--- Roger Stevens <[EMAIL PROTECTED]> wrote: > > Nomad Slasher. An everyday story of Ambrosia & simple country folk. > > (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, Suse, Allan R. > > 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... In the dream there are no > wolverines or lap > dogs 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 suddenly mix with satisfied snoring. > The badger jumps > from his spot thinking his borough has imploded. > When he hears the > rain on the stone above, he realizes electricity is > still working, > washes his face and soon falls back deep asleep. > > He dreams of sitting on a five bar gate in Shinaniki > Da. It's 1932 > and Tom Thumb, the Topsy Turvy talking automaton has > just opened the > Cough Drop Shop in the village which badger can see > from where he > sits. The Baked Potato Man wanders by trying to sell > his wares. "Piping > hot King Edwards!" he shouts as he wafts the steam > from his portable > oven perched precariously on one-legged > wheel-barrow. "Juicy Jerseys > covered in ketchup!" Badger asks the Baked Potato > Man if he has any > crispy potato peelings in batter. "No, but I have > these fine Cheshire > New potatoes in gravy." He smiles, proffering the > steamy morsel which > suddenly grows two eyes and leering mouth and > cackles most horribly! > > 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 writhed and > chased and spurned > 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 beyond 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 its 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 pulchritude. > > 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!" 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 believe you had it > under your badger > all this time!" > > "Neither can 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 occurring elsewhere > soon caused poor > Blarney to tire. He decided to take a nap... > > A strange dream percolated through his brainbox, > flickering like one > of Logi Bairds firsts contraptions and fizzed > horribly. Pop! A > balloonish elf in purple jodhpurs and cravat > exploded overhead and a > rain of tiny elf clones came giggling down. The > wardrobe was moving > mysteriously and shape shiftingly. It threw open its > flappy doors > like the jowls of a huge dog. Dribble flew out like > moldy tapioca and > caught Blarney full in the mush. On cue, from within > the fleshy wardrobe > - troupes of badgers, weasels, stoats and wolverines > came marching out > all with guns over their shoulders and wearing smart > uniforms and > regalia usually worn by the Grenadiers and Irish > Fusiliers. Trumpets and > bugles blared the Smurfs Marching Song and a fairy > orchestra on a > revolving dinner plate came whirring about Blarneys > astonished head like > a tiny Frisbee. With all the din he hadn't realised > his lower half was > sinking slowly into some custard-like stuff that > oozed from the ground > about his knees. "Cripes!" he yelped, as the custard > rose higher and his > > knees sank lower... > > 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 > voluminous cravat tighter and pulled his > i-TimeDisplacer (tm) from the > folds of his thigh-fur. He punched in Zonograph, the > owl-elf's number. > From deep within Lulu giggled. > > 5 > > Ludwig, the erstwhile butler and badger > baiterribleedinglendervish of > Vincent and Cara Van Hire, still wearing his magic > asbestos > underpants, awoke with three tarts and asked > himself: > > "What is the nature of the information that I am > gaining? Is my > construction of history becoming detrimental?" > > Whereupon he spontenantaliasly > blurterupterucusurburped the following > ditty: > > "Let Badger be and Wolverine > Escape to one of many oceans > In waterwheels of aquamarine > Let them play in scattered notions > Let them see and let them pray > And drink in corresponding potions > While moon and stars circulate" > > "Tea and crumpets anyone," Once said. > > 6 > > Uncle Walt drawled, "There's wild weasels in there, > I tells ya. I > don't want to go to the steak house no more!" For > nearly 300 years our > family have searched the seven seas and the tallest > owl elf snuffed > his warps harp. The badgers, for now there were > five, all grabbed the > reins of the milkman's horse, Monarch. > > Blarney decided to look within her badger for Turkey > basting > apparatus. She had other looks but disparaging was > her favourite. > There was a sale, you see. Tucking it under her > badger, she moved the > entire affair slightly to the south. Ludwig had > fallen onto the milk > cart. Monarch looked back with resignation. This was > not the first time > that Ludwig had done this and Uncle Walt suspected > that it would also > not be the last. Blarney, oblivious to these goings > on, looked ever > deeper within his badger. He was having trouble > deciding upon his > gender. Such inconsistencies, he often thought, gave > historians a bad > name. Meanwhile, back at the farm Sir Monte Garghoul > was bathing his pet > kebab, Stanley, in the butler's sink and whistling > an old Hungarian > folk ditty through his cracked and yellow stained > teeth. Taking the > loofer in his gnarled old aristocratic hands he > splashed the milky suds > over the draining board and half the kitchen > shouting, "Avast me > hearties! Away the scussocks! Ahahahhh!" Whilst the > scullery maid Gladys > cowered beneath the pile of broken plates and old > rhubarb stalks under > the butler's Vespa that was half dismantled on the > roughly hewn kitchen > table. > > Yep, there were weasels in them thar hills, no > dyspepsia about that. > They musta weaseled their baptuschkas while the rain > was not cooking. > And now all mighty and small had to deal with Uncle > Walt's carnivorous > laments, his curmudgenlyrumblings, his fittin' and > his fartin'. He > warblelywailed ; "Lulu! Can't we have peace for > Once?" But Lulu didn't > answer. "Lulu!" he yelled again. No reply. He shook > the cravat crazily. > No Lulu appeared. Where was she? She had never > deserted a cravat before, > he knew. > > 7 > > At the watering hole, Meg and Later, the lap dog, > now fast friends, were > busy sipping distilled nepenthe and making ambrosia > in anticipation of > Once's upending arrival: green grain, mushrooms, > flour, tangerine, mini > marshmallows, lemon juice, ketchup, melon, milk, > chestnuts, toasted > pineapple and rhubarb. Served on heaping mended > platters of tarts, > crumpets, crispy potato peelings, carrots and > refried custard. > "I'll just pop to the deli," Later woofed. "I think > the mixture needs a > tad more marrow jelly. > With Later gone, Meg found her mind drifting back to > pleasanter days. A > voice jarred her from her wistful meanderings. > "Who are you?" she stuttered and took a step > backward from the demonic > figure clutching the potato masher. > "You may call me Lulu," the figure said. But history > will know me by a > different name. She raised the masher menacingly. > "No. no. no." > Lulu chuckled. "I know what you are thinking," she > said. "There's never > a wolverine around when you want one.
Meanwhile. IN A FOREST CLEARING SOMEWHERE IN NOTTINGHAMSHIRE. Bold Sir Robin of Poxly is prancing about in his green tights to the sound of some badgers playing lutes and crumhorns. Tra-la-lalla-la-oink! He trips over a pig and jumps up as if nothing has happened. "Prithee me fine damsel, what dust thou goest in fine vestments?" The pig wanders off looking back distainfully and vanishes into the green sward. The sound of gay laughter fills the forest as the Merry Men and a fat friar stumble into the clearing and wave at Robin with their feathery hats and quivers. "Cooeee!" Suddenly a loud gnawing sound makes them all shreik with fright as through the trees comes....... > > > Send instant messages to your online friends http://uk.messenger.yahoo.com
