The Gang Goes To Waitrose
The following takes place following: Downfall
The morning sun streamed through the narrow windows of the Waldopolis Chronicle office, casting beams of light on the stacks of papers cluttering the editor-in-chief’s desk. Travers leaned back in his chair, coffee in one hand and a cigar in the other, ogling today’s Page 3 Chronicle Girl.
Across the room, Master Devlin, the Chronicle’s deputy editor, was busy disciplining Waldo, who wriggled like a cat as the Master put him over his knee and smacked his bottom.
wF: “Unhand me, pizza face!”
Master Devlin: “You must learn, Widdle Frunkut!”
wF: “Learn what?”
Master Devlin: “Not to disrespect your Master like that!”
wF: “You can’t even spell disryespect, stupid head—haha!”
Master Devlin: “HOW DARE YOU!?”
The Master intensified the smacking.
Suddenly, Travers interrupted the disciplinary moment, slamming his coffee cup down with excitement.
Travers: “Stop the presses, boys! There’s something big going down in town!”
Master Devlin: “Is it another political scandal you want to sit on?”
Travers: “Even better! There’s a new Waitrose that just opened in Walver Lake! This town just got a little classier all of a sudden…”
Master Devlin: “Yes, Travers, I know.” 😒
Travers: “How? And why didn’t you tell the rest of us?”
Master Devlin: “I know because that’s yesterday’s paper that we published, you bloody fool… Unlike you, I actually bother to read what we print before it goes out to the public.”
Unfazed, Travers waved off the insult.
Travers: “Details, details. Anyway, I say we go check it out! Big news, this! The first outside supermarket chain ever to open in Widdlington… Apparently, it’s causing a bit of a stir since it’s right across from Waldmart. Nothing like a little retail war in our own backyard! Could be a story there.”
Waldo’s eyes lit up. He hopped off the Master’s lap, rubbing his bruised bottom.
wF: “Wiffuhuh’s coming too! We haven’t been to the supermarkets since they was invented!”
Master Devlin pinched the bridge of his snout.
Master Devlin: “We have a paper to run. What about the ongoing fallout from the BOAC scandal?”
Travers: “Bah! Old news. Besides, it’s a beautiful day and we deserve a break after taking down that minister, whatever her name was. And if anything new comes up, Ermintrude can handle it. She’s our political expert after all.”
Master Devlin: (sighs) “Ermintrude’s busy. She’s doing her weekly photoshoot. Up in the Wallywood Hills for this one, I believe.”
Travers: “Whatever. Doesn’t matter—we’ve got plenty of staff! Get Kyle to do it.”
Master Devlin: “You mean Brian?”
Travers blinked.
Travers: “Who the hell is Brian? Have you been hiring more staff without telling me? Nevermind. I don’t care. You stay here and be a stick in the mud if you want. I’m going to Waitrose. You coming, Wally?”
wF: “Sure thing, Boss man! We wants to see the toy section!”
Devlin shook his head, defeated.
Master Devlin: “Fine, fine. I’ll come. Someone needs to keep an eye on you two.”
Travers: “Excellent! Let’s go!”
The trio departed the Chronicle office and ventured through Widdlington. Travers led the way, puffing on his cigar and occasionally misnaming landmarks as they passed. Devlin followed with the weary air of a reluctant chaperone, keeping a wary eye on both Travers and Waldo, who darted around like an overexcited puppy.
They walked up Wilford Brimley Road, turned at South Wallywood, crossed the bridge over the River Waldo, passed the Lucky Dragon Casino on Dragon Island, and took the second bridge into the quiet, suburban borough of Walver Lake.
Travers: “It’s nice here, don’t you think? Reminds me of where I grew up.”
Master Devlin: “You grew up in a sewer.”
Travers: “Master Devlin, you are speaking out of turn. That’s not true. I grew up in Spring Lake, New Jersey… I think. Anyway, we should come here more often. It’s a pity it’s so underutilized in the Waldoverse tales.”
After twenty minutes of fairly uneventful nonsense, they arrived at the new Waitrose — a sleek, modern building standing proudly across from the more modest Waldmart, separated by the calm greenery of Wiki Park.
Master Devlin: “Hmm. Not bad…”
Travers: “Not bad at all,” he agreed, eyes glinting with his usual sleaze at the sight of some “soccer moms” in tight clothing walking in.
Inside Waitrose:
The automatic doors of Waitrose slid open with a gentle whoosh as Travers, Waldo, and Master Devlin stepped into the gleaming aisles. Bright fluorescent lights hummed above, illuminating rows of perfectly stacked goods.
Without a word, Waldo took off at full speed, zigzagging between shoppers — his small green form disappearing into the distance.
Master Devlin: (rubbing his temples) “Waldo…”
He turned to Travers, who was already eyeing a nearby magazine rack, a sleazy grin curling across his face as he stared at a bikini girl on the cover.
Master Devlin: “I suppose I’ll go find him before he blows someone up or starts a war or something…And Travers, do try to behave yourself for once.”
Travers: “Scout’s honor!”
As Devlin departed, Travers sauntered into the newspapers and magazines section, cigar in hand, eyes scanning for potential targets. He spotted a woman browsing the latest issues and approached her with his usual greasy charm.
Travers: “Hey there, beautiful… you a model or something?”
The woman glanced down at the goblin, clearly unimpressed, then turned back to her magazine.
Woman #1: “No.”
Travers: “You could be one, you know. I should know — I deal with them all the time. I’m a newspaper editor!”
He grabbed a copy of the Chronicle and proudly pointed to his cartoon caricature on the banner.
Travers: “See? I’m Harris Travers, national treasure and editor of the Waldopolis Chronicle. This is me right here.”
The woman’s eyes flicked from the caricature to Travers, her disdain deepening.
Woman #1: “Oh, so you run that sleazy tabloid with all the topless women on every other page?”
Travers: “That’s right! Waldonia’s favorite newspaper…”
Woman #1: (face twisting in disgust) “You’re a misogynist.”
Travers: “Misogynist?? Now just a minute… madam, you are speaking out of turn! Travers is no misogynist. Travers loves women! Especially the ones with big knockers.”
Woman #1: “Get away from me, you little creep.”
She turned on her heel and stormed off, leaving Travers to watch her go with a bemused expression.
Travers: “Huh… must be one of them lesbians,” he muttered, shrugging it off.
The Toy Section:
Waldo skidded to a halt in front of a row of neatly arranged stuffed animals, action figures, and building blocks. His expression soured as he scanned the shelves, clearly unimpressed.
wF: “Hmmm. Is this all there is?”
With a huff, Waldo flagged down a passing shop assistant. The young woman, eager to help, looked puzzled at the sight of the small goblin.
wF: “Excuse me, miss… where’s the rest of your toys?”
The assistant blinked, glancing from the shelves back to Waldo.
Shop Assistant: “Uh… I think this is all we have at the moment.”
Waldo’s eyes narrowed, suspicion creeping into his voice.
wF: “What? But these are pathetic! All so tame and disgustingly cute. Where are the fireworks? Edged weapons and such?”
The assistant’s face scrunched in confusion, unsure whether Waldo was joking.
Shop Assistant: “I–I’m afraid we don’t stock those sorts of… items here.”
wF: “Oh dear. This is very disappointing. Very well—point us in the direction of your finest poisons, then.”
Shop Assistant: “We don’t sell poisons either…”
Waldo shook his head in disapproval, muttering under his breath as the assistant backed away, relieved to escape his gaze.
wF: “Ridiculous. What kind of useless shop is this?”
Meanwhile…
Master Devlin wandered the aisles, his sharp eyes scanning the crowd for any sign of the rogue goblin. He approached the same shop assistant who had earlier dealt with Waldo; her cheerful demeanour faltered slightly as she spotted him.
Master Devlin: “Excuse me, miss. Have you seen a goblin around here? He’s about this high—small, only a child to your eyes.” He gestured around knee level. “Green, bald, with three little hairs and oversized ears.”
The assistant nodded quickly, eyes wide with recognition.
Shop Assistant: “Oh, yes, sir! I saw him in the toy section. I’ll take you there.”
Devlin followed the assistant through the aisles, his expression darkening with every step. When they arrived, the toy section was in utter disarray.
Half the toys had been swept to the floor, discarded like rubbish. In their place stood an assortment of twisted, dangerous contraptions, pulled from a mysterious suitcase lying wide open beside Waldo. The case, marked “GB Toys” in red, was filled with menacing playthings more suited to a battlefield than a nursery, including:
- A seemingly innocent wind-up monkey with a jagged switchblade clenched between its cymbals, poised to strike.
- A wind-up robot, its exposed wiring sparking dangerously as it shuddered and whirred, sending arcs of electricity onto nearby toys.
- A small box marked “Acid”, filled with bubbling green liquid that hissed menacingly whenever jostled.
- What appeared to be a pigeon and a rat sewn together.
- A plush bear with a spiky mohawk, clutching what looked alarmingly like a real, fully-loaded revolver.
Waldo admired his new display as if he were curating an art exhibition, completely unaware of the storm brewing in Master Devlin’s eyes.
Shop Assistant: “Oh my God! What… what is this?!”
Master Devlin: “What in God’s name do you think you’re doing, Widdle Frunkut?!”
Waldo, unfazed, looked up with a grin as the Master seized him by the wrist.
wF: “Improving their toy selection, sir. It’s much betters now, uh-huh, that’s right.”
Master Devlin: “Widdle Frunkut, you are being very naughty again! These aren’t toys—they’re weapons!”
He turned to the shop assistant and flashed his Masters Council badge.
Master Devlin: “I’m with the Masters Council on official business. My apologies for the mess.”
He then hurriedly began shoving the dangerous toys back into the suitcase, casting furious glares at Waldo as he worked.
With the shelves somewhat restored and the suitcase sealed, Devlin turned back to the goblin.
Master Devlin: “Come along, you. We’re leaving. You’ve caused enough trouble.”
The Fruit Section:
Meanwhile, Travers was wasting no time. He spotted his next target — a busty, thirty-something blonde woman pushing a pram near the fruit section. He slicked back his hair, adjusted his tie, and swaggered over to her.
Travers: “Nice melons!”
The woman blinked, then smiled as she noticed the large, juicy melons she was standing next to.
Woman #2: “Oh, yeah, they look pretty fresh today. Waitrose always has good quality.”
Travers: “What? No, I was talkin’ about your tits, lady.”
Her smile dropped instantly, her face twisting into disgust. As Travers carried on, undeterred by her horrified expression, the baby in the pram began to cry from the cigar smoke.
Woman #2: “You’re upsetting my baby.”
Travers: “Oh, don’t worry about him. He’s probably just hungry, that’s all… I don’t blame him. If I was havin’ those puppies for dinner, I’d be hungry all the time too! Hey, baby, how about you do me a solid and let me have this meal instead?”
Woman #2: “You pig!”
She stormed off, nearly running him over with the pram. Travers watched her go and shrugged.
Travers: “Ah well, can’t win ’em all.”
The Dairy Section:
As Master Devlin and Waldo made their way toward the exit, they passed through the dairy section. Behind the counter stood a cheerful employee — a middle-aged woman in a white apron, hairnet, and gloves — offering free cheese samples.
Sample Lady: “Good day, sir. Would you care to try a free sample of some of our finest cheeses?”
Master Devlin halted mid-stride, his sharp eyes narrowing on the display. His nostrils flared as his inner connoisseur stirred to life. Glancing down at Waldo, whom he still held firmly by the wrist, he hesitated.
Master Devlin: “Hmm... I really shouldn’t, but…”
The aroma was too much to resist.
Master Devlin: “Stay right here,” he commanded, pointing sternly at Waldo. “Don’t move an inch.”
wF: “Of course! Thanks very much for this chance, sir!”
Devlin wasted no time. He plucked a toothpick from the tray, spearing a cube of Wensleydale. The cheese crumbled slightly as he popped it into his mouth. The first hit of tangy creaminess made his eyes flutter closed in momentary bliss.
Next came a sharp Stilton, its pungent aroma filling his nose before the flavour hit. Dense, rich, and veined like marble, it lingered with a salty, nutty finish.
Master Devlin: “My word… I must tell Ermintrude about this.”
The employee watched with growing unease as Devlin worked his way down the counter — a creamy Cornish butter, a delicate Red Leicester, a vintage Cheddar aged to perfection. His movements were precise, almost ceremonial, as though conducting an orchestra of flavour.
Eventually, the employee shifted nervously as he reached for a fifth sample.
Sample Lady: “Um… sir, there’s usually a limit to how many samples—”
Devlin interrupted her, flashing his Masters Council badge.
Master Devlin: “Madam, I must insist. It is my solemn duty to inspect all products for the safety of Widdlington’s citizens. Surely you wouldn’t stand in the way of the Masters Council performing such an essential task?”
Her mouth opened to argue, but she thought better of it, nodding meekly instead.
Devlin returned to his feast, entirely absorbed, his stern composure melting like butter on the tongue. Meanwhile, Waldo’s mischievous grin began to return, his eyes darting about in search of his next bit of trouble.
The Deli Section:
Travers had finally found a woman who seemed genuinely receptive to his sleazy charm. They were chatting near the deli counter, and for once, it looked like his usual tactics were actually working. Her smile was warm, her laughter genuine — Travers was convinced he’d hit his stride.
Travers: “So, what do you do for fun?”
Woman #3: “Oh, I love going to concerts and trying out new recipes.”
Travers: “Well, I’ve got quite the recipe I think you’ll—”
Before he could finish, Joyce Summers appeared out of nowhere, taking the younger woman aside. The woman’s smile faltered as Joyce leaned in and whispered something in her ear. Her expression shifted from amusement to shock, and she shot Travers a look of pure disgust before walking off in a hurry.
Travers blinked, momentarily thrown off — but only for a second.
Travers: “Hellooo, Mrs. Summers, as I live and breathe! You look as lovely as ever. And congratulations on your election success, by the way — Willowdale couldn’t ask for a better representative.”
Joyce: “Thank you, Mr. Travers. It has been a while.”
Her tone was polite, but her eyes said otherwise.
Travers: “It sure has... And how’s your lovely daughter doing? You know, the sexy one that’s really into Slayer, not the annoying one…”
Joyce’s jaw tightened, though she kept her composure.
Joyce: “Buffy is doing well, thank you. She just—”
Travers: “Good. We had some great times, didn’t we? I’d love to get the two of you back under my desk again, for old time’s sake…”
Joyce winced, her disgust plain as old memories surfaced.
Joyce: “I can assure you, Mr. Travers, that will never, ever happen again. You are not the emperor anymore, and frankly—”
Travers: “No, ma’am, I’m not. I’m in the newspaper business now. Editor-in-chief of the Waldopolis Chronicle — Waldonia’s favorite newspaper.”
Joyce: “Yes, I heard. It certainly suits you. In fact, you may be interested to know I’m proposing legislation to ban your ‘Chronicle Girls’ from publication. There’s no place for that sort of thing in a national paper.”
Travers snorted and shook his head.
Travers: “Now why would you go and do a thing like that? Haven’t you ever heard of freedom of the press? And to think I was about to offer you a spot as one of the Chronicle Girls yourself…”
Joyce: “In your dreams, buster. And this isn’t about freedom of the press — it’s about stopping smut from masquerading as news.”
Travers: (chuckling, waving her off) “Well, Mrs. Summers, I’d love to debate the ethics with you, but I’ve got more pressing matters. Besides, there’s no way in hell The Editor is gonna let your little ban pass. Now if you’ll excuse me…”
He turned to leave, then paused and glanced back over his shoulder.
Travers: “Oh, by the way — in case you change your mind…”
He flicked a business card toward her. It landed neatly nestled in her cleavage. Joyce froze, face twisted in fury, but Travers only grinned, clicked his tongue while pointing at her, then swaggered off without a care in the world.
Bakery Section:
Unbeknownst to Master Devlin, still gorging on cheese, Waldo had run off. Moments later, he reappeared at the bakery entrance, disguised in a scraggly fake beard, a blue Waldmart uniform shirt, and a baseball cap pulled low. His small goblin figure waddled confidently into the section.
wF: “Oi! Listen up, every one o’ ya!”
Several customers glanced around in confusion.
wF: “Who do you poncy Waitrose wankers think you are, eh? Comin’ over ‘ere in’t Waldmart territory with yer fancy cheeses and smug little pastries. Ye think yer so posh, don’t ye? It’s bad enough ye spend all yer time lookin’ down on us decent working class folks jus’ tryna make an honest living… But now you want to come onto our land and make it all about you!? I’ll tell ye what that is… Gentrification! That’s right… What’s next? Stealin’ our bread an’ our dignity?! Well we’re not 'avin’ it, are we, lads? No bloody way! If it’s war ye want, it’s war you’ll get!”
With a dramatic flourish, Waldo pulled a round stink bomb from his pocket.
wF: “Let’s see 'ow yer posh bakery smells after this, ya snobs!”
He slammed it onto the ground. It exploded with a loud pop, releasing a thick, foul-smelling cloud. Shoppers gagged and fled, leaving bread rolls, croissants, and cakes abandoned mid-slice.
Two burly security guards rushed in, eyes watering from the stench.
Security Guard #1: “Who did this?”
Waldo, ever the trickster, had already discarded his beard and Waldmart uniform. He now wore a crisp Waitrose shirt with an official-looking name badge.
wF: “I saw the fiend! It was one of those Waldmart fellows from across the road. He was wearin’ their uniform! Came in here shouting about some turf war or something. Disgraceful, isn’t it? They’ve declared war on us!”
Panicked witnesses, still gagging, backed him up.
Man: “He’s right! That Waldmart guy was screaming about stealing business!”
The guards, senses dulled by the smell and chaos, nodded.
Security Guard #2: “Yeah, figures it would be those Waldmart scum… They’ll get what’s coming. Retribution will be swift and merciless.”
Waldo crossed his arms smugly, watching as the guards rushed off in pursuit of the imaginary Waldmart employee.
Dairy Section Redux:
Travers spots Master Devlin at the dairy counter, struggling to contain his indulgence. The middle-aged woman behind the samples looks utterly fed up — most of her stock has vanished into Devlin’s stomach. As she steps away to compose herself, Travers approaches with a scowl.
Travers: “Can you believe these Walver Lake broads? None of ‘em seem to respond to Travers’ usual charm. Must be something in the water over here...”
Devlin, barely listening, savours a particularly rich piece of cheese. His stomach growls violently; he clutches it with a grimace.
Travers: “Uh… Maybe you’ve had enough dairy for one day.”
Master Devlin: (snarling) “I’ll decide when I’ve had enough, thank you.”
Travers: “Alright, alright. Take it easy, Master Devlin... By the way, where’s Wally?”
Devlin gestures vaguely toward what appears to be Waldo nearby. Travers squints — it’s actually a piñata shaped like Waldo. He nudges it with his foot and it collapses, causing the head to pop off and sweets spill everywhere.
Travers: “Looks like you’ve been deceived, old friend.”
Devlin groans in embarrassment.
The sample lady returns. Travers’ attention immediately drifts to her ample chest despite her weary expression. He takes a long puff from his cigar.
Travers: “Hey there, dollface. How’s it going?”
Sample Lady: “Excuse me, sir, but there’s no smoking in this building.”
Travers: “Well then, why don’t we step outside? I’ve got something you could smoke…”
Sample Lady: “Excuse me?”
Travers: “It’s been a long day, and I could really use an oil change right about now.”
Sample Lady: “This is a supermarket, not a mechanic’s, sir. And I must insist you put out that cigar. Now.”
Travers finally loses his cool.
Travers: “What is this, commie bullshit? First, they want to ban my Page 3 girls, now this? Listen, lady, I didn’t stack bodies of Charlie a mile high in Laos just to come home and have some big-titted old jobsworth tell me not to smoke in my own Ed-damn town!”
He begins pacing and ranting. Devlin groans louder, clutching his stomach.
Sample Lady: “If you don’t put that out right now, I’m calling security.”
Travers: “Why? It masks some of the smell of that bloody cheese, that’s for sure. What’s the harm?”
At that moment, Waldo appears, proudly carrying a huge box of fireworks.
wF: “Hi, guys! We founds the fireworkses!”
Sample Lady: “That’s it. I’m calling security.”
Devlin suddenly doubles over and lets out a massive fart directly into Travers’ face. The cigar ignites the gas, sending a burst of flame towards the box of fireworks in Waldo’s hands.
Outside Waitrose:
The scene is chaos. Flames roar from the shattered entrance. Shoppers scream and scatter. The Master, Travers, and Waldo are blackened and smoking as the fire brigade works to extinguish the massive blaze engulfing the new supermarket.
Travers: “Huh… Probably some faulty wiring.”
Master Devlin is too furious to speak.
Waldo grins, brushing soot off his sleeves.
wF: “That was fun. What should we do now?”
In the distance, Waitrose and Waldmart employees are brawling in the park, fists flying as the turf war explodes into full-scale chaos.
Season Finale
The Waldoverse continues in Season 10