore" the barman shoved Alistair's money back into his
hands and removed the bottle.
Alistair looked at the money. £$2000 worth of Euros. Euros hadn't
been legal tender since 2016 after the French had finally revealed
that uniting Europe was one big joke.
"Aw, Fu..." said Withnail, just as the barman threw him out of the