A dark and cold and lonely night... would not wake a drunken Wallace up! Not even his very own burps and farts!
But his burps and farts did keep Gromit awake in his own room.
Gromit tried to sleep but –
“Wallace’s burps and farts are louder than when Jack Bauer tries to threaten the terrorists!” he moaned. So he started to knit. Then the room started to rumble like the 1989 Loma Prieta Earthquake.
Outside, the ‘earthquake’ was coming out of a rumbling green lorry. It stopped at a traffic light. A small sheep was hanging out of the lorry, bleating. Then he coughed.
“I can’t go on like this!” he complained. “I can’t do the begging much longer. Those sheep rustlers can find another replacement. Goodbye!”
And he finally managed to break free from the lorry and stormed off in 62 West Wallaby Street before the lorry drove away and anyone noticed.
But Gromit did notice that he couldn’t complete his knitting because his tread had been eaten off.
“What the hell?” Gromit cried. “I guess I could always do some work on my novel.”
And he reached down to pick up his laptop but found that it had little battery left. He reached for the charger, but that electrocuted him like a Victorian generator. He left go and saw that his charger had been chewed. “This is a more mysterious mystery than even Sherlock Holmes will ever solve.”
Gromit read that Sherlock Holmes was investigating a murder in London. Dr. Watson bumped into him, literally.
“Watch where you’re bloody going, Doc!” shouted Holmes, in a Bugs Bunny accent.
“Sorry, Holmes!” yelled Watson. “But I have to save myself from the murderer who murdered Jake Jones!”
And Watson started to run, but he was not far off from a thug who was handcuffed to a lamppost. Watson screamed and ran the other way.
“Not so obvious, huh, Watson?” chuckled Holmes.
Later, that night, still tired-less as a wild kid, Gromit sat back and watched the news.
“Good morning, I’m Tom Tucker,” said Tom Tucker.
“And I’m Diana Simmons,” said Diana Simmons.
“First of all, we go to Ollie Williams at the Wensleydale Creamy. How’s the cheese, Ollie?”
“DELICIOUS!” yelled Ollie at the factory.
“Thanks, Ollie!” said Tom. “Now, in other news, we hear that the sheep rustlers are still out there. Pity that Gil Grissom left the CSI show and retired. We sure could use a man like that here.”
Then the breakfast menu rang from Wallace from his bedroom.
“Hey, Gromit!” called Wallace. “How’s that porridge coming on?”
“Come and see for yourself, fatso,” said Gromit, as he pulled down the lever.
“Hey, you mind those awful man – Ahh!” Wallace screamed his head off as he came down and landed on the chair – through ripped trousers. He saw that his white arm sleeves and his green tank top were completely ripped too.
“Hey, robot, what the hell is going on?” yelled Wallace.
The dresser robot mark two came in. “Mr. Wallace, your clothes are ripped.”
“Oh, you just noticed?” said Wallace. “Well, why don’t you fix them?”
“No, no,” protested robot two. “Old one’s doing it.”
And in came the dresser robot mark one. “I checked everywhere,” he said. “Nothing there. It’s like a poor rated house for a mouse to rent in.” He chuckled at his joke.
“Bugger off, both of you,” ordered Wallace.
The robots left.
Wallace turned back to Wallace. “Where’s my porridge, Gromit?”
“Wallace wants something done, you got to do it for him!” muttered Gromit, as he pressed the button. The porridge flew up and landed on his porridge bowl. Wallace was about to tuck in, when –
More porridge flew! Right in his fat face!
Gromit was so confused himself and he tried to pulled the button up.
“No! What the hell are you doing?” yelled Wallace. “Turn the (bleep) machine off!”
Gromit got up and studied the porridge gun. He pulled the plug out and saw the wires have been chewed.
The robots were laughing at Wallace being stuck on a wall of porridge. This pissed Wallace right off. “Don’t just stand there, you useless waste of bots!” he yelled. “Get me down from here!”
“Do you think we’d do that now you’ve insulted us?” giggled robot mark one.
“Besides, I have animal poop to clear up,” moaned robot mark two.
And both robots went off. Wallace freed himself and dried himself with the towel.
“There’s something fishy going on, even though I don’t think it would have been a fish,” Wallace thought to himself.
“Oh, so, now a fish is so boring, he shouldn’t get a damn!” That voice came from Klaus the goldfish from the lounge.
“Hey, you were here all last night,” said Wallace. “Did you see anyone down here last night?”
“Well, I know that someone’s been at your cellar, looking for wine,” answered Klaus.
Wallace ran to the cellar and was in for a shock. All the wines have disappeared and the beer bottles flooded the floor. “GROMIT!” he yelled.
“I didn’t do this, Wallace,” protested Gromit, as he came.
“No, it’s not that,” said Wallace. “And it’s not Wallace anymore.”
And ‘Wallace’ took his Wallace outfit off and Peter Griffin turned into ‘Sherlock Holmes’. Holmes threw the ‘Dr. Watson’ outfit to Brian Griffin, now out of his ‘Gromit’ uniform.
“Now, Watson,” began Holmes. “Let’s get to the bottom of this.”
“No, Sherlock,” said ‘Jack Bauer’, chucking the Watson uniform back to Holmes. “I’m going in and find the terrorists behind this.” And Jack left.
The phone rang and Klaus answered it. “Hello, Wallace and Gromit’s… No! I mean, Sherlock Homles’ and Jack Bauer’s Wash ‘n’ Go Window Cleaning Service. No, they’re not Wallace and Gromit anymore, so they can’t help you.”
Holmes, getting out of his ‘Holmes’ outfit, grabbed the phone. “No, this is Sherlock… reprising as Wallace. Yes, ma’am, we’ll on our way!”
Wallace sat in his armchair. Klaus pressed a red button on the kitchen wall and Wallace shot up into the air.
The armchair threw Wallace inside his wall, like a waste disposal. He shot down and fitted into his wellington boots. He flew back for his head to connect with the helmet. He span around like washing machine to fit into his overalls. Finally, his balls hit the seat of the motorbike and it span up to the garage.
Not Jack Bauer, but Gromit came into the garage and jumped into the sidecar.
A boot came out of the wall and stamped on Wallace’s nuts. This made him go extra fast when he started off.
Outside, the pond was surrounded by gnomes. Two was in a speedboat, with one water-skiing. There were about ten having Caribbean drinks. And there was one on lifeguard duty, watching a thousand gnomes playing in the water.
Unfortunately, the pond flipped over so Wallace and Gromit could drive out. The traffic warden gnome waves them across with his ‘Go’ sign. A few seconds later, the gnomes that went under came to the top through one of the bricks.
“This is getting worst!” shouted the life-guard. “I hope you’re enjoying the fresh air while we have to hide in darkness!”
“Well, I’m sorry you weren’t quick enough to beat me at this warden job!” shouted the traffic warden.
And the gnomes got into a big brawl.
Wallace and Gromit were driving through the town of West Wallaby. Gromit picked the ladder.
“What are you doing, Gromit?” asked Wallace.
“Using the force, of course,” said Gromit.
Of course, Wallace didn’t have the faintest idea that Gromit was sarcastic. But Gromit aimed the ladder to a drain grid and he pole-vaulted up to the shop called ‘Wendolene’s Wools’. He landed near a window and nearly fell from the ladder off due to an evil-looking monkey pointing at him.
Gromit hooked his rope to the sign and dropped down to grab the bucket and sponge from Wallace.
Meanwhile, Wallace lost focus on the job and looked at the client. She smiled nervously and waved. Wallace returned the wave and it nearly showed his –
Luckily, Gromit shot down and cleaned the window. “Just hiding that boner you’re getting from her,” Gromit said.
“Ah, thanks,” smiled Wallace. Then he had an idea. “And in return, you need more wool so I’ll… go and get some for you.” He walked in, leaving Gromit to do all the hard labour.
Inside the shop, Wallace couldn’t take his eyes off the woman.
“Can I help you?” asked the woman.
“Just buying more wool for my mate outside,” answered Wallace, putting on a brave attitude, but not a strong focus on what he was doing. He took one ball of wool from the pile... at the very bottom.
“Oh, crap!” cried Wallace, as the rest of the wool balls fell onto the floor.
“Does your friend need that much?” the woman joked.
Wallace laughed with her. “That’s so funny. Here, let me pick these up. No trouble at all.”
But he wasn’t looking at what he was picking up; his eyes were worshipping this woman. And nothing could stop that. Well, except if you don’t grab a ball of wool and a leg from a chicken instead.
“This is Preston, my chicken,” the woman said.
“All right, cluck?” Wallace chuckled as he patted the suspicious chicken on the head.
Then Wallace went back to picking up the balls of wool. There was one left and Wallace about to grab it, but something stopped him from taking it. The woman’s hand.
“Do you mind?” she asked.
“Sorry,” apologized Wallace. “It’s just that – “
“Well, what? I don’t have all day.”
“What the name of my client?” Wallace finally spat out.
“The name is Ramsbottom,” replied the woman. “Wendolene Ramsbottom.”
“That’s a lovely name,” said the inventor. “As lovely as your bottom.” He laughed, but Wendolene didn’t.
Wallace cleared his throat. “I’m Wallace.”
“The windows.” The inventor paused for a second. “Is this place yours?”
“Well, my father left it to me, along with his debts and a few others,” answered Wendolene, looking at the picture of her father and Preston.
“You mean like baldness or hereditary angioedema?” Wallace asked.
“No!” cried Wendolene. “He was an inventor.”
“Never! So am I,” Wallace said proudly.
“Wait a minute. Aren’t you the same Wallace that invented the self-sweeping chimneys?”
Years ago, Wallace and Gromit did a commercial for their new invention – the self-sweeping chimneys.
“Hi, Wallace and Gromit here,” greeted Wallace, “to introduce you a tidier way to getting rid of soot from your chimney.”
“But less eco-friendly,” added Gromit.
“Gromit, one of these days, I’m going to put you down and it will look like an accident, even to God!” yelled an angry Wallace. “Now,” he said in a better mood, “less words, more movement, eh?”
Wallace put the invention in the fireplace and turned it on. The invention was just a metal block. Then metal arms with white gloves sprang out. It grabbed a sweeper and started getting lots of soot of the chimney.
Wallace was very proud of himself. “So, as you can see, the chimneys will be as clean as my glasses.”
But, behind him, the block was rumbling and it exploded. Soot covered all over Wallace and Gromit and the whole room!
“Your dog’s waiting,” said Wendolene, seeing Gromit hanging upside down.
Wallace nodded, giving Wendolene the balls of wool he picked up. “Aye. The bounce has gone from his bungee.”
“Oh, they’re spanking arse,” praised the wool-keeper. “You’ve done a grand job.”
Then Gromit threw up on the clean windows.
“Now you’ve an awful job,” moaned Wendolene.
Wallace ran outside. “What the hell’s going on?” he demanded. “You think extra work means extra money? Because that's not how this business works!”
“You were getting a boner inside, you were talking to that woman and you let that chicken bastard hold me and shoot me up and down, while I was doing all the hard work!” yelled Gromit.
Back at 62 West Wallaby Street, Wallace and Gromit weren’t the first ones there. It was Preston. He went to the back door and found sheep wool on the dog flap. He smelled it. But for what reason does this wool have to do with him? And what is he doing here?
Then he heard that the motorcycle that came to wash his windows had arrived back home.
Preston quickly saw a coal bunker and hid under there. He was not finished at this house.