Chunks of muck splattered Ernie as he blasted the fatberg with his hose.
“Bloody idiots,” he grumbled. “Flushing leftovers and nappies and God knows what down the drain. Here I am, swimming in it!”
He aimed the spray at a stubborn glob that hung from the sewer walls, smiling with a grim satisfaction as it peeled away. Unravelling, it drew itself up, a squirming snake of glistening fat.
“What the-?” said Ernie incredulously, dropping the hose.
The putrid fatberg lashed out, a revolting maw of muck wrapping around Ernie’s face, suffocating him as it forced its way down his throat.
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alt="Timeliness by Stephen Sottong"
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>
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="A Torso for Tomorrow by Randall Andrews"
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sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="A Rip in Time by Andrew Kurtz"
class="motion-reduce"
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sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Tomorrow by B.G. Smith"
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height="630"
>