Behind the slipstream of parallel universe.... ------ Forwarded Message From: "Roger Stevens" <[EMAIL PROTECTED]>
Chapter Five The Philosopherıs Stoned 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. Chapter Six Incontinental Drift 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 loofah 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. Chapter Seven Beware the Nomad Slasher, My Son. 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-arsemallows, 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.² With Later gone, Meg found her mind drifting back to pleasanter days. A voice jarred her from her wistful meanderings. A shadow fell across placid cheeks. "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.² 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. Just then a bizarre looking creature appeared. Some strange mixture of badger and wolverine; menacing, yet a cuddly creature. It was holding the masher and staggering - the sickeningly sweet smell of ambrosia on its breath. Lulu (who was once known as Granita) screamed, "Put it down put it down you wadger or bolverine, whatever you are!" Chapter Eight Meanwhile in a forest clearing somewhere in Nottinghamshore. 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 disdainfully 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. ³Canıt carch me,² a tall man with a bright red lunchbox yells. Robin gives chase with the fat friar in tow until they come to a stream where townspeople are washing their smalls. ³Well whaddya know,² says the fat friar. ³Now thereıs a site for saw pies.² Chapter Nine The Throne of Zog "I'm no Wadger or bolverine or even a madgerine blend of butter and 30% badger fat," chirruped the odd fellow with the hairy tweeds and the monocle, "I'm Lord Stringbelchworthy III and I claim the throne of Zog!" Meanwhile, back in the gooseberry factory, Arthur Negus was examining some of Auntie Gilbert's 18th century drawers for woodworm and underneath an old brown copy of the Daily Bugle used as a doily he could read this strange article about the disappearance of a phykick goat called Harold. Chapter Ten More Fun With Robin ³I donıt believe it,² the fat friar cries. ³Itıs a itıs a ² ³Youıre right,² Robin replied. ³A cuckoo!² "Sing coo coo" sang the Cuckoo, nestled in her ambrosial imbroglio, down by the fishin hole. It was a beautiful daze and the simple country folk were doing nothing. A fish jumped up with a splash from the stream and said, "Beware the nomad slasher!" "Too Whit Too Whoo" said the anonymous peregrine. ³Well, bugger me,² said Robin. Chapter Eleven More Revelations. ³This newspaper is rubbish,² Once the badger exclaimed. ³Look at this wolverine on page three. Whoever dresses like that in this day and age.² ³Is there any more news about Billy Two Ribs?² asked the Baked Potato Man, who had been lying fallow in a field for a few fathomed falls. ³Thereıs this,² said Once at once.² ³Read it once, Once,² said The BPM. ASTONISHING REVELATIONS BY OLD BILLY TWO RIBS In Cheshire today an old goat called Billy Two Ribs was astonishing villagers at a fete worse than Darth Vadar by his uncanny predictions using only a crystal ball and a pile of goat manure. He has already predicted correctly the winner of yesterdayıs first race at Haddock Park and the fall in price of shares in Hargreaves Fancy Goat Nuggets by 3 grobbits. The owner of Billy Two Ribs, Farmer Jiles McGrunker said, " EE e arr, be the leeetle bet ee be I warrant!" Which made no sense to anybody. Billy Two Ribs, beinf the more articulate of the pair just sighed deeply and chewing an old scandal said, " I believe what my master is trying to say is - you'll be advised to heed my words or else I'll not be responsible for the future." But the future was just about to take a nasty turn. Chapter Twelve Ludwig Takes a Ride Ludwig grabbed Monarchıs reins and issued forth a friendly gee up. While the badgers chatted about their near minx experience Ludwig checked his Zonograph detector, a brown stick with a tapioca and griddle extension, powered by trapped bees, for the fourteenth time. ³Hurry up old boy,² he whispered encouragement to the horse. Twice, a small badger with a squint, climbed onto the driverıs seat and gave Ludwig a friendly shove. ³Here,² he said, in Esperanto. ³Whatıs this?² Ludwig asked in Spanish, his accent heavy with the red earth violent disappointment. ³Open it and see,² Twice riposted in a broken French dialect. Ludwig unwrapped the parcel. It was a small slice of unrequited pineapple. ³Iıll never take you for a minx,² Ludwig said, a tear gathering in the corner of his hat. Twice surveyed the sky. ³Looks like rain,² he said in perfect cappuccino. Chapter Thirteen Youıre More Than a Kebab to Me. ³Stay still, Stanley,² Sir Monte Garghoul commanded his pet kebab Stanley, as he playfully splashed the Greek meat dish with suds. But Stanley was in a cheeky mood. He flicked a sud at Sir Monte and giggled. ³Lets go for a ride,² he suggested. Sir Monte considered this in his slow, relentless way and came to a conclusion. Stanley jumped from the kitchen sink over the now dead Sir Monte and jumped on to the Vespa. He kicked the tired engine into life and the motor scooter leapt from the table towards the door. In next to no time Stanley the Kebab was driving it along the deserted highway. ³Iım free,² he yelled to the wind. ³Free. Look out world. Here I come.² He revved the engine harder and the Vespa responded with a chirpy fulsomeness. ³Free,² he yelled again. And once more, ³Free.² Visit The Poetry Zone http://www.poetryzone.co.uk ------ End of Forwarded Message
