(Please add to the story wherever you see fit, add your name at the front and post it.)
"Man Bites Dog" 42-page book made of fur, teeth, skin and bones Kathy Forer, Roger Stevens, Michael Leigh, Alan fffo, badgergirl, Carol Starr The Story So Far Fourteen wolverines and one lap dog chase a badger. But the badger is too fast and burrows beneath a paintbrush stuck in a stone. In the burrow are mushrooms and grain. The badger makes a broth ambrosia of the green grain and mushrooms and is soon asleep. The badger is dreaming that it was just a dream, there are no wolverines or lap dog because the badger was really awakened by the artist removing the paintbrush from the stone to begin painting for the morning. Little does the artist realize that the badger is in the burrow. Once the badger (a strange name for a badger some would say) is reassured as to its safety and breakfast is under way in the burrow; ambrosia of green grain and mushrooms with the added delight of mini marshmallows! The day is going well, but what was that strange sound? Thunder and a police siren mix with snoring. The badger jumps from his spot thinking the stone has imploded. When he hears the rain on the stone above, he realizes the electricity is still working, washes his face and soon falls back deep asleep. Hours later, Once, the badger, is awakened by the noise of wood against stone. It is night and the lap dog is yapping. The wolverines have surrounded the stone and are chanting an incantation. The badger doesn't breathe, not a whisker moves. Neither up nor down, although suspense is acrostic. After a paws of several minutes the badger quickly whips out his cross-stitched magic asbestos underpants and pulls them on ferociously. Once flings open the serving hatch and grabs the vial of sacred weasel water and makes a dot for the burrow entrance and confronts the seething mass of writhing wolverines squirming around the stone which is now glowing with a strange phosphorescent throb! 1 It was a dense night. Stumble patterns and brave yapping set apart the party of owl elves and gnome mimics as they writhe and chase and spurn the undergrowth around the latest beige badger silting. In the brave distance behoves the strange and incandescent foreshadows of wolverines and greenish melon lights upon the substantial forest fare. Young Zonograph, the tallest owl elf snuffed his warps harp and muttered - I can hear a badger. The badger is in trouble. I scents wolverines. Hurry there is no stone unready ton roll upturned in this lackadaisical pre-momentary of the word fandango. Meanwhile, or to be more precisereiouseless, high on hill stood a lonely man with a goathead, his fixedinterestrate stare directeddyboyhoodlesservilely at the burning black belching smokestacks of the town beyong the wolverine woods. The sound of a suddenly snuffeforadicalcified warps harp, brought memories back for Ludwig Hat, erstwhile butler and badger baiterribleedinglendervish of Vincent and Cara Van Hire. Ludwig stood immobile, imshelle and intexacoe, for Ludwig had been brained by falling groceries, dropped from almost a mile overhead and one mile and eight inches over shoulder, a result of the splitting of a cheap carrier pigeon on it's way home. Forcing his gaze downward Ludwig was horrified, not only had his part of the story not managed to settle on a definite form, not only did it lack content but now to his disgust he found that he had been rendereducededicateddyboyfriended by a tangerine!!! He couldn't even get that right. Ludwig crossed his eyes and dotted his teeth, relaxed and floated up, through the roof of his own mouth. Long and complicated wordadditions, he thought, canwearyoudownifyournot careful, and so he resolved to be more carefulinfuture. Win Cent the Magnificent and Cara, however, were seriously considering calling Sister Meg and entering into the fray. Sister Meg O'Lomania was after all acrostic champion frigidaire and good at getting badgers up and down and out of trees (and wolverines out of toasters for that matter.) Lap dogs she had no time for as their batteries always seemed to run out in the middle of a sent bottle of enormous palcritude. His eyes dilated and shuffled in the moonlight, his breathe came in short pants, his coughs in a skirt and his trousers rolled up like Venetian blinds caught in a mighty wurlitzer. Mrs. Shufflefang caught sight of herself in a nearby polished knob of a Milkman's portable pelmet crusher and she winced inwardly, tossing back a mane of flaxen hair that was tied in a bun and covered in currants. The badgers, for now there were five, all grabbed the reins of the milkman's horse and whipped it into a gallop and then into a small tea shop where it scattered several old ladies and a troupe of dwarves on an outing. Suddenly, Pequot Marmaduck threw a crumpet at Sister Meg. It caught her with a ping in the frigidaire and she fainted straight away, smashing the paw of the lap dog who was dreaming of heaven sent chumlaka. Cara sprinkled Sister Meg and the lap dog each with half a gram of lemon juice. Meg cried out "get me a toasted pineapple!" and the dog sniffed the crumpet. Ludwig had fallen onto the milk cart and the badgers were busy cleaning the splashes from each other when seven wolverines slunk by and whistled an old tune from the dark days when weasels were weasels and fourpence was worth three and a half cents. The badgers had been mistaken for minks! Finally, they could answer Young Zonograph's call and they set out toward the southern phosphorescence, towing Mrs. Shufflegang who had the fixedinterestrate card for gas and carrots for the hybrid horse and roasted beast for themselves. 2 "What's all this, then!" Uncle Walt awoke with a tart. "Once?" he yelled. "Where is that pesky badger?" Carefully smearing the remains of his last bottle of bright orange nail varnish into his hair, he feebly crawled out of the hole. Lulu, meanwhile, disappeared into a cravat. "There's wild weasels in there, I tells ya. I don't want to go to the steak house no more!" Several of the badgers loitering around the enormous bonfire giggled loudly. Once kept his head down. Uncle Walt in this mood... best keep out of his way. A wolverine, hiding in a nearby double-decker laundry basket chuckled quietly to himself. He had a variety of chuckles but preferred the quietly one. Wait till I tell the others, he thought to himself. 3 Later that same day, 3,000 red-headed women converged on the small appliance department at St Macy's, home to the partridge of man's desire and woman's loathing. There was a sale, you see. Yousee left the apartment in a shambles. Tucking it under her badger, she moved the entire affair slightly to the south of Turkey. "What's all this then?!" shouted Blarney the turkey buzzard. "This doesn't look like a chestnut to me, it looks more like a shrunken head from the Ooompungokoonoo Indians of Skull Island!" "It's the one I've been looking for " screamed the turkey buzzard as if pole-axed, "For nearly 300 years our family have searched the seven seas and thirteen ponds of Umpklah to find the sacred shrunken head of Saatchi the Flame God - I can't belive you had it under your badger all this time!" "Neither did I" said Blarney with a withering smile. He had other smiles but the withering one was his favourite. As they sat contemplating this new find a strange and eerie noise assailed their ears, Blarney decided to look within his badger for Turkey basting apparatus. Meanwhile, unbeknownst to Blarney, the Ooompungokoonoo Indians of Skull Island were busy making plans of their own. Lulu crawled out of the cravat and prepared breakfast for Uncle Walt. All of this activity occuring elsewhere soon caused poor Blarney to tire. He decided to take a nap... 4 "What's all this, then!" Uncle Walt awoke with a tart. "Once?" he yelled. "Where is that pesky badger?" Carefully smearing the remains of his last bottle of bright orange nail varnish into his hair, he feebly crawled out of the hole. Lulu, the tart, looked at him disparagingly. She had other looks but disparaging was her favourite. "You've been re-living the past again, as though it was happening all over again," she said. "Damn," Uncle Walt drawled. Where's that badger, Once?" "I'm here," Once answered through the TemporalTimeGate (tm) "If I've told you once, Once," Walt said, "I've told you..." There was an almighty noise, a screech, a smidgeon, a thumpyclumpybumpy existential, serious and yet soft-stockinet kind of stony paintbrush-beset-by-wolverines kind of noise. Uncle Walt pulled his cravat tighter and pulled his i-TimeDisplacer (tm) from the folds of his thigh-fur. He punched in Zonograph, the owl-elf's number.
